He’d lament letting her eat too much fast food on their various mission trips in town, and she’d be forced onto a year-long raw food diet to cleanse, like Sister Jay, whose main sin, as far as Vern could tell, was a deep voice. She had what Cainites called a mannish nature: fat, broad, and, though affable, not in a womanly way. This is not how a woman’s body is supposed to look, Sherman claimed during one of his sermons. To his credit, he did not hold up a picture of Sister Jay, just a picture of a woman who looked like Sister Jay. If you look at photos of our African ancestors, at our brethren, you see they are lithe, healthy, trim, fit. Hunters who rule over the land with grace and beauty. It is not until we are damaged by the white man’s food that our bodies become twisted toward perversion. Disease, fatness, so-called autism, depression, homosexuality. Men who think they’re women and women who think they’re men.
“I’ll be gentle,” said Ollie, leaning in for a kiss.
Vern shook her head. “Don’t.”
Ollie brushed her lips against Vern’s. They were with each other till morning.
* * *
THE SUN HAD BARELY BEGUN TO RISE when Ollie dropped Vern back at the wooden shack. “You’re grinning,” Ollie said, brushing red hair from her forehead to the side.
“I’m not,” said Vern, and if she had been, she wasn’t anymore. She schooled her face into its customary frown.
“You sure you got someplace you can go? You can come back to mine if you want.”
“Nah, my friend is going to pick me up,” said Vern.
“Can I see you again?”
Vern sucked her bottom lip with her teeth. “I don’t know.”
“If I write down my number for you, will you take it?” Ollie asked, but she was already scrawling it down on a crumpled napkin she’d removed from her jeans pocket. Vern took it and folded it up. “There’s a phone inside the Bert’s whenever you want to call.”
“The Bert’s?”
Ollie pointed to the wooden shack. “Call me, if you want.”
“They’ll let me use the phone? I don’t have to pay or nothing?” asked Vern, eyes fastened on the door. There were only a couple of bikes in the parking lot now. She wondered how much longer the place was still open.
Ollie took a wallet out of her back pocket, took out two bills, then handed them to Vern. “It helps if you buy something.”
Vern took the money. After a several-second pause, Vern said, “Well, have a good day, I guess.”
Ollie pulled the visor of her helmet down. “Bye, V.” She got onto her bike and drove off down the road. When she was out of sight, Vern went into the Bert’s. “We close in ten,” said the barkeep.
“I just want to use the phone,” Vern said. Now that she’d returned to civilization, she was tempted by all its fruit.
The barkeep pointed to a sign. “What’s it say?” she asked. “I can’t see.” She couldn’t read, either, but he didn’t have to know that.
The barkeep looked up at her, pausing to stare. He must’ve noticed her eyes now, the way the eyeballs had a shake to them. People rarely noticed at first glance, but when they got close enough, they could see the nystagmus clearly. “Does it look like the whole world’s moving?” he asked, then swept out his arms to the side and started to move like he was bracing for an earthquake.
“Just tell me what the sign says,” said Vern.
The barkeep blew out an annoyed breath. “Bathroom is for customers only. Phone, too. That’s not on the sign directly, but it’s in the spirit of the sign.”
“Can I get some wings, then?” she asked.
The barkeep pointed to another sign. “That one says the kitchen closes at midnight.” He pointed to a clock. “And that says it’s five forty-five.”
“What about a root beer?”
The barkeep grunted but sprayed brown soda into a tall glass and pushed it to her. Next, he set a black cordless phone by her side. She pulled it close to her face to see the numbers, but she didn’t really need to. She’d memorized the pattern of Lucy’s auntie’s number ages ago.
The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.
It always said that. Vern didn’t know why she thought that maybe here, from a phone not on the compound, it would work.
“You said it’s nearly six, right?” asked Vern. Wake-up on the compound was at 5:00. Morning prayers were at 6:00. Vern’s mother often spent that in-between time in Reverend Sherman’s office organizing deliveries on and off the compound for the day, using Cainland’s single landline phone.