The Milkman

by Tabatha Kiss

  “I’m fine.” She closes her eyes and I kiss her nose. “They’re letting me go but I had to see you first.”

  “They are?”

  “He dropped the charges.”

  I exhale. “Good.”

  “Kim.”

  I lock eyes with Curtis over her shoulder. He stands in the doorway and slides his hands into his pockets.

  “It’s time to go home now, darling,” he says, his voice stiff and cold.

  She turns her head up. “You’re gonna be okay,” she whispers as she slips from my arms. “I’m going to take care of this.”

  “How?” I ask.

  “I love you.”

  “Kimber.”

  She walks out past Curtis and he glares at the back of her head.

  I clear my throat. “Hey, Curtis.”

  He looks at me.

  “If you touch her, I’ll kill you,” I say.

  Curtis smiles and follows her without saying a word.

  Thirty-Five

  Kimber

  Curtis’ truck sits in the driveway by the time I make it home from the Sheriff’s station.

  Home.

  Not anymore.

  The long walk gave me time to clear my head and decide what I’m to do next but the solution was obvious from the start. Curtis thinks he’s got Nate trapped but he doesn’t know any better.

  I grew up here in Clover, Kansas.

  He didn’t.

  I open the front door and march up the stairs to the bedroom. I can part with mostly everything in this house, save a few family keepsakes I’d like to claim someday but they can wait. For now, I don’t need much more than a few pairs of clothes, a toothbrush, and the one reminder that Nathaniel Scott has always loved me.

  I pull a suitcase out from the closet and lay it open on the bed. It’s not long before the slow tap of feet starts climbing the stairs toward me. I ignore the sound and sift a little quicker through my dresser drawers.

  Curtis’ form lingers on the edge of my vision, leaning casually against the doorframe with his eyes locked on me.

  “So, this is the end, then?” he asks.

  I drop a few more shirts into the suitcase. “I’m sure my future lawyers will advise me not to speak to you directly,” I say, avoiding eye contact.

  Curtis scoffs and shakes his head. “It’s nice to see that this experience hasn’t left you any less dramatic.”

  I pause to glance up at him, breaking my promise not to. For a moment, I picture how things used to be between us, long before the accident left me permanently scarred and unworthy of his affection. I remember how I used to feel butterflies in my stomach when I caught him looking at me just like he is now. How so very proud I felt to be a VanHouten wife.

  It didn’t last. Some things are never meant to last forever.

  I zip up the suitcase and pick it up by the handle. “I’ll arrange for the rest of it,” I say as pass by him into the hallway.

  He follows me silently down the stairs. I take a quick turn into my library and bend down to take my Clover High yearbook off the shelf.

  Curtis extends his hand across the doorway, blocking my path.

  I stop in front of him. “Move, please,” I say.

  “I want an apology.”

  “I’ll have my lawyers draft one up.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I want to hear it from you.”

  I look him in the eye. “And for what, specifically?” I ask. “What can I say to you to make you go away forever?”

  “Oh, please, Kimber, darling,” Curtis frowns at me. “Let’s not pretend you’re the victim.”

  “You’re right,” I say with a shrug. “I deceived you. But I’m not sorry. Not one bit.”

  “You will be,” he says as he drops his arm to his side. “I hope that one day soon you wake up to find yourself old and alone because everyone you love, everything you hold dear, realized how much of a toxic cunt you really are.”

  I smile at his childish attempt to hurt me. “And when I do, I’ll drink my milk and go to bed. I’ll feel better in the morning.”

  He lets me pass. I open the front door and take one last look back.

  “You know what I hope for you, Curtis?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer.

  I look at the yearbook in my hand, still smiling.

  “I hope that you get everything your heart desires,” I say.

  I close the door behind me and walk off the porch. The late afternoon sun hangs in the sky, threatening to fall at any second now but the day isn’t over yet.

  There’s still work to be done.

  I knock twice on Will and Jovie’s front door.

  Jovie answers a few moments later and smiles. “Howdy, neighbor.” Her eyes fall to my suitcase. “What’s going on?” she asks.

  I take a deep breath, feeling a piece of old Kimber taking hold of me.

  “Call the party planning committee,” I say. “I need their help.”

  Thirty-Six

  Nate

  “I really hate this VanHouten son-of-a-bitch.”

  I chuckle from my cot in the corner. “Yeah, Mom,” I say toward the ceiling above me. “Me, too.”

  “He thinks he can mess with me?” she asks through the bars of my cell. “He’s gonna mess with me?!”

  “Mom.”

  “Well, fuck him,” she says. “Bring it on, I say. He can take my farm over my dead body.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, well, unfortunately, he might try just that and I can’t do anything about it in here. Where’s the lawyer?”

  “It’s 8AM Monday morning, kid,” she says. “Give it some time.”

  “I don’t have time. I have to get out of here.”

  “Nate, calm down.”

  I let out an exasperated breath. That’s the downside of being a morning person, I suppose. You’re awake and motivated long before the guy in charge of getting you a bail hearing.

  I raise my head. “Have you heard anything from Kimber?” I ask.

  Mom gazes through the bars and shakes her head. “Sorry, honey.”

  I meant what I told Curtis yesterday. I don’t care what he does to me but if he so much as lays a finger on her, I won’t hesitate.

  Kimber, where are you?

  “I can stop by their house on my way home,” my mother says. “Check in on her. Though if I were her, I’d have packed a bag and left. No way I’d stay in that house with him.”

  I hop off the cot and walk over to talk through the bars. “Go next door and ask Jovie to keep an eye out for her,” I say. “‘I think she’s still on maternity leave.”

  Her interest piques. “No need to twist my arm for a chance to play with a cute baby. I’ll head on over now.”

  I smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “If you hear from the lawyer, have him update me.”

  “I will.”

  Mom reaches through and pats my shoulder. “We’re gonna fight that piece of shit, honey. Just hang tight.”

  The door behind her opens. Sheriff Thompson walks in and closes the door, pausing to bow his shiny head toward Mom.

  “Morning, Mrs. Scott.”

  “Sheriff,” she murmurs, unimpressed.

  “How’s my favorite pain in the ass this morning?” he asks me.

  “A little peckish,” I say. “The service here sucks.”

  He laughs. “That joke, like me, is getting too old.”

  “Hey, just let me out and I won’t feel compelled to, I don’t know, sing the rest of the day...”

  “You know I’m armed, son.”

  “What do you want, Sheriff?” my mother asks.

  He reaches for the cuffs on his belt. “I’ve got something to show him.”

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “Where’s he going?” she asks.

  “Well, there seems to be a... demonstration underway in the town square. So...” He raises the cuffs. “Turn around, please.”

  I furrow my brow. “Wait, what? A demonstration?”
r />   “Turn around, please,” he repeats.

  “Since when does Clover demonstrate anything?” I ask.

  He tilts his head. “Shut up and turn around, kid. You’re gonna want to see this.”

  I look at my mother and she shrugs, just as in the dark as I am.

  I turn around like he told me to and he cuffs my wrists together through the bars. He unlocks the cell and gestures me out.

  We hear the voices as soon as we reach the lobby of the station. At first, the shouts and chants are unintelligible but as Thompson leads me closer to the entrance, words start to stand out.

  I look out the windows into the town square. It’s packed just as tightly as Mr. Warner’s barn was the other night. Some people hold empty glass milk bottles over their heads. Others raise large picket signs written in red, white, and blue paint matching the words of their constant, looping chant.

  Free the milkman.

  “What the fuck?” I ask.

  “Our phone line has been ringing off the hook with complaints since dawn,” Thompson mutters beside me. “They’re pissed.”

  “Why?”

  He looks at me as if it were obvious. “Can’t you read, son? The people want their milk.”

  “Well, yeah, but...”

  I pause, my eyes landing on that gorgeous blonde at the head of the crowd.

  Kimber.

  “You know...” Thompson smirks, “one of my earliest memories is of me waking up, going down into the kitchen for breakfast, and seeing your grandfather drop the milk outside the door.”

  I look at him and nod. “Oh, yeah?”

  “He saw me through the glass, stopped, and waved at me before going on his way.” He shrugs. “I’d bet a lot of them can say the same thing, either about him or your father.”

  My mother sniffs on my other side.

  “Are you seriously crying?” I ask her.

  She wipes her eyes. “No, you’re crying.”

  “Technically, I can’t free you like they want,” Thompson says. “That’s not my call.”

  “You think Curtis will drop the charges once he sees this?” I ask.

  “Only one way to find out.” He shakes his head. “All this over a punk kid like you.”

  “I’m a charming guy,” I say with a shrug.

  He chuckles and slides his hat on over his shiny head. “Don’t waste it, son.”

  I nod in understanding. “I won’t.”

  I look out into the crowd, easily finding Kimber again. She stands out, after all, in a bright sundress that matches her eyes. Her hair is up in a loose ponytail. She throws her head back and laughs with Jovie, Sara, and a few other girls I recognize from high school. Just like back then, she’s at the center of everything. Except now, she’s mine.

  My heart skips a few beats.

  The crowd shifts as Curtis’ white truck comes down the street. The signs and bottles rise high in the air and their chanting gets louder and louder.

  Get out, they’re saying.

  Curtis comes to a sudden stop outside the Sheriff’s station. He quickly jumps down and beelines for the entrance as the crowd’s shouts louder and louder at him.

  He throws open the door and charges right up to us. “You!” he says, pointing at me.

  “Hi, Curtis,” I greet. “How’s it going?”

  “This is all your fault!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Mr. VanHouten,” Thompson says, “is there a reason why you’re harassing my inmate?”

  “I’m harassing him?” he shouts. “There are dozens of milk bottles all over my front lawn right now. My truck bed is full of them. I can’t step outside of my own goddamn house without walking all over them.”

  “How is that my fault?” I ask. “I’ve been here all night.”

  He points out the window. “I’ve got people following me around, telling me to get out of town. They’ve got Boycott VanHouten signs all over their lawns. I want to file a formal complaint about this.”

  “You can call our complaint line,” Thompson suggests. “It’s a little backed up at the moment but someone outta get you logged in about three to four weeks.”

  Curtis glares at me.

  I smile.

  “This is bullshit,” he says. “How do you think your precious fan club will react when they find out you’ve been banging a married housewife? Bet they’ll change their minds about you real fast.”

  Thompson nods. “We did get a few complaints about that, actually.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Three. All from Mrs. Clark.”

  I chortle. “Lady needs a hobby.”

  “Bugging me is her hobby,” he quips.

  Curtis grits his teeth. “So, you’re just going to do nothing about this, Sheriff?”

  Thompson shrugs. “It appears to me that the citizens of Clover, Kansas have decided for themselves what businesses they want to support. What can I do about that?”

  My mother smirks.

  Curtis looks back outside, his eyes scanning the faces and signs. An entire town turned against him overnight. I almost feel bad for the guy.

  Almost.

  “Hey, Curtis,” I say.

  His head slowly turns toward me.

  “What do you say?” I ask, clinking my cuffs behind my back. “How about we drop the charges, go out for a beer, and put all this behind us? Eh? No hard feelings.”

  He glares at me for a moment more before shoving open the door and walking back outside.

  “Was that a yes?” I ask.

  Thompson reaches for his keys. “Good enough for me,” he says.

  He steps behind me and unlocks my cuffs.

  My mother rubs my shoulder. “Thank you, Sheriff,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I say with a nod. “Thank you.”

  “For God’s sake, stay out of trouble,” he mutters at me.

  I look through the windows for my girl again. “I’ll certainly try,” I say.

  Kimber. My beautiful Kimber.

  I search the faces for hers. I find Jovie. And Sara. The rest of the party planning committee.

  No Kimber.

  Screams echo from the far left side of the crowd. Fingers point toward Curtis’ truck and I gasp as I see him shoving Kimber inside with him.

  I step forward. “Sheriff, I’m pretty sure that’s kidnapping,” I say.

  He nods and grabs the keys to his cruiser off the desk behind us. “That’s definitely kidnapping.”

  We run outside as the truck peels out onto the road, sending the crowd leaping away in the opposite direction. Thompson unlocks the doors on his cruiser and I climb into the front seat beside him.

  We’re coming, Kimber.

  Just hold on.

  Thirty-Seven

  Kimber

  I collapse forward in the passenger’s seat, too scared to watch as the truck races through multiple stop signs.

  “Curtis...”

  “Shut up, Kim.”

  Curtis slams on the horn and I tighten even more into my ball.

  Everything happened so fast. I felt him grab me and yank me through the crowd. I wanted to fight back but I froze up the instant I saw him shoving me toward his truck.

  I reach for the seatbelt with shaking fingers.

  “You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you, darling?” he asks, his voice dripping with acid.

  I pull the seatbelt down and fasten it, tightly yanking on the strap. “Curtis, slow down...”

  He takes a hard turn toward the highway. “We’ll let him have his little farm,” he mutters, “but not you. No, he’s not getting rewarded for this.”

  “You’re insane,” I say, tears filling my eyes. “Dozens of people saw you grab me. It’s over.”

  “Shut up!”

  I cringe as my stomach turns into knots. I close my eyes, retreating away in my mind to someplace else. Someplace warm and comforting. Nate. Nate holding me in the back of
the Sheriff’s car. His lips on my forehead.

  I repeat his words in my head over and over again.

  It’s gonna be okay.

  The truck jerks onto the highway and my tears spill over.

  This road. It was the same one from before. Me and Curtis...

  “Curtis, please, slow down.”

  He ignores me and presses into the gas.

  A siren roars behind us. I look into the side mirror, seeing the Sheriff’s car speeding up behind us with his lights blaring.

  Curtis slams his fist against the steering wheel. “Goddammit!”

  My heart pounds. “Let me go,” I say, my voice small and broken. “Please.”

  “No.”

  “Pull over!”

  “I said no!”

  I freeze in fear, completely unable to control the sobs tearing me apart.

  We take the curve at top speed and I gasp at something standing in the middle of the road.

  No, not just something.

  A cow.

  Curtis slams on the brake. Tires skid as the entire truck rattles and shakes from the sudden change in momentum.

  I fall forward, folding my hands in prayer and whispering a final I love you to Nathaniel Scott.

  The truck comes to a stop.

  “Moo-OOOOOOOOOO!”

  I raise my head, barely breathing as I wipe my eyes. My vision comes into focus and I make out the familiar markings on the cow’s face and body.

  “Gertie?” I ask.

  “What?” Curtis spits.

  I throw off the seatbelt, seizing my opportunity to get out of the truck. Curtis lunges to stop me as I open the door but I manage to slip out of his grasp and out onto the pavement.

  “Kimber!”

  I rise to my knees and Nate falls to his in front of me.

  “Kimber...” He cups my face. “Are you okay?”

  I shake in his hand but I somehow manage to smile. “I’m okay.”

  He kisses me and lifts me off the road.

  “Curtis VanHouten!” The Sheriff approaches the truck with his gun drawn and pointed at the driver’s side. “Come out with your hands on your head.”

  I step forward. “No, wait...”

  “Kimber.” Nate takes my hand and tries to pull me away but I push on toward the truck.