Pretend You Love Me Read online

  After Armie blew out his knee playing football at K State, he found his way back to Coalton. Guys like him always did. Townies. People with deep roots. His family had been here longer than mine, lucky for me. Lucky for all us jocks. Armie’d bought up the old VFW building at the end of Main and remodeled it into a weight room on one side and tanning salon on the other. The gym was totally equipped: a multi-station machine, Nautilus, flat and incline benches, squat rack, barbells, dumbbells, a treadmill, couple of stationary bikes. He called it Armie’s Hut. It’d always be the VFW to us. When you’re used to something, it’s hard to change your way of thinking.

  Dad and Armie were old drinking buddies from way back. Dad had bailed Armie out of the drunk tank more than once, so I guess Armie felt indebted when he’d offered to waive my membership fee. I told him forget it. I’d pay my way.

  I took a quick shower, then poked my head into the salon, thinking I’d catch Jamie in the tanning bed. It was open and empty. Renata Pastore, Armie’s live-in girlfriend, was cleaning out the spigot on the espresso machine. “Hey, Renata,” I called to her.

  She whirled around. “Oh hey, Mike.” She smiled, her head tilting at an odd angle. I knew what was coming. “How’s your Ma?”

  “Doin’ good,” I lied. “You seen Jamie?”

  “Not yet. That cheerleader jamboree was today.”

  It should’ve been over by now. That was the reason I was here instead of softball practice. The visiting squads were hogging the field.

  “We’re sure having a gorgeous spring, aren’t we?” Renata said, rinsing out her dishrag. “It’s warm for April, though. Bet we’re in for a long, hot summer.”

  “Probably.” When wasn’t it long and hot in Coalton?

  Renata had on a tie-dyed psychedelic skirt with an embroidered peasant blouse. Jamie called her a throwback to the sixties. Renata’s sister, Deb, who was in my class, was sort of retro too, except I think it wasn’t by choice. She mostly wore Renata’s hand-me-downs. My eyes strayed to the watch on my wrist—Dad’s old Timex. Crap. If I didn’t haul ass, I was going to be late for work.

  Thompson’s Feed, Seed, and Mercantile was a historic landmark in Wallace County. A couple of years ago lightning had struck the original structure and burned it to the ground. Everett Thompson, the proprietor (as he liked to call himself), managed to salvage one charred beam, which he extended vertically from the roof with the new Mercantile sign. You couldn’t miss it from the highway, not after he attached the rotating pig on top.

  The pig lit up at night. You could see it clear from Goodland. The town council had been after Everett for years to take down that beam with the turning pig. Coalton was more than a pig on a spit.

  Everett met me at the open barn door in back. “Mike, where ya been?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer. “I need you to take this order up to the Davenport place. You know where it is?”

  “Out by the main power line past Blaylock’s Dairy.”

  Everett nodded as he rubbernecked around me into the gravel parking lot.

  “Darryl needed the truck.” I answered his unspoken question. Fire me, I prayed. Fire me. Set me free. Give me an excuse to kick Darryl’s ass for losing the family business.

  Out the side of his mouth, Everett spit a stream of chew. “Think you can handle the flatbed? I gotta stick around here for an order of well pumps and troughs coming in from Dallas.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Okay, that’d be fun. I’d ridden along with Everett’s son, Junior, enough times on delivery runs to see how all the gears worked. If June could drive the flatbed, there was no reason I couldn’t.

  “Here’s the order.” From his apron pocket, Everett pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to me.

  I scanned the list. A pallet of horse feed, bottle of dewormer, two bags of dog chow. Everett’s handwriting was all spidery from his Parkinson’s.

  “Faye specifically wants the Profile Horse Feed and not the Purina. She says Purina gives her mares the bloats.”

  “Got it.” I started for the feed aisle.

  “If you need help loading the truck—”

  “Got it,” I said over my shoulder, flexing my biceps.

  Everett chuckled and shuffled off. He was a good guy, but I still hated this job. I never thought I’d be working at the Merc. Never thought I’d need a job. I had a job. A career. A purpose in life. But that was gone now. All of it. Thanks, Dad. You knew Darryl couldn’t be trusted.

  The keys to the flatbed were in the ignition. I backed up to the rear of the Merc, maneuvering as close as I could to the pallets of feed. At least it’s physical labor, I thought as I tossed up the first bag of Profile. And I got to work outside, stocking feed and garden supplies. It wasn’t what I loved to do; wasn’t what I thought I’d be doing the rest of my life. It wasn’t what I was born to. If I had to work, though, this job was better than the Dairy Delite or the Suprette, where most people ended up. I could never work at the Dairy Delite. Couldn’t bring myself to wear that candy striper shirt with the cow on the breast pocket. Jamie loved it, but that was Jamie.

  My muscle tee was soaked clear through by the time I finished loading the flatbed. I would’ve liked to stop by home and change—make myself more presentable—but it was getting on to dusk already and I’d only sweat out again unloading at the Davenports’.

  The Davenports’. I hadn’t been out there since the summer before sixth grade. Dad and I had been contracted to plumb their new barn—install a toilet and utility sink, an outdoor shower for cleanup. That was before Mr. Davenport—Leland—fell off the roof and broke his back. I remember Ma had baked a rhubarb pie for me to take to Faye. Wow, that was a long lost memory. Back when Ma was a functioning, productive human being.

  The dogs met me at the gate. Bean and Howdy. They were looking older, grayer. Bean was hobbling around like he had arthritis.

  “Hey, guys,” I greeted them from the cab. “Stay back.” I inched up the gravel entrance to the farmhouse. The Davenports probably owned the majority of sections south of town, but since they were getting up in years, they leased the land to commercial farmers. Most everyone around Coalton grew wheat or milo for feed. Farther east were the stink holes, the cattle lots, and pig farms.

  I jumped down from the cab. The dogs sniffed my crotch.

  “Bean, Howdy, get down,” Faye hollered from the house. The screen door slammed behind her. “Hello, Mike.” She clip-clopped down the porch steps in her rubber clogs. There was this painting from ninth grade Art Appreciation called American Gothic. That’s what Faye and Leland Davenport reminded me of, those two stoic farmers. Except more human.

  “How nice to see you again.” Faye wiped her hands on her apron, then gave me a hug. “How’s your mother?”

  “Doin’ good,” I lied.

  “Leland’s down at the horse pens, if you want to take that feed around.” Faye pointed past the big barn. I shielded my eyes at the sun glinting off the metal roof. For some reason, my focus fell to the hammock in Faye’s yard, strung between two cottonwoods. Specifically, the person in it who was sleeping with a pair of earphones on.

  My heart shattered my rib cage. The sound of cracking bone must’ve carried because her eyes opened and she swiveled her head around.

  Xanadu struggled to sit up. She clawed off the earphones, swung her legs over the hammock, and smiled. At me. Or was that my imagination running wild? Because it was running wild all over the place.

  Slipping into sandals, she floated across the greening lawn. She was wearing shorts. Short shorts almost invisible under an oversized tee. Which my X-ray vision might’ve been trying to see through because it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. A twinge of electricity surged between my legs.

  When she got to where I was, she shoved her CD player under the waistband of her shorts and said, “Hi, Mike. Wow, I’m glad you’re here. I was just about to die of terminal boredom. Let’s see if I did.” She slapped her cheek. “Not yet. I still have feeling on one side
.” She grinned. I laughed. My heart pounded like a well drill.

  Without her clunky shoes, she wasn’t that much taller than me. Four, five inches.

  “I see you’ve met my grandniece,” Faye said.

  “Uh, yes, ma’am. I’ve had the pleasure.”

  Xanadu snorted. “What are you doing out here in the boonies?” She crossed her arms loosely over her chest. Maybe because my eyes were glued to it. “Besides rescuing me?” she added.

  I looked from her to Faye. Faye smiled thinly. “I’m delivering your order from the Merc,” I said. “Well, not your order.” My mouth was dry as chicken scratch. Xanadu was still grinning at me. It was making me light-headed. Get a grip, Mike. I stumbled to the rear of the flatbed to retrieve Faye’s dog food.

  “Why don’t you ride out with Mike and give her a hand unloading?” I heard Faye say.

  I peered around the truck. Xanadu curled a lip at Faye, like, Are you serious?

  Hefting a bag of dog chow onto my shoulder, I said, “That’s okay. I can handle it.” I headed toward the house. “Where do you want this, Miz Davenport?”

  “Just inside the door’ll be fine,” she answered. “Thank you, Mike.”

  I opened the screen and dumped the bags on the floor next to the dog bowls. The house still smelled of meatloaf and baked potato from dinner. My mouth watered. I couldn’t have come an hour earlier and been invited, could I? I hadn’t eaten since my PowerBar on the way to Armie’s.

  Xanadu was leaning against the truck hood, fiddling with her CD player, when I got back. She and Faye had obviously had words. Faye did not look happy. “It’ll be easiest to go back to the road and come in behind the horse corrals,” Faye told me.

  “Okay.” I climbed into the cab. The passenger door squeaked open and Xanadu hoisted herself up onto the cracked leather seat. “I’ll ride along, at least, to keep you company.”

  Be still my heart, I thought.

  She added under her breath, “Maybe you could drop me off in Siberia. It can’t be that far from here.”

  Faye must’ve heard because she scorched Xanadu with a look. “This is your Siberia, Missy,” she snarled. “It may be your last stop anywhere.”

  Xanadu’s eyes slit and shot a firebolt. Faye matched her glare with equal heat.

  Holy shit. I booked it out of there before the truck burst into flames.

  Chapter Three

  As I circled back onto the road, Xanadu cranked down her window. The wind caught her hair, blowing up streams of red ribbons around her face. She was breathtaking. I almost drove into a ditch. At the last minute, I swerved to the center of the straightaway, hoping she hadn’t noticed my temporary lapse of control.

  “How can you stand it?” She turned to face me.

  I knew what she meant. The silence. The slowness of life. “You get used to it,” I said.

  She averted her eyes to gaze out on the wheat fields. “I’d kill myself first.”

  My breath caught. She didn’t know what she was saying. It was just an expression. We reached the turnoff at the back of the property and I pulled onto it, lungs screaming for relief. I calmed myself, tried to. Let out air.

  Driving between two corrals, I stopped next to a double-wide horse trailer and saw Leland Davenport wander out of the covered stalls. He removed his Stetson and swiped his gritty face with a forearm. “Hi there, Mike. Oh good, you brought the feed.” He slid his hat back on. “I heard you were working at the Merc. Why don’t you back her up to the gate here, if you can get in close.” There was a feed bin behind him, alongside a cone-shaped storage shed.

  I cranked the flatbed ninety degrees and let Leland direct me in, even though it wasn’t necessary. I could’ve done it. When he began to unload the feed, I jumped out and said, “Know what? I can get this. It’s what I get paid for.”

  He eyed the pallet, then scanned me up and down. I knew what he was thinking: You’re too small; it’s too much for one person. He hadn’t seen me in action. I yanked out the work gloves from my back pocket and put them on. I might’ve nudged him gently out of my way.

  “Hi, Uncle Lee.” Xanadu appeared at my side. Her bare arm grazed mine and spiked my heart rate.

  Leland reached over and gave her a tweak on the nose. I launched myself onto the truck bed, wondering if the tingling under my skin was a permanent condition. I hoped so. They both watched me heft one bag off the pallet and onto my shoulder, then jump down and lug it into the storage shed. Xanadu said, “Okay, major guilt trip. I can help with this.”

  Leland cuffed her chin and headed back into the stalls.

  Xanadu said, “Why don’t you hand the bags to me and I’ll stack them in the garage, or whatever it’s called.”

  I smiled to myself. This should be good. Looping a leg up onto the flatbed, I scrambled back onboard. I lifted a bag of feed off the pallet and passed it down to her. She caught it between her arms and proceeded to collapse in the dirt.

  It was hard suppressing laughter, but I managed, sort of.

  “Jesus.” She staggered away from the bag, straightening up. “How much do these things weigh?”

  “Fifty pounds,” I told her.

  She arched her eyebrows. “They didn’t look that heavy when you were doing it.”

  “I have a better idea.” I leaped off the truck. “You slide them to the edge and I’ll haul them in.”

  “Help me up.” She extended a hand.

  I grasped it. Long, slender fingers. That electric charge surged through me again. Xanadu clambered onto the bed and stood for a moment, surveying the pallet. “I can do this,” she said, sounding determined. She tucked her hair into the back of her shirt and got to work.

  We finished the job in fifteen or twenty minutes. By then Xanadu was looking withered and I was soaked with sweat. She sank to the end of the truck bed and slumped forward. I hopped up next to her.

  Why’d I do that? I had to reek. Wiping the rivulet of sweat running down my ear with the bottom of my muscle shirt, I snuck a sniff under my pit. Whoa. Kill a moose.

  “You’re strong.”

  I turned. She was eyeing me, my arms. “You must work out.”

  “A little. At the gym.” A little? I was obsessed. Now I knew why. Unconsciously—or consciously—I flexed my bicep.

  “There’s a gym in this podunk town?”

  “At the VFW, next to the tanning salon.”

  “Tanning salon? What is it, like a chaise lounge under a lightbulb?”

  I smiled.

  She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just—” She expelled a long breath.

  “It’s a real tanning salon,” I told her. “Well, there’s only the one tanning bed and my friend Jamie’s usually in it. But I can get you in for free.” Why’d I say that? It’d be taking advantage of Armie. Taking him up on his offer.

  “That’s okay,” Xanadu said. “I’m not into melanoma.”

  That was the truth. Her skin was white as summer clouds.

  “What’s your real name?” she asked.

  I felt as if someone had sucker-punched me. Why’d she have to ask? I didn’t want to say. I hated my name. On my eighteenth birthday, I was legally changing it.

  “Come on.” She pressed against me with her shoulder. “I won’t tell.”

  She had to know how funny that was. This was Coalton. Her elbow nudged mine and stayed touching. Why was she always touching me? Not that I didn’t like it; she was driving me crazy. I exhaled a long breath. “Mary-Elizabeth,” I mumbled. “If you ever call me that, I’ll kill you.” The moment I said it, I wished I could take it back. I’d never hurt her.

  She laughed. “You should have my name. Xanadu. How stupid. Call me Xana, by the way.”

  No, I didn’t think I would. She was Xanadu. Exotic, enchanted, poetic.

  “God,” she went on. “I wish my parents were crackheads or something; at least I’d have an excuse why they did this to me. To me and my sister both. Know what her name is?”

&nbsp
; I shook my head.

  “Babylon.”

  Did I snort?

  “Yeah.” She grinned. “So Mary-Elizabeth is, like, ordinary, normal.”

  Not to me. “I just don’t like it,” I said. “It isn’t me.”

  She met my eyes and nodded. “I get that. I so get that.” She held my attention. Vibes passed between us. Something. Intense. We both looked down. I saw her eyes skim my bicep, my forearm, settle on my hand. My filthy work glove. I pulled it off, along with the other, and stuffed them both in my back pocket. Xanadu’s gaze gravitated to my Timex. “Seven thirty-eight,” she said. “Let’s see, I’ve only been here three days, four hours, and thirty-eight minutes, and already I regret my decision to come.”

  My heart sank. I wanted her here. I needed her here.

  Looking off into the wheat fields, she added, “I just needed to get my head straight, you know? See if being away for a while would make things better. I was going to blow off the rest of the school year, but it’s so freaking boring out here, I figured I might as well go. Hook up with some people, maybe. I don’t know.”

  Hook up with me, I thought.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m here, right?” She spread her hands out beside her and clutched the edge of the truck bed. She had delicate hands, girl hands.

  “Right,” I said. I didn’t really care why. Just stay.

  “My parents gave me an ultimatum. I could either exile myself at Aunt Faye and Uncle Lee’s in Kansas or enter this diversion program in Englewood. I’ve known a couple of people who did the program and they say it’s like a prison. Worse than a prison. You can’t leave your house at night or call your friends. I mean, what choice did I have?” She reached behind her with one hand and lifted her hair out of her shirt, letting it cascade over her shoulders.

  I had no idea what she was talking about. But I wanted her to keep talking, keep playing with her hair. “Where’s Englewood?” I asked.

  She blinked at me. “Denver. The suburbs. I mean, I understand where my parents are coming from. I was definitely headed for trouble. It wasn’t my fault, though, or even my choice. Okay, maybe it was my choice.” She glanced away. “And my fault. What choice do you have, though, when everyone does it? E, I mean. Or worse. And if they’re not doing drugs, they’re getting stoned. I hate smoking pot; it makes me sleepy and gives me a headache. Does it do that to you?”