Trust and Safety

Chapter_17

Soon Dylan’s blue truck pulled up beside Rosie onto the grass. The window lowered. “Good morning,” she said, smiling. “Having some trouble?”

Rosie covered her face with a hand. “Thank you.”

“Let’s deliver some chickens. Scoot over.” She spun her truck elegantly into a spot before jumping into the driver’s seat next to Rosie. “Do you have the world’s shortest legs?” she said, pushing the seat back. “All right, where are we going?” She took the piece of paper from Rosie’s hands. She smelled like peppermint.

“Do you need the GPS?” Rosie reached for her phone.

Dylan smiled at her. “No.”

They cruised along a winding country highway. The sky had turned a soft blue-gray, stars still pushing through. The truck obeyed Dylan like a well-trained animal. When a raccoon wobbled across the road, she navigated smoothly around it, as though it were a familiar pothole. She drove with one hand, the other moving between the gearshift, a thermos, and a radio dial. The sun continued to hoist itself up. Occasionally she would pull over, and together they would unload chickens from the truck and carry them into a store while the truck beeped.

Their last delivery was at the general store. Dylan yanked the emergency brake. “I got this one,” she said. She hopped out of the truck, then lifted the last crate of vacuum-sealed chickens from the truck and shouldered her way inside. Through the window, Rosie saw her set down the crate and give Sasha a one-armed hug. The exchange struck Rosie as not entirely relaxed. Sasha crossed her arms while Dylan talked to her. Rosie wondered if the tension had to do with Lark. Maybe the kiss had bothered Dylan. But no—Sasha was the one who looked irritated, and Dylan looked like she was explaining something. Rosie leaned forward in the passenger seat for a better view. Dylan rubbed her forehead, and she and Sasha both turned to look toward the truck. Rosie quickly looked away. A halo of orange light peeked out over a row of mountains. Were they talking about her? It occurred to Rosie that the conversation was likely not about Lark at all, but rather about her own failure, which would soon be local Scout Hill news. She pressed the back of her head against the headrest, dread pumping through her. Dylan poked her head through the driver’s window. “Hungry?” She held a small white paper bag. “You will have to unbuckle your seat belt in order to exit the truck.”

Rosie followed Dylan across the empty, narrow highway and down a sloping, grassy field that erupted with wildflowers. The wet grass soaked through her sneakers. In one direction, powdery sky, in another, wide mountains. Blue light spilled onto the field, illuminating the dew. Dylan stuck a hand in the paper bag and handed Rosie a sugarcoated donut.

“What was that about?” Rosie asked.

“What do you mean?”

“It seemed like Sasha was upset about something in there.”

“Oh.” Dylan shook her head. “No, it’s nothing serious. I’m building her something and it’s taking longer than I’d promised.” She stared straight ahead and pulled a donut out of the bag.

“I thought it might have been about Lark,” Rosie said. “Or—”

“Lark?”

“Well, I thought I saw them kiss the other day. I hope I’m not telling you something you don’t already know.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dylan said. “They hook up sometimes.” She said this affectionately, as if describing a quirky behavior of her truck.

“That’s OK with you?”

“OK with me? I’m not her keeper. We have boundaries. It’s friendly. I like Sasha.”

“But Lark is your primary partner?”

Dylan cringed. “I’ve never used that term. I try to avoid labels. But yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“And so Hank...”

“What about Hank?”

“Where does he fit into...”

“You mean into our polycule?” Dylan laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not laughing at you. I just can’t imagine Hank ever getting involved with one of us. He would never have the patience. He has a long-distance girlfriend. They’re monogamous. Totally different boundaries.”

Rosie leveled her gaze at the soft red sun, willing herself to experience this particular threshold. The word “keeper” cycled through her head. She pictured Jordan locking a door with a heavy, old-fashioned key. She bit into the donut, and it steamed. Everything was quiet besides the occasional roar of a passing truck up the hill. “Part of me worried you and Sasha were talking about what a complete disaster my first day of work was,” she said. “I’m relieved.”

Dylan tilted back her head and laughed. “Yeah, about that. What happened to all that farming experience?”

“That was dairy farming.”

“Oh, dairy farming. My mistake.”

“Just watch. I’m going to get good at this. I’m going to kill a chicken. You’re going to be like, Wow, that city girl is really good at killing chickens.”

“Mm-hm,” Dylan said. She dusted off her hands and crumpled the paper bag. “All right. I look forward to having that thought.”

“I need you to teach me how to drive that truck.”

“Right now? You couldn’t even make it out of Hank’s driveway.”

“That was before,” Rosie said.

“Before what?”

“Before you taught me how to drive it.” She pushed herself up.

It took a few tries, but eventually she got the truck to move. She liked the feeling of shifting gears. A few times the engine revved and the truck bucked forward, but Dylan was unfazed. “Clutch,” she said. “Now gas.” By the end of the lesson, Rosie knew when to shift just from the sound of the engine and a small, newfound intuition.

Hank waited for them outside the barn. “What could have possibly taken so long? It’s almost noon,” he said.

“Dylan was showing me how to drive the truck.”

Hank fixed his gaze on Dylan.

“Sorry,” Dylan said, putting up her hands.

“I needed the truck to tow a cement mixer from Unger. They close early today. Now I have to rush.”

“That’s my fault,” Rosie said, stepping out of the truck. “Is there anything we can do?”

“No,” Hank said, “not unless you want to change the bedding in the coop or rake out the dust baths. Just get out of here.” He took the keys from Rosie and drove off.

“I think Dad’s mad at us,” Dylan said.

“I feel bad.”

Dylan nudged her. “It’s all right. He gets like that.”

“Maybe I can take care of those jobs for him,” Rosie said. “What did he say? Something about cleaning out a dust bath?”

“Did he show you how?”

“No.” Rosie laughed. “I have no idea what a dust bath is.”

“Then let’s go. It’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.” She handed Rosie her keys. “You’re driving my truck home. You need the practice. I’ll drive your, uh—” She looked at the Tesla.

“I can’t drive your truck.”

“Of course you can. I’ll be right behind you. I’ll bail you out if you need.”

She drove below the speed limit. Her attention was split between the road, the gearshift, the clutch, and the rearview mirror, where she watched Dylan, who had one hand on the wheel, her elbow out the window. Rosie felt doomed as she reached a stop sign. She tried to remember what she had practiced, but it felt different now that she was on her own. Clutch in, first gear, a little gas, clutch out. She stalled and checked her mirror. Dylan waited. She tried again. Her panic turned to desperation, then to anger. When a third car approached the stop sign, Dylan waved it past. Rosie tried again. Her cheeks were flushed, pulse thudding. She closed her eyes and willed the truck to move, and when it did, the euphoria consumed her.

“See?” Dylan said when they got back to the house. “You’re a natural.”

“Thanks for bailing me out,” Rosie said. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Thanks for letting me operate this spaceship. It beeped at me a lot.” She handed Rosie the keys. “Hey, listen, I was thinking...” She looked up at the house. “If you guys needed some help—with repairs, I mean—I could come by. I could at least tell you what’s wrong with it. There’re some things that would worry me if I were the owner. And you can’t always trust the inspection reports. Those guys are—”

“We didn’t get an inspection,” Rosie said. “The bidding got competitive, so we waived it. I know,” she added, seeing Dylan’s eyes widen. “We were under a spell. Jordan hates losing, and I was in love with the house.”

Dylan nodded. “Well, I can relate to both. I’ll come by.”

Inside, Jordan lay on the couch with his laptop on his stomach. He rested his socked feet on the arm of the couch. A cup of coffee sat on the floor beside him.

“OK, you won’t believe this,” Rosie said. “But I’m a stick shift pro now.” She lifted his legs and rested them on her lap.

He lowered his laptop screen halfway. “Yeah? That’s great.”

“I just decided I had to do it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So Dylan helped.”

“Dylan was there?”

“Well, no, I called her.”

“When?” Jordan frowned at her. “Like, after you called me?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you think that’s a little bit of an imposition to call someone that early? Especially a tenant?”

“She didn’t seem to mind,” Rosie said. “It was kind of fun, actually.”

“Great,” Jordan said. He got up and poured out the rest of his coffee in the sink.

Rosie followed him and put a hand on his back. “Are you OK?”

“I’m good.” Jordan returned to the sofa, reopened his computer, and stared at the screen.

Rosie began scrubbing her hands at the kitchen sink, the water almost too hot to bear. She worked at the dirt beneath her fingernails. “We did a delivery at the general store. I had one of their donuts—it was amazing. You have to try one sometime.” She dried her hands and inspected her nails.

“Sounds cool,” Jordan said, scrolling. His voice was flat.

“What is going on with you? Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

She waited.

“It’s just—I thought you’d be home for breakfast. You said you would be.”

“Oh,” Rosie said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry to make you worry.” She joined him on the sofa and squeezed his foot.

“I wasn’t worried, it’s just—you could have called. I made you an omelet.”

“I’m sorry. Once we got on the road, I lost service.” The truth was that calling him hadn’t occurred to her.

“And it would have been nice to have a heads-up, in case I needed the car.”

“Where were you going? I didn’t realize you had plans.”

“I didn’t have plans plans, but I thought about maybe going on a hike.”

“We could still go. Do you want to?”

“I don’t know if I’m up for it anymore. Anyway, it’s...”

“What?”

“It’s my car. I think you forget that sometimes.”

Rosie frowned at him. “I guess that’s technically true. But we’re married, so I sort of thought of it as belonging to both of us. You’ve always treated it like our car.”

“Well, I pay the insurance on it,” Jordan said. “And I’m usually the one charging it. And I bought it. You’re welcome to use it, and I do want you to think of it as ours—I’m just saying. And I don’t love the idea of other people driving it. Do you know how expensive a Tesla is?”

“OK,” Rosie said. “I’ll charge it tomorrow.”

“That’s not really it— Wait, you’re going back?”

“Yeah,” Rosie said. “I don’t think I’ll be ready to slaughter a chicken tomorrow, obviously, but I want to keep watching Hank until I feel ready.”

“Are there no other jobs you can do?”

“I want to do this job.”

“But you didn’t even know what the job was. How could you so suddenly be committed?”

“Well, no, I—I don’t know, I ended up having a good day.”

“Because of Dylan.”

“Sure, partly because of Dylan. Is that what this is about?”

“No,” Jordan said. “I just don’t see why you took this job you don’t know how to do.”

“I thought you liked that about me. You said so in your vows.”

Jordan rubbed his eyes.

“Or do you only like it when I need your help learning how to do something?”

“I’m sure I could kill a chicken,” Jordan said.

Rosie stared at him. “That’s it, isn’t it? You can’t stand to be the one who knows less!”

“Do you really think I’m like that?”

“You know, Dylan offered to come look at our house, and I wasn’t planning on telling you, because I thought you’d get defensive about it.”

“Why does Dylan want to look at our house?”

“She wants to help us. When I told her we didn’t get an inspection, she looked at me like I was insane.”

“Our house is fine,” Jordan said. “But sure, have her over. That would be absolutely fine with me.”

“It doesn’t sound fine,” Rosie said.

“Well, it is. I’ll text her right now. What’s her number?”

“I can text her.”

“What’s her number?” he repeated. Rosie pulled out her phone and read aloud Dylan’s number. Jordan stared at his phone intently, typing. “Can’t wait,” he said shortly. He closed his laptop, pushed himself up from the sofa, kissed Rosie on the cheek, and made his way upstairs.