Out of the Easy(58)

“No—I mean, yes, come up.”

The words had barely come out of my mouth before Jesse jumped up and was at my side.

“I don’t know how you do anything in those jeans,” I told him.

“These? They’re not tight, just shrink to fit. See, when you get a new pair, they never fit right, so you gotta get into a hot bath with ’em.”

“You wear them in the bathtub?” I laughed.

“Yep. The hot water shrinks ’em to your body and then they fit perfectly.”

“But you have to walk around in a wet pair of jeans all day.”

“Just for one day.” Jesse motioned to my hair. “Looks like you’ve been in the bath yourself.” He settled into a chair on the front porch.

“I had just washed my hair, but then I had to go shoot someone. Do you want a cold drink?”

When I returned, Jesse was reading my book of Keats. We sat on the front porch playing cards and drinking iced tea. He said he’d seen Mother on Bourbon and that she looked thin and tired.

“That guy she’s with looks rough, Jo.”

“Cincinnati? He’s worse than rough. He should be in jail. He’s a task man for Marcello’s crew. And my silly harlot of a mother adores him.”

Jesse took another card. “I’ll see your silly harlot of a mother and raise you a reckless alcoholic father. So reckless he wrapped his car around a tree. Killed my mother, busted up my foot, and scarred my face.” Jesse put down his cards. “Gin.”

“Oh, Jesse, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. It’s just the way it is. My foot’s fine now. It’s not like I’m three-toed Tyfee or something. But I’d never get into the service with it. How ’bout we play some poker?”

“Sure.” I watched Jesse shuffle the cards, smiling at me. He said it wasn’t his fault. I wished I could feel that way about Mother. I knew that I hadn’t done anything wrong, but for some reason, I always felt guilty. Jesse dealt the cards to me, and I tried to remember all the poker hands.

“So,” I said, “if you put my mother together with your father, that’s a full house.”

Jesse took a sip out of his glass, his eyes on me the entire time. “Sounds like a pretty empty house to me.” He continued staring. “If the cops can pin it on your mom, it’s a murder charge, Jo.”

“I know. Willie’s scared that they’ll want me as a character witness. That’s why she’s hiding me out here.”

“You feel safe?”

“I’m okay.” Something inside of me wanted to admit to Jesse that I spent the night in the back of a rusted-out Buick on a fictional road to nowhere.

Jesse leaned back in the chair and looked out off the porch. “Gotta say, it’s a beautiful hiding place. I wouldn’t mind getting lost here at all. What’s further down the road?”

“Want me to show you?”





THIRTY-NINE


I spread an undetectable layer of dirt on the front steps. That would allow me to see footprints or any trespassing while I was gone. I handed Jesse my pistol and asked him to put it in his leather jacket.

“Man, you’re a regular Bonnie Parker.”

“A dame that knows the ropes isn’t likely to get tied up.”

Jesse found that hysterical. “Did Willie say that?”

“Nope, Mae West. Now, how do I get on this thing in a skirt?”

Jesse wheeled the bike around. “I thought about driving the Merc out here, but I don’t want you to see it until it’s done. It’s a great-looking car, Jo.”

The clouds ran away and the sun burned overhead. Jesse explained how I should sit and where to put my feet. “Remember, keep your legs away from the muffler.” He put on his sunglasses. “Now, you’re gonna have to hold on to me. So try to control yourself, okay?”

“Very funny. Why don’t I drive? Then you can be the one holding on.”

“As much as I’d like that—and trust me, I really would—it’s not a good idea. This is your first time on a bike.” Jesse cranked up the Triumph, and I climbed on. I didn’t plan to hold on to him, but as soon as the bike moved, I grabbed his waist. I could feel the laughter in his stomach. At the end of the driveway, I told him to take a left. We coasted down the road toward the crossing at Possum Trot. It was nothing like riding in a car. The sky was on top of us, and I could smell the leather of Jesse’s jacket under the heat of the sun. The engine snarled. Jesse’s left hand reached down and touched the top of mine.

“You okay?” he called out.

“Faster,” I yelled back.

He responded, throwing the bike into gear and taking off, flying down the road like a bullet from a barrel. I had no choice but to hold on. I was terrified. And I loved it.

The air was all around us, blowing over my body, whipping through Jesse’s hair and into mine. We pushed to the edge of recklessness, yet I felt safe. Safe from Cincinnati and safe from Mother. Riding with Jesse felt like letting a scream out of a bottle, and I didn’t want it to end.

We finally approached the grocer. I squeezed his waist and pointed. He slowed down and pulled in.

I jumped off the bike.