The Milk Wagon Read online

  “Really? Good for you, Hop. I really mean it. Restraining order finally expire?”

  “Says the man who has no date.”

  Dang. He had me there. Nate didn’t either, though.

  “What about you, Nate?” Mark asked. “Who are you thinking about asking?”

  “Emily Miller. For sure.” Mark quit chewing his ice, and Hop leaned in ever so slightly. Nate realized there was a tonal shift and sat up. “Whoa. She doesn’t have a boyfriend, does she?”

  “No,” I said, feeling eyes on me, and trying to look cool and unfazed. One half of my mind was raging, but the other took a little comfort in the fact that a date with Emily could help bring Nate back around to the living. Still, if I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t happy about it and pretended like I was still watching the soccer game. “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Good,” he said.

  Now Hop smelled blood in the water. “What do you say to me, Matt, whenever I go on and on about Kristin? What is that phrase again?”

  He got me and I glared at him to let him know we would discuss this later. “The phrase?”

  He wasn’t letting go. “Yeah, something about home . . .”

  You couldn’t be thin-skinned around these guy, and I knew I couldn’t push back any more, so I said it. “If you can’t keep her home, let her roam.”

  Nate started snickering, and Mark laughed as well.

  Hop was smiling at me and then opened his notebook back up. “Yeah, that’s it,” Hop said, tapping his pencil eraser on his cheek. “Let her roam.”

  Dick.

  Chapter 19

  Yes, it drank gas like a camel. It’s true there was no cassette player, and without a doubt, the cooling effects of the AC were marginal at best, but for a high-schooler, Nate was right. The Milk Wagon was ideal, and with three full-sized traveling couches it was better than a dark movie theatre when the opportunity for some one-on-one time arose. Me, Mark, and Sammy had put that to the test on more than one occasion with varying degrees of success. I had hoped one day to familiarize Emily with its finer points, but what I hadn’t foreseen was that she would be sharing the backseat with someone other than me.

  Things had been a little strained between the two of us since our respective homecoming dates were finalized. Of course she agreed to go with Nate, and I, of course, defaulted to Chrissy, not having any other legitimate options. I really wished I had asked Emily first and kicked myself for not getting ahead of it. Emily’s and Nate’s nose-to-nose chat fests in the hall gave me the uneasy impression that my procrastination might have unwillingly lit a fire that had the potential to burn long past November, and I certainly didn’t want the Milk Wagon fanning any romantic embers.

  Mark, Hop, and I had originally planned to take Wendy, Kristin, and Chrissy on a triple date to the movies, but Hop was a bit skittish about exposing Kristin to all of us in the same vehicle, so he said they would just meet us at the theatre. When Hop bailed, Mark called up Nate without checking with me first and gave the extra Milk Wagon slot to Nate and Emily. Like Hop, I wanted to avoid being in the same car as Emily and Nate in the event we ended up parking. It would be difficult – but not impossible – to pay proper attention to Chrissy with Emily literally arm’s length from me. I suggested we take another ride, but Nate would have none of it. He wanted to drive the Milk Wagon because he liked the way he could click the brights on with the toe switch on the floor.

  We ended up seeing Commando at the Hardy Court Theatre, a local four-screen, famous for its good popcorn and lack of ushers. Even though the movie was crappy, the date ended up going better than expected because I was able to avoid the parking thing altogether. Nate had a strict curfew at ten o’clock due to an early morning obligation. He had to drive up to Hattiesburg to pick up a chair Vicky had ordered, and there was no way he could get out of it. We all shared some ice cream at Chillville then took the girls home.

  The ladies graced us with some good night tongue, and Mark ended up scoring the longest make out session at Wendy’s house. Her parents went to sleep early so he didn’t have to worry about any front porch hawks. I couldn’t even bring myself to watch Nate walk Emily up, so I played with the radio until he came back. I dropped Chrissy off last, and she didn’t hesitate to show her appreciation for the date either. By the time our marathon snaking session was over, I had a crick in my neck, a bite mark on my left ear, and my jaw clicked whenever I opened my mouth all the way. As I slid back behind the steering wheel, Mark bounced his head up and down from the second row.

  “Well, well. That certainly appeared to be productive.”

  I smiled and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Yeah. She’s nuts.” I turned back down Washington Avenue and headed to the school to drop Nate off. I pulled into the front by the gate and parked next to Ferris.

  “I know it’s kind of early, Nate, but it’s time for you to roll.”

  “Yep. Thanks for the ride. Appreciate you letting me drive the Milk Wagon earlier.”

  “No problem.”

  “Mark, you were right,” Nate said. “The roomy interior does make for a sweet ride.”

  “If you got the right seatmate, for sure.” Mark and Nate gave each other one of those half-high fives that morphs into a handshake. They tried to snap their fingers at the end like the black kids but failed.

  “Terrible,” I said as Nate stepped out and Mark climbed over the bench and into the front seat.

  Nate closed his door and leaned through the passenger window. “Look Matt,” he said, pinching his chin into a dimple, “You know she really likes you, right?”

  “Yeah, Chrissy’s not too bad. I guess I could do worse for sure, although –”

  “Not Chrissy. Emily.”

  “Emily?” Mark’s head whipped toward Nate and then back to me.

  “Talks about you all the time.”

  “About me? Really?”

  “Really. In fact, when I walked her to the door, she had a lot to say – about you. And Chrissy, of all people. Emily is not a fan, by the way. I barely even got a good night kiss in.”

  “Nate, listen, I –”

  “Matt – I’m good with it, all right? Seriously, it’s okay; it’s not like this is a surprise or anything. Let’s just get homecoming out of the way and see what happens.” He leaned in and held out his hand for a real handshake. Mark pressed himself against the back of the seat, trying to avoid contact at all costs. I slapped Mark on the chest just to make him jerk, then shook Nate’s hand. He was for real.

  “Deal. We’ll circle back on this in a few weeks, and if your theory still holds, we’ll talk about it then.”

  “Right on.” Nate rapped the side of the Milk Wagon twice and walked off. “See y’all Monday,” he said, waving over the back of his head.

  “Later, Nate,” Mark yelled and watched him get into his truck. Mark leaned his elbow out the window and put one foot up on the dash. “Geez, what was that all about?”

  “I have no idea. But it sounds promising.”

  “Yeah. For you.”

  “You hungry?”

  “You know it. Let’s go.”

  I put it in gear, still floored by Nate’s comment, and not just because the door had potentially been opened with Emily. I was more stunned by the revelation that perhaps I had misjudged Nate from the outset. All this time, I thought he was goofy, aloof, confused, and somewhat disillusioned. Truth was, he had been watching, listening, and observing everything, and had been fully plugged in from the beginning to the undercurrent between Emily and me. It made me wonder what else he was keeping to himself.

  Maybe Mark was right. Maybe Nate was an enigma.

  Chapter 20

  It had been several weeks, and Marty still had not returned to work – or to Archie Park, for that matter. It scared him too bad. When his daddy asked him why he didn’t want to go back, M
arty halfway told the truth and said he didn’t want to in case the bad man was still there. Marty was very surprised his daddy didn’t make him go. In fact, his daddy was nice about it and told Marty he could go back whenever he wanted to.

  Marty looked out his window and saw that the fog had crept in, making the night even scarier that usual. He pulled the shade down all the way then closed the curtains on top of that. He rarely ventured out, even during the day, and when he did, he stayed close to his house. Close enough that he could make it back in under a minute if need be. He timed himself with his watch to make sure. His bike remained where he put it. Inside, kickstand down, parked at the foot of his bed.

  The one thing Marty did have that calmed him down was his art. He had a big exhibit coming up soon, and even though most of the drawings had already been selected, they wanted some extras. He was going to meet with the lady soon and wanted to show her what else he had done. He had already sketched a heron, a least tern, and a mockingbird. He also drew some ducks that he had watched down near the marina in Bayou View earlier in the summer. He just had to add some color and more feathers, and they would be done. They all came pretty easy, but there was one bird he just couldn’t get right.

  No matter how hard he tried, he could not bring himself to draw a warbler. Even though he saw several of them in the woods that terrible day, every time he put pencil to paper, nothing took shape. The only details that came to him from that morning were Mr. Tommy getting shot. In fact, those visions surfaced almost every day and they terrified him, over and over again. They were bright and loud, and when he dreamed, they moved.

  He wished he knew how to get them to go away. He tried praying, he tried playing video games, and he tried singing, but it didn’t work. He wished they were just in a photograph so he could just put it away in a drawer and not have to look at it anymore.

  Then it came to him. What if he could make them like a photograph? He didn’t know if it would work, but he might as well give it a go. The thought excited him, so he grabbed his pad and box of pencils and sat Indian style next to his bed. He moved his hair out of his eyes and did the only thing that had ever come natural to him in his life.

  Marty drew.

  Chapter 21

  Dr. Nathan Bedford Mayes had just poured himself a Maker’s Mark on ice and was settling in to watch the Tonight Show. When the phone in his home office rang right as Johnny Carson’s first guest came on, however, he knew he had to take it. Only a handful of people had that number, and most of those were bankers who were only allowed to call during the day. When he picked it up, he was surprised to learn it was a man he had instructed long ago to break off all contact. But before he could protest, the reason for the call became clear. He swished the whiskey in his highball glass as he listened, no longer interested in his nightcap or in what Robin Williams was saying. In a matter of seconds, the message had been delivered, and the line went dead.

  If the caller was right, his immediate interests were best served by taking care of things downtown, and he wondered what excuse he could give for leaving the house at that hour. He crept back in the den and called out to his wife, but she didn’t budge, much less look up. The effects of the wine usually started to set in with her just after the evening news ended, so he had a pass there. His son had just come home from the movies, but he went straight up to his room without so much as a peep, and wouldn’t be down until morning.

  Dr. Mayes returned to the office and grabbed his wallet from the top drawer, then took the Emmitt Thames painting off the wall so he could get to the safe, where he pulled out a stack of documents. He eyeballed the rest of the contents and figured they could wait until he got back. He thought about taking his shredder with him, but the one at the office was a heavy duty, commercial grade machine and could handle more volume. He swiped the keys off his desk then sped off in his Porsche.

  In his haste to leave, Dr. Mayes made three errors – an unusual slip-up for a man who demanded precision and perfection in everything and from everybody. First, he failed to close the safe all the way; it never latched, and the door kicked out just enough to not be flush with the wall. Second, he misjudged the actions of his family. Yes, his wife was on the couch, barely coherent, and long since disinterested in what he was doing. His son, on the other hand, was not. In fact, he had been in the kitchen making a sandwich the entire time.

  Of course, the first two wouldn’t have mattered if Dr. Mayes hadn’t made his third – and most egregious – mistake: he failed to hang the painting back up properly. Instead of being aligned with the floor and ceiling, the frame leaned a bit to the left, causing the bucket of apples on the canvas – perfectly painted using egg tempera and watercolors – to give the appearance that they would spill out on the ground.

  It was the first thing Nate noticed when he walked by.

  Chapter 22

  Mark and I met Hop at Sonic for a Coney and some chili cheese tots. We sat outside, dodging mosquitoes and solving the world’s problems while we ate. Since Mark and I didn’t have to be in until eleven-thirty, we all decided we would head to Hop’s for some Nintendo, but when I opened up the driver’s side door of the Milk Wagon, something fell out onto the ground that made us reassess our plans.

  “Hey, guys, looks like Nate left his wallet.”

  Hop looked at his watch. “Too late to call his house.”

  “What do you think?” I asked. “Should we drop it off?”

  “I don’t know, man,” Mark said. “You know what happened last time we showed up unannounced. Not sure it’s a good idea to go busting up in there again.”

  “Yeah,” Hop said, “but if he’s driving to Hattiesburg tomorrow morning, he’s going to need this. And if his old man is looking for an excuse to jump his ass, this would be it.”

  “Especially since his stepmom is involved. You know she won’t cut him any slack.”

  They were both right. I didn’t want to go to Nate’s house, but I didn’t want him to get reamed out again. I had an idea. “Didn’t the gate have an intercom thing? I thought I saw a call button.”

  “I don’t remember,” Hop said, “what are you thinking?”

  “Why don’t we try that and see if Nate can meet us out front? That way we don’t have to go in.”

  Everyone agreed and Hop jumped in. I cranked it up, and we headed north.

  It was much harder to navigate the roads at night. There were no streetlights that deep in the country, and only one car passed us once we started moving. I felt like I was doing okay until I got to what I thought was the last turn before Nate’s street. I should have paid more attention when Nate had been driving, and I wasn’t entirely sure I was where we needed to be. The headlights on the Milk Wagon were cloudy due to the yellowed lens covers, and instead of illuminating the road, they cast more of a gauzy glow – even when I clicked on the brights. I couldn’t find any break in the woods heralding a gate, a driveway or anything resembling a road, and I eventually came to a complete stop to try to reorient myself. Condensation had started to form on the windshield, so I rolled down my window to lean out and get a better view.

  “Any of this look familiar?”

  “Nope,” Hop said from the back. Just woods all around.”

  “I feel like I’m in a horror movie,” Mark said.

  “Thanks. Thanks to you both. Very helpful.” Mark rolled down his window as well.

  “You think we ought to backtrack and see if we can figure out if we missed that turn?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I wonder if we’re even close. Was there a street sign or anything that–”

  “Shhh,” Mark said.

  I heard it too.

  “What?”

  “Shut UP. Listen.”

  In the stillness of the night, over the din of the crickets and frogs, we could hear something approaching. “What is that?”

  Footsteps. Fast moving, l
ike someone was running. My heart downshifted, and I strained my eyes, realizing we truly were in the middle of freaking nowhere.

  “Holy crap,” Mark said and leaned forward. “Look.”

  I started breathing heavier and leaned over the steering wheel. After a few seconds the sound materialized into a figure running towards us at what appeared to be a record pace. He was on the right side of the road just barely outside of the lights.

  “What the hell? Roll ’em up!” Mark and I both started whipping the handles as fast as we could. Hop leaned up to push down the lock buttons. Right about the time he reached mine, the three of us all looked up, and the person – clearly a male – was almost on us. I let out a little yelp and started to honk, but before I could react, he split left just in front of the truck and continued down the road, never breaking his stride.

  We were speechless, and when Hop tapped me on the shoulder and pointed, I nearly came out of my seat. Seeing a stranger running at you in the middle of the night while you are miles from civilization is enough to give anyone the willies. That wasn’t the weird part. In the second he cut in front of the Milk Wagon lights, I recognized him. He had on the same blue Polo, the same khaki pants, and the same pair of Nikes from earlier.

  But it wasn’t the clothes that got my attention. It was the expression on his face.

  His eyes were wide open and his mouth drawn into an oval. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and spit was dripping off his chin.

  Nate looked terrified.

  Chapter 23