Saturday April 3 2004
Cuyamaca Rancho Park
Their guests arrived two hours before sundown. Eddie heard the faint purring of motorcycle engines in the saddle below, echoing up to them and growing louder as the vehicles approached. He stashed the skin mag he'd been studying into his bag and stepped to the door of the tent. He glanced at Bobby and the L-man, who were talking in low voices by the fire and making no move to greet visitors.
Eddie grinned to himself, wondering which of the tasty numbers Amilee worked with had decided to come along. When the three of them had returned to the diner for dinner, he'd noticed right away that a new stable of hotties had taken over. Danae, their waitress, had been supernice, but another of the girls, the short one with the long dark hair tied back in a tail, had filled cups, cleared dishes, and detoured several times to ask if they needed anything - a lot of unwarranted attention for a table that wasn't hers. Bobby had asked if she knew Amilee, and it turned out all the girls on both shifts hung out together. She'd chatted about her blonde friend from the breakfast shift, the merits of several area campsites, and a bunch of other stuff. She'd tried to engage the L-man in the conversation a couple of times, just to be polite, Eddie supposed. But Bobby's dad had retreated behind his coffee cup and noncommittal remarks.
He adjusted his pants and sauntered to the edge of the road to wait.
The first vehicle to round the gentle curve was Amilee's blue crotch rocket, and she looked just as fine stretched out on it as she had on her previous visit. Eddie smiled and gave a little wave. Don't look too eager. Play it cool.
Then the second bike rolled into view, and he thought there'd been a mistake. It was a touring bike of some kind, kind of old-fashioned, with no fairing or fiberglass to cut the wind or streamline its shape. It mounted a weird-shaped center headlight, rectangular instead of round. Its curved handlebars ended a foot or so above the sides of the tank, which was black with a pair of gold wings on the side. The exhaust and plumbing on the engine were finished in chrome and brushed aluminum. He didn't know much about big bikes, but he didn't think it was a Harley; it didn't sound right. Its rider, sitting upright, wore blue jeans and heavy shoes, a black leather jacket and gloves with the knuckles cut out, and a black visored helmet with a tinted faceplate. She brought a guy along instead?
Amilee stopped at the edge of the road, shut off her engine, and, still astride, took off her helmet. She gave Eddie a grin which slid up the slope to the campfire. "Hi, guys." She dismounted, swinging a leg behind her and giving him a lovely glute flash, and unlocked her seat. She locked her helmet strap underneath, leaving the brain bucket hanging outside. Then she unstrapped a small bag from her rear fender and swung it by the strap; Eddie decided that, if it was an overnight bag, Amy liked to travel light. She took a couple steps toward the fire, as if she'd forgotten she'd arrived with someone, then stopped and turned back as the black bike purred to a stop beside hers.
The rider shut her down and dropped the kickstand, then unbuckled the black helmet and lifted it off. Eddie felt the air go out of him like a punctured tire. The second rider was a girl, too. Sort of.
"Eddie," Amilee said, "this is Cally. You two come up when you're ready." She hurried up the slope.
Eddie tried not to stare. He knew that the fems at the Darwin Academy, and the ones he shared a roof with at the beach house - Anna included - had raised his standards for female pulchritude. But he was sure that, by any standard, Cally was as plain as an old shoe. Her face was round and soft-looking, and the kindest thing that could be said about her features was that they were all there and in the right places. She wasn't ugly or disfigured, but there was nothing about her to hold the eye. Her eyebrows were heavy and thick enough to make him wonder if she shaved between them. Her hair was medium brown, clean but without the shampoo-ad luster of Rox's or Sarah's or Kat's, and looked like it would be shoulder-length if she untied it. No makeup he could see. Her look was total butch dyke. At this point, he kind of hoped she was.
Cally's eyebrows went up as she watched her friend hustle away. Then she turned her attention to Eddie. "So. Eddie. Amy says you want to learn to ride." Voice surprisingly feminine.
"Well…" His eyes strayed to Amilee's bike.
Still astride her machine, she turned to perch her helmet on the seat's low backrest. The seat was long and oddly shaped, the front half sort of down between the front and back wheels, but the back half sitting higher over the rear tire. Eddie realized that it allowed a shorter passenger to see over the driver and view the scenery. "You don't want to learn on that. You can't see anything if you're flat on your belly. And you can balance easier sitting up." She swung a leg over the tank and stood; he noted that she was half a head taller than he was, maybe five-nine. "Climb on." She unzipped the front of her jacket, and Eddie couldn't help giving her an instant's glance. Her figure was as unremarkable as her face, not overweight, but thick-waisted and mannish.
He took a deep breath and surrendered. If Sarah could see, she'd be laughing her ass off. He grasped a handlebar and swung a leg over.
"Don't sit yet," she said. "Stand the bike up and see if you can put your feet flat on the road."
He took hold of both handlebars and complied, and found that his butt compressed the seat a little, but he was able to stand astride with no problem. She nodded. "Good. A new rider is most likely to dump coming to a stop or taking off, specially if he can't reach the ground without leaning over." She smiled, showing small even teeth like dentures. "Don't want any scratches on either of you, right?" She pulled the bike backward. He stepped back, a little clumsily, and had about half a second to wonder what she was doing before he felt the seat rise under him, pushing him up on his toes. The rear wheel lifted off the gravel and clunked into a solid rest. "Center stand. Okay, put your feet on the pegs."
He lifted his feet. The bike held steady as if it was cemented to the ground. His thighs and upper arms were now horizontal, and slightly spread by the wide tank and handlebars. It put him in mind of riding a horse English-style. "What is this thing, exactly?"
"This," she said, "is a 1984 Honda Magna. Eleven hundred cc's, almost twice the size of Amy's scoot. It's a little much for a beginner, I think, but it's a perfect bike for a girl with riding experience. Very low maintenance – just mind the tire wear, tune up the carbs and change the oil every spring, and keep an eye on the seals, and it'll last forever."
He took his hands off the grips. "No offense, but I was hoping to take my first ride on something a little less reliable and a little more…"
"Capable?" Cally's eyelids drooped. "Look at the gauges, Eddie."
He looked down at the big dual gauges between the grips. The one on the right caught his eye first, the one labeled RPM X 1000. Ten grand redline? Then he looked at the other, the speedometer, and when he saw the top-end figure, he checked carefully to make sure the numbers were miles-per and not kilometers-per. "Is that for real?"
"Realer than real. I've pegged it. Not often. You need a road as straight and clear as a runway, and the wind'll tear you right off the seat if you don't lay down and brace your feet on the back pegs. And it feels like your tires aren't touching the road, just floating an inch off the asphalt on a cushion of air. Scary, but how could I not, at least once? I'm not about to let you do that, though." She caressed the headlight housing. "But my baby will take you from dead stop to legal limit in about five seconds, if you can hang on to the grips, and you'll only be in second gear. And legal limit may not seem all that fast to a cager, but it's way different when the wind is squeezing tears from your eyes, and your pant legs are flapping so hard they buzz, and the road is going by eight inches under your shoes like a giant sanding belt."
"Cager?"
"You know." She flicked a forefinger at the rental car. "Bumpers with shock absorbers, steel rails in the doors, airbags all around. Most people don't even drive with the window down, just go from point A to point B looking at the windshield like it's a TV screen. It's no wonder you see so many of them eating or reading or texting or yapping on the phone. Driving a car is boring."
She cupped a hand around the end of the handlebar and met his eyes. "Bikes are quick and maneuverable, and if he stays alert, a practiced rider can avoid a lot of accidents a car can't. But a motorcycle doesn't forgive human error. The only protective equipment is what you wear. And it's just amazing how hard it is for somebody driving a car in traffic to see a motorcycle. They'll turn in front of you, pull out in front of you, follow a foot behind you doing sixty, even change lanes right next to you and shove you to the shoulder." She smiled. "But then, there's the wind, and being able to hear birdsong while you ride, and a view everywhere you turn your head, like flying along on a magic carpet."
Eddie laid his hands back on the grips. "Sign me up."
-0-
"Sure you're okay with this?" Amilee looked back over her shoulder at the campsite as it disappeared around the bend. "I could tell you didn't want to leave him alone."
Bobby kept walking up the road towards the ridge top. "It's okay. My dad's kind of a loner anyway." He had misgivings, just the same. But not about his father. He'd told Eddie he didn't want to be alone with this girl, and here they were, headed for the most secluded spot within walking distance.
Amilee had chatted at the fire for maybe ten minutes before she'd invited Bobby to share the sunset from the top of the ridge. He'd glanced downslope at the impromptu parking area, to see Eddie sitting on Amy's girlfriend's cruiser, easing it forward. The girl had given it a little push to send him down the road. The ape was grinning like a little kid staying upright without the training wheels for the first time. No help there, he'd decided.
"Three's a crowd," his father had said with his eyes to the flames. He'd been withdrawn – more withdrawn than usual, rather – since they'd come back from their walk before dinner. Even the extra attention he'd gotten from the girls at the diner hadn't moved him. "If you come back after dark, stick to the road and make some noise, and the critters should leave you alone."
So now he was trudging up this hill for the second time today, watching the sun make for the treetops to his left and the stars just beginning to show in the east. They'd have to walk all the way to the top for a clear view, he decided; though they should make it in plenty of time, it meant they'd be coming back in full dark. He wondered if the moon would be out to give them some light. If it had been Sarah walking beside, he thought, she could tell him when the moon would rise, and where, and what phase it would be in. Then again, if Sarah were here, she'd probably be taking this walk with someone else.
"Pretty," Amilee said, glancing at the wildflower-dotted hillside.
"It gets prettier a little later in the year, my dad tells me. You've never been up here?"
"Sure. And it's always pretty." She shifted the shoulder strap of her fabric bag, about the right size for a camera and lenses.
"What's in the bag?" That you couldn't leave at the campfire?
"Oh, just stuff. Be prepared, and all that."
-0-
"You learn quick." Cally's voice was raised a little in the thirty-mile-an-hour wind, even though neither of them was wearing a helmet and her chin was almost on his shoulder. "Stop sign coming up. Apply the rear brake first, don't forget."
"Got it." Eddie pressed gently on the rear-brake pedal before he squeezed the hand control that closed the front disc. He worked the other hand and foot as well, taking the bike back down the gears. A light on the tiny instrument panel flashed as he passed neutral on the way to first. The bike reached the sign, stopped, and seemed to pause, as if deciding whether to fall over, and he put his feet down before the first wobble.
"Smooth," she said into his ear. "You're a natural. Really." She kept her feet on the pegs and her ungloved hands resting one over the other on his stomach, letting him do the balancing. She'd told him the worst thing a passenger could do was lean unexpectedly, which could throw the bike out of control. So anyone inexperienced riding pillion should sit against the backrest like she was strapped to it. Or an experienced rider could stay close to the driver instead and move with him, which allowed for better control of the bike. Cally was practicing the latter method, pressing up against his back and circling him in her arms, which, she'd told him, made it easier to anticipate his moves.
Eddie grinned. "I got to get me one of these." Her hands were warm through the cotton of his tee. Her voice was warm too, and her breath on the side of his head stirred the hair resting on his ear. The grin fell off when he glanced in the handlebar mirror at his passenger's face. He engaged the clutch carefully, and thought he'd made a smooth takeoff, but the bike lurched and stalled and he put his feet down hastily as it tipped. Cally tightened her grip for a moment as he fought gravity, then relaxed when he brought their ride back to vertical.
"Whups." She gave his stomach a little pat. "Happens. You recovered, that's what counts. It needs just a little more gas on takeoff with a double load."
Eddie swallowed and took off again, this time without mishap. Once they were purring down the road in third, he said, "So, you work at the restaurant?"
"I cooked your eggs this morning, Over Easy. All six of them. And the double order of hash browns, pound of bacon, and half a loaf of toast."
"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right?"
"And for dinner, two appetizers, a twenty-ounce T-bone with all the trimmings, and two orders of chocolate cake and ice cream."
"I have an active metabolism. What made you decide to come out here today?"
"Oh," she said, "Just looking for something different to do, I guess. Turn left at the next intersection, and we'll cross back over. Stick to the park roads. We don't want to risk the highway."
"Traffic?" After five minutes' instruction on the center stand and a couple of miles solo, Eddie felt ready for any challenge.
"That too, but you don't want to get pulled over without an endorsement." She straightened a bit. "Oops. I never asked. Do you even have a license?"
Which is another way of asking my age. "You bet." Even though I'm years too young to apply for one. Thank you, Mr. L. "I know I'm not supposed to ask, but how old are you?"
"Sokay. Twenty-two this June. You?"
"Twenty-one-and–a-half," he said, his lie matching the birth date on his license.
"Hm. Good thing this isn't a date. Somebody might call me a cradle robber."
Eddie didn't rise to the little joke. Without looking into the mirror, he said, "Cally… do you like guys?"
"Well, I like you. Does that count?" She ran her fingertips up and down the ridges of his abs; when he stiffened, she gave his pec a little squeeze. "Mmm. Nice. You must work out a lot, huh?" She snorted in his ear. "Don't worry about it, Eddie. Just enjoy the ride and don't think so much." Her hands settled loosely over his navel again.
Eddie negotiated the unmarked intersection without stopping, swinging left with Cally pressed up against his back. Up ahead, the road they were traveling crossed the two-lane highway that followed the saddle bisecting the park into east and west halves; a stop sign marked the intersection. Eddie brought the bike to another smooth stop, and Cally signaled her approval with a brief squeeze. He was about to take off across the road and head up the hill to the campsite when she said, "Wait. I think I know that car."
He looked south, and saw a pair of headlights on the road, unusually high and close-spaced. After a moment, he saw that the headlights belonged to an old Jeep with its top down and doors off. They waited while it rolled up. The driver and sole occupant was the dark-haired girl he'd been half expecting earlier, now out of her uniform. Very much out of uniform, he decided: she was wearing a short belly-baring sleeveless tank, and cutoffs that were short enough to make Eddie swallow, artfully razor-slashed along the sides to show even more skin. He noticed the shoelace-thin strap of her thong riding high above the denim on one hip, and swallowed again.
The Jeep reached them and stopped. "Hey," the girl said.
"Laurel," Cally said. "You changed your mind. Again."
"Guess so. Hi, Eddie."
"Hi," he said, wondering how this was going to play out. He felt reluctant to just brush Cally off for another girl, but…
"Where's everybody?" Laurel glanced to her right, uphill towards the campsite.
"Bobby and Amy are paired off, natch," Cally said. "He's probably alone at the campfire by now. Are you sure about this, girlfriend?"
Eddie frowned, confused. Who are they talking about? Not…
"Not really," the little beauty said. "I'm just sure I don't want to go home tonight. Wish me luck." She turned the Jeep up the road and rolled away.
"Something wrong, Eddie?" Cally's voice was amused rather than upset. She placed a hand over his ear, and he knew she was catching enough heat from it to warm her fingers. She chuckled. "I don't think we should head back to the campfire right away. Switch with me, and I'll take you to dinner."
"I already had dinner."
"I know how you eat. You're ready for another one. Besides, maybe you can drag the waitress and reinflate your ego."
-0-
Lynch looked up from rebuilding the campfire to watch an open Jeep CJ-7 roll up to join the trio of vehicles parked at the side of the road. I wonder if there's a per-campsite limit, and what it would cost to get the park ranger to overlook it. Then the driver slid out the open side, and he blinked. Good God, what young girls wear in public these days. He returned his attention to the fire. "Hello. Laurel, right?"
"Right. S'prised you remember." She approached the fire and held her hands out, warming them. "Where is everybody?"
"Bobby and Amilee headed up the hill to watch the sunset. Eddie and the other young lady – We didn't get introduced-"
"Cally. I saw them on the way up."
"Our hikers haven't been gone long. I'm sure you could catch up."
"If it's all the same, I'll wait here."
Lynch stepped back from the rising flames and sat down on a log. "Be my guest. I'm afraid I've got nothing to offer you but the fire, though."
"Sokay. I've got a cooler in back of the Jeep. Beer and bottled water. You like Corona?"
He looked across the fire at her. "Laurel, are you old enough to drink?"
"Didn't say I wanted one."
"If you're not old enough to drink, you're not old enough to buy."
"My boyfriend left them in the fridge. It was either bring them with or throw them out. Do you want one or not?"
He stood. "I'll get it."
She rubbed her hands together and smiled into the fire. "Bring the cooler. It'll save a walk later."
Lynch found the cooler, a large one that filled the small cargo compartment behind the rear seats, sitting next to a large camera bag. The cooler's top had dual lids; he lifted one and found bottles of Corona and Evian packed in ice. He closed it up, carried it to the fire, and set it down behind the girl. "Looks like it'd make a good seat." He removed one of the Mexican pales and returned to his log.
"Made for it, matter of fact." She lifted the lid, presenting her rear end to him briefly as she bent over. She removed a Corona and sat again as she twisted off the cap. "Didn't say I didn't want one, either."
"Laurel…"
"Uh-oh. My dad gets the same look on his face when he's about to give me a lecture."
"Glad to hear you've got a dad who cares."
"Actually, I think he just likes giving lectures." She hoisted the beer in salute and took several deep swallows. Then she set the bottle into a recess in the lid made for the purpose, placed her palms flat on the lid, and stretched out her bare legs. She had sandals on her feet: not flip-flops, but lightweight leather footgear, and almost as easily removed. She pulled down a heel strap with a toe, kicked it off, then repeated with the other, and pointed her toes prettily toward the fire. "I know you're Bobby's dad, but I didn't get your name at the restaurant."
"John. Friends call me Jack."
"You have a lot of friends?"
"More than I deserve." He sipped at the brew, which was a great deal lighter than his usual taste; his Mexican beer of choice was Dos Equis. "Where's the boyfriend?"
"Elsewhere. Mind if I ask a question?"
"Never, as long as I'm not required to answer."
She studied him for a moment. "The scars. What happened?"
He considered how much truth to give her. "It happened when I was in the service, before you were in kindergarten. I'm still not supposed to talk about it."
"What, it's classified or something?"
"Yes."
"Hm. A guy tells me a story like that, I usually just roll my eyes. But you, I believe. Do they bother you?"
"Not nearly as much as they bother everybody else." He took another swallow. "So, how long has he been gone?"
"Who?"
"The boyfriend. I presume you're not clearing his stuff out of your fridge just to be tidy."
Laurel pulled her bottle out of its recess. "Rather not talk about that right now. I hate it when I'm on a date and he can't shut up about the ex-girlfriend."
Lynch swallowed his initial response to that while she took a swig. Looking past her, he saw that the sky was now a lovely turquoise, and the wispy clouds turned to gold by the sun setting in the trees behind him. He knew it would only last a few moments, though, before it disappeared. The most beautiful things were always short-lived. "Still going to school?"
"Community college in the mornings, maybe five credits a term. Rate I'm going, I may end up the school's oldest graduate." Laurel set the bottle between her thighs and leaned back, again placing her palms on the lid. "So, what do you do for a living?"
"I'm retired."
"Made your pile early, huh? What are you, forty? Forty-five?"
"Thanks. I'm fifty-eight."
"That's hard to believe."
"Truth." He remembered a night, seemingly half a lifetime ago, though it had scarcely been two months, when he'd been alone with another young girl with odd notions of modesty. He added, "Old enough to be your grandfather, I think."
She picked her beer up and started peeling the bottle's label. "I sure picked the wrong outfit to wear up here, didn't I?"
"There's plenty of wood. I'll keep the fire stoked up."
She scoffed. "I'm not cold. But I should've… you haven't looked below my neck since I walked up. Are you embarrassed?"
"No." He lifted his butt off the log and leaned forward to rearrange the fire and add a few sticks. "Above the neck is the most interesting part of you."
She smiled at that. "My face?"
"That too," he admitted.
"So I'm not a total bimbo?"
"No." He put some more wood on the fire. "It must be tough for you sometimes. Girls with your looks have a hard time getting taken seriously. I think some of them must just give up."
"Especially the ones who flash skin for tips. Don't see many of them reading Camille Paglia."
"They should. She has a lot of good things to say about women who show skin for money."
She stared across the fire at him for a minute or two while he fussed with the coals, making the fresh wood blaze up. When he sat back on his log and picked his half-empty bottle from the ground, she said, "It's not usually this hard."
"What?"
"Figuring out whether a guy's hitting on me. I can't decide whether you're for real, or just real smooth."
He hoisted his bottle. "Let me make the decision easy. You need to leave before you touch another of these. And I'm not leaving this side of the fire until you do." He took a draught, nearly emptying the bottle.
"Hey, sorry. Wasn't trying to piss you off. " She stared at her bottle. "Not really sure what I was trying to do. But not that."
"You didn't. Laurel, I don't understand what you came up here for, but I know it's not me. And I don't think you should drink any more, not with a long downhill drive in the dark ahead of you."
"Jack." She leaned forward, almost hunched over. "I didn't come up here to jump your bones. Not even. I've never even dated a guy over twenty-one. But … you're not much like the forty-year-olds who come in looking for a big meal and some eye candy. I just had this weird feeling about you, like you'd be good company if I could get you to talk. But I could hardly get a word out of you at dinner, and I … guess I was looking for a way to shake you loose." She ran a palm along the top of her bare thigh. "Older guys at the diner always make a big deal about my legs. I just wanted you to talk to me. But I only know one way to reach a guy, I guess."
"I doubt that. But I'm not easy to reach at the best of times, I'm afraid. And right now I've got a lot on my mind."
She murmured something into her bottle.
"What was that?"
"I put his stuff on my front porch and left a message on his phone before I came up here. If he doesn't pick it up tonight, it goes to the curb, and if he doesn't leave my key, I'm changing the locks. I haven't seen him in a week. The son of a bitch won't even tell me we're broke up. He just doesn't answer when I call or text, the frickin coward, and he's never home when I drive by."
"At least he didn't drop you on the curb," Lynch muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing." He shifted on the log. "Laurel, I've got a very bad track record with women. I can see you're hurting. But I think it would be… hypocritical to commiserate with you about what a jerk your boyfriend is."
She stared across the fire at him. "Your idea, or hers?"
"We sort of took turns." He stared into the flames.
She digested that for a moment. "At least you're busted up about it, not looking for strange before her clothes are out of your crib." She looked at him in silence for a few seconds more. "Would you… would you mind if I sit over there?"
-0-
"Well," Amy said, "we're here." The road swung south just before it reached the crest, giving them a great view of the hills to the west. The sun hung just above the ridge, and the clouds all around were beginning to turn to gold. "I love sunsets, even though they kind of make me sad sometimes."
"They do?"
She smiled. "Only when I'm alone." She unzipped her bag and stuck a hand in. "I got some chron."
Bobby's nostrils flared. "No, thanks."
"Mind if I?" When he didn't object, she brought out a large prescription bottle. She unscrewed the cap and shook out a disposable lighter and a couple of slender joints into her palm. She lit one up and took a toke before she put the lighter and the other joint back in the bottle, replacing the cap. She took another hit and offered him the joint again. "Sure?"
He shook his head. "I quit a while back."
"A while back," she said, amused. "How long ago was 'a while back', old man?"
He studied the reddening sun. "I was ten."
The joint paused an inch from her lips. "Word?"
"Yeah."
"Dad caught you and kicked your ass, right?"
"No. He doesn't even know." He added, "I used to buy it with stuff I stole."
She snorted and fisted his shoulder. "Now I know you're lying. You don't look like you'd bring back a library book late."
"Saw the error of my ways." He found a tree, an evergreen rising from a carpet of brown needles, and sat with his back to the trunk. The needles were fragrant, and a little prickly under his hands, but felt soft enough under his butt through his jeans. "Your jacket in that bag?" She wasn't wearing the black leather jacket she'd arrived in; he couldn't recall when she'd taken it off.
"No. You cold?"
"I don't get cold." Not anymore. "But I bet the temp will drop like a stone once the sun's half down."
"Yeah. It does. I think it must be the elevation." She settled in beside him, and he moved aside to share the trunk. She shifted to put her back against it, and their hips and shoulders touched. She sat cross-legged, resting a jean-clad knee on his thigh. "I come up here a lot. Think I might've had my back on this tree before, even. There's another spot at the north end of the park that's even nicer, but it's closed right now." She took another hit and stubbed the roach on the sole of her shoe, then put it back in the scrip bottle. When she put the bottle away, her hand rummaged around inside for a moment and came out with a small clear bag, like a sandwich bag but smaller, with what looked like a folded square of aluminum foil inside. "Ever see one of these?"
"No."
She pulled out the shiny square and unfolded it again and again. When it was the size of a newspaper, she said, "Space blanket." She shook it out until it was big enough to cover a bed. "No cush, but it's tougher than it looks, and it breaks the wind. And it reflects body heat like crazy." She spread it across them both.
Bobby looked down at the shiny material. "I feel like a baked potato." At her smile, he said, "What?"
"Oh, just having some thoughts about butter and sour cream." She turned to him and put her shoulder to the tree. "You camp a lot, then?"
"No. First time, actually."
She smiled. "Missing your Nintendo yet?"
"Talk to Eddie about that. I'm missing my guitar."
"Guitar, huh? You any good?"
"Some people say so."
"Too bad you didn't bring it. Guitars and campfires go together. How'd you get into it?"
"Well, my last foster dad was always trying to get me into stuff. Guess he thought I needed an outlet or something." He stared up at the sky, which was beginning to turn to fire. "He scored with the guitar. I took to it right away. He offered to buy me lessons, but I was already doing double classes in school, so the last thing I wanted was another teacher."
"Double classes?"
"Remedial. I missed a lot of school when I was younger."
"Sick?"
"No. Just absent."
"Ah." She moved a little closer, and he felt her breast touch his upper arm through four layers of cloth. "So, you're adopted? I was sure I saw a resemblance."
"No. He's my real dad. He didn't know about me." He shifted slightly. "You said you go through the park on the way home? Where do you live?"
"Julian. It's maybe eight miles north, a little town about five blocks square. Kind of touristy, but not really."
"Sounds nice."
"Every guy my age who lives there, I've known since kindergarten. That's not so nice."
"Surprised you never left. A hundred guys must have offered to take you away."
"Oh, I did. I came back."
"Oh? Where'd you go?"
"Couple places. Vegas was the worst – climate, people, everything. Colorado wasn't bad, but I couldn't find steady work. Besides, I guess I got homesick." She slipped an arm behind his waist. "Gotta draw it around for the full effect." She tucked the blanket under his butt. "Warmer already, huh?" Her other hand slipped around his waist at the front, and her fingers twined. Her chin rested on his shoulder.
"Yeah." Her perfume was all over him, and he could feel her breast pressed firmly into his upper arm. "Amy-"
"I know." Her breath caressed his ear. "This is as far as we're going. It's okay." After a short silent time, she pressed her nose into his neck. "Woodsmoke. I love that smell, it's one of my favorite things about camping. I bet she's beautiful."
"Who?"
"The girl you broke up with."
He looked at the scenery. The sun was behind the trees, and the fire in the sky was peaking. "I didn't break up with anybody. I don't have a girlfriend."
"Hm." Her lips brushed the side of his jaw as she turned her head to look at the last of the sunset. "I'm no expert on guys. My list of loser ex-boyfriends is as long as your hand. But when you two walked in the restaurant this morning, every girl on staff was sizing you up. By the time you planted your butts on the benches, we all knew you were broke up over a girl, just like we knew Eddie was pissed off at one. I got two offers to switch tables before you even ordered."
He frowned. "Why?"
"Cuz, when you see a sweet guy who's been done dirt, it makes you want to represent, you know? Show him we're not all like that." She smiled. "Can't let a guy with your looks decide to swear off women. There's few enough good ones out there as it is."
The sound of a car engine grew, amplified by the quiet. Bobby stirred, remembering his father's earlier disquiet at the prospect of visitors. "Expecting someone?"
Her grip around his waist tightened a little. "Nobody in particular. But you said you went back to the diner with your dad. He might be old and messed up, but he's still nice, and I love his voice, and his broke-up-with-the-girlfriend vibes are even stronger than yours. I wouldn't be surprised to see Julie or Danae down there when we get back."
-0-
Eddie set his fork down on his empty plate. "Good eats," he said. "But I don't think I'll be dragging the waitress."
"Maybe you should," Cally said with a smile. "Just to, you know, stretch yourself. Girls your age can't be much challenge."
The waitress, a heavyset fifty-year-old, made an appearance as Cally set her glass down. "Refills?"
"Thanks," Cally said.
"Dessert? We got seven kinds of pie, and vanilla ice cream goes good with most of em."
"Probably," she said with a smile for Eddie. "Can we hold off on that awhile?"
The woman glanced around the dining room, which held only two other patrons, trucker types sitting at the counter. "They're not exactly lined up out the door tonight. Take your time. I'll be back." She gathered up the empty dishes and left.
Eddie looked around at the roadhouse Cally had brought them to, miles from the truck stop where she and the other girls worked. The furnishings looked like relics from the Fifties: mismatched linoleum tile on the floors; chromed tube-steel chairs with cracked red leather on the thin cushions; speckled Formica on the table- and countertops; a grill and exhaust hood black with age. The walls were a shade of yellow that he didn't think came out of a paint can. "Gotta say, I wasn't expecting much when we walked in. Just the smell of old grease would've turned me around."
"The place is cleaner than it looks," she said, smiling. "But it's, like, seventy years old. You're not going to get rid of the smell of ten million hamburgers with a little Febreze. It's soaked into the framing studs by now."
"Why'd we come here? The truckstop's closer."
She glanced at her wristwatch, a mannish type that reminded him of Kat's. "Because I have to be there in seven hours to get ready for the Sunday morning rush. That's soon enough."
They lingered another hour over pie and coffee. Cally might be plain as an old bucket, Eddie thought, but she was easy to talk to. A lot of people didn't do conversation well: some could never find something to say; others wouldn't let you get a word in edgewise, or, if they did, what they said next showed they hadn't even been listening to you, that they'd just been waiting for you to quit talking so they could speak. Cally was a good listener, one whose comments made it clear she was thinking about what the other person said, and made the talk a dialogue. He found himself making another comparison to Kat, which seemed kind of crazy, considering the polar opposition of their looks.
"So," she said, "how did you and Bobby meet?"
"School," he said. "We were in all the same classes."
"What school?"
He hesitated. "MacArthur."
She smiled. "Geeks, huh? Looks can be deceiving, can't they?"
"Yeh." Trying to change the subject, he said, "Is 'Cally' short for something?" It wasn't a topic he usually discussed, given his sensitivity to his name, but he'd once known a girl named Indiana, and thought his table companion might have been named for the state of her birth.
"Yep." Cally hoisted her cup and looked at him over the rim.
When it became clear she wasn't going to volunteer the information, he said, "California?"
"Nope." Her cup was still raised, eyes watchful.
Eddie wondered if he was treading on thin ice. But Cally seemed more amused than anything else; he decided that she simply wanted him to guess. "Caledonia? Um, Calpurnia?" He shrugged. "All I got."
Over the rim of her cup, she said softly, "Will he laugh? Maybe a little." She set her cup down. "Calliope."
He raised his eyebrows. "Really."
"Dad swears he named me after the Greek muse, but Mom says I was a colicky baby, and I squalled a lot the first few months." She smiled. "Doesn't matter either way."
"Grade school must have been tough," he offered.
She made a dismissive face. "You get over that stuff, or you stay a little stuck in grade school forever. Somebody finds out now, it's just a conversation point."
Eddie grinned, a little self-consciously. He found himself wishing Cally was a guy; it would be so much easier to relax with her and just be pals. Again, he wondered if she was gay. Her answer earlier hadn't really satisfied him. Maybe she was bi, like Sarah claimed to be; Eddie imagined Cally got more interest from girls than guys, and wondered if she was dating someone from the restaurant. "Cally. You ever wear makeup?"
She snorted. "I know what I look like. Might as well put lipstick on a pig." She leaned forward. "You, on the other hand, would make a very pretty girl – from the chin up. Love your eyes."
Bi, he thought, swallowing. Definitely.
-0-
Laurel lifted the lid of her cooler and pulled out two more pales, bringing them to the other side of the fire. She passed one to Lynch and sat on the log with a foot of space between them – on his right, the unscarred side, he noted.
"Laurel," he started.
"I won't leave before I'm sober, don't worry." She popped her cap and took a swig. "Don't usually drink beer. I think knowing they're his makes them taste better."
"You miss him that much?"
"I think he's missing his beer that much." She set the bottle on the ground between her feet. "So. What brought you guys up here?"
"Well." He twisted off the cap. "Originally, it was supposed to be a short vacation from women."
She scoffed. "Messed that up pretty good, didn't we?"
He shrugged. "My idea, not theirs. I guess they didn't share my enthusiasm for a male-bonding trip."
Laurel glanced sidelong at him with the bottle touching her lips. "You and Bobby get along?"
He took a swig before answering. "I think so, but that's about all. I wasn't in his life for a long time."
"Bad divorce?"
He thought about the short note his wife had left on the bed. It's time to go when I see you sitting on the back steps with your gun under your chin and it doesn't scare me anymore… "The worst."
"She still shouldn't have kept him from you."
He didn't know how to answer that; he sipped his beer instead.
"What about the girlfriend, the one you just broke up with?"
"What about her?"
"Was she younger?"
"Thirty." He regarded her carefully. "Why do you ask?"
"Had a feeling. I bet there aren't many women your age can keep up with you." She dropped her hand on his where it rested on the log.
"Christ." He stood.
She looked up at him with startled eyes. "Hey. I didn't mean anything. Sorry."
"You told me you weren't cold. Your hand is a block of ice." He hustled into his tent and came back out with his sleeping bag.
"It's just my hands. Really."
He unzipped the bag fully, turning it into a quilted blanket. "Unless you've been dipping them in ice water, cold hands means lowered body temp. Your system's trying to compensate by withdrawing body heat to your core, like shock." He took two corners and sat beside her again. When she reached for it, he said, "No." He raised and spread it like a wall behind and around her, cupping the fire's warmth. "Let the fire warm you up a bit first."
She glanced back at his outstretched arm passing behind her shoulders. "How long do you think you can hold it out like that?"
"As long as it takes. You need an outside source of heat right now."
"Yeah?" He jumped when she slid an arm around his waist. "Well, you're a lot closer."
-0-
Cally smiled. "Your mom and dad sound like rocks."
"They are." Eddie nodded. "The best, really."
"They must be pretty proud of you for getting into MacArthur."
He drained his cup. "I like to think they're proud of me."
Her smile faded a bit as she studied his face. Then she reached into her shirt pocket and drew out a pair of amber-colored aviator glasses. "Here. You need eye protection, especially if you're gonna drive back in the dark."
"You mean it?"
"I don't kid around where my bike is involved. Just don't do anything juvenile."
-0-
"Okay," Amy said, "not a breakup. That means it's even worse. She doesn't know. No, that doesn't feel right. She's got a boyfriend, or…" She shifted again. "Don't tell me she just wants to be friends. Not that."
He shook his head. "I told you. No girlfriend. Can we drop this?"
"Okay." Her hand dropped to his thigh and caressed it briefly before she jerked it back. "Sorry. Don't know why I did that. How did you get back together with your dad, if you were in foster care for years? Did he file a suit or something? He must have wanted you pretty bad."
"Amilee, I know you're just trying to help. But I really don't want to talk about it."
"Well, what do you want to talk about?"
"Nothing." He slouched down. "I'm no good at talking."
"Bobby," Amilee said softly into his neck, "it doesn't have to be me, but you really need to talk to somebody. Seems like every other question I ask hurts. That shouldn't be. Don't you have someone?"
He shrugged, staring up at the stars. "I don't know." Only one. Not worth the risk though, not if it changes the way she looks at me forever. "Maybe."
-0-
"Eddie!" Cally screamed in his ear. "Slow the fuck down!"
The Magna's engine ran wild as they crested the low hill doing seventy and the tires briefly left the pavement. He felt himself lift off the seat as the road in the headlight briefly disappeared. They touched down, shoving his butt back into the cushion, and Cally's forearms bounced off his thighs.
"Curve!"
The two-lane road bent left, and a guardrail loomed in front of them, with nothing but darkness beyond. Eddie leaned hard over, Cally matched his move, and the Honda tipped until their left knees were a fist's width from the pavement. Eddie whooped. The road straightened briefly, and they righted.
The ride was incredible. The sensation wasn't like grokking something with Gen, but it felt similar: it seemed as if he and the bike were reading each other's minds, and both of them were talking to the road beneath them. On impulse, he'd twisted hard on the throttle, pulling a little gasp from his rider, and sent the vehicle down the road at ever-increasing speed.
Cally had shouted warnings in his ear and squeezed him hard as he'd zoomed down the hilly two-lane that led back to the park. But the whole time she was bitching, she was settling tighter against him, anticipating his moves and matching them. It was almost like dancing, he thought, the ballroom kind, where the dancers were alert to their partners' slightest signals. The Magna was feeling frisky, and the road obliging; Eddie gave the engine some more throttle. The wind pulled at his hair and found its way around the rims of his shades, making his eyes water.
"Swear to God, you're never gonna ride my bike again!"
"I know!"
The road curved to the right, a slightly gentler turn this time. But the guardrail was gone, a twisted mess pushed over the rim of the dropoff, testament to an earlier disaster. He spotted gravel in the lane ahead, and checked his lean. Cally cursed and matched this move as well, and the bike drifted smoothly across the double yellow center line towards the dropoff, giving them a scary view of the steep downslope whizzing by, and then swung back into the proper lane.
Cally's hand cupped his crotch. "Next stop sign, these are mine."
Eddie swallowed. "Guess I'll just have to run every stop sign we cross, then."
Her hand withdrew. "Asshole. What do you think you're doing?"
"Like you said, it's my last chance."
"If I'd skimped on tires, we'd be a smear at the bottom of a cliff right now."
"I knew you'd buy the best for your baby." The road leveled and straightened, and oncoming headlights appeared around a distant bend. He slowed down. "Cally. Why didn't you just reach past me and pull the key?"
Her knees pressed against his outer thighs, squeezing. "I sort of thought about it, but I couldn't quit coming long enough." She shivered and exhaled, her breath warming his ear. One of her hands lifted to flatten against the center of his chest; the other described a slow circle on his belly. "Jesus."
-0-
The purring sound of a motorcycle echoed faintly up to them. "Getting crowded up here," Bobby observed.
"Eddie and Cally coming back, probably," she said. "Maybe they'll stop at the site."
The sound grew louder, and a moment later, Eddie rode into view, with a passenger riding pillion - the girl Amy had brought along, presumably. Although this was the first time she'd been close enough for Bobby to see clearly, the bike's headlight had stolen his night vision, and her features were unclear in the darkness. Bobby shrugged free, gently, and stood.
Eddie brought the bike to a stop and put his feet down, leaving the engine idling. "We interrupting?"
"Sure." Amilee stood and began folding the blanket. "Who's sharing the fire with Bobby's dad?"
"Laurel," said the other girl. She had a very nice voice, Bobby thought, kind of like Lori's.
"Laurel? What-" Amy caught herself. "She broke up with him again."
"Yeh. Not talking about it, but she's been crying in the ladies' all shift."
Laurel, Bobby remembered, was the short slender girl with the long dark ponytail who'd been sort of hovering around his dad all through dinner, trying to prod him out of his funk; she'd reminded Bobby of Rox, a little, in attitude as well as looks, and he had a hard time imagining her turning weepy out of sight of the customers.
Amy said, "Do you think they're … okay down there?"
"You know how she gets. Is he okay?"
Confused, Bobby said, "What are you talking about?"
The girl on the bike said, "Laurel doesn't deal with boyfriend trouble very well. All she'd need to do something really stupid right now would be some jerk offering her a little false sympathy."
Bobby shook his head. "He wouldn't." I think.
Eddie coughed, just a little throat-clearer. "We went by the camp on the way up here. There's nobody at the fire. All the cars are still there. And both the tents are dark."
"So maybe they went for a walk."
Eddie nodded, too enthusiastically. "Yeh."
-0-
"I really didn't want to be there when he came for his crap. That's why I came up here, someplace he wouldn't look for me."
Lynch and Laurel were sitting on the log, wrapped up together in the sleeping bag with only the hands holding their bottles outside it. Lynch's bottle paused on the way to his mouth. "Think he might get violent?"
"No. I just don't think I should talk to him. It's prolly a good thing he's not answering the phone." She tipped up her quarter-full bottle and emptied it. "This isn't the first time I threw him out. I don't know why I take him back. I don't even think I love him. There ought to be a twelve step program for ditching guys like Neal." She slid out of the blanket and rounded the fire to the cooler. She pulled two more beers out.
"Laurel," he said, feeling tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep or exertion or alcohol.
She looked across the fire at him, eyes dark and shining. She pulled two more beers out of the cooler, holding the four bottles by their necks between her fingers. "Jack, we both know I'm not going anywhere tonight."
-0-
Cally glanced at her wristwatch. "Well, guys, it's been fun, but I've got work tomorrow." She leveled a look at Eddie. "You can have a ride back if you want, but I'm driving."
Eddie put on his most innocent expression. "If you're leaving, Cally, I'll just walk back with these guys." Eddie gave his thin-lipped bunkie a lopsided grin. "Better late than never, right?"
"Should have left earlier. I probably won't be in bed for an hour yet, and the alarm clock goes off in five. But I won't gripe over the lost sleep." Cally offered him a grin and a hand to shake.
Holding on to her hand, Eddie said, "Thanks for the riding lesson."
"Asshole," she said amiably. "Nobody learns how to ride a bike like that in one night. You gotta play every girl you meet, don't you? Even one you wouldn't date on a bet." She removed her helmet from the low backrest it had been buckled to all night. "I was always curious what made guys like you tick. Most girls figure you're all just jerks walking around with your puds out all the time, but that's not you at all. You just got some strange wiring in your head." Cally's helmet paused over her head. "I had a good time tonight, Eddie. It's a real change of pace, just having fun with a guy who's not trying to get in your pants." She put her bucket on. Then she toed the stand up, walked the bike backwards to the road, climbed on, and fired it up. She gave a little wave as she purred away.
Eddie watched her all the way around the curve. "Was that a joke?"
Amilee gave him a measured look. "End of shift, she's got a guy waiting at the door almost every night. I'm pretty sure she's never had less than three boyfriends on the string the whole time I've known her. It's not always about big eyes and a perky rack, Eddie. Cally's exactly what a lot of guys are looking for – a girl who's not playing games, who genuinely enjoys the company of men and knows how to make a guy feel special. We call her 'the cooker with the heart of gold'. You had fun with her, didn't you?"
"Yeah," he said, surprised by the discovery. "I did."
"And if you weren't such a trophy collector, you might have had a lot more." She looked down the road at the wavering light of the motorcycle's headlight. "I don't know where she picks them up, or how they find her. A few are from the stop, but not many. They must network or something. Sometimes I wonder how she handles them all."
-0-
"Laurel," Lynch said, "it's time for bed."
"Hm?" The dark head nestled against his shoulder stirred. "'M fine right here."
They were still sitting on the log, wrapped in the sleeping bag, facing the dying fire. A dozen empty bottles lay on the ground at their feet. He slipped out of the blanket and stood, holding the girl to keep her from falling over. Then he took Laurel's hand and tugged until she rose unsteadily. "Go sleep in the right-hand tent. I'll bunk with the boys."
Her eyelids lifted, though she seemed far from awake. "Jack, could you go get my bag? It's a little leather one, kind of purse size."
"I've seen it. I'll be right back with it." He retrieved the bag, returning to find her sitting on the cooler, still wearing the sleeping bag, wiggling her feet into her sandals. He handed the bag to her. "Off you go."
"Off I go into the woods. Gotta tinkle." She wobbled off past the tent. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."
He stood by the fire, alert for her call or any other sign of trouble, until she emerged from the trees. She hesitated by the tent, seeming about to return to the fire. He extended his arm to point at the tent, and she ducked inside the opening.
Lynch waited a minute more, then walked to the woods on the opposite side of the camp to answer his own call of nature. While he stood there, he saw a headlight on the road through the trees, and heard the familiar engine note of the motorcycle Eddie had ridden away on. It passed the camp, headed up the hill.
He returned to the fire, stoked it, and picked up the empties and dropped them into the cooler. While it was open, he fished an Evian out of the ice and glugged it down; water, he knew, was an excellent hangover palliative if administered generously prior to sobering up. He was reaching for another when, from Laurel's Jeep, he heard the soft burr of a phone. He ignored it, and it stopped.
The black motorcycle came back down the hill with a single rider. The helmeted head turned his way, and a hand lifted briefly in greeting as it rolled on.
The phone in Laurel's Jeep went off again, ringing six times before it shut off. Seconds later, it rang again. He wrestled with his conscience until the phone cut off. Then he moved to the vehicle and reached it just as the phone rang again.
By the third ring, he found it in the console. He pressed the 'send' key and held it to his ear. "Yeah?"
A moment of silence. "Where's Laurel?" A young man's voice. "Put her on the phone."
Lynch glanced toward the dark tent. "She's unavailable. You're Neal, I suppose. What do you want?"
"I want to talk to Laurel. Now."
"It's a little late in life to learn you can't have everything you want, Neal. You've got a lot of disappointment ahead of you."
"She's been blowing up my phone for a fricking week. Don't tell me she doesn't want to talk to me. Who the hell are you, anyway?"
He leaned on the Jeep's side rail. "Good to hear you've been getting the messages. Especially the last one. She doesn't want to talk to you anymore. She's not yours anymore. Go back to the one you betrayed her for, if she'll have you."
"I'm coming over."
"Do that. You won't see her there, but you can pick up your things and leave her key. The police have already been notified about what's going on tonight, so don't get any ideas about going inside and taking out your frustrations." A bluff, even if it had been true; if Laurel lived in a town big enough that the cops and residents didn't know one another by name, police involvement in such a potential domestic dispute would be limited to a couple of extra drive-bys at most.
"Who is this?"
"You already know. Did you think it would take her a week to find a man who'll treat her better than you ever did? We were lining up at her door as soon as word spread she was done with you."
"Listen, asshole," Neal said, almost growling. "I don't care what she's been telling you. You're wasting your time. She just gets pouty when I don't pay her enough attention, is all. Then she goes crying on the nearest dawg's shoulder. She's using you. Even if I don't talk to her right now, we'll be talking tomorrow, and by next day she won't remember your name. So why don't you just put her on and go home?"
"I am home," Lynch said. "She's in my shower right now. In half a minute, I'll be joining her, and before we step out, she's going to scream my name. Again." He disconnected the call and pulled the phone's battery just as he heard a scuffing sound. He didn't turn.
Laurel said, "Has a woman ever screamed your name?"
He stuffed the phone and battery into the center console. "More than once. But always with a gun in her hand." He turned then. She had the sleeping bag around her shoulders, holding it closed from inside; it covered her from neck to ankles. She'd removed her sandals again, he noted. Standing between him and the fire, her face was silhouetted and unreadable. "I know I overstepped. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well, Neal's good at pushing people over the line."
"He doesn't seem the type to give up easy. I'm sure you'll be seeing him again."
"Tomorrow, at the restaurant," she agreed. "I'm sure he'll want to know all about you. What do you think I should tell him?"
"That it's none of his business anymore. If he won't accept that answer, turn your back on him. Call a cop, if you have to. Make a clean break with him."
"Clean break, right." She stepped quickly to him, spread her blanket-covered hands and brought them together behind his neck, wrapping them both in it and pressing up against him. She was naked underneath.
"No." Lynch reached up and grasped her wrists.
"What's wrong?" She tipped her face up, inviting a kiss. "I know you want to."
"No man worthy of the name could be cold to what you're offering me, Laurel. But you're young and hurting and drunk. You need a good night's sleep and an aspirin in the morning, not a one-nighter with someone who's not Neal." He disengaged her hands, wrapped her carefully in the sleeping bag, and turned her to point back to the tent. "Go."
She shuffled towards the tent. She was halfway there when he heard the first sob. "Bastard."
"Laurel-"
"Not you. God, no." She went on to the door of the tent and disappeared inside.
