Elizabeth Massie - Wire Mesh Mothers

“We have to get off this main street. Quickly.”

They hurried down the alley that ran alongside the fortune teller’s trailer and back another block for good measure, then sat close in the ratty grass in the shade of a hen house. A couple of Hispanic girls walked past on the alley, one holding tightly to the leash of a bouncing shepherd puppy. The girls glanced over, then whispered something and giggled. Tony was sure those girls didn’t know who they were. The girls were probably laughing at the teacher’s overalls. They were way pathetic.

“I’m going to the lounge,” the teacher with a tip of her head. “You two wait here.”

“What you gonna do, whore yourself out for a ride?”

“I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Damn! That’s a hoot!”

“Really, Tony? Call it what you will. Just don’t let Mistie out of your sight.”

“I don’t think I’ll let you go. I think you’ll be in there sobbin’ some story, tellin’ them all the bad things I did and how you’re all innocent.”

The teacher took Tony’s chin and Tony didn’t pull away. Her fingernails were rough where they’d broken off at different lengths. The woman’s breath was rank. “I’ve made my course. Trust me or not, I will get us to Lamesa.”

Tony shrugged then jerked from the teacher’s grasp. “Fine with me. But you got ten minutes, or each minute after that little old Mistie here gets a new piece of a tattoo. I think she’d look cute with a little angel, don’t you think? Down her back, between those bony shoulders, give the angel wings, a halo, oh, there’s lots of minutes to use up if I need them.”

“You won’t hurt her,” said the teacher. “And I will be back in less than ten.”

“We’ll see,” said Tony.

“You won’t hurt her.” The teacher was up, and hobbling toward the street.

“We’ll see, won’t we Mistie?” Tony said. She looked at the child, who had found a handful of grass with seedpods, and was rocking back and forth and popping the pods off with the wrap and snap of the stems.

“We aren’t open yet. It’s not even five yet.”

Kate squinted in the darkness, her heard turned toward the sound of the voice.

“I’m sorry,” said Kate. “I was just hoping for some help.”

“What kind of help?” The voice was male, and decidedly young.

“A ride.” God, to say it aloud, in that was the danger. In that the connection could be made if the news had reached this far.

Just get the ride, get out of here, two hours tops and we’ll be safe.

“Ain’t no bus service in Farstone, sorry,” said the voice. The darkness of the room began to shimmer away, and in the center of Kate’s sight she could see a single shaded lamp sitting atop a bar counter, and a boy behind the bar, counting dollar bills. “No taxi, neither. You ain’t from here. You lost?”

Kate could see well enough to walk to the counter without tripping on table or chair legs. She hoped her limp wasn’t terribly obvious, but knew it was. “No, I’ve run out of gas.”

The boy laughed. He was dark skinned, dark eyes, a head full of thick black hair. He was a little older than Donnie. “That’s a bummer,” he said. “A goat roper lost in Texas with no gas!”

“Goat roper?”

“Oh,” said the boy. He stacked the bills and slipped them into an open cash register drawer. “Don’t take offense, it’s just something we call people who aren’t from here, especially people who are, well, kinda skinny.”

“Oh,” said Kate. “Okay. No bus. Any gas? Anywhere?”

“Closest gas station is east up 180, town of Albany or west in Anson.”

“I can’t drive to get gas with no gas.” Kate, keep it easy, don’t piss him off.

“Right there. George Watson got gas up at his ranch for his trucks. But he’s not the kind of man you ask for anything.”

Kate licked her lips. She slid onto one of the bar stools and caught her head in her hands. She knew she smelled. She hoped the boy had clogged sinuses.

“So, where you trying to get to?” asked the boy.

Say it.

“Lamesa.”

“Really?”

It was then that Kate saw the open newspaper on the counter by the register. She couldn’t read the headlines the way the paper was turned and pooched up at the fold.

“Why Lamesa?”

“I…because it’s nearly on the other side of the state, right? I make Lamesa and I’m almost to New Mexico. Thought if I could get that far, I could find a motel for the night.”

The boy shut the cash register drawer and nodded. He said, “Where you from?”

“North Carolina.”

“That’s pretty far away.”

“You’re telling me.” She tried to chuckle. It sounded like a gasp. “Can you think of anyone who would be willing to give me a ride to Lamesa?”

“You traveling alone from North Carolina?”

“Why? Does it matter?”

The boy looked over his shoulder. There was a phone mounted on the wall. He shrugged. “I guess it would, if there was only room for one person in the car.”

“You have a car? Would you take me? I can’t pay, but….”

But I’ll fuck you for a ride? Hey baby, take a load of this filthy body and let me tempt you into providing a little shuttle to Lamesa? Stop looking at the phone!

The lounge door opened with a squeal and Kate looked back into the blinding light of day. She turned away and stared down at the bar. Don’t let him see your face.

“Hey there, Juan.”

Her. Don’t let her see your face.

“Hey there, Greta. We aren’t open yet.”

The boy probably doesn’t know jack. I’m jumping at shadows. Thousands of children are abducted each year. And how many do they find? Ten percent? Five? Why couldn’t Mistie be one of the lost? The odds are pretty good.

The woman walked up to the bar and slid onto the stool three down from Kate. She was in a uniform, but Kate couldn’t tell what kind with her peripheral vision. Police, maybe. Security guard. Hostess snack cake truck driver. “Howdy, ma’am.”

She knows who I am, she’s making sport of me. I have to get out.

“Hello,” offered Kate. To Juan, “Listen, thanks anyway but I’ll figure something out. Merry Christmas.”

“Feliz Navidad,” said Juan.

Kate stood and turned. The woman beside her was, indeed, a police officer. Deputy. Something with a badge, but something legal. She was a large woman with arms that strained at the fabric of her sleeves.

“Ma’am,” she said. “That your truck up the ways?”

“Ah,” said Kate. What was the right answer? What was the best answer? Her heart began hammering in her chest and in her leg. “Which truck is that?”

Officer Greta chuckled. “Juan, got a beer? I’m off duty. I won’t tell your boss you served early.”

“Sure,” said Juan. He reached under the counter. There was the sound of slushing ice, and then a beer can was plopped onto the bar top. The officer popped the top, and said, “Ma’am? That your truck, the tan one that out of gas?”

“Yes.” A chuckle, way too loud to sound normal.

Get out of here, get out now.

“Plates say Louisiana.”

“Yes. They do.”

Juan said, “Thought you were from North Carolina.”

No no no no . “I am, originally. Listen, I have to be going.”

“How?” said Juan. “You said you’d run out of gas.”

Officer Greta caught Kate by the arm but then let go, as if she realized that was out of order or she’d caught a whiff of Kate’s homegrown perfume.

“You can’t leave the truck there. Can’t abandon vehicles in the limits of Farstone.”