The Possibility of Justine by June Beck

Chapter 6: Goodbye at the Bus Station

2012-01-13T12:22:00.001-08:00

Chapter 6 – Goodbye at the Bus Station

She stood under the oak, Cooperromping through Grandma’s garden. The dog disappeared up the stairs and sherealized she was standing in the middle of Senior Court. There was Lori,shaking her pom-poms, laughing. Mr. Trujillo laughing. Her baby-dolls! She hadon see-through, baby doll pajamas. Fully awake, hot and sweaty, she kicked offthe sheet but couldn’t kick off the feeling of the dream.

“Justine?” She heard her mother onthe other side of the door, knocking softly.

“I’mawake.”

"No need to use that tone."

Whydon’t you just come in, then, the way you used to.

“Breakfast in twenty minutes,” hermother said.

“I don’t want breakfast."

"Breakfast in twenty minutes,young lady."

Justine took the time to straighten andsmooth the covers and smooth the quilt Grandma had made for her. One thing shecouldn’t tolerate was a messy bed. Then she rolled the baby-dolls, bottomsfirst, then top, into a tight ball and slammed them one at a time into thehamper next to her closet. Grabbing her robe, she headed for the shower.

In the bathroom, Aaron's Right Guardmingled with Mom’s VO5 in the warm steam.

"A person could die inhere," she said out loud.

After her shower, she pulled onAaron’s hand-me-down cutoffs and t-shirt and went to let Cooper out of thelaundry room. She filled his bowl with Gravy Train and warm water from thelaundry sink, wondering if it tasted like gravy. Then she let him back in.

She was not going to forget to take care of Aaron’sdog on this day.

Dad and Aaron sat at the kitchen table. Shesqueezed behind her brother, sat down and peaked behind the curtains, curtainsedged with the same brik brak as the curtains at the Ranch. Still dark outside.Still hot inside.

Mom brought the percolator over andpoured coffee for Dad and Aaron.

“Since when do you drink coffee?”

“Ifyou got up at a decent hour, you’d see what goes on around here,” Aaron said. “Where’sViola? I thought I'd be able to tell her goodbye this morning."

Mom placed a runny egg and a piece of toast infront of Justine.

“This egg is raw, Mom. God.”

"Watch that tone, Justine," Dad said frombehind the Fresno Bee. “I won’t be going to the bus station, son.” Dad snappedthe newspaper. “I have an early meeting. I think it’s best to let your mothertake you.”

“And me,” Justine said.

“Sure, Dad.” They both stood up,their chairs scraping the floor.

“Walk me out?”

“Sure, Dad.”

Justine watched them walk across thekitchen, Dad in his blue suit and Aaron in his dress uniform. She heardCooper’s toenails clack when they opened the door between the kitchen and thelaundry room.

“Bye, dad,” Justine muttered to herplate, pulling both hands through her hair.

“Off,” she heard Aaron say.

“Goddamn dog.” That was Dad.

Then the sound of the backdoorclosing.

Justine piled the plates into astack, scraped her breakfast into the trash, and headed for the sink.

“I’ll wash.”

“Let me, Mom,” Justine said.

“Afraid I’ll break something?” Momasked.

Justine looked at her mother for thefirst time this morning. She was made up just like always, her mascara thick,black eyeliner, eyebrows drawn on. Cheeks too red with too much rouge. Despitethe effect, Justine could tell her mother had been crying.

“You always break something.” Sinceher mother didn’t laugh, but especially since Aaron was leaving for Vietnamtoday, she added: “I’m need school clothes. Did you even think about that?”

“Of course. We’ll go shopping,” hermom said, drying the plate Justine handed her with renewed vigor.

“Fresno?”

“Downtown. We’ll shop all morning.Go out to lunch. We’ll be home before your father even knows we're gone."

“Neat, Mom.”

“Thanks, honey. I know you hateshopping.”

"Hey, don't spoil themoment."

“Hay is for horses.”

“Oh, god.”

“That tone, young lady. And can you wear somethingother than those . . .”

“Cutoffs.”

“. . . and that shirt? And comb your hair?”

All of a sudden she wasn’t a little annoyed,she was mad, reversing any and all empathy she’d felt for her mother only momentsago. Justine bit her lip. Hard.

“Hey, you two."

The sound of her brother’s voice,along with the pain from biting, brought relief from the rush of anger.

"This is how I’m going toremember the two of you," he said, "washing dishes together."

He put his arms around both of themand kissed his mother on the cheek.

“Cut it out,” Justine said, twistingout of his grip when he tried to kiss her.

Aaron drove Mom’s Buick to the busstation, the air-conditioner up full blast.

"This car feels cooler than thehouse," Justine said from the back.

Aaron exaggerated every corner.Justine added screeching sounds. Mom squealed just as she had when they werelittle.

“Listen," Aaron said after parking in theempty parking lot at the bus station. “Tell me goodbye here in the car?”

Mom ignored him and opened her cardoor. Justine followed.

"I'm not kidding," he said,standing outside of the station wagon. He heaved his green duffle bag out ofthe back. "I don’t want you waiting for me to leave."

He put on his hat.

"You look like Captain Healeyin I Dream of Jeannie," Justinesaid. “Cool.”

"Don't use slang, dear,"Mom said. “How would that look, us leaving you here like that?”

"It would look like you doingme a favor, Mom,” Aaron said, dangling the car keys in front of Justine. “Andjust so you know, Healey is an officer, little missy.”

Justine grabbed the car keys.

“I hope you die of heat stroke inthat jacket,” she said.

“Justine!”

“Take good care of Mom and Dad forme,” he whispered in her ear, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before shecould duck. "And don't forget Cooper and Mr. Trujillo. I'm counting onyou."

"Mr. Who?" Mom said.

“And Mom,” Aaron said, taking Mom’s shouldersin his hands. “Go home and write me a letter so I get one right away.”

“I don’t know what I’d say.”

“I’m dying to hear about that bookyou’re reading,” he said, hugging her.

Aaron walked away backwards, hisduffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“Send me cookies,” he yelled overhis shoulder as he turned to open the door of the Greyhound bus station, a dirtystucco building in the middle of an asphalt parking lot. Even in the morninglight, the blacktop felt hot under the soles of Justine’s Ked’s.

“We’re going shopping right now,”Mom said.

Justine opened the front door of thestation wagon and her mom scooted over to the other side, adjusting her skirt.Just when Justine turned the key, she heard a knock on the window. It wasAaron.

"My bus is late."

Justine scooted over to the middleof the bench seat, and the three of them waited in silence until the bus pulledinto the parking lot. Then they all got back out of the car.

“You take care of yourself and comehome to us in one piece,” Mom said to him, his cheeks now between both her hands.Then she kissed him—his lips, his forehead, all over his face.

He ran to the bus. They watched him take thesteps two at a time, watched the bus till it was out of sight. Mom grabbed thekeys out of Justine's hand.

“Get in the car,” she said. “You’regoing to have to change those clothes.”

Chapter 5: Aaron's Last Supper Part II

2011-10-20T11:36:00.000-07:00

The colors of a rainbow so pretty inthe sky

Are also on the faces of people goingby

I see friends shaking hands saying howdo you do

They’re really saying, I love you.

I hear babies cry; I watch them grow

You know, they’re gonna learn

A whole lot more than I’ll never know

And Ithink to myself, What a wonderful world

Yes, Ithink to myself, What a wonderful world.

Louis Armstrong

Justine plopped down in the dining room chair thathad always been her chair, the one to Mom’s right. She watched Dad seat Mom atthis head of the table then sit down at the other head. Aaron seated Grandma toDad’s right and sat down across from Justine.

Everyone in their place.

“Justine,” Mom said. She was frowning and motioningwith her eyebrows.

Justine followed her look. There stood Grandpabehind her chair, fresh drink in hand, looking befuddled. Justine hadn’t waitedfor him to mix his drink and come to seat her.

“I’ll get up,” she said.

“It’s too late now.” Her mother unfolded her whitelinen napkin and placed it in her lap, her busy eyebrows telling Justine to dosame.

“I’m sorry, Grandpa.”

Grandpa ignored her. Pay back. Justine waited tofeel embarrassed, waited for the need to clamp down on her lip.

Nothing there.

And the nothing felt cool.

Why’rethey so uptight about sitting down at a table?

She looked at the faces. Dad smiling at Grandma.Grandma fiddling with her hat. Grandpa chewing on ice from his drink. Momsmiling. At the table.

Plasticfaces wearing good manners.

It didn’t matter and warm all over, she looked upat the wallpaper that ringed the dining room. Those ladies in their high hatsand long dresses riding sidesaddle around the ceiling. Those gentlemen in theirtop hats, brandishing whips. All parading around the ceiling in pretty greensand pretty pinks. Pink feathers in the ladies’ hats matching pink bows aroundthe ladies’ waists. Had she noticed that before?

Louis Armstrong sang about a wonderful world while Grandpasaid grace:

“We thank the Lord for these bounties of life.”

Justine had forgotten to bow her head and close hereyes. Aaron looked right at her and Mom and Dad looked at each other. The onlyones praying were her grandparents. She felt a kinship with Aaron, then, as iftheir eyes built a bridge.

“What can I send you,” she asked.“While you’re over there.”

“Amen,” said Grandma and Grandpa.

“Oops,” Justine said.

Mom handed Justine her napkin.

“I can do it.”

Her mother stared down at her plate.

The yummy bridge feeling disappeared but she didn’tfeel that rush of embarrassment or anger.

And Louis Armstrong continued to sing about awonderful world.

“Cookies,” Aaron said. “Send me dozensand dozens of chocolate chip cookies.”

“They’ll spoil in all that heat,”Dad said, carving the ham.

“It certainly was hot today,”Grandma said. “I was out trying to salvage my garden.”

“I’m sorry, Grandma,” Justine said.

“Why it was that dog’s fault, notyours. I’m sure you did your best.”

“Goddamned dog,” Grandpa said.

Viola passed the platters and they atethe ham warm, with horseradish, and yams with marshmallows, green beans withbacon, and coleslaw with red cabbage. All prepared just the way Aaron liked it.

“You could send tapes,” Justinesaid. “Lori’s brother sends tapes.”

“Do tell,” Dad said.

“Don’t encourage her,” Mom said.

“He sits in a tree at night,”Justine said. “He’s a sniper.”

“How can he see at night?” Grandpaasked.

“Some special thing,” she said.

“Infra-red light, Grandpa,” Aaronsaid.

“How does that work, son,” Dad asked.

“I don’t know how it works, but Iknow it gives off a red light the enemy can spot.”

“That’s why he shoots gooks evenwhen they look like a family.”

“Justine!”

“That’s what he callsthem, Mom.” Justine answered the look on her mother’s face with a new look ofher own.

“I’m not planning on calling themthat,” Aaron said.

Silence again, only this time the recordhad ended. Even Grandpa had stopped eating.

“What does a fella need to do aroundhere to get another drink?” he said.

“Viola,” Dad called.

“What will you call them?” Momasked.

“Hopefully, I’ll be so busy workingin Supply I won’t have to call them anything.”

“Yes, sir,” Viola said, peeking inthrough the swinging door.

“More ice, Viola, and more drinks.”

“Not for Justine,” Mom said.

“A short one for Justine,” Dad said.

“Won’t matter where you are if theypull something like that TET Offensive,” Grandpa said.

“You’ll have to call themsomething,” Mom said.

“Margaret, let the boy be,” Dadsaid.

Viola came in with more ice for theice chest.

“They’re Vietcong,” Aaron said. “Iguess I’ll call ‘em that.”

Viola went around the dining roomtable taking up the empty cocktail glasses, placing them on the silver tray.

“Ifeverybody calls ‘em ‘gooks,’” Grandpa said, “call ‘em gooks.”

“A man has to have values and stickto them,” Dad said. “What good are values—“

“Civil rights don’t apply in wartime.Remember, you haven’t seen combat,” Grandpa said to Dad. “I have.”

Viola served Grandma her drink firstand then Mom.

“What waswar like, Grandpa?” Justine asked.

“For onething,” he said, taking his freshened martini from Viola. “We didn’t treat theenemy with respect.”

“Walt,” Grandma said.

“Not dinner table talk, is that it,Mother?” Grandpa winked at Grandma. “Aaron, after dinner, I’ll tell you stories.Pass those yams, would you please, Maggie?”

“Thank you, Viola,” Aaron said when Violaserved him his drink.

Justine saw the smile creep acrossViola’s face.

“Justine, you’ll be applying tocollege soon, won’t you?” Grandma asked.

“She’s going to Berkeley,” Dad said.“That we know.”

Youthink you know.

“Justine, your grandmother asked youa question,” Mom said. “And why aren’t you eating your dinner?”

“She’s applying to Berkeley,Margaret,” Dad said. “And when you get home, Aaron, we’ll get you back ontrack.”

“Honey, I think Justine ought tospeak for herself.”

“Margaret, we’ll have none of yourwomen’s lib nonsense tonight,” Dad said, picking up his cocktail. “We have aman going off to war and, whether we believe in the war or not, it’s the menwho fight it. And it’s the men who make the money around here, I might add.Tonight we’re going to forget all about those books you’ve been reading.”

“Books?” Grandma said.

“Never mind what books she’sreading, Frances,” Grandpa said.

“And Justine will go to Berkeley,” Dad said.

Justine looked across the table at Aaron. He staredright back at her and they rolled their eyes at the same time.

Bridge.

“Viola, we’ll have dessert in theliving room,” her mother said. “Justine will help you with the dishes, won’tyou, dear?”

Youthink it’s punishment but I’d rather wash dishes than be plastic.

Had she said that? Justine drainedher drink, sucking it off the ice.

The others stood up and pushed their chairs back.Justine watched Grandpa put his arm around Aaron and take him away from thetable. Grandma picked up her plate.

“I’ll help, too,” Grandma said.

“No, Florence,” Mom said. “That’sJustine’s job.”

“Don’t read tonight,” she heard Dad sayto Mom and she saw his hand rub up and down, pulling at the fabric of herdress. Mom leaned into him.

“You help Viola, won’t you dear,”her mother said again, over her shoulder.

Iheard you the first time.

Aaron, Dad and Grandpa were probablylighting up cigars right now. Not Justine. She had to do the dishes.

“Don’t stack them,” Viola said whenshe brought the first load into the kitchen. “You’ll break something.”

So she cleared the table withoutstacking. Didn’t matter how many trips. No stacking the fine china.

Table cleared, Justine’s hands feltgood in the hot, soapy water.

Washing, rinsing, placing each plate in the dishdrainer.

Rather bein here thinking about Jesse than in there, anyway. Would he go off to college?She wondered what his parents had to say about his future.

Momsaid it was a new day for women, and her counselor at school said all she neededwas a BA in Liberal Arts and a teaching credential. Dad said forget about whatthe counselor says. “Look at your GPA,” he said. “You’re going to Berkeley.”

Justine scraped oil and drippings from the roastingpan into the metal Foldger’s can.

“Viola, what do you think I ought todo when I grow up?” she asked.

“Not for me to answer,” Viola said,wiping down the stove.

“I’m not charming like Aaron,”Justine said.

“Aaron’s Aaron and you’re you,” Violasaid, setting out a towel on the counter next to the sink so Justine couldplace the roasting pan on it.

“That’s why I come to you, Viola,”Justine said, drying her hands. “You’re such a big help.”

Viola, herback to Justine, the tie of the white apron around her waist hidden in the foldsof her plump middle, reached behind to untie it, dried her handson it, and turned to face Justine.

“Your brother’s going to get on abus tomorrow. It’s going to leave with him on it, so get in there. Memorizehis face and the sound of his voice.”

Justine wished she never asked Violaanything.

“Where are you going?” Viola asked. "Get back in here."

“I'm going to walk the dog,” Justine said,tossing her dishtowel on the counter. “Like Ipromised Aaron I would.”

Chapter 4 of The Possibility of Justine

2011-09-09T14:32:00.000-07:00

Aaron’s Last Supper, Part I

Justine clutched her robe as she ran down the hall,smack into Viola at the front door under the water cooler.

“Get that hair out of your face, child.” She’d comefrom the kitchen.

Viola felt spongy and smelled sweet. That briefcontact held Justine the way Viola used to – reading to her, pulling on hertights before school on a rainy day, after waking up early and no one else butViola and her warm, spongy lap.

Lately, her reaction to Viola – always in her whitebutton-down dress uniform, white shoes, and stockings rolled up tight on herthighs like they were knee-high socks – had been anything but spongy and sweet.One look from Viola made Justine’s head fall farther forward, anything to avoidthose penetrating dark eyes.

Viola sighed, smoothed her starched uniform and openedthe door.

Grandma and Grandpa stood on the front stoop intheir Sunday best. The net of Grandma’s hat swooped across her forehead, hercheek. White gloved hands folded in front of her over the handle of herpatent-leather pocketbook. Grandpa in his fedora.

“Aaron!” Grandma walked throughViola and Justine, still clutching her robe, and stopped in front of Aaron,standing in the hallway. He looked handsome in his dress khakis, his tie tuckedin.

“Give Grandma a squeeze.”

“Aaron, my boy,” Grandpa said,ignoring Viola and Justine.

They watched Aaron hug his grandparents. Justinefound a fresh spot in her mouth that wasn’t sore yet and bit down. She peakedat Viola.

“Come help in the kitchen, after youget dressed. Make sure you pull that hair back.”

Justine watched Viola lumber throughthe living room, back to the kitchen. She was limping. Her grandparents, one oneach side of Aaron, dragged him past her into the living room. Justine stood there,alone now in the hall but for the water cooler blowing cool air down on her.

Later, after making sure Cooper hadplenty of water in the laundry room, Justine tied on an apron over her whitesleeveless blouse and a blue cotton skirt. It was hot in the kitchen.

“Why the oven on a hot day?” she asked Viola.

“Your brother likes his ham warm,” she said. “Nowgrate these carrots but do it over there so you’re not in my way.”

Not a word about the stupid velvet bow holding herbangs to one side. Or the ponytail. Just stay out of the way.

Beinvisible.

It felt close to right when no one said anything,but not at all close to good. Justine didn’t understand why that made her eyeswater. She tasted blood before knowing her teeth had bitten into her lip.

She peeled and grated carrots, daydreaming aboutJesse – calling her on the phone, showing up at her door, at school on thefirst day. That led to imagining a new teacher, one who’d never even met Aaron.A teacher who wore one of those off-white, crocheted dresses, looking likeTwiggy.

Dad barged into the kitchen, his still wet hair nowcombed flat, his white cheeks smooth. The smell of minty cinnamon wafted inwith him, the swinging door fanning cooler air in with him.

“Stiff drinks all around,” he said,pulling the lever on the ice trays and plopping ice into the ice bucket. “Needyou in there, Justine.”

“I’m helping.”

“Go on,” Viola said. “I’ll finish thecoleslaw.”

Waiting in the dining room for Dadto mix cocktails on the buffet, Justine noticed Grandma sat too close to Aaron,who was sitting up stiff and straight on the green Naugahyde davenport. Mom sattoo close on the other side. Between them, Aaron looked big, bigger than sheremembered.

“I promise I won’t cry if youpromise to—“

“I promise.” Aaron raised both arms andput one around each of them. “I promise to take good care of myself.”

From this distance, he looked likeDad, his arms around them instead of the other way around.

Justine delivered the cocktails asdirected. Manhattans to Mom and Grandma. Martinis for Aaron and Grandpa, whohad settled himself in Dad’s chair, the matching over-stuffed armchair betweenthe davenport and the fireplace. Not wanting to squeeze in next to anyone,Justine backed up to the fireplace, her hands behind her as if it were winterand a fire blazed behind her.

“I see you poured the good stuff,”Grandpa said, after sipping his martini.

To Justine’s surprise, Dad handedher a drink.

“A fitting time for your firstcocktail, me thinks,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.

Then he faced Aaron and Justine sawtheir eyes meet. Dad raised his glass.

“You didn’t make her a Manhattan,Hugh?”

“No, Maggie. Made her an Old-Fashioned,” Dad saidto Mom.

“Are you going to make the toast,Hugh, or shall I?” Grandpa asked.

They all looked at Grandpa. Justinejingled the ice in her drink, raising her glass. She saw moisture already beadingup on the outside of her glass.

“To an honorable end to thisgoddamned war,” Grandpa said.

“To troops coming home,” Mom said.

“I’ll drink to that,” Grandma said.

“To some first hand information fora change,” Grandpa said, raising his glass again.

“L’chaim,” Justine said.

“What the hell did you say?” Grandpaasked.

“It means ‘To life,’” Mom explained.

“In Spanish?”

Justine laughed and Grandpa glared at her.

Doesn’t heknow the difference between Spanish and Hebrew?

“From that book I gave you,” Mom said, looking atJustine. “The Chosen. It’s a lovelynovel about two Jewish boys. You liked it?”

“Mm hmm,” Justine said as she drankmore of her drink. It tasted sweet but bitter. Like cold fire.

“Honey, sip slowly,” Mom said toher.

“Whatcha reading about Jews for,Teeny-girl?” Grandpa said, settling himself back down in his chair.

God,don’t call me that. I hate that.

“Grandma,”Aaron said, putting his arm back around her, “how about telling us my favoritestory?”

“Not that again,” Grandpa said. “We all know if ithadn’t been for your grandmother, we’d have lost it all. End of story.”

“Wasn’t it because you were scaredof horses, Grandma?” Aaron asked.

“Aaron,” Grandma said, blushing, “you’ve heard metell it so many times.”

“I want to hear it again, Grandma. Before I go.”

“What we need is some music,” Dad said. He steppedinto the dining room and opened the hi-fi.

“Not Miles Davis again,” Mom said.

“How ‘bout Louis Armstrong?”

“She wasscared of horses. You got that right,” Grandpa said, shaking his head as if hestill couldn’t fathom it.

“You tell the story, Grandma,” Aaron said.

“I’m going to need another round, Hugh,” Grandpasaid, lifting his already empty glass in Dad’s direction.

Grandma shifted her hips so she could face Aaron. Shesmoothed her dress at her knees. “I was afraid of horses, but I was even moreafraid of going into town.”

“So who ran errands for you, Grandma?”

Justine watched Aaron charm the story out of theirshy grandmother.

Unbeknownst to her busy husband, one of the hiredhands – the only “good man” on the place – ran all the errands for her.

“Good ole Hank,” Grandpa said.

For the first time, it occurred to Justine thatGrandma and Grandpa both referred to Hank as the only “good” man because he wasthe only white man. She sipped hercocktail.

How couldI have missed that detail?

“And how did he know what you needed, Grandma?”Aaron asked.

“I’d tuck my list under a dishtowel in my basket, alwaysnext to a freshly baked pie. In summer it’d be peach or strawberry. In thefall, rhubarb. Late in the fall—”

“Hell, damn, spit, woman. Tell the story.”

“Late fall, what kind of pie, Grandma?” Aaronasked.

Grandma looked from her husband to Aaron.

“Onion. Have I ever made you an onion pie? Orpumpkin. Anyway, Hank would come up the porch steps where he knew my basketwaited with a pie in it,” she said, looking at Grandpa. “He would touch histhumb to the tip of his hat. He knew I hid behind the kitchen door, afraid totalk to him. A scaredy-cat.”

“I gave her all the cash,” Grandpasaid. “To take to town. To deposit in the bank.”

“How could Grandpa not know you were afraid to go totown?” Mom asked Grandma.

“He was oblivious, Maggie,” Grandma said.

“I’d tell her when I needed cash – To pay the handsor give to Hank for seed,” Grandpa said.

Justine sipped her drink.

And he’sstill oblivious.

“So Hank took the money?” Aaron asked, even thoughhe and everybody knew the answer.

“Oh, no. I never sent Hank into town with money forthe bank,” Grandma said, knowing everybody knew. “I sent Hank into town withmoney for flour or thread but never any large amount.”

“What did you do with all the cash, Grandma?”

“At first, I hid it under the embroidery thread inmy sewing basket but, after a time, it came to be such a big bundle. I fashioneda lining out of unbleached muslin and kept the money under the lining at thebottom of my cedar chest.”

Grandma sipped her drink and looked over hershoulder at Justine.

“The same cedar chest that belongs to you, now.”

Uncomfortablewith everybody’s eyes on her, Justine did what she always did in thatsituation: She looked to Aaron.

“Tell us what happened on the day ofthe crash, Grandma,” Aaron said.

“That was October, 1929. Yourgrandfather came into the kitchen, his eyes as big as egg yolks, a desperatelook on his face, and he dropped down onto his knees right there on thelinoleum, taking hold of my hands, looking to all the world as if he were goingto cry.

“I had good reason to cry,” Grandpa said.

“What did he say next, Grandma?”

“ ‘The banks have closed,’ he said. ‘We’ve losteverything.’ ”

“What did you do?” Aaron asked as ifhe were hearing the story for the first time.

“She took me by the hand—“

“Grandpa, let Grandma tell it,”Aaron said, his eyes on Grandma.

Blushing, Grandma patted Aaron’s legand took a sip of her drink.

“I did take him by the hand – and Idon’t know why you came along,” she said, looking at Grandpa, “but you did.”

Grandpa smiled.

“He let me lead him through the house. To thatchest. It was at the foot of our bed.”

“When I saw the—”

“Shhhh,” Aaron insisted.

“I opened the chest and pulled thequilts out. Those quilts are in that chest right now, aren’t they, dear?”Grandma said, again looking at Justine.

“Mother, will you tell the story so we can all haveanother drink.”

“You’re already on your second, Walt,” Grandmasaid, handing her glass to Dad.

“Not another for Justine,” Mom said.

Dad winked at Justine and took her glass.

“Come on, Grandma,” Aaron said, taking her hands inhis. “Just tell it to me.”

Grandma spoke into his eyes.

“He did cry when he saw all the bills I’d saved.”

“I cried like a baby,” Grandpa said.

“Dinner is served.” Viola stood in the archwaybetween the living room and the dining room.

“L’chaim,” Justine said again, raising her freshenedcocktail.

“Thereyou go again, Teeny-girl?” Grandpa heaved himself out of the chair.

“Can you stop calling me that?”

Oh,shit. Did I say that out loud?

“You’ll always be my Teeny-girl,”Grandpa said, walking over and squeezing her cheek between his thumb andforefinger.

“Walt,” Grandma said. “She’s too bigfor that.”

“Nonsense,” Grandpa said, throwinghis arm around Justine. “She loves it.”

Justine let him steer her toward thedining room, holding her fresh drink out in front of her. She was glad onlyGrandma seemed to hear talk back to him.

“My favorite,” Aaron exclaimed inthe dining room as if he hadn’t been able to smell the ham for hours.

“I told her it was too hot and toserve it cold,” Mom said, “but Viola insisted.”

Aaron walked right over to her, puthis arms around her shoulders, and hugged her.

“Lord, child,” Viola said, backinginto the kitchen.

“Hell, damn, spit, Aaron,” Grandpasaid.

Justine saw looks dart between hergrandparents, her parents. All uptight about Aaron hugging Viola. What’s thebig deal?

DidI say that out loud?

She pulled out her chair at the dining table and,remembering to put the drink down first, she plunked into the chair. She couldhave hugged Cesar Chavez today if she’d wanted to. What would they think ofthem apples? What if they knew she wanted to kiss a Mexican boy?

Justine grinned at her drink, the red of the cherryso striking in the amber liquid.

Chapter 3: A Cigar on a Hot Day

2011-08-23T10:33:00.000-07:00

“You look green,” Aaron said.

“I feel green.”

Justine concentrated on the bees buzzing on clover blossoms in the Bermuda grass. Cooper lay flat on his side and occasionally whipped his head up, snapping at air. Good thing for him he didn’t connect. His efforts lacked impact. At least he didn’t get hurt.

Like I care!

Aaron sat cross-legged, mirroring her but for his hairy, white legs and bony feet. He’d cut off the legs of a pair of faded jeans at the knee. The rest of him matched her tan, a golden olive-brown against his white t-shirt. He exhaled three bold smoke rings.

She’d seen him take the cigar out of Dad’s humidor right in front of Mom, who hadn’t said a word.

In an attempt to escape the cigar smoke hovering in the still, hot afternoon air, Justine lay on her back and looked up. Soon these sycamore leaves would die from the cold or from some inner wisdom and fall. Aaron would not be here to rake them into piles like he used to. And she was too old for leaf jumping.

The smell of Dad’s grapes, two rows of a forgotten farming venture, made her stomach roll, that fermented syrupy smell.

Yet she took the cigar from Aaron, using her thumb and only two fingers, the way he told her to do it.

“Careful, – “

“I know,” she snapped. She placed the moist cigar between her lips – pulling more than sucking. She knew the words and tried to be careful not to let it get past her mouth like she had last time and the time before that. She tried to pull some smoke into her mouth.

“Not too much.”

She made the ring with her lips. She blew.

“Like this.” Aaron leaned over her, made the oval with his lips and pushed his curved tongue out in quick succession. “Don’t forget the tongue.”

She’d forgotten the tongue.

“That’s what I’m doing,” she lied.

Justine took another pull, made a bigger O, and stuck her tongue forward like he had. At least it came out in spurts.

“Who will attend to my delinquency when you’re gone?”

Justine’s spurts grew smaller and more defined with each try.

“You’re getting it,” Aaron said.

“I’ll be on my way to college by the time you come home.”

He took the cigar from her and lay down on his back, one arm behind his head.

Justine leaned over onto her elbow and watched him blow perfect little smoke rings, one after the other. She adjusted her shirt so she couldn’t feel the sweat-soaked armpits. Aaron’s army t-shirt, the one he’d given her when he was packing covered more skin than her shorts, felt all big and cozy, like pjs.

“Dad says you made a big mistake,” she said.

“Father knows best.”

“What’d you do it for, drop out of school?”

“Somebody has to care what’s going on in this country.”

“Don’t be so uptight about it. If you don’t want to talk about it, far out, man” Justine said.

“‘Far out, man.’ Don’t talk slang like that, Justine.”

“Driving a car, I’m to act like a man, but now you want me to act like a lady?”

“Touché, little missy. Listen, Dad wants me to be a lawyer. Both of us. Rid the Central Valley of injustice from behind a desk.”

The sweat beaded up above his lip, little sparkling bubble beads.

“Let’s go to the river,” she said.

He’d taken her to Three Rivers almost every day since he’d been home on leave. It only took 45 minutes to get to where they parked at the side of the road and hiked down to the river. A well-known spot, they always ran into someone he knew.

Maybe Jesse would be there.

“Dad’s knocking off early,” Aaron said, “and I have something I have to do before he gets home.”

“Dad’s coming home early?”

Aaron sat back up and faced her, handed her the cigar.

“Shocking, isn’t it?”

“You bet my sweet bippy,” she said.

“Seriously, about you being a senior, little missy. Make me proud?”

“I’m the shy, quiet sibling, remember?”

“I want exciting letters, not boring accounts of being stood up.”

“Shut up.”

“What,” Aaron said, grabbing the cigar, waving it like Groucho Marx. “How many times did he stand up for you?”

Justine laughed at his joke even though his impersonation wasn’t even close to funny. That’s what girls were supposed to do and she knew it. Laugh at their jokes.

“After I come home, we can double date,” Aaron said, pulling a dandelion and blowing. Spinning seeds danced in a cloud of smoke across the lawn.

“Double date?”

“You and Jesse. Maybe me. Maybe me and Lori.”

“Lori?” she said. “I don’t know what her trip is.”

“Yeah, what happened to you two?” Aaron asked, taking a puff and offering the cigar.

“I’m done with that,” Justine said, waving cigar smoke away. “I’m done with her, too.”

“Lori?”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You didn’t used to think so.”

He’s right.

They’d been best friends as long as she could remember, made crossing the street from one house to the other like walking down a hallway.

“I think she’s dating someone,” she said. “Or something. She’s changed.”

“Speaking of dating,” Aaron said, “if any guy ever says to you that you look like his sister, don’t believe him. Guys want only one thing, little missy. Remember that.”

“Are you like that?”

“I don’t want you having to marry some jerk,” he said.

“Just want me friends with a jerk,” she teased. “Don’t worry. I’m never getting married.”

“I’m serious, Justine.”

“God, why doesn’t anyone ever say, ‘Girls just want one thing’?”

“They do,” he said. “To get married.”

Aaron knocked her elbow out from under her.

“Life won’t be the same without you,” Justine said, jumping up.

“You know you’re gunna miss me.”

“I’ll miss your record player.”

“Use it as often as you like,” he said.

Aaron stood up and stood next to Justine. They stood together, facing the off-white stucco wall of the back of the house, the circle he’d painted where they’d practiced pitching baseballs faded but visible. Through the window, their mother in the laundry room.

“She used to set Kool-Aid out for us,” Aaron said.

“Right there on the stoop,” Justine said.

“Does she even cook anymore?” he asked.

Mom had changed and she hadn’t even gone anywhere. Would Vietnam change Aaron?

“She’s liberated,” Justine said, shrugging her shoulders. Then she grabbed Aaron’s arm, twisted it as hard as she could, and pulled it behind him. He laughed, which was what guys were supposed to do – laugh at a girl’s weakness. Her strength no match for his, she threw her sweaty arms around his sweaty neck and swung up onto his back, wrapping her legs tight around his middle. Aaron leaned forward and exaggerated his walk, groaning and grunting, toward the house where he leaned down and spilled her onto the stoop.

I’m going to miss you.

Justine’s throat tightened. She yanked open the door.

“Dibs on the bathroom,” she yelled over her shoulder.

“First one there,” Aaron shouted.

“No running,” their mother said as they raced past her in the laundry room, knocking the hamper over.

Justine let Aaron take his shower first even after beating him to the bathroom. She wanted to go after, to soak in a bathtub full of cool water. She needed to think.

Following in Aaron’s footsteps, since she didn’t come close to fitting in his footsteps, would be flat out hell this year. It wasn’t just Mr. Trujillo, everyone one of her teachers had had Aaron before—the curse of a small town. The English teacher had already told her how much she was looking forward to having “Aaron’s sister.” That’s what they called her: “Aaron’s sister.”

Do they even know my name?

She might look like him, but she didn’t charm like he charmed. She wasn’t at all like Aaron. No teacher had ever adored her.

“Justine.” It was her mother. “Someone else might want to use the bathroom.”

“Be out in a minute.”

“That’s what you said ten minutes ago, dear.”

Justine flicked the drain and stepped onto the bathmat. After toweling dry, she grabbed her robe from the hook on the back of the door. The chenille felt soft against her damp skin. She opened the door but went back to swirl the water out of the bathtub so there’d be no ring.

“Here come de judge.”

“I’m leaving it clean, Dad.”

Walter Baker leaned his head down next to hers, pretending to scrutinize the tub. Justine kissed him on the top of his head, every hair in place even after work.

“Mmmm,” she said. “Brillcream.”

“A little dab’ll do ya,” Aaron sang, coming into the bathroom.

“You’re wearing that?” Justine stared at his crisp, khaki dress uniform.

“Someone get the door,” Mom yelled from the master bedroom.

“I’m taking a shower,” Dad yelled back, “if you two would be so kind as to clear out.”

“Did you hear the doorbell?” Justine squeezed behind her brother, who stood admiring his reflection in the mirror.

“ESP,” Aaron said.

On cue, all three hummed the theme from The Twilight Zone.

Chapter 2: “Farm Workers Rally behind Chavez” - the headline that should have graced the front page of the Kawea Register

2011-07-27T15:07:00.000-07:00

Justine felt the heat squeeze as if it occupied a space all its own—all windows down, the Woody picking up speed, not even tenaclock. Turning onto Prosperity Avenue, Aaron used the heel of his right hand. The other slapped time to the radio.

“I can’t get no . . . ,”

Justine pulled her hair back to keep it from whipping into her face. Glad she took the ponytail out, she let if fly. Easy to pretend nothing mattered somehow.

No satisfaction anyway.

“You should be driving.”

“Why me? You’re the man, man.”

“Listen to you. What would Mom say?”

“I don’t want to drive with you,” she said, and just as soon regretted it. But it was true. Her big brother was pushy. Last spring, on leave from the Army, he’d made her drive all the way to Delano – on the freeway – to hear some speech. That had been her first time on the 99 outside of Driver’s Training. Not a pleasant time, either, with him pressuring her to speed up. Drive with confidence, he said.

How can I drive with something I don’t have?

“Where we going?” she said, changing the subject.

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, little missy. You’re driving me home,” he said. “The Woody’ll be all yours tomorrow.”

“I’ll manage,” she said.

It’s a lot easier driving by myself.

She’d overheard Dad say to Mom that Aaron ended up drafted because he was a radical. “Radical,” to Justine, meant “severely pushy.”

The alfalfa, vibrant green, and the cotton, dingy green, the orange trees – She liked watching out the window of a moving car. Aaron’s hand on the car beat to the distance in time between notes. The irrigation ditches between the rows of cotton, the rows of trees in the orchard, flicked to the distance in space, a visual beat.

Trippy.

They passed a dairy, preceded by its smell, the sour pile of silage made from ground up corn, stalks and all. She wanted to scratch her neck. Peach fuzz. She’d known the itching would come after eating that peach. It always did. She also knew not to scratch. Scratching only made it worse.

You should have washed your hands.

Justine’s uptight mother lived inside her head.

The voice that keeps on ticking.

The flickering slowed. Grape vines. She could taste the dust after Aaron stopped on the shoulder next to the vineyard.

“Ever heard of the grape strike?” he asked.
“Grandpa says they’re a bunch of communists.”

“Yeah. Well, we’re going to their rally today.”

Justine noticed the back of an old Chevy in front of them, the rows of cars in front of that one. The cars belonged to field workers.

“I’ll get my shoes dirty,” she said, looking down at her white Keds.

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

“What about the dog?”

“Brought water for the dog.”

Justine stepped out of the car and into soft powder.

“My shoes.”

Aaron ignored her. She felt sweat under her arms, licked her lips, and tasted salt. Aaron poured water from her old thermos into the green biscuit bowl and some on Cooper’s head and back.

“Better put those back when you’re done,” she said.

"Look familiar?” He held up the red plaid thermos. “Lori said you have one, too.”

“That’s Lori’s?”

He nodded.

"Since when do you have Lori’s thermos?"

“Since we rescued Cooper.”

“You and Lori rescued him?”

Why would Lori rescue a dog that bites – with Aaron?

He tied Cooper’s leash to the steering wheel in the front seat and propped the door open with a rag he got out of the trunk. He made sure the leash gave the dog plenty of room to crawl under the car and into the shade next to the bowl of water. “How come you and Lori aren’t best friends anymore?”

“He looks like the Shaggy Dog.”

Cooper sat in the driver’s seat, his eyes on Aaron, his tongue wagging.

“Doesn’t look vicious at all.”

“He’s not vicious.” Aaron made dust clouds when he walked onto the shoulder. “Why would you say that?”

“What Grandpa said.”

And him growling at me.

“He’s a good dog, little missy, and don’t you forget it.” Aaron did his John Wayne walk. “What happened between you and Lori anyway?”

“Guess I could ask the same thing,” Justine said. “You two rescuing Cooper.”

“What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”

“Doesn’t seem so incongruous to me.”

“Big word for a little missy.”

“You don’t even know what it means,” she said.

“Could you drive home from here if you had to? Did you pay attention?”

"All roads lead to Rome,” she said, but Justine doubted she could through the quilt of crops, orchards, and dairies. The fuzzy, gilded foothills rose from behind the dusty grapevines, the Sierra’s behind them shrouded in haze. East. Kaweah and home, southwest.

He’s avoiding telling me about Lori.

“My brain,” Justine sang. “In all this haze, doesn’t seem the same.”

“All this smog, you mean.”

“Smog?”

“A neologism: smoke and fog together equal smog.”

“Squirrel, I know what smog is,” she said. “Smog’s in LA.”

“Smog is wherever the internal combustion engine operates.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Ecology class at Berkeley.”

“Okay. What do you call it when the mountains in front are clearly visible but the ones behind look purple and hazey? Atmospheric something?”

“Atmospheric perspective.” Aaron sighed. “Hey, you want my albums?”

“Even your Hendrix?”

“Yeah, Purple Haze, man.”

“I’ll take good care of them, Aaron,” she said.

“Just like Cooper.”

“Why can’t Lori take Cooper?”

All of a sudden Aaron grabbed her by the hand and pulled her across the road. He was looking ahead where she saw a crowd. They waved banners with the word “Huelga” painted on them.

“What’s hueyelga mean?”

Aaron laughed. “It’s pronounced ‘whellga’ and it means ‘strike’ in Spanish. Don’t you take Spanish?”

“What are they so mad about?” The crowd pulsed toward the vineyard where workers worked. There were officers, too, apparently keeping them out of the field.

“Scabs,” he said.

“What’s a scab?”

“Someone who takes jobs when workers are on strike.”

Justine felt scared. Aaron yanked her toward another group quite a ways down on the other side of the road gathered around a pick-up truck. A man separated from the crowd and walked toward them. He grabbed Aaron’s hand in a thumbs-up handshake—and the two of them hugged.

Hugging Grandma and Grandpa and now a stranger?

“Justine—Señor Trujillo.”

Horrified, Justine recognized her high school teacher towering over her in his white shirt and tie. She held her arms close to her sides, hopefully hiding the rings of sweat under her arms but still shook the hand he offered.

“I’m looking forward to having you in Government this year.”

“How do you do,” she said, her mouth dry as dirt. She remembered her latest nightmare—naked in Senior Court and bit into her lip but it was too late—Her face went hot which meant beat red.

“She’s my backup,” Aaron said. “While I’m gone.”

“Only with Cooper,” she said. “And the albums. Cooper’s his dog. He’s way back there in the Woody, looking like the Shaggy Dog.”

Mr. Trujillo laughed.

Why can’t I keep my mouth shut?

“Señor Chávez is about to speak,” Mr. Trujillo said. “Vámanos.”

“The communist?”

Aaron grabbed Justine’s arm, gave her the evil eye, and directed her toward the pickup.

The man standing in the truck bed wore a long-sleeved, work shirt just like the men in the crowd. And like Grandpa did. She’d asked her grandfather years ago why he didn’t take his shirt off when it was so hot outside. He said sweat in a long-sleeved, cotton shirt was as close as you could get to air-conditioning. Justine felt the heat on the back of her neck and arms in her sleeveless shell. A traitor to Grandpa, who called this Chávez a “dirty Mexican communist.”

I shouldn’t be here. Why is Aaron making me do this?

“Por favor,” her pushy brother said to the crowd. She shook her arm loose from his grip and listened to his Spanish way beyond anything she could understand. Mr. Trujillo stepped in front of her, his arm outstretched as if inviting her into his parlor.

And the people stepped aside for Mr. Trujillo, too, all smiling at her, so she followed her brother. What else could she do?

“Buenos días,” a short woman in a skirt and long-sleeved cotton shirt said, her brown eyes finding Justine’s. Behind the woman – Jesse Flores?

I must be seeing things

Justine bumped into Aaron’s back as he came to a stop near the back of the old pick-up truck. The man began to speak – in Spanish. The crowd roared back – in Spanish. She recognized him. He was the man with Robert Kennedy when Aaron made her drive to Delano—the man fasting for non-violence.

A hero like Ghandi, not a communist. Robert Kennedy broke bread with him. Not a dirty Mexican. Hey, Jesse Flores is no ‘dirty Mexican,’ either.

Justine couldn’t understand the speech. Her mind’s eye pictured Jesse.

Could that be him?

Social Studies, 4^th period, and he sat right behind her. He had a moustache – in the 8^th grade. Thick, black, curly hair. Each time she passed a paper back, she swiveled in her desk all the way around. Each time, his dark eyes looked right into hers.

Justine felt chills at the memory of him. She peeked over her shoulder. Just like Social Studies, four years ago, Jesse Flores’s dark eyes looked right into hers as if he’d been waiting.

Justine snapped her head front and kept her eyes on Señor Chávez all the while imagining him and his eyes on her.

It had been a Friday. Jesse, through his friends to her friends, asked her to meet him at the show that night. She sent her “yes” back.

That afternoon, Aaron knocked on her bedroom door.

“Call for you,” he said. “Some Mexican.”

She ran down the hall, bumping into Aaron, and through the dining room to get to the phone in the kitchen.

“Who is he?” Aaron asked after she hung up.

“What do you care if he’s Mexican?”

“How old is he?”

“None of your beeswax,” Justine said.

“Older guys are bad news, Justine.”

“He’s my age.”

“What’d he say?”

“Talk about the third degree.”

What had he said? Justine wasn’t exactly sure.

“We’re going to meet at the show. Please don’t tell Mom or Dad.”

Aaron laughed. “You need a ride?”

Justine spent the rest of that afternoon preparing. She shaved her legs and washed, rolled, and ratted her hair up high. Then she sprayed and sprayed it with VO5 before smoothing it down. It curled up just the way she wanted right at her shoulders. More hairspray to save the curl. The clippie with the green velvet bow went right above her bangs, which she had straightened and placed with Dippity-Do. After that she changed clothes again, settling on a green plaid skirt with a white blouse, the green cardigan, and the dark green scarf with her brown coat, all to match the bow.

Godzilla and Mothra battled it out while Justine waited, her green knee socks drooping. Jesse Flores never came.

The man in the back of the truck shouted. The crowd forced Justine closer and closer to the truck. She made a dash away from the rush and watched the mob encircle the truck.

“Justine.”

Jesse Flores.

“You stood me up,” she said and immediately felt the rush of heat rise up and into her face. She bit into her cheek before any tears or, god forbid, more words could escape.

What is the matter with me?

“My family. We had to work that night.”

What was he talking about?

“The frost, it means extra work. I could not meet you. I had to work with my family. But you would never talk with me again.”

“Because you stood me up.”

Can I think before I speak? Do I even have that skill?

“I explained on the telephone.”

“Jesse!” Aaron and Mr. Trujillo took turns shaking his hand – that same handshake.

Aaron and Jesse knew each other?

They locked her out of the conversation. All she could do was notice the music of it still surprised her brother could speak Spanish so well but even more surprised that she’d found Jesse. The truth about what had happened began to sink in.

He didn’t stand me up after all.

Jesse and Mr. Trujillo walked Justine and Aaron all the way to their car.

“See you on the first day,” Mr. Trujillo said to her.

Will I see Jesse at high school? I’ve never seen him there before.

Mr. Trujillo took Aaron into his arms again.

“Come back to us, mi hermano,” Mr. Trujillo said. “We need you here at home.”

Jesse held back. Justine willed her mouth to speak. Call me, she wanted to say, but now that she wanted to speak, her lips seemed welded shut. All she did was watch as he and Mr. Trujillo walk back toward the crowd.

Aaron called Cooper out from under the car and offered him more water before putting him in the back.

“There,” he said, smiling at her over the top of the Woody.

“‘There what?” She opened the door and sat on the bench seat wishing she had something to wipe the sweat from her face, the backs of her knees. The salt from it stung her eyes.

Aaron started the car. “Still think he’s a communist?”

“I couldn’t understand a word he said.”

Why does Grandpa call them all “dirty Mexicans”?

Aaron slammed the Woody into gear. Justine closed her eyes to keep the dust out as he spun the car around and headed back to town.

He forgot to make me drive home.

Aaron sped down the Lindsey Highway.

Mom and Dad don’t say “dirty Mexicans.”

He drove into town and right past Blackstone, then Cherry Avenue, the usual ways home. They passed Kaweah Union High School, Sweet’s Drug, the park. The marquee on the theater read, Charly.

This Friday – next to Jesse. His arm around her.

Aaron pulled into A&W at the end of the cruise and parked. A carhop hurried out.

“You’re still here,” she said.

“Leaving tomorrow.” He ordered two root beer freezes.

“Coming right up.”

“Friend of yours?” Justine asked.

“Member of my fan club.”

“Groovy.”

Aaron had been silent the whole way so Justine started peppering him with questions. She knew from experience that questions worked on her dad when he was in a bad mood. Why not try it on Aaron?

“What does ‘me airmano’ mean? What Mr. Trujillo called you.”

“My brother.”

Mr. Trujillo thinks of Aaron as a brother.

“What did Chávez say?”

“What do you care? To you, he’s just a dirty Mexican.”

“Not to me, Aaron. To Grandpa. I know he’s a hero but I don’t understand why.”

“He talked about the symbol of the farm workers’ union, the Aztec eagle,” Aaron said. “He said when people see the symbol, they’ll know it means dignity. It gives the people back their pride.”

“That’s what they want? Pride?”

“They want a fair living wage. Fresh water. Toilets.”

“Toilets?”

“They work all day and no toilets.”

The carhop brought the tray with the freezes. Aaron rolled his window up a little so she could hook the tray onto it.

“Just holler if you need anything else,” she said.

“How do you know her?” Justine asked, taking her freeze from him. “Never mind that. How do you know Jesse?”

“He’s related to Mr. Trujillo’s family – a nephew, I think. Maybe a cousin.” Aaron told her that the grape strike had started years ago and he’d been helping Mr. Trujillo, driving him to Delano, taking food and supplies to farm workers.

“Doesn’t he have a car?”

“Sure but the Woody holds more stuff.”

“Since when do you speak such good Spanish?”

“We walked from Delano to Sacramento in ’66. I had to speak Spanish,” he said. “You just have to practice. Now, you can practice with Jesse.” He sucked on his straw.

“What happened to him? At school, I mean. I’ve never seen him at high school.”

“See very many Mexicans or Negroes at high school?”

Justine hadn’t ever thought about it but what had happened to all the kids she’d gone to junior high with?

“Lots of ‘em just stop going to school. Don’t see the point in it. The ones who can play sports, especially football, they want them around,” Aaron said, “but they put ‘em with the special ed kids in the Wig Wams.”

“Just ‘cause they’re Mexican?”

“’Cause they don’t speaka good English.”

“Does Dad know?”

“Dad knows,” Aaron said. He finished his freeze and put the empty glass on the tray.

“I thought he and Mom fought for civil rights.”

“They do.”

Justine’s head hurt.

“Listen, little missy – ”

“Not John Wayne again.”

“I need you to promise me something, in case I don’t come back.”

“Jeepers creepers, man.”

“People die, Justine. Martin Luther King. Then Bobby Kennedy. That’s how I got into the farm workers’ movement, and now Chavez isn’t doing that great. Promise me you’ll fight the good fight for me.”

“Aaron, I’m just a girl.”

Aaron slammed the steering wheel with his open palm.

“I quit school to work with Students for a Democratic Society, but I ended up getting drafted, man. I fucked up.”

“Aaron!”

“The least you can do is promise to check it out.”

He looked the other way. Sweat made the back of his neck and his nearly shaved head shine.

Justine felt the itch of the peach fuzz. She wanted to go home and wash the sticky off.

"Cooper needs to get out of this car," she said. "Listen to him pant."

“Tell you what.” Aaron turned and leaned toward her. The sweat beaded up above his upper lip. “I won’t tell Mom and Dad about Jesse if you promise to help out about the grape strike, just that one thing.”

That one thing plus the dog.

She scratched the itch on her neck, making the spot even bigger.
He’s blackmailing me. But tomorrow, he’ll be gone.

“I promise,” she said.

Aaron turned the Woody onto J Street and then a left onto Kaweah Avenue. He cranked up the radio with one hand and waved to a car full of cruisers with the other. They had the same Lovin’ Spoonful hit blaring.

“My last cruise,” he said to her.

“Man, you sound like you’re dead already.”

“That’s what I like about you, Justine. You’re not afraid of saying it like it is.”

When Aaron pulled the Woody into the driveway of their off-white stucco home, Mom and Dad spilled out from the French doors, each holding a glass of beer.

“Where’ve you been?” Mom asked. “Grandma said Justine let Cooper ruin her garden and that you two left hours ago.”

My fault.

“We were cruising, Mom, for old time’s sake.” Aaron walked past them on the side stoop and into the dining room. He turned to Justine, who was right behind him, winked, and messed up her hair.

“Don’t!” she whined, not without noting the ease with which the lie had rolled off his tongue. So much to learn from her big brother.

“We made your favorite!” Mom said. “Dagwoods.”

"And here’s a beer for you, too, son,” Dad said.

"I'll set the table," Justine said, heading for the kitchen.

“Not the kitchen, honey,” Mom said. “It’s his last lunch home.”

“Dagwoods in the dining room?”

“Use the good plates and the silver."

Justine stomped into the kitchen to wash the itch off her neck, the sweat off her face, at the kitchen sink. As usual, she was expected to oblige whenever Viola was not there. Justine wondered what her parents could have been doing while they waited for them to come home.

They can’t set a table?

She plunked the good china down, the silver place servings on linen napkins from the top right drawer in the buffet, and then she held the platters for them as – first her mother, then her father, and finally her brother – took what they wanted of the cheddar, Swiss, pastrami, ham, roast beef, lettuce, pickles, pepperoncinis. After, she took the dirty plates, empty platters, and gummy condiment containers back into the kitchen. Back and forth, back and forth—the swinging door between the dining room and the kitchen didn’t have time to rest.

The whole time she thought about Jesse's smile, not the dishes, Jesse’s eyes, not the dog or the fence she couldn’t build, Jesse’s moustache, not the family. While they sat in the cool of the dark dining room sipping their beers, the venetian blinds closed tight to keep the afternoon heat out, she daydreamed an exhilarating future. And even though she couldn’t hear their conversation from the kitchen, she knew her brother would not be talking about Jesse Flores.

But when she danced the wet dishtowels out to the laundry room, she saw his bowls and remembered Cooper. She’d let him out of the Woody, forgotten to make sure he had water, forgotten he was a dog that bites.

I know I can trust Aaron, but can he trust me?

2011-07-19T14:28:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1 A Dog who Bites

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,

The earth, and every common sight,

To me did seem

Apparell’d in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.

It is not now as it hath been of yore;—

Turn wheresoe’er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

William Wordsworth Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

CHAPTER ONE

“They eat dog in Vietnam, you know.”

“Jeez, Aaron. How about ‘good morning’?”

Cooper – who was now supposed to be her dog – his tail thumping the oven door in their grandparents’ kitchen, stopped his rush outside to lean into Justine’s brother.

“Just want to impress upon you the seriousness of his situation.” Aaron had one hand in charge of the bacon on the stove, the spatula dripping grease, and the other kneading one side of Cooper’s head.

“I hate walking him. Let me do the bacon.”

“And let you get grease spatters all over your pretty pj’s?”

She wanted to tell Aaron she had nightmares – I dreamt I was naked on the first day of senior year, she wanted to say – but what’s a nightmare to someone about to ship off to Vietnam? She swiped her overgrown bangs and tucked them behind her ears.

“You have to be firm is all.”

“I am firm.” Her bangs fell into place alongside her nose.

“Walk ahead of him. Make him follow you.” Aaron grabbed Cooper’s leash off the green counter and clicked it onto his collar. He massaged the thick blue-merle fur on both sides of Cooper’s thick neck. “I can’t take him with me where I’m going, Justine.”

Justine sank into a chair at the green and white Formica table.

“You are my only hope,” he said, handing her the leash.

Cooper licked three fingers before she could raise her hands out of his way. She crossed her arms tight against her flat chest. The dog chewed on the leash dangling from her fist.

“He won’t listen to me.” I don’t want to let you down, Aaron, but I won’t be good at it. I’ll let you down. I know I will.

Justine bit into her cheek to stop the tears. Aaron didn’t listen to her, either.

Cooper hooked his thick claw in the ruffle of her pink baby-doll bottoms. Helplessness turned to anger. She exploded out of the chair and felt his claws scratching into her bare thigh. She looked at her older brother. Couldn’t he see?

The big dog followed her over to the sink, jumped up, and put his paws on her back.

Justine felt pressure rise into her throat.

“Get down.”

“He doesn’t understand ‘down,’” Aaron said, all calm, like it didn’t matter.

“He’s getting me dirty.” Justine cowered over the sink. Cooper nuzzled in her long brown hair and licked her neck.

“Off, Cooper.” At the sound of Aaron’s voice, Cooper’s paws hit the linoleum.

Biting into her lip this time, she watched as her brother put Cooper through his paces. Sit. Stay. Come. Aaron’s pink scalp seemed polished under his cropped hair. Before the Army, his dingy brown hair, just as stringy and long as hers, hung down his back in a ponytail. They’d been mistaken for twins. She almost came up to his height at 5’ 9” and had his hazel eyes, his olive complexion, his long, skinny legs.

Why don’t I have his way with Cooper?

She clamped down on her lip even harder. No tears. Not here. Not now. The pain of her lip conquered the ache in her throat, successfully defeating the onslought of tears.

“Come on, Cooper.”

The dog did not move until the squeak of Aaron opening the screen door on the back porch. Then he jerked Justine through the open door, down the back steps, and out into the yard where he lifted his leg on the first tree he could find.

The spooked starlings, fleeing the oak in her grandparents’ backyard, rippled toward the flat horizon. Justine wanted to stop, have a cigarette, let Cooper run free. She’d sit here on the rope swing she and Aaron used to fight over. But what would her grandparents think if they saw her smoking? She didn’t even smoke in front of her brother.

She watched the birds disappearing into the forever flat of the Central Valley. If she were quiet, she wondered how long it would take for the birds to return.

Yesterday, she and her brother brought Cooper out here, to the ranch. Aaron parked in front of the back door at the end of the long, dirt driveway, right there, where Grandma and Grandpa would see first thing, so confident the dog’s charm would win them over. Aaron even let him out without a leash, he was so sure the ranch needed Cooper. But Cooper stormed the chickens. Aaron had forgotten the chickens would be free at this time of the evening.

After she and her brother cornered the dog in the garage, Grandpa said it didn’t matter if the dog did have one blue eye and one brown, he was no ranch dog. It’s a wonder if the chickens’ll be able to lay for a week, he said.

And Aaron? He announced that it was settled then. Justine would take care of Cooper at their parents’ house in town.

“You’ll have to put up a fence.”

“Can’t Dad do it?”

“In his suit and tie?” Aaron wiped drops of sweat off his upper lip. “It’s just the challenge you need.”

How can I build a fence when I can’t even figure out what to wear on the first day of senior year?

Challenges made Justine’s heart speed up and her mouth go dry.

Almost every night, the dream. Senior Court of Kawea Union High School in the heat of the Central San Joaquin summer. Everyone laughing. At her. She realizing why: She was naked.

Cooper finished sniffing and hiking his leg around the tree trunk and headed toward the side yard. He yanked her to the cherry tree, where he hiked his leg again. Then, the flowerbed. The leash sliced into her hand so she ran to keep up with him, trying not to step on the bees buzzing all over the clover blossoms in her bare feet. He hiked his leg on anything of any height at all, giving her some chance to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her eyes.

The rooster crowed and Cooper headed toward the chicken coop where they remained safe through the night.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Justine wrapped the leash around one hand and grabbed fistfuls of fur along with Cooper’s collar in the other.

The dog snapped his head around, teeth bared, and growled. The panic sent shards of pain to her fingertips and she let go of him and the leash.

A covey of quail scurried across the side yard and disappeared into the cornfield. Luckily, they changed the dog’s mind. He ran to the cornstalks and she didn’t know what to do.

Aaron, he growled at me. I’m afraid of him. He’s loose in the cornfield.

But he began circling on the grass. She watched him hunker down over his back legs. He didn’t look scary like that.

But I don’t know how to build a fence.

After completing his business, Cooper trampled flowers in Grandma’s front flowerbed.

“Not Grandma’s flowers.” Cooper cocked his ears but not at her whine. She heard it, too. Crop duster.

The red bi-plane dropped down and swooped over the corn, spraying insecticide mist.

“Gross,” Justine said. “Let’s go inside.”

She thought about picking up his leash since he was just standing there, but she was afraid.

“Hungry?”

Cooper disappeared around the corner of the house. Maybe that did the trick.

Not the chickens!

And she ran the other way to head him off at the pass. There he sat on the stoop by the backdoor, smiling, his tongue dripping. He’d taken her for a walk and was now ready for his breakfast. She leaned over his head carefully to open the screen door and let him in.

I have to make Aaron understand. I can’t take care of Cooper. I’m afraid of him.

Determination melted as soon as she saw Aaron in Grandma’s forest green apron, the one that matched the brik-brak curtains on the window over the sink. Flour handprints dusted the front and he was putting the biscuits on the cookie sheet into the oven. Was there anything her brother couldn’t do?

Justine went to wash her hands, mostly to let some cool water ease the leash burns. Aaron passed her behind her and grabbed the dog food.

She clamped down hard on an already sore spot on her cheek.

I was supposed to feed him.

Cooper danced after Aaron. His nose followed the bowl to the linoleum floor.

“See?” Justine sank into the kitchen chair. “I’m telling you, he’d be better off without me.”

“Jeez, Justine. You’re so dramatic.”

Aaron stood in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. The weight of him pushed her into a slump. She could smell the coffee on his breath.

“Today I’m taking you on a long explore,” he said.

“Like Pooh Bear and Christopher Robin.”

It was Grandma, scuffing into the kitchen in her slippers and pink housecoat, the metal clippies still making curls on each side of her short, gray hair.

Oh, God. Wait till she sees the garden.

Aaron walked over and put his arms around Grandma.

She’s not going to like him doing that.

Grandma nestled into Aaron’s chest.

“Mother, don’t block the doorway.” Grandpa, all dressed, his hair slicked back, tried squeezing by Grandma then gave up and reached his arms around both Grandma and Aaron. He winked at Justine, waving his hand for her to join them.

What a trip.

No one in the family hugged except maybe Christmas after presents. Aaron was the one. It seemed like he brought hugs home from the Army. She stayed put in her chair, arms crossed across her flat chest. She imagined Grandpa’s disappointment in her and felt awkward for not joining them.

Cooper, finished nosing his dish across the floor, put his paw on her thigh again.

“Off,” Justine whispered.

“That goddamn dog,” Grandpa said, rubbing the top of Aaron’s head on his way to the coffee pot.

“Walter,” Grandma said to her husband. “Watch your language in front of the children.”

“Don’t think you can leave that dog here,” Grandpa said, pouring a cup of coffee. “I won’t have a dog that chases chickens.”

“Justine’s keeping him for me,” Aaron said. “She’ll train him.”

“Can’t train the blood out of ‘em, Aaron.”

“He’ll be a fine dog,” Grandma said.

“A dog that bites is a dog that bites,” Grandpa said.

Bites?

“What’s that burning?” Grandma asked, opening the oven. “Justine, did you make biscuits?”

“Smells like Justine burned the biscuits,” Grandpa said.

Well, if biscuits are burning, it must be me.

Justine bit her swollen lip and then her cheek to check the flood of tears.

Aaron would never burn biscuits.

She wanted to let the tears fall and stomp out of the kitchen. No one had ever said anything to her about Cooper biting. Instead, she sat in restraint, tasting blood. First, Aaron. Then Grandpa. Aaron and Grandpa talked about B-52’s. Where he’d be in Vietnam. What he’d do.

Justine pushed the fried egg around on her plate – the yolk hard and dry. Justine blended into the Naugahyde. Even when they looked at her, they didn’t see who she really was. Even Aaron reacted not to her but to some watered down version of himself.

Why can’t they see me?

She smashed the yolk with her fork, rocking the fork back and forth, and pondered the contrast between her naked nightmares and this current aggravation over no one seeing her.

Maybe I don’t want to be seen.

Justine stood up and let the chair scrape against the linoleum. Grandpa said didn’t Aaron want more coffee or maybe another biscuit to go with that butter on his plate? Grandma said didn’t he want another egg, over hard the way he liked it?

The way he likes it.

Justine left the kitchen right about being invisible.

Cooper saw her. The now-known biter shadowed her to the bathroom. He watched her brush her teeth. Justine, careful not to hurt the sore spots, and there were many, took her time. The dog watched her brush her hair back into a high ponytail, a low ponytail, then take it out and brush it long again. He followed her into the bedroom and watched her take off her baby-doll pajamas and put on matching plaid yellow shorts and shell. Cooper nosed the clean pair of Peds® and chewed the shoelaces of her white Keds. She wore them with everything. He watched as she stared in the mirror, wondering what Aaron meant by “a long explore,” tucking the top in, pulling the top back out. Justine didn’t want to look like she cared too much about how she looked.

Hungry after not eating her breakfast, she sneaked out the front door, jogged across the lawn and dirt driveway, and stepped into the shade of Grandpa’s orchard.

Justine’s Intimations:

Nature’s chaos cultured into rows.

I slip the fuzzy skin off and let it drop onto grass and weeds in the orchard. Warm peach juice drips from my chin and down my neck where I will notice an illusive itch later.

The smell of rotting fruit, food for the ants, summer wine for the bees.

Grandpa could recite The Ancient Mariner in its entirety; Grandma knew the names of the wildflowers that bloomed in the valley, the foothills, and the Sierra Nevadas. Both used pesticides as needed—on peaches, asparagus, strawberries, corn. Both referred to well-dressed white people as “good people,” the rest as “white trash,” “coloreds” or “dirty Mexicans.”

By the time Aaron deployed in the summer of ‘68, opinion polls said over 50% of all Americans thought the war in Vietnam was a mistake. But Russian tanks rolled into Czechoslovakia. Grandpa, and many like him, believed if South Vietnam fell to the communists, another and then another country would surely follow.

Ignored, but closer to home, a report came out saying pesticides enter the body.

I knew some about pesticides, less about racism, and nothing about war. In my innocence, I took pleasure from that peach.