Page 8 of Dark Roads
“Yeah, okay.” He frowned. “What else did he say?”
“He was lecturing me about how I dressed, and he was staring at my shorts. Righthere.” I spread my hand across my thigh.
“You think he was creeping on you?”
I pulled the knife out of the wall, remembering how Vaughn had looked at my legs. “More like he was warning me. But now I can’t go to the lake without him or Lana.”
“That is so messed up. What was he even doing out there?”
“That’s the strange part. He said he got a call about a domestic. Then he told me that we could keep it between ourselves, but I think he didn’t want Lana to know he wasn’t at the Moose Lodge meeting. Swear to God I could smell perfume in his truck.”
“He’s cheating on her.”
“Maybe.” I spun the knife, like how Dad taught me, the silver flashing. The knife soared end over end, stabbed in dead center. I walked over and tugged the knife free from the target.
“Are you going to tell her?”
“I don’t have any proof.” I shrugged, thinking of Vaughn’s other warning. “I don’t want to cause problems. I’m going to keep my mouth shut.”
Jonny looked thoughtful. “You could try to catch him.”
“Hell, no. I’m staying out of this—and you are too.” I pointed the knife at him. “You going to help me fix this dirt bike or what?”
I grabbed Dad’s toolbox without waiting for Jonny to reply, slid to my knees in front of my bike, and began unbolting the old carburetor. A moment later I felt Jonny beside me.
The first time we’d worked on a dirt bike together, I was eight years old and our dads were talking in our driveway—Jonny and his dad had come to get deer sausages. Jonny was a shy, skinny kid, wearing hand-me-downs from his brothers.Nothing ever fit right. He was a grade ahead of me, but I knew who he was, saw him sitting by himself at recess or following his brothers around. I’d been trying to tighten the chain on my dirt bike and sensed he was watching me. After a few minutes of his feet scuffing the gravel as he slowly moved closer, he’d crouched near my tire.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t you know anything about bikes?”
He’d shrugged. “I know about tractors.”
“Grab a wrench.”
He’d glanced at his dad, and in a low voice said, “You got snacks?” So I’d raided our fridge, then showed him how to change the spark plugs, clean the chain and the air filter. He started coming over after school, on weekends, and I taught him to ride. Soon he was better than me.
Junior high, he got taller, stronger, and gained a reputation for kicking anyone’s butt if they teased me. Girls decided they liked his blue eyes and dark eyelashes, his tanned skin, and his cheeky sense of humor. Everyone admired him for his daring on the racetrack. He had lots of friends, but I still kept to myself. We spent all our weekends together. It was like at school he felt he had to be cool Jonny, but with me he could talk about how his brothers were giving him a hard time, or how his family was having money problems. We shared our dreams. I was going to have a log cabin on a lake, my own dog. Jonny was going to race all over the world. No one would stop us.
I wanted it to still be true.
CHAPTER 3
Mason’s Diner smelled like burgers and homemade bread, bacon frying in a skillet. It was perfect, and painful. Dad and I went for lunch at the diner at least once a week. Sometimes he’d pull me out of school for the rest of the afternoon so we could take the canoe and catch the evening bite.Come on, you need a break. Let’s go get some fresh air in our lungs.There wasn’t much of anything that Dad didn’t think could be fixed by spending time in the woods.
I thought the diner would be slow on a Wednesday, but most of the tables and booths were filled with loggers, road crews, construction workers. Then there were the truckers, their caps and shirts emblazoned with company names. Johnson Hauling, A&D Transport, Northern Freight. One of the stools at the counter was free.
I slid into the open spot between a couple of old guys. Amber noticed me right away and paused beside my shoulder, menus under her arm.
“Hey! You staying for lunch?”
“Maybe.” I hadn’t planned on it until I saw her. Usually she worked the night shift. Her white peasant blouse gaped to show smooth, tanned skin, layers of dangling necklaces. She smelled like coconut lotion and looked like a folk singer with her long, cherry-colored hair, a nose ring, no makeup around her bright blue eyes. Beaded earrings. She’d been at the diner for a couple of months, but I didn’t know her whole story—she wasn’t from around here.
“Is Mason working?”
“Of course. That man doesn’t miss a day.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s in the stockroom, but he’ll be out in a minute. I better go help this table.” I watched from the side as she walked away, her faded jeans loose and sitting low on her hips.
Mason came out wiping his hands on a towel. “Haywire, nice to see you.”
