Chapter Six

“MAKE YOURSELF AVAILABLE, Lorraine. Ricky is moving into the north bedroom this Saturday.” Momma had bought new towels. Wow, who knew it took a guest to add something new in the house? The old towels were so worn they were more exfoliant than comfy.

I waited on the front porch with the dogs as Ricky drove his little Honda into the yard on moving day. That car must have been like one of those magic clown cars. I couldn’t believe the number of boxes he had. He owned more hair products, creams, and lotions than the entire nonperishable aisle of the grocery store.

Momma told him she’d made up a bedroom for him upstairs and he’d know which one. Christ, she’d put cowboy sheets on his bed and a poster with Betty Crocker’s recommended spices for various cuts of meat.

I helped him carry his boxes upstairs.

He talked the whole time. “Lorraine, once I get my room organized I can start working on your hair.”

Not going to happen.

“Oh, I can’t wait to cook with your momma.”

What a suck-up.

Ricky fiddled with bottles of nail polish, shaking them and holding them up to the light. “Your dad, which do you think he’d prefer? A pedicure or manicure or maybe both?”

He’d rather be poked in the eye than be fussed over.

“Dad’s not the manicure, pedicure type of man. He cleans his fingernails with a jackknife and cuts his toenails with tin snips.”

“People can change, Lorraine. Sometimes, they just need someone to pamper them and then they discover they like it and want to pamper themselves. That’s business for me.”

“Well, I understand your business plan, but I don’t see this family as being very good customers.”

Wrong again. I may not have been interested in his potions and poking and other cosmetic pursuits, but Ricky had barely lived with us for a week before he had convinced Momma, Dad, and Allan to have manicures, pedicures, and let him play with their hair. It felt like Ricky fit in our family and we’d found just the piece we’d been missing. Ricky, the daughter my mother never had, or at least he more closely resembled the daughter my momma missed. I told him his efforts were wasted on me, but it was just the thing Becky would have loved.

“My sister Becky could do hair. She helped me with mine sometimes. We played what we called ‘beauty school drop-out,’ no offense intended.”

“None taken, Lorraine.”

“I’m just saying she knew how to do all this stuff. She razzed me that I wasn’t good at beautifying myself. Sisters fight I guess. Do you have any brothers or sisters, Ricky?”

“No, it’s just me and my parents—well, and Marlene.”

“Who’s Marlene?”

“My girlfriend.”

Yeah, right. And I’m keeping a stud for myself in the barn.

He pulled out his wallet and showed me a picture of a raven-haired Hispanic looking woman. “This is Marlene. She’s away right now.”

She’s away all right. That picture probably came with your wallet. I didn’t say anything, but it explained why maybe Momma coaxed Ricky to meet me. He claimed he and Marlene were engaged.

Marlene didn’t come over or call and he didn’t even pretend to call her.

But I hadn’t seen Charity since the day we’d played Africa in the kitchen. Perhaps she had been eaten by cannibals or had only been in my fantasy like a picture that came with a new wallet. When I called Charity’s cell phone it went right immediately to voicemail. She didn’t answer my texts or respond to my attempts at emoji humor. I tried hearts, cute little chickens, and even lips. No response. It made me feel like that steaming poop emoji.

I mustered the courage to call the landline at the Grind house. Thankfully, Mrs. Grind and not Pastor Grind answered. Mrs. Grind told me Charity went back to the city for some art project or some class, or painting trip. I didn’t believe it. I suspected Charity’d left for a naked orgy with beautiful college graduates who were able to leave behind their hometowns and nephews. At least her absence helped me have time to study. I worked ahead in every class and added a correspondence class in farm animal epidemiology.

Still, each time my newly acquired cell phone rang I hoped it was Charity, but invariably, it was Momma. She had at one time eschewed cell phones but became infinitely fascinated when I got one. She got one herself, but left it turned off most of the time to save the battery. She turned it back on to call me every couple of hours with a request or admonishment. Momma threatened to get one for Dad, but he told her if she did it would be a waste of good money. He’d either leave it sitting at home or throw it in the manure spreader or wood chipper. Most days after her third or fourth call I turned off my phone too. Technology is dangerous in the hands of the controlling. After so much hopeless waiting for a call from Charity I was willing to risk missing a call if it meant I could avoid the annoyance of another call from Momma. Ricky chewed me out for not answering his texts. “What if I had an emergency and needed you?”

Despite the number of times I swatted him away, he insisted on examining my hair and skin and made copious lists of products he thought I needed.

Fat chance.

Ricky eventually wore me down and I let him come into my room and see my “products” as he called them and peruse my closet of clothes. He tuned the radio in my radio alarm clock to KDWB and sang along to the music and danced some. His cologne smelled of musk and a hint of citrus. It was nice.

“You can call me Raine if you want. Charity calls me that.”

“Raine, that’s a sexy name.” His eyes were deep brown, but tender like deer eyes.

I asked him questions while he sorted my clothes: one pile for clothes that could be cute and the other pile for the clothes I shouldn’t be caught dead in. The latter pile quadrupled the former.

“Did your folks have a problem with you being a man who liked cosmetology?” Indirectly I wanted to ask him about which sexual orientation team he bowled on. We had talked a lot, but I hadn’t yet asked him the big questions. It would make it a whole lot easier if I got that business out of the way. He’d know I didn’t think of him as a boyfriend and we could both talk about our crushes or lovers or whatever the case might be. I badly needed somebody to talk to about my disintegrating relationship with Charity.

Ricky had put my clothes back in the closet, made a list of “essential wardrobe pieces” I needed to buy. He examined my current “products,” a two in one shampoo and conditioner and a stick deodorant, and jotted down more products. He sat by me on the bed, took my hand, and shook his head at my jagged, short fingernails.

“I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it in my book. My folks are okay with me wanting to be a vet, but my momma’s ass is chapped that I’m queer. You know I’m queer, right? My girlfriend Charity’s away a lot in St. Paul doing art.”

“Oh yeah, I know. Kenny told us.”

“Kenny told you?” The turd. That’s mine. It wasn’t his to tell.

“Sure, he told Russ, Melvin, and me. I don’t think he wanted us asking you out.”

“That jerk! I’m going to punch Kenny when he gets home and then I might poison him as well.”

“I wanted to meet you. Your momma turned purple like she’d thrown an embolism or a brain aneurism every time she mentioned you. I had to see for myself. Besides, I like your momma. Her hair has a lot of body. Now, I like you too and I love your curls. May I?” He took a brush from his toolbox, lowered his head entreating me to trust him.

I nodded, and Ricky began brushing my curls—a useless exercise in my experience, but it felt nice. His touch was gentle, but also firm and confident.

“I think your momma hates the thought of unmarried children not living with parents.”

“It’s probably because of my sister, Becky. You know about Becky?”

“Yeah, your momma told me Becky was sick and died. Your momma cried when she talked about it and then she changed the subject to how I might like to meet you.” Ricky stopped brushing my hair.

“Did you really see her die?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed hard. I heard telling the story would make it easier. Bullshit. Nothing makes it easier. “It was horrible. Becky got ill. She’d always been spiritual, but in her illness, she got really confused. She wasn’t a bad person, Ricky.” How could I ever explain to anyone?

“Your sister got sick in her head?” He pointed his index finger at his head and rotated his hand at the wrist—the universal sign for crazy.

“She thought…she thought God wanted her to kill Little Man. She thought God told her to sacrifice Little Man to please God.”

“Oh my God.” Ricky put down the hairbrush. He knelt on the floor in front of me, gazing into my eyes and holding my hand.

I was right there in those woods again seeing it like a movie. “Becky got everything ready. She’d planned it. She piled up dead branches and she had a can of gasoline with her and a knife.” Sloppy tears flooded my eyes. I’d never said the story out loud to anyone. I had just replayed it in my head day and night.

“I found her before she hurt anyone. I tried to get her to listen, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She said she could hear God. That’s why she didn’t like the meds. She said when she took the medications she couldn’t hear God’s voice. She could hear God that day. She thought she could. She said God wanted a perfect sacrifice. I told her I would find a lamb for her sacrifice. We had sheep in that pasture. I could have caught one, but she wouldn’t wait. She didn’t want any substitute I found.”

“What happened?” Ricky dabbed at my tears with the neatly pressed handkerchief he always kept in his back pocket. It smelled like his cologne.

“She doused the dry wood with gasoline and started a fire. Little Man slept on a blanket right by Becky’s altar. I couldn’t let her hurt Little Man—damn, I’m supposed to call him Allan. I refuse to call him Kenny Junior.” I glanced at Ricky and wondered for a split-second what he’d think of me when I told him all of it. “I pushed her down, Ricky. I pushed Becky down and I snatched Allan away. I got him to safety.”

“You were very brave.”

“It didn’t feel that way. I just did what I had to do, what anybody’d probably do if they saw a child in harm’s way. But I didn’t save Becky.”

“What happened to Becky?” He got off the floor and sat next to me on the bed again.

“That’s the part I can’t get out of my head. I can’t get free. Becky, Becky…I never dreamed Becky would do what she did next. She’d hurt herself before when she got sick, I didn’t know about that except our neighbor, Gerry, saw her beat and whip herself. That’s how we found out she was ill. I just never could have imagined… Ricky, Becky dowsed herself with the gasoline. She lifted that can above her head like it weighed nothing. She closed her eyes and let the gas soak her beautiful blonde hair and this dress she had I always liked. You’d have put that dress in the cute pile—white eyelet lace, cotton, sleeveless, very summery. The gas drooped her hair and stained her beautiful dress. She dropped the gas can to the side. She still had the knife.”

The pleasant smell of Ricky’s cologne evaporated from the room. I smelled gasoline like I did that day.

“She held the knife out in front of her with two hands. She glanced at me and then at the heavens. Then she pulled that knife into herself. Becky gasped. More stains on her pretty dress. She stabbed herself and dropped into the fire.” I turned to face Ricky. “How could anybody do that?”

I’d never told anybody else, not even Charity. “I still see it in my dreams. I fought sleep for months but gave up. Being awake is just as bad.” I grasped his hands in mine and stared straight into his eyes. “Ricky, I hear Becky’s screams and I still smell her burning flesh. The whole scene, every day, rattles around in my head like an obnoxious tune.”

Ricky grabbed me in a hug.

I let him.

“I’m sorry, Lorraine. Nobody should have to go through something so horrible. I’d rather die myself than see someone I love hurt so violently.” He rocked me as I cried and snotted onto his shoulder and neck. He didn’t let go and neither did I.

We stayed that way. I don’t know for how long. When he let me go I noticed Ricky sobbed too. “I can’t imagine losing someone like that and she was your twin?” He brushed the hair away from my face and I dabbed at his tears with my shirt sleeve.

“Weird, isn’t it? Weird to think there is a sort of double of you out there. Don’t get me wrong, Becky and I weren’t much alike. We weren’t identical twins by any stretch of the imagination. We fought more than we did anything, but no matter how much we fought or how different we were in the things we wanted, I didn’t want her to die.”

“Of course, you didn’t want her to die.”

I shuddered, suddenly exhausted. I fell back on the bed and wiped my nose and eyes. “Hey, I can’t talk about loss anymore.”

Ricky fell back on the bed next to me. I wished Momma would walk by just then. It would have pleased her to see me in bed with a man. I tried to compose myself. I rubbed my face, took my mint lip balm out of my pocket and brought it to my nose—anything to not remember the smell of that fire. I changed the subject.

“Ricky, do you have a boyfriend?” Hell, if I could talk about Becky I shouldn’t have any qualms about asking Ricky anything.

Ricky blushed. “No. Not yet. Dad said he’d kill me and any boyfriend he catches. I believe him.” His eyes widened.

“Is your dad religious?”

“No. He thinks religion is for stupid people.” Ricky hopped up and began placing his beauty supplies back in his toolbox. “I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“No, I think there are a lot of stupid religious people too—not all of them, of course. I believe in God. I just think there are some people who twist what they know about God to justify doing some hateful things.”

“My mom prays for me at her church. She’s Catholic. She sends me money sometimes, when she can.”

“How’d your parents find out you were queer?”

“I’m a cliché, Raine.” Ricky leaned into my shoulder. “I don’t want to kiss girls. I want to do their hair and makeup, gossip with them, stare at their brothers. Speaking of which, Kenny invited Russ and me to meet him at the Lake Tavern again Friday night. We’re meeting at Kenny’s old farm and riding together.”

Ricky leaned toward me with a tweezers. I swatted him away and covered my eyebrows with my hands.

“Suit yourself. Better a unibrow than a Unabomber, I suppose. Anyway, there were some really hot guys at the Tavern last week. I think they’re just summer folk—not all local people. There were some hunky college boys, even some cowboys. Oh, one guy a little older was checking me out. He says lots of things about border control, but it’s all foreplay. He wants to seduce me not get my vote.”

“Ricky, I’m certain you have many admirers. I thought I saw Russ checking out your ass.”

“Really? He’s cute and funny.” Ricky picked up his hand mirror and regarded himself.

Why did I say that? “No. I just made that up. He’s straighter than horse hair. At least I think he is.” I turned to Ricky, took hold of his wrist, and made him look at me so he knew I was dead serious. “Don’t think of guys around here as potential boyfriends.”

“Jeez, Lorraine, you act like you think you’re the only gay in the village. Lighten up, I bet we have lots of company, they’re just not out and about.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re right, but what about what your dad said? I thought you said he’d kill you and any boyfriend you had.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill me. I’m not itching to get married or anything. I would just enjoy some animated conversation if you know what I mean? You and Charity have animated conversation, don’t you?” Ricky took my hand from his wrist and began filing my nails.

“No animated conversation for us lately, barely smoke signals.” Suddenly maternal, I offered Ricky unsolicited advice. “Don’t get the idea that because some people here know I love Charity, they accept it. I haven’t exactly paved the way to anything and this isn’t Hollywood or The Ellen Show. Minnesota and Wisconsin are the floppy breasts above the Bible belt. Hate for queers is alive and well.”

“I’m just going to the Lake Tavern, having a few drinks, and talking with the men. I’m not hurting anybody.” He closed the converted tackle box he used as a makeup box.

“I just think you better be careful. It might be better to seek out animated conversation in a big city.” I touched his shoulder and hoped he would take my advice.

Dad walked by and did a double take. He had Allan with him. Nap time. He returned to my room after he put Allan in his bed. When he saw Ricky’s makeup kit yawning on my dresser he said, “I’m next, Ricky, but only if you have pale pink polish.” Dad giggled until he choked coughing. “I like you being here with Lorraine, Ricky. It’s like she has a litter mate again. What mischief are you two planning?” He stood in the doorway.

“Hey, Dad. Ricky’s saying Kenny invited him and Russ to the Lake Tavern again on Friday night.” I said it knowing full well how concerned Dad would be.

The news suppressed both Dad’s giggling and coughing. His eyebrows scrunched closer together and his eyes flashed back and forth from me to Ricky. “That’s a rough crowd drinks at the Tavern.” He drank in Ricky’s expectant, innocent face. Dad smiled and added, “They do have a good burger with fried onions and Grain Belt on tap.”

“Grandpa, are you going to read me a story?” Allan called from the bedroom he shared with Kenny.

“I’m coming,” he called to Allan. Before he left, he turned to Ricky. “Don’t let those boys talk you into anything, Ricky.”

I heard Momma’s heavy feet on the stairs. She peeked into my room. Her eyes got big when she saw Ricky in my room with me. “Oh, oh, I’ll just put these clean clothes on the dresser here. Don’t let me interrupt anything.” She flopped my clothes down and backed out and closed the door behind her.

Ricky and I looked at each other and laughed.

“You know your momma may be happy now, but it’s just going to disappoint her later when she finds out we aren’t in here to make out.”

“Yeah, I know, but maybe we can give her a few minutes of satisfaction.”