Page 93 of Devil in Disguise
“I don’t remember that,” Waylon said. “I’ddefinitelyhave remembered that.”
“Because I didn’t wear it. I kept thinking—once my thighs look better, I’ll get the guts to wear this. I’d try it on the next month and think, well, maybe next time. I never did wear that swimsuit. If I’d known that I’d never look much better than I did right then, so I might as well wear the swimsuit and enjoy myself instead of staring at my thighs in the mirror one more time, maybe I’d have had more fun. Maybe I’d havebeenmore fun. If you’re having fun, seems to me that’s what people are noticing, not your thighs.”
“You never told me that,” Waylon said. “Your thighs looked fine. If you’d asked, I’d have told you so.”
“I know thatnow,”she said. “Like Owen says—there’s no Pretty Police out there. Who knew our son was so smart? I’m trying to save these girls the trouble of trying on that swimsuit over and over again, that’s all. You could look at it this way, too, Annabelle. This year is practice for college. It doesn’t matter too much if you make mistakes, because you’re only there one year. You always have to throw out the first pancake, and sometimes I think you should get a do-over on the first baby, too, because heaven knows you get it wrong. Why shouldn’t you get a practice run at a new school, too? How many schools did you go to, Dyma?”
“Well, one,” Dyma said. “Owen said you saw that show. You must know I went to one.” That had come out a little combative, but it was like she’d said. Everybody knew it, and she might as well acknowledge it.
“Onelittleschool,” Joan said. “In North Idaho. Then you go to Seattle, with all those city people who look at life differently. Noticing what car you drive and what labels are in your clothes.”
“Now, on a ranch,” Waylon said, “your rig’s always going to be dusty, and probably scratched up, too, and there’s always going to be some dirt on your boots. Kind of the opposite, really. You meet a man with those expensive jeans, when Wranglers will do the job better and wear longer? Or somebody with a fancy sports car? That’s a man you can bet doesn’t know how to shovel out a horse’s stall. Probably can’t fix the washing machine, either.”
“I’d better not tell you about the car Harlan bought my mom, then,” Dyma said, “or your opinion of him’s going to sinkwaydown.”
“That’s different,” Waylon said. “The car you buy your wife. Of course you want her to have something nice. Just like you get that she cares about looking nice, and you don’t. Well, not unless you’re taking her to town or something. Don’t want to embarrass her.”
“I am learningsomuch,” Dyma said. “This is awesome. It’s like—sneak peek into Owen’s psyche!”
Waylon laughed. “Yep. Probably so. It kinda wears off on you, I guess, if you’re brought up that way. There’s country and not country, see.”
“Well, maybe not exactly,” Joan said. “Because I think maybe there’shalfcountry. Now, both of you girls are more half country, like I was. A town girl—smalltown girl—but I sure did like the ranch. I also liked therancher.That helped.”
Dyma wanted to ask, “So you don’t hate the whole idea of me?” But even she couldn’t say that, at least not on the firstday.Instead, she said, “That actually makes sense. I’ve been trying to figure out why most people at school seem so different from me. It’s hard, too, because I grew up thinking that all I wanted was to get away to the city, but now, I miss being in the country. I miss the sky, and the mountains. I miss thespace.You can be outdoors in Seattle, or in Portland, but it’s not quite the same.It’s like a …builtoutdoor space. It’s not justthere,the way it is in the country.But I still like … not the idea of the city, but theideas.I like learning the stuff I’m learning—even though I haven’t done as well on that as I should have—and knowing people who come from different places and speak different languages. My roommate’s Indian, and she’s just—it’s sointeresting.Plus the food. I have a friend who’s Chinese, and his parents have taken me for dim sum. See, now, Ilovethe food.”
“You need to do what Owen does, then,” Waylon said. “Half the time in the city, and half on the ranch.”
“A little hard,” Dyma said, “since my mom’s in Portland now, and … everything.” Feeling a bit awkward, suddenly. Had that been pointed, what he’d said? Did it seem like she was fishing, deliberately trying to ingratiate herself with them, trying to hook Owen somehow? “Also, there’s that small-town gossip. Which, thanks to my big mouth, everybody now knows all about.”
“Yes,” Annabelle said, “but I’m just like that too, remember, with the gossip? You keep thinking it was just you, because you were the one that reporter was talking to, and they kind of twisted your words.”
“Oh, you mean the part where I said I was using Owen for sex and then throwing him away? Nope. I said that, all right.”
Waylon laughed. “You worried about that? Nah. We saw what that was about.”
“But,” Annabelle went on, “I do feel the same way Dyma does. Well, except that I could never manage to have her attitude about it.”
“Missing your mother, you mean,” Joan said.
Annabelle looked down and moved her fish around her plate a little. “Not exactly, because I barely remember my mother. More … well, how I was different, how Iamdifferent, is more about Harlan, in a good way, but also …”
“Your abusive killer dad, who’s in prison,” Dyma said. “In a bad way.”
Annabelle gulped, but rallied to say, “But I do less fighting, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Dyma said. “It’s not like I was fighting everyday,though, like they made it sound.”
“Nope,” Waylon said. “Standing up for yourself, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that. A person’s got to stand up for themselves.”
“But I guess Annabelle and I both felt a little bit chased out of the home town,” Dyma said. “Which isn’t too nice. You could make a case for me deserving it, possibly, because Iama little extra for Wild Horse, but it’s not like Annabelle did anything wrong at all.”
“Sometimes you have to find a new place,” Waylon said. “A new life. The place isn’t what makes you. What’s inside is what makes you.”
“Wherever you go,” Joan said, “there you are.” She smiled. “As they say. Well. I know I shouldn’t say it, but since I go on and wear the swimsuit these days and don’t worry about my thighs—who wants dessert? Petite chocolate gateau, or white chocolate bread pudding? Split it with me, Waylon?”
“You bet,” he said. “I figured that was going to be my job.”
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