Just In Time

by Joan Lindstedt Jackson

  “I’m just as surprised by it as you are,” her voice shook. “And by how mad you got.”

  He looked into her eyes and softened. “I didn’t mean to upset you, love.” Then he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her.

  Her head against his chest, she tried to relax in his arms, but her breathing felt shallow, irregular. “I can’t catch my breath.”

  He gently rubbed her back, saying over and over how sorry he was. “It’s just so unfair to you. I always fight for the underdog. We get taken advantage of you know.”

  Nancy didn’t think of herself as an underdog, just someone with a lot of hard luck. Who are the underdogs? Poor people mostly. People with too many mouths to feed. No family or too much family? People without homes, with no influence or connections. Well, in that case, she probably fit the bill. At least now she didn’t have too many mouths to feed. Just her own. But that was going to change for the better with Martin. Then Steve came into her mind. “Steve’s more of the underdog, you know.”

  “He is that. But a damn lucky one. And you haven’t and wouldn’t take advantage of him.”

  He had a point, she thought. “But Sylvia has to fight for him. She’s all he’s got.”

  Martin sighed. “Okay. I’ll give her that.” He hugged her close. “You sound like you feel better. Can we try to put this behind us and move forward? We need to decide what to do next.”

  “But not tonight,” Nancy said. “I need to get some sleep.”

  “Me, too,” Martin agreed. “Let’s dream about our future nights, lying together, side by side.”

  Nancy mustered a smile. “After all, tomorrow is another day.”

  Martin chuckled. “That’s my girl. Already bouncing back.” Martin thought it best not to come over to the house again; he didn’t want to run into Sylvia.

  Nancy agreed. “But I won’t be living here much longer anyway,” she offered. “Come to think of it, where is Steve?”

  Martin had a twinkle in his eye. “Not your concern anymore, is it?”

  “I guess not,” Nancy shrugged.

  They sat in silence, holding each other a while, then Martin slowly got up, and Nancy walked him to the door. They exchanged a few quick kisses, and he left.

  Nancy scurried to the kitchen and poured herself another vodka on the rocks. She heard Sammy whimpering and, drink in hand, she went to her room. She picked him up then curled next to him on the bed. “And what am I going to do about you? I can’t take you to England with us due to the quarantine there. Oh, Sammy, what a mess.” Now she was whimpering. And thinking.

  Seeing the darker side of Martin made Nancy wonder if he’d behave like that with her. It worried her a little. But her doubt was brief. We’re all capable of angry outbursts, she decided. We all have a dark side. He was standing up for me! No man had ever stood up for her. Martin leaped to her side in outrage that she was being treated unfairly, and that’s what she chose to focus on. Her future depended on it. She turned on the TV, which always helped her fall asleep, and sipped her vodka until it was drained, then chewed on the ice cubes.

  24

  While the drama was unfolding with Sylvia, Nancy, and Martin, Steve was on his way home from Pizza Hut. He drove past the house when he saw Martin’s car in the driveway. He didn’t want to walk in on them, never knowing if he and Nancy would be making out on the couch, or even just snuggling. Now that they were getting married, at least that’s the last he’d heard, he figured they’d be even more likely to do whatever they felt like. He didn’t want to picture any clothes off, some naked part of their gross bodies exposed. Besides, if he interrupted them doing something, he’d be embarrassed and have to apologize for being in the way. He just didn’t want to confront that, or even to feel like he had to chat with them if they were only watching TV. They were always watching TV.

  So Steve drove around the block twice, then saw he was low on gas and decided to pull into the far side of the driveway, which was split by a large bush at the entrance. There was enough space to let Martin out when he left. What if he starts staying overnight now? The thought creeped him out. Steve cut the engine, turned off the headlights, got out, and quietly closed the driver’s door. He’d just walk around the village until Martin was gone. Steve liked to walk when it got dark because no one was around. The Silver Lake Police cruised the village all the time, so it felt safe. He didn’t know what time it was, but he knew it was late. The clock in his car wasn’t set right—he forgot how to do it, and his watch battery had died. Better ask Sylvia to go to that store she found where they sell clocks and batteries. What’s the name of it? Oh yeah, The Time Zone.

  Steve went with her once. He liked the small, old-fashioned store and the owner, an old man who fixed all kinds of clocks, even grandfather clocks. He pictured all of them lined up against every wall throughout the store, kind of like soldiers at attention. Smaller ones, like cuckoo clocks, hung on the walls. He liked the constant ticking all around him, it was soothing, and he liked how they chimed. The store wasn’t far away. Maybe he’d go with Sylvia, if he felt like it.

  The street was quiet and no cars passed. Most of the houses were dark with only a few lights in windows. The streetlights illuminated the sidewalks, but Steve liked to walk in the street, like in the old days when he ran track, except he did that in the daytime then. “I hated track, and I hate running now,” he said. He raised his arms, gesturing with his hands. “I don’t even jog.” He rambled on, chastising himself for being so slow and lazy. He tried to pick up the pace, but when he started to break out in a sweat he figured he’d better slow down. Not good for my heart, especially since I’m fat and on meds. He went around the block and right past his house. Martin’s car was still there.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but he was getting so tired, and he needed to pee. He wouldn’t want to chance it and go in a bush. What if the police saw me? They might arrest me! He knew he looked suspicious. The police usually slowed down whenever he was out walking at night, which made him nervous even though they often knew who he was. He thought about what Dr. Nora told him: Don’t look down at the ground. Just look straight ahead. He tried to do that, but he wondered how he was supposed to see where he was stepping? What if I stumble? And fall! Sometimes police officers stopped and said, “Hello, Steve. Out for a walk?” He was less nervous when they knew his name and sounded friendly. Still, he didn’t want to see any of them now.

  The wind started to blow, and the tree branches’ moving shadows, cast by the streetlights, made the neighborhood look eerie. Even the streetlights looked scary. They look the same as the ones in the movie Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I might have bad dreams. I better head home. Raindrops started to fall, and Steve looked up at the sky—no more stars. His glasses were blurry. It rained harder, turning into a downpour. His hair was matted and his clothes were soaked through, so he ran.

  He finally reached the house and jumped into his car, breathing heavily. Martin’s car was still there. He didn’t want to go inside. He decided he probably had enough gas to drive to the station. I can relieve myself there. He checked his wallet to see how much money he had for gas. “Ten dollars—that’s enough.”

  Steve started the car, turned on the lights, and slowly backed out of the drive. The windshield was fogging up, his glasses were still blurred, and he fumbled with the dials trying to find the defrost. He couldn’t see the road very well and, exasperated, kept turning dials non-stop. “How does it work? I’m such a dumb shit. Maybe it’s broken.” He weaved into the opposite lane and quickly overcorrected, almost bumping the curb. He rolled down his window, hoping that would help clear the wind-shield. Bright car lights glared in his rearview mirror. He squinted and could tell it was a Silver Lake police cruiser, right on his tail. He slowly kept going. When he pulled out of Silver Lake and onto the main road, the cruiser was still on him. “What are you following me for?” Steve slowed down well below the speed limit. The gas station was just ahead.

 
; Suddenly the cruiser’s lights were flashing then the siren wailed. He had to pull over. He gripped the steering wheel hard. “What’d I do? I wasn’t speeding!” The cruiser pulled over a ways behind him. The siren was off but the lights were still flashing. Steve waited for what seemed a long time. And then he waited some more. He looked in the rearview, raised his hands and hunched his shoulders. “Well? Are you coming or not?” He waited a bit more. Maybe he’s not after me. He inched back onto the road and went about twenty yards when the siren blared again. Now Steve was so nervous he barely managed to guide the car over. Other cars seemed to slow down, checking him out as they passed. “What are you looking at?” he yelled. The siren cut off. Lights still flashed. He sat. And waited. “You’re taking too long. I have to pee so bad. I can’t wait.” Steve pulled out again onto the road to get to the gas station while checking his rearview. Sure enough, the cruiser was right behind. “Shit! I passed the gas station! Now I have to turn around!” The green arrow at the traffic light came on as he approached the main intersection. Better not make a U-turn. I might get a ticket. He made a cautious left. He wasn’t in the Silver Lake district anymore, but the neighboring town of Cuyahoga Falls that touched its border.

  Steve was about to pull over when two more cruisers raced toward him and jerked to a stop right in front of him. He slammed on the brakes. They sat sideways blocking the road. “The Falls police!” They always scared him, but now he was terrified—they were much tougher than in Silver Lake. The Silver Lake cruiser flew in on his left. “I’m surrounded!” Five cops jumped out of their cars. Sirens and flashing lights on all sides. “It’s too loud! Too bright!” He slammed his forehead on the steering wheel, squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears. A loud voice blasted over a megaphone. “Get out of the vehicle with your hands up!” The sirens stopped and he glanced up. They were all walking toward him.

  Steve reached around the overhang of his belly to get the seatbelt unfastened but his hand shook as he fumbled to find it. So he opened the driver’s door, still struggling to undo the belt. “I’m getting out! I’m getting out!” He yelled. He finally released it and turned to get out of the car, his whole body trembling. He raised his arms and two cops seized him, threw him down on the wet street, pulled his arms hard behind his back and handcuffed him. His glasses flew off.

  Another cop beamed a flashlight in his face. “Where’s your wallet? You got a driver’s license?”

  “Yes. I’m . . . I . . . I . . . my jacket, I think.” Steve’s voice was gravelly, and he felt like he was choking. He started coughing and peed his pants.

  One of them roughly dug into his back pants pockets, then rolled him over and searched his jacket. He took out the wallet and walked to where the others were standing.

  Steve ached all over. His forehead was stinging. His knees felt scraped. His arms felt like they were being yanked out of the sockets.

  The Silver Lake cop joined the men.

  One of them was studying Steve’s driver’s license. “He matches the description. And drives the same car, beige Taurus.”

  “Description of who?” the Silver Lake cop asked.

  “Of the rapist we’ve been after for some time.”

  Steve overheard him. Panic roiled in his gut. “It’s not me! It’s a mistake!”

  “Let me see his license,” the Silver Lake cop asked. One of them handed it to him. He walked over to Steve and looked down at him, then rushed back over. “I know who he is. He’s not your guy. He’s locally well-known, mentally ill.”

  “So what? He could still be our guy.”

  “I bet the license plate doesn’t match up though,” the Silver Lake cop said.

  They hadn’t checked that yet. When one of them went to look, he came back shaking his head. “No, it’s not the same plate. So why’d you call in backup?”

  “He pulled over then drove off. Twice,” the Silver Lake cop answered. “We’d better get an ambulance here. He needs a psych ward.”

  One of them got on his radio to call the ambulance.

  Steve shouted. “No! Please, no psych ward. I just want to go home.” He blubbered and sobbed. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Uncuff him.”

  Someone uncuffed him. Steve’s pants were soaked from pee and rain. He was mortified. And freaked out. How could this be happening to me?

  “Call off the ambulance. I’ll take care of this,” the Silver Lake cop said. He helped Steve to his feet. The others got in their cruisers and drove off.

  “You can drive home now, Steve. It was all a mistake.”

  “I don’t think I can drive,” Steve stammered. “I need my glasses. Where’s my glasses? Are they broken?”

  The cop found the glasses. “They’re fine.” He wiped them and handed them to Steve along with his wallet. “I’ll drive you home, then.”

  “I can’t leave my car here.”

  “I’ll drive your car and take you home.”

  “Oh. Well, okay.”

  “I have to move my car first,” the cop said. He parked it to the side of the road and turned off the flashers then cut the engine while Steve slowly walked over to his car. It was still running, the headlights on and wiper blades going. Steve tried to open the passenger door, but it was locked. When the cop got in the driver’s seat, he reached over and unlocked the door. Steve hesitated. What if he isn’t really taking me home? But he had no choice. He was at the mercy of a cop he didn’t recognize. Steve got in and started to give him the address.

  “I know where you live,” he said.

  The unmistakable smell of urine seemed to envelop the car’s interior, so Steve lowered his window. Then the cop did. The rain had stopped, and the cop turned off the wipers. He pulled onto the dimly lit street, made a U-turn, and headed back toward Silver Lake. “My name is Paul, by the way.”

  Steve looked at him. “Um, I haven’t seen you before.”

  “I’ve only been with the Silver Lake force a few months.”

  Steve didn’t feel like talking to him, even though Paul was trying to be nice. He should be polite, he thought, especially to the police, but he couldn’t think of anything to say or ask. He was still too rattled.

  “Do you know why I stopped you?”

  Steve stared straight ahead. “No.”

  “You were weaving all over the road.”

  “I, I couldn’t see—the windshield was fogged up, and I couldn’t find the defrost button.”

  “So you weren’t drunk.”

  “I don’t drink alcohol because I’m on meds.”

  “Right. That’s good, Steve.” Paul cleared his throat. “But after I pulled you over, why did you drive off?”

  Steve was embarrassed to tell him, but he had to explain the reason. Paul probably smelled it anyway, so it didn’t matter now. “Cause I had to relieve myself. I was on my way to the gas station, and figured I could go there.” He looked at the dash and saw the fuel light was on.

  Paul then looked at it, too. “We’d better get gas,” he said. The Speed-way was still open, and he drove in. When he got to the pump, Steve took out the ten-dollar bill and handed it to him.

  “No, no I’ll get this,” Paul said.

  Steve started to insist then decided against it. “You don’t have to do that,” he said, “but thanks.”

  “I want to.” Paul got out of the car.

  While he was pumping gas, Steve put the ten back and scanned through his wallet to make sure nothing was missing.

  Paul got back in and drove Steve home. Martin’s car was gone. Good news for a change. Steve hoped Nancy and Sylvia were asleep by now, so he wouldn’t have to tell them what happened. Maybe he’d tell Sylvia tomorrow.

  After they pulled into the driveway, Paul switched on the overhead light. “Would you like me to show you how to work the defrost button, Steve?”

  “Uh, sure.” Steve sat up straighter and looked at the dashboard, hoping he could concentrate. He noticed that Paul had filled the gas tank, something
Steve rarely did. His car was a gas hog, a V-8 engine, and he never had enough money on him.

  Paul took Steve through the process step by step: the defroster, the fan, and the back window defrost button. Then he asked Steve to do it. They went over it twice. “Do you want to go over it again?”

  “No, I think I’ll remember,” Steve said, hoping he was right.

  “When it’s raining and foggy, it’d be a good idea to make sure you turn it on before you drive.”

  “Before I drive,” Steve nodded.

  “I see your clock’s not right. I’ll set it.”

  Steve watched him set the clock and was taken aback. One in the morning!

  Paul hit the garage door remote and slowly drove in. He got out of the car and walked around the back end to the passenger side. Steve was gingerly getting out of the car, and Paul extended a hand. Steve groaned as he took hold of Paul’s hand, slowly coming to a stand. He towered over Paul. He’s a shrimp!

  “Are you hurt?” Paul asked.

  Steve looked at him and saw him more clearly in the overhead garage light. Paul had red hair and a face covered in freckles. Kinda wimpy-looking and so young, like a high school kid. But his kind eyes, the soft tone of voice, and the way he treated Steve gave him the feeling that Paul was a caring person. “Naw, just sore and stiff,” he said.

  “Please call if you need any help with anything, Steve. And get some rest.”

  “Thanks for filling the tank and showing me how to work the defrost,” Steve said. “I’ve never had a policeman be that nice to me before.”

  “The least I could do,” Paul smiled. “Be sure and call if you need to go over it again. Or for anything else.”

  “Okay. I will,” Steve replied, but he couldn’t imagine ever calling the police for anything.