Mother Trucker (Crownville Truckers Book 1)

by Moxie Darling

  The elder driver thought about it. “Green Kenworth. Late model.”

  “Thanks,” Clyde said and left without waiting for a response.

  Back at his own rig, he jumped inside and slammed the door shut, yanking the CB from its holder. “Breaker, this is Bad Boy Trucker. Looking for a female driver. Just left Love’s Travel Stop in Newton, Iowa. Green late-model K-Whopper.”

  There were a few moments of crackling silence, but then a male voice came on. “Howdy, Bad Boy. Here’s Cotton Tail. Got your lady driver.”

  Clyde fired up his rig and let out an unsteady breath as he pulled out. “Yeah, Cotton Tail, come on.”

  “Passed her heading east on I-74. Hammer down.”

  “Thanks,” Clyde said through gritted teeth, then tried for the driver herself. “Lady driver,” he said, not knowing what else to call her. “Got your ears on?”

  When nothing came over the line, he tried for Mae. “Mae, I need to talk to you.”

  The only response was static and the murmur of another driver coming in with a traffic update. Clyde cursed and threw the mic. It clattered against the dash and then swung on its cord. Either the driver didn’t have her CB on, or she was intentionally ignoring him.

  Or Mae was.

  There was also the possibility that Mae couldn’t answer.

  “Dammit,” he swore and stood on it. The rig’s engine roared in response, and he tore through its gears as the tires ate up the highway. A tornado of worry rotated inside him, and the debris battered his brain like airborne projectiles. Only one thought stood rooted amidst the chaos like an unbending tree. He had to find Mae. And if that meant breaking every speed limit and traffic law under the sun, then so be it.

  And God help anyone who got in his way.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I-80 East

  Grinnell, Iowa

  Mae crossed her arms over her chest as Clyde’s voice crackled over the radio.

  “Mae, I need to talk to you,” he said, the concern in his voice wrapping fingers around her heart and squeezing.

  Belvia looked over at Mae, her overgrown eyebrows raised in question.

  Mae shook her head and stared out the window, her throat throbbing with the need to cry. What was the point of answering? Hadn’t they said all they’d needed to? It wasn’t like she could snap her fingers and become unpregnant.

  You could, her subconscious whispered in the judgmental silence.

  Even as she thought it, guilt and shame washed through her. Along with a steady stream of determination. “But I won’t,” she murmured to the window, seeing and not seeing the blurring landscape outside.

  “What’s that, sugar?” Belvia asked from the driver’s seat, glancing over at her.

  Mae looked at her and managed a smile. “Nothing.”

  In the short time she’d known the woman, Mae had already decided she liked her. Though intimidating in stature, Belvia was kind and funny. Despite Mae’s bleak state of mind, Belvia had already drawn a few smiles and laughs from her. In her late forties, the tough-talking, broad-shouldered woman wasn’t afraid to tell it like it was. She was unapologetically butch and proud of it. And when she’d listened as Mae told her that the kids in the video were the same two she’d seen at Shifty’s that night, her eyes had taken on a homicidal glint that matched Mae’s. She and Belvia didn’t know each other from beans, but they had one thing in common: they wanted Ted “Shifty” Seymour to pay for what he’d done.

  In blood.

  Belvia eyed her mirrors as she switched lanes, her Ohio State Brutus Buckeye bobblehead figurine wobbling on the Kenworth’s dash. “So, what did he do? Hit ya?”

  “What?” Mae asked, startled.

  “Your feller. He knock you around?”

  “No,” Mae said, an ironic laugh escaping her. “More like knocked me up.”

  Belvia’s eyebrows rose, and she spoke around her cigarette. “You got a bun in the oven?”

  Sighing, Mae looked down at her abdomen. The urge to touch it was strong, but she forced herself not to. It was real enough the way it was. She wasn’t ready to become a baby-bump-caressing mom-to-be just yet. “Looks that way.”

  Belvia cracked her window, tossing the cigarette. “You should’ve told me to get rid of my damn cancer stick,” she scolded. “I take it he was none too happy about it?”

  “I didn’t even notice,” Mae admitted and felt irrationally guilty that she hadn’t. “And, no, he wasn’t.”

  Belvia nodded as if she understood. “A lowlife then.”

  “No,” Mae said immediately. “He’s not. He’s just …” Her voice trailed off because she had no idea what the hell he was. Frustrating. Devastating. Heartbreaking. “Complicated.”

  “Ain’t they all,” Belvia snorted. “I had one once. A man. Wasted ten years of my life on the bastard.”

  Mae looked at her in surprise. “You did?”

  Belvia chuckled. “You didn’t think I come out of my mama waving my queer card, did you? Took me a long time to come to terms with who I was.”

  Mae’s face warmed. “I can only imagine.”

  “Point is,” Belvia said, reaching for her bottle of Gatorade. “There are two kinds of men. The kind that knock you around, put you down, and shit all over you.” She paused and thought about it. “Metaphorically and literally in some cases.” When Mae laughed and shook her head, Belvia went on, “Then there’s the other kind. Stubborn boneheads who don’t know their asses from a hole in the ground. But they mean well, and they try. You just gotta figure out which of them yours is.”

  Mae knew which one Clyde was. It didn’t change the fact that he’d given up on her, on them, the moment he’d learned she was pregnant. “That’s the problem,” Mae said, frustration grinding its gears inside her. “He didn’t try. He hightailed it.”

  Belvia considered it as she swigged her Gatorade. “How long did you give him?”

  Mae looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  Guiding the rig across lanes to pass a slow-moving car, Belvia repeated, “How long did you give him before you ran off?”

  “I …” Put like that, Mae realized the answer seemed unreasonable. But she hadn’t been unreasonable, dammit. Had she? No, leaving had been the right thing. She hadn’t run off. She’d only beaten the inevitable to the chase. “I didn’t need to give him time. It was written all over his face.”

  Belvia looked skeptical. “So, you dropped a baby bomb and didn’t give him more’n a minute to recover?”

  Mae’s irritation sparked. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t have to.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “He left. Not me, him.” The image of him climbing out of the rig and storming off like a man whose life had just been ruined was forever burned into her mind. What would have been the point of her staying? Of waiting for him to come back and make their ending official? She’d saved them both the trouble.

  Studying her before turning back to the road, Belvia asked, “Does the man eventually want kids?”

  Mae laughed, and it sounded bitter. “No. He made that clear from the beginning.”

  Belvia’s expression was one of well, there you go.

  “It’s not like I intentionally got pregnant,” Mae snapped. “And I’m pretty sure he was aware of how babies are made.”

  “Easy there, wildcat,” Belvia said, her eyes twinkling behind her sunglasses. “All I’m saying is it’s a lot for a man to take in. Especially an anti-kid man.” She returned her gaze to the highway. “Like I said, stubborn boneheads.”

  Doubt slid into the fissures in Mae’s angry shell. But even as it did, she rebelled against it. She knew Clyde. She could still remember the steel in his eyes and voice the night he’d told her why he didn’t want kids. He’d never back down. Never give in. There was no way around the boulder now lodged between them. Bringing her fingertips to her mouth to fend off the surge of emotion, she looked out the window. “He wanted me to get rid of it.”

  Belvia was quiet for a time. “That
something you considered?”

  Mae hesitated. Admitting it felt dirty. “I did, but … it’s not the same.”

  “How ain’t it?”

  Opening her mouth to reply, Mae realized she didn’t know. It wasn’t the same, was it? Or had it just been that Clyde had said aloud what she’d only thought in shameful silence? She would keep this baby. That much she was sure of. The miles she’d put between her and Clyde had given her time to sort herself out. The timing was terrible, and the reasons why she shouldn’t were many, but the mistake was hers, and she wasn’t willing to snuff out the life growing inside her because of one reckless decision. She would own it. And she would do what she had to. Just like her own ma had.

  Mae stared at the highway disappearing beneath the rig’s grass-green nose. Ken lounged on the dash, lazily grooming his paw, and Mae resisted the urge to pull him into her lap just so she could hold him. Hold something. Anything. Instead, she finally said, “I don’t know.”

  “Look,” Belvia said. “I wouldn’t try to tell you how to live your life. God knows I haven’t done more’n a few things right. But, if you love him, take a minute. Sometimes things ain’t black and white.”

  Mae’s quivering outrage withered a little, and she suddenly felt exhausted. Was Belvia right? Had Mae deprived Clyde of the chance to do the right thing? Was it possible he’d just needed breathing room to get his head on straight? Or was Mae right? Was he incapable of accepting the facts? Was he unwilling to reconsider his vow? Would he refuse to be with her if she was carrying his child? On the CB, he’d sounded desperate. Ragged. Torn. Did he want to beg her forgiveness? Carry her and their baby off into the sunset and live happily ever after? Or did he just want to make their goodbye official? Wish her well and give her a few bucks for diapers? She sighed. The knot in her brain had loosened, but there were still too many kinks for her to be objective. She was still hurt. Still shocked. Still reeling.

  And still nauseous.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said abruptly, sitting up straight.

  To her credit, Belvia didn’t panic. Instead, she grabbed the travel-sized pop-up waste bin sitting between the seats and thrust it at Mae. “Here.”

  Too sick to be embarrassed, Mae took it and had just enough time to sling her ponytail out of the way before retching. When it was over, she drew in deep, shaky breaths, her bottom lip trembling. Though she couldn’t possibly have anything left in her belly, she hovered over the waste bin just to be safe. “Oh, God.”

  Belvia politely avoided looking over. “I hear it usually goes away around the three-month mark.”

  “Usually?” Mae groaned and then added, “Three months?”

  Chuckling sympathetically, Belvia said, “Get one of my Gatorades. The hydration might help.”

  “Thanks,” Mae murmured and reached over to grab one from the mini-fridge behind the driver’s seat. Twisting off the cap, she took a drink. When it didn’t immediately come back up, she sagged into her seat. “I’m not sure I can handle three months of that.”

  “I hear some women have it their entire pregnancy.”

  Mae gave her a look that she hoped conveyed slow, painful murder.

  Belvia laughed. “Hang in there, kid. It’ll be okay.”

  Leaning her head back, Mae closed her eyes as tears threatened. Her ma used to say the same thing. And, right then, the loss of Desiree felt somehow emptier than it had before. Despite Belvia’s welcome presence, Mae had never felt more alone.

  It wasn’t until she felt Belvia’s hand on her shoulder that she realized she’d fallen asleep. Neck aching from the awkward position, she glanced over groggily.

  “Rise and shine, sugar.” Belvia smiled grimly. “Time to kick some pervert ass.”

  The first thing Mae noticed was the rain. The sky looked gray and unsettled, and thunder rolled outside, its rumble heard even over the growl of the Kenworth’s engine. For a moment, she watched the rhythmic back and forth of the wipers, almost unable to believe she was back at Shifty’s. She’d come to accept and, in some ways, look forward to never returning. Yet here she was, and on the Devil’s business no less. From her angle, all she could see was the white overhang jutting into that bleak grayness over the gas pumps, the metal faded and tinged with rust. Rather than a sense of homecoming, all she felt was overwhelming sadness and dread.

  And prickling fury.

  Her own troubles still floated in the stagnant pool of her mind, but this was something she could grab with her own two hands and strangle right now.

  Sitting up, she gazed at the truck stop she’d called home her entire life.

  It had always been a rat hole, but in her absence, it appeared to have degraded further. The exterior looked even more rundown, the parking lot seedier. Even the pumps looked duller and more dated. Despite the place’s lackluster appearance, it was as busy as ever. Going by the steady stream of vehicles, rigs, and folks walking to and fro, it was midmorning.

  “What time is it?” Mae asked.

  Belvia tapped a cigarette out of her pack and put it in her mouth without lighting it. “Eight. Drove all the way through.”

  Eight.

  Mae had left Clyde over twelve hours ago.

  Before she could stop herself, she brought her hand to her abdomen. It felt the same. Aside from a mild wave of nausea and the crippling feeling that her life was, once again, in shambles, she felt the same. What was Clyde feeling right now? Was he miserable and drifting like she was? Or was he relieved? Now that he could return to hating himself in solitude? Just thinking of him brought the sting of fresh tears to her dry, red eyes, so she pushed him out of her mind. “Kenny,” she murmured, finding the tabby snugged between her hip and the door, his tail curled around him in a perfect spiral. “Wake up.”

  Ken raised his head and stretched out his front paws as if trying to decide if her command was worth obeying.

  Mae looked over at Belvia. “Let’s do this.”

  Belvia’s grin was sharp. “Damn straight, baby.”

  They got out and were greeted by the gloomy drizzle, but Mae barely noticed it. She was focused on one thing only: bringing Shifty down. Ken, on the other hand, wasn’t keen on getting wet, and she had to manually remove him from the truck. In her haste to escape Clyde, she’d left Ken’s litter box behind. Belvia had taken a liking to the cat, but Mae doubted she’d appreciate him christening her seats.

  “You’re not going to melt,” Mae told him, setting him on the gravel while keeping hold of his leash. He’d grown up on this lot just as she had, but it had been over a month since he’d been here, and she didn’t want to chance him getting spooked and running off or worse. She’d lost Clyde. She couldn’t lose Ken, too.

  “Where to?” Belvia asked, surveying the truck stop like a sniper.

  Mae’s eyes narrowed as determination and loathing scissored through her. “This way.”

  The unlikely trio strode across the puddle-ridden lot toward the side entrance. As they neared the dented, primer-painted door, Mae’s stomach knotted. She now knew why her ma had been adamant that the door was off limits when Mae had been a kid. Had Desiree known what went on behind it? Or had she just not wanted Mae in a seedy back room with Shifty? Mae hoped it was the latter. Either way, whatever hell they were about to walk into ended today.

  Gripping Ken’s leash in one hand, she grabbed the knob and turned.

  It jiggled stubbornly. She cursed. “It’s locked.”

  Belvia loomed. “Lemme try.”

  Mae stepped aside, gritting her teeth so hard her jaw ached.

  Belvia tried the knob and then threw her shoulder into the door, grunting. The door rattled on its hinges as if it knew it couldn’t withstand her considerable strength but was determined to try. Belvia took a step back, clenched her jaw, and then tried again. The door burst open with surprising drama, the wood frame splintering and the knob banging off the interior wall with a reverberating crack.

  The now-lopsided doorway gaped to reveal dar
kness. No cringing, frightened kids. No leering Shifty holding a camera. Just dusty shadows.

  Massaging her shoulder and breathing hard, Belvia stepped inside. Mae followed.

  At first, she saw nothing, but after fumbling for a light switch, she flipped it, and a single bare bulb illuminated the windowless room.

  “Cocksucker,” Belvia breathed.

  Though Mae had known the truth as soon as she’d recognized the kids in the photos, seeing it in person took her breath away. The dingy room was set up like a crude photography studio. A couple tripods supporting digital cameras waited to her right. Cameras that were pointed toward a twin bed that bore a thrift-store Strawberry Shortcake ruffled comforter and a few teddy bears. A matching bed sat on the opposite side of the room, only its comforter was blue with spaceships. A rack to her left boasted an assortment of frilly dresses and underwear, and strewn on a table was, Jesus help her, an assortment of bondage paraphernalia.

  Cupping her hand over her mouth, Mae rushed outside and heaved.

  When it was over, she remained hunched, sucking in damp air as the drizzle pelted her back. Ken, startled by the leash jerking, struggled in his harness.

  “It’s okay, Kenny,” she managed, squeezing her eyes shut when another, blessedly milder wave of nausea rolled through her. “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”

  Belvia appeared, her boots heavy on the wet, crumbling sidewalk. “Sick son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah,” Mae agreed, her voice hoarse. How long had this been going on? How many nights had she worked the lot while kids were inside that room being abused? How many could she have saved if she had known? If she’d paid attention?

  How many more would have been violated if she hadn’t picked up that phone yesterday?

  “Mae?”

  At the sound of Jerry’s slow, unmistakable voice, Mae looked up.

  He’d just come around the back of the building and stopped in his tracks when he saw her. His eyes, even the lazy one, widened, and he dropped the ladder he’d been carrying, the resounding clang jarring her ears.