Nobody but Us (13 page)

“Okay. It’s okay. You’re all right and we’ll wait. It’ll be great, perfect, when it’s time. Okay?”

I press my cheek into his chest and stare at the sliver of light coming through the center slit of the drapes. The drapes are yellow, sunshine yellow. There’s a window behind them. An opening through the wall.

ZOE’S IN MY BED. AIN’T BEEN A BETTER THING TO wake up to since … ever. She’s still sleeping, her hair’s swirled all over her face and her pillow. Ain’t a sound in the room ’cept breathing.

I can’t stop myself from wondering what that bastard did to her. How far he took it. What more he did than plow her to the ground with his fists. Maybe that was all it took to make her afraid of everything, of me. But thinking there could’ve been something worse makes me wish I’d killed him when I had the chance.

Thinking she needs more to get through this than a ride out of North Dakota scares the shit outta me.

The girls I’ve known, the girls at the home, the daughters, the girls walking down the street: I could tell when there was something. Some secret, horrible thing. It happens more than it should. The girls at the home talked about it like they were spilling it on some talk show.

But those girls were hard from their experiences. Zoe ain’t like that. She’s a soft thing lying in my bed, breathing mountain-cold morning air. I wrap a piece of her hair around my hand and move my lips to it. There’s something about doing that that I ain’t never felt before. Like I wanna drop the hair and move back. But I don’t.

Her feet poke out from under the blanket. They dangle over the side of the bed. Her toenails are painted in chipped pink polish. Knowing these things about her, that she ain’t painted her nails in a while, that she uses pink polish when she does paint them, these are the things that I wanna know. I’m desperate to know them, all the little things, as quickly as possible. Maybe when there’s nothing left to hide, she won’t be afraid no more.

I pull her to me. She makes a noise, smiles a little, burrows against me. I feel like we got all the time in the world to be here doing this. Ain’t nobody knows we’re here. Who could find us in this mountain town? Even the noon checkout time would stand still for this.

“Morning,” she whispers.

“Hi.”

“What time is it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Good.”

The sun comes in through the slit between the curtains and across our hips. I put my hand over the stripe, push up the sleeve of my shirt with my chin, and kiss her shoulder. The smell of her and me are mingled in that spot.

I don’t care what nobody says about lacy lingerie; there ain’t nothing better than this girl in my T-shirt.

“Zoe?”

“Hm.”

I press my nose gently to her shoulder. “I been thinking about what you said.”

“Hm?” She doesn’t move.

“So, I decided I should see where I was born.”

She doesn’t say nothing.

“Will you come with me?”

“Are you sure?”

“About bringing you along?”

She swats at me but gets nothing but air.

“About seeing where you were born.”

“Yeah. I think so. Why not? I don’t care none about it, but at least you can make sure I come from an upstanding place. Probably should’ve done that before you proposed.”

This time she attacks with her elbow, digging it in my ribs. “Ow!”

“I already know where you come from.”

“And?”

“And I still put up with you. In spite of it.”

“Then you’re crazy.”

“Okay, then. I’m crazy.”

We intertwine our fingers and she pulls them to her chest. I touch my nose to hers.

“I take it back.”

“Hm?”

“You’re perfect.”

She giggles.

“Okay, then.”

I’M NOT QUITE READY TO GET ON THE ROAD AGAIN, even if it means seeing where Will was born. The bed is warm with our bodies. The drapes over the window keep the room in a gently shadowed darkness. We lie in bed a little longer, laughing and touching. I love the way I can curl my body into him and he wraps his whole being around me and we’re like this new breed of animal.

I spend endless minutes tracing his lips with my fingers and drawing my mouth across his stubbly jaw.

“You need to shave,” I whisper. The tone of my voice changes the mood. Four words spoken just below his ear intensify everything. His hands tighten behind my back, pressing my belly closer to his.

He doesn’t answer me except to walk his fingers under the back of his T-shirt and flatten them against my skin. The warmth of his hands spreads beyond his fingers and palm, traveling in a sunburst across my shoulder blades, my ribs, my hips. I feel him in the depths of my body. I’ve never been this close to somebody who loves me.

“Can I ask you something?”

His voice is husky and low in my hair.

“Of course.”

“Your dad. I know he … pushed you around a lot. But did he ever … um, was that all he did? Not that hitting you’s a little thing. But were there other things that he did? To you?”

I pull back. I suppose it’s a natural place to go, to wonder about. But he’s asking me to think about things I don’t want to remember.

“No. Not like that. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood, he would grab me when I walked by and call me Debbie. It wasn’t very often.”

“He thought you were your mom?”

“Sometimes.”

“But he never …”

“No.”

Will brings me back to him and breathes over the top of my head.

“Does it scare you when I touch you?” A slight tremble cracks the smooth timbre of his voice.

His question is presented as self-assured, and I’m surprised when I feel the flush build in my cheeks. I know what’s behind the question. I make myself catch his eyes when I answer.

“Of course not. I trust you. This is all new to me. It’s too good and I don’t know where to put the good. I don’t want to be that way, but I can’t help it. I’m sorry.”

“Never be sorry. I will do anything to make you not scared anymore.”

“I know.” And I do know. No matter what they say about Will and about his past, no matter the anger I sometimes see in him, I know he wants to protect me, would do anything for me. It’s the same way I feel, too: protective of Will, desperate to be the answer he’s looking for. The girl who heals him. Maybe it’s presumptuous to feel that way. But maybe it’s the only way to feel.

We lie there awhile longer, not speaking, not moving, until Will rolls over and checks the alarm clock on the side table.

We reluctantly untangle ourselves, and Will goes out to double-check directions to Elko while I shower. I stand under the fierce spray of water longer than I need to because it feels so good to be clean and I know it will be a couple more days, probably, until the next shower. I’m still in the bathroom, wrapped in a skimpy white towel, when he returns. He doesn’t even take the time to drop the room key but comes straight over, lifts me onto the sink counter, and covers my exposed shoulders with whisper-kisses.

“You do things to me. You don’t even know.”

But I do know if what he’s feeling is anything like the rolling waves that are consuming me now. I grip Will with one hand and the counter with the other and take in a shaky bit of air. Then he lets go, undresses in about five seconds, and steps into the shower with a huge grin.

I feel like a trapeze artist who’s had her bar and ropes taken from her midflight. Will’s kiss and his beautiful naked body and the trembling in my legs are all a little too much to take. I slide off the counter and try to catch myself before I fall to the floor. I’m still unable to pull my eyes away from Will’s shadow through the liner as he reaches for the soap and laughs.

“Are you laughing at me?” I squawk. I laugh, too, my voice sounds so strained. Will’s laughter picks up even more.

“I can’t help it. You make me happy.”

I take one of the glasses on the counter and fill it with cold water from the tap. With a flick of my wrist, I toss the water over the curtain and drop the glass back onto the counter again. Will’s yelp follows me as I sprint out of the bathroom and race to get my clothes on. I’ve managed to get my bra and jeans on when I hear the water turn off.

Will soars across the room and tackles me on the bed. He has no towel and he gleefully rubs his wet skin all over mine. He shakes his head and drops of water fly in all directions from his black hair.

“Stop it! I’m already dry!” We’re laughing so hard that the springs under us squeak in helpless protest. “Get dressed,” I tell him in the sternest voice I can muster, even though I love looking at him.

There are scars and his tattoo and the lines of his ribs to take in. I’m glad he’s comfortable with being naked. I long to stay here and never let him put his clothes on again, just so I can look. The thought heats my chest—I want him to know how I see him, how he makes me feel. I take a hesitant breath. “I like looking at you,” I say. And I try so hard to be brazen and cool when I say it, but I know I’m blushing because of the way he’s smiling at me.

“And I love this way you are. All innocent and sweet.”

I’m proud of the way I am but also mortified that Will has leagues more experience than I do. With life, with … girls. He’s seen too much, done too much. And I’m jealous. I jut my chin out. “I’m not that shy.”

“Yes, you are. It ain’t a bad thing. I love it. You make me feel good. Important. It’s not good to be like me.”

“I love who you are.”

He fixes me with a quiet gaze and doesn’t say anything or kiss me. Just looks at me until every laugh has faded from us, then closes his eyes as though the darkness of a black hole has come upon him and he wants to welcome the vacuum like a friend.

WE CHECK OUT RIGHT BEFORE NOON AND I WALK around the car. Check the tires for tampering. Look up and down the roads. Check the rearview mirror when we leave. Nothing.

Nothing yet? Maybe just nothing and that’s it. Finally got too far to be on anyone’s radar no more.

It’s about three and a half hours to Elko, Nevada. I don’t remember nothing about the town, only that the name of it’s typed on a line on my birth certificate, below the county name and above the box with my mom’s name. There ain’t nothing written on the line marked
father
.

The sun is low and making it hard to see, so we stop after an hour at some run-down thrift store. Next to the glass counter is a rack with sunglasses, and we try some on. They’re two bucks a pop. I get a boring pair of black lenses and black frames, but Zoe, she gets this monstrous pair with rhinestones and cream-colored frames and pink lenses. She’s got thick, dark bangs cut in a straight line across her eyebrows, and her lips make kisses at me. She looks like a movie star.

The lady behind the counter, skin tough and dark as a worn saddle, laughs at us. You can tell she’s a smoker ’cause it’s that laugh-cough-laugh thing smokers do. She waves at us and laughs again after we pay and leave.

“Thank you for my glasses,” Zoe says, flipping the visor down and checking herself out in the mirror.

“They look good on you. Definitely the hottest person to ever wear them.”

We get back on the highway, and the hazy sun ain’t bothering us as much no more. Zoe practically presses her nose against the window to watch the scenery go by. We drove past the Great Salt Lake a while ago and she was pretty bummed with how ugly it was and the gray shore and lake. But there ain’t much better to look at in Nevada. Shrub and bush and more shrub, some mountain a little way off.

Then she’s got bored of the scenery and wants to look at me instead.

“You’re the best-looking thing I’ve seen,” she says, tucking her fingers in mine.

It’s a great compliment and I gotta grin ’cause of that and ’cause her cheeks turn pink.

“Can’t say something nice without blushing?” I tease. “You ain’t gotta problem calling me names.” She swats at me playfully. “I love you. Name-calling and all.”

“I love you,” she tells me.

I think about how much we’ve said that since we left. A lot. I like it. Being loved is this crazy new thing. I can’t get enough of it.

She settles her head on my arm and I turn my attention to the road and to the town that waits for us to drop in like a bomb. I’m not sure what I’m gonna find there, what I’m supposed to find. I don’t even know why Zoe thinks it’s so important to go. What for? Find my roots, discover myself? I don’t even know what the hell that’s supposed to mean. I am who I am. I’m what a whole bunch of years of crap plus this little bit of Zoe has made me.

Just gotta close the door on the place. See what’s left and move on. My mom ain’t gonna be left. I ain’t got no idea whatever happened to her. My grandma never spoke about her once. Not once. The closest I figure she ever got to talking about my mom was when she looked at me across the dinner table, that pitying look on her face, like she was sorry she ever began my line by having a daughter in the first place.