The Higher You Fly

by Debra Kayn

  "Do you need me to spell that for you," said Caiden lowering his voice.

  The employee looked back down at the computer, obviously embarrassed. "No, that's all right. I've got it."

  "I only want my tires put on the truck."

  "Uh, yes, sir." The man grabbed the key. "It'll be about t-two hours. We're swamped."

  "Figured," he muttered, turning away from the counter. Instead of sitting in the lobby with the others, he walked outside. Never one for crowds, he preferred to stay to himself. That way nobody could sneak up on him, and he could block the murmurs and whispers.

  He leaned against the building and shoved his hands in his pockets. The temperature hovered at freezing. He'd covered his outdoor faucets at his house and at the rentals yesterday. Then, added antifreeze to his truck and the one he used for deliveries.

  When he'd sat in prison, he used to wish for things to do. Common, everyday things, that other people grumbled about and hated doing. He'd never had trouble keeping his hands busy before. It kept him out of trouble. Idleness drove him crazy.

  In the penitentiary, he used his time to pump up. During his free time outside in the yard, he used the bars and fitness stations. When shit got to him, he stepped in and fought in one of the in-cell fights, only for the sole purpose of burning off the anger, the depression, the frustration.

  He rubbed his thumb against his finger. Nothing compared to boxing for a way to put his life back in balance. Except, Jolene.

  It never mattered what they were doing together. With Jolene, he could talk or be silent. She was happy whether they had gone out or stayed hidden in the apartment. As long as she was by his side, he had found his contentment.

  Having her in Federal, but away from him, only added on to his unsettled feelings. He wanted her. Hell, he needed her. That had never changed.

  What changed was she gave up on him.

  Convicted and imprisoned for ten years, there was nothing he could do to make sure she continued loving him. He had to trust that their love was strong enough, and through his whole incarceration, his love for her only grew stronger. With all the time in the world on his hands, he'd learned some hard truths. He loved Jolene, and she walked away from him

  During his sentence, he'd tried to figure out what he'd done wrong. Could he have intentionally punched Chapman, knowing there was a chance he could kill the man? His answer was always the same. It was an accident. He never meant to punch Chapman in a place that risked damaged. If he could take that night back, he would. In a heartbeat.

  He stared unseeing at the cars passing the tire shop. Sometime after his trial when he was judged as guilty, he realized Jolene had thrown him away along with the jurors, the judge, and society, and he'd convinced himself she had the right to walk away. What could he give her from prison? She was young. She deserved better.

  But his head couldn't convince his heart. He'd mentally beaten himself or joined in sparring with the other inmates to escape his pain. The only thing that numbed the hurt was when he let the anger out. Most of the time, that anger dwelling inside of him from his background, Chapman, his sentence was all directed at Jolene. Simply because she gave up on him.

  She hurt him worse than any judge.

  Now that she was in Federal, he couldn't shut off the fire inside of him, no matter how much damage he caused her.

  An employee of the tire shop drove the delivery truck into the bay. Another car pulled into the vacated spot in the parking lot and that anger that was always present inside of him simmered recognizing Jolene's vehicle.

  The anger felt damn good, because he'd gotten used to feeling it. It was better than feeling nothing.

  Jolene stepped out of the car, looped her purse over her shoulder at the same time she flipped her hair. Always the picture of a beautiful woman in everything she did, from walking, talking, and even the way she slept. He used to love spending hours watching her lay beside him, oblivious at how much she fascinated him.

  Stepping over the air hose strung out along the ground going to the bay, Jolene looked up and spotted him. A smile came to her lips and eyes before she hid her reaction. Irritated that he was the reason she lost her joy, he stayed where he was against the wall.

  She ignored the door and walked over to him, pulling the edges of her coat tighter around her. "Are you getting snow tires, too?"

  "Yeah." He kept his hands in his pockets to keep from pulling her closer to warm her against the chill. "Just having them mounted."

  The corner of her mouth lifted and she glanced away. As if a hand fisted around his heart, he stared. She'd found amusement in his choice of words before he'd thought about what he'd said. That new awareness was new. He'd only known her when most of his sexual jokes went over her head.

  He waited until the air wrench shut off and then said, "You better get in line. It's going to take a while until they can work on your car, in case you're in a hurry."

  "I bought the tires yesterday and said I'd come back to have them, um, mounted, because the line was too long yesterday." She bit her lip and tilted her head. "Will you stay here for a minute?"

  He nodded.

  She hurried inside the building. Ten minutes later, she walked straight toward him. "It's going to be a couple of hours. When will your truck be done?"

  He looked over at the bay where the employees had lowered the lift. "They're done. I'm just waiting to pay."

  "Will you drive me somewhere when you're finished here? It won't take long. I promise."

  "Don't promise," he muttered, walking around her and going inside to pay.

  Five minutes later, he walked out with the key to his truck, lifted his chin at Jolene to follow him, and then helped her into the passenger seat. He'd already wasted enough time away from work. There were orders to make, the tanks coming at three, and two representatives scheduled to talk about new oil lines.

  "Where to?" he asked.

  "Nine Mile Road."

  The road out of town led nowhere, except over the mountain pass. He glanced at her. Curious about where she was going and who she needed to see.

  A quick ride through town, he turned onto Nine Mile and picked up speed, taking the familiar road. Jolene's demeanor had changed when she got in the truck.

  He didn't like how her quietness made him feel or the knowledge that he no longer understood what she was going through or what her life consisted of anymore.

  "You can turn left at the first driveway around the next corner." She finally set her purse on the seat between them and zipped up her jacket.

  He followed her instructions but came to a stop in the road before pulling in when he read the sign.

  Nine Mile Cemetery.

  The blinker's clicking filled the cab of the truck. "What's this about, Jolene?"

  "Just pull in and park, please." She reached out and gripped the door handle. "Then, I'll explain."

  An old-style cemetery with above the ground headstones situated at the base of a mountain range, the shadowed treed acreage was overrun by moss, crumbled stones, and even spots where the hillside had given away over time, unmarking the older graves. He parked the truck and looked over to Jolene, only to find her sliding out of the seat and closing the door.

  She waited for him in front of the truck. He inhaled deeply and exited. Cemeteries were an uncomfortable place for him. Death, hopelessness, and sadness dwelled in the area.

  He'd already lost years off his life. The reminder of how short life could be was one he tried to forget.

  Jolene walked ahead of him through the grass and stopped at some kind of memorial wall. He stood behind her, taking in her straight spine, the upward tilt of her head. He hated the fact he couldn't read her anymore. In the past, there were reasons behind everything she had done, and he failed to figure Jolene's motive for bringing him here.

  "When I was twenty-four years old, I was living on my own in Colorado, struggling to make rent by selling jewelry—that looking back was amateur quality, at best. Money was mo
re than tight. I lived off Top Ramen and toast most days, and every month the landlord would leave a reminder that my rent was past due." She paused and inhaled. "I don't tell you these things to show you how my life had changed from what you remember, but to explain more about my life at the time."

  "Okay," he said.

  "Anyway, during that time, every morning, I'd wake up and read the Federal News online. I don't know...maybe connecting with the names in the paper helped me overcome being homesick. But one morning, it was a Wednesday, I read something in the paper I wasn't expecting."

  "What?" he asked, taken in with her story. He had no idea she'd struggled on her own, or she'd moved away from her parents at such a young age.

  She turned around and faced him. "That was the morning I read that your mom had passed away. There was no obituary, just her name in the paper."

  He studied her. She'd found out about his mother's death before him. It'd taken two weeks for a court appointed attorney to visit him with the news.

  "I knew you were in prison and had no other relatives to take care of the...details." She rubbed her hands together. "I need you to know I used the three thousand dollars you'd saved from your winnings to have your mom cremated and paid for a spot on the memorial wall where they engraved her name, and behind the plaque, her ashes are kept. I know it's not much, and I have no idea if you wanted to have her cremated, but Caiden, when someone dies, and the state becomes responsible for the burial, they're cremated and put in an unmarked slot with others. Because she was your mom, it was important for me to know when you got released from prison that you knew she had been taken care of and you had somewhere to visit in case you wanted to tell her goodbye. I would've paid for everything myself, if I had the money. That way you'd still have the three thousand dollars you had earned."

  He raised his gaze and searched the names on the wall until he spotted Cynthia Hall, the dates she'd lived, and below that the inscription 'Beloved Mother'. He blinked hard, the air crushing his chest.

  Jolene squeezed his wrist and stepped away. He turned. "Jolene?"

  "You don't need me here." She looked behind him and whispered, "This is for you."

  She walked to the truck alone. He looked back at the wall. She hadn't stolen the money or used it to help pay for the cabin. She'd done something, not for his mother, but for him. He couldn't process the reason behind her using the money that was for their future because he was having difficulty standing.

  A swift wind could knock him over. He put his hand out to hold onto the wall and traced his mother's name with his finger. Never an example of motherhood, Cynthia Hall was still his mom.

  Jolene had recognized his relationship with his mom when others preferred to ignore her. There was nothing special about his mom. She worked to keep a roof over their heads, alcohol in her hand, men in her bed, and not always in that order. Nobody would've missed her when she'd died.

  Except, him.

  He pushed off the wall and walked back to the truck, sliding into the driver's seat. The ride back to the tire shop short and silent. And, he was okay with the silence because it was with Jolene.

  She opened the truck door and looked back at him. "I'll see you around, Caiden."

  "Jolene?" He swallowed. "About the money..."

  She smiled sadly. "It doesn't matter.

  "It matters, Jolene," he whispered.

  She nodded and walked away. He stayed in the truck until she made it inside the shop and then backed out of the parking lot. For weeks, he struggled to find out more about her and in an hours' time, she'd loaded him with information about herself, he found himself drowning in questions.

  Where had her parents been when she needed help? How come she never used the boxing money to better her life and instead suffered?

  CHAPTER 12

  I've cried, and you'd think I'd be better for it, but the sadness just sleeps, and it stays in my spine the rest of my life. — Conor Oberst

  The first snowflake of the season fell from the sky and landed on Jolene's coat sleeve. She stepped off the porch steps and gazed up at the cloud-covered sky. Another flake fell, and she smiled.

  Seasons come and go, each bringing hope and change. She closed her eyes letting the snow land on her face. All week after telling Caiden the truth about what she'd done with the money, she'd felt lighter. He deserved to have something tangible and visual to mourn his mother. To say goodbye.

  She opened her eyes and looked down at the grass. Once nightfall arrived the temperature would drop, and she'd wake up to a white morning. For now, she'd be content to sit inside and look out the window.

  She walked back to the porch where she'd reloaded the wood box earlier and picked out two logs and a few sticks of kindling. Inside the house, she kicked off her boots and carried the makings for a fire to the hearth. Once she had her coat off, found enough paper, and stacked the wood, she lit the fire.

  Hypnotized by the flickering flames, she let the heat warm her body until the fire grew too hot and she moved over to the couch. Her cell rang, and she picked up her phone off the end table.

  Her mother. She let the call go to voicemail.

  To distract herself from the guilt of ignoring the phone call, she collected her discard container from the workroom, grabbed a blanket, and settled in the corner of the couch. Balancing the organizer on her lap, she turned on the table lamp, and set to work separating the different gemstones into groups and inspected each one. They were all from fractured pieces and sometimes she could salvage them by creating smaller pieces to set in her jewelry.

  Halfway through, she yawned and looked outside. Caught up in her work, she hadn't noticed the sun go down. She set the gemstones beside her and walked into the kitchen. Food would give her an energy boost to make it through the evening.

  Not wanting to cook a whole dinner for herself, she put a bagel in the conventional oven to toast and removed the fruit salad she'd made yesterday from the fridge. While she waited, she looked out the window, squinting to see if she could see any snow coming down but without street lights, it was like looking out onto a black curtain.

  The surprise would come tomorrow. Either a blanket of snow would cover everything or everything would be bare, depending on if the snow had continued or not.

  She took out a plate and a fork when car lights came in the window. Carrying the fork with her, she hurried across the living room and made sure she'd locked the front door. A few times cars had turned around when they discovered lights on in the cabin, and she was aware of her vulnerability living here all alone if a stranger decided to approach the door.

  The car stopped. She stepped back from the window, even though with no curtains the person could see right in her house. Maybe she should rethink leaving the windows bare and her desire to have an unobstructed view to the outside.

  Footsteps fell on the porch. She grabbed her phone. There was always 911 if she had an emergency.

  "Jolene?" yelled Caiden. "It's me."

  Feeling like a wimp, she undid both locks and swung open the door. Behind him, with the light from inside projecting outside, snow fell heavily.

  "What are you doing out here?" she asked, waving him inside, so she could keep the cold outside and the warmth inside the house.

  "I was at Bantorus clubhouse, and the power went out with the snow storm. I thought I'd check on you before I went home in case you didn't have any electricity." He looked around the cabin. "Looks like you're fine."

  The buzzer went off for the oven. She jolted and walked backward to the kitchen. "Have you eaten?"

  "Yeah, I had food at the club."

  She used her fork to remove the bagel and slide it onto her plate. "I'll dish you up a bowl of fruit salad, because I'm starving, and don't want to eat alone in front of you."

  Scooping fruit salad in a bowl for Caiden, she also put some on her plate and carried her dinner and Caiden's bowl to the table. "Here, sit."

  Caiden stayed standing by the couch. "I should head out.
"

  "No, stay." She pinched off a piece of her bagel. "I can share my bagel, too, if you want."

  "Tempting." His mouth softened, and since it was the nicest look he'd given her in a long time, she smiled back. He always laughed at how she ate, compared to his junk food diet.

  "How are the roads?" She stabbed a grape with the fork.

  "Clear. The snow is only starting to stick on the grass." He stepped over to the table and sat down. "You seem excited over the change in weather."

  "It's irrational how much I've looked forward to the snow arriving." She licked the yogurt from the salad off her upper lip. "I can't help but feel this is the first year I can sit back and enjoy watching the changes take place. I'm stocked up on food and could stay in for a couple of weeks without going to town."

  "It won't come to that. Poppy will keep your road plowed, and the county is good about keeping the main road to town groomed. Plus, you've got snow tires," he said.

  "As long as I go slow, I'll do fine." She took another bite.

  Caiden stared down at the bowl of fruit salad. He seemed calm tonight.

  "So, what were you doing at the clubhouse?" She flashed a look of curiosity at him and raised her brows. "Are you going to become a biker? Put on a jean jacket and rule the town in your spare time?"

  He raised his gaze and blindly looked at her. She regretted her questions.

  "I'm sorry. Maybe you already are, and I didn't know—"

  "No." He shook his head. "I’m not a member."

  "Oh," she said softly, licking the prongs on the fork. "So, you were only hanging out with the Bantorus members?"

  "Something like that," he muttered.

  "Drinking, eating, music,...what else?" She finished her bagel and brushed her hands together.

  Caiden leaned back in the chair. "Why don't you ask me if I was boxing? That's what you're trying to find out, right?"

  She put her hands on the table and waited for him to give her more information. His gaze intensified. She pursed her lips. He was going to make her ask.