Made in the U.S.A. (4 page)

For the next half hour they listened to sounds coming through the wall—drawers closing, a man coughing, water running.

When finally their neighbor grew quiet, Fate guessed that Lutie had gone to sleep, but when he turned on his side facing her bed, he could see her face in the dim light coming through the window. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

“Lutie?”

“What?”

“Can you remember what Mama looked like?”

“Sure.”

“I wish I could.”

“You’ve seen pictures of her.”

“Yeah, but a picture’s not the same thing. I mean, a picture just shows the way she looked when it was taken. That very second. Like the one of her standing beside the car holding me. She was smiling ’cause she knew Daddy was gonna take her picture.

“But that doesn’t tell me what she looked like when she was cooking breakfast, or how she looked when she was sad. I don’t know what she looked like when she cried or when she was asleep.

“And those pictures don’t show if she was left-handed like me or how she sounded when she laughed or the way she walked. They’re just pictures.”

A silence settled on them then as a train passed somewhere nearby. Minutes later, after the sound had faded, Lutie said, “Sometimes I’m not sure if I remember Mama the way she looked in real life . . . or the way she looked in a dream I had when I was little.”

“What dream?”

“I was locked in a house and she was outside, trying to get in. She was going through the pockets of her coat, but she couldn’t find the key. I was watching her through a window, and when she realized I was there, she started talking to me, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

“The wind was blowing her hair across her face. She looked at me and she was crying. When I woke up, I could still see her like that. Still do. But I don’t know if that’s the exact same way she looked in real life . . . or just in that dream.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before, Lutie? Why didn’t you tell me about that dream?”

“I don’t know.”

“I never dream about her. Maybe if I did, I could remember what she looked like.”

“Fate, you were only three when she died. When you’re three, you’re too young to remember anything at all. So I guess you shouldn’t feel bad.”

They were quiet for several minutes until Fate said, “Lutie?” He waited but could tell from her breathing that she was asleep. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad you let me come with you.”

When she made a weak, whimpering sound, he whispered, “Good night, sister.”

CHAPTER FIVE

L
UTIE HAD NEVER
been a cheerful riser. In fact, she hated almost everything about waking up. Hated to open her eyes, hated the taste in her mouth, the tangles in her hair. She did not engage in conversation for the first hour of the day, would not tolerate being touched, and refused to be hurried.

No one except her mother had ever been able to ease her through morning without encountering her wrath. Her father had endured her tirades by steeling himself with bourbon, and Fate had learned that his best defense was to stay out of her line of fire. Floy’s approach, though, was to counterattack. She warned, she yelled, she threatened.

But unlike the others, Lutie’s mother, a soft-spoken, patient woman, had known exactly how to mollify a cranky, sleepy child. She woke her with songs, wrapped her in blankets warmed by the fire, prepared hot chocolate with precisely eight small marshmallows—the only correct number, according to her young daughter. She fixed Lutie’s favorite breakfast of peanut-butter pancakes, prepared tepid baths sprinkled with sweet-smelling oils, and made sure the clothes Lutie wanted were freshly pressed and ready to slip into.

But the Cozy Up Motel offered little promise of easing anyone into the day.

Lutie had had a bad night of troubling dreams punctuated by the hacking cough of the serial killer in the next room. Then, at nine o’clock, a motel maid had knocked on the door, an intrusion to which Lutie had responded by yelling, “Fuck off!” as she’d burrowed beneath her covers for more sleep.

Fate, hoping to avoid one of his sister’s attacks, got up and dressed quietly, then turned on the TV, but not the sound, and watched a silent show about growing grapes.

An hour later, he nudged the unmoving lump of his sister hidden under her bedding and said, “Lutie, we have to check out pretty soon.”

“Fate, if you touch me again, I’ll kill you.”

She finally crawled out of bed just before eleven and, still half-asleep, stumbled to the bathroom, where she discovered that shampoo was another of the amenities with which the Cozy Up was not “loaded.” Having no other option, she washed her hair with a tiny bar of soap that broke into splinters just as the hot water gave out.

She dried herself on a towel so thin that she could see through it, pulled on yesterday’s jeans and T-shirt, then came storming out of the bathroom as though she were being chased.

“This place is a dump,” she shouted.

“Are you about ready to go?” Fate asked.

“Tonight we’re staying at a Holiday Inn and I don’t care what it costs.”

“Lutie, we’ve spent nearly twenty-five for food, thirty for this room, more than that for gas, another—”

“We’ve still got that can of quarters. That ought to be plenty.”

“Thirty-nine dollars isn’t plenty. And we’ve got another seven hundred miles to go.”

She ran a brush through her hair, then examined the slivers of soap caught on the bristles.

“Look at this shit,” she said.

“Lutie, we need to get on the road.”

“Don’t rush me! I’m going to do my hair and put on my makeup, and if it takes an hour, then it takes an hour.”

Just then, a terrific bolt of lightning struck, followed immediately by a deafening clap of thunder, causing Lutie to fall back on her bed, clamp her hands to her ears, and begin screaming.

Fate moved fast, jumped on the bed beside her, and wrapped her in his arms, whispering, “It’s going to be okay, Lutie. It’s over now. All over.”

Minutes later, after the quick storm burst had moved on, Lutie’s body relaxed enough that she disentangled herself from Fate and sat up.

“See?” he said. “Now, aren’t you glad you had me with you?”

Lutie shot him a “hurry up and die” look, then headed for the bathroom.

“Fear of thunder,” Fate said.

“If you say ‘tonitrophobia’ again, I’m gonna leave your ass here.”

“Well, that’s what it’s called.”

“I know!” she screamed from the bathroom. “You’ve told me a hundred times. I can even spell it. Now, let it go.”

When they finally pulled out of the Cozy Up parking lot at noon, it was raining, which didn’t improve Lutie’s mood. She was mad at her hair, stoplights, the stain on her jeans, and the headache that was starting to throb in her temples.

And for everything that was wrong, she blamed her brother.

As she drove through town, she pushed the Pontiac over the speed limit, and before she reached the interstate, she was driving seventy.

“Lutie, you’re driving too fast.”

“Hey. You’re the one who’s been in such a damn hurry. I’m just trying to keep you happy.”

Fate watched the needle on the speedometer. “Did you know that fifty-seven percent of all highway fatalities are caused by excessive speed?”

“That’s the kind of crap you say to impress everyone, isn’t it? That’s why they put you in those weird classes.”

“They’re called accelerated studies.”

“Oh, my! And everyone is so impressed with my brainy little brother. The nerd.” Lutie made a look of disgust. “Sometimes I get sick of hearing about how smart you are.”

“Well, sometimes I get sick of hearing about you.”

“What do you hear about me?”

“That you’re always in trouble at school.”

“Sure I get in trouble. If you’re not in trouble, you’re not having fun.”

“And I heard about you having sex with Tommy Holloway.”

“Who told you that?” Lutie asked, her anger shifting into fury.

“Just some kids at school.”

“Did they also tell you that I snorted cocaine, got drunk, danced naked at a party in Tommy Holloway’s basement while his folks were out of town? And that I went down on both Tommy and his brother?”

“No.” Fate looked stunned. “Did you?”

“I wasn’t even invited to the party, but that’s the lie Margie Holcomb and her crowd told all over school. That’s why I got kicked off the gymnastics squad.”

“I thought you quit because the school nurse said you’d damaged your rotator cuff.”

“That’s what I told Floy. If she’d heard the lie, she’d probably have believed it. Besides, I wouldn’t have sex of
any
kind with Tommy Holloway or his brother or anyone else in that school.”

“Then why did you hide condoms in your dresser drawer?”

“You crap-head! You snooped in my room!”

“Lutie, it’s a fact that fifty-three percent of all eleventh graders have had sex at least once.”

“You know what? I think you just make stuff up. Just say the first thing that pops into your pea-size brain so everyone will say how smart you are.”

“I didn’t make it up.” He twisted around, leaned across his seat, and grabbed
The Book of Facts
. “I’ll prove it.”

“You’re not gonna prove anything.”

Fate flipped pages until he found what he was looking for. “Here it is!” He held the book so Lutie could see.

“I told you to knock it off.”

“Look at it,” he said, pointing to the lines.

Suddenly Lutie grabbed the book from his hands, then rolled down her window.

“Don’t do it, Lutie. You throw that out and—”

“And what? Just what’ll you do, smartass?”

Fate knew better than to go for the book, so in a defensive move, he grabbed her teddy bear from the dash and rolled his window down, too.

“Don’t even think about it, Fate.”

“Okay, you hand me the book and I’ll give you your dumb bear.”

Fate, more trusting than his sister, tentatively offered the bear. Just when he thought she was going to trade, she grabbed for the bear and then chucked the book out her window. But she was too late. Mr. PawPaw went flying.

“You shit! You little shit!” She slammed on the brakes and pulled onto the shoulder. “I’m going to kill you.”

When the car stopped, they both jumped out and ran back down the highway. Fate found his book at the edge of a bar ditch, pages fluttering in the wind. Lutie retrieved her bear from a puddle in the middle of the road.

Both stomped back to the car, each trying to outdistance the other. When Lutie broke into a run, so did Fate, because he knew if she beat him, she’d drive away, leaving him behind.

When Lutie got in, she put the bedraggled Mr. PawPaw in her lap while Fate tried to smooth the wet and wrinkled pages of his book.

Barely able to control her rage, Lutie zipped back into the traffic and they rode in silence for the next half hour, both sullen, each wanting to hurt the other.

Lutie was stuck behind a slow-moving pickup when she spotted a man standing beside the highway gesturing for a ride. The late-model car parked on the shoulder behind him was missing its left rear tire.

When she slowed the Pontiac and pulled onto the shoulder fifty yards in front of the disabled car, Fate began to shake his head.

“No, Lutie. Don’t do this!”

“What’s wrong, little boy?” she taunted. “You scared?”

“You know this is stupid,” he said, but by then she’d brought the Pontiac to a stop and the man, carrying a metal toolbox, was trotting toward them.

He was tall and powerfully built, his frame too large for the cheap leather jacket straining across his chest. He had a shock of curly black hair, and even though it was raining, he was wearing sunglasses.

When he reached the car, Lutie rolled down her window and smiled. “Looks like you’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah. How about a ride?”

Without waiting for a response, he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat behind her.

“My name’s Michael,” he said as he took off the shades and caught Lutie studying him in her rearview mirror.

He was in his late thirties, years older than she’d first thought. And there was something about his eyes that made her uncomfortable.

“I’m Lutie,” she said as she pulled back onto the highway.

“And who are you?” He jabbed a finger into the back of Fate’s head. “You her boyfriend?”

Fate didn’t answer, didn’t turn, just sat rigidly facing front.

“My brother,” Lutie said.

“Where you two going?” he asked.

“Las Vegas.”

“Hey, what a break. That’s where I’m headed. I’ll ride along with you.”

“What about your car?”

“Hell, that’s not mine, I wouldn’t be caught dead in a junker like that, I drive a Jag, so does Jodie Foster, I used to go out with her, did you see
Silence of the Lambs
, man, I loved that dude who skinned those girls alive.” He spoke in machine-gun bursts, his words ricocheting from one thought to another. “See, there’s some things you gotta know about hitching, little tricks like keepin’ your shirttail tucked in your pants, let your shoulders droop like you’re not expectin’ anyone to stop for your ass, better luck when it’s raining, or finding yourself a stalled car, broke down or wrecked, it don’t matter, then you stand beside it and look real pitiful, you want me to drive?”

“No, uh . . .”

“Why, you think I’d crash this tanker into a slab of concrete, throw you through the windshield, cut off your head, hell, I used to drive race cars, beat Richard Petty out down in Florida in ’96, felt kind of bad about takin’ the title away from him ’cause Rich’s one of my best buds, but he can’t win ’em all, that’s the way I look at it , so I—”

“What race was that?” Fate asked. “The one in Florida?”

“Ain’t but one race that counts down there, the Daytona.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lutie saw Fate begin to flip pages in his fact book.

“I got out of the racing game after I smashed up on the eighth lap of the Indy, lost a kidney, ruptured spleen, both lungs punctured, broken back, right leg snapped in two at the knee, they said I’d never walk again, they kept pumpin’ blood into me, stopped breathing twice during surgery, let me tell you, once you look death in the face, nothin’s ever the same again ’cause—”