Cross Ties (Swamp Heads, #5)

by Esther E. Schmidt

  His breathing is loud, rasping in and out while his chest rises and falls. The flannel shirt he’s wearing is hanging loose while the white tank underneath is stretched to its full extent. His sleeves are cuffed up, showing muscled forearms. He’s changed so much over time and the torment that’s plainly written on his face makes me gasp.

  He turns to fully face me while I slowly stand up.

  “Zeke.” I croak.

  His eyes widen in shock, taking a step back, he stumbles over my backpack, falling down on his ass while he’s looking at me like he’s seen a ghost. And let’s face it...he might as well be. I was given a choice that night...I chose the one I thought was best. Seeing his face in this moment makes me wish I died that night too.

  “Zeke,” I whisper again but he shakes his head no and scoots back.

  Pointing at me he states, “You...you didn’t die? You’re here? Now?” He scrambles up, his voice rising as he says in anger, “You didn’t die and come here after all these years? I thought you fucking died. I died too that fucking day. I...I...” he stalks to the stairs we made together, facing me once more with a look that certainly makes me wish I did die that night.

  “You should have never come back,” he says with resolution.

  Every word he threw at me feels like bricks piled up on my chest. I can’t breathe, I feel like my chest is ready to explode. The only thing I can manage is a sob that escapes. What was I thinking coming back here? It’s like losing him all over again.

  It takes some time to get that big lump in my throat to lessen somewhat for me to get enough air into my lungs to make myself move. Picking up my backpack, I head for the only place I can think of...because that asshole who sent me the letter and the plane ticket was wrong. So damn wrong.

  It’s been years since I’ve walked through this swamp and yet I know it like the back of my hand. And I damn well hope that asshole still lives in the same house because I’m knocking on his door in the middle of the night and I would be just as pissed as the new owners if he wasn’t living there anymore.

  The door opens and I don’t even see who’s standing there but just fire off my fury. “You were wrong. How can you write me a letter like that? Give me a plane ticket to go with it to drag me back here, telling me that it’s safe again and that I need to see your brother. Well, newsflash, asshole, he hates me.” I’m pounding on a chest that’s grunting while I punctuate my words. “Hate, hate, hate.”

  I sob as the guy wraps his arms around me, pulling me close into a tight hug. How can he be hugging me while I’m so freaking pissed? Wait. Oh, yikes. “Let me go, you freaking stink like a gator who’s been dead for six weeks.”

  Pushing away, I see who I’ve been yelling at. It’s Earle, not Roscoe, and he looks exactly like his brother except his beard is all wild, ink on his biceps, and his hair is all over the place. There might be a mouse or two living in there by the smell of it.

  “Seriously, Earle...what the hell?” I slap a hand over my mouth and nose.

  His furry eyebrows lower. “I was huggin’ ya, Claudette. I was being nice, no need to return the favor with being rude.”

  “Well, excuse me, Mr. Stinky, for letting you know about your problem.” Dammit. I’m a nice person. I fist my hands and hold them up against my face. “Sorry, Earle. I’m just very angry right now and it’s all because of your brother.”

  “Zeke? Well, don’t ya think that’s your problem? You rising back from the dead and all? I mean...that’s harder to fix then my so-called hygiene problem...don’t ya think?” Mister stinky even uses freaking air quotes with the word hygiene.

  Does he really not realize it’s that bad? “So-called...dude...you stink. Hasn’t anyone ever mentioned that to you before? Are you even around a girl, date? Crap...not my business, go get yourself a bath and get Roscoe for me because I need to punch him in the face.”

  “I did like hugging you,” Earle mutters while he fiddles with his beard.

  “Earle,” I sigh. Shit...he always was such a dreamer, always locked in his own head, not a care in the world about anything else. Seems not much has changed. “Can you please either let me in so I can talk to Roscoe, or get him to the door?”

  “Nah, I can’t...Roscoe hasn’t been home for years. He’s away for his job, haven’t heard from him in...well, years.” Earle steps back. “But you can come in.”

  I follow him into the house after closing the door behind me. “Not heard from Roscoe in years? Is he not the sheriff? He was a deputy when I left.”

  “He’s not the sheriff, no. He left a few weeks after you disappeared, got a better job in the next town over. He’s still in law enforcement, out on a job in fact...or somethin’ like that, hell if I know. Not here, that’s for sure, like I said...hasn’t been for years now.” Earle shrugs.

  “Dammit. I really looked forward to punching him in the face. Why would he make me go back home when he hasn’t been here himself for years?” I mutter to myself.

  “Wait just an effin’ minute. Roscoe made you come here?” Earle scratches himself on his head.

  “Okay, buddy. You need to take a bath, shower, wash...get cleaned up. I’ll fix your hair when you’re done. Then we’ll talk. You are giving me the willies the way you are now.” I shudder.

  His shoulders slump and he whines like a little kid. “But that’s so much work.”

  Oh, for crying out loud. “Yes, you big baby. That’s how the real world works, you have to do something to get something.” I shake my head.

  “Do I at least get another hug?” His eyes twinkle with mischief.

  I poke him in his chest. “If you don’t smell and wear fresh clothes...maybe. Oh, wait...and if I can crash on the couch. I’ve been up almost twenty-six hours and I don’t have a place to stay.”

  “Deal. Roscoe has a spare bedroom upstairs, end of the hall on the left. No need to get a room at the Snap-Inn. If that idiot brother of mine got you here, he probably has a reason. We’ll talk after my shower, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I smile.

  He steps forward and I just know he’s trying to see if I would hug him again but I step back and point in his face. “Shower. Hygiene; fresh and squeaky clean. Get it done.”

  “It was worth tryin’, hey?” The corner of his mouth twitches.

  I watch him disappear up the stairs before I sit on the couch and grab a protein bar from my backpack. Crap. I’m so freaking drained. Polishing off the protein bar, I stalk into the kitchen and put my mouth underneath the tap and drink some before I resume my spot on the couch. Waiting seems to drag on because Earle is taking his time...well, he should, but it also makes me drowsy.

  I slide down to one side of the couch and close my eyes for just a tiny moment. I always hate sleeping, dreading it, because of the nightmares. It’s something I can’t control. Yet now it’s more like I’m crashing; my body is shutting down, needing to rest. Everything fades to black as I let exhaustion claim me.

  Chapter 03

  ***Zeke***

  Storming into the house, I try and catch my breath while standing in the living room. Christ. I think I’m going insane. The last few hours didn’t happen. It’s just not possible. I mean...yeah, I’ve had Roscoe search for her all these years, but it was just...I don’t fucking know...wishful thinking? Sixteen effin’ years. How? Just...how?

  Anger rises within me, even more than when I saw her. A growl rips from my throat as I throw everything off the table in one go. The wood pencil case connects with the wall with force and splinters into pieces. Just fucking great.

  Spinning on my heels, I head for my workspace. I need to get lost in something. Just...I don’t know, grab an ax and start chopping some wood. Anything to get rid of this fury boiling inside me.

  Fury? It might be even close to desperation...or I might as well be losing my sanity for that matter. My hand tightens on the chisel while I drag a log into the middle of my workspace. Instead of going nuts, an eerie calm settles over me as I drag my knives, chisels and g
ouges closer as I begin to work on the log.

  Transforming the chunk of wood into something else. I don’t even care or focus on making something beforehand, I just go with what my hands create...how the wood reacts, where my mind is.

  A few hours pass before I’m brought out of my work element by the ringing of my phone. Checking the caller ID, I see it’s Earle. My first thought is to let it ring but I didn’t even give him one damn word when he left this morning so I kinda owe him.

  “Yeah?” I mutter. Hey, I know it’s not one of the nicest way to greet my brother but I’m trying here.

  “Dude. Your girl is back from the dead.” The idiot whispers.

  Why is he whispering? And... “How the hell do you know that?”

  “Because she was knocking on Roscoe’s door. That effin’ idiot seems to have told her to come home for you.” He’s still whispering.

  Why would Roscoe send her home? Shit. Stupid question since I’ve asked him to keep looking for her. I should have checked the damn locker sooner...a little warning might have...fuck, no. Sixteen damn years and not one effin’ word. Why fucking now? And, dammit, “Why are you still whispering, dude?”

  “Because Detty is sleeping on Roscoe’s couch.”

  “Detty? The fuck, Detty! It’s Claudette and you know it. Get away from her you creep and let her sleep.” Dammit, my brother’s an idiot.

  “Ssssshhh, bro,” the idiot shushes me. “She hugged me. She promised another hug if I cleaned myself up so I took a shower.”

  “You took a...” I groan and bang my phone against my forehead a few times to calm my shit. “Earle...I’m gonna hang up now. You’re going to get your stinkin’ ass upstairs and away from Claudette. Get some sleep, I’ll call in the morning.”

  “I can do that. My ass doesn’t stink anymore...but okay...night, bro.”

  “Yeah, night, Earle.” I close my eyes while releasing a heavy sigh.

  There’s no way to talk sense into that guy anyway and it’s none of my business. Claudette has been on my mind and in my life enough to last a lifetime. From what I saw in that dim moonlight, life has treated her well. It’s not like she cared enough about me to let me know she was still alive. Why now? She had close to five thousand and nine hundred days to pick one of those days and let me know. To stop the worry and hurt. Yet she didn’t. Seems like she didn’t share the same love I held for her as she did for me. That’s pretty damn clear.

  I put my phone on silent and pick up one of my knives. My whole body settles, like every nerve end numbs. My mind focuses on just the wood and the tool in my hand. The excitement of creating something new flows through my veins. For the first time in a long while, I feel like I’m closing a door from my past and opening a new one that holds the fresh promise of change.

  It’s early morning when I finish as the first rays of sun burst through the side window. Snatching up the tools that are spread all around me, I make fast work to clean up. When I’m done, I stretch my arms above my head and look down at the finished design. There’s clearly an ache in my chest I’m ignoring. Eyeing the open heart I’ve created from the log, adding different details and texture, it’s like I’ve poured everything out.

  A heart that’s not perfect; battered, cracked slightly in half caused by elements of life. Fuck. I’ve created something I want to smash to pieces since mine already is. Yeah...I might have closed the door to the past and yet I can’t help some shit that’s slipping through the cracks. I shake my head and stalk over to the house. I need a damn shower. I come to a stop when I see Earle and Claudette getting out of Earle’s truck.

  “Go away.” I growl.

  There’s no use to slam the door in their face since Earle lives here too and therefore has an effin’ key.

  “Come on, Zeke, just hear the lady out,” Earle tries.

  Spinning around, I point a finger at her while addressing Earle. “She had sixteen effin’ years. I gave her sixteen damn, effin’ years for that fucking option. It’s too late. I’m done.”

  Earle glances at Claudette. “What did I tell ya? He’s a koppige klootzak.” The idiot chuckles. “Did I pronounce that correctly?”

  Sadness paints Claudette’s face while she nods.

  “What was that?” I question, immediately regretting the question since I shouldn’t care. “Never mind,” I state and start to pick up the mess I threw off the table last night.

  “I called you a stubborn asshole, that’s what. Well, more like a stubborn nutsack, in Dutch since Claudette spent time there and is now teaching me all the neat curse words. Because when she mentioned that the folks over there almost always use body parts as curse words...it’s funny.” Earle beams. “You know how to pronounce cut, right? It actually sounds a lot like kut in Dutch, but kut means pussy, you know...vagina. There, now I’ve taught you another Dutch word.”

  “Fan-fucking-tastic. Just go and leave me alone.” I stalk into the hallway and grab the broom, swiping up the pencil case Claudette made and make sure she sees me throwing it in the trash.

  The tiny gasp coming from her mouth should hurt me as much as it sounds like I’ve hurt her feelings by doing this, but the truth is...it’s all as raw as it is now so I decide to not care at all. It’s easier to deal with this by being an asshole, then so be it.

  “Please, Zeke,” her voice wavers.

  I make myself harden some more and face her head on. “No. We might have had something once, but whatever it was...we don’t have it anymore. You made that choice, not me. So, you see, Claudette...there’s nothing left. We are nothing to one another, the only similarities we have is the fact that we both belong to the human race.”

  I don’t see Earle’s fist coming until it hits my jaw. “Koppige klootzak.” The idiot repeats again before taking Claudette’s elbow as he leads her out of the house.

  Good.

  Effin’.

  Riddance.

  Every last inch of fight is drained from me as I drag my tired ass up the stairs. I take a quick shower before I finally crash on my bed. My eyes close and for the first time...I dream of absolutely nothing.

  Waking up feels as if I’ve slept for a week. My head is pounding and my eyes burn. It’s like the worst sleep ever and yet one glance at the clock tells me I’ve slept over eight hours. Which means I’ve slept through the day. I decide to fix myself some food and head downstairs. After making a sandwich and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I spend the rest of the night watching movies.

  Days pass and it’s just like the same day is flipped to repeat, making them flash by uneventful. Until Tuesday comes around the corner. It’s the day I usually swing by the gift shop at Bertie’s gator farm. I gather a few things I made to sell at the gift shop and get in my truck. I need to swing by the grocery store on the way back so it’s a good day as any to run errands.

  I park my truck at the back entrance of the gator farm and lift my chin at Dale, my brother-in-law. He works here and is married to my sister, Elsie, who also works at the gift shop. Well, not every day anymore since they have a kid now.

  “Elsie in?” I shout at Dale as he unloads some bags onto a trolley.

  He places his boot on the trolley, takes off his cowboy hat and wipes his forehead. “Nah, she’s at home, she switched with Pam.”

  “Okay, well...see ya guys next Saturday.” I say, reminding myself and him about the barbeque at my parents’ house that Elsie is organizing for the family. Well, everyone except for Roscoe since he hasn’t been back here in years due to his job.

  “Yeah, see ya next Saturday.” Dale says and grabs another bag to throw on the trolley.

  The gator farm is still quiet, not a lot of visitors yet, but it’s early enough so there’s that. My brother, Cyrus and his wife Bertie have made this place into a booming business. Protecting, saving, and caring for gators while raising funds to do so and let the public enjoy the gators from a healthy perspective for all.

  My brother, Earle, helps with the gators too. Hell, we all
know how to handle them, but Earle loves to roll around in the mud. With his stinky attitude and lack of hygiene to go with it, it shouldn’t come as such a surprise. But the thing is...he just likes the struggle. Like how he works out, he doesn’t choose to use iron to pump weight, but grabs a log or anything nature gives to pump his muscles. He’s just very basic.

  I swing the bag off my shoulder as I step into the store, halting my steps when I see Claudette standing next to Pam behind the counter. Dammit. What the hell is she doing here? I choose to ignore her instead of making a scene, I stalk to the counter and place the bag on it.

  “Pam. I brought some new stuff, can you log it in for me?” I say matter-of-factly

  Pam beams at me. “Sure thing, handsome. I’ll get your stuff in a jiffy.” She dashes away while I make myself busy with pulling the items I made from my bag.

  “Hey, Zeke.” I hear her voice say my name and try like hell to ignore the turmoil of feelings it brings up inside me. “Hope you don’t mind me working here every now and then. Earle talked to Bertie and she said it was perfect because,”

  “Yeah, Elsie has a kid and wants to spend more time at home now that they’re trying for a second. I don’t own this town, Claudette, and I certainly don’t own you. I couldn’t care less,” I mutter, regretting the sneer I lash out.

  I’ve emptied my bag and decide to leave before I lose control and spew some more hurtful things. Dammit, I thought for sure the last few days of staying home, no more nightmares, and closing the door on what was back then would end what I felt for her. Guess I was wrong.

  “Tell Pam to give the envelope to Elsie, I’ll get it from her.” I can’t help the rumble of words, making them come out harsher, before I turn to leave.

  I’m almost at the door when I hear the clicking of heels and a soft hand on my arm. When I look back I’m actually hating the fact that it’s Pam that’s stopping me instead of Claudette. “Hang on, handsome...here, you forgot this.”

  She holds out the envelope Elsie always gives me with all the details of the sales and shit.