fingers at her brother. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and her words sounded wheezy.
He put his huge hands in the air and smiled. His T-shirt was soaked with sweat and clung to his narrow chest.
“What is this place?” I asked once I caught my breath.
“Used to be a deer camp,” Nicky said. “Daddy let it fall to shit. Our grandpa built it.”
It was a small building, about twelve by fifteen feet, more like a toy house than an actual place where men once slept. The cabin was leaning precariously to the left, looking like it might come crashing down at any minute. It was sided with rough slabs of wood, bits of bark still clinging to them. The wood-shingled roof looked spongy and was green and black with moss.
“Want to see inside?” Nicky asked, looking at me.
“Is it safe?” I asked.
Del snorted and ran inside.
“Sure it is,” Nicky answered. He picked up his gun and strode through the doorway, which lacked a door. I followed him in.
The cabin smelled like rotten wood, mildew, and mice—the scent of all things forgotten. There was a cast iron pot-bellied stove, a torn blue couch, a coffee table, and four cots, one pushed against each wall of the room. A ladder at the far end, near the stove, led to a loft. Nicky tucked his gun under his arm and climbed the ladder. Once up, he leaned over the rail and grinned down.
“Coming?” he asked.
I started up the ladder while Del banged around with the cast iron stove.
A mattress took up most of the loft’s planked floor. There were candle stubs, a smudgy oil lamp, a book of matches, cigarettes, and a stack of porn magazines. On top of the magazines was a small knife with a fake bone handle in a leather sheath. Nicky sat down on the ratty mattress and lit a cigarette. He shouted down to Del.
“Quit messing with that damn stove! It’s eighty degrees in here!”
Del clambered up the ladder and made a sour face at Nicky.
“Give me one of them,” she ordered and Nicky handed her a cigarette. He offered one to me, but I shook my head. Del lit the cigarette and smoked it like it was the most natural thing in the world, something she did all the time. She even blew smoke rings, like the invisible ones I’d seen her play at making earlier that day. She blew them right into my face, smiling.
“So you gonna tell me your name yet, or do I have to guess?” Nicky asked me.
“She’s my deputy. She swears allegiance only to me,” Del said.
“Does your deputy have a name?” asked Nicky, taking a drag from his cigarette.
Del’s eyes went from her brother to me, then back again.
“Her name’s Rose. Desert Rose.”
“Like hell it is. That’s the name of the stupid color you wanted Daddy to paint your room.”
Del’s pale face grew red. “IF I SAY IT’S HER NAME, THEN IT IS!”
Nicky’s face crinkled, looked like it might fall in, then cracked into a big smile.
“All right then. Pleased to meet you, Desert Rose.” He extended his hand. His long dark fingers wrapped gently around mine. My own palm was sticky with sweat. His was dry as powder.
When the cigarettes were stubbed out in a tuna can, we went outside and Nicky showed us how to work the BB gun. We shot beer cans off stumps. Nicky stood behind me, his arms around my shoulders as he showed me how to hold the gun and aim. I’d never fired a gun before, but I hit each can dead center. Nicky said I was a natural. He smelled like sawdust, hay, and cigarettes. His body felt warm against mine. Del got impatient for her turn and practiced taking aim at the cans with rocks, knocking them down before we got a chance to shoot.
Afterward, we went back into the cabin and I smoked my first cigarette. I coughed and wheezed, sure I was going to die, while Nicky and Del laughed at me, making fun of me until I learned not to draw the smoke in so deep, to just hold it in my mouth awhile, then let it seep out. Del tried to teach me to blow rings—I imitated her as she worked her mouth in perfect
He put his huge hands in the air and smiled. His T-shirt was soaked with sweat and clung to his narrow chest.
“What is this place?” I asked once I caught my breath.
“Used to be a deer camp,” Nicky said. “Daddy let it fall to shit. Our grandpa built it.”
It was a small building, about twelve by fifteen feet, more like a toy house than an actual place where men once slept. The cabin was leaning precariously to the left, looking like it might come crashing down at any minute. It was sided with rough slabs of wood, bits of bark still clinging to them. The wood-shingled roof looked spongy and was green and black with moss.
“Want to see inside?” Nicky asked, looking at me.
“Is it safe?” I asked.
Del snorted and ran inside.
“Sure it is,” Nicky answered. He picked up his gun and strode through the doorway, which lacked a door. I followed him in.
The cabin smelled like rotten wood, mildew, and mice—the scent of all things forgotten. There was a cast iron pot-bellied stove, a torn blue couch, a coffee table, and four cots, one pushed against each wall of the room. A ladder at the far end, near the stove, led to a loft. Nicky tucked his gun under his arm and climbed the ladder. Once up, he leaned over the rail and grinned down.
“Coming?” he asked.
I started up the ladder while Del banged around with the cast iron stove.
A mattress took up most of the loft’s planked floor. There were candle stubs, a smudgy oil lamp, a book of matches, cigarettes, and a stack of porn magazines. On top of the magazines was a small knife with a fake bone handle in a leather sheath. Nicky sat down on the ratty mattress and lit a cigarette. He shouted down to Del.
“Quit messing with that damn stove! It’s eighty degrees in here!”
Del clambered up the ladder and made a sour face at Nicky.
“Give me one of them,” she ordered and Nicky handed her a cigarette. He offered one to me, but I shook my head. Del lit the cigarette and smoked it like it was the most natural thing in the world, something she did all the time. She even blew smoke rings, like the invisible ones I’d seen her play at making earlier that day. She blew them right into my face, smiling.
“So you gonna tell me your name yet, or do I have to guess?” Nicky asked me.
“She’s my deputy. She swears allegiance only to me,” Del said.
“Does your deputy have a name?” asked Nicky, taking a drag from his cigarette.
Del’s eyes went from her brother to me, then back again.
“Her name’s Rose. Desert Rose.”
“Like hell it is. That’s the name of the stupid color you wanted Daddy to paint your room.”
Del’s pale face grew red. “IF I SAY IT’S HER NAME, THEN IT IS!”
Nicky’s face crinkled, looked like it might fall in, then cracked into a big smile.
“All right then. Pleased to meet you, Desert Rose.” He extended his hand. His long dark fingers wrapped gently around mine. My own palm was sticky with sweat. His was dry as powder.
When the cigarettes were stubbed out in a tuna can, we went outside and Nicky showed us how to work the BB gun. We shot beer cans off stumps. Nicky stood behind me, his arms around my shoulders as he showed me how to hold the gun and aim. I’d never fired a gun before, but I hit each can dead center. Nicky said I was a natural. He smelled like sawdust, hay, and cigarettes. His body felt warm against mine. Del got impatient for her turn and practiced taking aim at the cans with rocks, knocking them down before we got a chance to shoot.
Afterward, we went back into the cabin and I smoked my first cigarette. I coughed and wheezed, sure I was going to die, while Nicky and Del laughed at me, making fun of me until I learned not to draw the smoke in so deep, to just hold it in my mouth awhile, then let it seep out. Del tried to teach me to blow rings—I imitated her as she worked her mouth in perfect
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