With no other word, Tony headed toward the shed and the old Mustang. Over his shoulder, he said, “You can report the car stolen but don’t mention our visit today. You have no idea who took it, understand? I’m sure you don’t want us coming back here.”
Elma was still sobbing, clearly terrified. “Just take it. Leave us alone.”
Gary hurried after Tony and grabbed him by the arm. In a hushed voice he asked, “What the holy fuck are you doing?”
Tony, walking toward the old car, slapped the gun into Gary’s stomach. “You take the truck. Oh… and did you bring any more bullets for this thing?”
“Yeah… some. But why’d you take the old man’s ride? We already have transportation.”
“Don’t be such an idiot, Gary. This is the exact same model… maybe even the same year that retard’s brother, Kyle, stole… guy’s got a hard on for old mustangs. Just try to keep up, man… we’ll take the Mustang and drive it into Crowley Lake. I’ll text my dad that I saw Kyle driving it around town. Put big brother right back in jail again.”
Chapter 12
Jackie was running behind—started doing the chores too late around the farm. She actually managed to crack the books earlier this morning, but it had been a feeble attempt. She couldn’t concentrate. Everything she read, she knew she’d have to reread again later.
Her chores included gathering eggs from the chicken coop, milking the fatter-than-remembered cow Hilda, and cleaning out Dad’s disgusting refrigerator. After taking her third shower of the day, she almost called Mrs. Perkins to decline her invitation for dinner—explaining that she wasn’t up to socializing—with her dad in the hospital, and all. But her dad was doing surprisingly well and she really wanted to see Cuddy again. Over the course of the day she found herself thinking about him on and off. How losing touch with him over the last seven or eight years—ever since she’d entered high school then gone off to college—how she’d unknowingly lost a part of herself. What that was exactly… she wasn’t sure.
The drive over to the Perkins’ ranch was a ten-minute trek across mostly packed dirt roads. She had the top down on her yellow 2011 Volkswagen Beetle and wore an
Atlanta Braves baseball cap to hold her long hair in place. A warm Tennessee breeze flowed nicely in and out of the convertible. It was times like these when she most appreciated coming home to the small town of Woodbury. Sure, it was poor and backwoodsy, with practically nothing to do for a modern Millennial like her… yet there was something decent here. Woodbury was true and honest, had never claimed to be anything it wasn’t. Cruising down the one stop-sign town, you could get a sense of its humble Americana roots, and there was something comforting about that. Its lack of pretense—take me as I am sentiment.
The early evening sky had turned brilliant amber and pink atop darkening cornflower blue. From horizon to horizon, a pallet of vivid colors excited her vision. She couldn’t recall anything even close to being so beautiful. Her analytical mind knew that the colors were derived from refracted light, coming off particles in the atmosphere. Since there was no real industry around there to speak of… no smog… where did those lofty particles come from? Perhaps blown in from Memphis?
Slowing, she turned off Beacham Road onto the Perkins’ rolling, cratered driveway. Twice, she felt the Bug’s undercarriage bottom-out—clunk… clunk.
Up ahead was the old ranch house, and the dilapidated barn off to the left. Coming back was like going back in time. She recalled a hand pump for watering next to a horse trough, just beyond the wraparound front porch. Skirting a massive pothole, she remembered there used to be chickens running around all over the place, and even a few goats. Now, the old ranch looked deserted. If it weren’t for Momma’s old car, parked in front of the house, Jackie could have sworn nobody lived there anymore.
Momma Perkins did what she could with what she had, which wasn’t much. Jackie suspected they lived on whatever the state doled out to her. Having a disabled child maybe helped with that some, she supposed, and she knew Momma also took on odd jobs, using her old Singer sewing machine. Six years ago, her late husband, whom everyone called Hash, was struck by lightning while standing on the barn roof during a rainstorm, leaving family members to pretty much fend for themselves. Jackie wondered how they’d even managed—by the looks of things not very well.
Jackie braked to a stop and turned off the car. She grabbed the basket of eggs from the passenger seat, opened up the door and climbed out. Waving away disturbed-up dust and dirt, she headed for the house.
“And she comes bearing gifts too,” a deep voice said from the porch. She’d expected to see Cuddy. Child-like, she remembered him in past years, waiting at the end of the drive, waving like a maniac.
“You’re back,” she said, handing Kyle the basket of fresh chicken eggs. He looked as she remembered—a little older, perhaps, and a little rougher around the edges—still wearing the same old olive-green Army jacket he always wore, with his first initial and last name stenciled in black letters on the upper left pocket. His hair was longer and his eyes portrayed a young man who’d lost hope in ever finding a meaningful future.
She watched his eyes rove up and down her body. Found buried in a drawer, she’d pulled on a pair of old faded jeans, unworn since high school, but pleased they still fit her. Suddenly self-conscious, she gave Kyle a friendly punch on the shoulder suspecting that he too was reflecting back on their one night of intoxicated wild abandonment. She had that single indiscretion with Kyle years ago, which she instantly regretted. Regretted, because she felt she’d somehow betrayed Cuddy—her childhood friend who loved her. Loved her in a way that was purely innocent, but nevertheless just as real. She’d made it clear to Kyle that their intimate time together was a one-time mistake, which she wished had never happened. Hurting Cuddy would never be an option for her.
“Yeah… back after one year, seven months, and three weeks, but who’s counting?”
Jackie glanced back toward her car. “Should I hide my car keys?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Truth is, I wouldn’t need ’em. But I think you’re safe. There’s not another car on the planet that screams chick-mobile more than a VW bug. I bet you even have a flower sticking out of the little bud vase on the dash.”
“Well, yes I do, as a matter of fact. A plastic daisy.”
“Is that Jackie?” a woman’s voice asked inside the screen door.
“It’s me. Something smells awfully good in there.” Jackie added, “I’ll have you know, I’ve been doing ranch work all day long and the only thing that kept me going was the thought of some good ol’-fashioned Southern cooking.”
Momma Perkins swung wide the screen door, propping it open with a foot, then spread out her arms to give Jackie a hug. “Come on in, dear…”
Jackie caught her tight, artificial smile. The tension reflected off the older woman’s face was unmistakable.
The two women stood at the kitchen window, looking outdoors. Momma Perkins had turned down the burners on the stovetop. Tinfoil loosely covered an assortment of pots and pans.
“When he didn’t come home for lunch I started worrying. Especially in lieu of what happened to him a few days back.” Her arms were wrapped about her.
Jackie put a reassuring arm around Momma’s broad shoulders and squeezed. “I’m sure the big goofball’s simply lost track of time.”