by Sadie Allen
My face got hot and, before Sally could kick me out of the kitchen, I spun on my toes and walked back out the swinging doors. I sent up a prayer of thanks that I hadn’t stumbled out the door and embarrassed myself further.
Judd’s obvious reluctance to talk in front of me kind of hurt, but it had also heightened my curiosity. Why all the secrecy? And with Sally of all people? Then again, this was really none of my business. I had only had one conversation with him—a really good one—but just because I stood up to Ashley for him, that didn’t mean he owed me anything.
I gave my head a shake as I got back to rolling silverware in the back booth. I wasn’t the kind of girl who went all psycho over a hot guy. I really wasn’t. As I re-rolled the pile, having messed up earlier, I repeated that mantra in my head until I thought it was tattooed on my brain.
When I was almost finished, Judd walked back into the main dining room, and I avoided eye contact this time. I pretended to be so absorbed in my task that I actually did become absorbed in rolling tight rolls of napkins and silverware. That was … until I felt his presence hovering at the side of my booth.
I looked up and found him again looking at me with his hands jammed into his pockets.
“Sorry about how I acted back there.”
I shrugged and mumbled, “No big deal.” Even though I still felt mortified and a little hurt.
“I didn’t want to say anything until I had something to tell you, ya know?”
I felt the skin around my eyes scrunch, and my brows drew together. I had no idea where he was going with this.
My face must have been broadcasting my thoughts because he spread his arms out to his sides and said, “You’re looking at Sally’s newest busboy.”
I could tell he wasn’t that excited. His smile was forced and didn’t reach his eyes.
I kept my face neutral except for a slight curve to my lips. “What happened to Greg?”
Greg had been the busboy here since after he had graduated high school last year. I hadn’t heard anything about him quitting. Of course, Greg wasn’t someone you would call “chatty.” I might have heard him say a total of five words all year. Regardless, I at least thought Sally would keep me in the loop or maybe Molly. She was my neighbor and best friend who seemed to talk to Greg more than anyone when she came into the diner.
“He quit yesterday. Sally said he decided to join the Marines and wanted to leave for boot camp early.”
Yeah, if I were him, I would want to get out of town as fast as I could, too. Our small town was like a vortex that suspended time. If you didn’t leave, it would suck you in, and before you knew it, twenty years had passed and you were still there, working the same job you had since you graduated high school. Just add procreation, a trailer, and a drinking problem, and you would be just like the majority of my neighbors at the trailer park. I planned to run and run fast once the principal handed me my diploma at the end of the year.
“Huh. Good for him.”
“Yeah … So, uh … I was wondering if you had any plans tomorrow.”
I felt my heart skip a beat and a trill of excitement rushed through me. Then I remembered I had to work tomorrow.
Disappointment was about to claim me again, until I realized I worked the morning shift. If he was asking me out, then I had the evening free. It wasn’t like I ever did anything except study on my nights off, anyway. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though.
“No, no plans,” I said, trying to sound cool and calm, not like my heart was galloping a hundred miles per hour.
“Good, because I was thinking we could get together and practice for next week’s project.”
The project … Right.
I felt the corners of my mouth start to dip down, but I caught it and plastered a more pleasant look on my face. The look I reserved for rude customers at the diner. Fake happy, I liked to call it.
“Why don’t we use your place to practice, and I can bring the ingredients?” he asked. “I’ll stop by the store after work before heading your way, if you’ll text me your address.”
“What shift did Sally give you?”
“Morning to lunch. She said Reggie usually covers the evenings on the weekend.”
Reggie was an old Hispanic guy who retired from his Oncor Energy job a few years ago. He got bored sitting at home all alone, so he decided to work for Sally three days a week, bussing tables and repairing things. Reggie liked working Friday and Saturday nights, and Sunday mornings because that was when we were our busiest. He did more socializing than work sometimes.
“I have that shift, too. So, I’ll see you sometime after work.” I offered him a smile.
“Yeah.”
Another awkward silence with us just barely making eye contact with one another. It was so different from the comradery from this afternoon.
I broke it before I did something weird, like pull my hair out or stab him with a utensil. “So, I’ll text you tonight and see you tomorrow morning?”
He just nodded.
“I really need to get back to work,” I pointed out.
“Oh, yeah … Sure.” He blushed before lifting a hand and started walking toward the door.
I let my forehead fall to the table with a satisfying thwack, and then lifted it again, giving myself a few more thwacks that probably left a red spot in the middle of my forehead.
I really needed to get my hormones and emotions under control. Where was my logic and talent for suppressing emotions when I needed it? My brain seemed to have gone incommunicado.
I lifted my head, and there he was … standing in the doorway to the diner. His blue eyes danced, with his movie star smile, both laughing at me. I thought my red mark blended nicely with the color of my face right at this moment. Thwack!
The wind was chilly as I walked to my little red Nissan pickup after work. Reggie had finally shown up for his shift, so Carrie and I didn’t have to bus our own tables in addition to handling the dinner crowd on a Friday night. Still, my feet hurt, and I was exhausted. It didn’t help that I had stayed later, doing extra work to make up for being late. I didn’t have to, but my grana always said that a person’s character depended on what they did when no one was looking. I didn’t want to take advantage of Sally, even if she didn’t know. I had known, and that was enough.
The sky outside was clear, not a cloud in sight, with a bright full moon that made it look like God had turned on a nightlight. I had no trouble walking to my car in the back parking lot, which had no outside lighting, except the one hanging over the back door. Usually, Reggie or Greg walked me out, but Reggie had left before my shift even ended.
I had my keys in my hand, ready to open my door, when I noticed something was off. The front windshield had writing across the top.
I stopped in front of my truck and stared at the words written in front of me. “Sunny is a …” Then I noticed the driver and passenger windows had something written on them, too.
I approached the driver’s side and, sure enough, the word “Injun” was shoe-polished on the glass. When I walked to the passenger side, that window had “skank” dripping down onto the paint of the door, the words glowing eerily in the bright light of the moon.
I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. No one had ever done something this bad to me before. I was used to the jokes and whispers about my dad, or the cruel words he would hurl at me when Grana wasn’t around. I had learned to shake those off over the years. But this … This actually scared me.
I ran to the driver’s side door, praying that whoever had done this had not messed with anything under the hood.
After fumbling the key in the lock a few times, I wrenched the door open and slammed it shut then hit the lock button. Then I took a deep breath, said another little prayer, and cranked the engine.
I looked in my rearview mirror, just now thinking about how someone could have been hiding in the truck bed, but the view was obscured. I turned my head to look at the back window, expecting to see
more shoe polish, and surprised to find dozens of slimy looking splats dotting the back glass from one end to another and top to bottom. I took a closer look and saw flecks of white stuck in the goo. Someone had egged the back window, and now the truck bed was probably covered in shells and paint-eating yolk.
I turned around and thumped my head against the steering wheel. Why was this happening to me? At this rate, I was going to have a permanent dent in my forehead or brain damage.
Putting the truck in gear, I cranked up the heat and kept an eye out for anyone lurking in the shadows with a carton of eggs or shoe polish. Although, I had a feeling they were long gone since the yolks were more dry than oozing.
On the drive home, it finally occurred to me who would have done something this nasty. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was the Judd fog that I had been in since he had walked into the diner that afternoon. Regardless, I wanted to smack my head against the steering wheel again for not realizing who would have done it instantly.
Ashley Klein and her sycophants, otherwise known as the cheerleading squad.
I had been warned, and I hadn’t taken it seriously. Now I would be hosing my truck down when I got home.
It wasn’t like I had an expensive vehicle or particularly cared about how it looked, as long as it ran, but this had been my grana’s truck. And before that, it had been Grandpa’s. It had meant a lot to her, and therefore, it meant a lot to me. It was one of the only things I was taking with me when I left this town.
I pulled onto the dirt path that led to the entrance of Country Acres, where dreams seemed to go to die. The lot that held our trailer didn’t have much country, nor was it an acre, but it was situated toward the front of our mobile home community, and it was in better condition than most, which wasn’t saying much.
The back of the park was where some of the seedier residents lived, with their rusted RVs and trailers that were of indeterminate color with stuff growing all over them, or patched up with a combo of duct and electrical tape. It also smelled like candy and rotten garage back there.
I parked to the side of the trailer where the garden hose was located. After hosing down what I could on the side doors and rubbing the polish off with my hands, I set to work on clearing out the shells and yolk in the truck bed and the back glass. By the time I was finished, my hands were red and numb, and the sleeves of my jacket were soaked.
I was too tired to do anymore, but at least the shoe polish and egg yolk wouldn’t eat the paint over night. I would get a sponge and soap to clean it off better in the morning.
Trudging up the wooden steps to my trailer, I got my keys out. Then, when I reached for the door, I found it ajar.
My breath caught in my chest, and a sliver of ice ran down my spine. Panic started getting the better of me as I slowly pushed the door the rest of the way open to let it thump against the living room wall. I stood rooted on the doorstep, peering into the living room, waiting for someone to jump out at me.
The light of the moon helped illuminate a leg that was outstretched in front of what used to be the couch, and the end of a lit cigarette glowed in the shadow of the rest of the room.
I released the breath I had been holding, but the panic was still there because I recognized the boot that was attached to that leg.
I slid my hand against the living room wall to flip the light switch before stepping through the doorway. The smell of cigarette smoke was acrid and burned my nostrils. Evidently, my visitor had been here a while.
Looking around the living room, it was like someone had torn my heart out through my chest. Everything had been destroyed.
I felt the tears gather in my eyes as I saw the curio cabinet that held all of Grana’s Hummel figurines smashed to the floor. The cushions on the couch had been slit, and all the stuffing had been pulled out. The TV was missing, and all the cabinets in the kitchen had been torn off or were dangling at odd angles. I didn’t want to walk in there to see what other things he had destroyed. It would hurt too much.
“Why?” I croaked, feeling hot tears slide down the cold skin of my face.
He hated tears. They made him angry, and if I didn’t dry them up, I would find out again how much he detested them. But I couldn’t find it in me to care right now. I just stared at the man leaning against the remains of the couch, waiting for an answer.
“Laughing Lonny” Blackfox took a drag off the cigarette that was hanging out of the side of his mouth, then blew the smoke in my direction. My father was known as “Laughing Lonny” because he was a stupid drunk. No matter how messed up or dangerous the situation, the man laughed in the face of it. He was usually a man without a care in the world … literally. Not right now, though.
The man looking at me now was not laughing. His eyes were so black that you couldn’t see the irises, and they held a dangerous glint I had never seen before that was almost feral.
The years hadn’t been good to my father by any means, but tonight, it was more than that. Something wasn’t right; more than usual not right.
His long, straight black hair streaked with gray was greasy and stringy; his skin a sickly yellow; the clothes he wore were dirty and tattered, like he had been wearing them for a month; and his hand trembled as he took the cigarette out of his mouth to take a pull from the cheap whiskey bottle at his side. When he was done, he set it down with a dull thunk and started to get up from his sprawled position.
“Quit sniveling, you thieving whelp. I came looking to get what’s rightfully mine.” The menace in his voice and just the smell that was emanating from him—stale cigarettes, vomit, whiskey, and body odor—was turning my stomach as he stumbled toward me.
Before I could back myself out the door, he reached it and slammed it shut, enclosing us in the small trailer. I tried to breathe through my mouth, but then I just tasted the smoke lingering in the air.
I was so distracted that I missed his hand rising above his shoulder until he swung it down. The blow sent my head snapping to the side, and pain exploded right under my eye, making me see stars.
My father had never hit me before. The worst he had usually done was spew cruel words and insults … But since Grana had died, he hadn’t been around as much, or really at all. I didn’t know if it was because he was mad that she had left everything to me, or if he had been on a grieving bender for two months. Who knew? This was the first time he had been back since the meeting at the attorney’s office.
“Give me your take from tonight. Fork it over NOW!”
I frantically patted the pockets of my jeans, feeling for the little bundle of tip money I had earned. Dread started to seep into my veins, because I had left it in my apron at the diner. I had been in such a hurry to leave that I had just hung it up in the kitchen on my way out the door without checking the front pockets.
“I … I … forgot it at work.”
If I thought the first blow was painful, it wasn’t anything compared to the second.
For a drunk man, he was faster than I thought and a heck of a lot stronger. He balled up a fist and rammed it into my stomach, making me fold over. It took everything I had not to throw up. Then he grabbed me by the hair and marched me through the living room and toward the hall, the sting from his grip making my eyes water.
“Liar! I already went through your room, but the only thing I found was that piece of shit computer. You’re going to go in there and find me my money.”
When we got to the doorway, he slung me by my hair into the room, making me fall hard to my hands and knees.
“Go on!” he yelled as he kicked me forward. I just knew I would have a cowboy boot shaped bruise on my butt.
I slowly got to my feet. It hurt so badly to stand up straight, and I wanted to cry out, but I had a feeling that, if I made a noise, it would only provoke him. My cheek hurt, my stomach was hurt and sore, and I was pretty sure he ripped out some of my hair.
I looked around the room and again felt my heart drop to my knees. My room … He had decimated it. All th
e furniture was broke, my mattress in shreds with the springs exposed, my clothes were thrown all over the floor, and my computer was a broken heap next to the turned over desk. Nothing had been untouched.
What now made a chill settle in my bones was the fact that I didn’t have a stash. My money always went straight to the bank. I didn’t own anything expensive, not even an iPod. All I had was my phone, which was in my back pocket.
I pulled it out and saw that Lonny’s kick had cracked the screen.
Before I could say anything, the phone was snatched out of my hand.
“I’ll take that and whatever money you have hidden.”
I licked my lips and took a breath. “Listen—”
He snaked his hand out and popped me in the mouth so hard I tasted blood.
I reached up to touch my lip, feeling a cut on my bottom one.
“I don’t got time for your excuses. I just want the money. Now.”
The fear was quickly replaced by fire. I could feel it coursing through my veins. I’d had enough. He had destroyed Grana’s home and had laid his hands on me.
Taking a deep breath, I yelled, “LISTEN!” He paused, and I took advantage. “I don’t have a stash. All my money goes to bills and whatever’s left stays in the bank, which isn’t much.”
That was partially true. I also had a savings account that had a small nest egg, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Liar!” He started after me again, but by some miracle, I dodged his oncoming assault.
“Why would I lie? You’ve ripped this place apart and seen for yourself I don’t have anything worth any money. That curio cabinet held the most valuable things in this trailer, but you smashed it to pieces. I doubt any of Grana’s figurines are in one piece.” I was huffing and puffing by the end of that statement, so mad I could just spit, but my luck had run out.
Lonny cocked his fist back and delivered another blow. I cried out as my head shot back, and I thought I was going to black out. Liquid was streaming from my eyes and nose, and I could feel my right eye getting tight, the skin stretching as it swelled.
