I didn’t see him, but Jim could easily blend into the crowd. A completely forgettable man in a hunting cap.

         Shannon had stalked ahead, but Angie and Ramona were close enough that I grabbed them, pulling them on either side.

         Angie took one look at my face and froze. Ramona asked, “Are you sick again?”

         “Aunt Lyddie is standing at the table just ahead. Right there.” I pointed. “She hasn’t seen us yet.”

         I looked down at my navel. 

         Angie began to shake so hard that I was supporting her. Ramona hissed, “Shannon, get back here!”

         Shannon half turned, she was angry. “What’s wrong with you guys?”

         All three of us must have looked terrible because Shannon walked back without being told again.

         “What’s going on?” She stared at us, then looked at Ramona. “You’re the one who called me back.”

         Ramona took a deep breath.

         “Lilyanne’s aunt is standing right there.” She pointed, then put her arm down quickly as if the motion might alert Aunt Lyddie. “We’ve got to go someplace else.”

         “Someplace else?” Shannon nearly exploded, then remembered to keep her voice down. “There’s no place to go, but the Dairy Queen. Wait, it’s closed.”

         “We don’t have to leave here. Ramona meant we need to leave this section.”  I spoke up because after Shannon’s fit, Ramona was shaking, too.  “Look, I need a physical shield and we can go in that direction.” I pointed to a far-off tree covered with what looked like balloons. “This is serious, Shannon, we lied to our mothers.”

         “I thought you said your Aunt Lyddie was cool.”

         “She is, but she won’t lie for me. Would you just step in and shut up?” 

         She glanced over at the earring table, but did as I asked. I kept my head down as we marched to the tree, heart pounding, praying every step of the way. When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?  Last week’s verse from Luke popped in my head.  Yes, Lord, I have faith, I answered, and if you get me past Aunt Lyddie, I’ll be a rock in a storm. I’ll let my light shine. Whatever it takes to keep my aunt focused on the money.  

         God held steady and we ended up on the far side of the flea market, away from Aunt Lyddie and the vintage earrings. I lifted my head and found myself standing in front of a scraggly apple tree covered with Elvis Presley tee-shirts.

         We all stared, but Shannon recovered first, which meant she pulled a cigarette from her purse. The vendor was smoking, too, but he made no motion to light hers, so she dug around and pulled out a lighter. She looked so perfectly defiant that I wished I had another cigarette but, stinging from answered prayer, I didn’t ask. 

         Knowing Shannon’s routine, I shifted my gaze to the vendor. I didn’t like what I saw. His jeans were oil stained, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt, only a leather vest with frayed stitching. Cheap. A chain hung from his back pocket, and when he turned to glance at the road, I saw that the chain was attached to a wallet. The wallet was fat, and I wondered how much was in it. When he stepped forward, all of us took a step back. He smelled sour, like a fever that hadn’t been washed. My

         He also had a glint in his eyes like Shannon’s — — like he knew more. Shannon pulled hard on her cigarette, giving herself time, before stepping forward. 

         “What’s up?” she asked, tilting her head in one direction while her hips twisted in the other. 

         The grubby guy had smoked his cigarette down to the filter. Everything about him was the color of sand except for his eyes which were a stinging blue. He rubbed the butt beneath his boot. “Business.”

         “What kind?” Shannon threw her cigarette sideways. She never smokes more than half. She also won’t let anyone drink out of her glass and will only listen to a song in the car if she can hear it from the beginning. That’s why we’re always on the same station. When Sandman didn’t reply, she repeated, “What kind of business?” 

         “My kind of business,” he nodded toward the tree. The shirts were making soft, flapping sounds in the breeze. Mom always said this reminded her of angels clapping their wings. I felt another wave of nausea.

         “Having a good day?” Shannon asked. Her routine wasn’t working. In fact, the guy looked like he might erupt. Instead, he snorted. 

         Shannon’s red toenails, peeping from the edge of her clogs, wiggled at two garbage bags, stacked on top of one another, and tied with string. 

         “I have lots of friends who would buy these.” She was still trying to flirt, but her voice was quivering. “I can help.”  

         “Stop asking questions. I run a clean business here. My shirts are paid for C.O.D.”

         “I wasn’t accusing you of anything.”

         I turned off Shannon’s syrupy murmurs. Sandman struck another match, cupping his hand close to the flame, leaning forward. Somehow, Shannon was landing on her feet. She must have learned how from Melanie because she’d once let it slip that her stepfather had wanted to postpone the wedding, but Melanie pulled a stunt that caused a stampede. 

         “Maybe you can help.”  He started to laugh, then said, “Maybe I’ll let you.”  

         Shannon nodded, relief written on her face, and when I looked at his face, I knew why. He looked like Dad after he finishes his breakfast, or goes on a hunting trip or signs up for a long haul on the railroad, a look that means he could walk away from both of us and damn the consequences as long as he was free. And Shannon wanted this guy to stay. She took another step forward, arching with need.        

         The tee-shirts were in four colors, all bright and imprinted with Elvis poses, and Shannon examined each one. 

         “Which one is your favorite?” she asked him.

         “Guess.” Sandman looked at me and I dropped my head. I believe the eyes are the windows of the soul and he wasn’t going to get a read on me. 

         Shannon grew bolder. She touched one of the tee-shirts, and he whipped his head. I saw a pulse jump in his throat. Shannon tugged again.

         “How much?” she asked.

         “5.95,” He removed her hand. “$5.95 and that’s a bargain. Pick any one you want.”

         “I want that one,” She pointed at the pink, then smiled. “I bet it’s your favorite.”

         She tried to slide the shirt on the hanger, but he stepped in and did it himself. Their arms touched and there was the sound of static. Shannon jumped back, visibly shaken, and began to rummage in her purse although she always knows where her money is. Finally, she pulled out a ten.

         The pink tee-shirt was draped over Shannon’s arm and Sandman had placed the hanger on top of the garbage bags in front of the tree. He reached for his wallet in his too tight jeans and pulled out a wad of bills which he covered like we were going to rob him. He made a clicking sound with his cheek and said, “Damn. I’m out of ones.”

         Then, he looked directly at me. 

         “If your yellow haired friend wants one for 4.05, no, make it 4.00 even, she can have one, too.”

         I started to stay that four dollars for a flimsy tee that would shrink even in cold wash was no bargain, but Shannon snapped. “Do what he says, Lilyanne, but not the pink. We’re not twins.”

         I wanted to stay out of the situation, but both were daring me. Besides, I’d inhaled and could do anything.

         “Okay, Shannon, but I’m paying you back tomorrow. I’ve got money of my own.” I had a pile from babysitting the terrible Sullivan twins, but I nowhere to spend it. I told Sandman, “I want the lime green.”

         “You ain’t even studied them all.” He tried to sound gruff but I heard a puppy whine. “The yellow is pretty.” 

         “I want the green. Elvis on stage strumming his guitar.”

         “But his face isn’t clear.”

         “So? Everyone knows it’s Elvis. Do we have a deal?”

         We did because he was still holding Shannon’s ten and wasn’t about to give it up. He took down a lime green tee-shirt and snaked out his arm, but I caught the shirt by the hem. He wasn’t touching me. “Let’s go.”

         “Hold your horses,” Sandman’s voice intruded again. “That there’s a medium, but you might take a small. Want to go behind the tree and slip it on?”

         His crude humor amused my friends. Angie and Ramona giggled. Shannon hooted.

         I shot him a look of pure venom.

         “The medium is fine because I know it will shrink. And for your information, I think the yellow is tacky. Elvis looks like a sissy with a lei around his neck.”

         I turned and started walking back the way we came. I didn’t see anyone remotely resembling Aunt Lyddie, but the threat of exposure no longer bothered me. The farther I got, the faster I went until I was pounding in the direction of the parking lot. Ramona and Angie not far behind. I figured Shannon was exhibiting one last jiggle for Sandman and would catch up in her own time. 

         Angie was suddenly beside me, breathless. “Are you sure your aunt is gone?”

“Positive. Aunt Lyddie doesn’t waste time, and that table was the only one bringing in money. She won’t bother with the rest. She’s got enough jams and jellies to last her for life, thanks to Mom.”

         “You sure?” 

         I was walking fast, but Angie, four inches shorter, kept up. 

         “Why are you so nervous? I’m the one who should be afraid.”

         “Because if your aunt sees us, she’ll tell, and I’ll never get a spiral perm!”

         The Mustang was in sight and I sprinted, calling over my shoulder. “We’re in the clear. Besides, your hair isn’t long enough for a spiral.”

The Mustang was in sight. I bounced my hand on the hood, like tag and the car was base. I didn’t look for the little girl, but I knew she was behind the wheel. She was a stray, appearing only when necessary.

         Angie and Ramona arrived, and I could see Shannon behind coming at what could be described as a trot. Her sandals had four inches heels but she wouldn’t take them off. We waited in silence.

 When she caught up, Shannon snapped, “Where’s the damn fire?”

         “I want to get out of here,” I snapped back. “I’ll give you four dollars and a nickel tomorrow at school.”

         “You don’t owe me a nickel. You don’t owe me anything at all.” 

I didn’t answer, just opened the passenger door. The three of us piled in. Shannon never locks the doors. As we were ready to leave, the unthinkable happened. Sandman came loping across the lot like a wounded deer. I rolled up my window and locked the door. He veered to Shannon’s side. She already had her window down.

“Hey, name’s Reuben Saunders, and you guys forgot your receipt.” He handed Shannon a crumpled piece of yellow paper. Their fingers touched. “I get new prints all the time. Give me your names and phone numbers, and I’ll give you a call when I get some cool stuff. Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd.” 

“Shannon,” I warned, but it was too late. She was spilling out her name and phone number. Then, he nodded at me, and she gave him mine. I poked her but she wouldn’t stop. She even asked him if he could get Linda Ronstadt. 

“Sure,” he said, then he was gone, itching for his tee-shirt tree. 

I was so mad that I began changing my clothes in the front seat before we even got out of the lot. I wanted my tan skirt and blue blouse, and I didn’t care who saw what.  I shoved my jeans, sandals, Elvis tee-shirt and Shannon’s sailor top into the gym bag, and dug deep for my clunky shoes.

Shannon glanced over.

“The sailor top is mine.”

“I’m leaving my gym bag in your car. Take it out before you bring it to school tomorrow. I can’t carry it into church. And give me another cigarette.”

         Shannon lit it for me before the red could go out. I took enough draws to make me dizzy again, then threw it out the window and demanded gum.

         Angie tapped my shoulder with an unopened package of Teaberry, and 

I stuffed in three sticks at once .

“Sure that’s enough?” asked Shannon. 

         “Why would you ask? You know Angie and I have to be at Bible study, and I can’t go reeking of cigarettes.” 

         “Hey, I didn’t make you inhale. I was being generous because I thought that’s what you wanted. You’re my friend.”

         “Did I say you made me inhale? I did it on my own because I wanted to but, Shannon, –” I took a deep breath and reached for her hand. She flinched. “—you’ve got to be more careful. Reuben Saunders has a bent bone somewhere. He’s not right. You shouldn’t have given him our numbers. I don’t want him calling my house.”

         Shannon slowed down the car like a normal person and pulled into a wide spot on the road. Then, she let out a long breath, and burst into tears.

         “I could tell he was no good. I don’t know why I did that. I don’t know why I act the way I do. I get so bored out here.” She rubbed her eyes and began to hiccup. “I miss my dad. I don’t care what Melanie says about life being a series of adjustments. I used to have a family and now you guys are all there is.”

         Then, arms around herself, she thunked her head against the steering wheel and started crying again.

         I glanced back at Angie who looked scared. Ramona was useless. The words popped out of my mouth. “Do you want to go to church with us?” 

         Shannon’s head shot up. She wiped her tears with the backs of her hands and said, “Jesus Christ, give me a break.”         

         “I’m Lilyanne, but I’ll give you one, anyway.” 

         Everybody laughed. “Shannon, I didn’t mean to snap at you. Forget Reuben Saunders. I’ve got to deal with the youth director soon. You’ve heard how Pastor Frank is, sniffing out sin. The last thing I want him to smell on me is tobacco.”

         Shannon laughed and pulled onto the road. I worked the Teaberry until the juice was gone, threw the wad out the window, and stuffed in three more sticks. 

         Shannon gained her usual wild speed, and the church was just around the bend. She braked with a screech at the bottom of the hill.

         “See you tomorrow,” I forced Shannon to look at me. Despite the afternoon, I wanted her to know she was still my friend. “Throw the bag my locker. You know the combination. I’ll bring the money, I swear I will.”

         “I know,” she said, but her voice was bleak, and I got out before she started crying again. Angie followed. 

         Ramona climbed into the front seat and Shannon was turning onto the road before the door shut. But I didn’t hear the radio nor did Shannon light up again. I don’t know what they did for the rest of the afternoon. They told us on Monday they’d gone to Ramona’s, and polished their nails, but they lied. Shannon had on the same chipped red. Soon, at school a bunch of Elvis tee-shirts appeared along with a neatly rolled joint left in biology lab on the windowsill. I didn’t want to know the truth, so I avoided Shannon. 

         I ran into the church with Angie at my heels. I let out a breath, which Angie assured me only reeked of Teaberry, and we walked through the vestibule and into the sanctuary. I’ve never met with a more peaceful atmosphere or a cleaner scent.  There was mystery here that wasn’t the enigmatic Reuben Saunders or an abandoned girl playing under wheels.

         Angie and I were twenty minutes early. We knelt before the altar simultaneously. I don’t know about her, but I’ve never prayed harder in my life. 

to be con’t. as “Nonna Gaylene Sells Her Stuff”

©Joan Heck Spilman. All rights reserved.