about him now?
Kevin Keel acted toward me like many of the men who came into Dreisbach’s acted: he flirted with me, but he never crossed over the line. In turn, for my tip, I flirted back, but I never crossed over the line either. With all those men, what I mostly did was make a big show of taking care of their needs. When I brought their dessert or coffee, I’d set it down with a flourish and sometimes touch them—on the hand or arm, nothing more. When one of them ordered a Yuengling with his meal, I’d pour the beer for him from the long-necked brown bottle, careful to tilt the glass. It was a thing men seemed to like: someone pouring their beer for them.
“I can do that,” Kevin said the first time I did it for him. “I know you’re busy.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. I tried to smile a real smile, not one of the fake kind like I gave everyone else, but it was hard because of what I knew about him.
“Working hard?”
“Hardly working,” I said.
“Now that I don’t believe. I seen you in here enough to know that.”
I felt uncomfortable around him not only because of June, but also because I’d heard so much about the manslaughter conviction. The stories about that were rife. I heard Kevin was so drunk the night it happened, he thought the old man he ran down was a pole on the side of the road. I heard that a piece of jawbone from the old man had somehow worked its way onto the dashboard of Kevin’s car. I heard that Kevin’s skinny girlfriend, Sherry, was happy when he got locked up, because she could finally leave him without getting a black eye for trying. I heard that other inmates at the prison had feared him because he was always lifting weights and working out.
Still, something in me wanted to talk to Kevin Keel, and one night when I got up the courage, I sat down at his table and introduced myself.
“Your sister and I went to school together,” I said. “I’m Vangie Raybuck and June’s my best friend.”
“Is that right? Good friends are hard to come by.”
I thought I could tell by the way he held himself and looked at me that he did not want me to go on talking. So I stood up and was about to leave his table when he put out his hand to shake mine. He said, Pleased to meet you, Vangie Raybuck. When I was looking at him, I could see June in his face, in the eyebrows and the shape of his mouth. He knew I was looking at him, and he let me. I imagine I wasn’t the first person to study him.
I knew some of the stories about Kevin had to be lies, but I knew that some of them were probably true. Still, it was hard for me to put all those stories together with the man who sat at my tables and ate dinner quietly, who never drank more than one beer, who had my best friend’s eyes and nose and mouth. But that is the nature of people, how they can surprise you with their ordinariness, and all the while a deep, powerful river is flowing through them, carrying them in whatever direction they choose to let it take them.
8
W HEN Del and I finally rented an old farmhouse out in Mennonite Town, it was a green time. I say that because it took us a good part of the summer to earn the money for first and last month’s rent, plus a deposit, and because I felt like everything in my piece of the world was green and new. Del and I could fill the whole bottom of our refrigerator with beer if we wanted, we could play our stereo as loud as it would go, and we had a big bed that was always waiting for us to lie down on it. All I had to do was bump up against Del in the kitchen, or kiss his back when he was working shirtless over his car, and to the bedroom we’d go. One or two kisses and we wereready—he’d pull my lips apart with one hand and slip, in he’d go. It seemed like I was wet all the time, like the tissues down there were always swollen. In the morning Del was rock solid at my ass, and we’d say good morning by screwing, or by putting our mouths on each other. He even liked the taste of
Kevin Keel acted toward me like many of the men who came into Dreisbach’s acted: he flirted with me, but he never crossed over the line. In turn, for my tip, I flirted back, but I never crossed over the line either. With all those men, what I mostly did was make a big show of taking care of their needs. When I brought their dessert or coffee, I’d set it down with a flourish and sometimes touch them—on the hand or arm, nothing more. When one of them ordered a Yuengling with his meal, I’d pour the beer for him from the long-necked brown bottle, careful to tilt the glass. It was a thing men seemed to like: someone pouring their beer for them.
“I can do that,” Kevin said the first time I did it for him. “I know you’re busy.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. I tried to smile a real smile, not one of the fake kind like I gave everyone else, but it was hard because of what I knew about him.
“Working hard?”
“Hardly working,” I said.
“Now that I don’t believe. I seen you in here enough to know that.”
I felt uncomfortable around him not only because of June, but also because I’d heard so much about the manslaughter conviction. The stories about that were rife. I heard Kevin was so drunk the night it happened, he thought the old man he ran down was a pole on the side of the road. I heard that a piece of jawbone from the old man had somehow worked its way onto the dashboard of Kevin’s car. I heard that Kevin’s skinny girlfriend, Sherry, was happy when he got locked up, because she could finally leave him without getting a black eye for trying. I heard that other inmates at the prison had feared him because he was always lifting weights and working out.
Still, something in me wanted to talk to Kevin Keel, and one night when I got up the courage, I sat down at his table and introduced myself.
“Your sister and I went to school together,” I said. “I’m Vangie Raybuck and June’s my best friend.”
“Is that right? Good friends are hard to come by.”
I thought I could tell by the way he held himself and looked at me that he did not want me to go on talking. So I stood up and was about to leave his table when he put out his hand to shake mine. He said, Pleased to meet you, Vangie Raybuck. When I was looking at him, I could see June in his face, in the eyebrows and the shape of his mouth. He knew I was looking at him, and he let me. I imagine I wasn’t the first person to study him.
I knew some of the stories about Kevin had to be lies, but I knew that some of them were probably true. Still, it was hard for me to put all those stories together with the man who sat at my tables and ate dinner quietly, who never drank more than one beer, who had my best friend’s eyes and nose and mouth. But that is the nature of people, how they can surprise you with their ordinariness, and all the while a deep, powerful river is flowing through them, carrying them in whatever direction they choose to let it take them.
8
W HEN Del and I finally rented an old farmhouse out in Mennonite Town, it was a green time. I say that because it took us a good part of the summer to earn the money for first and last month’s rent, plus a deposit, and because I felt like everything in my piece of the world was green and new. Del and I could fill the whole bottom of our refrigerator with beer if we wanted, we could play our stereo as loud as it would go, and we had a big bed that was always waiting for us to lie down on it. All I had to do was bump up against Del in the kitchen, or kiss his back when he was working shirtless over his car, and to the bedroom we’d go. One or two kisses and we wereready—he’d pull my lips apart with one hand and slip, in he’d go. It seemed like I was wet all the time, like the tissues down there were always swollen. In the morning Del was rock solid at my ass, and we’d say good morning by screwing, or by putting our mouths on each other. He even liked the taste of
Similar Books
