Two-Four David.”
Jason chuckled and shook his head. “Stand by?” he asked the radio, talking to it off the air, as if addressing a person. “You called me, remember?”
The speaker popped again a few seconds later. “Ah, Two-Four David, what’s the ten-twenty of your passenger?”
“I dropped him off at the hospital. His mother’s having an operation of some sort.”
This time the commotion in the background was louder—much louder, in fact—and Jason distinctly heard the word “shit!” boomed by somebody. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn it was Chief Sherwood’s voice. “Okay, Two-Four David.” The dispatcher’s voice sounded like an island of calm in a sea of bedlam. “Stand by to copy.”
“Oh, God, Jake, you’re safe!” Carolyn threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly enough to hurt. “I’ve been worried sick about you.” Inside, the place was black, lighted by a single kerosene lantern on the floor. But the work had all been done.
Once the adrenaline kicked in, she’d become oblivious to everything but her mission. She’d flown through the storage bays, collecting their prepacked duffel bags and second-guessing herself at every turn.
She’d finished early—nearly an hour ago—and that’s when the panic had really started to sink in. If family came first, then how come she had everything else done, yet no one to talk to?
Loneliness was a horrible thing—if only for a few minutes at a time—and loneliness in the dark was worst of all. In the dim light of the kerosene lamp, her fears had taken on a physical dimension. She sensed that if she’d tried, she could have reached out and felt her fears with her hands, and the more she’d told herself that she was being silly, the larger and darker the fears had become.
She’d found the pint of Jack Daniel’s without really even looking for it, buried deep in the middle of her duffel. She dimly remembered hiding it there a long time ago—a time when the bottle was her first priority. She told herself that all she needed was a swig—a single pull—to bring everything under control. Well, maybe two. It burned wonderfully as it sought that place in her soul where the body manufactured courage. As the level fell below the top of the label, though, she was jolted by vivid memories of a different monster, and she’d returned the bottle to the spot where it belonged, in the fold of her denim jacket, about a quarter of the way down from the top of the bag.
From the movement of her shoulders, Jake knew she was crying. She smelled of fear and dust and sweat. And, dammit, of booze. His vision blurred as he held her and kissed the top of her head. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
The embrace felt magical; hypnotic almost. They’d been through so much together over the years—so much trembling and crying and running—that sometimes Jake wondered if the world could possibly spin without her. The drinking drove him nuts, and the screaming in the night terrified him almost as much as it did her, but she was the only person in the world who knew who he truly was. Even his own son didn’t know—couldn’t know.
The realization hit Jake like a hammer. He pushed Carolyn just far enough away to see her eyes. “Where’s Travis?”
He sat all the way in the back of the school bus, in the corner, right where the teachers and chaperons expected the Farm Meadows kids to sit. He felt ridiculous with his purple eye, and the cheap imitation Oakleys he wore to camouflage the bruise really didn’t hide a thing.
Travis had already been reminded three times—once getting on the bus at the school and then twice more once they arrived at the stupid plantation house—that one more fight would get him thrown out of school. Like that would just friggin’ break his heart.
He was sick of school as it was; tired of always being the new kid—every asshole’s most convenient punching bag. His dad had told him that this move
Jason chuckled and shook his head. “Stand by?” he asked the radio, talking to it off the air, as if addressing a person. “You called me, remember?”
The speaker popped again a few seconds later. “Ah, Two-Four David, what’s the ten-twenty of your passenger?”
“I dropped him off at the hospital. His mother’s having an operation of some sort.”
This time the commotion in the background was louder—much louder, in fact—and Jason distinctly heard the word “shit!” boomed by somebody. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn it was Chief Sherwood’s voice. “Okay, Two-Four David.” The dispatcher’s voice sounded like an island of calm in a sea of bedlam. “Stand by to copy.”
“Oh, God, Jake, you’re safe!” Carolyn threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly enough to hurt. “I’ve been worried sick about you.” Inside, the place was black, lighted by a single kerosene lantern on the floor. But the work had all been done.
Once the adrenaline kicked in, she’d become oblivious to everything but her mission. She’d flown through the storage bays, collecting their prepacked duffel bags and second-guessing herself at every turn.
She’d finished early—nearly an hour ago—and that’s when the panic had really started to sink in. If family came first, then how come she had everything else done, yet no one to talk to?
Loneliness was a horrible thing—if only for a few minutes at a time—and loneliness in the dark was worst of all. In the dim light of the kerosene lamp, her fears had taken on a physical dimension. She sensed that if she’d tried, she could have reached out and felt her fears with her hands, and the more she’d told herself that she was being silly, the larger and darker the fears had become.
She’d found the pint of Jack Daniel’s without really even looking for it, buried deep in the middle of her duffel. She dimly remembered hiding it there a long time ago—a time when the bottle was her first priority. She told herself that all she needed was a swig—a single pull—to bring everything under control. Well, maybe two. It burned wonderfully as it sought that place in her soul where the body manufactured courage. As the level fell below the top of the label, though, she was jolted by vivid memories of a different monster, and she’d returned the bottle to the spot where it belonged, in the fold of her denim jacket, about a quarter of the way down from the top of the bag.
From the movement of her shoulders, Jake knew she was crying. She smelled of fear and dust and sweat. And, dammit, of booze. His vision blurred as he held her and kissed the top of her head. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
The embrace felt magical; hypnotic almost. They’d been through so much together over the years—so much trembling and crying and running—that sometimes Jake wondered if the world could possibly spin without her. The drinking drove him nuts, and the screaming in the night terrified him almost as much as it did her, but she was the only person in the world who knew who he truly was. Even his own son didn’t know—couldn’t know.
The realization hit Jake like a hammer. He pushed Carolyn just far enough away to see her eyes. “Where’s Travis?”
He sat all the way in the back of the school bus, in the corner, right where the teachers and chaperons expected the Farm Meadows kids to sit. He felt ridiculous with his purple eye, and the cheap imitation Oakleys he wore to camouflage the bruise really didn’t hide a thing.
Travis had already been reminded three times—once getting on the bus at the school and then twice more once they arrived at the stupid plantation house—that one more fight would get him thrown out of school. Like that would just friggin’ break his heart.
He was sick of school as it was; tired of always being the new kid—every asshole’s most convenient punching bag. His dad had told him that this move
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