My Best Everything Read online

  You said, “I just found out I’m not supposed to work on Sundays.”

  Standing there with only a few feet of hot, muggy air and a clump of no-see-ums buzzing between us, it was like all these different lobes in my brain were going haywire. I had this vague idea that you could help us with this crazy illegal moonshine plan, but I’d just gone to Mass and was supposed to be feeling pure and holy. Also, there was a distracting place somewhere inside that couldn’t stop thinking about the last time I’d been with you, driving in the dark. I remembered the way you smelled inside Roni’s car, and I was like an old hound dog wanting to sniff you again to check if my memory was right.

  “Will you show me the room you’re working on?” I asked.

  I followed you down the stairs to the basement of the church. The air in the hallway was a little bit funky, being under the building and earth, surrounded by thick stone walls, but it was also at least twenty degrees cooler.

  The room looked dim and shadowy until you flicked on the portable metal light, making the walls glow a soft yellow. A rectangular frame of honey-colored wood lay on the floor beside a pile of tools. The air smelled of new paint. I could smell you beside me too.

  You took off your hat then and rubbed your awful hair. I immediately missed your hat. Even though I liked the line of freckles along the edge of your ear.

  “These’ll be bookcases. Father Mick wants three walls of shelves.” You ran your fingers along the wood. “Then I’ll make a desk. Maybe a table too.”

  “You can do that? Make furniture?”

  I love your smile. Even though it’s crooked. You said, “I’m good with my hands.”

  With every other boy, that might have been an innuendo. You and your honest way of talking didn’t seem to mean a thing except for building furniture.

  I turned to look at you, and, I don’t know if it was you or me, or both of us, that had moved, but you were suddenly closer than I expected. I tried not to let on the way my heart rate jumped. I stepped back, holding in what I really wanted to ask. I blurted out, “Could you take me driving? If your truck gets fixed, I mean. If you have time. You don’t have to. I just want to practice.” I eyed the doorway, half-expecting Daddy to suddenly appear. “But you can’t tell my father.”

  You grinned and rubbed your hair. I know now that means you’re nervous. “I could probably borrow my mama’s car.”

  That afternoon we met in the Country Club parking lot. After Daddy dropped me off, we walked next to each other while you rolled your bike beside you. I said, “Are you ever going to come get a radiator so you don’t have to ride everywhere?”

  “That’s not why I ride,” you said. But you didn’t explain anything more.

  I waited outside while you got the keys, so I didn’t see that your parents’ house is bigger than the front implies. The slightly run-down porch and faded paint job don’t line up with the polished hardwood floors and top-of-the-line appliances inside, or the theater room in the back of the house, where eight leather recliners face an enormous screen. It’s a moon-mansion. Hidden bits of luxury. They don’t want to call attention to any surplus income. Your place, where you live on your own, is bare of any surplus at all. You say the view out the window is all you need. But I didn’t see your home until much later.

  I will never get into a driver’s seat and not think of you.

  You coaxed me along the road, going in the opposite direction from the Country Club. Past the place where I drove into the field that first night we rode together. I wasn’t sure where we were going until we got there, but I’d been to Prior’s Point before.

  Getting out of the car, I hoped you didn’t see how I wiped my hands on my dress. I think I must have been gritting my teeth because my jaw hurt. I hadn’t realized how nervous I was until we stopped.

  What I’d always liked about that place were the perfectly flat boulders burrowed into the ground. They look like someone set up tables for a gathering of giants. But you were there for the view. You pulled me up on top of one of the largest boulders. A cool breeze ran over my bare arms. “We gotta go circular,” you said. We shifted our feet, rotating inch by inch, taking in all 360 degrees.

  Below us, I could see the Country Club nestled between the hills. The brilliant green of the golf course spread out to the brown, uneven fields beyond, those sprinkled with lazy cows. Then, little bits of the buildings in Dale, peeking in and out of the rolling hills. As we kept turning, I saw the blue of the river coming toward us in one place and saying good-bye in another. The highway cut into the landscape as we circled. The cars and semis drove on, not knowing we were there. We were far enough away to be invisible and forgotten.

  You said, “Looks pretty, doesn’t it?”

  I said, “Yep. The farther away we are, the better Dale looks.”

  You hopped off the boulder and picked up a rock. “I feel like this place only looks forward. The past doesn’t matter here.” You ran forward a few steps, hurled the rock over the edge, then said, “I used to be pretty messed up, Lulu. Be glad you didn’t know me then.”

  It’s true I hadn’t known you. But I’d known of you. I slid off the boulder and found my own rock to throw. Then said, “Our dents are what shape us.”

  “Is that from Sal?”

  “Of course.”

  Several rocks later I said, “I went to Cindy’s funeral.” I had to let you know I knew the past you were trying to forget.

  You tossed a rock up and down in your hand. Then asked, “How was it?”

  That wasn’t a question I’d expected. I thought a minute. Then said, “Sad. But nice. There were hundreds of daisies all over the church.” I didn’t tell you I’d helped spread them around.

  “I missed it,” you said, avoiding my eyes. “And I was too drunk to know it.”

  I threw another rock over the side. “The future is all that matters to me, Mason. I told you, I’m leaving this place behind.”

  “Yeah? You figured something out?”

  “Maybe. Can you keep a secret?”

  You were quiet a minute. Then said, “There’s no one to tell.”

  That stopped me mid-throw.

  I’d started that afternoon hoping I could convince you to help us make moonshine. I’d imagined smiling at you, tossing my hair, maybe even letting my hand linger on your arm. Then you’d say yes, of course, you’d love to help. But standing among the boulders with you in the wide open space filled with too-bright sunshine, throwing rocks and talking about your dents and looking to the future, I’d realized you were too real to fit in my imagination. I had to talk straight. “Bucky, Roni, and I, we have a still. For making moonshine. Code name Aunt Jezebel.”

  You listened, looking like you were thinking, so I went on. “She’s a good one. I think. But Bucky’s worried we’re going to blow something up.”

  “It’s possible,” you said, leaning against the boulder. “There are all kinds of ways to go wrong.”

  I picked up the biggest rock I could find. Your eyes lit up at the size of it. I heaved it, but the rock barely made it to the edge. You nudged it down the hill.

  “We sure could use some help,” I said. “You interested?”

  You shook your head. “I’d be more of a liability than a help.”

  I thought that was a funny thing to say. I’m not sure what I thought you meant. I wasn’t thinking things through. I was making it up as I went along. “Take a look at that future,” I said, sweeping my hand across the view. “It’s full of opportunity. A new tomorrow.”

  You shook your head, looking somewhere between amused and skeptical.

  I had to try a different angle. “If you were to help us out with Aunt Jezebel, I’m sure we could hook you up with any part you need for your truck.”

  Your almost-smile made me feel like I was on the right track, even if you were still shaking your head. You asked, “What part are you stuck on?”

  That was easy. All of it.

  I said, “It’s in pieces. We’re not
sure how to put it together.” I paused. “I’m thinking we need someone who’s good with his hands.”

  We stood there a minute, a long, hard stare between us, neither of us willing to be the first to look away.

  Finally you said, “I guess I could help put her together. But that’s it. Just this one thing. I’ll help with this one step. Then I’m done.”

  It wasn’t me you couldn’t resist. It was the pieces and parts all in a jumble.

  “That would be amazing,” I said.

  “Amazing?” You looked straight at me, squinting, like you were trying to find something. Then you reached out and touched my lips with your finger. So light and quick that maybe I made it up.

  I told myself the buoyant, fluttery feeling was relief. Anticipation. Knowing you were going to help made me feel like we had a chance to make this crazy moonshine thing actually work. I didn’t know what the future looked like, but it felt within reach.

  9

  Once you were willing to help, Bucky suddenly had time to take us back to Roni’s land, where we’d stashed the still.

  All the overgrown green looked the same to me, but Bucky knew how to read it. He had you ride up front while Roni sat with me in the back so you could see where we were headed. And so he could show off his truck for you when he took us off-roading.

  Bucky drove crazy up and down those hills once he left the twisty road. I never knew which way the truck would lurch as he drove around trees and boulders and over roots and rocks, and even logs. There was no taking in the view—it was simply a rush of stomach drops, spine jiggles, and full-out body vibrations. A sort of raucous and bruising massage. Even with my seat belt on, every bounceable bit of me bounced. We were thrown every which way and back again.

  I have no idea what it looks like from the driver’s seat, but off-roading is a mind blur. Adrenaline waves riding peaks and valleys.

  Bucky slowed down once he turned on the fire road. Then, even though I didn’t see the mound of fallen branches at first, he stopped where the still rested.

  After we cleared it off, you peered inside the main tank and tapped the copper sides. “She’s shiny clean.”

  “Is that bad?”

  You walked around it again, looking and thinking. “I just don’t know why anyone could confiscate it when there’s no evidence of use.”

  “Will it work?” I asked.

  “Sure looks like it.” You grinned and rubbed your hands together like you couldn’t wait to get started.

  Bucky wasn’t sure yet. “So, Mason, what kind of time commitment are we talking for this endeavor? If we get her set up, then what?”

  You held a hand to the air, feeling something I couldn’t see. “You’ll need a couple of hours to mix and start. Then a few days of this kind of weather to ferment, but with daily stirs. A day or two to actually run the still and package your product. Give it a week to ten days for the first batch. The next’ll go faster.”

  “Will the payoff make it worth it?” I asked.

  “I’d guess you might take in two to three for the first run; later you could push it to four, maybe even five.”

  We were all silent a moment, thinking.

  “I can make that during a weekend of overtime,” said Bucky.

  “Thousand,” you said. “You know I meant thousand?”

  We got a little giddy then. But even though that sounded like a lot of money, I knew this wasn’t any kind of sure thing. When I told you exactly how much I needed to make in the next ten weeks, I needed to know this plan had a just-might-actually-make-it chance.

  You didn’t say anything at first, thinking over my number, adding things up in your head. Finally you squinted and said, “Selling is hard to predict. She’s got a big tank, but it’ll all come down to who’s buying.”

  I said, “I think selling will be the easy part.”

  You shook your head. “Don’t expect easy. That’s the surest way to slip. You should go for big sales. With real buyers. The little-bit sales can cause the most trouble. You either gotta be completely anonymous or sell to someone who’s done something worse.”

  I heard you. Honest. I’m not sure why it was hard to remember later.

  First you taught us about location. It wasn’t easy pushing and pulling that heavy trailer up and over roots and rocks, but you knew we needed to be near cold, running water, well hidden and nowhere near any of the property lines. We finally had to leave the trailer and lug the separate parts, along with Bucky’s toolbox, up the last hundred feet or so. Aunt Jezebel looked bigger once we got her put together and settled in that spot you liked.

  You were so sure. Absolutely in charge. Your confidence made it easy to follow along. Everything about being with you felt easy. We laughed and talked and worked side by side. I didn’t feel like I had to put up any walls or put on any acts for you. I was leaving at the end of the summer and you were going to help me. You were haunted by ghosts of the past, but I had something to keep you busy here and now. For today. We simply had a job to do.

  At one point, with all of us out of breath and filthy, you said, “Now we’ll need a base.”

  “No, no, no. Now we need to recuperate,” said Roni. “Boys, go get that cooler.”

  “Unbelievable.” Bucky shook his head. But you both hiked back to the truck, leaving Roni and me waiting in the shade.

  Roni stretched and said, “Mother-of-a-marvel, Lulu-bird, I’m glad you talked Mason into helping us with this crazy thing.”

  “Me too,” I said. “But you know he’s only helping out with this setup. He doesn’t want to do anything more.”

  She frowned. “We need him.”

  “We can do it,” I said, hoping I was right. “Once it’s all set up.”

  “He seems like he loves it,” said Roni. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

  I knew you had reasons for quitting your family’s business. Reasons that were wrapped up in that past you didn’t want to look at. But I hadn’t told Roni about driving with you, or being up at Prior’s Point, or what you’d said about Cindy’s funeral. I felt like those were your secrets. They weren’t mine to share. Besides, I wasn’t sure what we’d been doing throwing all those rocks off the mountain. Nothing had happened between us. Nothing usual, anyway. Nothing I could name or classify.

  “He doesn’t seem to mind you either, Lulu. Even after what you did to his helmet.” She laughed. Then said, “Oh, Lulu, don’t mess with Mason’s head.”

  I eyed her, not liking her words. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means how you go out with someone and act like you really like him, and then all of a sudden you get bored and done and that’s that. Mason’s had a hard time. With what happened to Cindy and all.”

  I focused on wiping my sticky hands against my jeans.

  “Don’t be mad at me for telling the truth,” said Roni. “At least I say what’s on my mind. We both know if you weren’t going crazy right now you’d never even look his way.”

  That’s what everyone thinks, even now. That I had a passing touch of the crazies.

  I said, “I don’t plan to mess with his head, Roni. But it’s not like everyone wants to settle down and get married, you know.”

  “That is exactly what I mean.” She pointed at me. “You don’t think Bucky and I should get married, but you won’t tell me straight.”

  “All right,” I said. “I don’t think you should get married. I think Bucky should go to college and you should figure out something you want to do too.”

  She crossed her arms. “Well, it’s not up to you.”

  “I know that, Roni.” I shook my head in frustration. “But all of this”—I swept my hand out over Aunt Jezebel—“this is about making money and me getting out of town. That’s it. That’s why I’m here. Mason gets it. When we were driving…”

  “When you were what?” The hurt sat bare on Roni’s face. I don’t know what else I expected. We didn’t keep secrets from each other. Not back then.

&n
bsp; “It wasn’t that big a deal,” I said, my voice fading into the knowledge I was lying.

  She stared at me a minute, then said, “I can’t believe you went driving with Mason Malone and didn’t think to mention it. You know I tell you everything that happens with me and Bucky.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” I said. “Nothing happened. Not like you mean. Besides, I never asked you to tell me so much.”

  I hurt her feelings with that.

  “Fine,” said Roni. “I won’t bore you with my life anymore.”

  So that’s what happened with Roni and me when you and Bucky went back to the truck. That’s why we were so quiet until you and Bucky decided to chop that poor watermelon with an ax. That smoothed things over. It was too hilarious watching you hack off the ugly giant red and green chunks. They sure were sweet and juicy.

  Then we had more work to do. We cleared the low growth and piled up rocks and logs to use as support and insulation. We took turns digging the pit for the fuel tank so we could help Aunt Jezebel keep a low profile.

  Later, Roni and I collapsed in the shade and watched you and Bucky work. The way your sweat-damp shirt hugged your chest and back made Roni’s words come to mind. You were definitely mess-tempting.

  Finally you threw down the shovel and said, “We’ll need to bring out a few more bricks and two-by-fours, but that’s all we can do today.”

  That’s when Roni reached out and snatched a bag slipping out of Bucky’s back pocket. “What the hell is this?”

  With anyone else I might have thought pot, but Bucky is straight-up conservative when it comes to drugs. She went on, indignant. “Don’t you know how bad chew is for you? Do I need to show you those pictures of lip cancer again?”

  “Oh, come on,” Bucky whined. “We’re sober as preacher mice. Considering what we’re fixing to do up here, it’s not time to be picky about a little bit of tobacco. Back me up, Mason.”

  You laughed. “I’m staying out of this one. I quit that stuff. I quit everything.”

  “Everything?” Bucky had mischief in his voice. “You quit all vices?”