I lasted about three seconds.

As it turned out, Misty kept a box of condoms in the glove box.

The second time, I lasted maybe a minute.

But the third time, boy, that was something. And Misty seemed to agree.

Afterward, I stared up into the clouds and felt like the greatest champion in the universe. But yet, at the same time, I felt like the scum that floats at the edge of dead, brackish water. It didn’t make much sense. Despite the nagging, ashamed feeling that I had just jumped naked into a giant mud puddle in front of my grandmother, I felt great. No, better than great. I felt like I could walk into Fat Ernst’s bar, piss all over the floor, and laugh in his face.

Misty planted her bare feet flat on the wet blanket, arched her back, and wriggled into her blue panties. As her left knee brushed my cheek I saw that a long, ragged scar curled out from the inside of her knee and down her calf. I caught her knee and held it still as she reached for her blouse. The scar looked like a white, curving zipper of melted flesh on tan skin. I slid my middle finger down the length of it, letting my other fingers whisper along her bare leg while I concentrated on the subtle bumps and ridges, feeling the strange logic of the contours.

Misty shrugged and buttoned her blouse. “Got bucked off a horse,” she said without any trace of embarrassment or self-consciousness. “Landed on a barbed wire fence and my leg got caught in it.”

The bottom dropped out of my stomach, like falling out of the very top of a tall tree. The thought of her getting hurt hit me like a solid kick in the gut, just below my stomach. I swallowed, found my voice. “If anybody ever hurts you ever again, I’ll kill them,” I said.

She laughed, looked me in the eye, and trailed her fingers down my temple, my cheek. “You’re sweet. I never heard that one before.”

“I mean it,” I said. Then I closed my eyes and kissed her scar.

CHAPTER 16

Misty didn’t drop me off at the restaurant until ten thirty, but I didn’t care that I was late. I felt too goddamn good. We’d kept our distance the whole ride back, kind of sizing each other up for real this time. Neither of us had tried touching the other one. We listened to country music instead. I was getting a little worried when she pulled into the parking lot, worried that I’d somehow done something wrong. After she stopped her truck out by the sign, she leaned over and gave me another long kiss.

I felt better.

I stopped at the top step and gave a little wave as she pulled out of the muddy parking lot. I saw her wave back through the rear window as the Dodge bounced up onto the highway and tore off, back toward the foothills. I realized too late that Grandpa’s 30.06 was still in the gun rack, but that was okay. It just meant that I’d get to see her again. I turned to the front door and realized I still had to face Fat Ernst.

I eased the door open as quietly as I could, feeling a flash of panic at being late. But it passed. I peered around the door and found the bar was empty except for Heck. He swiveled around on the bar stool, staring atme through red, sunken eyes, and greeted me with a tremendous belch that crumbled into wet coughing.

“Morning yourself there, Heck,” I said cheerfully, shutting the door behind me. “You need a napkin or anything?”

He shook his head and gave me the thumbs-up sign. I gave him the thumbs-up right back and moved through the tables. I counted three empty glasses on the bar, each coated in some sort of red, grainy liquid. Bloody Marys. Heck was getting started early. One of the glasses had a little purple umbrella sticking out of it. That was different. Fat Ernst must have been in a good mood as well. “Where’s the boss?” I asked, heading for the kitchen.

Heck jerked his head toward the restrooms. Perfect, I thought. All I have to do is collect up these dirty glasses and retreat into the kitchen before Fat Ernst gets out of the bathroom. That way, I could claim I’d been here for at least fifteen, twenty minutes. “Be right back,” I told Heck and ducked through the swinging doors. Once inside the kitchen, I stood next to the refrigerator and stretched, reaching up to the ceiling, standing on my tiptoes. Grandpa’s boots felt a little stiff, but comfortable. My body felt loose, relaxed, damn near strong. I grabbed the gray plastic bin under the sink and headed back out to the bar.

Heck hadn’t moved. He sat, leaning back against the bar, staring out the front windows. I followed his gaze and watched a shadow appear at the front windows. Darkness gathered at the top of the window and grew as a soft blanket of white noise enveloped the building. Rain spattered against the back wall and marched north across the roof. The wall of black clouds rolled out across the highway, slid over the foothills, and melted into utter blackness above the eastern mountains. Raindrops started landing in the flooded parking lot, creating thousands, millions of muddy explosions.

Heck swiveled back around, shaking his head. “Goddamn rain. There goes any business for the day.” He sighed, then said, “What the hell. Might as well just have a couple more.”

I was reaching for Heck’s empty glasses when a deep, booming crack of thunder shook the air. That’s when I saw Heck’s plate. It was sitting directly in front of him and the glasses surrounded it like bloodied cops guarding a horrible crime scene. There was a lot of yellow wiped around the plate, and I remembered that Heck liked his eggs over easy, just barely cooked. Mixed into the bright, primary-color yellow were a few bits of crust and what looked like the chewed ends of a couple of hamburger patties.

Where had that food come from?

Fat Ernst appeared in the restroom doorway, patting his huge belt buckle affectionately. I jerked my hand away from Heck’s plate as if I’d been stung. Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I started grabbing glasses and stacked them in the plastic bin. Fat Ernst stomped through the dining area, hitching up his jeans as he barreled along like a freighter in heavy seas. “Mornin’. How’d it go last night?”

The question caught me off guard. What the hell did he mean? I shrugged. “Uh, okay, I guess.” It came out more as a question than an answer, but Fat Ernst didn’t seem to notice. At least he didn’t seem pissed that I was late.

“Good, good.” He stopped next to me and Heck and fished around in the front pocket of his jeans for a second, then reached out and grabbed my left hand. I tried not to flinch, but if I did, he didn’t notice. Or at least, he pretended not to notice. He just slapped something dry and crinkled into my left palm. Then he waddled around the end of the bar and came toward us on the other side.

I risked a glance down at my palm. A fifty dollar bill was wedged into the crease of skin between my thumb and forefinger. I almost dropped it in surprise. “Yeah, last night was fine,” I said.

“Glad to hear it.” Fat Ernst met my eyes for a moment and I thought I caught a flash of a smirk on his fat face, but it was gone before I had a chance to register anything clearly. He winked at Heck. “How you doin’ there, old man? Looks like you might need another one.”

Heck nodded, as if this were the solution to a complex mathematical problem. “Yeah, you know, I think you might be right.” He glanced over at the jukebox. “Now, if you could just manage to put a couple of songs from the Sons of the Pioneers on that goddamn jukebox of yours, hell, I’d die a happy man. You know, something like ‘Water.’” Heck started singing in a high, warbling tone as I grabbed his plate. “All day I face the barren waste, without the taste of … water …” He placed both hands flat on the bar and drew himself up, as if his head were attached to a fishing line that was being reeled up to the surface. Heck echoed himself in a high, falsetto voice, “… water … water …”