Run(12)

Luckily, Daddy had other things to talk about. “My mother stopped by,” he told Mama. “She wanted me to remind you that you agreed to take her to her doctor’s appointment tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh shoot,” she said. “I forgot. That means I won’t be able to pick up Agnes from school.”

“I can’t, either,” Daddy said. “Rodney’s got the day off, and I can’t leave the store.”

“What do we do?”

“I can take the bus,” I offered.

“Mmm … I don’t want you walking all that way,” Mama said.

“It’s not that far.” The school bus didn’t come down most of the side roads of Mursey. Instead, it dropped a bunch of kids off at the church, which was just around the block—or straight back through the woods, but I wasn’t trying that again. All right, so it was a big block and part of the way didn’t have any sidewalks, but it still wasn’t too bad. “We walk there every Sunday. I know the way.”

“I don’t know,” Mama said.

“Can’t Christy drive you?” Daddy asked. “She’s got a car now, right? I thought I saw her nearly run over Mr. Jordan in the gas station parking lot a few days ago.”

“She’s not that bad of a driver,” I said. And then, on second thought, added, “Well, she’s getting better.”

Daddy laughed.

“That’s a good idea, though,” Mama said. “Christy can drive you home, then y’all can hang out here for a while. She can even stay for dinner if she wants.”

“And as long as she doesn’t run anybody over,” Daddy said, “we don’t have to worry about how you’ll be getting home.”

“I don’t see what there is to worry about,” I said. “It ain’t that far.”

“Grammar,” Mama warned.

“It’s not that far,” I amended. “I’ve had mobility training. I know how to cross a damn street.”

“And language,” she scolded.

“Someone with your mouth doesn’t deserve to walk home alone,” Daddy joked.

“And now that that’s settled,” Mama said, even though I wasn’t sure it was, “who wants dessert?”

When she left the table to get the pie Grandma had dropped off, I looked at Daddy. For a second, I thought of asking him why me taking the bus was such a problem. I didn’t mind riding home with Christy, but walking home didn’t seem like it ought to be a big deal.

But I couldn’t say anything. Gracie was the arguer. Not me.

So Mama came back and put pie on our plates, and we talked about the hardware store and the grocery list and the high school football team …

And the subject was completely forgotten.

At least until the next day, when I had to ask Christy for a ride.

“Sorry, Agnes. I can’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I’m going over to Andrew’s house.” Christy picked a soggy french fry off my tray, thinking I wouldn’t see. I always did, but for some reason, I never called her out on it. “His parents are coming home late, and”—she leaned across the table so that I could hear her whisper—“I think today’s the day. I think we’re going to … you know.”

“To … what?”

“You know … sleep together.” She sank back into her chair.

“Oh … wow.” I shoved a fry in my mouth and took a while to chew, just to give myself a minute to think. Finally, I swallowed. “I thought y’all were waiting for marriage?”

“Don’t be all judgy,” she said, annoyed.

“I’m not. I’m just surprised. You were so set on it before.”

“It’s not like I’m turning into Bo Dickinson or anything. It’s just … I mean, Andrew and me, we’re practically married as it is. He’s getting me a ring for Christmas. He already told me. He’d do it sooner, but our parents … Anyway, we’ll probably get married summer after graduation. Might as well get some practice in first.”

I nodded, even though, deep down, the idea of Christy marrying Andrew, the only guy she’d ever dated, right after high school made me sort of uneasy for the both of them. And I wasn’t really sure why.

It wasn’t like it was unusual. Most people in Mursey were married before they turned twenty-one. It was just the way of things. It’d probably be my way, too, if any guy ever actually wanted to marry me. If I didn’t get married shortly out of high school, I’d be stuck in my parents’ house forever.

Those were your only choices around here. Go to college, which hardly anybody had the money to do, or get married. And Grandma had already told me I ought to be looking now. “You’re gonna need someone to take care of you,” she’d told me more than once. The idea of me taking care of myself had never come up.

But the thought of dating just one boy, of being with just one person from the time you were a teenager until you died …

Maybe Bo Dickinson had the right idea, sleeping around the way she did.

“Why can’t you take the bus?” Christy asked.

“My parents don’t want me walking home from the church alone.”