by Pratt, Lulu
“Daddy?”
“Yes?” I sighed.
“Where’d Phoebe go?”
I shook my head, too busy formulating a plan. “I have no idea, kid. Let’s get you dressed. We need to leave, and fast.”
CHAPTER 22
Phoebe
AS I RACED down the steps from Carter’s house to my Airstream, my heart pounded faster than my feet on the pavement.
Wait, did I say my Airstream? I meant Carter’s. Damn, after only two days of living here, it’d already come to feel like home. Now, of course, that was all over and done for. I’d have to extricate myself from Rough and Ready, one piece of my soul at a time. Without being aware of it, I’d woven myself into the fabric of this town and several of its citizens.
Didn’t he realize that at some point, he’d need to go to some fucking therapy for this, and maybe figure out how to stop running? He was unable to assess anything with a clear mind. She clouded his vision at every turn. Every answer he came up with for the problem was warped with roundabout thinking and general animal reactions.
I flung open the door to my Airstream — his, I reminded myself — and stormed in. At least he hadn’t taken away my keys.
Jo-Beth was lounging on the bed, doing a wing of black eyeliner in her compact mirror. The moment I walked in, she snapped the mirror shut and flipped over to face me.
“Um, did somebody spend the night with a certain sexy hunk?!” she shouted with glee, as though Christmas had come early.
“Yeah,” I sighed, not even sure how to talk about all this.
Her brow crinkled. “Why doesn’t somebody seem happier?”
“It’s a long story.”
She sat up, scrunching her knees beneath her, silky pajama shorts and top gliding over her skin.
“Is it that long story that isn’t yours to tell?”
I nodded. “Ding ding.”
“Okay, so… how can I help?”
Good question. I sat down next to her on the bed, massaging the bridge of my nose with my fingers, trying to clear my nasal passages of the dirt brought in by arid desert winds.
“You can’t,” I said finally. “But there’s something we have to do.”
“Aw man, do we have to run drugs? I knew it was drugs, every ‘artists’ town’ is secretly just a laundering—”
“No, nothing like that. We just need to stay in the trailer today.”
“All day?”
“Yeah.”
That was how I’d decided to tackle this. Was it brilliant? Probably not, but it was the best I had. By tomorrow, we’d get the part for my car and could leave. Until then, we’d stay shut up in the trailer, where nobody could get inside. There was only one entrance, and the windows locked. Which is not to say that Meghan was really out there, but… just in case. In truth, the match had scared the shit out of me, and I wasn’t exactly looking to take my chances.
Jo-Beth shrugged. “Okay, I don’t mind. I guess I can’t get any work done, but no biggie.”
“Great, thank you.”
She chewed her lip and hesitated before asking, “So are you and Carter… ?”
I shook my head. “It’s over. He hates me, he’s made that pretty clear.”
Now that made Jo-Beth’s jaw drop.
“Wait, but you two were like, totally great last night. I mean, you were canoodling at dinner, then you slept over with him — and I’m assuming slept with him. What happened?”
“I can’t tell you,” I said again, frustrated not with Jo-Beth, but the situation in general.
“Right, right, sorry.” She paused, thought about it for a moment, then asked, “Should we be, uh, staying in his trailer if you’re on the outs?”
“Our only alternative is taking a cab,” I replied, thinking of Carter’s offer. “There’s nowhere else to stay here.”
I didn’t want to do as Carter suggested, because that would kind of be letting him win, but I also knew that Jo-Beth was right — staying here after everything that had happened between him and I would be challenging. No, not challenging — heart-wrenching.
In any case, it didn’t matter, because Jo-Beth wasn’t on board with the cab plan.
“We gotta get your car out to my cousin,” she pointed out. “I promised. And we’ve come so far, it seems stupid to quit at the very end.”
Oh, if only she knew why I was suggesting backing out now. Would Jo-Beth feel differently if I explained that there was potentially a crazy woman lurking in the plants who wanted to, at the very least, have strong words with me? Strong words being the polite way of saying ‘kill my ass.’
Jo-Beth continued, “Plus, I don’t have that kind of money, do you?”
She was right again. Even Carter’s contribution wouldn’t take us very far, and besides, I was going to leave that money, and his cellphone, on the front porch as soon as I got up the courage to walk back outside. I couldn’t accept help from a man who said that his emotional availability had been a sexual ploy.
“So we’ll just stay here for the day,” I said.
“Yeah, sounds fine to me. I mean, we were gonna spend today hanging out anyways, right?” she smiled hopefully, and I realized that my friend had felt a little more abandoned than she’d let on.
I scooted closer to her on the bed, leaning my head on her warm shoulder.
“Duh,” I said, wrapping my arms around her waist. “It’ll be great.”
“Girls’ day! I’m gonna dive into The Handmaid’s Tale. Did you bring anything to read?”
I shivered as I remembered the one book I’d packed. “Just an Agatha Christie.”
“Oooh, spooky.”
Yeah, you don’t even know the half of it, I thought.
We grabbed our respective books and snuggled under the covers. I hadn’t thought as far as to what we’d do for lunch, but felt certain that we’d sort it out somehow. It didn’t seem like a good idea to walk into town — not after all the chills I’d gotten last night — but maybe it’d be better during the day. And, all that failing, I was fairly sure Jo-Beth had packed a few protein bars. It was worth one day of hunger to avoid Carter.
He had been so, so mean. At first I’d been positive he was just trying to get me safely out of the house and away from the prospect of Meghan, but as our spat had dragged on, I started to wonder whether, perhaps, he really meant what he said — that I had only been a fleeting point of interest for him, just a little dalliance to pass the time in Rough and Ready. I bet that story would work on loads of girls, I thought grimly. Maybe he’s rehearsed this before.
I was getting paranoid. What if the match was his, and this was how Carter got stragglers out of his house?
I sighed. I couldn’t think about it any longer. My mind was chasing itself, trying to make sense of a senseless man, to rub my fingers through the gray matter of his mind and pull out meaning. What was the point? I wasn’t his therapist, and I wasn’t his girlfriend. I was nothing to Carter except, as he had said, a stranger.
With nothing else to do and a heavy heart to distract myself from, I wriggled deep into the pillows and opened my book.
CHAPTER 23
Carter
“WHEE!” HENRY cried as the truck sped ahead. “Faster, faster!”
I already had the pedal pressed almost all the way down, going a good twenty above what I’d normally do with Henry in the truck, my arm over his chest to make sure he didn’t go flying, even though he was strapped into his booster seat.
“We’re almost there,” I said, more to myself than him.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m dropping you off with Staten.”
Henry yelped with excitement. “Staten!”
Yeah, I knew that would make him happy.
Staten is an artistic expat who’d found his way to Rough and Ready. He lived on the edge of town in a converted airplane hangar, just him and several of his enormous sculptures that stood in and around his compound.
I’d never gotten the full tour of St
aten’s place, but he’d been over to mine a few times. We were buddies, not close but friendly, and he watched Henry from time to time. I think looking after the kid perked him up a bit. I imagined it got lonely out there by himself. And Henry was a big fan of his. They would often paint together or plant trees — fun shit.
But, more importantly for my purposes, Staten was six-six, jacked, and ex-military, the kind of guy who looked like he could snatch a flying bullet in mid-air and crush it between two fingers. In other words, the kind of guy you wanna leave your kid with when your murderous ex-wife comes to town.
Maybe I could tell him to take Henry to the diner. That way they’d be right out in the open. Meghan wouldn’t do stuff in the open. It wasn’t her M.O. She liked the clandestine stuff.
We pulled to a stop outside Staten’s compound, and I lifted Henry out of the car. I hadn’t called ahead, but I knew it wouldn’t matter. Like I’ve said, there’s no time or obligation in Rough and Ready. Everyone is generally at home, or at a town event.
Sure enough, after two loud knocks on his corrugated metal door, I heard a rumbling from within.
“Who is it?”
“Carter. I have a favor to ask. Can I leave Henry with you?”
Moments later, the door was flung open, grating over the sliders. Staten grinned broadly, a dopey, puppy-dog look that was at odds with the general intimidation of his tattooed biceps, which put even my own to shame.
“Aw, hey Carter!” he cried. “Of course, I’d love to.”
He took Henry carefully out of my arms and into his own.
“Hi!” Henry chirped at Staten, who patted Henry’s head.
“We’ll be good here,” the former soldier told me. “You look like you got business to take care of.”
“That I do,” I muttered. “’Preciate it, Staten.”
He loosed a hand from beneath Henry’s legs, and shook mine. “Be careful out there.”
Words from the wise.
Confident that Henry would be safe, I got back in the truck and pushed it into gear. I had one more task to take care of before I could retrieve Henry, and I hadn’t wanted my son to be present for it, lest things get dicey again. Besides, Meghan’s focus had always been me. If she had to choose one of us to follow, it’d be me.
I clung to the steering wheel as though that single, unmoving object would somehow keep me grounded.
Going near a hundred an hour, it didn’t take me long to screech to a halt out front of Big Bob’s repair shop.
“What are you doing here?” Big Bob called from inside the shop, his legs stretched out on a folding chair.
“I still work here, don’t I?”
Big Bob mumbled some flavorful words, but said, “Guess so. Nobody else around that got your skill.”
While he talked, my eyes were scanning the perimeter, looking for a flash in the fore or background. Waiting for her to spring, I thought bitterly.
“You seem… spacey,” Big Bob said slowly, as though testing out the words, worried that the wrong one might set me off.
“I’ve just got shit on my mind,” I replied, tone brusque, uninterested in dialoguing with such a prick. “And I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“With a tone like that? I don’t think so.”
I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, but I kept my cool.
“I need an advance on my salary.”
“What the hell makes you think you’re going get that?” Big Bob was more amused than offended, really.
“Well, I watched you manhandle a young woman yesterday, and I’d be willing to testify on that. Should that not work out, I could also tell them about all your tax evasion schemes.”
Big Bob’s eyes went wide, showing their yellows. The white had long been clouded over with a sickly color.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would, Bob.”
“You think I’m gonna be threatened?” he blustered. “And in my own shop? No way, no how.”
This was getting frustrating. “I’ve got about two more seconds of etiquette left in me before I start to get less nice. Please advance my salary.”
“You don’t sound like you wanna keep working here,” Big Bob observed with fair accuracy.
“It’s the only job I’ve got. And if I have to—” I broke off, trying to find the right words, “if I leave for any reason, if I can’t make up the work, I’ll pay it back to you.”
“Ha! Like I’m supposed to believe that. I’m no sucker.”
I leaned in close, towering over his small frame. “Unlike you, I’m a man of my word. I promise that if you don’t give it to me, I’ll call the tax department. And I promise that if you do and I skip town, I’ll make it up. So. The money. Now.”
That did it. I saw Big Bob’s face crumple with fear, and the knowledge that I was absolutely dead serious on all counts.
“Fine,” he spluttered. “But only because you caught me in a good mood.”
Somehow I doubted that, but didn’t much care to argue. Big Bob spat on the ground next to me, almost on my fine leather boots, and strode back inside, cursing to himself with every step. I should’ve been able to take some small joy in my victory, but instead, I felt empty. Being harsh wasn’t in my nature, even with a man like Big Bob. Besides, it was hard to rejoice when I felt the chill of Meghan, metaphorically breathing down my neck.
Big Bob returned not long after, carrying a couple hundred dollars in cash.
“I knew you would give me shit about writing a bad check,” he grumbled, passing the money on to me. “So here’s your cash. Now, you gonna get to work?”
I rifled through the money, counting that it was all there. “Sorry, I can’t today.”
“So I give you an advance, and you won’t even stick around to work?”
I shook my head. “Not today.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And tomorrow? How about then?”
“Tomorrow… I don’t know.”
That was the God’s honest truth. I wasn’t sure whether Henry and I were skipping town or what. It seemed probable, though not decided. There were a million and one factors, none of which I could pin down just yet. In any case, I knew that it wouldn’t hurt to have some cash on hand, should it come to that.
“One more thing,” I added.
“You aren’t being serious.”
“Certainly am. If I don’t make it here tomorrow—”
“You mean if you leave town,” Big Bob said. He was a dick, but he was fast on the uptake.
“Whatever I mean. Should I not be here, and for whatever reason Phoebe and her friend Jo-Beth show back up asking for the car, fix it for them. The part will be in by then — it’s a simple fix. Do it for them, okay?”
This was the final thing I had to do. I hoped to hell that Phoebe and Jo-Beth had already hit the road, were already speeding far off into the California sunshine… but if not, I needed to make a contingency plan. Even though I’d sworn to leave Phoebe behind me and said that I couldn’t protect her — well, that was one promise I’d break. I had to do what little I could. If that meant getting Big Bob to fix her car? So be it. Though if there was any mercy in the world, she’d be on the road by now.
Big Bob nodded, but added, as though to perennially remind me of his idiocy, “But only because I need their money.”
So be it. I wasn’t gonna change the man in one conversation, and being somewhere in his fifties, his shitty personality was pretty much set in.
He didn’t stick around to chat. Big Bob toddled back off into the garage, veering right and heading to his car. I knew that he wouldn’t take any work today, even if someone drove in for a simple fix. He was lazy like that — without me or some other employee, he was helpless.
I sighed at his indolence, then turned and began to walk back to my truck, making a plan as I moved. I’ll go to the house, pack up some supplies just in case, fill up the truck…
And then there she was.
My mouth went dry.
Sitting in
the flat of my truck, hands dangling over the side, snarling a toothy grin in my direction. It was such a simple act of possession, hopping in without permission. It was a reminder that she could do what she wanted.
“Meghan,” I breathed.
“You miss me, baby?”
She hadn’t changed at all, even five years later. Her hand was platinum blonde, the same color as Henry’s, and hung down in long sheets around her head. Those quick blue eyes followed me, darting like a serpent’s tongue. There was something so animalistic about Meghan. She moved with her instincts, not with her mind. Squatting in the truck bed was like a dog pissing on a fire hydrant.
My arms began to shake, as though there was an isolated earthquake just beneath my feet.
“You’re supposed to be in jail,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Yeeeeup,” she said, bulging her eyes out and lolling her tongue, as though bored with the conversation already.
“Why?”
I wished my words would say what my heart wanted to — I hate you, get away, I will kill to protect my son — but I found them cemented to the back of my throat, absolutely useless. This was just a laundry list, not the real shit.
She cracked her neck to the side, small arms reaching up overhead in an exaggerated stretch.
“Good behavior, sugar,” she intoned. “Even though I know you never liked that, the good side of me. You always wanted me bad, right?”
She dropped her head over the side of the truck, half her body in the vehicle, half out. It was like watching a stoned doll execute a post-modern ballet — alternately limp and muscular, lazy but on high alert. I stayed a few feet away from the truck, close enough to hear but not so close that she could lunge without warning.
“I asked you to be good,” I said, my voice low. “So many times. But that’s not the point. I don’t believe they let you out. Did you escape?”
She laughed. “How do you manage to give me both too much and too little credit? I didn’t have to sneak out. I just charmed them. You know I can do that, be charming, when it suits me.”
