Peters Road, and I groaned inwardly when Brody Bishop’s dusty red Mustang sped by, then jammed to a stop and zigzagged backward to block the driveway.
“Hey buddy,” Brody called from his car, his bronzed arm hanging out the window.
Brody and Tommy had been friends since childhood. They both liked to fish and hunt, suck beer and drive like bullets. But that’s where the similarities ended. Tommy was hardworking, while Brody was as lazy as a newborn. Brody also thought he was God’s gift to girls. I could never look at Brody—well built, though short, with dimples—and not think of how strange it was that someone so good-looking could start looking ugly to you when you figured out that what was beneath their looks was so unattractive.
I wanted to flee to the house before Brody reached us, but he was already slamming his car door shut. I knew the second I turned around, he’d be staring at my butt.
“What you up to today?” he called to Tommy. “Wanna do a little fishin’?”
Dad claimed that the Army made men out of boys. If that was true, then it was a pity for Brody’s wife, Marlene (everyone called her Marls), that the pin in his leg from a car accident six years ago wouldn’t allow him to pass an Army physical. Especially since he was going to become a dad in four months. Brody and Marls lived with his folks, and he used his bum leg as an excuse to quit every job he started. But his leg didn’t keep him from hopping from rock to rock down at Dauber Falls when he wanted to fish, or hiking miles over the Smithys’ eighty acres to hunt deer or birds. Nor did it stop him from hitting the dance floor on nights when there was live music in town, old and young women alike begging him for a dance so he never got to sit—or so Brody bragged.
Poor Marls, sick from her pregnancy as she was, her anklesbloated bigger than my knees, waited on him like a personal servant because she worshiped the ground he walked on. I had no idea if she knew that Brody gawked at every girl over fifteen that crossed his path. Like he was staring at my chest at the moment. I moved the bolt of chiffon to hang in the crook of my arms to hide my boobs.
“Nah, I can’t. I’ve got too much shit to do.” Tommy spat on the grass like he was laying a period on his sentence. I didn’t know why men spit on the ground like dogs peed on tires, but I knew that after Tommy spit, Brody would, too. And he did.
“How’s Marls?” I asked, forcing myself to say anything at all to Brody, since guys like him made me jumpy. But I was concerned. “Aunt Verdella said she was sick.” I didn’t know Marls well since she was three years older than me and from Eagle River. I knew enough, though, just by looking at her, to know that she didn’t feel attractive enough to be with Brody. Just as I didn’t really feel attractive enough to be a match for Jesse.
“Ah, she’s always sick,” Brody said, talking to my chest, even if it was hidden. “Getting big as a heifer, too.”
“That was mean,” I said.
“What?” Brody said with a cocky grin. “It’s the truth.”
“See you guys around,” I said, backing up.
“Yep, and you’ll be seeing plenty of me, too,” Tommy said.
“So I heard.”
“At least you’ll have something to brighten up your dull days,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes.
“I knew she’d be thrilled,” he said to Brody. “As thrilled as she was to hear that she’s gonna be my copilot.”
“Hey, you got it?” Brody asked.
“Yesterday.
Brody pounded Tommy’s back, and as they headed to the field so Tommy could check the fences before he brought his cows over, Brody childishly spouted plans for their first flying adventure, hardly a limp in his stride.
It was fun, working with my stereo cranked to ten, chiffon gliding softly under my fingertips in a rhythm as soothing as a heartbeat, Jo’s bridal gown spread out behind me on the big, square butcher-block table Aunt Verdella found at the Community Sale
“Hey buddy,” Brody called from his car, his bronzed arm hanging out the window.
Brody and Tommy had been friends since childhood. They both liked to fish and hunt, suck beer and drive like bullets. But that’s where the similarities ended. Tommy was hardworking, while Brody was as lazy as a newborn. Brody also thought he was God’s gift to girls. I could never look at Brody—well built, though short, with dimples—and not think of how strange it was that someone so good-looking could start looking ugly to you when you figured out that what was beneath their looks was so unattractive.
I wanted to flee to the house before Brody reached us, but he was already slamming his car door shut. I knew the second I turned around, he’d be staring at my butt.
“What you up to today?” he called to Tommy. “Wanna do a little fishin’?”
Dad claimed that the Army made men out of boys. If that was true, then it was a pity for Brody’s wife, Marlene (everyone called her Marls), that the pin in his leg from a car accident six years ago wouldn’t allow him to pass an Army physical. Especially since he was going to become a dad in four months. Brody and Marls lived with his folks, and he used his bum leg as an excuse to quit every job he started. But his leg didn’t keep him from hopping from rock to rock down at Dauber Falls when he wanted to fish, or hiking miles over the Smithys’ eighty acres to hunt deer or birds. Nor did it stop him from hitting the dance floor on nights when there was live music in town, old and young women alike begging him for a dance so he never got to sit—or so Brody bragged.
Poor Marls, sick from her pregnancy as she was, her anklesbloated bigger than my knees, waited on him like a personal servant because she worshiped the ground he walked on. I had no idea if she knew that Brody gawked at every girl over fifteen that crossed his path. Like he was staring at my chest at the moment. I moved the bolt of chiffon to hang in the crook of my arms to hide my boobs.
“Nah, I can’t. I’ve got too much shit to do.” Tommy spat on the grass like he was laying a period on his sentence. I didn’t know why men spit on the ground like dogs peed on tires, but I knew that after Tommy spit, Brody would, too. And he did.
“How’s Marls?” I asked, forcing myself to say anything at all to Brody, since guys like him made me jumpy. But I was concerned. “Aunt Verdella said she was sick.” I didn’t know Marls well since she was three years older than me and from Eagle River. I knew enough, though, just by looking at her, to know that she didn’t feel attractive enough to be with Brody. Just as I didn’t really feel attractive enough to be a match for Jesse.
“Ah, she’s always sick,” Brody said, talking to my chest, even if it was hidden. “Getting big as a heifer, too.”
“That was mean,” I said.
“What?” Brody said with a cocky grin. “It’s the truth.”
“See you guys around,” I said, backing up.
“Yep, and you’ll be seeing plenty of me, too,” Tommy said.
“So I heard.”
“At least you’ll have something to brighten up your dull days,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes.
“I knew she’d be thrilled,” he said to Brody. “As thrilled as she was to hear that she’s gonna be my copilot.”
“Hey, you got it?” Brody asked.
“Yesterday.
Brody pounded Tommy’s back, and as they headed to the field so Tommy could check the fences before he brought his cows over, Brody childishly spouted plans for their first flying adventure, hardly a limp in his stride.
It was fun, working with my stereo cranked to ten, chiffon gliding softly under my fingertips in a rhythm as soothing as a heartbeat, Jo’s bridal gown spread out behind me on the big, square butcher-block table Aunt Verdella found at the Community Sale
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