by Stacey Keith
April looked down at the paper and saw wet splotches blurring the ink. She leaped out of her chair and snatched a Kleenex out of the box she kept for her clients—the ones who, unlike her, had a reason to cry.
“You’re going to pull yourself together,” she told herself. “You’re not going to let this break you. Lots of people survive heartache. You’re going to survive it, too.”
She used the Kleenex to blot the wet spots on her report. All she had to do was finish it, file it, and then she would never have to think about that afternoon again.
Unless Brandon was telling the truth and she was just a big neurotic mess.
How were you supposed to know?
She had no one to turn to, no one to ask. All she wanted was to call Jacey or one of her sisters, cry, confess, beg for help. The urge to talk about it was so overwhelming, April balled her hands into fists to keep from picking up the phone. In high school and college, she’d always rolled her eyes at girls who moaned constantly about boys. Now she was one of them.
She had no idea what to do.
The intercom on her desk buzzed. Denise from reception told her that a two o’clock appointment had arrived. April had never been so grateful to hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. When the woman, Olivia, and her young son appeared inside April’s office, April shook her hand so enthusiastically, the woman looked slightly alarmed.
April showed the little boy how to feed her two bug-eyed goldfish, just a few flakes and no more. Then she gave him a handful of crayons and some coloring book pages. It was always important to get kids situated first. She’d learned that much at least.
As she listened to the mother complain about the lack of job opportunities in Cuervo, April remembered that Cleo, the caseworker who’d been fired for having an affair with a client, had also been dumped by her boyfriend. It was hard not to dwell on that parallel when she was feeling so depressed, but then, out of nowhere, she came up with a possible solution for her client.
“My sister Cassidy used to work at Artie’s Burger Express,” April said, “and she was a single mom. I know the owner and would be happy to introduce you.”
Olivia brightened. “I know that place. Do you mean your sister who married the NFL quarterback?”
April nodded, relieved to have a possible solution for once. Olivia was a good worker and April knew that Artie would hire her. “Would you like to put in an application?”
Ten minutes later when she walked Olivia and her son back to the lobby, there was a family waiting next to the reception desk, a man, a woman who was probably his wife, and two kids. Felicia came briskly down the hallway to meet them.
The man in the lobby looked straight at April, snapped his fingers and said, “Oh, hey, I saw you at the motocross race a few weeks ago. You’re friends with Matt Barrett, aren’t you? Damn, that kid can ride.”
Oh, God, no. The blood pounded in April’s ears. She couldn’t breathe. Everyone was staring at her and she heard a buzzing sound that probably meant she was two seconds away from hitting the floor. She put a hand to her forehead and must have swayed a little because Olivia steadied her and said, “Miss Roby, are you okay?”
Felicia stood across from her, but April couldn’t read her face. It kept getting bigger and smaller as though she were looking at it through the peephole in a door.
“Can I get you a drink of water?” Olivia asked her.
“No, no, I’m fine.” April tried to smile. “It was stupid of me to skip lunch.”
“Here.” Olivia reached inside her purse and then handed April a granola bar. “They’re super tasty.”
April thanked her and went back to her office. She called Artie and put in a good word for Olivia. But Matthew’s report still sat on top of her desk and she had no idea how to lie her way out of this.
At the very least, Felicia would think it peculiar that April had gone to watch a client at a motocross race. At the most, Felicia would realize something was going on just based on the fact that April couldn’t keep it together.
The only way out of this was to confess. April knew that now. There was no point in putting off the inevitable. She knew on some level that this day had always been coming. Some people were meant to break rules. Hell, some people didn’t even know what the rules were before they broke them. But that had never been her.
The pressure band that had been tightening around her ribs since the day she’d met Brandon eased a little. What did Pastor Jim used to say? The truth will set you free.
She had to tell Joanna the truth.
Trembling, she finished writing the report, owning the fact that she and Brandon had engaged in a highly inappropriate conversation which led to her failure to locate Matthew and do a proper assessment. When she was finished, she stuck the report in Felicia’s mailbox, gathered her purse and her sweater, and stood gazing at her office for what might very well be the last time.
Maybe she hadn’t liked the system—or even agreed with it in many cases—but she’d loved her job. Most days at least. What a terrible thing it was to love doing something you were awful at.
Her eyes lingered on the kids’ crayon drawings proudly displayed on her wall. She made a mental note to ask Denise to feed the fish. April’s beloved Not All Heroes Wear Capes mug, given to her on her twenty-third birthday by Joanna, would have to go to the next occupant of this office. There was no way she could bring that mug home with her and look at it every day without falling apart.
But she couldn’t go on lying. She just hadn’t been raised that way. If she had to suffer through another episode like the one that had happened in the lobby, she’d slit her wrists.
“Going home?” Denise asked her as she passed by her desk on the way to the parking lot. “I heard you weren’t feeling well.”
“Yeah,” April said.
“Hope you’re better soon.”
April trudged out to her car. Her whole body felt as if it had been shot full of Novocain. While she was deciding whether to call Joanna first or just drive over there, she spotted a piece of paper tucked under her windshield wiper; it didn’t look like a flier.
She slipped it out and unfolded it. The handwriting was in block letters, like a ransom note, written in the forceful way a man wrote things. Her knees went weak when she realized it was from Brandon.
I don’t know how to get hold of you. I can’t call you at work. Last night was too crazy to call at all. But I’m at the house now. Please come over tonight and give me a chance to explain. It’s not what you think it is.
April leaned against her car and closed her eyes. Relief swept over her in waves, the way it would at the end of a terrifying rollercoaster ride.
He still cared. He hadn’t dumped her.
The car was broiling hot when she got inside, but April barely noticed. She stared blindly through the windshield, letting the relief wash over her again. It didn’t make things any better as far as her career went, but at least Brandon hadn’t thrown her out the window like an empty beer can. And it suddenly dawned on her how stupid she was to think he would.
Brandon wasn’t toying with her. He didn’t play games. He just didn’t get close. If she could stop being so insecure and overly sensitive about everything, she would see that. For her own sake, and his, she had to let go—take her hands off the handlebars and let go.
She had to stop trying to control the bike and just ride.
But she had to talk to Joanna first. And she had to do it alone.
* * * *
The thunder was gathering. He could feel it.
Brandon walked up the dusty farm road to meet Matthew at the bus stop and wished he didn’t have this constant feeling of dread. It wouldn’t leave him. He kept thinking that if only he could get on his bike and hit the road, that feeling would go away. But Matt had ten days of school left before summer, Long Jon was still in the wi
nd, and there was no way Brandon was leaving April.
He was stuck—more stuck than he’d been in prison. How fucked up was that?
And he told himself the reason he was going to the bus stop was to comfort Matt, who was still pretty upset over Long Jon’s disappearance. If he had to be honest, he was the one who needed comforting. His stomach was in knots. Even the May sunshine looked as though it were hiding something from him, something he wasn’t going to like once he found out about it. Jesus, he’d worked so hard to get out of the quicksand, but it kept sucking him back in again.
The wind feathered through the wild grass that grew along the road. A hawk flew high overhead, its wings balancing on an updraft. In the distance he could see the glint of Matthew’s school bus and the plume of yellow dust its tires kicked up behind it. He waited, continuing to feel restless and worried.
He needed to see April. She was the only thing keeping him sane. Grounded. Trying. And if she didn’t come to him tonight? He kicked discontentedly at a clump of weeds in the sunbaked dirt. Well, he’d just go looking for her. No way was he letting her go, not after he’d found the woman he’d been looking for without even knowing it.
The school bus came rattling over the last part of the road that was actually paved. It ground to a stop and then belched out Matthew, who was the final drop-off. He trudged down the steps with his backpack slung over one shoulder and then looked at Brandon for unspoken confirmation on Long Jon. Brandon shook his head.
They walked back to the house together, gravel crunching beneath their shoes. Grasshoppers whirred in the weed-choked ditches. He didn’t tell Matthew about Rooster. What a man did to protect his family was his business and not up for debate. But that weighed on him, too, this idea that Rooster’s buddies would come looking for payback. He wasn’t sure how to warn Matthew or protect him, which made him feel even worse.
“You think Long Jon’s in jail, don’t you?” Matthew said.
“Don’t know,” Brandon replied.
“If he is in jail, would they let you in to see him?”
Brandon shrugged. “Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. As a general rule, the state of Texas doesn’t like felons visiting other felons in lock-up.”
Matthew seemed to digest this. Then he asked, “We couldn’t even post bail, could we?”
Brandon was mildly proud of the kid for even knowing what bail was. Life skills were important. “Not without collateral,” he told him. “Or a shit-ton of money we don’t have.”
They went up the back porch and then into the kitchen. Usually while Matthew got started on his homework, Brandon would make him a sandwich. Today he felt too unmotivated even for that and stared blankly into the refrigerator, thinking that if April were here, she’d know what to do.
He closed the refrigerator and opened a cupboard instead, taking down a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. Brandon didn’t actually do the shopping. It made him squeamish. Instead, he gave Matthew the money and then waited outside the store, so if Matthew didn’t want peanut butter, tough, that was on him.
Someone pounded on the front door and Brandon froze.
Matthew stared up at him with frightened eyes.
“That’s not Long Jon,” Matthew said in a hushed voice. “Long Jon wouldn’t knock.”
Show time. Brandon set down the peanut butter and flexed his hands, getting ready to throw some punches. He’d expected Rooster’s motorcycle club to come after him, just not this soon. If he knew biker mentality, it was to wait until a guy was comfortable, and then boom.
“Listen, if I can’t take care of this on my own, I need you to run out the back and find someplace safe, okay?” Brandon said.
Matthew stood up like he was already preparing to bolt. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t stick around for this,” Brandon told him. “Just go.”
He went to the door with the same eerie calm he always felt before a fight. More than four bikers might lessen his chances considerably. Fewer than four and he had a shot. Guns, and he was probably dead. Brandon took a deep breath and opened the door.
It was the cop—the one he’d seen April with that first day. The one who had the hots for her.
Well, what do you know?
Brandon gave him a neutral stare, which was an effort since he hated the guy.
“Brandon McBride?” the cop said. “Sheriff Murphy from the Cuervo Police Department. I’m looking for James Lanford Wilson. We have information that he may be temporarily residing at this address. May I come in?”
He meant Long Jon. That was his full legal name. So he was in trouble.
That premonition of dread Brandon had felt all day sharpened its claws on his stomach.
“You got a warrant, Sheriff?” he asked.
Murphy narrowed his eyes. He might be local brass, but Brandon knew from experience that local brass was often worse than big city. Over the cop’s shoulder-mounted radio, Brandon could see two more squad cars pulling up to the house.
“Mr. Wilson is wanted for questioning,” Murphy said. “If you’re harboring a fugitive, I’ll just drag you in, too. With your record, you sure you wanna do that?”
All bluff. If Brandon let the law set foot inside his house, he’d be waiving at least twenty or thirty different civil rights. You learned these things in prison. All this asshole was doing was beating the bushes, hoping to flush out Long Jon and squeeze him ’till he rolled on Doc and Cutty.
“Goodnight, Sheriff,” he said before closing the door.
“I’ll be back with a warrant,” Sheriff Murphy said from the other side of it. “For your sake, McBride, I hope your buddy isn’t in there.”
Brandon heard him leave and then went around to the front window to make sure the two other cops left, too. If the police were looking for Long Jon, that meant he hadn’t been caught. But he would be.
“That’s the same guy who came looking for me, remember?” Matthew said in the small, tight voice he had when he was worried. “What’s he want with Long Jon?”
“Nothing good,” Brandon replied. “Man, do I wish I could get in touch with that sonofabitch.”
“We have to warn him,” Matthew said. He raised his eyes to Brandon’s face and his expression was so dogged and loyal, it broke Brandon’s heart. “Long Jon’s in real trouble.”
Chapter 18
April pulled up to Joanna’s house and sat outside with her heart pounding.
Until recently, she’d never really done anything bad, so she’d had very little to atone for. But this felt as though she’d set fire to a flag or a Bible or a little girl’s teddy bear. In a world full of sin, she was the worst of all sinners—she was the next Cleo, a caseworker who got herself talked about, whose story of tragic disobedience kept everyone else in line.
Joanna’s house looked like boys lived there. A Big Wheel sat in the driveway next to scattered Matchbox cars. There were scorch marks on the pavement from where they’d lit firecrackers and bottle caps. A baby doll with one eye missing stared forlornly out of an empty fish tank.
But April couldn’t move. She wanted to do anything but this. She wasn’t even sure she could do it.
Going in there and confessing the truth meant she herself had to accept the truth. She’d gambled on being able to lead two separate lives. On being able to lie. Only in the end, when it was already too late, did she discover who she really was. Not the sensible conscientious April who studied weeks before an exam instead of cramming at the last minute, who ironed her dorm room sheets and her blue jeans, and who cultivated quiet, manageable little crushes on suitable men.
No, she was someone else entirely. The real April craved. Lusted. Wanted.
The real April was determined to slip her collar and go howling at the moon.
But now she would have to lay the whole ugly truth in front of Joanna, and the thought of doin
g that made her stomach hurt.
When she got out of the car, it already felt as though unseen eyes were judging her from behind shuttered windows. She almost lost her nerve, turned around and drove home. Her muscles shook as she went up the walkway and then knocked on the door. This time of day all of Joanna’s boys would be home, but not her husband. At least April would be spared the indignity of explaining her actions to him, too.
Joanna answered the door with her toddler on her hip. “April, honey, what are you doing here?”
April opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
She burst into tears.
“Oh, no,” Joanna said. “Something awful must have happened. Come inside to the kitchen and I’ll make some tea.”
In Joanna’s world, tea solved everything. April longed to tell her not to bother, but all she could do was follow her, sobbing. The kitchen was homey and comforting—lots of checkered seat cushions and crayon drawings pinned under refrigerator magnets—but to April it just seemed like one more thing to be afraid of, one more place she didn’t belong.
With the toddler still perched on her hip, Joanna set a box of Kleenex in front of April and then hollered for Teagan, her oldest boy, who was twelve. “Take Otis out back with you,” Joanna said when Teagan appeared, “and play ball with him for a while, okay?”
Teagan’s eyes slid in April’s direction and she felt her face burn with embarrassment. “Yeah, sure, Mom.”
As little Otis teetered after his older brother, Joanna filled a tea kettle, set it on the stove and then turned to April. “What on earth is going on?”
Oh, God, I can’t. I just can’t. April snatched a few tissues and wiped her cheeks. She didn’t have the courage. Her stomach hitched. For a minute, she thought she might need to run to the toilet.
“Whatever it is, honey, just tell me,” Joanna said kindly. “Was somebody mean to you? A client?”
“I wish it were that simple,” April said between sobs. “I don’t deserve your sympathy. I deserve to be fired. I’m sure I will be.”
