Scott Nicholson - Curtains

Betty Ann laughed. "You must have forgot about that time in the hayloft."

"Don't do this, Betty Ann. It's hard enough as it is."

"You know all about hard, don't you?"

Larry looked out the window at the far slopes of granite, the worn edges of the Blue Ridge. When you got mad, you just had to look way off in the distance, his Daddy always said. Daddy wasn't born a fool, just ended up that way. "That's enough of that. I made a promise, and I'll keep it. Are you going to keep yours?"

"But you ain't said what you wanted yet." She lowered her voice into the husky whisper that sounded like the result of a lot of practice. "But I got a good idea."

"I'll pick you up at seven. Like we planned."

"Like we planned."

"Bye, now."

"Bye. I love you."

The click of the phone rattled around inside his skull, bouncing against that word "love." He'd heard that word a time or two before. And then push always comes to shove, and you find out it doesn't mean a thing. It's just a word.

He went back to the barn. He spread the velvet lining in the coffin and stapled it into place. Most people went with black velvet, but Larry believed in Royal blue. There was something churchy and sacred about it. When you went under the dirt, you wanted all the comfort you could get.

Glue had leaked from one of the corners where the angled wood met. Larry took a chisel from the workbench and scraped the clot free. He felt along the joint. Not a stray splinter, tight as a mouse's ear. He was getting better with practice.

He finished up just as the sun set on the hills. He tested the fit of the lid one last time. The lid wasn't so heavy, and he'd drilled holes where the nails would go. This would work just fine.

At least, the part you could count on. Wood was straight up and honest, you could shape it and trim it and make something that would last. You could build your own coffin with no problem. But you had to have somebody to drive the nails, because you damned sure couldn't do it from the inside.

He set the lid aside, wiped his tools, and saw that everything was laid out on the workbench. He blew out the lamp and hung it by the barn door. It was time to pick up Betty Ann.

Larry sat in his Ford and looked around the trailer park. Betty Ann could do better than this place. She was plenty dumb enough to marry some farmer and have a bunch of kids. You got married to the dirt up here, one way or the other. Some put it off for as long as possible, but the mountains always took you anyway.

He blew the horn. Betty Ann wanted him to be right on the button, but she didn't mind a bit to keep him waiting. Finally, the trailer door opened and she waved.

Larry swallowed hard. She was wearing the red dress. Not a good choice for what they were about to do, because it made her easy to remember. Larry remembered just fine. Maybe a little too fine, because his pulse was running hard, and he needed to be calm for what they were about to do.

She slid into the truck beside him and squeezed his leg. "Ready for anything?"

He pushed her hand away. "I keep my promises."

"So that's how you're going to be about it."

"The things I do for you."

"Don't forget the things I do for you."

Larry wanted real bad to lean over and kiss her. She was the prettiest of them all. But she said "love" too easy and often. She looked like the lying kind.

They'd find out about all that later, whether this was for real or not. He had a promise to keep, and so did she. He started the Ford and headed toward Tennessee.

They drove fifty miles, running past the dark quiet of Watauga Lake, winding through Shady Valley where the cows outnumbered the people, and then followed a gravel road along the river.

"You scared?" Betty Ann said. She'd been quiet for the last half-hour, a long stretch for her. She must have been thinking.

Larry had been thinking, too. "Not about this. I'm scared about the rest of it. About later."

"I'll take care of you." Her hand was on his leg again. This time, Larry didn't push it away. He stared ahead where the black road met the headlights.

"I know. Because you promised."

Betty Ann murmured happily beside him. She'd probably been looking for a dream man all her life. And that was what she found. A dream man.

He said, "Other women made promises. Some got broken."

"Larry, you ought to know by now that I ain't like other women." She leaned over and her breath was on his neck, and then, brief as a hummingbird, her tongue flicked across his skin.

"You'd best quit that so I can drive."

They were under the lights now, on the four-lane. Cars skimmed by in the night. Larry wondered where the cars were headed. He was willing to bet that everybody else in the world planned on sleeping in a normal bed tonight, that they didn't have the kind of dreams Larry had.

"Here it is," Betty Ann said.

The gas station had four pumps, and Larry was relieved they didn't take credit cards. An electric Marlboro sign flickered in the window. The man behind the counter was hidden by a row of fan belts. "You sure this is it?"

"Trucker told me about it. The owner's weird, he don't believe in banks. Thinks they're all run by thieving Jews."

One truck was parked behind the store, a slow hunk of steel that had four wheels on the back axle. It was a Chevy. No need to worry about getting chased down.

Larry parked by the door and left the engine running. If he had any sense, he ought to push Betty Ann out and let her thumb and screw her way back to North Carolina. But he didn't have a lick of sense, not where she was concerned. Plus, he'd made a promise.

He took the gun from the glove box. It was Daddy's, a. 32 revolver that didn't have much knock-down but was big enough to move money. He tucked the gun under his arm and opened the door.

Betty Ann leaned over and kissed him before he got out. "For luck," she said.

The kiss tasted of sawdust.

The lights were dim, probably because the cheapskate owner tried to save on the power bills. The beer cooler in back looked tempting, but Larry had a long drive home. Rounded mirrors hung in the corners of the ceiling, but there were no video cameras. He went up to the counter and chose a can of snuff, the real kind, not that sissy, grainy stuff in the plastic cans.

He laid the snuff on the counter and met the man's eyes.

"That all?" The man looked to be a hundred-and-fifty, or maybe it was the bad fluorescent lights. He looked mean and cheap. Larry didn't dread this anymore. It was just another chore, something you did to get what you wanted. It was like making two pieces of wood fit.

He pulled out the gun, and the rest of it went like they were in a movie, like they both knew what to do and wanted to get it over with. The old man cleaned out the register, handed over his wallet, and even put the snuff in a bag. Larry backed out, checked for traffic, and tucked the gun under his arm. The old man even waved good-bye.

"Here." Larry tossed the money and the wallet into Betty Ann's sweet lap. "Like I promised."

"I love you," she said.

Larry glanced into the rear-view mirror. He wondered what kind of description the old man would give. Should have shot him. But that wasn't his way. You met the dirt when the time was right. He gunned the truck out of the lot and roared away into the Appalachian night.

They went back to his farm, the way they had planned. Larry had to admit the whole thing had gone smoothly. At least the first part of it, her part. He wondered if his part would be smooth, too.

They stood under the stars. Not a streetlight marred the dark view. This was how a man was supposed to live. Too bad none of his women wanted to live this way.

"Seven hundred and twelve dollars," Betty Ann said. "Plus some change."