The Summer the World Ended

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Dad?” She waved past his eyes. “You okay?”

  “Yep.” Color returned to his cheeks as he smiled. “I really meant cops. If you get stopped, tell them you’re fifteen and forgot your permit at home.”

  She reached down between her legs and picked up her flip-flops. “Lying to cops is a bad idea, Dad. Especially when they can catch me.”

  “The cops are the first ones they’d target. All that risk and stress for low pay. The people I work for operate at a different level than the rest of the citizens. We’re not beholden to them, so don’t give them any advantage over you. Any information you give a cop could wind up getting to the wrong people.”

  “Uh, right. Okay.”

  “I mean it, Squirrel.” He grabbed her forearm, a little too tight. “We can’t trust cops. Their job is to keep everyone compliant and docile. If the world was aware of just how close it was to destroying itself―that would be that. Everyone would lose their minds to anarchy.”

  “Dad… Ow, that hurts.” She glanced at her arm.

  “Mass chaos.” He flinched as though he’d walked face-first into a spider web. His grip loosened. “Sorry. I’m… I’m just worried about you.”

  “What do you mean close to destruction?” She rubbed a red spot out of her forearm.

  “We’re one maniac away from a new stone age. That’s what we’re all working to prevent.” He ducked forward to peer up at the sky. “You better go soon. Permit drivers have to be off the road before sundown.”

  They got out at the same time. Dad headed for his room while Riley went right. After a brief stop to get sneakers, she ran back to the truck. Five minutes later, she psyched herself up enough to turn the key. Drive engaged, she spun the wheel—and froze when Dad came running over waving his arms. Riley jammed both feet on the brake and whirled left and right, looking for what she was about to run over.

  “Hey!” Dad jogged up to the driver’s side window. “Might help to have some money with you.”

  “Oh.” She exhaled through fluttering lips. “Duh, that would’ve sucked to figure out at the store.”

  Dad handed her $60, shot a guilty glance at the road, and patted the door. “Be safe, okay?”

  “You sure this is cool?” She wrung her hands on the wheel, yelping when the truck moved. Put it in park! “I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

  “Yeah. It’s a straight line, nice weather, and you’re fighting a one-teenager crusade against canned pasta.”

  Riley sat motionless, watching Dad head back into the house. He paused at the door, glancing back as if debating with himself. After a weak smile, he slipped out of sight.

  “Okay, Mom. If you’re watching over me… I could use a copilot about now.”

  She dropped the truck in gear and pulled out, bouncing along the faint dirt road back toward NM 51, which she reached about twenty minutes later. At least the directions were simple. A single right turn would take her to her destination. One could see the entire town at once, so getting lost couldn’t happen.

  On the way west, she got up to eighty before realizing it and hit the brakes hard enough to jerk forward in the seat. Shaking, she let the truck creep back from forty up to sixty. Going too slow would attract suspicion, going too fast would attract the police―if there even were any here.

  About fifteen minutes later, she rolled into Las Cerezas. The place didn’t even have a traffic light. Figuring people would recognize Dad’s truck, and wanting to avoid awkward questions of the incriminating type, she pulled off onto a little side alley about a block from Hernandez Grocery, got out, and walked. She clutched her small purse to her side, clinging to it to stop from shaking. Rile, what the hell are you doing driving without a license? You don’t even jaywalk.

  Despite the rough exterior, the inside of the shop surprised her with its modernity as well as cleanliness. It reminded her a bit of a Wawa, way too small to be a supermarket, but too big to be a convenience store. She snagged a hand basket from a stack at the door and meandered around the shelves of six aisles, studying brands and tags, a lot of which she’d never seen before in Jersey. Fortunately, they had a respectable selection of fresh produce. One handwritten sign announced it arrived daily from T or C.

  Riley trailed a hand along the produce cooler and walked the length, cornering at the back of the store where the meat and dairy items were. Two tall men in denim vests startled her to a halt. Both bore a dinner-plate sized picture of a ‘biker dude’ riding a wheeled scorpion. The one on the left looked at least six and a half feet tall, bald with a dense, curly beard. Above the picture on his vest, the word Freebird spread across a scroll. Between his thick arms and beer gut, he looked like a barrel on posts. Tattoos sleeved both arms. The other man had long hair under a red headband, mirrored sunglasses, and a massive knife on his belt. Both wore jeans and boots, and had wallets with dangling chains.

  “Damn, this stuff’s no good,” said Freebird. “Gonna have to run inta town.”

  The shaggy one dropped a Styrofoam pack into the cooler with a meaty smack. “Yeah, li’l pricey too.”

  Riley backed away before they saw her, not wanting to know what a pair of big, scary bikers would do to her. As soon as she had an aisle between her and them, she felt foolish. In all likelihood, they were only out looking for lunch. Dangerous badass bikers wouldn’t go grocery shopping. Besides, Mom was the one who had a problem with tattooed men on motorcycles, especially the ones who loitered at the front of the bank. Riley sucked in a breath and walked back out into the open, passing them as if they were no different from a pair of schoolteachers. Neither paid her much attention.

  Duh! I should get the chicken last. It needs to be in the fridge.

  She ran back to the produce area and grabbed a sack of small potatoes and a couple onions. Based on what she’d seen on the shelves, most of the fancier things Mom’s recipe book contained would be hard to pull off without a trip to the bigger city.

  No way I’m gonna risk that. This was really stupid of me. She headed to the seasonings section looking for some kind of chicken or beef bouillon. Soup, stew, or chili she could make a big batch of and coast for a few days. Hurry up. Faster I get home, the faster I won’t get arrested.

  A pack of flour tortillas, a couple tomatoes, onions, and some chicken would be lunch later that week. She looked over the unfamiliar Mexican seasonings. One way to figure it out, I guess. No way I’m driving to T or C for the fancy stuff. That place has cops.

  In her haste, she rounded the end of the aisle to the next, going for a loaf of wheat bread. At the unexpected sight of a Hispanic man in a dark blue police uniform, she skidded to a halt. He knows. She froze, staring at him as he surveyed the store’s selection of jelly. He seemed a little younger and shorter than Dad, and a lot more muscular. In a sombrero and poncho, his face would seem friendly and whimsical; as it was, the sight of him almost stopped her heart cold.

  A dense moustache wiggled on his upper lip as he picked up a jar of strawberry in one hand and grape in the other. For a moment, his eyes flicked back and forth between the two. As if sensing her guilt, he glanced at her, casually at first, then with a deliberate inquiring expression.

  “Uh, hi,” she mumbled, grabbing blind at the bread and stuffing a random loaf into her basket.

  She backed out of the aisle the way she’d come in rather than walk past him, and went to the far wall by the cooler where cold air raised goose bumps on her bare thighs. Riley leaned over as if appraising the selection, but her brain had shut off. All the packets of various meats blurred into a smear of color. He’s going to come up and arrest me any second. I wonder how many years I’ll get for driving without a license. Her gaze fell to the basket. Crap. White bread.

  Mom’s voice rambled in her mind about how awful white bread was, how they bleach all the nutrition out of it. The memory reddened her eyes and set loose an exploratory tear. All she had to do was wait for the cop to leave and she could trade it for wheat. Act casual.

&nbs
p; She moved along the case, walking through a waterfall of frozen air. She didn’t recognize any of the brand names, but they did have chicken breasts. Riley selected the least expensive pack and added it to her basket.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Riley jumped and whirled to face the source of the voice―the cop. Her gaze darted to the nametag: Rodriguez, his badge, his gun, and settled on the handcuffs on his belt. Her arms trembled, rustling her collection of groceries. Her brain teased the sensation of cold steel sliding around her wrists.

  Dad doesn’t want me talking to the cops. She swallowed hard. Crap. I can’t just stare at him. “Yes, sir.”

  Officer Rodriguez looked her up and down. “You sure? You look upset.”

  I’m fine, Officer. No big deal. I’m crying over my dead mother and about to piss myself because I’m afraid you’ll arrest me for driving illegally. “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you before…”

  “Riley.” Nooo. Dad said not to give them any information.

  “Hello, Riley. I’m Sergeant Rodriguez.”

  “Hi.” She clenched her jaw as the frigid meat cooler touched the back of her legs.

  His moustache widened with a genuine smile. “You’re Christopher’s daughter, right?”

  Oh, damn. He’s not after me. Her trembles deepened as she gazed into his brown eyes, expecting suspicion and displeasure. “Yeah.” He almost looks like a person.

  “What’s got you so jumpy? Someone giving you a hard time?”

  “Uh…” Riley looked down, noticing her left sneaker laces had come undone. “No. I’m okay. I um…”

  Sergeant Rodriguez picked at his moustache, narrowing his eyes. “There’s something eating at you. You’re not a runaway, are you? Is everything okay at home?”

  He’s gonna keep on me until I give him something. Dammit, Dad, why didn’t you wanna take me to town! Hope you got bail money. “Uh… No. Things are shi―crappy.”

  “I tell you that man’s no good,” yelled a thirty-something woman in a red apron from the soup aisle. She transferred cans from a pushcart to the shelf. “What’s he doin’ to you, sweetie?”

  Fear took a step back to give Anger some room. “He’s not doing anything to me. He’s my Dad.” She seethed for a few seconds until the presence of a police officer pinning her to the meat cooler dragged fear forward by its shirt collar. “I used to live in New Jersey, but Mom died a few weeks ago, and now I’m here.”

  “She had good sense to get the hell away from him,” said the clerk.

  Riley glanced around looking for something to throw at the woman, but settled for making fists.

  “Easy, Cora,” said Sergeant Rodriguez. “The man might be a loner, but it doesn’t necessarily make him bad. Some people like their privacy.” He softened his demeanor and smiled at her. “Are you concerned about your situation?”

  “Look at her.” Cora gestured with a can. “He’s barely feeding her.”

  Riley flinched at the mention of her weight. “I’m homesick. I still don’t believe she’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry.” A sincere look of sympathy lingered for a moment before Sergeant Rodriguez inhaled a deep breath. “Well, Las Cerezas isn’t much to look at it, but it’s friendly.”

  She glared at Cora. “Really?”

  “Oh, don’t mind her.” The cop shook his head. “She’s got nothing better to do than assume the worst of people. I understand the upheaval of losing a parent and having to move across the country. There’s the occasional bad element around here that’ll probably tempt you eventually… You know, drugs never solve anything.”

  Oh, he’s back to sounding like a cop. “Yeah. I know.”

  He fumbled through his pocket for a few seconds before handing her a business card. “I want you to always feel like you can call me if you ever need anything. There’s a lot of things kids can’t talk to their parents about. If you ever need an ear, please call. Welcome to New Mexico.”

  She eyed the plain card. The words Sergeant Martin Rodriguez hovered over a grey silhouette of a police badge. Email on the lower left, a phone number on the lower right. Riley picked at the corner with her thumbnail. It seemed so unreal that the man looking at her could fake the concern in his eyes. He doesn’t seem that bad, but what if it’s a lie? Riley trembled.

  “Are you sure nothing is bothering you, girl? You look terrified.”

  She slipped the card into the pocket of her shorts. “This was supposed to be like, a special summer… I wanted to hang out with Amber and stay up late and stuff before the big change.”

  “Big change?” Sergeant Rodriguez raised both eyebrows.

  “You know… first year of high school.” She pouted, wondering what her friend was doing at that moment.

  “Start high school? So you’re what, fourteen?”

  “Yeah.” Oh, shit. Why did I say that? Now I can’t tell him I forgot my permit. Pleeease, don’t ask me how I got here.

  “Marty, you shouldn’t let that child stay with that man. He ain’t right.”

  “Hush, Cora. She’s going through enough already and doesn’t need the town’s gossip factory adding its two cents.” He let off an exasperated sigh and faced Riley again. “Just to satisfy the local busybody committee… are you at all concerned for your welfare?”

  A half-smile played on her lip. “Yeah, a little.”

  Cora shot the cop a ‘see, I’m right’ stare.

  “What exactly is going on?” Sergeant Rodriguez warm expression shifted to concern.

  “The cabinet is full of SpaghettiOs and ramen noodles. There’s no real food in the place.”

  Sergeant Rodriguez’s laughter wasn’t quite what she expected, but it worked. He shadowed her through the store, making idle chitchat about the town as well as the area outside it. A lingering twist knotted in her gut; the fear of having to lie to a cop reared its head every time it was her turn to contribute to the conversation.

  “Your father doesn’t come to town much. That’s why Cora and her snoop brigade don’t trust him. They think he’s hiding something.”

  He is. Top secret somethings. Nothing bad. “Oh, he writes”―shut up Riley, geez. Keep a secret―“software and he’s worried about leaks. He could get fired.”

  “Aww, the people in this town wouldn’t know what software is.” He looked around. “Can’t say I remember the last time I saw your old man.”

  Oh, no. He’s gonna ask why Dad’s not with me. “Mom had an aneurysm… right in front of me.” She didn’t need to act upset or fake tears. “One minute she said she had a headache, and then she just fell… I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

  He took the weight of the basket from her arm and patted her on the shoulder. “Oh, you poor girl. I’m sorry.”

  She took a moment to recover, and wiped her eyes. “Thanks.”

  “My father died unexpectedly too. Heart attack at the dinner table. He fell face-first in his mashed potatoes.” Sergeant Rodriguez sighed. “If it had been a movie, I would’ve thought the look on his face funny.”

  “Mom looked at me like she didn’t know where she was. Like she was begging me for help and then she was just… gone.” Diversion or no, closing the faucet was harder than she expected.

  He looked like he wanted to reach out and offer a consoling arm, but kept a professional distance. “I hope she didn’t suffer.”

  “They told me she didn’t.” Riley took a few breaths and accepted the basket back. “It could be worse, I suppose. Dad left when I was little. I always thought he didn’t want us anymore, but that wasn’t true.” Will he ever trust me with why?

  Sergeant Rodriguez followed her to the only checkout lane, where a pudgy, grandmotherly woman waited, engrossed in a tabloid. Despite having one jar of jelly, and her a full basket, he let her go first. She set the basket down and set to unpacking it. The woman grabbed the items as they came down the belt and scanned them.

  “Sounds like there’s a story there.” He put th
e jelly on the end of the lane.

  Beep.

  “His work pulled him out here. Mom didn’t wanna leave Jersey. They like, still loved each other and stuff but… I dunno.”

  Beep. Beep.

  The cashier clucked her tongue, muttering in Spanish.

  He mumbled something back that sounded chiding. “She says you’ve got some bad luck.”

  “Yeah. Well, it could be worse. I could be stuck in that shelter, or in one of those foster places you keep seeing on the news where they lock the kids in their rooms and beat them.” Riley shivered. There was a thought that had caused at least one sleepless night.

  Beep.

  He grumbled in Spanish. The cashier made a remark at him with a raised eyebrow. He chuckled. She pointed at the girl and raised the other eyebrow.

  “I told her it was rude to speak Spanish around someone who doesn’t understand it.”

  The cashier nodded. Beep.

  She bit her lip at the register screen, the total approached $60 faster than she expected. “And then you did the same thing.”

  “I was just cursing.” He smiled. “People who do that to kids they are supposed to be helping… there’s a reserved level of Hell for them.”

  Beep.

  “Sixty four thirty nine,” said the sales clerk.

  Riley looked over the groceries. “I gotta put something back. I’ve only got $60.”

  “Add the $4.39 to mine,” said Sergeant Rodriguez.

  “That’s so nice of you, but I can’t take your money.” She rummaged through her choices, looking for something unnecessary. Bad enough he should be detaining her for illegal driving, taking money from him seemed like a whole other level of wrong. Her fingers paused on one item after another. She hadn’t grabbed a single item of ‘fluff,’ and couldn’t make up her mind what to ditch.

  “I insist. It’s only four bucks. Sounds like you’ve had it rough lately, about time you caught a break.”

  She stared up at him. No way in hell would anyone in New Jersey be that nice. Heck, people would just as soon run her over if she took four seconds too long crossing the street. Unable to process what was happening, she leaned on to the chrome ridge of the checkout lane and cried. I’m crying over $4. What the hell is wrong with me?