“I’ll chip a nail,” Nagi said.
“So will I,” I said.
“I have to carry the beer,” Eddie said.
“You can’t even metabolize alcohol,” I said.
“I can if someone else drinks it first,” he said, eyes bright.
“You’re all terrible people,” I called out, Brother Al’s right wheel squeaking as we ran roughshod over the terrain.The moon seemed to laugh down at us overhead, and cornfields spread as far as the eye could see on both sides of the road.
After a little ways,the off-ramp opened onto a dirt country road, which turned narrow and twisted as we followed it up.A light sprinkle started overhead—just enough of an overcast night to block visibility and perfume the air with the odor of the bay.
“Petrichor,” Brother Al said, breathily.
The dirt road went into a thicket of trees, with ravines on either side and a tragic uphill incline that made me pant as I pushed.The boys walking ahead at least kept a wall of defense in case a truck or something came barreling from further up the road towards us.It was a huge relief to hit the downslope.Trees parted, and in the distance, I could see the merry-looking lights of a ranch that spread out and away.The smell of smoked meat was heavy in my nose.
“Move, guys,” I said.“Now that we’re on a downslope there’s something I want to try.”
“I don’t like this, Stacey,” Brother Al said.“I don’t like this at all.”
I undid the manual brakes and pulled down and around the flaps at the bottom of his chair.Prime stirrup position.I stood on them like I was standing on a scooter and then pushed, hard, into the mud with my foot.The wheels started to spin, and Al and I started to slowly go down, further and further, gathering speed and hitting rocks and making the wheels vibrate.By the time we hit the boys, who had scattered, my teeth were rattling in my mouth, and I was regretting everything I’d done in my life to get to this moment.
We slid forward and down until Brother Al’s right wheel hit a rock.He went flying forward.I jerked and bounced, slamming my bottom jaw into my top teeth and coming down on my side, hard.The wheelchair ate mud.
I sat up.
“I have had be’er ideas,” I said, mouth numb and head spinning.
Brother Al was laying in a heap of limbs at the bottom of the mud, face down.He wasn’t moving.We all just stared at him for five seconds.Then the five turned into ten.Then ten-fifteen; then twenty; then thirty, and by that time, it had been far too long, and I felt a huge knot of guilt bubble its way into my chest.I limped to my feet and staggered over to him, bending and grabbing him by the shoulder.I pulled him out of the mud, and he gasped.
“I could have died,” he said, face entirely covered in mud.He cracked a grin.“Let’s do it again.”
5.
Bedraggled.Mud-splattered.Wet and tired.That was the five of us as we approached the cheery sights and sounds of Hardesty House.It seemed modest and quaint enough, even in the dark.Fairy lights lit the eaves of the two-story farmhouse.A cornfield extended out in one direction, with pasture and cow fields set at a direct angle.A large silo stood sentinel in the distance, with a dim red barn out in the pasture.
A few cars were parked out front.It was less of a parking lot than it was a stony driveway, littered with overgrown weeds and gravel chips.An old truck, a four-door sedan, and a station wagon were parked in no particular order.A huge sign on the front lawn had a picture of a man in a cowboy hat with mime makeup on with his fingers in a chef’s kiss motion—more of an advertisement facing the road, trying to get potential customers to stop.“Try the Best French-American Barbecue in Iowa here at Guthrie’s own Hardesty House!”was emblazoned on the front.
“That man looks familiar,” Brother Al said.
“Maybe it’s from a billboard on the highway,” Eddie said.
“How bizarre,” Brother Al said.“What is French-American barbecue?”
“Maybe goose liver pate in a brown sugar hickory reduction,” Vic said.“It’s new to me.”
Vic was a fan of cooking shows, even if he couldn’t actually eat what he made.He used me as his guinea pig.There were benefits to having a vampire boyfriend—his obsession made his cuisine almost otherworldly.
“Interested in seeing the menu at some point,” Vic said.“I’ve already got some ideas sizzling.”
“I just need a bed and a hot shower,” I said.“Someone bang on the door already.”
We all looked at one another, nervous.The four of us standing knew exactly what we were getting into.The one in the chair was, we hoped, still oblivious.Things had careened out of our control, and now we had no choice but to stay here and hope beyond hope things wouldn’t continue to fall off the rails.
“I’ll do it,” Eddie snapped, after a minute.“But I’m going back to the van.”
“You’re all vampires,” Brother Al hissed, from the chair.“I’ve never seen you so socially anxious before!”
