by Penny Alley
The truck turned, bumping and bouncing off the country highway, past an official Fish and Game office building onto a well-patched stretch of pavement. That road quickly became more potholes than pavement and then narrowed into a single lane dirt track, flanked by tall grass and blackberry brambles. Only a few hundred yards up that hill, it ended in a cul-de-sac surrounded by three log cabins. Each stood one-story tall and had (perhaps a century or so ago, at its earliest point of existence) been a single-room dwelling. Additional living space had since been added, cobbled on to each with wood likely scavenged from other buildings. Two showed signs of habitation, with curtains in all the windows and small but neatly maintained pine needle and chokecherry lawns. A pair of folding chairs faced outward on the first cabin’s porch, partially obscured by ivy vines crawling up the porch posts and along the rail.
At the second cabin, a hedgehog boot scraper and muddy waders stood sentry by the welcome mat. A zip of green movement buzzed in to visit the hummingbird feeder, centered in front of the main picture window, and then zipped back out of sight amongst the trees again. A blazing-red jeep 4x4 was parked in the gravel driveway, and a gray tarp in the semi-attached carport hid a smaller car under its rustling, plastic folds.
Nailed to the crooked front porch of the third cabin was a ‘For Rent’ sign. The sagging moss-covered roof suggested an immediate need for repair.
“Oh, you’re kidding me,” Marcus said, from inside the cab. “That’s the house?”
“We’ll help you fix it up,” Colton told him, turning into cul-de-sac. The truck eased to a stop between the first and middle cabins, and the rumble of the motor fell silent.
“Wow.” Karly stood up when Colton got out of the truck. “Is this it?”
“Home sweet home,” he confirmed, coming back to stand beside her, one hand resting on the side of the truck. “I know you’ve got reservations, but it’s okay. You don’t have to move in until you’re ready. I can be patient.”
Staring up at the dense growth of trees all around them, Karly at first didn’t say anything. Neoma had no idea what kind of reservations the chevolak had, but she knew her own.
The truck jostled when Gabe and Marcus got out.
Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Marcus approached the third cabin. He groaned. “I never should have dropped out of wood shop.”
“I said we’d help you,” Colton called over the truck to him.
Gabe didn’t say anything, not to Marcus anyway. Giving Neoma a caustic glance, he slammed the door. “Get down,” he told her, coming back far enough to drop the tailgate. It was the only assistance he offered before heading toward the second cabin.
Neoma waited until he was to the porch before releasing Scotty. Avoiding Karly, she climbed down off the tailgate and turned, holding her arms out to Scotty, but he had always been an independent soul. When he wandered over to the chevolak’s side of the truck, it sent Neoma’s heart straight up into her throat. She circled the truck, but froze at the taillights when Colton stepped up to helped him down.
“My friend Herbie Braun was scared of pigeons,” Scotty said, ignoring the Alpha’s outstretched arms. “They once pecked him right in the eye.”
The need to yank him back out of everyone’s reach itched up Neoma’s arms. Had the chevolak made one threatening gesture, she’d have shoved the Alpha out of her way to get him. But other than arching an eyebrow in surprise, Karly didn’t move.
“Pigeons can be pretty vicious,” she acknowledged.
Scotty nodded. “I guess owls can, too,” he allowed and swung a leg over the side of the truck.
Colton caught him before he could jump. “Come here, champ,” he said, swinging him down.
Her heart hammered all the way into the back of her throat. Neoma didn’t relax, not even when Scotty’s sneakers once more touched the ground.
“I can do it,” he grumbled.
“Scotty!” Snagging his shirt collar, she yanked him out of Colton’s reach. She flushed, not liking the way everyone—including Scotty—looked at her after that.
“We’re not going to hurt your boy,” Colton told her.
Unlocking the front door, Gabe shoved into his house just as Wayman pulled into the cul-de-sac. The rumble of his motorcycle cut through her, a dreadful shudder of foreboding vibration that only got worse when Wayman winked at her just as Gabe stepped back outside. Taking Scotty’s hand, Neoma hurried toward the porch, but it was already too late. He’d seen the exchange and by his look, she knew he was not inclined to interpret it innocently. Leaving the front door yawning wide open, he stalked back inside.
Lit only by what daylight streamed in ahead of her, the darkness within wasn’t any more welcoming than he was. From the bottom of the porch steps, she had a good view past the sofa into the kitchen. Gabe was nowhere to be seen, but the second she climbed the first stair, she heard his tromping footfalls exit the kitchen.
He cut back through the living room with a store-bought bundle of white daisies in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. She got out of his way, but he marched past her without a word and headed for the open carport. Dumping the flowers in the garbage can, he then dragged it to the mouth of the cul-de-sac. The bottle of champagne was still in his hand when he returned to the truck and opened the passenger door for Marcus.
“Damn, that house is a mess,” Marcus muttered as he got in.
No one said one word when Gabe stripped the wrapping from the champagne bottle, popped the cork and took a long draw straight from the bottle. He offered it to Marcus, who waved it off without drinking.
Looking up at Karly, still in the back of the truck, Colton said, “I guess that’s my cue. Do you want to look around inside, or…”
Glancing at Neoma, seemingly embarrassed for her, Karly sat back down. “I probably ought to go home. You know, get some clothes on, run some errands, that sort of thing.”
“Okay.” Colton didn’t push.
When he got back in the truck, Gabe stuck his arm out the open window and upended the liquor bottle. He didn’t look at her once, and that bottle was still emptying its contents onto the ground when they drove away.
It was hard not to see Wayman’s parting smile as sympathetic when he followed them. Within feet of the cul-de-sac, the thick curtain of trees swallowed both vehicles. It took almost a full minute before she could no longer hear the growl of the motorcycle.
Scotty broke the quiet first.
“Should we go inside?” he asked, but made no move to ascend the porch without her. “He didn’t say it was okay.”
No, he hadn’t, but the front door remained wide open, a shadowy invitation that didn’t feel at all welcoming. Drawing a steady breath, Neoma took Scotty’s hand.
The cabin seemed bigger on the inside than it looked from the yard. The oldest section was now a living room with a river rock fireplace that took up an entire wall. Dozens upon dozens of pictures decorated it. Gabe was in a few, almost always surrounded by small children in sports jerseys.
“He’s got a TV and a radio!” Scotty exclaimed, zeroing in on the entertainment center.
“Don’t touch, honey.” Neoma crept closer to the mantle to better see the photographs hanging higher up on the wall. “We can’t afford to break Mr. Michaelson’s things.”
“I’m not breaking things,” Scotty said, hurt by the accusation. “I’m just looking.” He dropped to his knees in front of the entertainment center, as close as he could get without making physical contact with its shelf full of DVDs. He pointed through the glass doors. “He likes the same movies I do! He’s got Despicable Me, and Minion Madness, and Megamind, and Monsters, Inc! He’s got Monsters, Inc, Mom! Can we watch it? Please!”
“It doesn’t belong to us.” Coming to stand over his shoulder, she read through the titles—Disney, Pixar, Dreamworks, Universal Studios…they were all represented in the twenty or so alphabetized movies that lined the glass shelf. It was hard to reconcile the angry man she was mated to with som
eone who watched Wall-E and Toy Story. “When he gets home and if you ask nicely, he’ll say it’s okay.”
Scotty frowned. No more convinced by hearing that than she felt saying it, he nevertheless picked himself up off the floor. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
The living room fed into an open dining room. A bare log wall separated the kitchen from the rest of the house. Following it took her into a dark hallway that culminated in two closed doors and one partially opened one. Catching sight of a queen-sized bed through the open door, she tried the first closed one and discovered the bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it was clean and tidy. Although small, it was spacious enough to maneuver between the sink, toilet and bathtub.
“Don’t touch anything,” she reminded as Scotty slipped past her. Nervous as she was, she would have joined him had he not planted himself in the doorway, one hand on the knob.
“I can potty by myself,” he said. He looked a lot like his grandfather then, too.
Neoma retreated backwards into the hallway. “Wash your hands,” she called once he’d shut the door between them.
“I will,” he half-groaned and half-growled.
“Don’t touch anything!”
“Don’t stand outside the door!”
Neoma retreated a few steps further. Rubbing her hands against her jean-clad thighs, she glanced at the bedroom. The open door beckoned and she answered, sidling just close enough to look around.
The bed was neatly made with the covers turned down. A single white daisy lay in full bloom on one pillow. Bright red rose petals were sprinkled across the sheet. Neoma thought of the white and pink painted female, the one she had knocked out of the way in order to get under someone—anyone—other than Wayman. She heard again Gabe’s plaintive, Maya, please… That was the Bride he had expected to come home with tonight. If Neoma hadn’t done what she had, instead of dumping his champagne out on the ground, Gabe would likely, at this very moment, have been backing his Maya into his romantically prepared bedroom, his hands roving her as he lay her down to lie among the scattered rose petals. Small wonder he was so angry. She was the one he had wanted, perhaps even loved. Neoma had ruined that for him.
And yet, if she hadn’t done it, Neoma would right now be on a bus bound for Scullamy. Sorry as she was for Gabe’s loss and for her part in guaranteeing it, because of her actions her son now had a chance to grow up. It was hard to regret that.
Inside the bathroom, the toilet flushed and then she heard the splash of running water.
“Soap,” she called, backing from Gabe’s bedroom door.
“I’m doing it already,” Scotty grumbled. “Stop listening!”
“Sorry.” She came back to the second closed door. This was not her home, though she had no choice but to live here. Feeling every inch an intruder, she nevertheless cracked it open. The second bedroom was small, void of furniture but filled to overflowing with sports equipment—baseballs, softballs, footballs, soccer balls, tennis, volley, even tetherballs littered every available inch of floor space. Umpire equipment hung from a coatrack in the corner amid neatly packed boxes of netting, hockey sticks and aluminum bats. More boxes of uniforms lined the far wall, blocking the only window and arranged by sport and size. Like the rest of Gabe’s house, it was tidy, albeit cluttered.
“Can I take the tape off now?” Scotty ventured from the bathroom with wet spots on his shirt where he’d wiped his hands to dry them.
“Sure.” Dropping to her knees, she beckoned and he came to her, already shucking his pants down to his knees. She winced at the redness around his right thigh where she’d taped the envelope. Inside was every dollar she’d managed to hoard from the things she’d sold in Scullamy. What had taken months of careful discretion to accrue, amounted to less than a hundred dollars. If she was careful, it might be enough to last until she found a job. “I’ll try to be careful.”
“You gotta rip it off fast,” Scotty advised as she picked at the edge of the tape. “It’s okay, Mom. I can take it.”
She tried to be both careful and fast, but having to rip that envelope away almost made her cry. “I’m so sorry.”
She rubbed his pink thigh afterward until he waved her hand away and pulled his pants back up. “Can we get something to eat now? I’m hungry.”
So was she, but that presented a new problem and one to which there was no easy solution. With Scotty trailing her to the kitchen, she waged war with her conscience. She could help herself to Gabe’s fridge or she could walk back into town. She remembered the grocery store lay across the street from the Fish and Game office. It was less than a mile’s hike away and she didn’t have any business sticking her nose in the fridge of a man who clearly hated her, but she also didn’t have a lot of money. The longer she held onto it, the better it would be for her and Scotty.
Thrift won the battle; she opened another person’s fridge and looked at what Gabe had for food. It was more than her fridge in Scullamy had held in years, but even she acknowledged there wasn’t a lot in there—a small package of fresh strawberries, a jar of dipping chocolate, and two steaks on a plate wrapped in cellophane. A few basic condiments took up space in the door shelves. Half a stick of butter rested on a saucer next to the last three beers in a cardboard six-pack, and in the vegetable crisper, she found a jar of sweet baby pickle juice without any pickles. On top of the fridge, a handful of Raisin Bran rattled around the bottom of the cereal box. Putting that back where she’d found it, she studied her choices again.
“Maybe he doesn’t like food.” Scotty eyed the steaks.
“Mr. Michaelson probably isn’t used to eating at home.” Closing the fridge on temptation, she took the money out of the envelope, counted it (as if it had magically grown somehow in the then and now since she’d taped it to her son) and slipped it into her pocket. “Shall we go to the store? Maybe they’ll have a hot deli case.”
Scotty perked. “Can I have pizza?”
“If they have some.” Pizza wasn’t steak, but if they shared a slice, it wouldn’t be too expensive and it was something.
“Pepperoni,” Scotty said with a bounce. “Maybe they’ll even have Hot Pockets.”
Not having a key, Neoma unlocked a side window so they could get back inside and then carefully locked the front door. When Scotty held up his hand, she took it and together they headed out of the cul-de-sac and down the hill into town.
It wasn’t a difficult walk. The most stressful part was when they passed the Fish and Game office. Although she didn’t see anybody through the tinted windows, the official truck was there and Wayman’s motorcycle was parked next to it.
“Should we tell him where we’re going?” Scotty asked.
“No.” She tried not to look at the building, but nervous energy kept prickling the fine hairs across the nape of her neck until she just couldn’t help herself. When she glimpsed a flicker of movement behind a set of blinds, her heart gave a painful lurch of panic just under her breastbone. “Why would we?”
“So he won’t get mad.”
Gabe was going to be mad at her for quite some time, no matter what she did. Neoma didn’t say that out loud, but she gave Scotty’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Once he gets to know us, things will get better. You’ll see.”
Scotty didn’t argue. He also didn’t agree.
Past the Fish and Game office, they reached the bottom of the hill and the old county highway that bisected town. Once upon a time, it had been a major statewide thoroughfare, but two newer highways built miles away had long ago robbed Hollow Hills of its heavy traffic. When Neoma paused to look both ways, she only had to wait for one car and that pulled into the gas station next to the feed shop.
“I hope they have Hot Pockets,” Scotty said as they crossed the road, but Neoma could tell at a glance the grocery store wouldn’t. It was only a little country store, nowhere near big enough for either a deli or a hot case. The gas station, on the other hand, might. It also had a Help Wanted sign in the window facing the
pumps. Her hand went to her pocket. She could buy a slice of pizza, pick up an application, and because the station was close to both Gabe’s house and the school just down the road, depending on what shift they needed her to fill, she could walk Scotty to school and then go to work. It was almost the perfect job.
“I smell pepperoni,” Scotty said excitedly. He was looking at the gas station now too, and that pretty much settled it.
“Let’s go see what they have.”
They cut across Emmett’s Hay and Feed parking lot to reach the gas station faster. As soon as they stepped up off the blacktop onto the sidewalk, Scotty skipped ahead to get the door. Heaving with all his strength, he pried it open and held it for her.
“I got it,” he said, when she tried to help him, and he proved it by continuing to hold the door while she went in and some other patron came out—a young man with a thirty-two ounce soda and two packs of cigarettes. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him do a double-take, looking back at her with a twist of distaste, but when she looked around, his back was to her and he was striding quickly back to his car.
Dashing around her, Scotty ran to the hot case, pressing both hands upon it as he studied its contents—corndogs, chicken strips, burritos and pastry pockets, spicy taquitos, cheese sticks and jo-jo potato wedges; standard gas station fare, all of which was deep fried. Her mouth watered. Having not eaten all day, anything—even pizza pockets, Scotty’s absolute favorite—could have done that to her. She touched her jeans, feeling where the folded money made a stiff bump under the denim.
