Dig Too Deep (7 page)

Twelve

After a few weeks in Ebbottsville, I'm embarrassed to admit that lunch is now my favorite thing about school. Thanks to the Plurd County School District and some generous funding from the U.S. government, kids from poor families get free lunch. For some of us, it's the only meal of the day. I guess I'm one of the lucky ones. Our canned-soup dinners aren't exactly square, but they're something.

Cole winds a strand of my hair around his finger. “Are we doing something tonight?”

I nod, my mouth full of fish stick. I never expected to enjoy processed seafood, but four days of ramen can readjust a person's taste buds. So can an empty stomach. I'm seriously considering eating the cardboard lunch tray. And the milk carton. And maybe the spork.

“What's on the agenda?” I ask. “Any parties?” Specifying parties is a bit stupid, since there's never anything
else
going on. There's no theater, no clubs, no museums or decent restaurants. No … nothing. Just windy roads, hormonal teenagers, and acres of unsupervised mountains. It's no wonder the senior class boasts seven expectant mothers.

“No parties,” Cole says. “I thought we'd just go to my house. Maybe watch some TV?”

“Oh. Cool.” I haven't been to Cole's house yet. We've mostly just hung out after school and, obviously, at parties. Baseball season started last Thursday, and I stayed late to watch the first game. But that pretty much covers the landscape of our relationship.

“Pick you up at seven?”

“Seven's good,” I say. “That'll give me time to go by the library and make dinner for Granny before I go.”

“The library again?” says Cole. “C'mon, Lib. When are you gonna admit you're wrong about the water?”

Despite the research I've shown him, Cole refuses to believe the mine has anything to do with people getting sick. Maybe it's because his dad works there. Maybe it's because Cole's odd jobs at the mine pay for the missing parts of his car. Whatever the reason, he's absolutely sure I'm falling prey to some liberal media conspiracy. I've found it's easiest to change the subject.

“It doesn't make sense for you to come and get me tonight,” I say. “I'll just drive Granny's car over.”

“I don't mind.”

I should probably let him. He always seems to have money for food and gas. But inefficiency bugs me. “No,” I say. “You'd make four trips instead of me just making two.”

Cole shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

He turns to Dobber and starts talking about yesterday's practice. His fingers are still wound into mine though. I run my thumb across his knuckles, listening to the baseball talk and thinking about other things.

The appointment for Granny's x-ray is Monday. I wish I could fast-forward through the weekend and get the x-ray over with. I hate the not knowing. Plus, Granny's definitely been getting worse. She sleeps more, coughs more, eats less.

“I can't,” Dobber says, interrupting my worry fest. “Daddy's gotta meet with his parole officer.”

I've only heard a little about what Mr. Dobber did to warrant the bling on his ankle. But asking Dobber about his law-breaking father seems unfair, considering I wouldn't want him asking about MFM.

“You're missing practice, then?” Cole asks.

“Yeah, I gotta drive him into town.” He glances at me then down to his log pile of fish sticks. I wonder if he pays extra for those or just flirts with the cafeteria lady. “Ain't you gonna ask?”

“What?” I'm trying to recall what they were talking about as two very ambrosia-looking fish sticks disappear into Dobber's mouth.

“Come on, new girl,” he says. “Somebody goes to jail, what's the first thing ever'body wants to know?”

If Dobber only knew how well I knew the answer to that question. “You mean your dad. Do you want to tell me?”

“He beat somebody up.” He stares across the table like he's daring me to ask more.

I like dares, and he's the one who brought this up, so I ask, “Who was it?”

“Robert Peabody.”

“Peabody?” I wasn't expecting that. “Why?”

Cole taps Dobber on the arm. “That's ancient history, man. Don't go dragging shit up. You got a future to think about.”

Dobber shrugs. “I ain't dragging nothing. Just thought she might want to know.” He downs the last fish stick and starts piling trash onto his plate.

I'm wondering why Dobber wants me to know this. I mean, I've heard some of it already. That Mr. Dobber attacked a guy and nearly beat him to death. The only new information is who it was. “What's your dad got against Peabody?”

“He's a shit,” Dobber says quietly.

“That's enough,” Cole says.

Dobber's eyes shift from me to Cole and back again. They're lighter than his father's, but I can see some of the same anger there. It's the first time he's reminded me of his dad. It's a little scary, that kind of mad in a package that big.

“Lots of people are shits,” I say.

“Yeah, but Peabody's a special kind of shit.”

“Bullcrap,” Cole says. “If it weren't for Peabody, this town would dry up and blow away. Mine jobs are the only jobs worth having around here. You know that, Dobber.”

It's weird to see Cole and Dobber on opposite sides of an issue. “Did Peabody do something to your dad?” I ask.

Dobber leans forward, tilting his chair.

Cole says, “Drop it, Dob.”

Dobber's chair thuds against the floor as he drops back. “Why?”

“'Cause you're wrong. And it doesn't do any good for you to be talking about it,” Cole says.

“Don't do no good to
not
talk about it either. Does it?” Dobber stands up and sort of addresses the tables around us. “We been
not
talking 'bout this for years and ain't nothing changed.” People pretend not to notice, but I can tell they're all listening. “He's still making his dollar. He's still shitting on the men.”

Next thing I know, Cole's in Dobber's face, pushing him back into his chair. “Shut up and shut up now,” he whispers. “They're already watching y'all. You'll end up with a rope dog if you're not careful.”

The hairs on my arms are standing on end from all the testosterone in the air.

“Fuck you, Cole. I ain't afraid of Peabody.”

I'm wondering what the hell a rope dog is as Dobber slams out the cafeteria doors.

“Well,” I say. “That was interesting.”

Cole turns to me, his eyes still angry. “Look, you need to back off this.”

“Back off what? I'm not the one who started talking about—”

“That research you're doing, saying crazy stuff about the water—”

“It's not crazy,” I say. “There are scientific studies that prove mountaintop—”

“Studies my ass. That's nothing but a pack of lies.”

“Right. A million web pages, a thousand different sources all got together to fabricate and disseminate the same fake information. Just for fun.”

“Just drop it, a'ight?” He flops into his chair. “It's for the best.”

“Best for whom?”

“For you. For everybody. Especially Dobber.”

“In case you haven't noticed, Dobber doesn't seem to care what Peabody thinks about him.”

“Well, he needs to. And he knows it.”

“Why?”

“Think about it, Lib. You and me are outta here in a couple years—college, careers. Probably neither one of us will be coming back to Ebbottsville.”

I wish I could see that far into the future.

“You think Dobber's got the cash for college? You think he's ever getting out of here?”

“I don't know. I guess I assumed—”

“It's not happening. And if you're stuck in Ebbottsville, there's only one way to make a decent living.”

Mine jobs are the only jobs worth having.

“Dobber's daddy might be on Peabody's shit list, but Dob's not. Not yet anyway,” Cole says. “He's strong and he's smart. My dad's been putting in a good word for him, so he might have a chance at a job there after graduation.”

“I don't think Dobber wants that job,” I point out.

“Dobber
needs
that job. He just doesn't understand how bad.”

“You can't orchestrate people's lives for them,” I say. “No matter how well-meaning you might be.”

“It's for his own good,” Cole says.

He seems to say that a lot.

“How come Mr. Dobber's on Peabody's shit list?” I ask.

“I said to drop it.”

“No. I need to know. And either you can tell me or I can start asking around.” I glance around the cafeteria like there's
anyone
who'd give me the time of day.

“For God's sake. Fine.” He pulls his chair closer and leans in. “Peabody fired Dobber's dad a few years back. Told people he was doing drugs.”

“That's not hard to believe.”

“It was back then. Dobber's dad wasn't always a meth head. He used to coach my Little League team. He's a great ballplayer. Was, anyway.”

“What happened to him?”

“After he got fired,” Cole whispers, “he couldn't get another job since everybody knew why Peabody fired him.”

I'm trying to figure out where this information fits with the pieces I already know about the water and the mine. “Why
did
Peabody fire him? If it wasn't really for drugs?”

“I dunno, Lib. But there must have been a good reason. Anyway, Dobber's dad hasn't had a job for three years now. Things have been really bad for them. They lost their house. Everything. I guess Mr. Dobber saw Peabody in town and just went off.”

Three years of a shattered life could make a person pretty pissed. Three years of living in that trailer, with no money to change things and no hope for a different future … watching your son grow up the same way.

“If Mr. Dobber can't get a job, how do they live?” I've seen Dobber eat and there's no way he's surviving like Granny and me … on food stamps and twenty bucks a week.

“Disability.”

“You've got to be kidding me. The state pays him disability 'cause he's addicted to drugs?”

Cole snorts. “'Course not. He gets disability because he's got cancer.”

Thirteen

Cole's house is at the end of a cul-de-sac in one of the nice neighborhoods on the west side of the valley. I feel a little conspicuous parking Granny's beat-up El Camino in his driveway, but he doesn't even glance at the car.

“What took you so long?” he asks as he opens the door.

“Sorry. I got an extra thirty minutes on the computer so I stayed longer at the library.”

He rolls his eyes. “Lib, I've been waiting for you for an hour.”

“I know. I'm really sorry. I would have called but my cell battery's dead and Granny's phone is out.” We couldn't pay the bill. This month's money ran out before the month did, but Cole doesn't need to know the specifics. “Forgive me?”

It takes a few seconds, but he finally smiles. “I guess.”

“Good.”

As he closes the door behind me, I look around at the blue walls with tiny sea horses and starfish and suddenly realize—I'm probably about to see his parents for the first time in five years. I'm wondering if that means anything. And if I should have dressed up.

“You look nice.” Cole wraps his arms around my waist from behind. “Smell nice too.” His fingers are linked across my stomach and his thumbs are caressing the skin just under the edge of my shirt.

I spin in his arms and stand on tiptoe to kiss him hello. Just a quick peck, since I know his parents might be watching. “You smell nice too.”

He grins and pulls me closer. “Why'd you stop kissing me then?”

I whisper into his ear. “Potential parental interruption?”

“No worries,” he says. “We have the house to ourselves tonight.”

“Oh.” So that's why we're here instead of out at some party. “Nice house,” I say. And it is—clean, well kept, and plenty big. Cole's mom did a nice job with the decor. There's a landscape painting on the wall over the fireplace, cute pillows with screen-printed elephants, an antique buffet stacked with matching china—all the benefits of a job with Peabody mining.

Cole walks across the living room into the kitchen and opens the fridge. “You want a beer?”

“Um, sure.”

I take the can Cole hands me and he pops the top, misting me with Wittbrau Light. “Thanks.”

“Cheers.”

We clink cans and each take a swig. Ergh, fizzy bread water.

“You wanna watch TV?”

“Sure.” I settle on the edge of the couch as Cole grabs the remote from the coffee table. Something about tonight feels awkward. We've been out a lot and together at school every single day, and it's been great. But tonight, something seems different and slightly off. He plops down next to me, and I snuggle under his arm, trying to find the comfort zone.

He flips channels, stopping on Cartoon Network.

I raise one eyebrow. “Rocky and Bullwinkle?”

He grins as he drops the remote on the floor. “I hadn't planned on actually watching.” Running his finger up my throat, he tilts my chin up. My lips part and his mouth closes over mine. His lips are so soft. I slide my hand around his neck and pull him into me. He tastes minty, like toothpaste, and hoppy from the beer.

Cole pulls his tongue across my lip, shooting tremors through my body. I sigh as his lips move down my neck, onto my chest. I lean backward … and accidentally dump my beer in my lap.

Gasping, I jump up as ice cold Wittbrau pours out on my jeans. I'm now wearing about half a can of lager. “Dammit!”

Cole runs to the kitchen for a towel, laughing.

“I'm so sorry.” I blot off as much as I can. “Is there any on the sofa?”

“No, I think you soaked it all up.” He grins. “How 'bout we get those pants off you?”

“What?”

“Rinse 'em out and put 'em in the dryer.”

I'm not completely sure how to answer that. Am I supposed to stand here in his living room in my underwear for thirty minutes? Or is he proposing something else?

“You can't go home smelling like beer,” Cole says. “Your granny'd kick my ass.”

“That's for sure.” She'd love a reason to ban Cole from my life. Of course, getting half-naked with him is probably an even better reason for banning than beer.

“I'll get you somethin' to put on.” He jogs down the hallway and ducks into the first door on the right.

I feel stupid. Of course he wouldn't expect me to stand around half-naked. Who knows when his parents might get home? They wouldn't be any happier with that than Granny.

Cole comes back with a pair of cut-off sweatpants. “The bathroom's the first door on the right.”

I close the door behind me and struggle out of the tight, wet denim. After cinching the shorts around my waist, I glance in the mirror, wipe away a smudge of eyeliner and head back to the kitchen.

“Okay.” I'm looking seriously ridiculous in my wool sweater and his gym shorts. But when Cole turns around he's not looking at my clothes.

“Wow. Nice legs.”

“Thanks.”

“You run?”

“No. Volleyball.”

He takes my wet jeans, and I follow him into the kitchen, where he rinses the beer out in the sink.

“I feel pretty silly like this,” I say, tugging the shorts up. “I hope your parents don't come home soon.”

“No worries.” Cole shuts off the water and turns to me. His grin isn't all dimples this time. It's sexier, hungry animal dressed in Southern gentleman. Something in my stomach flip-flops, and I start thinking about what his hands would feel like on my bare legs.

“No worries about them coming home? Or that I look silly?”

“Both?” He walks his fingers around my waist and steps closer. “They went to Charlottesville to see my sister this weekend. She's at UVA.”

“Oh. All weekend?”

Cole lays my jeans on the counter and puts one hand against my cheek, staring into my eyes. I'm all alone with the cutest guy in the world. I'm trying to think of something perfect to say, but all I come up with is, “I didn't even know you had a sister.”

My jeans slide off the counter. I hear the buttons hit the floor, but Cole's hands are around me, doing a slide of their own—one up my back, the other, across my butt in the too-loose shorts. I feel out of breath, like I've been climbing the ridge trail. I can't think straight with his kisses covering my neck, my cheeks, my mouth.

We wobble into the living room, stumbling over each other's feet, and crash onto the couch. He's pressing into me. His hands are sliding across my ribs, pushing my sweater up. It feels so warm, his skin against mine. I want more. I want to feel the muscles in his stomach, to run my hands across his bare chest.

I'm tugging at the buttons on his shirt, wishing it had a zipper. So preoccupied am I with the treasure beyond the stupid freaking buttons that I don't notice my shorts—his shorts—are sliding down my thighs. Along with my underwear.

“Whoa,” I gasp.

“God, Lib. You're so beautiful,” he murmurs in my ear.

“But …” I can't think. It feels good, what he's doing. Oh my God. What
is
he doing?

“Aw, Liberty,” he whispers. Now he's fumbling with his jeans. My hands are frozen on his shirt. I've never done this. Never come anywhere
close
to this.

His hips are against mine now. I can feel the heat of his body on my skin, his angles, hollows, and points. He's doing that thing again, that feels so good—but also scary. I'm way, way outside my comfort zone.

“Stop,” I whisper.

Whether he can't hear me or whether he's ignoring me, I can't tell, but nothing changes.

“Stop. Cole, stop.”

“Shh … you're okay,” he says.

I scoot away from him, up the couch. The elephant pillows are hampering my progress. “Cole! Stop! Stop it!”

He groans, loud, and rolls off onto the floor, breathing hard. “Dammit, Liberty. You can't just cut me off like that.”

“I'm not ready,” I mumble. My logical mind says I shouldn't feel bad, but I do. And childish.

Cole says nothing. I pull my underwear and shorts back up, and sit huddled on the couch, watching him stare at the ceiling.

My half-empty beer sits in silhouette against the flickering television. A toy commercial has replaced
The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show
. I stare absently and wonder what exactly just happened here.

On the surface, it seems obvious. Cole wanted to have sex. I asked him to stop and he did. I have the right to decide what happens to my body. I guess he has the right to be pissed about it. But it's not like him to lose his temper.

I feel like I should apologize for something. But the only thing I can come up with is “Sorry I was late,” which seems ridiculous. So I sit in silence, hugging my legs, half-naked and feeling totally exposed.

“I'm sorry,” Cole says finally. “I wasn't trying to force you.” He turns toward me. “You know that, right?”

I nod.

“You're just so beautiful. I can't help it.”

I nod again. “It's okay. It felt good, but … I can't.”

His turn to nod. “A'ight. It's okay.”

He stands, pulling his pants up as he does, and heads into the kitchen. He's back in a few seconds with my wet jeans. “They're not dry, but at least they don't smell like beer.”

The return of my pants seems to indicate an end to the evening. It can't be later than eight thirty, but there's some wicked-crazy tension in the room. Again, I feel like I've been tried and convicted of something, though I'm not sure what.

Cole takes my beer into the kitchen and dumps it while I get changed. As I pull on my pants, I think how glad I am that I drove.

He leans against the door frame. “Are we okay?”

He's the one asking the question, but I don't think I'm the one with the answer. “All square.” I hope my face looks surer than I feel. I want him to hug me. To tell me everything's fine. Getting rushed out the door, I feel like I'm being punished.

“I'm doing something with Dobber tomorrow night,” he says. “But I'll see you at church on Sunday?”

“Oh.” We hadn't technically talked about Saturday night, but I sort of assumed we'd be together. “Okay. You and Dobber are talking again?”

“What? You mean that thing at lunch?”

I nod.

“That was nothing. He knew I was right. He just had to remember it is all.”

“Oh.” I want so badly to disagree, but it seems stupid to pick a fight in the middle of making up. “Well … good.” I take my purse and keys off the table behind the couch, trying to think of some way to make things normal between us. “So, your parents won't be here, but you're still going to church Sunday?”

“Only if I get to see you.” It's embarrassing how his dimples melt me, no matter what.

“I'll be there. No chance of skipping with Granny around.”

“It's a date, then.” He winks and wraps his arm around my shoulders as I head for the door, making me feel at least a little better.

“Hm. Don't let her hear you say that.” If she knew what just happened here, she'd be making summer sausage out of Cole right now. With a chunk or two of me thrown in for good measure.

Cole grins. “It'll be our secret.”