Dance With Me

-A Day Trip With Forrest Bondurant-

"What do you think?"

I couldn't but laugh a little at Forrest's face. His features were impassive; solid as stone, but his gray eyes were wide and shining, unblinking as if he couldn't really believe what he was seeing. The wind whipped wildly, ceaselessly, but the sun was high in the sky and the air was warm. I pushed away the loose strands of hair flying into my face, but they quickly returned as I squinted up at Forrest against the glare of the sun.

Small waves lazily folded over each other and rushed up the sand, reaching as far as they could before springing back like a coil into the incoming surf. The sand didn't expand too far before turning into rock, but there was quite a distance from where we stood to the water. It was a beautiful, pleasant place, and it was all to ourselves. I gently fingered and pulled at the sharp blades of beachgrass as Forrest took it all in.

He showed up to my apartment before the sun had even risen, knocking on my door and waking me from slumber. I clambered out of bed, not bothering to hide my irritation as I wrenched the door open. It had been a long night at work, with a family driving off into a ravine up on Grassy Hill. Story was that the daddy was swerving to avoid hitting a deer. They ended up losing their youngest instead. Mama was in critical condition. I was looking forward to a day off after that one, and spending most of it in bed, trying to forget the bloodied, disfigured face of that broken four year old. Little Henry, his name was. I made the mistake of asking.

I didn't know if Forrest was there because he'd heard what happened the night before, or for his own reasons. He didn't say and I didn't ask. But my frustrations were none more than evanescent at the sight of him. He asked if I wanted to go somewhere, and I said sure.

I knew times were hard for Forrest. For everyone in Franklin County. They found the body of Charlie Rakes somewhere up Burnt Chimney by the county line. He wasn't hidden all that well, just tucked up under some bushes out by Maggodee Creek, like he'd been dragged just out of the line of easy sight, and then tossed aside. He would've been nothing but bone by then, being left out in the elements and all, but apparently they were able to identify him by his teeth. They called that something like odontology in the paper.

If it were in local hands, it would've been long negotiated and forgotten about. But it was the feds who were trying to make a case. This meant that every alleged bootlegger in the county was coming under fire. Especially those associated with Blackwater Station, who were still recovering from the effects of the sanctions by commonwealth attorney Carter Lee. They'd even put out a search for Maggie Beauford, since she disappeared. Everyone was a person of interest. Rakes had been found closer to the Blackwater Station than any other place, so suspicions were hammered hard on the Bondurants, since there were no other leads.

But no one said a damn thing. Not even Carter Lee. And this was either making the feds desperate, or they were beginning to smell something fishy about everything, because they started throwing around words like "conspiracy" and "racketeering". This whole thing was starting to look like it would turn out to be way bigger than a murder trial.

I don't think we'd been headed anywhere in particular when we left. I think Forrest's intention was to get away. He'd never done that before. He was a rustic at heart, born and raised in the hills, and never been anywhere else. But something in him wanted to change that, that morning, and I wasn't going to question him about it. Instead, he set me behind the wheel of his Coupe, taught me how to work the levers, what each of them did, and then directed me east.

We must've driven six or seven hours. Only stopped to fill the gas tank. When we hit water, I figured we ended up exactly where we were supposed to be. Drove along the coastline until we found that secluded little spot worthy of an afternoon of occupation.

I kicked my small heels off, and bent to pick them up as I stepped off from the gravel road onto the sand. It was soft and cold under my feet beneath the shade of the beachgrass, but as I stepped further out, it grew hot with exposure to the sun. As I turned to face Forrest again, shading my eyes with my hand, I dug my toes in the sand to get used to the temperature. "Come on," I called out to him. He watched me silently for a bit, hands in his pockets, brim of his hat low over his eyes. Then he took a few slow steps out toward me, keeping his eyes on his boots as they sunk a little in the clinging sand. When he was in front of me, I said, "Now take your boots and socks off."

He tucked his chin inward slightly, and his brow began to form a small scowl. "I ain't taking my boots off."

"Yes you are."

"No I ain't.

"Come all the way out here, you ain't even gonna try to enjoy it?"

"Enjoying it just fine."

"You're so damn stubborn," I said with a huff, and turned away, continuing to stomp on down the sand until I reached water. He'd join me eventually, but I wasn't going to wait for him. That man ran on his own time. I dropped my shoes and stepped out onto hard sand, lifting the skirt of my dress to watch my feet as I walked toward the water. When a shallow group of waves washed over them, I jumped a little and stepped back. Water was cold as hell up here.

I walked a little deeper, ocean water wrapping around my legs in an icy embrace. Made sure to keep the hems of my dress up and out of danger of getting wet. My feet sunk deeper into the sand each time the tide pulled, and when I lifted them up, the sand floated and fell from them in a tickle. Franklin County didn't have any of this stuff. An abundance of red clay. Covered everything in a thick coat of dust almost year-round, I noticed. But no sand, really.

There was a trickle unlike the sound of the rolling waves behind me, and I turned to find Forrest kicking at the water with his bare feet, looking past him to see his socks sitting in his boots beside my shoes. I smiled and walked over to him, steps heavy against the water's pressure. "Forrest, come in the water with me."

I grabbed his hands and pulled, and he followed me silently. I hated getting my clothes wet. Oh, how I hated it. But I let it happen anyway, the cotton material flowing freely around me as I led Forrest further out until I was mid-belly in water. We'd be here as long as we wanted. And the sun was hot. Plenty of time to get dry again. He didn't seem to mind getting wet, resting his hands on top of the rippling waves as he stared out over the vast expanse of ocean, glimmering in the reflection of the sun. I rested my forehead against his chest and closed my eyes.

Sometimes I wondered why I felt the way I did about this man, and if he wondered the same thing about me. It was unprecedented, unexpected, and overwhelmingly unwavering. I still worried about what feelings remained for Maggie Beauford; he kept a picture of the two of them resting on a small table in the sitting room above the station. But if there were any feelings, he hid them damn well from me. Never mentioned her. Didn't acknowledge she ever even existed, except for that picture. I knew I'd be dumb to bring it up, so I didn't. Forrest was good to me. That was enough.

"You still savin' money for school?" Forrest asked, out of the blue.

"Yeah," I sighed into the material of his sweater.

"How much you rent for?"

"Twenty dollars."

It was a stretch before he spoke again. "You know I got that spare room upstairs. It's yours, if you want it. Free of charge."

I lifted my head and took a step back, swaying in the current. "Free?" He nodded once, and my heart's pace began to quicken a little. My head and my heart were screaming to say yes. I'd be living with Forrest and saving my wages. It was a smart plan and a pleasant one too. But my gut contracted with hesitation. About his sincerity, about the implications of such an offer, about what could happen, being so closely connected to the Bondurants. Especially when they were under such dangerous scrutinizing from the government. "That's a long walk from the hospital," I finally said, desperate to formulate some sort of answer.

"You know how to drive," he said. "We got plenty cars."

Regardless of any hesitation, he was offering his help. And if I had any sort of philosophy, it was to accept help when it was offered. That twenty dollars saved each month would make a grand difference. It was Forrest. Forrest. The thought of seeing him every morning convinced my gut to begin churning in the right direction again. I hopped up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, and then wrapped him in a tight embrace around the ribs.

It only took a couple hours for our clothes to dry. With the wind and the heat combined, it was a speedy affair. We explored the length of the beach, climbing over the rocks at both ends to see where they would take us. Forrest had a hell of a time lighting a cigarillo in the wind. He had to crouch and huddle into himself like a hobo using a candle for heat. When the tide began to roll in, we hiked up further on the beach and planted ourselves among the beachgrass.

I think Forrest liked the ocean, but he didn't much like the sand. It was too soft and too gritty for him all at the same time, compared to the red clay he was used to, which came in three forms: hard compact, mud, or dust. The sand stuck between his toes and made them itch, and he continuously dusted grains off his pant legs, or took his sweater off to shake it out.

"So when can I move in?" I asked, leaning back on my elbows, head tilted toward the sun.

"Whenever."

"You have to make your own damn breakfast, Forrest."

"All right."

I turned my head and opened my eyes a little. He was on his side, looking at me. We watched each other for some time, and only the Lord knows what was running through his mind. But my thoughts were flying by a mile a minute, and most of them were concerned with how wrong I'd been about how hard it'd be, trying to love this man. "Forrest?"

"Hm."

"You ain't gonna go to jail, are ya?"

Nothing on his face changed. He didn't move, didn't scowl, didn't smile. Didn't even blink. Just kept watching me from under the brim of his hat. I didn't know if that was a good thing or not. I supposed not. If he was sure nothing was going to happen, he'd just go ahead and tell me. But he wasn't going to lie to me, either.

Without a word he reached for me, and I shifted myself closer to him. He lowered his head, and I felt his lips brush along the line of my jaw. He lifted those lips to my cheek, my temple, my ear, and I ached for his touch. Sneaky Forrest. He knew just how to get out of a conversation he didn't want to have.

I pushed his mouth away from me with my cheek, and leaned back to capture him in a kiss. He removed his hat and set it aside, on top of his discarded sweater. I hooked my hands in his suspenders and pulled him closer.

We were deaf and blind to the world, as far as I was concerned. Nothing else existed, just me and Forrest, and the sand beneath us. His touch was painfully gentle. Always was. He ran his mouth across my chest, and I could feel his fingers grip the short sleeve, pulling it away to plant soft kisses on my bare shoulder. At the same time his other hand was bunching up the material of my dress, and when he felt flesh, he ran his hand up the length of it. His hand was warm and calloused, wonderfully rough against my thigh.

The sand rushed over us from this level, and I bet I'd get an eyeful of the stuff if I dared open them. Forrest's mouth found mine again, and I felt his fingers leave my shoulder to scoop under my neck and lift my head. They moved a little higher, on the search for the pins in my hair. The wind pounded through my ears harshly, and I hardly heard the groan that escaped from somewhere inside Forrest as I pulled him into me.

But I heard the click. Loud and clear, like turning gears. Forrest heard it too, frozen against me. I think we both had already inferred what had made that sound. Weren't no strangers to it. But we hadn't yet figured out where it came from, or why it came at all. "Wouldn't be wise to make a sudden move," said a voice above us, deep and amplified against the wind, and I felt myself gasp with shock at how close it was. How had we not heard someone approach?

Forrest hooked the hand still in my hair and brought my face tight against him, lowering his body onto me a little more, like he was trying to hide me. "What you want?" he said from his position.

"Just yer money and yer car," said the voice. "Ain't nothin' personal, brother. You know times is hard."

I could feel the breath quickly leaving me, and it wasn't all from the weight of the man on top of me. Nothing to trust in a voice like that. They'd take the money and the car. Then they'd take our lives to cut loose ends and make sure we didn't ever come for them. Maybe Forrest couldn't die. But I sure could, and I didn't want to.

"Get up, slowly."

Forrest didn't move for a long while. Probably longer than what time he was allotted. But eventually, he slowly slid off me. When I finally opened my eyes, and they slowly readjusted against the vivid light of the sun, Forrest was standing, staring directly ahead with his hands held up in a defensive position. Behind him was a tall man, a little taller than Forrest, with a long-sleeve undershirt that may have been white once, but looked like it hadn't been washed in months. It was tucked into a pair of torn, dirtied brown slacks. He had a head of brown hair, and his skin was severely darkened, though I didn't know if by sun or dirt. I couldn't see the gun.

"Touch her, and you're gonna get yourself seriously hurt," Forrest said. It wasn't a general statement to the man behind him, but rather something else that his gaze was focused intently on. I sat up and turned around quickly, and my stomach did a flip when my eyes fell on another man only feet from me. He looked similar to the other man in manners of hygiene, but he was shorter, skinnier, with red hair and a bushy beard of the same color. The man watched Forrest following the warning, his eyes glowing with amusement when they slid down to me.

"You ain't in any position to be makin' threats, brother," the man behind Forrest said. "Just give us yer keys and yer money, and we'll let ya live."

I turned back to look up at Forrest. His face was impassive. He seemed to be contemplating his options. I wouldn't ever know if he'd actually chosen one.

Fingers gripped the bunch of my hair and pulled hard with force that had me scrambling to stand on my feet. I shut my eyes tight against the searing pain in my scalp, and I screamed as the man behind me pulled me into him roughly, holding me to him with an arm low around my belly. The scream caught in my throat with a gag at the smell of him, ripe and rotten as pig slop left in the sun. "We'll take the girl though," he announced, then lowered his voice, speaking against my ear, "Like Willie done said, it ain't personal, sweetheart. A man has needs."

I turned away from him, sobbing openly as he ran his hand over my breasts. I heard the gun go off and I figured they went ahead and killed Forrest, one right through the head, and I'd be next, as soon as they stripped me of everything but my name. I was unsatisfied with the life I'd lived, and it was an awful way to die. I'd be so angry and bitter at the gates, they'd fling me on down to Hell.

But the man released me, throwing me down into the sand, and when I opened my eyes, pushing the tears away and looked over, Forrest was standing. He grabbed my assaulter by the front of his shirt, face red as he threw him down to the ground. I couldn't bring myself to look away when he kicked the man hard in the side of the head with his bare foot. He stepped over, slipped his feet inside his boots, and then returned to the two forms lying in the sand. Forrest kicked my assaulter onto his back, and lifted his foot, bringing it back down onto the man's face. The man that had previously held the gun groaned and shifted, and so Forrest turned and landed three swift kicks into his abdomen, before returning to the other.

Forrest looked up suddenly from his task of rearranging my attacker's face into a bloody clump, as though he just remembered that I was there, and watching. "Go to the car," he ordered, with an authority I'd never heard out of him before. When I hesitated, he took a step toward me, and pointed up toward the vehicle. "Edie, go to the car."

I twisted, and began to hurry up the small hill through the beachgrass to the vehicle. I'd forgotten my shoes, but I didn't care. My brain was jumbled, and I was confused, a little scared. My body felt like it needed washing a hundred times over. I could still smell the rot of that man on me. That man didn't even have a face no more.

When I reached the Coupe, I turned to look down at Forrest once more. His hat was back on his head, and his sweater draped over his arm, gaze dropped to the ground as he slipped a pair of brass knuckles over the fingers of his right hand.


"He was alive, and that meant he would suffer much more before the night was out. It amazed Forrest that so many men seemed to wake up in the morning, needing some kind of beating or another, men saying and doing fantastic things for the sake of getting another man to smash his face...Forrest figured if these men wanted it he might as well give it to them. Either way he would push him off into the ditch and break his legs and if the man died then it was his own fault." Wettest County in the World, Matt Bondurant, pg. 38.

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