by Tara Oakes
She’s been looking forward to this carnival for weeks and has even saved up her allowance to buy something special. Not that she had to save very long. What kid her age gets fifteen bucks a week for making her own bed? I thought it was preposterous but Dawson seems to think it’s a fair wage.
Not to mention that every time it’s the little girl’s pay day, Dawson never has change of a twenty-dollar bill, so the kid makes out like a bandit.
“You ready to ride the merry-go-round, Sasha?” Baby asks the excited little girl.
Sasha nods emphatically. “Yup. Can Lu go on too?”
I laugh. Every time Sasha sees the newborn, she wants to treat it like one of her dolls and take it with her everywhere. “Lu’s a little too young, Sash. Maybe in a few years. But, your friend Jenny should be there. You two can ride together.”
Sasha reaches in to give little Lu a kiss on the cheek, and Baby and I give out a collective sigh. With all the shit we see on a daily basis in this type of lifestyle, it’s humbling to see just a bit of innocence. Helps to balance it all out.
“Go get your shoes on so we can can help Miss Trixie with the balloons before everyone shows up.” I’ve said the two magic words that get this little girl moving fast. Miss Trixie, who she adores, and balloons.
~*~
“Maw. I sound like Minnie Mouse!” Sasha inhaled another gulp of helium when I wasn’t looking.
“Don’t do that anymore, Sash,” I repeat myself, although I’ve already told her once. “But, yes, you do sound like Minnie Mouse.”
My fingers hurt from tying so many tight knots in the ends of the colorful decorations. Altogether, we must have about two hundred of the round balls inflated and flying high at the end of long ribbons.
It’s a collective effort, with Trix, Uno, Baby, me, Stitch and some of the boys all sitting around a picnic table surrounded by helium tanks. Dawson was supposed to help, too, but seems to be caught up in some business and won’t be here until later.
“I think that’s enough, everyone. Go enjoy the carnival and leave this all to be cleaned up later. Thanks again for your help,” Trix stands and addresses the group.
I know this is a tradition that they do every year, but it’s the first one I’ve been to. I had expected a small little cluster of booths with carny games but was definitely not prepared for what we drove up to.
There are rides, as in actual theme park rides. A small roller coaster, a merry-go-round, a haunted house, slides, a bounce house, and so much more that I haven’t walked around to see yet.
“You’ve really outdone yourself here, Trix,” I compliment the host.
The older woman smiles with pride and nods while looking around. “We’ve come a long way from when we first started. Half of the ticket sales go to the school and half go to the vendors. It’s turned into one of the biggest events in the whole town every year.”
“Maw, I wanna go on the rides!” Sasha tugs on my sleeve, eager to get a head start on some of the attractions before the place gets busy.
Trix laughs at the precocious little girl. “How come you never show this much enthusiasm for school work Sasha?”
I don’t remember doing nearly half of the the things Trix has these kids doing back when I was in preschool. I remember story time, nap time, and play time. Not numbers and letters, and even reading that she works into the children’s day.
“Uhm…” Sasha is taken off guard, not knowing how to answer. “Because this is fun?”
At least she’s honest.
“Okay, okay,” I give in. “How about we go on the slides first?”
Sasha scowls. “No. Dawson says he’ll take me on the slides. You can take me in the haunted house.”
Wow. Little Miss Attitude seems to be calling the shots today.
~*~
DAWSON
Where the fuck are they?
Gryff isn’t the punctual type, but he’s really testing my patience today. Last I heard, they were on their way with the dunk tank. That was an hour ago. We got money to raise and people to dunk. If they don’t get here soon, his ass is going back in that tank again this year, no matter what I promised him about Uno.
As if he must have heard the silent threat forming in my head, I see his black pickup truck finally entering the dirt parking lot of the soccer field, with a blue plastic tarp covering something large in the back.
It’s about fuckin’ time.
I flag him down like an airplane control person, guiding him as he puts the truck in reverse and backs up to where the tank goes, next to the water balloon toss booth. His engine revs and the tail brake lights blink every time he moves closer until I hold up my palm for him to stop.
When I approach the shiny new Ford, I slap the fender. “You’re good. Throw it in Park.”
The engine is cut and he hops out of the driver’s side just as the prospects gather around to lug the heavy piece of cargo out of the bed of the truck.
“I want this filled with water and ready to go in less than an hour, boys. No excuses. Just get ‘er done.” I’d stay and help, but, well, I’m not a prospect and I don’t have to.
Stepping back, I watch as the generic rain tarp is pulled away, exposing the plexi-glass of the top of the tank and the wooden base painted in bright yellow.
“Not bad,” I cross my arms and nod as Gryff takes a place by my side.
He looks smug. “Thanks. It wasn’t easy, but I got it done.”
Who’s he kidding? “What the fuck you talkin’ about? You and I both know all you did was sit around and watch Stitch build it.”
He doesn’t argue. “Technically, I handed him shit when he needed it, so I helped. And my stimulating conversation kept Stitch motivated to finish it. Therefore, my help was invaluable. And, as payment, I’ll be the one to tell Uno he’s the lucky son of a bitch who gets to be dunked this year, thank you very much.”
Great. With my luck, we’ll end up with another broken tank this year.
“On another note, I got news on that little project you put me on.” Gryff lowers his voice and leans into me as we watch the newest batch of Slayer hopefuls struggle to balance the square booth down onto the ground without dropping it. “Easy! That shit doesn’t bounce you know!” he calls out to them.
“Yeah? What did you find?” It’s been about three days since I assigned him with the task and other than small updates, I hadn’t heard much.
There’s a loud crash as the square object is finally set down on the grass. “You break that and I’m a gonna break your necks!” Gryff plays Drill Sergeant, but quickly lowers his volume and gives his attention back to me. “She’s living in a sober house up in Canyon Ridge.”
Really?
That’s certainly unexpected. “A sober house?” I repeat what he’s just told me.
When junkies get outta rehab, the first stop is a sober house. Some stay a day, some stay longer, but most usually fuck up and get booted out pretty quick for slipping up and using again.
Those places have revolving doors and dealers are usually waiting right on the other side, just bidding their time until their usual clientele comes crawling back for another fix.
“Yup. Wasn’t hard at all to track her down once I gave up on the dealers and started looking in rehabs instead,” Gryff reports.
I can’t help but ask. “How much time she got clean?”
“Seven months.” His answer is quick and matter of fact.
I nearly choke. “You serious? Seven months?”
That is definitely not an answer I was prepared for. Junkies go through spurts, or cycles. They can do a couple of days here and there, especially if they get locked up for some petty crimes. Maybe they can even struggle through getting a month or so every once in a while when their life really hits rock bottom and they try to straighten out. But, seven months? That’s a different story.
In junkie language, seven months is like an eternity. Takes some real hard work and dedication to pull some shit like that off.
/> “And she’s been 100% clean that entire time?” A part of me is still doubtful and looking for some evidence to back it up.
Gryff nods. “Yup. They test the residents every other day. She’s never tested dirty. Got a job, goes to meetings every night. Seems to be on the straight and narrow. Wants to play by the rules.”
I’m still processing the information.
Canyon Ridge is only about forty-five minutes away. If she’s really been clean and sober all this time, why the fuck wouldn’t she try and reach out to Angel or to their ma? I know my lady says she’s written her older sister off for good, but family get’s funny like that.
To leave your only living family thinking that you’ve abandoned them and could be dead in a ditch somewhere is anything but trying to live on the “straight and narrow”, as Gryff put it.
It’s a fucking coward’s way out, is what it is.
Leave the damage you left in your wake behind and start over somewhere where your past can’t catch up with you, while others clean up the mess.
The parking lot is beginning to fill with cars full of happy townspeople ready to help raise some money and have fun, but I’ve got other shit on my mind right now. The swishing sound of water begins to rush out of two hoses into the water chamber of the dunk tank, distracting me for a second while I think this through.
I take out my cell phone and check the time. It’s nearly ten in the morning. I can get up to Canyon Ridge, get Tina to sign the papers and be back well before the cookout tonight.
It would really be something to be able to tell Angel the good news on a happy day like this.
“Don’t move the truck just yet,” I tell Gryff. “You and me are taking a ride.”
He doesn’t look surprised. “Canyon Ridge?”
I nod.
“Yup. Canyon Ridge, brother. Let me go tell my Ol’ lady.” I don’t wait for a reply before stalking off in the direction of the main part of the carnival where I know she’ll be.
“Wait for me!” Gryff jogs to catch up. “I gotta tell Uno he’s in the tank before we leave. I’m not missing the look on that motherfucker’s face for nothin’ when he hears.”
CHAPTER NINE
DAWSON
Canyon Ridge is up in the mountains and a little more secluded than Riverdale. Families that come from this area usually don’t stray far and have roots that stretch back to when the mines were active.
Coal mines were the lifeline of this place and when they closed down some time ago, it really hit the area hard. But, the people here take pride in their homes, and even though they may not be much to look at, they’re neat enough and in decent shape.
Whenever you have a depressed town that doesn’t have much to offer its young people, they usually start to look for it in other things. Drugs are the answer more times than not, and Canyon Ridge has a small handful of sober homes within its borders.
Gryff knows exactly which one to drive to, pulling up in front of an old white farmhouse-style home with a large wooden sign near the driveway that says “Sutton House.”
It’s early enough in the day where the residents are out at work.
As part of the terms of living in a place like this, all of the tenants must have and maintain a job during the day and abide by a strict curfew among other things. The lack of cars in the small parking area doesn’t give me much hope for finding Tina here.
“She here?” I ask Gryff as he scans the collection of automobiles.
He shakes his head. “Nah. She’s got a blue RAV 4. It’s not here. She must have left for work already.”
He confirms my suspicion.
“And where is that?” I wonder.
Gryff puts the truck back into gear and we pull out onto the empty road. Traffic doesn’t seem to be a concern here in Canyon Ridge. I’ll bet at the peak of rush hour you’d never even know it.
“Diner downtown. They got a real good cherry cobbler,” Gryff reports.
With this being such a small town, their downtown district is actually only a couple of blocks away and is no bigger than a single street. A few more cars pass now that we’ve entered the heart of the village, all driving to what appears to be the epicenter.
A small strip of stores that includes the Diner in the middle.
My stomach gives an unsolicited grumble as we park close enough to see the customers eating through the glass windows, loud enough for Gryff to hear it.
“You read my mind, D. Lunch time.” The driver kills the engine and hops out of the cab of the truck before I even have a chance to tell him we’re here for business and not pleasure.
He doesn’t even wait for me and disappears into the building through the large metal framed glass door.
By the time I reach the door myself, a pair of neatly dressed old ladies join me, catching a glimpse of my leather vest and stopping short. I smile, nod, and hold the door open for them to pass through, like a gentleman.
They seem surprised, but accept the offer.
Other than a few weekend riders, Canyon Ridge doesn’t have an MC to speak of. Most of these people have never seen a true biker before and look at me like I’m some sort of endangered species as I enter the Diner.
“Two. A booth please. Oh, and can you seat us in Tina’s section please?” Gryff kisses ass to the hostess while she collects a pair of plastic covered menus to lead us.
“Sure thing. I remember you. You were here the other day, right? Had a motorcycle that day,” the thirty-something looking woman asks Gryff as we weave through the crowded dining room.
It’s funny, but for such a small town, this place sure is packed. I guess no one around here cooks for themselves?
“Told my husband about that bike when I got home from work. He used to have an old Indian himself, but sold it years ago.”
We’re led to a stop in front of an empty booth with paper placemats already set out next to utensils that are rolled up inside of white napkins. “Here ‘ya go, boys. Tina will come by to get your order in a few. We’re real busy today so your patience is appreciated.”
She leaves us with our menus and returns to the front door to seat the next group.
“You’re just a regular celebrity around here, aren’t ya?” I bust his balls as I peruse the two-page menu.
Gryff laughs it off. “What can I say? I’ve got a magnetic personality.”
There’s nothing extraordinary on the printed pages, so I decide to stick with the tried and true classics.
Gryff, on the other hand looks as if he’s studying a goddamned textbook. Leave it to him to turn this into an ordeal. This is your typical run of the mill diner, a real greasy spoon. I’m sure they don’t have the kind of crap he likes to eat.
None of that Tofu and bean sprout shit here. Today, he’s gonna have to eat like a man and suck it up.
“What’ll it be, boys?” A yellow uniform steps up next to me at the end of the table and the voice is oddly familiar yet foreign at the same time.
I don’t know what I expect as I begin to look up at her, but I’m surprised none the less.
Our waitress is staring down at the white pad in her hand, pen at the ready, eager to hear our order. She
She’s just as slender and thin as Angel, yet broader in the shoulders like her mom Lillian. Her hair is the same dirty blonde with golden little pieces thrown in like Angel’s although it’s pulled back tight in a high ponytail. Her eyes are cast down upon the empty order pad, but once they lift, I can see that they are nearly identical to my Ol’ lady’s. Deep amber circles with just a hint of green flecks and long dark eyelashes.
Her eyes look alert but definitely aged, with small little lines creasing around the corners. She’s only a couple of years older than Angel, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. If it weren’t for the uncanny resemblance to Angel and even Sasha, paired with the white name tag that actually says Tina on it, I would think we have the wrong person.
But, I know we don’t. I know this is her, and it’s jus
t the evidence of her old life that’s showing itself on her skin. Even her hands are the hands of a junkie, er, former junkie supposedly.
The naked eye of your ordinary person wouldn’t be able to pick up on what I’m registering, but I know where to look, having been around these types my whole life.
Her fingers are trembling just the smallest bit, holding tight to the pad and pen to grip onto something and mask the tremors that she’ll have to live with for quite some time if they even ever go away completely.
The uniform she’s wearing, the one that matches the rest of the waitresses buzzing around, has short sleeves, yet she’s wearing a long sleeved t-shirt underneath, no doubt to cover up the scars of tracks left from years of shooting up. It’s warm outside. It’s even hotter in here with the grills running nonstop in the kitchen. She must be sweatin’ her ass off wearing those layers, but it’s nothing compared to the discomfort of having people notice and stare at the deep purple and red lines that mar her peaches and cream skin.
“Hey! Gryff, right? You were at my table the other day, too,” she notices my V.P. and those sunken eyes light up.
For a moment, a pang runs through me, having seen that type of reaction before. It’s the look of surprise that Angel gets when she sees me for the first time in a while. It’s also the expression Sasha makes any time she gets something she wants.
Suddenly, this situation becomes more real than it had been before. I had been studying Tina looking for similarities to Angel, but failed to realize that she also shares many things in common with Sasha, her daughter.
It had never occurred to me in all the time I’ve spent with Sasha and come to love her as my own, that the little twinkle in her eye or the pout she puts on when she’s trying to charm you into something, or even the way she does something as simple as yawn could be something other than just her own.
“You remember me?” Gryff asks hopefully.
Oh. Shit.
This is not in the plan.
“Of course I remember you. Hang on,” she dramatically closes her eyes and presses her forefinger to her temple. “Grilled chicken sandwich on toast. Extra tomato. A salad on the side, but you’ll eventually call me over and ask for fries anyway, so I think I’ll just bring them the first time today.” She smiles and opens one eye, peeking to see his reaction. “Oh, and a sweet tea with no lemon.”
