John Brandon - Citrus County

“How come?” Shelby asked.

“They said it was poor performance, which was hard to argue, but really it was because we were involved.”

“You were her girlfriend?”

“You could say that.”

“So now you have a man partner?”

“That would’ve made sense.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Shelby asked.

“Oh, sweetie. A lot of people are going to tell you a lot of things. You’re like me. You understand everybody but nobody understands you.”

Shelby looked at the phone a moment.

“There was talk of us quitting the bureau,” the agent said. “Opening a shop somewhere.”

Shelby got up and went back to the sliding-glass door. The snake was gone. She covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said the word “fuck.”

“I called in order to give you the last word,” the agent said. “I’m an adult and I realize that you deserve to have the last word with me.”

Shelby stayed quiet.

“I want you to tell me what you think of me, then hang up. I want you to be honest.”

Shelby held perfectly still.

“Shelby?” the agent said. “I know you’re there. Take a minute to think and then say whatever you want. I need some truth. I know there are things you want to say to me.”

Shelby closed her eyes.

“Please, Shelby. Don’t play games. Don’t be a jerk. Shelby? I’m being an adult here.”

On the way out of Mr. Hibma’s class, Shelby had whispered to Toby that she was going to find the old lost tennis court after school, that Toby should meet her there and keep her company, so once the final bell had sounded he headed out through the pastures behind the football bleachers. The tennis court couldn’t have been more than a mile away, but there was no trail. You had to walk through the pastures and then over a high spot in the swamp and then it was in among a bunch of spindly pine trees. It was in the middle of nowhere, a full tennis court.

When Toby arrived, the court was empty. He walked up to the fence. The surface of the court was cracked with weeds. The net was sagging. There was an aluminum bench with algae or something growing on it. Toby started as a ball flew over the fence and bounced into the corner. He turned and saw Shelby coming out of some high grass.

“I can tell you by the way you walk,” Shelby said. “Even with your hair short, I could tell it was you.”

Shelby was wearing sunglasses. They made it look like she had a hangover.

“What do I walk like?” Toby asked her.

“You have a hitch. You leave room in every step to change direction, to change your mind.”

“I hardly ever change my mind,” Toby said.

The sun was hitting Shelby. Her arms and legs were bony. It seemed strange that she could walk around and throw things, as bony as she was. Toby felt he was betraying himself, being out at this tennis court. Betraying the bunker. Even betraying Kaley. The courage he’d felt that day at the playground was gone. Shelby seemed dangerous, but not because she could find Toby out. For some other reason, she seemed like a trap.

“Help me,” she said.

She waded back into the tall grass and Toby followed. They dragged their feet and shook the underbrush and whenever Toby found a ball he handed it to Shelby and she threw it back over the fence. She seemed charmed that people used this court. Someone had dragged racquets and dozens of balls through a half-hour of Florida wilderness in order to play on a dilapidated court with a rotting net.

“People get really bored,” Toby said.

The two of them worked their way through the grass and then around some cypress knees. They found eight or nine balls, all new, bright in color and rubbery in smell. They looked absolutely fluorescent against the dingy court. Toby asked Shelby how she knew about this place and she said she’d heard some of the searchers talking about it.

“A while back a millionaire lived in Citrus County,” Shelby said. “His mistress loved tennis, so he had this court built out in the woods so they could play in secret.”

“Wow,” Toby said. He knew this story was false. This tennis court, along with a half-built golf course Toby sometimes walked through, were remnants of an unfinished development. Nothing romantic. And he wasn’t going to tell Shelby but her mysterious new tennis balls were probably the work of drunken teenagers. Most mild mysteries in Citrus County boiled down to drunk teenagers.

They made it around to the opposite side of the court, where the pines were. Toby had no idea why they were doing this. They found a couple more balls and then when it seemed there were no more Toby spotted something down under some thick brush, down in a little ravine that must’ve been formed by a sinkhole.

Toby held onto a vine and lowered himself. He mashed a bush over with his foot and reached down and grasped the ball. He cleaned it of clumps of dirt and an insect or two, put it in his pocket, and climbed up to flat ground.

He presented the pale, bounceless orb to Shelby, and she didn’t hurl it over the fence. She held it in one hand and with the other she drew Toby in by the elbow. She was kissing him. Shelby’s mouth was moist and assertive and Toby could feel the world’s vastness. He knew there were oceans out there that made the Gulf look like a puddle. There were places covered in snow, places where people ate snakes for dinner, places where people believed that every single thing that happened in their lives was determined by ill-willed spirits. Shelby tasted like nothing. She smelled like freckles and she was making sounds, but she didn’t taste like anything. Toby didn’t know whether his eyes were open. His feet were planted and he was keeping his balance as Shelby leaned against him.

When Toby thought of his hands, he began to panic. The point of the kissing had been reached where Toby was supposed to do more, something with his hands. Shelby’s fingers were up under Toby’s shirt in the back. He could feel the old bare tennis ball rubbing his skin. Toby took a step backward and Shelby almost fell. He said he had to go. Shelby looked at him like he was a silly child. Toby did have something to do. It wasn’t a lie. He always had something to do.

The flashlight had broken. Maybe Kaley had broken it on purpose. It was hard to say. Toby didn’t want her down there in the pitch dark, so he had to go back to the used hardware store. Kaley wasn’t coming around to Toby, but she did seem to be considering the idea that the masked figure that tended to her was as much a victim in this as she. It was undeniable that Toby was her servant. When he bathed her, his eyes averted, it was clear that hers was the position of strength.

Toby went into the store and grabbed a flashlight at random from the bin. His mouth still felt numb, hours later, from kissing Shelby. The nothing her mouth had tasted like had gotten into Toby’s mouth. He had no appetite.

When he got to the counter the old lady said, “You’re in the very early stages of becoming a regular. You’re meaning to become a regular and get special treatment and have me know your name.”

Her grandbaby was with her again, standing back there behind the counter. A disposable camera hung around the child’s neck. Her eyes were closed.

The old woman held a bowl of candy out toward Toby and he declined.

“That’s smart,” she said. “No candy from strangers. You’re not a regular yet. We’re still strangers.”

“I’m not big on candy,” Toby said. “I’m not a candy person.”

“See that?” She was addressing her grandbaby now, who reluctantly opened her eyes. “You could learn something. He knows enough to turn down strange candy and he knows enough to make a polite excuse when he does it.”

Later that week, Shelby skipped school again. She didn’t want to go to school and she didn’t want to sit in her house. She ordered a cab and waited on the front steps, staring as a hulking bay tree dropped its white bulbs and they parachuted down. Another floated down, and another, until a big crow plopped down in the yard and Shelby saw the cab at the end of the drive, its dust settling. The driver had done a turn and had the car facing the main road. The car was about a hundred feet long and had no hubcaps.