Caught in the Storm

by Brownell, Rachael

  For him, his livelihood dies until I come back to town. No exports means no income. It also means angry, impatient clients. Clients that may seek out other sources to fulfill their needs. And if that happens, business dies.

  I'll survive with or without Mendez. He, however, cannot survive without me.

  "Hey," I hear just as we’re about to round the corner. When I turn, I see both goons walking toward us.

  "Yeah," I reply, irritation clear.

  "Boss wants to see you," the tall one starts, looking between us. "Both of you."

  Wise man. He knows his place. He may 'run' the operation, but he's not really in charge, I am.

  * * *

  "There's a lack of respect on your part, Mendez," I say, walking past him and his outstretched hand. To emphasize my power and control, I take a seat behind his desk, in his chair.

  "I'm sorry." He clearly sounds confused. He shouldn't be. We've had this same conversation before. Maybe it's the presence of goon number one.

  "Why don't we get on with our meeting? I have a plane to catch and need to rest." Leaning back in the chair, I put my feet up on his desk, crossing them at the ankles.

  It's been a long ass few days. I'm living on four hours of sleep, maybe five. If I closed my eyes right now, I'd fall asleep in his chair. Not because it's comfortable, it's actually a little firm for my liking, but because my body needs to recharge for the weeks that lay ahead of me.

  "We wouldn't even be here if you had shown up last night as planned."

  "I sent Garcia in my place. I was otherwise occupied."

  "Yeah. I saw the hot little number doing the walk of shame this morning. She looked a little sore."

  The urge to punch him comes on fast. I can see the challenge in his eyes. This has nothing to do with Amelia, though.

  "She was. Now, let's get down to business," I say, scooting closer to his desk and motioning for him to take a seat across from me.

  I'm running this meeting. I'm calling the shots. By the time we leave, there will be no doubt in his mind who's in charge.

  * * *

  Amelia is waiting outside her apartment building when we pull up. Next to her cowboy boot-clad feet are a hot-pink duffel bag and matching suitcase. Working my way up her body I appreciate the tight jeans she's wearing along with the flannel shirt and cowboy hat.

  "Am I overdressed?" I ask as I step out of the car.

  I own very little that isn't considered business attire. Suits and ties are all I wear. Rarely, and only when I'm in the comfort of my own home, will you catch me in sneakers, jeans, or a t-shirt.

  "Um," she says, taking in my khaki pants and dress shirt. "You could at least roll up your sleeves. It's going to be hot today, and I'm sure we'll be walking around the farm."

  Doing as she asks, I roll my sleeves as Garcia loads her luggage in the trunk next to mine.

  "Better?" Turning to face her, my arms outstretched for inspection, she giggles, reaches up, and pops the top two buttons on my shirt. Being that close to me gives her a better view of my face, something I was hoping to avoid until later.

  "Johnathan! What happened? Your eye is bruised." Her voice is laced with concern as she gently runs her fingers over the sore spot above my left eye.

  "Let's just say I'll be happy to be back home where I know my way around in the dark."

  Mendez should be happy about this too. He looks worse than I do this morning.

  Everything was going well, decisions were made, the meeting was almost over and then he struck me. It caught me off guard, and I didn't move out of the way fast enough.

  He was unhappy with the way I was treating him. He thought we were partners. Once I enlightened him, Garcia held him while I beat the shit out of him. I was only going to take a shot or two, make sure his bruises were worse than mine, but it felt good to unleash on him. All the anger building up the last few months had me wound so tight I finally exploded.

  Garcia finally pulled me away, catching an elbow in the process. Let's hope Amelia doesn't notice his eye looks like mine. She'll start asking questions I don't want to answer.

  Then I'd be right back to where I was months ago, and I'd rather not go down that road again. I've learned my lesson. Covering my tracks and making sure all business transactions are done in private, away from prying eyes, are my top priorities.

  "Does it hurt?" she asks as we slide into the back seat.

  Hmmm. If I say yes, maybe she'll feel sorry for me and help me feel better on the way to her parents. If I tell her the truth, that I forgot about it until she reminded me, no sex in the back seat.

  I know which way I'm leaning until I hear Garcia lowering the privacy glass.

  "We should be there in forty minutes or less. There's no traffic this morning."

  "My parents will still be in church," Amelia notes as Garcia pulls out of the parking lot. "We should meet them there. Service will just be starting."

  The thought of meeting her parents in God's house doesn't sit well with me. The church is sacred. It's the one place I'll never bring my lies and deceit. I was raised better than that.

  "Why don't head to the house and you can show me around while we wait for them."

  Amelia bits her bottom lip and sucks it in her mouth. The thought of biting it myself is turning me on. The things we could do in the next forty minutes. The ways I could take her back here.

  I've been wanting her to ride me again since that first night. Hell, I wanted her to ride me in the limo after we first met. I was tempted, but I wanted to show her my softer side. I wanted her to have better than the back seat of a limo our first time.

  And now that she has...

  "You know what, that's fine. It's not like I told them we were coming to visit. I'd hate to show up in the middle of service and surprise them. I can imagine the look on my daddy's face when he sees you. It's not going to be pleasant."

  "You didn't tell them?"

  Sure, this only came up last night, but I assumed she would call and make sure they knew we were coming. No parents like a surprise visit from their daughter and her new boyfriend. My mother would freak out if I brought a girl home unannounced. The house had to be perfect. There had to be a cake or dessert ready, the smell permeating through the house.

  It had nothing to do with the girl. It was all for show, and it was important to her she had time to prepare for such an occasion. I'm sure Amelia's mother feels the same way.

  "I was going to call them last night, but it was late when I finally made my decision. I fell asleep last night after texting with you, and Beth woke me up this morning and helped me pack really quickly. I honestly have no idea what's in my suitcase. She packed that. I went to call them right before you pulled up and saw the time. They had already left for church."

  "Call them on their cell before services start."

  Amelia laughs as if the thought is the funniest thing on Earth.

  "My parents are old school. They've had the same phone number for thirty years, and they don't own a cell phone. They don't need one. My mother is almost always home, and so is my father. The only time their phone rings is when I call to talk to them. They prefer it that way. It's a low-key kind of lifestyle. They don't need or want much. Their simple life makes them happy. That's part of why I left. I wanted more than just a house on a farm. My dreams were bigger than the tiny town I grew up in."

  "How tiny are we talking?"

  "Small enough that everyone knows everything about everyone. I'm sure people are talking about us already, praying for us at church this morning. I wouldn't be surprised if someone spots the limo as we roll through town and my parents find out we're here before they get home."

  "So it's really small then."

  "Yeah. It's small, but it’s home. I love it. I love the people I grew up with. We're a community, all family. Everyone supports everyone else. When I decided to move to Houston, my parents found out from the neighbors before I could tell them. Not because they were gossiping but because the
y were celebrating with me and wanted to congratulate my parents."

  "Why did you tell the neighbors first?"

  "I didn't. I told my best friend, Michael. He told his parents after I left their house, and in the fifteen minutes it took me to get home, they had already called."

  I'm pretending to listen as she goes on and on about how small her town is and how much of a spectacle our visit might become. All the while, I'm focused on the fact that her best friend is a guy. Let's just hope Michael doesn't try and stand between us.

  Eleven

  Amelia

  As expected, the town is eerily silent as we drive down the main road. The only person I spot is the town sheriff, and it looks like he's taking a nap in his cruiser waiting for the church service to end. It's the busiest the town gets at one time with people trying to make their way home for an early afternoon dinner.

  I wouldn't be surprised if my mother has something cooking when we arrive. There will be plenty for everyone, even though she didn't know we were coming today. That's the way Sundays have always been. She'll cook for an army and when they don't show up, because no one was actually invited, she has leftovers for the week.

  As we approach our turn, I warn Garcia to slow down on the dirt road that leads to my parents’ house. It's always been one of the worst in the county. Deep holes that will take out the tires on even the biggest trucks. They could surely bottom out the limo.

  He doesn't listen, and when he hits the first big dip in the road, I'm bounced out of my seat and onto the floor. Carefully helping me up, Johnathan holds onto me until we come to a stop in my parents’ driveway a few minutes later.

  Our property is massive. Fifty acres. Fields as far as you can see.

  The house, however, is small. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. Maybe the size of the apartment I share with Beth.

  They never wanted more. Appearances mean nothing to them. Your worth comes from who you are and how you treat others. Not from the size of your bank account.

  If you wanted to judge my parents by what they physically have, by the house I'm now standing in front of, you would think they were scraping to get by. The truth of the matter is they have more money than they want. More than they know what to do with.

  My father's a smart businessman. He raises livestock and sells it off. He maintains the farm all by himself, with only the help of my mother on occasion, and me when I lived at home. He paid me for my help, though. That's how I'm able to chase my dream and not have to work.

  That money will run out eventually, but I live a lot like my parents. Frugally. I don't care about flashy new things. The need to live in a big apartment with new furniture and expensive clothing doesn't appeal to me. That's why I love living with Beth.

  She hates to spend money almost as much as I do since she works hard for every penny she makes. She may even be more frugal than I am. Her one splurge is to have flavored coffee creamer in the house. Otherwise, we only buy essentials. We don't have cable. Both of our cars will probably die a horrific death sometime soon. Her bumper fell off a few months ago, and I've been driving on my spare tire just as long.

  It was fate that we met the way we did, standing in line waiting to audition as backup singers for some country band. We'd both just moved to the city. She had driven in that morning, and I'd been there for about two days. I hadn't even unpacked my suitcase.

  We became fast friends and by the time we made it to the front of the line, I'd asked her to move in with me and she'd agreed.

  Then they shut the doors in our face and said auditions were over. They'd made their selections.

  Since then, bad luck has seemed to follow us with every audition. With every opportunity.

  The power going out in the middle of my performance the other night has become a standard occurrence it seems. If it's not a blown amp or broken mic, it's running out of gas on my way to audition or waking up with a cold. I even lost my voice about six months ago, the day I was supposed to cut my first demo. I thought my luck was finally turning around and then, wham. I was smacked in the face again.

  I never cut the demo.

  "So," Johnathan says, interrupting my thoughts of bad luck. "This is where you grew up?"

  "Yep. And that's the barn where I used to shovel horse shit on a daily basis," I joke, pointing to the large maroon barn that's still missing a door. It's probably sitting just inside the barn, waiting for my father to put new hardware on it and reattach it.

  Glancing in my direction, there's a look of concern on his face. "We're not doing that today, are we?"

  "Not unless you want to."

  "I think I'll pass," he says, shaking his head vigorously.

  Laughing, I take his hand and pull him toward the house. I can feel Garcia watching us and when I turn, I find him leaning against the hood of the limo, arms crossed.

  "He's not coming inside?" I ask, jiggling the handle to see if I need to grab the hide-a-key or not. Nope. Unlocked per usual.

  "No."

  "What about for lunch? Will he want to eat?" I don't think I've ever seen Garcia eat anything. Or drink anything. In fact, aside from driving us around, I haven't seen him do anything. He's always around. Always silently observing.

  "Probably not."

  My mother will insist he come inside and sit at the table. I'm not going to tell Johnathan that. I want to wait and see how that goes down. Either Garcia will fall in line to her demands or he's in for a fight.

  Just as we're about to cross the threshold, I hear the rumble of my father's truck coming up the driveway. Stepping back onto the porch, I wave as he drives past the house and comes to a stop in front of the barn.

  "They're early," Johnathan notes.

  "Someone saw us," I say.

  "How do you know?"

  "My mother has only left church early one other time. When she went into labor with me."

  He doesn't reply as we watch my mom and dad get out of the truck and slowly make their way toward us.

  "Amelia," my father states. "We weren't expecting you."

  "Surprise!" I exaggerate, releasing Johnathan's hand and moving to hug first my father and then my mother.

  My father's embrace is less than welcoming. My mother's barely tops my fathers. It's obvious they’re not excited to see me. The fact I have company more than likely has something to do with it.

  "Mom, Dad," I start, stepping back and sliding up next to Johnathan. "This is Johnathan Lang."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you both," he says, extending his hand to my father, who makes no move to shake it.

  "I'd say the same, but I'd be lying." My father's bold words slap me across the face, but they don't seem to faze Johnathan.

  "Daddy," I scold him. "Can't you at least give him a chance?"

  I knew this would happen. My father's never been one to bite his tongue, no matter the topic. No matter how rude he comes across. He speaks his mind openly, and everyone knows it. He doesn't give two shits if you want his opinion. He's going to give it to you.

  "You two roll into town, unannounced. Everyone’s talking. I wouldn't be surprised if half the town shows up after church," he says, his attention directed to Johnathan. "We live a low-key life, and we'd like to keep it that way."

  "You shouldn't have come here," my mother says, stepping up behind my father. "You know how we feel, Abby girl. We may not be able to control who you see, but we have a say in who we invite into our home. I don't know why you thought this would be a good idea."

  My mother was less than happy about Johnathan when I talked to her on the phone yesterday. Being that she was talking to me, in private, I expected her to be open and honest. Right now, with him standing by my side, I thought she would put her feelings aside and at least pretend to be friendly.

  "Would you prefer we leave?" I ask boldly, squaring my shoulder and standing to my full height. All five feet, five inches in my boots.

  "Please," my father replies without hesitation, walking past me and through the open f
ront door.

  "Drive safe," my mother says, hot on his heels.

  The door closes behind me. Johnathan says something and tugs on my hand. I'm aware of what's happening around me as I stand there in shock, staring at my father's truck. The same truck he's owned since I was in high school. The truck I used to borrow before I bought my car. The same truck I put into a ditch the night of homecoming my senior year after losing my virginity under the stars.

  I wanted that night to be magical, and in a way it was. It was also painful and uncomfortable and not what I expected at all. Michael was more nervous than I was, and it wasn't even his first time. He kept asking me if I was okay, and it killed the mood. The best part of the entire night was when it was over. Until I swerved to avoid a pothole and drove the truck into the ditch at the end of the road.

  Thinking about Michael makes me wonder what he would think about Johnathan. Would he approve of him, despite how he may feel about his political standings? Because my parents have apparently lost their minds.

  For them not to like him as a political figure is fine. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. To vote for who they think will do the best. To view issues differently. For them not to give him a chance as a person, someone who's important to me, a part of my life— as far as they know anyway— is unacceptable.

  Johnathan moves to stand in front of me, blocking my view of my father's truck, putting a hand on each shoulder. "Amelia."

  "Yeah," I mumble, my focus now on the buttons of his shirt.

  "Why don't we get you out of here? You can call them later and talk to them. After they've had a minute, okay?"

  It's going to take more than a minute for my parents to get over this I have a feeling. Days, maybe weeks or even months. Judging by the look on my father's face, the only way he’ll ever forgive me is if I cut all ties with Johnathan.

  It takes all the strength I have to nod my head in acceptance. There's nothing I can do right now.