Benediction (Plainsong #3)(31)

They drove for an hour up and down Main Street and along the residential streets of town and then turned out north on the highway. The farm lights were lit up in the night, the headlights of her car bright on the narrow highway ahead of them. Then she headed the car off on a gravel road and he sat looking at her with the air coming in through the open window, her music playing, she wasn’t talking very much but sometimes she didn’t, then before they got to the place where they had parked once or twice before under a cottonwood tree she stopped the car and reached and turned off the music and they sat in the road with the engine running.

What are we doing? he said. Somebody could hit us here.

She was staring ahead over the steering wheel. I’ve decided it’s time to stop this.

What? Why?

School’s starting next month.

I know. But we can go on after classes start.

No. I’m going to have to work more than I ever have before, to get into a good college.

She wouldn’t look at him. The headlights shone very brightly out ahead of the car on the gravel.

I don’t understand what you mean, he said.

There’s nothing to understand. Just accept it. We had a good time and now we’re done. This is the last night.

You can’t just do this, he said.

Of course I can.

No you can’t. What about me, what I want?

I’m the one who started it, she said. Not you. So I’m the one who ends it.

It’s two of us here now. Not just you.

You’re such a child. She looked at him for a moment. Just a little boy.

I’m only two years younger than you.

Two years make all the difference at this age.

They were right, then, he said. They said you’d do this.

Who did?

The ones I fought you for. They told me.

You didn’t fight for me.

I fought that one. I hit him.

You hit him once by surprise and then he knocked you down and pinned you down.

I protected your name. I spilled my blood for you.

What?

I saved your name with my blood.

Oh Christ. That’s just bullshit. I don’t need anybody to save me.

You don’t believe me. I love you. And you don’t even care.

Well, I’m sorry. She took hold of the steering wheel. That’s how it is. This is the last night.

Why can’t we still see each other once in a while? Can’t we at least do that?

No. That never works.

You do this with all of them, don’t you. You f*ck them all. Then you quit them.

You stupid little shit, you’re starting to make me sick. She jerked the car into reverse and roared backward, turning sharply to go back to Holt, and she ended up jamming them into the barrow ditch, the car suddenly stopped, stuck, high-centered. She raced the engine and the back wheels spun, throwing gravel up behind them, and the car sank lower.

Goddamn it! she screamed, racing the engine.

Quit doing that! he said. You’re making it worse.

Shut up. Just shut your goddamn mouth.

She shoved her door open and they both got out. The back wheels were buried to the hubcaps and the rear end had settled into the broken ditch weeds. They went back up to the road and stood in front of the car. The lights of Holt were twenty miles away to the south and the lights of a farmhouse a half mile in the other direction. She shut off the engine and the headlights. It was all dark around them.

Are you coming with me or staying here?

Where are you going?

Over to that house.

I’m coming.

Let’s go then.

What about dogs?

What about them?

She began walking toward the farmhouse and he followed a little behind her. The wind was blowing and whistling in the barbed wire fence and the only other sound was their shoes scraping in the gravel. They didn’t talk. When they approached the farmstead they could see a machine shed and garage and a metal building and near the road the white house itself with a stand of locust behind it. A dog had started barking.

I told you there would be a dog, he said.

So there’s a dog.

When they walked into the driveway the dog came out from the house barking at them. They could see him in the yard light, some kind of Australian blue heeler.

Here, she said. Here, boy.

The dog backed up and growled.

Now what? he said.

Wait, she said.

The porch light came on above the back door. A man stepped out and peered at them.

Who’s out there? he called.

We’re stuck, she called back. Up the road here.

What?

The dog kept growling.

We’re stuck in the road up here.

Buddy. Hush up! Come here. The dog barked at them and trotted back to the house. I’ll be out in a minute, the man said. Wait there.

I’ll do the talking, she said, after he was gone. You don’t have to say a word.

I don’t intend to say anything.

That’s good. Keep it that way.

The man came out of the house with the dog following close at his heels. They went out to the garage and when they came backing out, the dog was up in the rear of the pickup, riding on the toolbox. The pickup pulled up beside them in the driveway. The dog sniffed at them and the girl opened the passenger door and looked inside. Can we get in?

I think you better. Unless you plan to ride in back.