Bookfield, Betrayal - Part 8

An hour later we lay covered in hot sweat. He turned his blue eyes towards me and looked right through me. Then a car drove up. My eyes opened widely wondering who it was. He inched up to look out the window. “It’s my Dad. You stay here. I have to go down, but I’ll be right back.”

And with that he left. He grabbed his shorts and headed down the stairs. I sank into the pillows. I could hear talking outside and once even peeked out the window to glimpse his dad.

Evan returned in a bit. “Have to suck up to the old man. He pays for most of this.” He gestured to the house.

“What did he say?”

“He asked if I wanted to get back to the piece of ass upstairs, but I told him I already had that.”

“Oh Evan, you charmer.”

We both laughed. He got serious again and said, “So why don’t you tell me what happened to you today?”

I just blurted it all out. “Mary got caught at home when she wasn’t supposed to be by a phone call from Robbie, our sales director, and to keep from getting fired she ratted on me about the night I spent away from home with you. I called Robbie today and he told me I was fucking around on the bookfield. I had to eat mightily big crow so as not to get fired.”

“When did this happen?”

“At noon.”

“I see. Well, you thought that night might have been a problem. I’m glad that you didn’t get fired but its hard for me to think that you have to put up with this much shit for your job. It just doesn’t seem right or worth it.”

“That’s why I came here to see you. I just had to have some time to get away from it all.”

“I’m glad you thought of me first!” He smiled and kissed my forehead. “Are you still very angry?”

“Yeah. I think I’ll be angry for some time.”

“Maybe this will help.” He got up from bed and went to a hallway closet. When he came back he was holding a rifle. “I like to target shoot when I’m mad. Come on. Give it a try. Do you know how to shoot?”

“No. I’ve never even touched a gun before. Where are we going to shoot? In the bedroom?” We still had no clothes on. I had learned over the summer that guns were common here. Almost everyone had one. It didn’t cause me too much concern that Evan had a target rifle in the house. He beckoned to me with one hand and held the rifle with the other. I went over to where he was standing. It was the first time I noticed that the bedroom had a second floor balcony on it. Evan opened one of the sliding glass doors.

“This is a 22 caliber rifle.” He took a box of ammunition out of a nearby drawer and loaded the bullets into the rifle. “It’s loaded now. Never ever point a gun at anyone unless you intend to kill them.” His voice was dead serious now. “Let me show you how to hold the rifle properly.” He placed the weapon in my hands and positioned it so that my left hand supported the barrel and my right hand held the trigger mount. He showed me how to sight down the barrel. He bent over and picked up the lid of what seemed to be a jelly jar from the floor of the balcony. He tossed it out onto the lawn as if he were trying to skim a stone. It landed about ten yards away from the house and its metallic top shone brightly in the sun.

“Now aim at the jar lid. When you think you have it sighted, hold your breath, and squeeze the trigger.”

The rifle felt light in my hands. I sighted down the barrel and could see the jar lid. I held my breath, but the rifle jerked, and so I didn’t shoot. Here I was, standing naked on the balcony aiming a rifle! I tried to concentrate again on the target. This time I took a deep breath, sighted the target as I exhaled slowly, and squeezed the trigger gently. The gun made a loud ‘pop’ noise and jerked back slightly. The lid skittered away a yard or so as the bullet struck it.

“You hit it!” Evan exclaimed. “Good job. How did that feel?”

“Pretty good. Let’s throw another out there.”

“No, no. You have to hit the same lid again. Each time you hit it, it gets harder. Just picture Robbie’s face on the lid and try it.”

I hit the lid three more times in succession before it skittered right out of sight. I had to admit that it felt good.

“You’re quite a shot, a natural.”

“Thanks. Yeah, must be I inherited it from my dad who was a marksman in World War II. That was fun!”

I handed Evan the rifle, and he made sure it was unloaded. He leaned it up against the wall of the bedroom. We spent the rest of the afternoon together. It was glorious. It was the first time off from the bookfield that I had taken all summer and the break made me feel rejuvenated. I treasured every moment that I spent with Evan.

At nine o'clock I returned home. I don't think I could have come home at all if it were not for the break.