Heart of a Runaway Girl

by Trevor Wiltzen

  “Terrified, Luv.”

  After a long pause, Sally asked, “And?”

  “Well…” Mabel said, reluctant to say more but reconsidering since Sally was so eager. “I’ll just say this then. I went there around eight last night, and those men were sure angry as sin, with poor Dan all backed up almost to the door.”

  Sally asked breathless, “What did you do?”

  “Well… I take a deep breath in and then walk right through them.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. I walk right through that angry mob and straight up to Dan. I could see fear in his eyes, that’s for sure. But when he sees me he slips me the Staties’ number and says, ‘You go call them for me, Mabel.’ So, I goes and slip out the back just as they really started shouting at him.”

  Sally touched Mabel’s arm. “No way!”

  “Oh, believe it,” Mabel said, starting to get into it. “They were furious. I turn the corner to get to the payphone and call the Deputy — Jesse was his name; I figure him an older fella, the way he sounds — and he says, ‘Thanks, ma’am, for all your help. I’ll send over a car right away.’ So, I peeps around the corner again, and there was Dan holding onto his gun—”

  “No!”

  “It was still holstered. But he was holding it nonetheless, and I know now I better step in darn quick. So I shout—”

  “You shouted?”

  “Yep, like their mothers would’ve. And then like one, they all turn to face me.”

  Sally used both hands to cover a gasp.

  “Yep. All those angry men turn and stare at me at once, and, oh boy, did my knees knock! But I treated them like they were my boys and used my disappointed mother voice on them. And girl, did they wilt!”

  Both laughed, and then as Mabel calmed some, she wiped her eyes. “Now that I think about it, those men folded like boys pretty quick.”

  “I heard Larson wasn’t there,” Sally said, turning serious.

  Mabel’s humor left her too. “No, he wasn’t, and I’m sure glad he wasn’t. I’m not sure if I could have stopped it.”

  “Wow,” Sally said. “I don’t think I could have done what you did.”

  “Oh, come now, sure you could.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” Sally said, firm on that point. “But I have to say this, this morning, Eugenia Hudgens was over at my house picking up some farm eggs, and she says that maybe you shouldn’t have gone and done that.” Sally moved Mabel further aside and lowered her voice. “Now, Eugenia said to keep this quiet, but Larson heard about what you did and wasn’t too happy about it. He’s furious with his boys for not grabbing Winston, and now that them Staties have whisked him off to jail in Seattle,” She paused to make her point and then let her voice fall to the barest of whispers. “He didn’t say anything kindly about you, Mabel.”

  Mabel rubbed her arms and looked at Sally, who was scared for her. She didn’t like Larson one bit, but she didn’t want to be on his bad side, especially with Hector mixed in with the Hudgens boys.

  Mabel reached out to touch Sally’s arm. “It’s okay. No need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Well, watch yourself,” Sally said. “You know this town. Sometimes it’s not safe here.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Sunday, September 7

  Two days later, Mabel was finishing up her evening shift. A few construction workers staying in the motel were playing cards at one table, while a big, burly trucker at the counter was laying into a plate of steak and eggs. He was a regular who didn’t say much and usually just piled into his food and left. Some people just weren’t talkers.

  The bell above the door chimed. “Welcome,” she said, out of habit, before looking over. Her breezy smile fell. It was Frank Hudgens. Frank had never come into her diner before, and he sure wasn’t welcome. Mabel suspected he beat Eugenia, his wife, and wondered if this were about Eugenia’s warning about Larson. Even if that all weren’t enough, Frank’s role in the lynch mob made her debate whether to kick him out.

  Frank trudged over, leaving a trail of mud on her newly swept floors.

  “Hello, Frank,” Mabel said from her side of the counter, closest to the burly trucker. “We’re a family establishment, so we take our hats off here.”

  Frank ignored her by picking something from his teeth. “Ain’t stayin’ long. Here to talk to you, Mabel.”

  “Oh?”

  Frank glanced at the stranger busy with his food and, knowing he wasn’t local, paid him no mind. “Need to talk to you, personal like.”

  “Well, talk then,” Mabel said, folding her arms.

  “You coming closer, or do I need to shout?”

  “You don’t need to shout. I can hear ya fine.”

  Frank grumbled, came over, and sat down on a stool. He still hadn’t taken off his hat. “Saw you at the county jail the other night.”

  “Saw you, too,” Mabel said.

  “You know, Larson ain’t happy about what happened.”

  Mabel shifted her stance — no one in town wanted to be on Larson’s bad side — but she kept quiet as Frank kept on. “He said I should talk to you.”

  “Go on then.”

  “He said you need to be careful.”

  “I’m always careful, Frank.”

  Frank lowered his voice. “Listen to me. Larson wanted me to talk to you because your boy knows mine.” Mabel hated that but said nothing. “You probably heard what that Winston boy did to that girl. Terrible things. So, he said for you not to interfere. That the ni—”

  “Don’t you dare talk like that in here, Frank.”

  Frank’s eyes narrowed. “That black fella then,” he said. “He should have been punished local. He’s a low-end drug dealer. A no-good punk.”

  “That’s funny. He gets his drugs from Larson.”

  “Watch what you say!” Frank hushed her, glanced around, and then said sternly, “Larson doesn’t deal with drugs.”

  Mabel huffed. Everyone knew Larson had the largest private marijuana fields in Blue River and supplied Winston and many others.

  “That’s what I mean. Don’t mess with his business,” Frank said.

  “You’re here. In mine.”

  “That’s right,” Frank said. “And you might see more of me. Or my friends. Maybe even Larson will want to stop by to get some dinner.”

  Mabel didn’t like that one bit. “We’re a family place. Larson isn’t welcome.”

  “Don’t matter,” he said before his face twisted into a crass smile. “A whole lot of our boys might want to get something made sweet from you, and often. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, no matter. You being a divorcee and all. You’d probably like some male company to take care of this place.”

  Mabel shuddered; she worked hard for this place and didn’t want thugs tearing it down. “Does Eugenia know you’re here?”

  Frank frowned, hitched his pants, and stood up. “You don’t get it. You interfere in his business, he’ll interfere with yours. Watch yourself. Or you’ll hear from me and my boys.”

  He moved to leave, but the trucker pushed off his stool and blocked Frank’s way. “What did you say?” he said.

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “You threatened Mabel. You deal with me.”

  “I-I didn’t threaten nobody.”

  The trucker took a step forward, and Frank took a step back. Even the construction workers at the middle table stopped playing cards to watch. “I-I ain’t looking for trouble. I got no beef with you.”

  “Then apologize to the lady.”

  “I don’t need to, I done nothing wrong,” Frank said, getting angry. But the trucker loomed over him.

  Mabel blinked, surprised, and stood by, watching Frank shrivel. She wondered how far she should let her customer take it, but she was kind of proud of him, too. But Frank broke fast. “Sorry,” he said, but not at Mabel.

  “Take your hat off like she asked,” the trucker said. “And apologize like you mean it.”

  Fra
nk was furious, breathing heavily. Yet he took off his hat and glared at Mabel. “Sorry,” he said petulantly.

  The trucker said, “Good.” Then let Frank pass.

  Frank opened the door, half-turned, and shouted, “Larson will hear about this,” then bolted into the night. Mabel shook her head, unimpressed.

  The trucker sat down, picked up his fork to finish his meal, and said, “He weren’t treating you right. I hate guys like that.”

  Mabel touched the top of the man’s hand until he looked up into her blue eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  The trucker looked pleased but only grunted. “He shouldn’t have said that. About you, or the boy.”

  “You have a nice smile,” she said. “You should show it more.”

  The trucker blushed, unsure of what to do or say.

  She made it easy for him. “Let me get you some pie to touch up your dinner. On the house.”

  He thought about that, then nodded and bent over his plate to hide his pleasure and finish his meal. As she moved away to give him space, she glanced over at the construction workers watching her. She gave them a nod to tell them everything was okay, and they returned to their game.

  Heading back for the pie, she felt strangely safe among these rough, out-of-town men. Proud that she could offer a home-cooked meal and a bit of comfort to lonely men away from wives or girlfriends or just on their own.

  But when she glanced back at the far empty booth where almost a week ago the girl and Winston had been arguing, her sense of ease vanished.

  CHAPTER 7

  Monday, September 8

  Six hours into a long afternoon shift, Mabel took a quick break to check on the kids who’d just gotten home from school. With the diner packed for the dinner rush, she didn’t have much time.

  Kerry was lounging on the couch, headphones on, listening to music on her Walkman. Mabel hesitated, unsure of what mood her niece was in before sitting down and putting her hand on her knee to get her attention. Kerry moved her knee away.

  Mabel insisted, so Kerry moved the headphone off one ear. As the music blasted out, she gave Mabel the ‘What do you want now?’ look that teen girls do so well.

  “Just checking in, honey.”

  Kerry rolled her eyes, making an elaborate show of turning off the music and removing the headphones.

  Mabel checked her irritation since Kerry had made it clear she was leaving Blue River as soon as she turned eighteen. That worried Mabel, not wanting to see her end up with a wrong crowd wherever she went. She hoped Kerry could feel at home here.

  “You want to know my day?” Kerry asked, clearly irritated. “What? So you care now?”

  “Of course I care, dear.”

  “Oh. Really? Like you care about me. Or your kids.”

  Mabel bit back a harsher response. “Come on. I’ve had a hard day, and I just want to see how my niece is doing, that’s all. Do you need anything?”

  “You ask if I need anything, but you’ve been gone all day. You think I need something? Did you check on your kids? Do you even know what’s going on with them?”

  “No. What?”

  “You don’t even know. What a mother. You spend hours away from home. Your kids are practically raising themselves. At least my mom didn’t do that. She stayed at home, but you! You’re always gone — at the motel, at the diner. I feel sorry for Hector and Fred. This isn’t a home. It’s a motel — for them.”

  “I have to work. I can’t just—”

  “Do you even know what’s going on? Your son’s upstairs with a black eye, and you’re asking me about my day? Talk to your kid and stop interfering with my life.”

  Mabel stood up. “Which son? Who has the black eye?”

  “Go find out yourself,” Kerry said and went to put on her headphones again, but Mabel stopped her.

  In a tone harsher than she intended, Mabel said, “You can get mad at me all you want. But don’t you dare tell me how to raise my kids. You’re part of my family now, and I want respect in this house. Which boy? Who was it?”

  Kerry’s eye’s widened like she’d taken it too far. “Hector. It’s Hector. He’s upstairs in his room.” Then she put on her headphones, conscious Mabel was still there.

  Mabel didn’t want to leave the situation like this, but she needed to find what had happened to Hector. “Thank you for telling me,” Mabel said, not knowing if Kerry could hear her through the headphones but wanting to set an example of polite manners in this house. Then she went upstairs to Hector’s room and knocked on the closed door.

  “Go away!” Hector shouted.

  Mabel put her head against the door — oh dear Lord, another angry child, she thought. Exhausted from work, she didn’t know if she had the patience to keep this up, so she prayed for motherly strength and then opened the door.

  “I said, stay out!”

  Hector was at his desk. His clothes were torn and dirty, and he kept one side of his face hidden from view.

  Mabel’s heart melted. She crossed the room to look at his black eye and ripped clothes.

  “I said, get away, Mom!”

  She ignored his protest and folded him into her arms, and for a second Hector leaned in too before he squirmed out of her grasp.

  “What’s wrong, son? Who did this to you?”

  Hector turned away, wiping tears from his eyes as he sat down on the edge of his bed. She sat down beside him and asked again: “Honey, who did this?”

  “Who did this?! You did!”

  “What are you talking about? I love you.”

  Hector screamed at her. “This is all your fault. You had to go and stick up for that… that n—!”

  The word slashed Mabel like a knife, and she slapped Hector in the face. “Don’t you ever talk like that!”

  Hector froze in shock before he started crying hysterically.

  Mabel’s anger melted into despair and self-loathing; she abhorred violence, and though it hadn’t been a hard slap, it was a slap nonetheless. “Oh, Hector, I’m so sorry,” she said, embracing him. “But promise me, promise me that you’ll never use that word in this house, okay?”

  He cried for a full minute before he calmed down enough to nod his assent, breathing hard.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Through a shuddering sob, Hector said, “It was Jacob and Isaiah. They done it.”

  Mabel turned ice cold, and her anger only grew, as Hector explained. “Jacob and Isaiah told me I loved that—” Hector stopped himself. “That I loved that Winston kid. That you were someone that cared less about her own kind and worried too much about… the other kids.”

  “Black kids,” she said it for him.

  “Yeah. They said you supported a murderer. And they said I did too. I tried telling them, ma, and stood up for you, but they just laughed at me and held me down and hit me over and over again.”

  “Oh, Hector,” Mabel said, her anger mixing with shame as she pressed her cheek into his hair. “I’m proud of you for trying to stand up to them. I am. But you need to know that we are all human, right? Isaiah and Jacob and their father are just uneducated racists. Just like that bad man, Larson. And, yes, I don’t really know if Winston is a murderer or not, but they were going to do something awful to the boy that night if they got their hands on him. Maybe hurt him. And that’s not right, dear. That’s not justice. If Winston hurt that girl, then he’ll go to prison. If not, he goes free. Larson and his crew can’t decide that. Not because that boy is black.”

  “It wasn’t Larson, mom! I told you. It was Jacob and Isaiah.”

  She knew it wasn’t. Not really. She knew where those boys got their hate. “Oh, son,” she said. “This is bigger than that.”

  “You don’t know them. They’re my friends.”

  “You can find better friends.”

  “They’re the only friends I got. There’s no kids my age!”

  “I know, son.” Mabel sighed. “I know how small this town is. It’s just… they’re jus
t like their father. And he is a bad man.”

  “No, he isn’t, mom. He’s nice, and he gives us stuff.”

  “What?!”

  Hector looked like he regretted saying too much and shut down.

  Mabel held onto both his arms and looked him in the eyes. “What does he give you?”

  Hector tried to squirm away to no avail. Finally, he answered: “Beer.”

  Mabel closed her eyes and hung her head. “What else?”

  “Bullets for their .22s. That sort of thing. He takes us to the firing range.”

  Mabel cursed inwardly. Clearly, her son desperately needed a father figure to look up to — but not Frank Hudgens. Please, God, not him, she thought. “Son,” she said. “Frank is a bad man.”

  “No, he isn’t.” Hector pulled away further. “What about Dad? He hit me.”

  “That won’t happen again, dear. No one is going to hit you in this house anymore.”

  “But you just did! Dad did! Isaiah and Jacob hit me, and their dad hits them too. When does it stop?”

  Mabel winced, feeling like a terrible mom. Maybe Kerry was right; she was working too hard and not seeing her kids and not really knowing what her son’s days were like and not doing enough to teach them right from wrong. She needed to be better.

  “It starts today. It does. You shouldn’t be seeing those Hudgens boys.”

  “Then who do I play with, Mom?!”

  “Your brother.”

  “Fred?!” Hector said. “He’s a baby. He still wears jammies and has a stuffed animal. It’s always about Fred. Goody-two-shoes Fred. And what am I? I’m just a stupid loser.”

  “Don’t think that. Is that what’s bothering you?”

  “You got rid of Dad because of me.” Hector sniffled.

  “Oh, no son. I kicked him out because of what he was becoming. Your father is dealing with personal things related to that new mine. You know he discovered it and his old partner kept him out of that. That’s why the drinking started. That’s why—”

  “I know all that, Mom, but it doesn’t help. Kids made fun of me all summer for not having a Dad. They made fun of me because of you.” Hector was getting worked up again, and she could see that hysterical tears weren’t far behind. “I got no one here, but Isaiah and Jacob. And now they hate me, too. I hate this family!” He stormed out of the room and down the stairs.