The Pines

“I guess you get used to being alone.” She sugared her coffee.

“You can get used to hanging if you have to. Another of my wife’s expressions.” He picked up his hamburger and stared intently at the lumpy meat. “Seems to me I’ve heard a person can get diseases from eating venison with ticks in it.” He took a bite and chewed slowly. “He was from around here, wasn’t he?” he asked, swallowing. “Your husband? So how come you’re still out in the pines?”

“My grandmother passed away.” She glared at him a moment, then sighed. “Where could I go? And there was the boy. And the house.”

He nodded, studying her face. “You think there’s any future in this? With a guy like Barry, I mean?”

“Couldn’t we have a friendly conversation, Steven? Just once?”

“The way you act around him”—his words came out with a surge of harshness—“makes me sick. The two of you, like you’ve got ice water in your veins. I know you’re not like that. What are you trying to prove, for crissakes?”

“I’m sick of hearing that!”

Startled by the furious hiss of her voice, he knocked over a water glass. At first he just stared at it; then with ever clumsier gestures, he tried to blot it up, pulling wads of paper napkins out of the holder and knocking over the ketchup in the process. Water slipped off the table onto his lap.

She wouldn’t look at him. She understood her anger only too well: he thought they belonged together, that they w ere two of a kind, the walking wounded.

“I’m drowning over here.” He tried to laugh.

She pushed at the spreading puddle with her napkin. She’d always known why she resented him so, and every glance confirmed it. The broad shoulders, the muscular chest and arms, the blond good looks. But the resemblance never extended beyond the merely physical. Everything else was wrong. Wallace would never have been a failure, no matter what. He’d never have allowed himself to be beaten by life. Never.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I get clumsy like this when I’m worked up. I break a lot of things.” Grimacing, he continued his attempts to clean up the mess, rapidly making it worse. “I guess I do the same thing with my life. I drink too much and…”

“I see he struck out again.” Grinning, Barry stood over them. “Thought I’d give the kid time to put the make on you.” He sat down and put his arm around her. “What the hell happened here?”

“I spilled something.”

“Again?” Barry held Athena with an ostentatiously casual possessiveness.

Steve got up suddenly. “I guess I’ll head on out.” Without another word, he walked away.

“Pick me up here at midnight,” Barry called after him. “And stay sober!”

Everyone in the place heard. She saw him flinch as he went out the door, all eyes upon him. People often watched him, she’d noticed that before—the tall blond cop with the handsome face. And she knew him to be oblivious to it, just as Wallace had never been aware of his physical impact either. Through the smeared window, she watched Steve cross the lot toward the police car, and she noticed that the truck with the dog had gone.

“Don’t start. He’s all right.” Barry counted money and grumbled about Steve not leaving enough. “He’s always doing favors for me.”

“Oh, yes, just terrific.” She blotted water with more napkins. “So full of the milk of human kindness he slops over. Are we going to talk about your partner all night? Let’s go. I’m not hungry anymore.”

Ernie crumpled shut the end of the bag and scraped a shallow hole in the sand. He buried the wrappers, a little worried about animals scenting the food.

A lot of stuff he’d had to throw away, things that needed to be cooked, like rice and instant mashed potatoes. Useless. But the ground meat had been devoured raw, the potato chips reserved for breakfast. The rest would be rationed, because he didn’t like exposing himself the way he’d had to in getting this.

He sloshed the carton of milk around in his hand. He drank deep, though it was hot, already souring. Then he lay back and rubbed his stomach, full now for the first time in days. Gazing up at the stars, he wondered anew at their hugeness. He had trouble getting comfortable, his clothes stiff with sweat and dirt and other things. Tomorrow he’d rinse them in the creek, maybe. But soon he began to drift off, hazing, the weariness in his body flowing out his arms and legs, running off into the dry earth and carving a channel, until the depression of sand in which he lay became a burrow in the mountain of the night.

The outpost was a tiny structure, and dust made the shuttered window hard to see through. A single candle barely lit the room within.

The face of the man inside wasn’t clear. Did he glance at the window while getting his pants off? The watcher drew back slightly. But the man turned away and peeled off his undershirt, the faint light glinting from the sweaty hairs of his back.

Beyond him, the woman stood almost out of sight. She lifted something from a small table, held it to her ear with a childlike gesture. The window glass muted her words.

“…never like that…”

“Never liked what sound?” The man’s voice carried. “Ticking?” Folding his pants, he laid them over the only chair, then pried loose his wallet and removed a small packet. “That why you never wear one?”

She put down the watch and stepped forward into the light.

Breath stalled in the watcher’s throat. Her body—molded with warm shadows—took on a slender grace that clothing usually denied it.

“I keep telling you, you don’t have to use those. After Matthew, I had my…you don’t have to use that.”

Looking downward, her companion only smirked.

“…guess the reason I don’t like…hear the time going like that…ticking away so you can’t ever get it back… can’t ever catch up…” Dreamily, she seemed to speak more to herself than to the man, though her eyes never left the heavy, sweat-oiled body. Did she wonder briefly when he glanced at the window again? Probably not. She just sat on the narrow cot, waiting. At last, the man came close to her, pressed himself against her with soft, shadowed movements.

“…hear something just then?” She rose abruptly. “Out there?”

But he knew she could have seen only a smoky reflection of her own nakedness against the perfect void.

Breathing hard, he made it back to where he’d left the car, having rolled it, lights off, as close to the squat fire-brick structure as he dared. Pulling the door closed carefully, almost silently, he sat at the wheel and squirmed in sweat, his erection almost painful. She shouldn’t be doing this. Her car was parked beneath the window, and unclear forms moved beyond the pane. She’s too good for this. He swigged from the bottle. Besides, somebody might see. He bit the back of his hand to keep from laughing.

Light flickered at the window. Naked, the man moved back and forth, slowing for a moment with his back to the glass.

Needing air, Steve rolled down the car window and listened to the gentle rasp of the night, to the endlessly ticking throb of the crickets, to the faint rustle of black foliage. He wondered if he dared creep back to his hiding place. He knew that soon Barry would begin the noises, and if he listened closely, he might even hear her, hear the gasping sob of her breath. It could be worth the risk.

Heat lightning flickered on the sky, and he was drenched with sweat. I’ve got a fever. For weeks now, been so sick.

Nothing moved in the station now, and he knew they lay on the cot against the wall. Why do I do this? He squeezed his eyes shut and the tears burned like acid. I don’t want…sweet Jesus, help me…always been a decent man. His left hand went to work, and the furious mechanical movements caused the seat to squeak slightly. Why do I do this? Blood pounded into his face. His neck muscles tightened, cramping until he thought they must burst. His teeth clenched. His face turned upward, beseeching, a silent howl.

Crickets surrounded the car, and soft-bodied things battered at the window of the outpost.

His movements became spastic, wild. Hurting himself, he grunted, and finally fluid warmth spurted in slow beats as from a severed artery.

Shuddering and damp, he reeled with nausea. The foul thickness of the air choked him, and tears burned