by Leanne Davis
“You want me to earn it? How?”
“A job. Obviously.”
My mind is blown, and so is everyone else’s in the room. There are slack jaws, widened eyes, and I’m just as floored as everyone else.
The target of our collective shock again shuffles uncomfortably. “You want me to stay around here and work? You gotta be kidding me.”
“No. I’m not. Get a job or go to jail.”
“It’s a hundred bucks. It’ll be a few hours of community service.”
“You’d hope for that.” Tara smiles nastily. “But sometimes things don’t go that fairly for kids like you, do they, Wesley?”
He glares at her. “Kids like me? Meaning, a young black guy?”
“Yeah,” Tara says with a grunt. “Also, being homeless scares people too, huh? Court might not assign you community service. But we are insisting you get a job. You have to earn it first.”
“Tara? Who gives you the authority? He just admitted to the crime with me present.”
“Which you can ignore. Ryder, he isn’t any criminal. He just needs a job. Let’s give him some work and then he can make amends, something which will serve the charity’s needs far more than him picking up litter next to the highway or doing some other community service.”
“How much do I have to earn?”
“Two thousand dollars,” Tara answers promptly.
“What?! That will take me forever! I only stole a hundred dollars.”
Tara answers immediately, “There is no ‘only’ to stealing, but especially from an old lady collecting donations. You picked on her because she was an easy target. Again, an asshole move.”
It only dawns on me then that Tara must have spent the last three hours sitting there with the gun across her lap, thinking this all out.
“So, you’re going to pay her back dearly. And in this case, money will speak far louder than a few words. You’ll donate a thousand to the charity through Mrs. Carson. The next thousand? You’ll take with you. Then you’ll have a bit of a nest egg, and it might spare some other old lady who’s collecting money for a charity from being robbed.”
He drops his chin. Tara manages to shame him! I hold in a snicker. I can’t believe Tara is proposing that.
“Where is he earning this windfall?” Ryder asks, his tone wobbly and tired as if he knows he already lost the battle that he might have wanted to wage against Tara’s idea.
“The café, of course. Meet our newest dishwasher.”
Ryder sighs and drops his hands from the gun. “I was afraid that’s where you were going. You think Chloe’s going to let you hire a guy who robbed an old lady?”
“Chloe will support this once I explain it.”
“You can’t hire me.”
“What?” Tara glances at Wesley’s harsh statement.
“I won’t give you my last name. I don’t want you looking up my record. Yeah, I’m a runaway, but there is no one looking for me. I don’t have any outstanding warrants. But I don’t need to have you tracking me, either.”
“How old are you?”
He rolled his eyes. “I told you.”
“For real. Try something closer to the truth.”
“No. And there’s no way I’ll give you my last name to prove it.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yeah.”
“I get it. I never liked my name being known either. I had a family looking for me that I didn’t want to find me. I hope you do, too, but I think we could work with that.”
“Tara! We can’t pay him under the table after he’s admitted to a crime in the town that I’m a cop in.”
“We can.”
I’m bug-eyed at her calmness and how she blatantly ignores Ryder’s authority here. Whatever it is about Wesley’s situation, something must remind her of herself at seventeen. I know Wyatt’s mom lived in Seattle for a few years when she was homeless because her family was terrible to her. She got help from a charity organization and came to Silver Springs with no real goal in mind except to start a new life. She met Ryder when Wyatt was five and eventually, they married. Wyatt called her mom, considered her his mom, and loved her as much as he loved his dad. There was no “step” distinction in this family. Wyatt didn’t remember his birth mother and hated any discussions about her murder, which took her from him when he was just a baby.
“Mom! He isn’t you.”
“No. My crimes were far worse. And if anyone had reached out to help me then, it might have saved me a lot of grief.”
“I am not committing crimes! I committed one. Yeah. I was being lazy, and I saw it as a crime of opportunity. You’re right—it was a dick move. It was so easy to grab the money box from her. I am not a delinquent you need to save.”
“I get that. I actually believe you. You aren’t a delinquent. You don’t need to be saved. It’s for those reasons I don’t think getting arrested will do anyone any good. Least of all, you. It doesn’t get the charity repaid and it doesn’t teach you anything.”
“I don’t need any life lessons.”
“You don’t need to go to jail either, and I think that is perhaps my primary motivation.”
“You could just let me go.”
She laughs. Her head is shaking. “I’m pressing my luck with my cop husband and my plan. You’re not just walking away! The very idea that you think you could just walk away only shows how much you need to learn.”
“Where is he staying?” Ryder’s tone was both weary and resigned.
“Here.”
“Here,” Ryder mimics. “Of course.”
Wyatt, at the exact same moment, jumps to his feet. “What? Mom! Come on. He’s a stranger! A criminal! We can’t live here with him.”
“Oh, hell, no! I am not living here.” Wesley’s strong aversion adds to the general malaise of frustrated exclamations. I’m the only one who stays quiet.
“What are you going to do? Camp on our front lawn? The problem with that is I’m not giving you your backpack until you earn every last penny of the two thousand dollars. It’s going to be locked up in our gun safe. So yeah, in this house, you’ll be working a legit job, under the name of Wesley. See? Some compromise there? It’s a punishment, Wesley. It isn’t supposed to make you happy or comfortable.”
“We can’t let him stay in our house!” Wyatt exclaims again.
“We sure as shit can and will, Wyatt. I understand your concerns, but please don’t treat him like he deserves any less than any other human being.”
I’m surprised she chastises Wyatt. Wow… this traveler, this situation, this whatever… is a hot button of big opinions from Tara.
“Tara, honey. Wyatt’s concerned with our safety. As I am, too. I think we should discuss this first,” says Ryder. I have to agree, and my mouth drops open. She’s got nerve. I’ll give Wyatt’s mom that.
“…Or getting robbed. Or him calling in his friends to rob you guys blind, excuse the pun, or harm you for trying to stop him, or…” Wyatt’s imagination is working overtime.
“Wyatt. Enough. Fine, we’ll talk about this. Dani, would you mind taking Wesley upstairs to the office and spare room?”
My startled expression turns on Tara. “What? Me?” I point to my chest as if she can’t possibly be speaking to me.
“Yes. What? Do you need my shotgun?” Her sweet smile and tongue-in-cheek response earn a soft chuckle from Wesley. But not from anyone else, including me.
“Or perhaps the pitchfork?” Wesley adds. Wyatt stiffens in anger. So do I. I glare hard at him.
“He’s not armed. We know that. Ryder and I are right here, so yes, please, Dani, give us a few moments.”
I rise to my feet and don’t glance over my shoulder as the hulking figure named Wesley gets onto his feet. He seems surprisingly docile after the way we met, despite the handcuffs and threat of arrest. I’m entirely too conscious of him as I have to slide past him to get behind the couch and the hallway that separates the living room from the kitchen. He st
eps behind me and dwarfs me, his bulky shoulders looming over me and annoyingly close behind me. I’m hyper-aware of his steps, of his arm moving, of his damn breath. What is it? Fear? I think so. Anxiety. Self-consciousness. Yeah. I’m completely self-conscious with this guy.
I take the stairs quickly, and he follows me. I click on lights and walk past the master suite, then Wyatt’s room and one of the bathrooms until we reach the end of the hallway. The room on the left is the guest room Wesley is supposed to stay in, I guess. But I don’t doubt Tara will have the final say on all of this. She’s a quiet woman, soft-spoken even, but with a steel-like edge about her that often appears when she decides to put her two cents in on the subject.
Both men in this house fear ticking her off and hate to get her mad at them. Respect towards Tara ranks high. One of the things I love about this household and being around Wyatt is that he is like that with any woman he encounters.
The guest room has a desk, an antique wardrobe, and two chairs that sit sweetly in the bay window, looking out towards the barn, fields, and driveway to the house. A large, old cottonwood tree has a quaint tire swing hanging from it that stands out in the daylight. A daybed is pushed against the opposite wall. It makes me smirk when I try picturing the large mass of Wesley fitting onto it.
Lights bright now, I sit down and shut the door. Awkward can’t begin to explain how I feel. I flop down on one of the chairs and Wesley sits on the other. They are meant to look like old-fashioned armchairs with rosebud fabric and white distressed wood. He sits down and bends forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He doesn’t look at me as he dwarfs the pretty, undersized chairs.
“I’m sorry I pushed you down.”
I’m surprised he starts with an apology. He really doesn’t seem to be all that badass or scary now. And if Tara wins the argument, he’ll be living here and working with me. I might as well get over being too scared to look at him.
“Yeah, that sucked.”
“I don’t usually, you know.”
“Usually what? Act like a criminal?” I snap.
“Push down girls half my size.”
“Oh. Well, that seems like the lowest bar of decent behavior I can think of hurdling.”
His laugh is dry to my statement. “You’re right. I did do it. So, I guess I don’t even clear that bar.”
I begin again. “You really just live out of that backpack? How do you not starve? Do you beg for what you need?”
“I don’t beg. Usually, in towns when necessary, I’ll grab a cardboard box and make a sign that says I’m looking for work or some version of that. I find some menial job, get paid, and move on. I live cheaply. I don’t need much.”
“Except for this time?”
“This time, I was in a hurry.”
“Why?”
“Ahh, fuck. Look, if this Tara woman gets her way, I’ll end up having to stay. A friend needs the money more than I do. I stole it for her. I’d still like to send it to her. So…” He shrugs.
“So, you do know people?”
“Well, yeah, actually. I know people all over.”
“How?”
“They give me a ride, or a job—”
I’m fascinated with his unpredictable lifestyle. “People actually do that? Just pick you up and give a ride?”
“Yeah. More often than you might think.”
“Don’t you ever worry about getting hurt or anything? So many things could happen with strangers giving you rides. Plus, you’re kind of intimidating. I don’t know that I’d be comfortable giving you a ride.” My gaze runs over him. Imagine, letting him inside your car!
“You’re probably not the only one. But I still get a lot of rides.”
“And it doesn’t scare you?”
He laughs a little, flashing white teeth, but they are slightly crooked, and two of his lower teeth overlap one in front of the other. No one invested in orthodontics for this guy. It’s impossible for me not to notice. Smiles and teeth are one of the first things I notice, and they never fail to make an impression on me. “I wouldn’t say scare me. Most people are pretty chill. There are always surprises. Take you, for instance—you didn’t report me when you saw me trespassing on the barge. And your boyfriend’s dad is a cop, so it would have been so easy. It’s surprising that you didn’t.”
“I didn’t see the point in getting you into trouble. I didn’t know about the stolen money then, of course.”
“Good thing, or I’d be in jail about now, huh?”
“Yeah. If Tara hadn’t found us.”
“Ryder or Wyatt would have run me right in, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. Tara’s one of those surprising people I sometimes encounter in my travels.”
“You’ve really traveled that much?”
“Yeah. Thousands of miles. That’s a lot of people to meet. Sometimes for an hour, sometimes for days or weeks.”
“And people just hire you to work?”
“They do. I just finished working for two weeks for a lady, fixing the fences for her horse. She was older, and her husband died, and she keeps the horse even though she can’t ride it. But she couldn’t fix the fences or mend the stalls. I did it, and she paid me five hundred bucks, plus she gave me a room over her barn. It was perfect.”
“Are you making this shit up?”
He shakes his head and pulls out a phone. I guess being a traveler doesn’t mean you don’t have modern technology. He taps on the screen and soon hands it to me. It’s his Facebook page. Oh! I can learn his last name. But I’m disappointed to see his page is set up under Wesley Wes.
“Wes?” I question his name.
He laughs and shrugs. “It gets the FB rules met.”
I scroll and sure as shit, I find a message from a lady, dated almost two weeks ago. She was thanking him for his fence building work and making her realize that not all people in need of work or living out of a backpack are drug addicts. I laugh out loud at her statement. “Well you’re not lying. As a matter of fact, I was kind of thinking the same thing about your lifestyle.”
“Drugs?”
“Yes.”
“Never. I don’t need that shit. I don’t want to end up shivering under an overpass, wasting away in my own feces and garbage. That’s not what I’m about. I like to see things and explore new places and live. Every single day. Life’s a grand adventure. I never know what to expect or what will happen or who I’ll see or what I’ll learn that day. Look at today, for instance. I didn’t expect a blond, white lady in a rural farmhouse to hold a gun on me for three hours and then insist that I own up to a crime and receive the fair punishment, simply because she used to live like I do. The thing I learn most of the time is that people do surprise you.”
“Again, none of it scares you?”
“I’d rather live a decade all by myself, looking forward to my future instead of a lifetime of being stuck in some confined place living a miserable life. Or married to a tired routine. This doesn’t scare me. This makes me feel free.”
“I’d carry a gun if I were you.”
“I’d end up getting shot by it. What would have happened if a gun fell out of my pack today? You think Tara would be having the same discussion with Ryder if it did? I’d be another black guy with a loaded gun. Instantly accused of being a gang member or a drug addict.”
I don’t argue his point. He’s obviously thought it out before. I rarely leave Silver Springs, so it’s not my experience, but I can’t invalidate his. “Have you ever been scared?”
“Well, there was the time this huge guy picked me up. He was way bigger than me. Tatted up, too. Face tat, tree trunk right on his nose, rising up to branch out over his forehead. Bold choice, but when he pulled a gun out and started flipping the cylinder in and out, out and in, I froze. He kept telling me how he always wanted to kill a stranger. That was one time I got scared.”
I shuddered. “How did you get away from him?’
“I think he just wanted to pla
y with me. I asked to be dropped off at the next convenience store. He pulled over, and I jumped out. I’ll admit I preferred to walk for about two weeks after that.”
“How do you eat?”
“I buy food.” He smirks at my question. “I work when I need money. I spend it on food, and some minor luxuries, and sometimes I even splurge and get a motel room.”
“Traveler. You’re saying there are lots of others like you?”
“Yes, lots of others.” He mimics me, his mouth twisting in a small, amused smirk.
“And there’s no one waiting anywhere for you to return?”
“No.” The entire time we speak, my gaze flips around, sometimes to him, or to his feet, or his leg, or my leg and feet. I still have a hard time, although I’m not afraid of him anymore, in keeping my gaze on his. He unsettles me. I’ve never met anyone like him.
“It’s freedom to you?”
“Yeah.” His response is emphatic.
“It’s sad and sounds lonely to me,” I say quietly. I feel a little bit sorry for him. I don’t look to see his reaction, but I swear I can feel the heat from his gaze on my face. He’s staring at me. He’s puzzled and surprised and he doesn’t approve of what I said.
“Oh, because everyone loves their family, huh? Everyone has to be like you in order to be happy. Just like Tara, you think it’ll fix me somehow. If I just work a job and do what everyone expects me to do in life, right? Get a job. Slave away for the man. Stay in one spot. And you’ll be happy. Being tied to one spot or to certain people is insane. Doing a job you hate and probably for very little money while trying to pay way too high bills. Mortgages. Education. Car payments. The list goes on, right? No, thanks. Not when I could just change the formula. Needing less. No mortgage or car payment or rent ties me down. Costs are low, so my time can be spent learning, seeing, experiencing, being a citizen of the world. I don’t have to wait around for my vacation to pop up so I can go out and capture a few days of freedom. God! I know you all. You people who have to do what society dictates, without ever considering if you are really happy or fulfilled by it or not. You think it makes you a good person, and it makes me seem odd. Well, I don’t get you. As much as you don’t get me. You don’t bother to question things and I question everything.”
