below. She settled herself into the wide porch swing between her daughters and took two steel knitting needles and a tangled ball of pink yarn out of the pockets of her apron. Something about Rose’s round-rimmed glasses, her gray eyes, and the beige ruffles of the apron reminded Lux of a barred owl guarding her nest, plush yet watchful. To Lux’s relief, Rose held off on further questions about his eye and about his old man. Billie scanned the ammo box, passed it to Dessie, who turned it over, ran her index finger along its deep creases and folds, and shook her head in disbelief at the way the steel frame was crushed. She stood and handed it back to Lux, then returned to her place on the swing.
Bertram swore under his breath at the baseball score, then lowered the volume on the radio. He and Lux began talking about the chances of this year’s high school baseball team making it to the state finals, then switched to how A-1 had a great crew, and how impressive it was that the men had found Lux and cut him out from under that limb so quickly. Lux agreed, adding that he was grateful to Alan Ray, who’d had first aid training in the national guard.
“Tell you what,” Bertram said. “Every crew should have somebody who’s been in the service or took some first aid training. A fellow like that could save a life in a pinch. Not a bad idea to keep that hard hat handy, too. Not a lot of men would have the good sense to keep a hat on their heads when they cut timber.”
“I can thank my ma for that,” Lux said. “I gave her my word when I first started clearing timber.”
Everyone nodded, and Rose looked up from her knitting. “Lux, I believe Alan Ray saved more than your eye, he saved your life,” she said. “It’s one of those sayings that is said too often, but the Holy Father works in mysterious ways. He knows why you and Alan Ray happened to be working together that day.”
Lux shifted his gaze from Rose to Dessie. “Just what Ma would have said, Mrs. Price. Not saying I ain’t grateful, but they ain’t saved my eye yet.” Dessie had been staring down toward her dad’s radio, as if the Pirates game was all that mattered, but now her blue eyes met Lux’s. “They might not save it at all,” he said. “I’ll know more when the bandages come off.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he wished he hadn’t said quite so much. Christ almighty, he thought, last thing he wanted was anyone’s sympathy.
Lux felt heat rising through his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the rush of the beer combined with an awareness that he had no idea what he should say next. He wasn’t about to dwell on the accident. He didn’t feel like talking about the Pirates or backtracking to his years on the mound. You were the first thing I saw, so beautiful in the morning light, a sign that things would all work out was too full of weight to toss out there. He wondered if Dessie was happy about him stopping by. They’d known each other for years. She was the girl with bright blue eyes and a ponytail, fun to talk to at practice, willing to set aside her homework, grab an oversized glove to fill in as an outfielder or catcher. At first, she could hold her own, but at some point the boys just got faster and stronger. He’d needled her about her baggy gym shorts, also about throwing like a girl. She could give it right back. If he blew through the signs or if he’d grumbled at an ump’s call, she’d mention that kind of thing, not mean-spirited, but with a twinkle in her eye. She took after her dad that way. They both had the same effect, something made him light up, try harder. Lux took a gulp of his beer, wiped his warm face with the back of his sleeve, kept his thoughts to himself, and enjoyed the safety of silence. The hell with it, he thought. She could take him as he is, and that’s what she should do.
Billie spoke up. “Hey, Lux, are you going to come back to school now? Varsity could use a good pitcher.”
“A one-eyed pitcher?” Lux stretched out his fingers and cracked his knuckles on his right hand, shaking his head, “No. Anyways, I don’t need to,” he said, looking at Bertram for agreement. “Pine’s coming in from Kingwood for framing, hardwood’s going out the door as fast as it comes in, cherry and walnut is up, and there’s plenty out there to cut. The mines need locust props, too. Boss says he’ll find something for me to do inside at the mill next week. That’s OK for now, but I want to get back into the woods.” Bertram nodded. Lux noticed Dessie didn’t look up. She was straightening out knots in Rose’s yarn.
Lux finished his beer. “I brung this for you to keep,” he told Dessie, setting the flattened ammo box beside her on the arm of the porch swing. He glanced at her; though she kept her gaze down, she had that little grin that was tricky to read. Then, turning toward the Jeep parked at the pull-off along the main road, he said, “Hey, Coach, could Dessie come out for a drive sometime?” The green Jeep stood high on oversized tires. Its top was off, and two squirrel tails hung from the roll bars. Despite sheet-metal patches on the body, it looked clean and cared for.
Bertram crushed the empty beer can between his palms and chuckled. The porch swing creaked as it swayed back and forth. The knitting needles kept on ticking against each other, but Rose lifted an eyebrow and gazed over her glasses across the porch at her husband. Dessie’s eyes fixed on the tangle of wool in her mother’s lap. Her cheeks had turned almost the same shade of pink as the yarn.
Billie looked at Dessie, smiled broadly, then glanced back at her Dad. “Hey, Daddy, can I go, too?” she asked.
“I believe Lux was asking Daddy about Dessie, Sis,” said Rose, “about whether we can spare her, come spring, one of these Sunday afternoons.” Rose kept her eyes fixed on Bertram, whose dimples had become more pronounced as his grin widened.
“I didn’t know you were allowed to drive with that eyepatch on, Lux Cranfield,” Dessie said. She stood, picked up the ammo box, stepped into the house and disappeared. The porch swing rocked as Rose grabbed for her yarn.
Lux watched the screen door spring shut, and then looked back at Bertram. “Of course I can drive! I can even drive the front-end loader and the forklift at the sawmill,” Lux answered, staring back at the closed door.
Bertram sat forward in the chair and nodded at Lux. “Well, then, I reckon you’re a twice-lucky man, Ace,” he said, tapping his cigarette pack into the palm of his hand.
“What d’ya mean, Coach?” asked Lux.
Bertram settled back in the recliner, stretched his legs out, and flicked up the cap on his Zippo lighter, striking the flint. “Well,” he answered, “a man that can get work is a lucky man for one thing, and you didn’t hear me tell you ‘no,’ now did you?”
LUX STEPPED over the planks on the Prices’ swinging bridge, not wanting to look awkward by making a grab for the cable handrail. The boards swayed under his bootheels as he made his way to the pull-off. He gunned the engine, waved his cap, and headed for home. Instead of taking the blacktop, he cut over the hill on Chestnut Ridge, winding back and forth on a gravel road that narrowed as it climbed until it was little better than a tractor path over the ridge. He wondered whether asking Bertram was the right thing, a needed first step, or was it the wrong approach? He wondered what Rose thought. Now everyone in the Price family, and likely very soon everyone at school and in town too, would know. Screw it, he thought. He was glad that he asked Bertram, not that he planned it, but those words came spilling out of his mouth. Now they were as solid as the steering wheel in his hands, and he could not take them back.
The Jeep’s tires skirted the flinty creek bed and climbed toward the ridge. Whenever the road leveled, through stands of sumac and flowering dogwood that had not yet leafed out, he could see fields set back against steep hillsides, homesteads in the full flush of springtime, a few cows or a draft horse or two, pale lilac bushes, a barn, a home, a chimney with smoke trailing upward. The gravel lane crested the wooded hilltop and dropped into a steeper, narrower valley. Further out from town, the road was rougher, folks had moved on. Hand-hewn log cabins and small barns stood empty in fields, siding boards curling away from the
