Paradise Park

by Carolina Mac

  “Accident,” said Rob.

  “Must be,” I said as I slowed down almost to a stop. An officer in bright yellow rainwear was in the middle of the highway directing traffic. He waved his arm for me to move forward and I squeezed over near the ditch and managed to get by the three-car pile-up.

  “You’re a good driver, girl,” said Rob.

  “Thanks. Must be all my four-wheeling with my brother.” I giggled. “Only a few more miles to go.” I guided the truck and we plodded at a snail’s pace through the downpour. About two miles south of the park, a huge gust of wind roared out of the east and uprooted a massive maple tree sending it sprawling across the northbound lane. I swerved to the left, caught water and the truck hydroplaned backwards. We spun around twice. I didn’t brake, just let it go, sucked in a huge breath and waited to regain control when the speed decreased.

  “Shit, that scared me,” I said after I could breathe again. I drove around the tree and back onto my side of the road.

  “Made my heart beat a bit faster too,” said Rob with a chuckle. “I didn’t know how you would handle it, but you were so fuckin cool.” He gave me a thumbs-up. “You are my woman, Gracie.”

  Rob made me giggle. “Thanks.”

  With no further problems, we made it to the park. As I pulled in the main gate Rob said, “I’ll get Gary to help me lift my bike out of the truck.”

  “It’s raining too hard now, sugar. Why don’t I make us some dinner and when it lets up I’ll drive your bike around to your brother’s trailer for you.”

  “You want to make me dinner?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Nobody ever made me dinner before.”

  “Never?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head.

  I parked in my driveway and glanced next door. No sign of the big truck. I exhaled. “Let’s run for it.”

  We ran under the little overhead roof sheltering the front door of the trailer and huddled while I fumbled a bit with the key. Finally, the lock clicked and I opened the door. We kicked off our boots inside and a made a big puddle on the kitchen floor.

  “I’m going to change out of these wet clothes. Do you want to open us a couple of beers?”

  “Sure do.”

  A couple minutes later I emerged from the bedroom in dry sweats and handed Rob a dry t-shirt. “That one might fit you. At least it’s dry.” I kept my eyes glued on Rob as he pulled his wet shirt over his head and put on the dry one. He had a good body. Lean and muscled up in all the right places. A beautiful tat of a python on his right pec.

  He looked up at me with those dark green eyes. “Thanks for the shirt, baby.”

  “No problem. I’m going to throw some chicken in the oven and then I’ll have a beer with you.”

  “Will you sit close to me?” He grinned.

  “I might.”

  “Your trailer is nice and neat and kind of…”

  “Kind of what?” I worked on the chicken over by the stove.

  “Like a real home or something.”

  This guy is breaking my heart.

  “I tried to make it comfortable. I spend all my time here.”

  “Yeah, I guess you do when you work here.”

  I shoved the baking pan into the oven, poured my beer into a glass and sat down beside Rob on the sofa.

  “Thanks for coming to get me,” he said softly.

  “I didn’t want to think about you riding your bike in a violent storm like that. You could have been hurt… or killed on the highway.”

  “You thought about me and I’m happy about that.”

  “I’ve thought about you in quite a few ways lately, but I’m not ready to go there yet.” I leaned over took his beer out of his hand and placed it on the table. Pulling his damp hair back from his neck, I began kissing him, working my way around to his mouth.

  Rob groaned as I shoved my tongue into his mouth and rubbed his back under his shirt. He pulled me close and kissed me with so much fire I was conscious of dampness in my underwear. He was growling now, deep down in his chest as he slipped his hand under my shirt and caressed my breasts.

  “I’m gonna die here, baby, it we’re not going anywhere with this. I’m gonna have to stop before I can’t make myself stop,” he whispered, “I want you so bad.”

  “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have started what I’m not ready to finish,” I whispered. “I want you but I’m not there yet. I’ve got things to sort out. My head is screwed up, but I can’t leave you like this, cowboy.” I unzipped his jeans and let my hand run along the length of his huge erection. I stroked him gently and slowly while I kissed him with my mouth open and he pressed against me, groaning with pleasure. When he was close, I picked up the speed and he came with a yell that would’ve raised the dead.

  “There, that’s better,” I said cheerfully as the oven timer beeped. “Dinner’s ready.”

  I set the table and loaded it with mashed potatoes, baked chicken and carrots while Rob was in the bathroom. When he returned, he had tidied up a little but for a tough guy he looked a little shaky and rattled.

  “You okay, sugar plum?” I stroked his damp hair.

  “Hell, I’m better than okay. You just took me by surprise is all… with the hand job. I figured I’d be stuck with wood for another week.” He flashed a grin.

  “No reason you should suffer because I’m not myself.”

  “Can hardly wait until you are yourself.” He chuckled.

  He is so cute when he laughs. “Want another beer with dinner or something else?”

  “Can I have water?”

  Rob was a good eater. He cleaned up everything I put in front of him.

  I cleared the table and put the leftovers away. “I’ve got two pieces of strawberry pie. Any takers,” I held the fridge door open waiting for Rob’s answer.

  “I can do one only. I’m pretty full. You’re a fuckin good cook, girl. Honestly, you’ve got it all going on. I’m…I’m…” He shook his head trying to think of the words.

  “You’re what?” Rob was good for me. He made me laugh.

  “I’m totally fucked over you, Gracie. I’ve never said that to one single girl before. Never.”

  “Thank you, cowboy. I’ll take that as a compliment.” I leaned up against him and pulled his head into my chest. “Let’s have a coffee and then I’ll drive you over to Gary’s.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  MARG WOKE TO a banging on the door. “Go away,” she hollered and pulled the blankets up over her head. The knocking continued growing louder and more insistent. She cursed under her breath, pulled a jacket over her t-shirt and grabbed her smokes from the nightstand.

  “What the hell do you want?” she barked as she opened the door.

  “I’m Susan Donnelly, Edgar Plimpton’s daughter and I’d like you to let me in.” Susan was a woman about fifty years old. In the same ballpark as Marg. Her hair was dyed a fiery shade of red and she had thick liquid makeup hiding her wrinkles not so well. She was at least fifty pounds over her optimum weight.

  Marg unlatched the screen door and watched the big woman barge into the kitchen and lower her bulk onto a wobbly wooden chair. Susan glanced around in wide-eyed wonderment. “Wow, Dad must have cleaned up.”

  Marg hadn’t had her morning smoke and her unsatisfied nicotine craving resulted in heightened testiness. “Why are you here?”

  “The police picked up my father in Apsley last night during the storm and he called me. He’s under arrest and needs a good lawyer and money for a retainer. We have to sell the trailer.”

  “And you want me out is that it?”

  “Dad said he wanted you out as soon as possible, so I guess I have to ask you to leave.”

  “Do I have to leave today?”

  “If you could.”

  “Well I can’t, but I’ll start looking for another place today. How’s that?”

  “Umm... I thought we’d have to spend days doing a big cleanup, but I guess Dad a
lready did it.” She glanced around the kitchen again like she’d never seen the whole room before. “Okay. There will be an agent here this afternoon to write up the listing and take pictures. Be sure to let her in.”

  “I will. No problem.”

  “Can’t believe all the junk and garbage is gone from the trailer. It’s a miracle,” Susan said.

  Marg nodded but didn’t know what Susan was talking about. There was no junk when she moved in. There was only a spotless trailer smelling strongly of bleach.

  “How come you’re helping your dad? Aren’t you pissed at him for killing your mother?”

  “He didn’t kill Mom. He swore to me he didn’t do it.” A tear welled up in the corner of Susan’s blue eye.

  “Fucking bullshit,” hollered Marg. “He buried her behind the greenhouse, for God’s sake.”

  “Daddy said the police would find out who killed Mommy and then he would sue them for wrongful arrest.”

  “Jesus H,” said Marg. “You believe that line of crap?”

  After Susan left, Marg smoked on the porch and wracked her brain trying to come up with a workable idea for her future. She’d have to put Plan B into effect right away.

  GARY STUMBLED FROM the bedroom to the bathroom in his boxers. His head pounded like there was no tomorrow and he was sixty seconds away from hurling. He checked his face in the mirror and touched the tender violet swelling around his right eye. His nose was skewed off to one side and decorated with caked-on dried blood. It was too sore to touch, and Gary was no doctor but he was pretty sure it was broken. He couldn’t see his back where he landed on the gravel drive, chunks of the broken railing underneath him, but he could feel the damage and imagine the bruises.

  Rob had laced him a fucking good one when he had called the kid a liar. Maybe Rob wasn’t lying after all. If he wasn’t lying and he was getting in deeper with the trucker’s girl, nothing good could come of it. She was way too good for him—in another class entirely, and it would never last. His baby brother was going down hard.

  Gary had no more time to worry about Rob. He had his own problems. He had been looking for a job as a mechanic around the area and had come up flat empty. He was out of cash and something had to be done and done fast. It was a matter of survival and Gary always survived. Even years ago, when his mother had gotten herself knocked up in her forties and had dumped Rob on him. He had managed. Not always the right way, but he had fed the kid and kept a roof over his head.

  Sheila sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the paper. She glanced up when Gary showed himself. He limped into the kitchen, grasped the back of a chair and barked at Sheila. “Get me a coffee, bitch.”

  “Sure honey. Sit down and I’ll get it for you. Oh, look at your face,” Sheila reached out to touch him and he brushed her off.

  “Bring it to me outside. I need a smoke.”

  She nodded as she filled up a mug for him and refilled her own. She carried the coffee outside.

  “Sit down. We need to talk.” He pointed at a plastic chair.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Gary sucked in a big drag of nicotine, coughed and spit over the railing. “Need to make a payment on the trailer this week. Can you help me out?”

  “Don’t know if I can, Gary. I’m kind of short myself after putting up your bail. End of the summer. I don’t get full pay until the middle of September when I start back teaching classes.”

  “Rob’s working now. I told him yesterday he had to start paying rent. I’m not Bill Gates. I can’t carry the whole fucking world.”

  “How much do you need, sweetheart?”

  “That’s another fuckin problem. Don’t even know how much I need. Have to talk to that crazy bitch, Marg. She made all the arrangements about the trailer before I got out of jail and I don’t know where in the hell she put the papers with the payment amounts on them.”

  “I’ll phone her after breakfast and get her over here,” said Sheila the dutiful.

  “Good. The bitch likely burned them on me for revenge or some shit like that.”

  “You never know. She can be slippery,” said Sheila with a smirk.

  “She can be tricky and mean, but she’s not a bad cook. Way better than you.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Sheila took exception and stomped inside.

  “Where’s my breakfast?” Gary asked when he came in from the deck.

  “Make your own. My cooking isn’t good enough.”

  He grabbed Sheila and tried to hug her. “Come on baby. I was only kidding.”

  “Piss off, Gary. I’m going home. I’m sick of you putting me down all the time.”

  “I thought you loved it when I talked mean to you.”

  “Well, maybe I used to, but now I’m plain sick of it. There’s stuff I need to do at my own place.”

  “Why don’t you go on home to your own place and never come back. How about that?” He hollered and pushed Sheila towards the door.

  “Suits me.” Sheila booked it, jumped in her Toyota and headed up Pine Street. As she pulled into the driveway of her own trailer and stepped out of her car she saw Marg walking down the road towards her.

  Marg hesitated at first then gave Sheila a little wave.

  “You shacked up with a murderer, eh?” hollered Sheila.

  “Shut up, bitch.”

  “I won’t shut up. Looks good on you. Bye the way, Gary needs to see you.”

  “What for?”

  “How the hell should I know? I’m not his mother.” Sheila went inside her trailer, slammed the door and locked it.

  MARG KEPT ON walking. She turned the corner from Pine onto Maple and a few trailers farther down the street, she could see Gary sitting on his deck smoking. She trudged up the steps and sat down in one of the plastic chairs trying to catch her breath. “Heard you wanted to see me?” She glanced up at Gary, “Holy shit man, what happened to your face?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Yeah, right. Looks like nothing.” She lit up a smoke and waited for Gary to tell her what he wanted.

  “I need to find the papers for the trailer. You know the ones that tell you how much the fuckin payments are and what days they’re due and shit like that.”

  “Uh huh,” said Marg taking a big drag on her smoke.

  “Well? Where are they?”

  “In a drawer in the trailer.”

  “Go get ‘em,” barked Gary.

  “What will you give me if I find them?”

  “Nothing. Go get them now.”

  “I want my Grandmother’s picture back, asswipe. I know you hid it on me when I came to get my stuff.”

  Gary grinned. “Why would I do that, Margie?” He reached over and pushed her off her chair. “I said go now.” He raised his voice.

  Marg smiled, got up and sauntered into the trailer. She returned a few minutes later with a Manila envelope stuffed with documents. “Here you go.” She handed the packet to Gary and sat back down.

  He pulled out the papers and tried to sort them out on his lap. Some of them slid onto the deck and he grabbed them up roughly. “I’m doing this on the kitchen table.” He stood up and went inside. Marg held her position.

  Fifteen minutes later Gary stormed out onto the deck screaming at the top of his lungs and waving a legal agreement over his head. “You stupid bitch.” He took a swing at Marg, clipped her on the side of the head and knocked her off her chair. “You put yourself down as the owner of this trailer while I was in jail.” Gary’s face was the colour of sunburn without benefit of the beach. “I trusted you, and you fucking shafted me, you slut.”

  Marg picked herself up off the deck and grinned. “That’s exactly right, Einstein. Now get the hell out of my trailer, or I’m gonna call the cops.”

  Gary punched her in the face and she fell to her knees. She looked up at him, blood coursing from her nose and smiled. “You’ve had it now, you lowlife prick,” she whispered. She struggled to her feet, staggered down the steps and hoofed it back to
Edgar’s trailer to plan her next move.

  ARTHUR LYONS SPENT the morning relaxing on his deck with a cup of tea, all the while keeping a sharp eye on his neighbors. He shook his head when he saw Gary Eastman push Marg off her chair. “That hoodlum,” he said to himself, “he should be dealt with.”

  He refilled his teacup from the old brown Betty on the stove and returned to his vantage point in time to see Gary come running out the trailer waving papers over his head. He delivered a brutal blow to Marg and knocked her onto the deck. That poor woman. Why doesn’t she stay away from him? Should he call the police again? Would it do any good? Arthur shook his head and couldn’t fathom why the woman kept going back to that brute. He would never treat a woman like that. Never.

  I HADN’T SEEN Lonnie’s truck for two days. He must be on a long haul somewhere with Ted. His comings and goings were no longer any business of mine and I didn’t expect him to keep me informed. We were over and that was final. His decision and I’m doing my best to hold it together in his absence. I miss him every day and I miss Ted. The same question ran through my mind at least once an hour.

  What did I do to make Lonnie do a one-eighty? I can’t figure it out. Rob had bothered me a couple of times but I hadn’t reciprocated in any way. Not until Lonnie kissed me off. Now I’m lonely and Rob isn’t a bad guy. He loves me big time. I’m sure of it.

  Rob called on his lunch break.

  “Hi.” A lot of metal noise in the background. “Did you weld something?”

  “Sure did,” he chuckled. “While I’m welding, I think about you and me.”

  “Is it all good?”

  “All good. Couldn’t be better.”

  “Could be a little better.”

  “How could it?”

  “Think about it,” I whispered.

  “Hey, I have to work all afternoon.”

  “So do I, cowboy.”

  “Can I come for a beer after work?”

  “I’m waiting for you.”

  “Jesus, girl, you turn me on.”

  I smiled as I pressed end. Rob makes me smile and he’s a warm body.