She laughed. “Mine, but not his. Sky Dancer’s dad could have been any one of half a dozen guys.”
Was she for real? Jon couldn’t believe she’d said that.
After the preliminary chitchat, Creed handed Walker a wad of wrinkled bills in exchange for a lid. Destiny set aside her macramé and invited them to “partake,” as she referred to it, and then proceeded to roll the tightest joint he’d ever seen, about the size of a bobby pin. The four of them settled on the mattress at the back of the bus, smoking and making idle conversation. She had a husky laugh and she peppered the conversation with the sorts of expletives he associated with guys. After a time, he became aware that she was watching him. Creed, while dim, had to be aware of it, but seemed unconcerned.
Smoking dope made Jon paranoid and he was anxious about the kid who’d been left to play in the pool unsupervised. Now and then he’d find a pretext to hop out of the bus so he could check up on him. It wasn’t his responsibility, but the kid’s mother didn’t seem to care. At one point, while he was paddling around the shallow end, she appeared at Jon’s side, managing to stand closer than the situation required. The heat pouring off her skin left Jon mute. When she spoke, angling her face to his, it reminded him of those movie moments when the lovers are on the verge of kissing. Why was she coming on to him with Creed no more than fifteen feet away?
Jon shifted his focus to the kid, who was doing cannonballs off the side of the pool, plumes of water splashing up.
“Hey, Sky Dancer, shit-for-brains!” she snapped. “What’s the matter with you? You want to hit your head and drown? Get over here before you crack your skull and die.”
The kid grabbed the side of the pool and worked his way around to her. She leaned down and hauled him out by one arm, after which he sat hunched and shivering on the side.
Jon peered at her. “What’s his name?”
“Sky Dancer. It’s like his spiritual designation, the same way Destiny’s mine. Why, you think it’s weird?”
“It’s not that. I just wasn’t sure what you said.”
She made a remark half under her breath and then turned to him, waiting for a response.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“Yeah, you did,” she said with a slow smile.
He stared at her for a moment and then made an excuse and returned to the bus. What kind of game was she playing?
From that day on, he and Walker hung out with Creed and Destiny most afternoons. In her company, Jon was detached, seldom making eye contact. Surreptitiously he studied her, noting her gestures, absorbing her raucous laugh and her air of confidence. She didn’t shave her legs or armpits, and she exuded an animal smell that stirred him in some curious way. She’d taken to ignoring him, but he knew she was as aware of him as he was of her. She was the antithesis of the Playboy centerfolds and he wove her into his daydreams.
On the occasions when Walker had other deliveries to make, Jon rode over on his scooter so he’d have his own transportation. Later he couldn’t remember how the discussion about the money came up. Walker arrived fifteen or twenty minutes after he did that day. The three of them—Jon, Creed, and Destiny—were sitting around smoking dope, as usual, while Creed bitched and whined about his parents. Walker stretched out on the mattress, toking on the joint when it came around to him.
Jon sent Walker a look and then turned to Creed, saying, “Start over and tell him. Walker’s big on finance.”
Creed said, “Like I was telling Jon before you got here, my grandfather left me money in his will and my parents are refusing to let me have it. They claim I can’t collect until I’m thirty. How fucked up is that?”
Destiny said, “His dad is such a butt. Creed’s entitled to the money so what gives him a say in the matter one way or the other?”
“How much are we talking about?” Walker asked.
Jon said, “Forty grand.”
Walker said, “Groovy. So what’s the deal? Was it left in trust?”
“Technically, but that’s bullshit. Dad could fork it over. He’s got money up the wazoo.”
“What do you need forty grand for, you planning a cruise?” Jon asked, his tone mild.
Creed and Destiny exchanged a look, and Creed said, “We’re buying a farm. We put a thousand dollars down and we need the rest by the end of the month.”
Jon laughed. “A farm? You’re shittin’ me.”
Creed scowled. “What’s wrong with that? We’re planning to work the land. Raise chickens and goats and sheep and like that.”