Filed to story: Love on the Sidelines (Natalie & Karl)
“I guess.”
A thrill of excitement shot through my stomach. He was going to talk to me! “I help the Judge work on his car sometimes.”
He glanced in my direction, his gray eyes skeptical. “You’re too short to reach the engine.”
My nose promptly went out of joint. “I am not short. My mother says I just have a delicate bone structure. Besides, I don’t work on the engine, I hand him the stuff he needs.”
When he didn’t answer, I decided to forgive him for the insult. “My name is Natalie.” His lips curved upward a bit. “I know who you are. Everybody in town knows who you are.”
I was mortified by this news. Sure, I’d done some things that tended to get me noticed, like waltzing up the center aisle at church and stretching out on my stomach with my chin propped on my hands as I listened to Reverend Green’s sermon. But that had been years ago and I was hoping people would quit bringing it up every chance they got. Having a reputation can be tough when you’re eight. It was time to change the subject.
“I’m going to catch a wowzer cat this afternoon,” I bragged. “It lives under the trestle down at the railroad tracks.”
One of his eyebrows shot up. “What’s a wowzer cat?”
“It’s a fifty pound cat with eight legs and nine bung holes, and it’s meaner than a gar. But I’m going to tame it and take it home with me.” This time his teeth showed when he grinned. “Even if it was real, why would you want to take something like that home?”
I wasn’t about to admit I felt sorry for it. “To scare my Aunt Darla.” I hesitated.
“You don’t think there really is a wowzer cat?” He stopped at a battered blue pickup and took out a crowbar to pry up the hood.
“Who told you there was?”
“The Judge.”
One of his shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Maybe he was trying to scare you into staying off the tracks. They’re too dangerous for a kid to play on.” He moved around the truck to lean over the fender well, his too-small shirt riding up his back with the movement, and suddenly I forgot all about wowzer cats and my reputation as I stared at the raw welt he’d exposed.
The only time I’d ever been hit by an adult was when Mama swatted my bottom for saying a cuss word that I’d heard the Judge use, in front of a church elder, and then I cried for two hours. Mama felt so guilty she cried with me and promised to never spank me again. Next time I cussed, she’d just wash my mouth out with soap and have done with it. But I knew instinctively what the mark on Karl’s back was. It was two inches wide and curved around his side, the edges of the strip laced with cuts, most of it dark blue in color.
Lifting one finger, I touched the mark gently. “Does it still hurt?” His body jerked and stiffened as he spun to stare at me, his eyes going the same shade of black-gray as the sky when it’s going to storm. I stared right back, not willing to give an inch, but inside a mixture of horror and sympathy filled me. None of it showed on my face, though. I understood pride.
“Why did he hit you?”
Karl’s hand tightened around the wrench he was holding. “He doesn’t need a reason.” He glanced toward the tin building. “Look, don’t say anything to anybody, okay? Most of the time I stay out of his way.”
“I won’t tell, I promise. But you need some medicine on it.” For once I was willing to take Aunt Darla at her word. Uneasy visions of gangrene, tetanus, and infection bounced inside my head.
“Don’t have any. Besides, it’s getting better.” Maybe, but I wasn’t taking any chances. “I’ll be right back.” I headed for the truck at a run, and once there, rummaged frantically through the glove box until I found the small round tin I was searching for. Bee balm.
Wherever the Judge went, there was sure to be bee balm nearby. He bought it in bulk, twelve tins to the box, and swore the salve could cure anything. I knew from firsthand experience that its powers were nothing short of miraculous. The Judge had slathered it on me for everything from a splinter wound to a skinned knee, and each time I had healed with no permanent damage. The only unhappy incident connected to the salve was the time I thought it must be a balm to soothe bees and applied it to the back of a honeybee gathering nectar from the clover in our yard. Unfortunately, the 9 salve stuck the bee and me together, and I wound up getting stung. Obviously, it was not meant to soothe bees, because that one was pretty ticked off by the experience.
Karl had one end of the fuel pump off by the time I slid to a stop beside him. “Hold up your shirt.”
He paused, eyeing the tin in my hand. “What’s that?”
“Bee balm. It will keep you from getting an infection.” I ignored the gleam of amusement in his eyes as he straightened and lifted his shirt just enough to expose the welt.
Keeping the honeybee in mind, I dipped out a tiny bit of salve and went to work on his back. His skin was hot under my hand, and in spite of his scruffy, worn clothes I could smell the clean scent of soap coming from him. He watched me, his expression hooded as I moved around his side and finished where the welt ended on his stomach.
“There. All done.” I put the lid back on the tin and held it out. “You can keep it.
We’ve got lots more.”
Still watching me, he slid it into his shirt pocket. “Are you gonna be a nurse or something?”
“Nope. I’m going to be a writer.”
His expression turned to one of intense interest. “It takes someone special to write books.”
“Well, I’m special, then, ’cause that’s what I’m going to do.”
“You may be right, Peewee.” He lifted a hand and tugged on one of my dark pigtails. His tone was so warm that I couldn’t take offense at the nickname. Coming from him, it sounded more like an endearment than another slur on my size.
“Do you like to read?” I asked, leaning on the fender as he went back to work.
“When I can. The old man thinks reading is a waste of time. He’d rather spend his money on liquor than books.”
This attitude boggled my mind even more than his wounded back. Everyone in my family read. Books were as necessary to us as food or sleep. I don’t know how old I was when I started reading, but I know my mother accidentally discovered my talent when I was four. She had bought me a new fairy tale, promising to read it to me that night when I went to bed. Unwilling to wait that long, I was reading it aloud to my dolls when she came into the room. From the amount of excitement this feat generated, you’d have thought I’d found the cure for cancer. I couldn’t imagine anyone who thought reading was a waste of time.