“No, baby. Not this time. You’re gonna stay with grandma and gramps, okay?” Eli’s face crumpled and his eyes filled right on cue.
“I wanna come!” he protested tearfully.
“I know, but I won’t be home until late and it won’t be fun for you, buddy.”
“It will be fun! I like to stay up late!” he squeezed his legs tighter and his arms were like a vise around my neck.
“Eli, stop,” I laughed. “Grandpa said he would watch John Wayne and the cowboys with you. And I’ll bet Grandma will make popcorn too. Okay?” Eli shook his head vehemently, and I could see he wasn’t going to cooperate. I’d left him too often lately.
“MOM! Help!” I projected my voice so that my mom would hear, wherever she was.
“Go on, George! We’ve got him.” My dad’s voice came from the back of the house and I walked with Eli in my arms until I reached my parents’ room. My dad was stretched out on the bed, remote in hand, boots off, his cowboy hat still perched on his head. He greeted us with a smile and patted the bed, coaxing Eli to join him.
“Come on, wild man. Sit by Grandpa. Let’s see if we can find a good cowboy show.”
Eli released my neck and slid from my body reluctantly, falling in a forlorn little heap on the bed. He hung his head to let me know he wasn’t happy, but at least he was accepting. I kissed his head quickly and pulled back immediately so he couldn’t grab me again. His arms could be like sticky tentacles.
“We’re watching cowboy shows, Mommy. No mommies allowed.” Eli pouted, excluding me like I was excluding him. Then he crossed his arms and sniffled, and I met my dad’s gaze with a sigh.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said softly and he winked at me.
“You heard him. No mommies allowed. Get out, girl,” he repeated with a smile.
I flew through the house and out the back door, side-stepping chickens and my mom’s two guinea hens, Dame and Edna, flipping back my hair and yanking open the door to Myrtle in a matter of seconds. When the door closed, I turned the key, and the old truck roared to life, blaring Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind” from the speakers. I loved the song and paused for a second, listening. This station always played country oldies. I felt like a country oldie myself sometimes. I was twenty-two years old, but lately I felt like I was forty-five. With a big sigh, I slumped forward and rested my head on the steering wheel, letting the song wash over me, just for a minute. I hated leaving Eli. It was always an ordeal. Right now, I just needed to catch my breath. There was no silence in my life. Ever. No time to breathe.
Tonight I just wanted to be young and beautiful and maybe dance with a couple of cute cowboys and pretend I had only myself to worry about, even pretend I was looking for a man like the other girls were. I wasn’t. Eli was the only man in my life. But tonight, it would be nice to be held for a little while. Maybe the band would even play this song. I would request it.
Gordon finished wishing for a mind-reader and the next song in the line-up was about mommas not letting their babies grow up to be cowboys. I laughed a little. My baby was already a cowboy. Too late.
I sighed once more and raised my head from the wheel. I checked my rearview mirror, flipped down the visor and looked at my reflection, and finally slicked on some gloss and smacked my lips together. Then I put the truck in reverse and began to back out. Time to go. The girls would already be there, and I was running late, as usual.
It felt like hitting a curb. There was a thump and a bounce. Not even a very big bounce. Not even a very big thump. But something. I swore, and checked my rear-view again, wondering what in the world I’d run over.
I stepped out of the truck, and my eyes were instantly drawn to the tire. A black piece of something was wrapped up around it. A trash bag? Had I hit the trash can? I slammed the truck door and took one step. Just a single step. And suddenly I knew what it was. It was Eli’s cape. Eli’s Batman cape was wrapped around the tire.
Eli’s cape. The cape Eli was wearing. But Eli was inside. Eli was sitting with my dad, watching the cowboys. I fell to my knees, scrambling, desperate, knowing I had to look. I couldn’t look. I had to look . . .
Moses
WHEN SHE FINISHED, I rolled off of her and sat up. She didn’t move. She kept her arms crossed over her chest where I’d kept them pinned while she’d talked, her voice a harsh whisper in my ear. Her hair had come completely loose from her braid and was spread around her head in wild disarray. She looked like the painting I liked by Arthur Hughes. The Lady of Shalott – Georgia looked like the Lady of Shalott, hands folded, hair fanned out around her, eyes blank.
But her eyes weren’t blank now. They were closed and tears dripped down the sides of her face. Her chest rose and fell like she’d just run a marathon. I put my hand on my own thundering heart and turned away from her, unable to climb to my feet. Unable to do anything but rest my head on my knees.
And then Eli showed me the rest.
Georgia’s head lay against the wheel of an old pick-up truck and music poured out the windows. I was looking at her from an odd angle, as if I sat on the ground behind the rusted bumper. Georgia’s hair was sleek and long, shiny and clean like she’d just blown it dry and was heading out for someplace special. She opened her eyes and popped down the visor to check the color on her lips. She rubbed them together and shot the visor back into place. My view changed as if the eyes through which I saw altered their position. I was staring at the back of the truck, at the tailgate that was hanging down. It was still so high. The picture bobbled as if I were attempting to climb. The engine roared and the view changed yet again, abruptly, awkwardly. Wheels, undercarriage.