say, Trevor.”
“So your dad…”
He left the question out there. “He passed. And Uncle Jeff did too, instantly. At least that’s what I’m told. I was only four, so I don’t really know the details.”
“And your mom lived, right?” Trevor said.
“Well, obviously. She’s not an apparition.” I tried to smile at my own joke but we both just gave each other a sick look.
“And your aunt?”
“She lived. She had brain damage bad enough to be at the Cleveland Clinic for six weeks. They weren’t sure if she’d live but she did. Me and my Aunt Josie had to live with the assistant librarian until my mama got out of the hospital, and then Josie lived with us for a while until her mom was back.”
“Why the librarian?”
“Uncle Jeff was the head librarian here.” He just nodded, his chin sliding up and down the skin between my neck and earlobe.
“And she’s OK? Your aunt who was in the accident?”
I thought about all the ways that that question could be answered, my mind floating through answers in nanoseconds, as if someone had picked up my brain and thrown it through the air in a giant arc. And then I chose the easiest answer. “She lived. She’s here.”
We both sighed. I looked up, having focused on his shoulder to get through the explanation. I expected to find pity in his eyes. What I found instead was his face coming toward me as he planted the gentlest of kisses on my forehead and stroked my cheek.
Something troubled in his eyes told me he had a story, too, but now wasn’t the time to pile more sadness on top of my own. I wasn’t really surprised. Everyone has a sad story – around here we have more tragedy and misery than most places, but no one’s really poor in those. If bad luck and terrible timing were a currency, our whole trailer park would be on a Forbes list every year. In time – which we didn’t have much of – maybe I’d hear Trevor’s story.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said.
“Neither do I.”
In the stillness, all we heard was our breath. I snuggled against him, pressed my cheek against his heart, enjoyed the throbbing of it against my jawbone. His stomach gurgled and I mumbled, “Don’t make me make you another crazy omelet.”
He laughed and then kissed the top of my head, the pressure so fatherly it almost brought tears to my eyes. “You’ve been through so much,” he said.
“So have you,” I answered. We both knew that was lame.
A deep rumbling in his diaphragm burbled through me. “Darla, I’m a fucking pussy compared to you.” His words were mumbled and a bit slurred with sleep, arms loosening as he settled in, snuggling down and kissing my cheek. Before I could answer ( then again, what was I supposed to say to that? ) his breathing went even and my sweet Trevor Connor was out cold, slumber overtaking him in the wake of our lovemaking.
We had popped my shed’s cherry.
Chapter Six
Darla
Tap, tap, tap. I looked over to the window and saw a strange man’s face peering in. This wasn’t the first strange man’s face I had ever had peering in my window but it was the first strange man peering in this window because nobody , not Davey, not even Mama, ever came out here. I’d kept it quiet for so long I just assumed no one knew where it was. So, why was this man ogling me and Trevor?
I looked down. Trevor’s naked ass was poking out, half his body covered by my blanket and half his body covered by nothing at all. I, on the other hand, was giving quite a show, way more flesh exposed and plenty of the good parts. Trevor’s arm covered my belly, but my ass and tits and curves were on display like some sort of potting shed peep show for the weirdo who was now mouthing something I couldn’t read.
Narrowing my eyes and staring at him more didn’t make a difference, so I needed to get my ass out there. If I stood up, though, he’d see me naked. It’s not like plenty of men hadn’t, in this area at least, but I didn’t feel like
“So your dad…”
He left the question out there. “He passed. And Uncle Jeff did too, instantly. At least that’s what I’m told. I was only four, so I don’t really know the details.”
“And your mom lived, right?” Trevor said.
“Well, obviously. She’s not an apparition.” I tried to smile at my own joke but we both just gave each other a sick look.
“And your aunt?”
“She lived. She had brain damage bad enough to be at the Cleveland Clinic for six weeks. They weren’t sure if she’d live but she did. Me and my Aunt Josie had to live with the assistant librarian until my mama got out of the hospital, and then Josie lived with us for a while until her mom was back.”
“Why the librarian?”
“Uncle Jeff was the head librarian here.” He just nodded, his chin sliding up and down the skin between my neck and earlobe.
“And she’s OK? Your aunt who was in the accident?”
I thought about all the ways that that question could be answered, my mind floating through answers in nanoseconds, as if someone had picked up my brain and thrown it through the air in a giant arc. And then I chose the easiest answer. “She lived. She’s here.”
We both sighed. I looked up, having focused on his shoulder to get through the explanation. I expected to find pity in his eyes. What I found instead was his face coming toward me as he planted the gentlest of kisses on my forehead and stroked my cheek.
Something troubled in his eyes told me he had a story, too, but now wasn’t the time to pile more sadness on top of my own. I wasn’t really surprised. Everyone has a sad story – around here we have more tragedy and misery than most places, but no one’s really poor in those. If bad luck and terrible timing were a currency, our whole trailer park would be on a Forbes list every year. In time – which we didn’t have much of – maybe I’d hear Trevor’s story.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said.
“Neither do I.”
In the stillness, all we heard was our breath. I snuggled against him, pressed my cheek against his heart, enjoyed the throbbing of it against my jawbone. His stomach gurgled and I mumbled, “Don’t make me make you another crazy omelet.”
He laughed and then kissed the top of my head, the pressure so fatherly it almost brought tears to my eyes. “You’ve been through so much,” he said.
“So have you,” I answered. We both knew that was lame.
A deep rumbling in his diaphragm burbled through me. “Darla, I’m a fucking pussy compared to you.” His words were mumbled and a bit slurred with sleep, arms loosening as he settled in, snuggling down and kissing my cheek. Before I could answer ( then again, what was I supposed to say to that? ) his breathing went even and my sweet Trevor Connor was out cold, slumber overtaking him in the wake of our lovemaking.
We had popped my shed’s cherry.
Chapter Six
Darla
Tap, tap, tap. I looked over to the window and saw a strange man’s face peering in. This wasn’t the first strange man’s face I had ever had peering in my window but it was the first strange man peering in this window because nobody , not Davey, not even Mama, ever came out here. I’d kept it quiet for so long I just assumed no one knew where it was. So, why was this man ogling me and Trevor?
I looked down. Trevor’s naked ass was poking out, half his body covered by my blanket and half his body covered by nothing at all. I, on the other hand, was giving quite a show, way more flesh exposed and plenty of the good parts. Trevor’s arm covered my belly, but my ass and tits and curves were on display like some sort of potting shed peep show for the weirdo who was now mouthing something I couldn’t read.
Narrowing my eyes and staring at him more didn’t make a difference, so I needed to get my ass out there. If I stood up, though, he’d see me naked. It’s not like plenty of men hadn’t, in this area at least, but I didn’t feel like
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