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Booker Lee Harrison huddled close to the wood-burning stove and listened to the steady hum of sleet ricocheting off the sheet-metal roof of the two-bedroom trailer. He sat cross-legged on the floor, gnawing his fingernails, until well after midnight. Booker tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, a lightening strike, or the wind slicing through the Cottonwoods, would startle him awake.
Middle of the night, the suffocating storm showed signs of breaking. Booker stepped to the trailer window and peered through the soaked glass. Outside, a streetlight arced, then illuminated, and the darkness turned a dozen shades of gray. Fitful wind blew mist across the shadows, and Booker was sure he could see things that weren’t really there. A silhouette moved toward the trailer. Slowly taking shape, it was a spectral figure draped in a hooded raincoat and a pair of oversized rubber boots.
Who in the hell would be out on a night like this?
The mysterious figure stepped into the glow of the streetlight, revealing a familiar freckled face, and a pair of glassy blue eyes.
That can’t be Lacy.
Booker darted out the front door in his stocking feet.
“What’s going on? Why are you here? What are you doing out so late? Damn girl—it’s crazy out tonight. Let’s get inside.”
Booker took Lacy by the elbow and pulled her into the trailer. After he helped Lacy out of her soaked outer garments, he nudged her close to the fire.
“You want some hot chocolate?”
Booker’s dad sat up in the Naugahyde recliner. Still half asleep, he acknowledged Lacy with a drowsy smile. Closing one eye, he focused on his wristwatch. “Is everything all right? You’re out kind of late for a girl your age.”
“I’m okay Sir. I couldn’t sleep, so I took a walk. I just got lost in the storm.”
“Are you sure everything is okay?” Mr. Harrison asked. “You’d better call your folks. Let them know you’re okay?”
“She said everything was fine dad. Why don’t you go in the bedroom and get some sleep?”
Booker’s dad rubbed his eyes and took a better look at Lacy. “Is this the little redheaded girl from the stables you’re always talking about?”
“She’s a friend of mine dad,” Booker said, putting some milk in the microwave. “She just got lost in the rain. Everything’s all right. Why don’t you go in the bedroom and go back to sleep? The powers back on, so you can run the electric heater.”
Mr. Harrison struggled to stand. Fully erect, he stooped to one side. He said, “You’re welcome here anytime young lady. Just do me a favor. Call your folks and let them know you’re okay. Booker Lee can give you a ride home on his way to work.”
“Are you okay dad. Do you want one of your pain pills?”
“Naw—I don’t like those pills. They make me stupid. But I’ll take a beer if you’re buying. I’m going to go lay down. Do me a favor and bring me a cold brew back in my bedroom.”
Booker stepped around his dad into the bathroom and came out with fresh towel for Lacy. He bounced over to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and hustled into his dad’s bedroom. Booker handed his dad the suds, and then slapped himself in the forehead with both palms.
“Don’t tell Lacy I talk about her all the time. She’ll think I’m a stalker.”
“Might as well lay your cards on the table son. How she ever going to know if you don’t tell her?”
“I don’t want her to know. It might scare her.”
“Why would you say something like that son?”
“Hello,” Booker said, pointing toward his prominent nose.
“That’s a Roman nose Booker. You’re a good-looking young man.”
“Maybe with a little plastic surgery,” Book said, turning to the mirrored closet door and pushing his nose flat. “If I could do something about this tumor on my face, maybe I could join the human race.”
“That’s nuts Booker. Just because your friends razz you and call you Big Bird, your nose doesn’t really look like a beak. Once you fill out a little, you’ll be fine.”
“Forget it dad. It’s not going to happen. Lacy hangs around with the cool people in school. My friends and me spend most of our time hiding out in the science lab. We’re pretty much the anti-matter of the high school universe. We exist, but nobody can prove it. Right now—I’m just glad to be orbiting around her planet. Landing is out of the question.”
“Don’t count yourself out Booker. You’re one hell of a smart kid. You’ve got a lot more going for you than a lot of those high school hot shots. In a few years, they won’t look so cool.”
His dad smiled and mussed his son’s hair. Booker kissed his dad on the forehead and closed the door behind him on his way out.
Booker stood in the hallway and watched Lacy get warm by the stove. She stretched her athletic frame, and he thought about the time back in the sixth grade when she beat the whole school, boys included, in a Fifty-Yard Dash. Lacy tossed her hair forward and shook out the cold. When she threw her head back, her hair fell across her shoulders like the feathers on a red-tailed hawk. Booker thought it was the color of sweet summer strawberries drenched in honey.
“You want that hot chocolate now?” Booker asked.
“That would be nice.” Lacy placed her hand softly on Booker’s chest and said, “I’m sorry to show up like this. Is your father mad?”
“No…my dad isn’t mad. As long as you’re okay, he’s fine.”
Booker whipped up the cocoa and handed Lacy a warm mug.
“Everything all right?”
“I’d rather not talk about it. Okay? Is your dad all right? He looks like he’s in a lot of pain.”
“He got hurt at work.”
“He’s a truck driver…right?”
“Yeah—he wrenched his back disconnecting a trailer.”
“Is that dangerous?”
“No. But sometimes the release bar on the 5th Wheel gets stuck and you have to pull really hard on it before it’ll come loose.”
“What’s a 5th Wheel?”
“On a Big Semi, it’s on the back of the truck above the rear wheels. The kingpin on the trailer locks into it. They’re usually easy to disconnect. All you have to do is push the safety latch out of the way and pull on the handle. The other day my dad was dropping off a trailer and the release bar wouldn’t come loose, so he yanked as hard as he could. The bar came loose, but my dad wrenched his back doing it.”
“I’m sorry. He seems like a really nice man.” Lacy blew across the top of her mug before taking a sip of cocoa. “Do you think you could do me favor?”
“Sure. Anything you need—just let me know.”
“You’re the first one at the stables on Saturday mornings aren’t you?”
“Uh huh, me and the Office Manager. We both start at seven on Saturdays. She has the keys for the main gate.”
“Can I catch a ride with you?”
Booker nodded yes while pulling a pillow and quilt out of the closet. He made cozy spot on the sofa for Lacy.
“Why don’t you lay down here and get some rest? I don’t have to be to work for a few hours.”
“Thanks Booker?”
“Are you going to call your mom?”
“I can’t call; I snuck out.”
“You sure picked a nice night for it.”
Lacy curled up on the sofa and watched the fading storm. Booker flopped on the recliner and watched Lacy.
“How’d you find my place? You’ve never been here before.”
“I don’t know. I just knew.”
“That’s kind of spooky. Maybe the ghost of Kit Carson led you here.”
Lacy raised an eyebrow and said, “We should try and get some rest.” Pulling the blanket up around her ears, she shivered before closing her eyes.
Just before 6:30 that morning, the two teenagers stepped into the frosty Omaha dawn. They hopped in Booker’s ’83 F150, pulled out of the Sweet Water Creek Mobile Home Park, and headed north on Highway 680. The worst of the st
orm had passed, and except for an occasional gust of wind, it was dead quite. Booker felt the edge of an uncomfortable silence.
“Are you sure everything is alright?”
“I don’t believe in God anymore,” she replied. “Isn’t that a horrible thing to say?”
“Not really.”
Lacy burst out laughing and slugged Booker in the arm. “You’re terrible.”
“I am terrible. Everyone says it.”
“Nobody says you’re terrible. Everyone says you’re nice.”
“You’ve been talking to the wrong people.”
“I don’t think so Booker. You know…we’ve been going to school together for a long time.”
“Since the third grade.”
“Why is it we never really talked before you got the job at the stables?”
“Because I’m terrible?”
“That must be it,” she said. “You know who’s really terrible? My stepfather Bill, he’s the worst. Bill can quote the Bible front to back, but he makes it all so ugly, I can’t stand to listen.”
Booker reached up and slipped the air freshener off the rearview mirror. The flat rectangle had a serene mountain lake and rainbow background with an inspirational message printed on it. He handed it to Lacy.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a Native American saying.”
Lacy said, “Give thanks for unknown blessings already on their way." She hung the air-freshener back on the mirror. “I don’t get it. I mean I get it, but what does it have to do with me not believing in God anymore or the fact that my blowhard stepfather is a royal Christian hypocrite?”
“It’s really quite simple. I was on my way home from the Sioux City Science Fair when I found this unassuming little air-freshener at a truck stop. Earlier that day, I’d been to a lecture about sub-atomic particles. When I read the inspirational message, I thought it was like someone put a Bible into an atom smasher and shot a high-speed particle right into the very core.”
“That makes no sense Booker.”
“Permit me to postulate. A particle accelerator, or atom smasher, accelerates particles to high speeds and collides them with target atoms. The resulting pieces from the collision, as well as the emitted radiation, are detected and analyzed. The information tells scientists about the particles that make up the atom and the forces that hold the atom together. This air-freshener is like the sub-atomic Bible, really just the essence. Isn’t that what God is—Unknown Blessings? Have a little faith Lacy Kit Carson. Those blessings are on their way.”
“That’s nice Booker, strange…but nice. I’m still not sure I see the point?”
“I guess my point is as long as you have hope then you still believe in God. Even if you’re having a bad time and you’re mad and you say you don’t. And just because your stepfather is a jerk and he twists the Bible around to justify his behavior, that doesn’t make the Bible ugly. It sounds like he’s ugly, and he makes everything around him ugly too. That’s why I like my Native American air-freshener. There’s no way to twist it around or make it ugly. It’s a pure thought.”
“Maybe,” she said. “If there is a God, he’s really testing me. My loser stepfather is about to send me over the edge. He has my mother completely brainwashed, and she does anything he says like an obedient little slave. It makes sick; he makes me sick. Fatso stepped over the line last night. Can you believe that disgusting butterball told me he was going to meet a man at the stables early this morning and sell my horse?”
“No way. What a mutant.”
“So could we please go a little faster? I really need to get to the stables before Bill, so I can hide Creed.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
Booker punched the gas pedal and the old Ford surged forward. He was cruising close to eighty when he spotted the State Trooper looking down the sights of a Radar Gun. Booker jerked his foot off the gas pedal and tapped on the brake, but it was too late. The Trooper locked in on Booker and signaled for him to pull over. While the Trooper wrote out the ticket, Booker could feel his wallet shrinking, and Lacy could feel Creed slipping away.