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Owen walked onto Main Street in Dale’s Hollow, if you could call it that. A measly strip of road stretched before him with a few businesses before being swallowed up by the surrounding countryside. His eyes skittered back and forth. It was a Sunday. Things were quiet with few people out and about. Probably all those religious freaks. He’d heard that somewhere about all those holy rollers down here. He couldn’t even buy a bottle of booze to settle his nerves—good thing he’d saved some of that cheap whiskey he picked up in the last town.
A quick swallow and the fire burned down to his stomach, giving him the nerve to walk across the road to Jackson’s General Store. His moment had come. That girl in the last town said Laura’s daughter was working here and she owed him big time. Time to collect. Owen hit the steps, misjudged and stumbled, sprawling across the porch. With a whoosh, the breath was knocked out of him and he stayed put for a moment in stunned silence. Fearing he’d draw attention to himself and tip the girl off, he scrambled to his feet. He glanced at his reflection in the window with a start. A scary sight looked back at him, a dirty man with greasy hair plastered to his head and darting eyes. He’d seen homeless people in better shape. It galled him to realize he was homeless but not for much longer. One step through the door, one tearful reunion with no tears shed on his part, and the girl would be making her home sweet home his.
Owen looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, hoping he’d catch her alone. He’d get in and out and take her before anyone was the wiser. It was the perfect day of the week, the Lord’s day while everyone was at rest at home. One push at the door proved it was locked. He pressed again until it rattled and peered inside. Nothing. The place was empty and the lights were off. He looked again and saw the sign, “Closed for vacation. Reopening on Monday.” Next to the notice, he saw some ads for items for sale and places to rent but nothing else that was of any help.
Rage bloomed again, making him start to shake. He took another swig from the bottle, swiped a dirt-streaked hand across his mouth, and felt his stomach rumble with hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent meal and that was the girl’s—what was she calling herself? Dixie. How stupid, he thought with a sneer—it was Dixie’s fault he hadn’t eaten anything worthwhile. Not that she’d ever cooked anything good but it was better than nothing. He’d have to find her place. Where was it? Nichol’s Park Lane. He had no idea which way to go.
He stepped off the porch and saw a middle-aged couple walk out of the local diner. He stepped up to them, saw the man wrap a protective arm around his wife, and couldn’t help but notice the woman look at him with barely hidden disgust, her nose wrinkling at his stench. Owen remembered the image in the window and couldn’t blame them but still felt humiliation, humiliation that could all be traced back to that blasted girl! Speaking in what he hoped was a humble tone, Owen bowed his head to the passersby. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. and Missus, but I’m looking for a place to stay, just saw the ad in the window at the store for a trailer in Nichol’s Park. I’d be much obliged if you could tell me the way there.”
The man actually made himself a shield between Owen and his wife, not trusting the good-for-nothing for a minute. “Go to the corner of Main and County Highway 20 and take a right. It’s a few miles outside of town. You can’t miss it.” He nodded once, a sharp jerky motion, and hurried his wife on their way.
Owen mumbled his thanks, thanks for nothing, thanks for making him feel like garbage, and wandered in the direction he was given. He took out his bottle and drank some more down, let it keep him company and fuel his determination to get to the girl. He’d take care of her and then he’d sleep in a real bed before the night was through. Didn’t see what all the fuss was about anyway. Owen was just carrying on a family tradition. He’d grown up feeling his daddy’s belt along his backside, his boot in the seat of his pants, and his father’s fist up side of his head. It was a fatherly duty to discipline a child. When Owen got done with the girl tonight, he’d learn her a lesson and put her in her place—stuck under his thumb.
Deep in the Heart of Dixie Page 30
