The Weight of Blood (44)

Maybe just this once.

“Um, okay.”

Maddy sat at a round picnic table under a bloodred umbrella at the Dairy Queen, sweat building on her neck and between her legs. Every time she tried to stay in the shade, the sun seemed to inch closer to her. She gripped her sweater, jerking at every car passing by, petrified one of them would be Papa coming to collect her.

You’re here. You’re doing this. Everything will be fine.

She watched Kenny place their order at the counter, admiring his sharp chin and dimpled smile, the way he crossed his arms, making his shoulder blades push at his T-shirt like angel wings. God makes such wondrous creatures.

The Dairy Queen was just at the town’s edge, near the power plant and one of those gas stations truckers stopped at to take showers and refuel. Maddy couldn’t remember the last time she had been so far from home. Far enough where no one would see them.

Because he doesn’t want to be seen with me.

The dark thought slipped in quick. Maddy nibbled on her thumb.

A group of girls skipped out of the Dairy Queen, giggling in their midriff tops and hip-hugging jeans, blond hair blowing free. Maddy gripped her itchy sweater, staring down at her own outfit. She yanked the sweater off, opened the top button of her shirt, freed her hair from its bun, and combed down the thick strands with her fingers. A small step in the right direction of something ordinary. Something less embarrassing. The heat and humidity would surely make her hair swell. But she no longer had a secret to protect, and the world had not ended like Papa had made her believe. Instead, a weight had been lifted. But the freedom still tasted bitter, like medicine she had always needed, a cure for something unseen.

“Here we go,” Kenny sang as he approached. “Vanilla for you. Strawberry for me.”

“Thank you,” she muttered, gripping the icy cup to cool her clammy hands.

Kenny sat across the table, noticing her wardrobe change with an appreciative nod. Maddy couldn’t help staring at his bulging biceps. How smooth they must feel to the touch . . .

She snatched her straw and sucked the lustful thought away, silently promising God fifteen more minutes of prayer before bed.

“How is it?”

It wasn’t until he asked that she took a moment to take in the flavor. “It’s . . . good,” she admitted, surprised. “I’ve never had a milkshake before.”

He laughed. “What? Really?”

She sighed. “Never.”

There were so many nevers. Never been to a dance, never been to the movies or a football game or bowling, never been to a city, never driven a car, and never been kissed. A terrible sadness filled her stomach, the aching hunger for well-lived life.

“Wow. That’s crazy.”

Maddy had dreamed of this—going to a soda bar with a boy, sharing a milkshake, everything she saw in Happy Days. Papa loved that show but still thought it was a little too advanced for his Madison.

They sat at the table, slurping their frosty drinks, avoiding each other’s eyes. The whirl of the afternoon power plant siren filled their ears. Growing up with it, most didn’t even notice the noise. But Kenny craned his neck toward the sound, then turned back.

“My dad works at the plant,” he admitted, as if embarrassed.

Her arms softened. “Are you close with your papa?”

His eyes went blank. “No.”

“Oh.”

Kenny drummed his fingers then snapped. “Ah! Almost forgot to tell you, I got tickets. They tried to tell me it was past the deadline and all the tables were full, but I told them they better rethink that since I was taking you.”

She gulped. “Tickets?”

“Yeah. Prom tickets.”

Prom tickets? She hadn’t even considered it. She knew so little about . . . everything. “Oh. Um, how much do I owe you?”

He shook his head. “Naw, don’t worry about it.”

He was being nice. Too nice. The nicer he seemed, the more pitiful she felt.

“You don’t have to do that,” she insisted, trying to sound strong.

“Well, what if I just want to?” He laughed.

She sucked in a breath. Be normal, she reminded herself. It’s normal for boys to give gifts. “Then . . . thank you.”

They stared at one another, the wind kicking up Maddy’s freed hair. Kenny’s eyes widened, and he cleared his throat. “Soooo . . . what color is your dress?”

“Dress?”

“For prom. I have to make sure my vest and stuff match. Probably aren’t many suits left, and I ain’t trying to look like a waiter.”

Maddy’s heart sped up. “Um. I don’t know yet. Haven’t had a chance to go shopping.”

“Oh. Right.”

Maddy glanced down at her hands, hoping her lie was believable. Another thing that had never crossed her mind: she needed a dress. She also needed shoes, a bag, maybe makeup. He probably would look so handsome in a tux, she thought. Like Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain. But then her heart thumped hard against her rib cage.

How will I do my hair?

Most days she wore her hair down or tied in a low ponytail. But for something like the prom, she would need to style it, maybe with curls, like Ginger Rogers or Shirley Temple. Would Papa help her? Would he finally buy the curling iron she’d been dreaming of or bring her to a real salon?