The Traveling Vampire Show(16)

 

Too bad we weren’t on the diving raft at the Cove. Too bad we were stranded, instead, on the scratchy tarpaper roof of the BEER—SNACKS—SOUVENIRS shack. Not surrounded by chilly water but by the wasteland of Janks Field. Not waves lapping peacefully at the platform, but the damn dog growling and barking and every so often hurling itself at the shack.

 

This just wasn’t the same.

 

Not quite. The raft was paradise and this was the pits. And even if the dog should magically vanish, I knew Slim would start bleeding all over the place the minute we hit the ground.

 

She’d already lost a fair amount of blood.

 

She would lose a lot more on the way home.

 

What if she lost too much?

 

I turned my head. Blinking sweat out of my eyes, I looked at Slim. Her eyes were shut. Her face was cushioned on her crossed arms. It was speckled with tiny drops of sweat, and dribbles were running here and there. Her short hair, the color of bronze, was wet and coiled and clinging to her temple and forehead. She was marked from temple to jaw by three thin red stratches.

 

I found myself wanting to kiss those scratches.

 

And maybe also kiss the tiny soft curls of down above the left comer of her mouth.

 

While I was thinking about it, she opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, then raised her eyebrows. “Time to go?” she asked.

 

“Hasn’t been an hour!” Rusty protested from the other side of Slim.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” I said.

 

“Hurt yourself?” Rusty asked. Apparently, the rest period had improved his mood—if not his wit.

 

“I don’t know about walking home from here,” I said.

 

“You and me both,” Rusty said. “We try, the dog’ll have us for lunch.”

 

“I’m not thinking about the dog.”

 

“You oughta be.”

 

“Dog or no dog, I don’t like the idea of trying to walk home. Slim’ll probably start bleeding again.”

 

“Big deal,” she said.

 

“It might be.”

 

“It’s not like I’ll bleed that much,” she said.

 

“What I was thinking, though, is that maybe one of us better go for help.”

 

“Oh, joy,” Rusty muttered.

 

“And what?” Slim asked. “Send out an ambulance for me? Forget it. I’ve got a couple of little cuts....”

 

“More than a couple.”

 

“Even still, it’s no big crisis. I don’t want to have a goddamn ambulance coming for me.”

 

“What I thought was, I’ll run to town and get somebody to drive me back here. Or I’ll borrow a car and do it myself. Either way, we end up driving you home.”

 

Slim’s upper lip twitched slightly. “I don’t know, Dwight.”

 

“You wanta leave us up here?” Rusty asked.

 

“I’d be back in an hour.”

 

“But shit, man, an hour. I don’t want to be stuck up here for an hour.”

 

“Take a nap.”

 

“What if something happens?”

 

“I’ll protect you, Rusty,” Slim said, speaking loudly because her face was turned away from him.

 

He tossed a scowl at her. Then he said, “Anyway, what about the dog?”

 

“Long as you stay up here, it can’t....”

 

“I know that, man. What about you? You think it’ll just let you leave?”

 

I shrugged. “I’ll take care of it.”

 

“Oh, yeah? Good luck.”

 

He said it sarcastically, but I answered, “Thanks” and got to my feet. I stepped to the edge of the roof. Knees almost touching the back of the BEER—SNACKS—SOUVENIRS sign, I bent forward and looked down.

 

The dog, sitting, suddenly sprang at me and slammed against the shack.

 

“I think it’s a moron,” I announced.

 

“Do you have a plan or something?” Slim asked. ,

 

“Not exactly.”

 

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

I looked around at her, feeling a nice warmth. “Thanks,” I told her.

 

Sitting up, Rusty said, “It’s gonna have your ass, man.”

 

The dog again threw itself at the shack, bounced off and fell to the dust.

 

I gave the sign a nudge with my knee. Though it felt sturdy, it was nailed to the roof on wooden braces made of two-by-fours. With a little effort, I could probably kick one of the braces apart and have myself a club—maybe with a few nails sticking out.

 

Only one problem.

 

When you’re my dad’s son, you don’t go around destroying other people’s property. Not even a crummy sign on a closed snack stand in Janks Field.