Tom Piccirilli - The Last Kind Words

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Jesus Christ, considering you’ve lived with second-story men all your life, you’re a really awful liar. What is it, Ma?”

“You should rest, Terry, you look tired.”

“I should rest? What is it? Dale?”

She glanced at my father.

So there it was. “Okay, it’s Dale. What about her?”

My mother pulled a face. I looked at my father as he sipped his beer. He grinned at me in that way that said, Your ma, you know how she is .

My father took the lead. “Your mother found a pack of condoms in Dale’s jeans in the wash.”

“Okay. That just proves she’s being careful.”

Ma shook her head. “It’s not that she’s having sex… well, all right, I’m having some issues with that, but it’s natural and we’ve had our woman-to-woman talk already. But-” She drew air through her teeth.

My father and I waited. We kept waiting. I cracked before he did.

“But what?”

“We don’t like the boy very much.”

I looked at my dad. He shrugged.

“The Rands are now judging character?” I asked.

“No, I’m not saying that, not at all. Not really. But there’s something about him, Terry. I don’t trust him. I don’t like him. He’s older. Technically it’s statutory rape.”

“We calling the cops?”

She wasn’t being overprotective and wasn’t really worried about Dale because she’d found a pack of condoms. I could see that in the way my mother was forcingthaust the issue. This was something else. She turned, and her gold-flecked gaze not only pinned me to the wall but frisked me as well.

“Go talk to her,” she said.

I let out a small nervous laugh. I didn’t know my teenage sister. I couldn’t imagine talking to her about her boyfriend. “Ma-”

My father drained the rest of his beer. “It might not be such a bad idea.”

“No,” I said. “It’s a very bad idea.”

“You’re her brother. The only one she has left. She wanted to have breakfast with you. She saw you book out.”

He stopped short. I knew what was supposed to come next, those things my father would never say. We all wanted to have breakfast with you. We waited. We were in good spirits. But you ran off. What does Collie want with you? Why did you choose him over us?

“Where is she?” I asked.

“Where else?” my mother said. “The lake. It’s still the place where all the kids go. That boy, he’ll be there. See what you think of him. Whether I’m just being overly concerned.” She hit me with a hard gaze. “Or whether he’s trouble. Real trouble.”

I nodded. I trusted her. It wasn’t about the condoms. It wasn’t her being clingy. She knew he was bad news and wanted me to check it out.

Dad got up, went to the fridge, and made me a steak sandwich. “Here, eat this. Those ranch hands might not mind listening to a man’s guts growling, but you don’t want to embarrass your sister in front of her friends.”

But that’s exactly what I was going to do. You don’t just show up to check out your little sister’s boyfriend and wind up on her good side.

My dad sat again and my parents started talking to Gramp as if the hollow conversation had never stopped.

I thought, We as a family, we Rands, we have some significant issues.

I ate my sandwich in five bites and then raided the fridge for whatever else I could find. I made two more sandwiches, finished up some potato salad, two slices of apple pie, and a half gallon of milk.

I needed to regroup. It had been a long and emotional day already and my head was still ringing like a call to vespers. I sat on the porch digesting and looked out over the yard thick with shadows. There were a lot of places I wouldn’t let my mind go. Too many bear traps that made any kind of reflection difficult to maneuver. I couldn’t think of Kimmy and Scooter any more tonight, couldn’t imagine Collie’s victims for another minute. I didn’t want to think that Chub might still be working with strings pulling scores, that he was going to go down hard one day and leave his family all alone. I didn’t want to be faced with the realization that I almost hoped it would happen soon, that I’d have my chance with her again once he was tucked away for twelve to fifteen.

I got in the car and forced my attention away from my brother’s files stuffed under the seat. I called JFK to see if he wanted to come along to the lake. He took a step forward like he might clamber in, shook his head as if he’d thought better of it, then marched up the porch steps.

It wasn’t until I was on the road that I realized I didn’t know what kind of car the boyfriend drove, or if he drove at all. I didn’t know what he looked like. I didn’t even know his name. Worse than all that, I feared I might not recognize my own sister.

The kids had taken over the parking area of Shalebrook Lake and spread out with their cars, pickups, and Jeeps across the back fields. They’d set up mini tailgate parties the way we used to do it, truck radios on, milling around coolers packed with beer. The park lamps did a fair job of illuminating the paths and picnic grounds.

I started searching among the groups for Dale. I had no idea where to look. There had to be two hundred kids drifting about. I wandered among them. I was young but not quite young enough, and the gray patch made me stand out. I caught some glowers and scowls. I looked just like what I was: an edgy older brother.

Heavy bass tracks and guttural lyrics moaned from car to car. They kept their radios low so there wasn’t a war of music, just a low humming and groaning punctuated by an occasional caterwaul or whine.

So long as no one started a bonfire and everybody threw their beer bottles in the trash cans or took them back home again, the cops wouldn’t come down too hard. Cruisers usually stopped in a few times a night on the weekends just to make their presence known and keep the peace.

Chub and I used to get badgered by the cops a little more frequently than everyone else. It didn’t matter. It helped to build the legend, something that seemed important when I was seventeen. I had some small claim to fame and hung my hat on it. I wondered if Dale did the same thing.

I’d glimpsed her for only a minute this morning, and I knew how different a girl could look hanging out with the crowd at night than she did at home in the daylight. I imagined walking up to a teenager and discussing condoms, only to get hauled off by the cops for talking to the wrong girl.

Those teen-vampire romance novels she adored so much had left their mark on her generation. Most of the girls were dressed in black and red, tight low-slung jeans, lace and velvet blouses, long leather coats. A lot of makeup attentively applied to accent lips and eyes.

I made two complete circuits of the area before I finally homed in on her.

Dale seemed to be in her element among the crowd, weaving between tribes, drifting. I took up a perch beside a tree, lit a cigarette, and watched. She was the popular chick, everyone focusing on her, circling her, asking her opinion. She held a bottle of beer but sipped from it rarely. She was offered a joint and a cigarette and passed them both by. She laughed quaintly, almost shyly, but with a gorgeous smile and her neck tilted back. Her lips were strikingly red, cheekbones heavy with purple makeup that almost looked like bruises. Boys put their arms around her but only briefly. She kept on the move. I couldn’t tell which might be the boyfriend, if any of them.

Beneath a tight, short leather jacket she wore a skimpy black T-shirt that left her midriff exposed. She had a lot of shake when she walked. I saw that she’d gotten a small tattoo near her navel. At this distance I couldn’t make the tat out. You couldn’t get a tattoo if you were under eighteen, not even if a parent said it was okay, and my mother never would have. That meant she had a fake ID. That sort of shocked me and it shouldn’t have. Damn near everyone had fake identification. Fifteen seemed so much younger to me now than it once had.