Falling From Grace

Chapter 3

3

E very morning, like clockwork, I sat in my yellow lawn chair by the porch to watch and admire the rising sun. To remind me that there was something greater to look forward to every day. As the small ball of fire in the eastern sky increased in size and shine, a smile spread across my face. Nothing was more pleasant to the senses than the sunrise. It took all the bad thoughts away. It was just me, the desert, and my baby.

That’s all that existed and mattered.

The gentle progression of the first light broke against the horizon and saturated the hills. Puffy, colorful streams of orange and dark purple cast their brilliance against Her mountains. While it was easy for me to find the beauty in Her every day, there was nothing more beautiful than the sound of that soulful cry. A cry that resonated deep in my soul. I sat up higher hoping for a glimpse. Mama used to say hearing a coyote’s howl meant good things were on their way. I’m still waiting for that day, but at this moment, its long drawn-out howl made me yearn for freedom, adventure, and the complete trust in the pack. In the wild, everything was simpler. One knew where they stood in the world. Even if they had fallen.

After savoring the moment a bit longer, I stood from the porch and returned to the trailer. Peeking down the hall, I watched Pa shift in the sheets as the sound of the door closed behind me. Relieved to see him still in a deep sleep, I slowly removed a five-dollar bill from his wallet on the kitchen counter. I lifted the banquette cushion and took out the box of Pampers Arlene had given me. I carefully pulled back the tape from one end of the box and shoved the money inside. Glancing down the hall one more time, I returned the box to its proper place, quietly closed the seat, and adjusted the cushion. With a skip to my step, I began the mile and a half walk to the gas station.

Not even five minutes in, every nook and cranny of my body began to sweat. My feet throbbed and pain shot through my calves, but the promise of a stocked fridge and a box of apple juice kept me going. It was the closest store with food and water, nestled right on the corner of Highway 77 and Golder Ranch Road. I pulled two large strands of hair to the back and secured them with a scrunchie. In twenty minutes, I saw the small station and its big red and blue letters spelling out Minit Mart. Even from afar, anyone could tell the roof was on its last legs, struggling to fight off the strong elements that Arizona storms bring. Dried grass sprouted from the cracks in the cement. I picked up my pace, heading down the small decline and wiping the sweat from my forehead. Motor oil and processed food permeated the air as I pushed against one of the heavy glass doors and stepped inside. Tim Rushlow and the Little Texas gang softly sang “Kick a Little” through the static of the radio.

I turned and saw Sam behind the counter, focused on a July edition of Rolling Stone . His round black cheeks were plump and full of life. Sam was one of the three people in this world who never once looked at me with any hate or judgment. And sometimes, between him and Ray, they restored a little hope in me that not all men were bad. Sam lifted off his reading glasses and reached into the pocket of his shirt, taking out a small cloth to clean the lenses, careful not to tug the cord leading to his thrifted treasure, a Sony Walkman. I walked over to the counter and leaned forward, pulling the right earmuff off. He bolted in surprise and scrambled to catch his headphones, placing a hand over his chest.

“ Mornin’, Sam.”

“How many times are you gonna do that to me?”

“Till you stop wearin’ those things.”

“I take medicine for heart palpitations, you know. One good scare, and I could drop dead. Then you’d feel really bad.”

“I told you it’s not safe, Sam. What if someone robbed the place? You’re gonna get shot. Didn’t you read that story in Reader’s Digest last month? Some guy walked in and shot up—?”

“I’m not gonna get shot, you worry wart. You gotta stop readin’ those things. They’re gonna make you paranoid, if they haven’t already,” Sam muttered as he finally caught his breath and glanced over to the door, wiping the bottom of his nose. “And where’s your daddy? I don’t see that truck of his out there. I swear, Grace, if you keep doin’ this, one of these days you’re gonna end up with a Reader’s Digest story of your own.” He continued when I opened my mouth to reassure his worry with a little white lie. “And don’t give me that hooey of keeping in shape and exercising. Cause guess what, you can get nine hours of sleep every day, exercise till your bones ache, and eat tofu, but you’re still gonna die. And never lose those extra twenty pounds.” He patted his belly.

I stifled a laugh, and like what I always had to do on any day I came in here, I looked at the dozen keychains on the counter. Something that always fascinated me. Such a simple, crafted piece of metal holding all the important keys to a person’s life in one place, all carried on this thingamajig, and God forbid if one loses it. Since I was a child, I wanted one of my own. Even though it was small, it represented something greater than itself. And my favorite was the one with the Saguaro charm, Arizona’s state flower. But I still never had the courage to take it. Fiddling with the keychain, I smiled. My eyes then fell toward Sam who gawked at me, and I pulled myself away.

“When are you gonna buy that thing? I swear, just let me give it to you already. It’s been months. How much thinkin’ do you have to do for a keychain?” Sam placed his hands on his sides.

“When I get outta this town, I’ll get it.”

“Grace, the only people that leave this town die. Ya hear about that poor sucker just yesterday who died from heat stroke? Obviously underestimated how much water he needed for the climb up Camelback. That’s the second one since last week. It’s August, for heaven sakes. People are nuts. But...” he began with an exhale, putting on his reading glasses, leaving me waiting for his next inevitable words. “...as my pop would say, Grace. Natural selection at its finest.”

“That ain’t nice, Sam.”

“You know I’m right.”

“Okay, Sam, whatever you say. Now I gotta pee. I didn’t go before I left.” I speed-walked to the bathroom.

“And when are you gonna name that dang baby, Grace?” Sam called out. “It’s not gonna stay in there forever.”

“I don’t know!” I hollered.

After wiping every bare part of my body with a wet paper towel, I left the bathroom revived with my skin now freshly cooled and ready for whatever the day might bring me. I shared a smile with Sam before he returned to a customer, and I made a straight beeline towards the boxes of apple juice. As I wandered through the aisles, my mind was peacefully empty, sipping on the juice box. I lifted my gaze from the shelf and spotted a familiar black truck pull up alongside a gas pump.

The man climbed out and made his way over. He had a slight limp to his gait but that didn’t detract from his imposing physicality. There was something daunting about his movements, as subtle as they were. He was even taller than he appeared from across the driveway. It was like witnessing a lone coyote that had strayed far from its habitat stepping foot into civilization. He walked confidently but was also wary, evaluating each person and car that arrived. My pa once said that if I ever crossed paths with a coyote to remember that I could not outrun him. Stand your ground, look him in the eye, and let him know you’re not taking your eyes off him.

To anyone else, he was just a man at a gas station. But if they looked closely enough, he was on guard, patrolling and taking in his surroundings. If one thing were to be out of place, he would be the first to know.

And though my mama and pa had always told me not to look at people, it was their certainty of someone that made me all the more curious about them. And for some inexplicable reason, the sound of the bell caused my heart to quicken as I watched him step inside, still unable to look away. He seemed to have already completed a day’s work from the bits of white paint on his boots and arms and the few strands of sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes flicked toward me, and my neck whipped away so fast I thought I had injured myself. I nibbled the top of my straw and once again slowly allowed myself to take a gander as he walked up to the counter, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

“Can you put fifteen on pump four?” he asked in a slow but deep drawl. “And also, do you got any corn nuts?” He turned his head just a fraction over his shoulder, noticing me. But this time I didn’t look away.

I stared at him longer than it took for the sun to rise. At least it seemed that way to me. But during what had only been three seconds for my mind to come to a standstill, a smile had crept onto my face that stretched from one side to the other, showing every single tooth. He looked away but not without sharing another glance and rubbing behind his left ear. As tempted as I was to keep watching him, I knew, just like in the desert, there were always limits. I ambled over to the refrigerated section, slipping a carton of eggs and a carton of milk into the basket. Finding the last two packets of Applegate turkey slices, I moved on to the next aisle where all the sweet and savory favorites awaited anyone with a sweet tooth. Snickers or Razzles? So difficult to choose. After grabbing two bags of potato chips instead, I made my way up to the counter, expecting to see him.

Even by the time Sam had rung up my last few items and started to bag them, there was no sign of him. Then, unexpectedly, the scent of turpentine, wood, and sweat assaulted my senses. My nose scrunched. Looking over my shoulder, I saw him behind me, holding a bag of corn nuts and a bottle of water. My head turned back to center.

Sam glimpsed between us as he bagged the last item. “Thirteen fifty-six,” he said.

Reaching into my small purse, I counted out the dollar bills and change. My fingers paused, struggling to remember how much I had already laid on the counter. Biting my bottom lip, I went to retrieve two more dimes but stopped to look at Sam for guidance. He nodded and said, “You got it. Two more dimes and a nickel.”

I nodded, saying, “Right,” and reached back into my coin purse. “And another penny—?”

The man brushed past me and stepped forward, saying, “Look, I’ll just pay for whatever she has. I need to get goin’.” He laid down two crumpled twenties on the counter. “Just keep the change.”

“Hey, there’s no need for that. I have my own money,” I said as he turned away without so much as another look. “Hey, I’m talkin’ to you,” I called out just as the door snapped shut behind him.

Unsure of what else to say or do, I stood there, taken aback. Any time I received an act of random kindness now, every bit of me hated it. Pity had disguised itself as kindness as far as I was concerned. What had the man gained by doing that? As sad as it was, people didn’t do things without hoping for something in return. People were never as selfless as they claimed to be. At the end of the day, those little acts of kindness only existed for them to say that they did it. That way, they could sleep a bit better at night.

“Looked like he was in a hurry. He moved faster than the drop of a hat.” Sam said, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “That fella new around here? Ain’t never seen him before.”

“He’s my new neighbor.”

“Too bad you can’t choose your neighbors.”

By the time I grabbed my bags and gave Sam a small smile, the black truck was nowhere to be seen.

“ Thanks, Sam.”

“Have a good day, Grace. Stay cool, ya hear me?”

“I hear ya.” I walked out of the station but not before giving him a quick wave goodbye.

The moment I stepped outside, a strong gust of dry wind hit my face, and my legs sizzled like eggs on a skillet. Arizona was just a vault of hot air. I stepped onto the asphalt to begin the mile-and-a-half walk back home. To please my curiosity one last time, I stopped and glanced around, unexpectedly finding the truck sitting at the corner of Golder Ranch Road. Even if he was a good man, my stomach twisted just like the times I would walk home from school and watch every car passing by, frightened that one of them would stop. And despite the words Mama had repeatedly ingrained into me from a young age— Don’t talk to strangers —my feet kept walking towards him. His dog spotted me, and his ears perked.

Even then he hadn’t seemed to notice me yet. He just sat there, letting the engine idle, scratching behind his left ear, looking elsewhere. The glare of the sun hit the windshield in just the right spot, making it difficult to discern any of his features. But I could see the tips of his fingers tapping the wheel.

“What are you doin’?” I asked.

He flinched and looked over, seeming hesitant to say something as if he was truly surprised that I had approached him.

“ Uh, I—?”

“ You what?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I didn’t give him a chance.

“You’re not that guy, are you? The one that the cops are lookin’ for? Last month in Reader’s Digest , some girl hitchhikin’ had to survive in the desert after some guy clubbed her over the head and left her for dead. They still haven’t found him. So you better say somethin’, or else I’m gonna start screamin’. Cause I know you ain’t lost.”

“I ...” he began, struggling to find the right words. I stood there, suspicious, waiting to hear what he had to say next. “I was just wonderin’ if you, uh, needed a ride?” His voice was gentle but guarded.

“I don’t take rides from strangers,” I said and walked away before he could respond. “ Bye, now.”

“Look, I didn’t mean...”

I stopped and turned around to look at him. His truck door had opened. And my eyes slowly moved higher as he climbed out and straightened his spine to its full extent. I was right. He could really reach the top shelf where Pa kept the Oreos. “If I scared ya, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Really. I just...” he stammered and cleared his throat, shifting his stance, rubbing the back of his neck.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d reckon he was the one who was more at unease. And why he seemed reluctant to look at me for anything longer than several seconds, I didn’t know. Not only that, but he really wasn’t a man of many words. The silence could’ve stretched home and back by now. I could see him growing impatient, frustrated by his own inaction. It was as if I was the first person he was attempting to communicate with after breaking a long vow of silence. Like I had done after the first year Mama had left. All I had wanted, deep down, was someone to talk to. Desperate for a friend, a companion, even just a person to smile with. I was lucky I had Arlene, Ray, and Sam.

Though he didn’t say much, he still had all my attention. His stance shifted again before he muttered, “Okay, forget it, just, uh, forget I said anything,” and turned away. His dog stuck his head out the back window and whined, wagging his tail. As naive as it was, I couldn’t help but think: How bad can he be if he has a dog like that? My mama always said you learn the most about a person by reading in between the lines.

But what if I can’t find the lines?

He then abruptly turned around and faced me, saying, “Look, I just can’t in good conscience leave you here or not ask ya again. It’s...it’s hot out here. And I don’t want somethin’ bad to happen to you. Especially with you bein’ that way.”

From the look in his tentative brown eyes, I knew he expected me to turn him down again, but I wondered if a part of him still hoped for the possibility of me saying yes. And though he was a stranger, I found myself considering his offer. But just as my pa said, men like him are unpredictable. Any man is. However, I truly believed if he really had wanted to hurt me, he would’ve already done so. And this was another opportunity I had to not listen to Pa. I was free to say and do whatever I wanted. And the thought of the long stretch of road ahead and walking any further made my muscles ache. “Okay,” I said. “But if you try to do somethin’, I’ll scream. You got that?”

“ Okay.”

“ Okay.”

We lingered there for just a moment longer before he made the first move and turned away. I hesitated at first but followed, struggling to keep up with his long strides as he made his way around the truck. As he opened the passenger door, I immediately stepped back without thinking. The dog’s whine settled any remaining doubts just long enough for me to lift myself onto the seat. The man watched me struggle to move into what I’m sure was a very unattractive position. My foot slipped on the sidebar, and he quickly stepped forward just as I caught myself on the handle.

“I’m fine. I’ve done this before. I don’t need a man’s help,” I said, trying to convince myself more than him.

I slowly but surely pushed myself onto the seat. A mix of beer and dog hung in the air, oddly soothing my nerves. He shut the door and circled around the truck, eyes scanning the perimeter, without so much as even moving his head. I fought the temptation to sneak a good look at him and smoothed my bunched-up dress just as he climbed inside. He checked the side mirror before accelerating, and I sat back in the seat hoping to appear relaxed. His dog stuck its head out the window, enjoying the last minutes of tolerable heat. I was completely alone with him. In his truck. Maybe later I’d tell myself I should have thought longer before agreeing to this. I should have counted to ten and waited until I regained my sanity and evaluated the pros and cons like a thoughtful, rational adult.

Though the sound of the radio played in the background, a thick silence descended over us. We shared a glance, and he shifted in his seat, stiff, before sticking his hand into the bag of corn nuts. Like a fly buzzing around my ear, the loud crunch and static of the radio began to irk me. He propped his arm on the windowsill and exhaled a deep breath through his nose. Even though he appeared calm, there still lay an unmistakable tension in his hands and face. Was he always this way, or was it just me that made him this way? He rubbed the back of his ear, and my eyes lowered to the sunlight reflecting off his dog tags and then to his arms. Anyone would pray to not be held in a chokehold in those. Half of me felt uncomfortable to be alone with him. He was, after all, a man. Yet, the other half was undeniably and shamefully curious about him, and I hated that I was. The last time I felt this intense curiosity I ended up looking at two pink lines on a stick two weeks later. I looked out the window and at my lap, then at him again, unsure of what to say or do.

“You know, my friend Stacy Maguire got in her neighbor’s truck when she was thirteen and didn’t come back until she was eighteen,” I said. He stopped chewing and slowly looked over at me, astonishment twisting his face. “I-I mean, she was fine. She just ran off with a boy she liked. Even asked me to come with her. I said no. Obviously,” I stammered.

He nodded and turned away, tapping the wheel.

The apple of his cheek and his lips twitched as if he was holding back a smile, which I didn’t have time to fully witness since he had returned his attention to the road. But what he didn’t know was that I caught a small glimpse of that smile from the reflection in the side-view mirror. It was awkward. It didn’t fit him, as if the muscle hadn’t been used in a long time. But most of all, the light of day reflected the humor residing in his eyes. The sight of it all made me relieved to know there was a human inside.

Every year at Christmas, Mama would take out her watercolors and paint a prickly pear cactus on a card for my grandparents. It was one of her favorite plants because it was spiny on the outside but sweet on the inside. This man somehow reminded me of that cactus. Would there be something lurking deeper beneath that stoic and quiet exterior? Something sweeter? He faced the road, popping in another handful of corn nuts. With each crunch, the harder it was to resist biting my bottom lip.

“He’s a handsome dog, by the way,” I said. “What’s his name?”

“ Harley.”

“I always wanted a German shepherd growing up, but my pa always said no.”

“He’s a Belgian Malinois.”

“ Oh.”

“Look, kid, I don’t wanna—?”

“I’m not a kid,” I said. He stared ahead, unresponsive, as his brows slowly pinched together.

“I’m not. You got that?” I repeated in a firmer tone, causing him to glimpse at me peculiarly.

Other than the sound of his finger tapping the wheel, the crunch of the corn nuts, and the radio, there were no other words or looks exchanged. I kept my mind occupied with the clear view of the Catalina Mountains ahead of us. As we passed the dirt road and turned right, I spotted my trailer in the distance, expecting Pa to stumble out in his dirty white tank top and boxers, inhaling the fresh air with a cigarette between his lips. An unsettling feeling churned in my stomach, and I asked, “Can you stop here?”

We caught each other’s glances. And just as I expected him to ask why, he pulled off to the side of the road just three trailers down from the Johnsons’. He lowered his hands from the wheel, sitting back against the seat.

Say something, Grace , I thought . “Anyway, um, thanks for givin’ me a ride.”

He cleared his throat. “No problem,” he said, rubbing behind his left earlobe again, giving me an awkward but faint smile.

I opened the door, carefully climbing out with a grunt of effort. Harley whined and sat up from the backseat. “ Bye, Harley.”

He barked.

I shut the door and took only a few steps forward before I paused to watch him as he turned into his driveway. He killed the engine and climbed out of the truck with Harley, not once turning to look back. My eyes followed his quick movements, and I blinked as he shut the screen door with more force than normal. If a sweetness did lurk inside him, it was rooted deep, as Mama would say.

As I passed by the Johnsons’ trailer, I stopped at the sudden sound of Ray saying, “Mornin’ Grace.” There he was sitting in Arlene’s pink fold-out chair with his bunions on full display and a cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth.

“ Mornin’, Ray.”

“How’s you and the baby doin?” he asked.

“ We’re fine.”

“Good. Good.” Ray nodded as his knowing eyes drifted to the new neighbor’s trailer and then to my face. “So, I see you met the new neighbor.” He jerked his head toward the truck.

“ Uh-huh.”

The thought of my pa waking up at any minute now began eating away at my nerves.

“What’s he like?”

“Um ...” I paused, trying to come up with a simple answer. “H-he didn’t really talk much.”

“Huh.” He nodded and scratched his chin before tapping the excess ash of the cigarette into a tray, putting it out. “Well, hey, you wanna take a load off with old Ray?” He slid over his fold-out chair, eagerly patting the seat. “Come on. Sit. Before Arlene wakes up and gives me the stink eye. I don’t think your dad will be up and ’round for another good half hour. He’s not gonna know.”

“I’d really like to, Ray, but I need to get these things in the fridge.” I gestured to the bags in my hand.

He slumped back into the chair with a scowl, muttering and shaking his head. “I swear, no matter how old I get, women still be breaking my heart. I’ll be dead, and it’ll still be breakin’.”

“You’ll live, Ray,” I reassured him. “And Arlene told you no smokin’ in the morning, remember?”

“Been smokin’ this brand since I was thirteen. You don’t see me coughing up a lung,” he said defensively.

“ Not yet.”

He rolled his eyes and sputtered. “Not yet, she says. Not yet. All you women think you know what I need but you really don’t.” He mumbled the last line, but I heard it loud and clear.

I smiled. “ Bye, Ray.”

I headed into the trailer, shutting the door behind me. The smell of aftershave and soap filled the small space, confirming the very worry I had outside. I let out a breath and allowed my body to relax as I set the bags on the counter. My pinched feet slid out of the sandals and my toes wiggled in relief. I bent over, placing the carton of milk and eggs in the fridge. Thump. Thump. I looked up and saw Pa sticking a foot through one of the pant legs of his jeans.

“ Mornin’, Pa.”

“Where did ya go? You weren’t on the couch.”

“The gas station.” I stood upright, shutting the fridge. “And when are you gonna get some new jeans? Those don’t fit you.”

“When I win the lottery,” he answered, struggling to fasten the button, muttering an array of expletives. He inhaled deeply, sucking in the bubble of belly fat, and secured the button. He let out the breath, staring down at the protruding fat spilling over his waistline, and patted the jiggly flesh. Pa hadn’t taken Mama’s leaving very well. We both hadn’t. Pa snagged a black T-shirt off the chair, sniffing underneath each arm. “Besides, it’s not like your dresses are gittin’ any looser either, girlie.” He pulled the shirt over his head. “So what were you doin’ at the gas station?”

“Just picking up what we needed. Sam says hi.”

“Uh-huh. I saw that new neighbor and his mutt just now. Like we need another dang dog here. Just more shit to step in.”

Ever so slightly, I turned my head, watching Pa sit down. As his strong fingers looped and tightened the strings of his boots, I knew I’d give myself away if I found the courage to speak. One crack of my voice, and he’d know I’d done something wrong. Something he didn’t like. Just like with Mama. There was a time when being his little girl was easier. But now there wasn’t much I could do. Even in these moments. All I could do was just try to breathe and pray nothing would give me away.

“Tico’s one thing. But I swear, Grace, I don’t like the look of that dog. It’s why I don’t want you doin’ what I know you’re thinkin’ of doin’. You’re too old for that. So stop it already.” Pa gave one final tug to secure the laces of his boot and stood from the table. The sound of a car’s horn caused him to lean over the counter and peek out the window. “Right, well, there’s Uncle Wayne. Don’t wait up, okay? I have a double shift again, and I might not be back till tomorrow.”

“ Alright.”

“Hey, you okay?” His voice was unexpectedly soft. And instinctively that scared little girl inside me surfaced. I shook my head, unable to form a sentence in my head, let alone find my voice.

“I think it’s just morning sickness,” I replied, trying to convince myself rather than him. “I still get it sometimes.”

“Well, throw up, will ya? You’ll feel better, and you’ll look better.” Pa fetched his baseball cap off his chair and stopped at the door, giving me one of his rare smiles. Even on the days Pa acted chipper, there was still a sadness lurking in his eyes. The same kind Mama always had. All their smiles were little white lies showing me how easy it was to hide the pain of an unfulfilled life. And I’d bet all the money stashed in the Pampers box that Pa wouldn’t return home sober. His demons were always waiting at the bottom of every can of beer. “Hey, you know I love you, Grace.”

“Love ya, too, Pa.”

I leaned toward the window and listened to him whistle as he climbed into Uncle Wayne’s truck. The moment the front tires churned the dirt and sped down the street, my knees began to wobble, and I slowly sank into the corner between a cabinet and the fridge. I exhaled loudly and deeply, unaware I had been holding my breath. My chest began to rise and fall at an uneven pace. Tears clouded my vision as I cried, wanting to run and pack up everything I had. But what was worse was knowing I never would. I’d stay on the floor just like Mama did. Allowing the slowness of time and self-torture to paralyze me. And then, sooner or later, I’d exhale in resignation once again, brush myself off, pull back the tears, and clean up the shattered beer bottle from last night.