Chapter One

"Dang! That's a nice house!" Jack stared in envious admiration at the big ante-bellum style home complete with a white-columned veranda.

"No shit. That's the Del Mar place. Some years back, old man Del Mar run off the road and sued the county. Got him a shitload a dough outta the settlement even though ever'body 'round here knew he was dead drunk at the time. Wife and two a his kids died in the crash and that sure went a ways with the jury. That bastard Del Mar set there in the courtroom cryin' like he didn't beat the missus black 'n' blue ever' Saturday night. Prob'ly poked hisself in the eye when nobody wuz lookin', but it worked like a charm."

"Don't seem fair," Jack commented, his eyes still on the wedding cake of a house. "Bet they even got a pool."

"Sure 'nough do, but the likes a us don't git invited to one a Ennis's pool parties."

"Who's Ennis?"

"Ennis Del Mar. Just wait 'til you git to school and you'll find out who Ennis Del Mar is. Just the most popular kid 'round these parts."

"I sure ain't lookin' forward to bein' the new kid, Uncle Harold, comin' in at the end a the year and all," Jack said, as they got moving down the road again.

"Aw, it prob'ly won't be that bad; just another new kid. Small town like this, you'll make friends fast."

Jack doubted that very much, but he reckoned it had been a long time since Uncle Harold was a kid. "Sure was nice a you to take me and mama in," he remembered to say.

"Couldn't leave ya on that broke-down ranch after your daddy passed on," Harold said. "And I sure couldn't let my only kin go to some shelter. I ain't got much, Jack, but whut's mine is yours. Now that's enough a that kinda talk. Right down this here track is the best fishin' hole in the state a Wyomin', and I aim to teach ya all my secrets 'bout catchin' the big ones."

Jack grinned, his bamboo pole bouncing on his shoulder as he followed his uncle down the sun and shade zebra-striped trail through the pines. Maybe he shouldn't be feeling this happy with his daddy only three months in the ground, but when Jack was being completely honest with himself, he knew Mama and him were better off now. Even flat broke, with the ranch taken by the bank, and dependent on charity, life was better without the old man.

Uncle Harold might be a rummy that looked like a good puff a wind would blow him away, as Twist Sr. used to say, but he had a pension and a disability check from the railroad, and Jack had yet to hear the man raise his voice. Mama had taken over the reclamation and running of the household, which included the whole three of them, and she had taken Jack aside and spoken to him like an adult, telling him how much they owed Uncle Harold and that Jack should pitch in without being asked to help around the place. Unlike his chores on the ranch, Jack found he didn't resent doing things for Uncle Harold. The mowing of the lawn occasioned a pat on the shoulder and a compliment for a job well done, instead of a smack up side the head and bitter complaints about the foolishness of sending a boy to do a man's work. In less than a week, Jack had cleared Uncle Harold's yard of trash, tamed the jungle out back and started giving the house a new coat of paint. Each day was just a little bit brighter than the last until Mama decided he'd had enough time to mourn. Now, the only cloud on Jack's horizon was starting school on Monday.

::x::

Jack trudged out of the dimness of the main building and started walking along the east wall. He reckoned he was about the last kid to leave school, but if he could contribute to the household finances, it would be worth it. Overhearing one of the lunch ladies make a remark about needing a dishwasher in the worst way, Jack had gone to the cafeteria after his last class and asked about a job. His inquiry was met with enthusiasm and he was put to work on the spot. His hands were red and pruney now, and he smelled like the cheap pink powdered soap they used, but they were paying him twenty-five cents an hour, and he couldn't wait to see Mama's face when he handed her that money at the end of the week.

He passed the gymnasium and the weedy oval of the track, planning on cutting across by the baseball field and saving himself some steps. Staying late meant missing the bus, and he wasn't about to ask Uncle Harold to pick him up in his rattletrap. Best to save what life the old heap had in it for trips to the market. And truth was, Jack didn't mind walking at all. Walking gave him time to think and to plan, but mostly it gave him time to daydream. His old man had rode the bulls, until one got the better of him, and it was pretty much all Jack thought about. Mama wouldn't hear of it, of course, but once Jack graduated, he reckoned he could do what he wanted. Mama had carried him around for nine months, and he reckoned he could stand a couple more for her sake.

With the roar of an imaginary crowd in his ears, Jack didn't hear the yelling behind him. The first warning he had was when something hit the ground less than a foot in front of him. A couple of more steps and he'd likely have a concussion. Still half in his rodeo fantasy, Jack stared at the ball until he became of aware of the shouting. Turning, he saw the whole baseball team and the coach staring at him. They were all hollering at the same time and he couldn't tell what any of them were saying. Then it struck him that they wanted their ball back. He bent to pick it up and heard one voice clearly over the rest, a man's voice, harsh and braying.

"Move your ass, sweetheart. We ain't got all day."

Jack's cheeks grew hot as he straightened up with the ball in his hand. His daddy wasn't the kind of man that played catch with his son, but Jack had thrown a ball before. He'd just never thrown one when he was this wound up. Rearing back, he hurled the baseball with all his might, knowing when it left his fingers that it was a humdinger. It flew past the outfielders straight at the young man on the mound. The pitcher raised his glove and the ball smacked into the pocket with a sound like a rifle shot.

"Hoo-ee," Ennis Del Mar said, shaking his hand as if his fingers were on fire.

Jack picked up his new books and continued walking until he hit the railroad tracks, and started the long walk home. Behind him, the team got back to practice, but Coach Aguirre stared after the new boy for a long time before he went back to yelling at the players.

::x::

Jack heard the sound of an engine and automatically stepped off the dirt road into the tall weeds. Stalks of seeding grass speckled the knees of his worn jeans as he moved through them. His mind elsewhere, he didn't notice the vehicle that was pacing him until the driver called out.

"Hey! New kid!"

Jack stopped and Ennis Del Mar put the brakes to his truck. The two young men sized one another up quickly: Jack pegging Ennis as a rich kid without a care in the world; Ennis taking Jack for his daddy called "white trash". Ennis didn't get out of the truck, waving Jack over like a carhop at the Whataburger. As he looked in the open window on the passenger side, Jack could feel the heat of metal that had sat in the sun all day. Ennis turned his gaze to the view through the windshield as he spoke.

"Coach wants t' see ya."

"Why?"

Ennis shifted on the bench seat and dug a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket. Jack watched in grudging admiration as the other boy struck a match with his thumbnail and lit the smoke. Mama didn't put up with smoking. She pretended not to see when Uncle Harold poured more whiskey in his tea glass, but she drew the line at tobacco in the house. Not that she'd lay a hand on Jack, but it would hurt her to know he was smoking cigarettes, and he couldn't bear that.

"Ain't my bizness," Ennis said, spitting out his window. "Just givin' ya the message."

"Thanks, I guess."

There was another silence. Jack could feel the sun burning his scalp where his hair parted as the other boy put the cigarette to his lips and took a drag. That funny feeling Jack got low in his gut sometimes began to stir and unfurl, sending tendrils along the pathways of his nervous system, making him jittery for no good reason at all. The driver blew out smoke in a silver blue plume, and the roiling flutter in Jack's lower belly made him wonder if he was going to be sick, if the he flush he felt might not be a fever taking hold.

"Wanna ride?" Del Mar asked, still not looking at Jack.

Jack wanted to say no. He didn't want any favors from this guy, but his knees were weak and it sure would be nice not to have to walk home feeling like this. Jack climbed into the cab, and, because it was how he was raised, he stuck out his hand and introduced himself.

"Jack Twist."

The other boy stared at Jack's hand for so long that Jack almost pulled it back. Tossing the cigarette butt out the window, Ennis reached across and shook Jack's hand briefly.

"Ennis."

"Del Mar?" Jack blurted out.

Ennis cut his eyes at Jack and turned his attention back to the road as he put the truck in gear. "Yeah. So whut?"

"Nuthin'. Just I walked by your house and my uncle mentioned your name."

"Where you live?"

"Turn right after the Gilmore place, and we're on the third spur."

Ennis slanted another look across the cab. "You kin t' Hap Lundy?"

"Hap?"

"Just whut we call ol' Harold 'round here. On account a him bein' so happy all the time."

"Account a him bein' so drunk, ain't that whut ya meant to say?"

Ennis reacted to the edge in the other boy's voice. "Got a low startle point, don'tcha?"

"Ain't none a your bizness," Jack quoted. "But Uncle Harold's been real good to my ma and me and I'd appreciate it if ya wouldn't talk bad about him 'round me."

Ennis's eyebrows climbed up to the brim of his hat. "You got some grit," he said as he turned down a red dirt road.

"Yeah? Well, that's about all I got then."

Jack stared out the window on his side for the brief remainder of the ride. When the truck stopped, he jumped out and looked back in to say thanks.

"Ya gonna talk to Coach?" Ennis asked.

"Reckon I will. He's a teacher and all, ain't he?"

"Sure enough."

"So long then. Thanks for the ride."

Ennis backed away and headed off. Glancing in the side view mirror, he saw the new kid, Jack, walking slowly up the steps of the sagging porch. A tall, spare woman in an apron came out the screen door to meet him, getting flour on his cheek as she kissed him. Ennis's heart clenched with a sudden, fierce pain of such intensity that he nearly swerved off the road. Tears welled up, making the road swim like a gully in the rainy season, and he took his foot off the gas, pressing down on the clutch, coasting until the spasm passed. He blinked back the excess moisture, blotting his eyes with his shirtsleeve, pushing down the memory that tried to cripple him with guilt. Ennis concentrated on shifting and guiding the truck to the county road and it wasn't long before he had taken back the reins on his emotions.

As Ennis sat at the stop sign, he debated about which way to turn. Right would take him home, and left would take him into Signal. There wouldn't be anybody at his house at this time of day. Hettie left at four after making dinner and leaving it in the stove. She had her own family to feed, and Ennis felt sorry for them if Hettie cooked the same way at home. Daddy would most likely be knocking back a few with some of his friends at Buck'n'Doe's, liquor in the front, poker in the rear, and would arrive late as usual, stinking of hooch with an armful of drunken slut if he got lucky and spoiling for a fight if he didn't. Ennis tried to be in bed and asleep before Daddy got home, but it didn't always happen that way. Sometimes Daddy came home early, and sometimes he was waiting when Ennis walked in the door. Those were the worst times. Ennis considered himself lucky that his ranch chores and baseball practice gave him plenty of excuses for the cuts and bruises.

Unbidden, the sight of Jack's mama rushing out to welcome him home assailed Ennis. He had an open invitation from little Alma to call on her when he was in town and he reckoned Missus Beers would give him dinner if he showed up at the right time. His other choices were hanging out with some of the other team members at Coach's place, or driving up and down the so called Main Drag and maybe getting a Coca-Cola, or into a race. Course, there was no reason why he couldn't do all three and hope the old man had passed out when he got home. Jerking the steering wheel hard left, Ennis put his foot down on the gas.

Read Chapter Two of Bailey's Just Another New Kid in Town