Jackrabbit Junction Jitters

by Ann Charles

Chester lifted the binoculars again. “Shit, Carrera. We’ve been having our reunion down here during the wrong season all these years. I always figured bird-watching women wore support socks and hair nets, not Coppertone and red nail polish.”

  “Speaking of nails,” Manny said, looking up at Claire. “I hear your madre is coming for the wedding.”

  Claire groaned and fished a cigarette from her pack. She’d sooner deal with a life-ending asteroid headed straight for Arizona than her mother’s visit. There had to be some lie that would get her out of this.

  “Well, Lord love a duck, here comes a third little bird.” Chester handed Manny the binoculars. “Take a look. She’s definitely Viagra-worthy.”

  “Don’t you two have something better to do than ogle women this morning?” She stuck the cigarette between her lips.

  Chester settled back in his seat with a cock-of-the-walk grin. “For your information, we’re working on official pre-wedding business.”

  “Let me guess,” Claire said around her cigarette as she pulled a book of matches from her back pocket. “You’re picking out bridesmaids for Ruby so neither of you have to dance alone at the reception?”

  Sighing, Manny lowered the binoculars. “Ah, always the groomsman, never the groom.”

  “No, Miss Smoker.” Chester snatched the cigarette from her lips and broke it in half.

  “Damn it, Chester. Those aren’t free.”

  He waved away her scowl. “We’re planning Harley’s bachelor party.”

  Uh, oh. This couldn’t be good.

  “What do you think of bikini mud wrestling?” Manny asked.

  “Too slippery,” Claire said. “Somebody will break a hip.”

  She fingered another cigarette. If she wanted a hit, she needed to do it while walking to work. Gramps had forbidden her from lighting up in Ruby’s place, even though he and the boys filled the rec room with cigar smoke on a nightly basis.

  “Good point,” Manny said. “How about a wet T-shirt contest?”

  Chester nodded. “Or a game of naked Twister?”

  And that was Claire’s exit cue. “I’ll talk to you two later.” She glanced one last time at the three women they were wet-dreaming about. “Stay out of trouble.”

  She headed toward the General Store at an almost-trot. While jogging to work was a surefire way for her to catch a ride in Yuccaville’s only ambulance, the scorching sunshine punished dawdlers. Humidity rippled the air in front of her as sweat soaked into the waistline of her shorts. Any urge to smoke evaporated under the skin-blistering sun.

  Henry sat in the shade on the General Store’s porch, panting at Claire as she climbed the steps. He must have followed the creek to the store. She made a grab for his collar, but he darted out of reach.

  Crossing her arms, she leaned against the porch rail. “I guess last night didn’t mean anything to you after all.”

  Henry yawned and watched a grasshopper bounce across the drive.

  “Typical male.” She tossed the leash onto the floor next to him and stepped through the front door into the combined campground store and house.

  A breath of cool air fanned her warm cheeks. The scent of freshly brewed coffee beckoned. Jess sat on a stool behind the counter reading a book. A faded, olive green curtain divided the aisles full of camping whatnot from the rest of the three-bedroom house.

  Jess looked up from her book and smiled. “Mornin’, Claire.”

  With her shoulder-length, curly red hair pulled back in a ponytail and her freckled face free of makeup, she looked twelve, not two weeks away from sixteen.

  The wooden floorboards creaked as Claire strolled down the aisle that featured potato chips and pretzels on one side and boxes of candy on the other. The buzz of the overhead florescent lights nearly drowned out Emmylou Harris singing “Two More Bottles of Wine” on Ruby’s old clock radio above the cash register.

  “Hey, Elvis.” Claire patted the life-size cardboard cutout of the King wearing his white jumpsuit, holding a can of Diet Coke. She grabbed a can of soda pop from the wall-length cooler at the back of the store. Hot coffee would come later, after she’d stopped sweating. Her breakfast of champions needed a serving of grains according to the good old USDA, so she plucked a pack of Twinkies from the shelf on her way to the counter.

  “What are you reading, Jess?”

  Jess flipped the book over long enough for Claire to read the title, Today’s Job Market.

  “Is that for school?” Claire dug a couple of dollars out of her back pocket to pay for her meal.

  “School hasn’t started yet.”

  “Then why are you reading that?”

  Why was she reading at all? Jess wasn’t really the bookworm type of girl. Her nose was usually busy rummaging through somebody else’s business, and most of the time that somebody else was Ruby.

  “I need a job.”

  “I thought you were babysitting the Franklin triplets this summer.” Claire would rather hammer nails through the tips of her fingers than spend four hours with those three little hellions. They made Chucky-the-doll seem like Winnie-the-Pooh.

  “I am, but I need more money.”

  “Why?”

  “To buy a car.”

  Jess had made it no secret that she would be tearing up the roads in a few weeks. It was practically the front-page story in the Yuccaville Yodeler.

  “Maybe your mom will let you drive the old Ford to school.”

  Jess glanced at the curtain that separated them from the rec room. “It’s not for school,” she whispered. “I need it to drive to Cleveland.”

  Oh, Cleveland. Right.

  Claire mentally shook her head at the girl’s naiveté. Jess’s father lived in Cleveland with his new wife and kids. According to the last letter he’d sent, he had no room in his home or his life for Jess—not that he ever had. The piece of shit only paid child support because Ruby had dragged the Arizona courts into the mess.

  Jess wasn’t the only one who’d rather be a thousand miles away from Jackrabbit Junction today. Claire was tempted to offer the kid a ride to Cleveland right this moment. Although, she didn’t really buy that Jess would run away from her mother, the only sure thing the girl had had since sticking her head out of the womb.

  “When do you plan on leaving?” Claire took a bite of a Twinkie, chasing the sweet cake with a swallow of soda.

  Jess shrugged. “Soon. After Mom marries Harley, she’s probably not going to want me around here anymore.”

  A tried and true drama-princess, Jess could make flossing her teeth a three-act play with a curtain call to boot. “You think Ruby will be so busy throwing parties and tasting expensive wines that she won’t have much time for you?”

  “Probably.” Jess leaned toward Claire as if she had inside information on Area 51. “She’s already making me go through my old clothes and box up the stuff I don’t wear anymore.”

  “Ah, she has a hidden agenda, huh?” Ruby was undoubtedly trying to make room for Gramps and the seventy years of accumulated baggage that came with him.

  “Why else would she want to get rid of my old toys? Shouldn’t she want to keep them around to cry over after I go off to college?”

  “Sure. Most mothers love to sit around and cry over their children.” Claire bit back a grin. “So, when are you leaving?” she asked again, hoping like hell that Jess didn’t decide to take off on Claire’s watch. She didn’t need any extra stress over the next few weeks. Her mother would provide plenty, free of charge—if Claire decided to stick around, that was.

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll just tell my mom.”

  “Have I ever spilled one of your secrets to anyone?” Claire often straddled the fence between Ruby and Jess, sometimes so much that she felt saddle-sore for days.

  “Well, no.” Jess’s eyes narrowed. “Not that I know of.”

  “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “It’s not that
I don’t want to tell you. I mean, I’d really like you to go along. We could be like those two old women in that movie my mom loves—the one the Lifetime channel plays over and over—where they picked up Brad Pitt, back before he got old, and then drove off the edge of the Grand Canyon. Only we wouldn’t drive off the edge of a canyon or anything, just cruise together all the way to Cleveland; that is if Mac doesn’t mind you going with me. Do you think he would let you go with me?”

  Claire blinked, then blinked again, momentarily baffled by Jess’s lung capacity.

  “Go with you where, honey?” Ruby asked in her soft, Oklahoma drawl as she breezed through the olive curtain. Like her daughter, her red ringlets were pulled back in a ponytail, but Ruby had bangs, the uncooperative curly kind. “Mornin’, Claire. Your grandfather is looking for you.”

  “Why?” Claire crammed the last of the Twinkie in her mouth, chewing over the possible reasons Gramps might want to see her.

  She couldn’t help but be suspicious after the bomb he’d dropped on her yesterday. If he wanted help making a Welcome Wagon basket for her mother, he’d better think again. Claire hoped to be halfway to Tucson when her mom crawled out of the car.

  As Ruby walked past Claire, Jess stuffed her book under the counter. With her suddenly red cheeks, the kid was the poster girl for Guilty Teens Anonymous.

  Ruby paused in mid-stride. “What are you hiding, child?”

  “Nothing.” Jess inspected a scratch in the counter.

  “Dang it, Jess. If you’re gonna lie, at least make it believable.” Ruby leaned over the counter and pulled out the book.

  “Mom!” Jess’s voice reached decibel levels that would make Henry howl.

  Ruby’s face clouded over as she read the title. She tossed the book on the counter, glaring at Jess. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want you getting a job right now? I need you here, helping with the store until school starts. After that, you need to focus on your homework.”

  “I can do what I want! I’m almost sixteen, you know, old enough to earn more than just an allowance for working here. It’s time you started treating me like an adult.”

  With tears clinging to her eyelashes, Jess stomped off, plowing through the curtain so hard that one side of the rod pulled free.

  Groaning, Ruby rubbed her forehead. “That girl is going to land me in a straitjacket, I swear.”

  Claire walked over and snapped the rod back into place. The soft curtain brushed against her bare arms, the velvet smelling like cigar smoke and the wax Ruby used to polish the wood floor.

  “Do you want me to take her back to Tucson for a week?” Or three?

  “Thanks, but no. I need your help here, patching up my back fence and convincing your mother that I’m not fixin’ to steal your grandfather’s money.”

  Claire turned around. Behind Ruby’s half-hearted smile, worry etched her face. Guilt warmed Claire’s ears at her plan of leaving Ruby alone to face off with the Wicked Witch of the West, but her feet still itched to run—fast and far.

  “Is Deborah really as bad as Harley and you make her out to be?”

  “Of course not,” Claire lied with a straight face.

  From what Claire had witnessed since her arrival yesterday afternoon, wedding preparations and Jess’s threat to find another job had Ruby’s head spinning. She didn’t need to know that Claire’s mother was more dangerous than a belligerent mother bear when it came to protecting Gramps’s money.

  “Good.” Ruby’s smile looked fragile. She placed her palm on Claire’s arm and squeezed gently. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you here with me while your mom is in town.”

  Claire’s heart plummeted. “Yeah, about that.” She tried to think of a way to let Ruby down easily.

  “I wanted you to be my maid of honor, but Jess would turn me in to child protective services if I didn’t choose her.”

  No fair! Claire wanted to cry, feeling like she was being tied up and left on the railroad tracks. “Oh. Well, I, uh …”

  “I couldn’t ask for a sweeter granddaughter.” Ruby’s green eyes welled.

  Claire abandoned all plans of escape at the sight of Ruby’s tears. She’d never seen Ruby cry, not even when Jess accidentally slammed the pickup door on her finger. The woman had a backbone made of titanium.

  “Ruby, you’re exactly who our family needs,” Claire said, thinking of her mother’s lack of a human heart.

  She was going to see her mother. Shit. Claire needed a cigarette. “Weren’t you saying something about Gramps looking for me?”

  “Uh-huh.” Ruby opened the cash drawer and grabbed several twenties. “He wants you to ride with him to Yuccaville to get front tires for the old Ford.” She handed Claire the cash with a grin, all signs of tears gone. “He’s so funny.”

  Gramps and funny were not two words Claire usually included in the same sentence. Maybe sarcastic. Definitely argumentative. “What makes you say that?”

  “Last night, he bet me that you’d scurry back to Tucson before mornin’ light to keep from seeing your mom.”

  “That Gramps.” Claire stuffed the bills in her back pocket, realizing she’d just been royally conned into staying. “He’s a real cutup.”

  * * *

  “Come on, Mom,” Kate Morgan said as she waited alone in her black Volvo outside of Biddy’s Gas and Carryout.

  The air conditioner protected her from the waves of heat rising from the asphalt, but the noontime sun blazed through the windows, threatening to melt her steering wheel.

  Across the parking lot a building with Wheeler’s Diner painted on the sign overhead stood empty, fading in the sun. A raven picked at the remains of something furry that had been flattened and then dragged through the gravel.

  On the other side of the road sat what must be a hardware store and feed store all rolled into one. Bulging burlap bags, wood-handled pickaxes, and green wheelbarrows lined the sidewalk under the Creekside Supply Company overhang. The store next to it must have gone out of business. The big plate glass windows were empty except for the real estate sign taped to one of them.

  Jackrabbit Junction lived up to its name. Kate expected to see a jackrabbit hop by any moment.

  Movement at Biddy’s double doors drew her gaze back to the carryout. A cowboy walked by her front bumper, a grocery sack in one hand, a bag of potting soil in the other. His suntanned arms were chiseled, but not bulging. His cowboy hat sat low on his forehead, his face carved by the sun and wind. Reddish blond hair ended at the collar of his navy T-shirt. As he passed her window, his dark blue eyes caught her staring. His lips creased in a smile and he gave her a quick nod.

  Kate looked away, her cheeks warm despite the cool air blowing from her vent. In her side mirror, she watched him stride across the parking lot: his long legs covered in jeans, his boots worn at the back of the heel, his butt …

  Someone rapped on the passenger side window.

  Kate jerked, knocking her knee on the underside of the dash. “Ow, damn!” She rubbed her kneecap.

  “Unlock the door, Kathryn. Hurry up before I wilt!”

  Kate hit the button that unlocked the door. She grimaced at the gush of heat that whooshed into the car, along with an eye-watering whiff of sandalwood and jasmine as Deborah Morgan dropped into the passenger seat.

  “What did you do in there, Mom? Bathe in your Chanel No. 5?”

  “That was one of the most disgusting bathrooms I’ve ever seen.” Deborah’s nose wrinkled as she fished a Kleenex from her purse. “Apparently, they haven’t heard of bleach in this part of the country.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. After driving over 1000 miles cooped up with her mother, who had bitched non-stop about the cost of gas, Kate’s need to speed, and Gramps marrying some floozy, Kate couldn’t wait to drown her sorrows in a big bottle of vodka.

  “You could’ve waited until we got to Ruby’s place. It’s just a couple of miles up the road.” Kate shifted into reverse, looked in her rearview mirror,
and watched the cowboy jaywalk across the highway.

  “That wouldn’t be very polite, now would it? Introducing myself and then immediately asking to use her facilities.” Deborah sniffed and adjusted her silk blouse. “Besides, I doubt her restroom is any cleaner.”

  Kate sighed. “Mom, we talked about this already.”

  “What? That wasn’t an insult. It was just speculation.”

  “Quit splitting hairs. Why can’t you just keep an open mind about this woman? She might actually be in love with Gramps.”

  “I seriously doubt that. She’s almost twenty years his junior, you know.”

  “So you’ve said.” Over and over again. With her jaw clenched, Kate rolled onto the highway.

  What had she been thinking when she volunteered to drive her mother to the wedding? Deborah’s exaggerated fear of flying and night blindness claim had played major roles in Kate’s self-imposed guilt trip. But after the first few hours of her mom ranting constantly about Gramps’s fiancée, Claire’s boyfriend, and Kate’s canceled engagement to the man Deborah had hand-picked, Kate had made the steering wheel lopsided from squeezing it like a vice.

  She had a feeling that her mom was focusing extra hard on what was wrong with everyone else’s life so that she didn’t have to think about her own failures and the divorce papers she’d signed last week. Fortunately, her mother didn’t know Kate had quit her job as a teacher last month, or she would’ve been the only one roasting on the end of a stick for most of the miles.

  Hitting her blinker, Kate stopped at Jackrabbit Junction’s only intersection. Off the side of the road, a billboard advertised the Dancing Winnebagos R.V. Park.

  She idled, waiting for a semi to pass from the other direction, and noticed the cowboy crossing a parking lot filled with a handful of dusty cars and pickups in front of a cedar-planked building. The sign out front read, THE SHAFT. Kate watched his long legs, chewing on her lower lip, remembering how blue his eyes had been.

  “Kathryn! What are you waiting for?”

  Kate blinked and hit the gas.

  “You remind me of your father—speeding all of the time and not paying attention to others on the road.”