Table of Contents 16 страница

Hulk was giving me three days most weeks, and I’d had four clients ask for personal designs painted on their cars and trucks. Two more were lined up. I had a freakin’ waiting list! Torrey said I should put together a portfolio. I didn’t know about that, but it was a good feeling. Scratch that—it was a great feeling, like people saying I was good at something for a change.

Dad and Momma were talking, I think, but she still refused to come home while I was there. It hurt, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Dad was learning to accept me again and on the rare evenings when Torrey wasn’t around, we had some real conversations. We had to get to know each other again with eight years to catch up on. I’d been a boy when I was sent away; I’d grown up fast, and he didn’t quite know what to make of the man who’d come home.

When I told him about the first couple of months in juvie and how I’d tried to kill myself, he broke down in tears. I think it made it real for him, how close he’d come to losing both his sons. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that the first time I tried to end my own life wasn’t the last. Some things were best kept hidden even now.

From what he told me about that time, he and Momma had pretty much just shut down. He also admitted that it had been their decision to block me from coming to Mikey’s funeral. That hurt a lot.

Most everyone in the high school had gone, by the sound of it, including the teachers. Even some of the football players from other high schools had turned up in their team colors as a mark of respect. Mikey’s best friend Ryan Dupont gave the eulogy, and the gym had been used to host the wake after the funeral. My name wasn’t mentioned.

Gradually, I began to really talk to my dad. I had a lot of trust issues and hadn’t forgotten that he and Momma had basically thrown me to the wolves eight years ago, but Torrey had taught me that keeping it all inside was poison to us. Momma was the living proof of that.

So I told him about some of the crazy stunts Mikey and I had gotten up to, and I think it opened his eyes to a few things. I felt okay about telling him Mikey’s secrets after all of these years. It kind of put things in perspective for both of us. I wasn’t no saint, but I wasn’t all sinner either. It had been a bit of a shock for him to find out how heavily into weed Mikey had been. I’d always been more of a drinker. He wanted me to promise that once my parole was over that I wouldn’t go back to the booze. I couldn’t do that—I was looking forward to having a beer now and again. I’d probably stay away from hard liquor, but I was done making promises I couldn’t keep.

Our relationship was a work in progress but we were getting there.

As for Momma … it wasn’t looking good.

Things with Torrey and me were fan-fucking-tastic. I didn’t change my mind about her being the best thing that had ever happened to me. We’d been dating nearly three months and she never ceased to amaze me with her strength and beauty and love of life. And, slowly at first, we started making plans together for the future, our future. God, I loved saying that! Our future.

After that first night when Momma left, Torrey never really went home again—to the Rectory. The Reverend wanted her to stay there, but had refused to allow Torrey to have me in their home. That was a deal breaker as far as she was concerned. Torrey’s view was that if the Rectory was truly her home, too, then her momma would allow me inside. The Rev’s view was she wouldn’t condone us having a physical relationship out of wedlock. Yeah right, like half her parishioners weren’t shacked up together. She wasn’t saying it, but the real reason was my ex-con badge. Torrey said she was a freakin’ hypocrite, and didn’t want anything to do with her.

I wasn’t happy that they’d fallen out because of me, but Torrey insisted that she wasn’t going to compromise on this. Woman was stubborn.

Despite Torrey putting her money where her mouth was, so to speak, she also admitted that she was shit scared of commitment. We talked about that a lot. In different ways, it was important to both of us. For her, it came down to having watched her parents’ marriage disintegrate. It had left a mark on her, and I don’t think it helped that Dad and Momma had severe problems, too. But we were working things out, kind of making it up as we went along.

Things in town were pretty much the same, maybe even a little better. Most times I visited, Torrey was with me, and folk were less likely to start something when she was around. I felt bad that she was my human shield, and frankly it sucked being such a freakin’ pussy that I had to hide behind my woman.

But the day when the asshats had tried to get me to fight them had really made Torrey understand why I reacted the way I did; it had made her see that even the slightest breath of trouble, and my parole would be revoked. No way was I going back to prison. Ever. No fucking way. I’d rather die.

Officer Carson turned out to be pretty nice. I saw her every couple of weeks or so.

The house searches continued every five or six weeks, but we worked around them. Sometimes it was a guy called Martins. We all hated him. He threw his weight around and made it pretty damn clear that he thought I was no better than a shit stain on his shorts, and that he expected me to fuck up any moment.

Torrey hated them the most. Her shit was all over the house. I swear, she was the untidiest person I’d ever met. She only had to be home a few minutes and her shoes were in one room, her purse in another, her sweater somewhere else. She lost her cell phone ten times a day; I was tempted to put her car keys on a leash and tie them to her. The bathroom was littered with lipstick and face stuff and God-knows-what. I pretended it drove me crazy, but really, I loved it. I think she knew that.

Waking up with her in my arms every morning was officially the best part of my day. That and falling asleep with her after we’d made love. Even though I didn’t think it was possible, I fell for her a little more deeply every day. I loved everything about her: the way she’d scrunch up her nose before she sneezed; the way she couldn’t sit on the sofa without lying all over it so I was shoved up into the corner; the way she danced to the radio when she was cooking.

She was a God-awful cook, too, but for some reason she seemed to think she was like a freakin’ chef or something. I should have been warned from that very first meal she made me when I just about melted my tongue trying her chili somethin’ or other. On the days she wasn’t working, she insisted on cooking ‘for the menfolk’ as she put it. I know Dad felt the same fear of her being in the kitchen as I did, because he’d try to insist on bringing home pizza those times so she could ‘have a night off’. Sometimes it worked.

I found I enjoyed messing with food. After years of eating overcooked gloop, tasting new things and trying out recipes was a little slice of freedom. I wasn’t bad at it either—certainly better than Torrey, although she wouldn’t admit it. Dad joked that I could probably get a job as a short order cook. I knew he wasn’t really serious, but it felt like I had other options to earn money and that was a big thing for me.

Prison institutionalizes you. You’re told when to wake up, when to go to sleep, when to eat, when to wash, and when to shit. Every second of every day is worked out for you. The only decision you get to make is whether to eat with a spoon or your fingers. Seriously.

Officer Carson said that a lot of guys didn’t make it on the outside because freedom actually scares them—too many big choices to make every day; too many chances to fuck it up by picking the wrong one. Yeah, I knew what that felt like. I’d been so fucking scared when I’d first gotten released. Everything seemed like a huge, impossible challenge. Even now, meeting a stranger for the first time could have my anxiety levels shooting off of the chart, but it was getting better. Sometimes I even felt normal.

Dad and Torrey got along really well, and I was thankful for that. It had taken some adjustment all around having her living with us, but it was good. She called him ‘Paul’, and he called her ‘Missy D’ or ‘Miss Take’ which made her laugh. I think he would have been pretty happy for us to make it official and to have her as a daughter-in-law. I was working on that, but no way I was going to ask her to marry me while I was still on parole. That shit was just wrong.

I talked to Mikey about it. Several times a month I’d stop by the cemetery on my way home from work. I’d tell him about my day, or about some crazy thing that Torrey had done, or about how good she made me feel. I don’t know why, but I felt like he was there, and that he could hear me.

It bothered me that Torrey and her momma barely spoke, and that I was the reason. She said it wasn’t anything to do with me, but I called bullshit on that. I tried to talk to her about it but she said she’d speak to her momma when the Rev was ready to accept me as part of her daughter’s life. I couldn’t really argue it, so I had to trust that things would get worked out between them somehow.

It was real slow, but gradually I started feeling more comfortable about going out and meeting people. Not everyone in this one-horse town knew or cared who I was. Or who I’d been.

Torrey had been nudging me to get out more. The choices were pretty limited as I was still uncomfortable going into town, and had a finite catchment area and a curfew, but that didn’t stop her prodding and poking at me to try stuff. Her latest plan was to double-date with Bev and her new guy Pete: a picnic at the beach. I wasn’t sure about it. Bev was okay; I genuinely liked her. And Torrey said that Bev had told her guy everything about me, and she said he was nice about it. He had some high-powered job in a bank in Corpus. Just what I needed to make me feel like a total loser.

“It’s just a picnic, babe!” Torrey said. “Two hot girls in bikinis, and food—what’s not to like? Look, just try it. If you feel uncomfortable we can leave at any time. But I promise Pete’s a really nice guy.”

We were in bed at the time. She’d worked out that I couldn’t refuse her anything when she was naked. She was sneaky like that. I don’t think she knew that I was wise to her game. Didn’t change a freakin’ thing though, she had me by the balls and we both knew it.

“Fine! We’ll go to the beach. But we’ll take separate cars, just in case. Deal?”

She smiled and kissed my chin, happy she’d got her way.

I was feeling anxious on Sunday morning, but trying not to show it. Torrey knew me too well and sent me out to the garage to throw some weights around.

I was pretty okay with Bev, but this guy knew about me and we’d be spending several hours together. It threw me right back to how I’d been when I first got released. I didn’t trust people easily and even though Torrey said he was cool, I knew she always gave people the benefit of the doubt, like she had with me.

Dad had gone to church as usual. I don’t know if he talked to Torrey’s momma when he was there. He didn’t say and neither of us asked. I had the feeling maybe he did because sometimes when he came back, he looked like he wanted to say something. He hadn’t so far; maybe he was building up to it.

After an hour, Torrey came and found me in the garage doing sit ups.

“Mmm! All hot and sweaty. I like!”

I sat up and ran a hand along the inside of her thigh. “You want to get all hot and sweaty with me, sweetheart?”

She laughed and tried to swat my hand away. “Your sexy talk isn’t going to work, Jordan Kane. You’re so not getting out of this beach date.”

I moved my hand higher, until it was under her pajama shorts and heading toward nirvana. I wasn’t the only one with a weak spot.

She moaned and bit her lip. And yep, she was wet and I was hard.

“Jordan!” she whined. “We have to get going!”

“You sure?” I said, slipping a finger inside her.

“Oh, God! Fuck it! Upstairs now!”

I would have taken her there and then but as a concession to Dad, we kept fucking around the house to a minimum.

She charged out of the garage, and I ran after her.

Two, maybe three minutes later, we were both sweaty and I had a smile on my face the size of Texas.

“You’re so bad!” she gasped, kissing my chest. “My delicious bad boy. Now go throw your cute lil’ ass in the shower, and I’ll think about seducing you behind the dunes later.”

We were going to be late. I didn’t have it in me to care.

 

 

 

We met up with Bev and Pete right on the boundary of my 10 mile limit, just outside Matagorda Bay. Bev knew some secret spot, she said, and nobody else ever went there. I hoped she was right. Mikey and I had hiked all around here when we were kids so I’m not sure how ‘secret’ any part of it could be. The last thing I needed was to run into someone I knew from before.

“Hey, hon!” Bev called to Torrey as we climbed out of my truck. “Hey, Jordan!”

I waved, and Torrey ran up to hug Bev. She was leaning against a brand new Mercedes, and a guy with glasses had his arms around her.

I tensed when he gave Torrey a hug and she kissed him on the cheek as if they were best buds. I couldn’t help being a possessive shit, even though I knew it meant I was acting like a prick.

I don’t know what he saw on my face, but the guy looked nervous and pushed his glasses up his nose, dropping his arms from Torrey as if she’d burned him.

Torrey didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she ignored it.

“Jordan, come say hi. This is Pete—Bev’s boyfriend.”

We shook hands, rather reluctantly on my part.

“Hey, man,” Pete said, with an open smile. “Good to meet you.”

I nodded but didn’t speak, wincing internally when I saw the angry glint in Torrey’s eye. She’d definitely noticed my dumbass behavior now. I was a fucking idiot, acting like I just fell off the turnip truck. Officially. Maybe they gave out certificates.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and stared at the ground.

“So,” said Bev, after an uncomfortable silence, “we standing here growing old, or what? Jordan, we’ll need to go in your truck.”

I shot a look at Torrey, and she shrugged unconvincingly. I’d said I’d only come if we drove separately in case I felt the need to bail. Yeah, right.

“There’ll be some off-roading across the dunes,” Bev continued, oblivious of the stare down Torrey and I were currently having, “and I don’t think the Benz is up to that.”

Pete rolled his eyes and grinned at her. “It’s a piece of precision engineering, not a darn beach buggy!”

He was right about that: it was a damn nice set of wheels. I couldn’t help drooling over the sleek metal and aerodynamic design. I’d never so much as seen one of these cars up close, let alone driven one. The guy must be seriously loaded. The kicker was he only looked a few years older than me.

Maybe if I’d done a degree instead of time in the State pen, I’d be driving a fancy car like that and not my dead brother’s 17-year-old truck.

I may not have seen one of these cars before, but I’d sure read about them.

“You notice a difference with it being 200 pounds lighter than the steel version?”

The women stared, but Pete looked pleased.

“You bet!” he said, enthusiastically. “This is the six liter version with a seven speed automatic transmission. Flies like an eagle.”

I nodded. “That sounds about right. You got the semi-active adjustable dampin’, or did you go for the ABC suspension system?”

Pete started to answer, but Torrey interrupted.

“Oh my God! They’re speaking in tongues. Bev, you’re in the back with me, hon.”

Pete shook his head sadly and smiled. “Bev doesn’t appreciate beauty when she sees it.”

“I appreciate you plenty, babe,” she shot back.

Pete winked at her but didn’t disagree.

Torrey was right—he was a nice guy. I pulled my head out of my ass and tried to act normal, whatever the fuck that was.

We transferred all their shit from his trunk to the bed of my truck, then he climbed up front with me and I started to relax as we talked cars and engines. It almost made me forget what I was.

When we got to Bev’s secret spot, I recognized it at once. I’d been there a bunch of times with Mikey and some of the other guys we used to hang with. I seemed to remember it was a favorite place to go talk shit, smoke weed, whatever. Maybe that’s why the memories were so hazy. Whatever—it was a long way from nowhere, so I had hopes of us being left alone.

We started unloading the food. Each of the girls had packed enough to feed a platoon. I didn’t think we’d be running out of supplies anytime soon.

“Jeez!” Bev said with a grunt, as she went to lift one of the coolers. “What did you put in here, hon?”

“Just a couple of cases of beer,” Pete chuckled.

I froze, and Torrey threw me an apologetic look.

Bev looked horrified. “Pete! You dumbass!” she hissed. “You can’t bring alcohol! ”

I could see that he got it immediately, his expression contrite.

“Aw fuck, man! I completely forgot. My bad. I’ll leave it here.”

Bev slapped his arm. “And what’s he supposed to say if someone comes along and he’s caught with beer in his truck? I can’t believe you’ve been so stupid, Pete!”

I felt really bad for the guy, but it was fucking humiliating having them talk about me like that.

“I didn’t think,” Pete started to babble, his gaze flipping between me and Bev, who looked mad enough to tear him a new one. “Shit, man, I’m so sorry…”

I waved away his apology. “You guys should drink it. There’s no law says you cain’t. I think we’ll be okay a ways out here.”

Bev was shooting daggers at Pete, and I could see he was gutted. Torrey rubbed my back gently.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, staring anywhere but at her.

She looked skeptical but didn’t press me further. What was there to say?

We carried the rest of the food to the shore in silence. I hated that my baggage was ruining everyone else’s day. Still, I had a lifetime to get used to it. What a freakin’ thought.

Torrey spread out a couple of blankets and sat down, patting a space beside her.

She smiled up at me. “And that t-shirt’s coming off. I need something other than the ocean to look at.”

“Hell, yeah!” laughed Bev. “I second that!”

“Hey!” Pete yelped. “You’re supposed to be wanting to look at my hot body!”

Bev laughed. “I love you loads, Pete, but you sit in an office all day. Jordan is ripped! ”

“Okay, feelin’ kind of self-conscious now,” I laughed uneasily, sitting down next to Torrey on the blanket.

Torrey solved the problem by tearing my t-shirt over my head.

Pete’s face fell. “I think I’ll leave my shirt on after all.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” laughed Bev. “I need a view in stereo!”

“Hey, Jordan,” moaned Pete, pretending to be hurt. “When did women get to be such pervs? I feel like such a piece of meat—completely objectified.”

“Beats me, man. I just do what Torrey tells me.”

They all laughed and Bev looked triumphant. “See! It would be so much easier if you did what I said without arguing all the time.”

“You’re setting a dangerous precedent,” Pete muttered to me out of the corner of his mouth.

“Waal, Pete, there’s two theories to arguin’ with a woman. Neither one works.”

He laughed, while I just shrugged and smiled. I was whipped and I didn’t care who knew it.

Torrey started stripping down to her bikini, which certainly caught my attention. I kept a discreet eye on Pete, too, but he didn’t even look her way. I was pleased about that. He seemed like a nice guy and I didn’t want to have an issue with him leching over my woman.

When Bev finally persuaded Pete to take his shirt off, he wasn’t entirely scrawny. But like she said, he worked in an office all day earning a shit load of money; I did manual labor and crushed cars. I could carry on until I was 60 and watch my body give out. He’d be sitting in a five bedroom house with a pool, and a private pension to pay for lessons to improve his golf swing.

I knew a lot of women would have picked Pete. They might want to sleep with me, but he’d be the one they married. The thought was depressing.

“By the way,” said Pete, after we’d been sitting talking while the girls sipped on sodas, “what’s that tat on your shoulder blade, man? It looks like it’s the same as the design on your truck. What’s it mean?”

Torrey sighed, throwing a despairing look at Bev.

“I guess you could say it’s a memorial to my brother,” I said, quietly.

Pete looked sick. “Holy hell, I’m sorry, Jordan. I can’t seem to keep from making an ass of myself.”

Bev snorted and folded her arms across her chest.

“It’s okay,” I said, sighing. “I know this is weird for you—for everyone. I really appreciate you guys doin’ this. Just so you know.”

Torrey held my hand, and Bev looked like she might cry.

This day was turning out great.

“Let’s go for a swim,” said Torrey.

I nodded and let her pull me up.

“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” she said, as we waded out into the sun-warmed water.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m not blamin’ him or anyone other than myself. I’ve got to get used to this, right?”

She leaned her head against my shoulder and slid one arm around my waist.

“I just wanted this to be a nice, ordinary day, you know? It’s hard not being able to do stuff like normal couples do.”

I tensed up immediately. “Too hard?”

She gave my waist a squeeze. “No, it’s not too hard, I don’t mean that. But I just wish it were easier.”

“Don’t give up on me, Torrey,” I said, not too proud to beg. “I’ve only got six-and-a-half weeks left. “God, don’t leave me, sweetheart. Not now.”

She twisted in my arms until she was facing me. “I won’t leave you,” she said.

Her beautiful blue eyes met mine and I could see the truth in their depths.

I believed her.

She kissed me softly, then rested her head above my heart, and we stood there for several minutes.

“Come on,” she said, turning playful. “Let’s swim.”

We stayed in the water for half an hour or so, horsing around, making out a little, swimming some. Seeing her in that cute bikini did things to me.

“That is a mighty small piece of material you’re callin’ a bikini,” I said.

She grinned and threw me a wink.

“I don’t usually wear a swimsuit.”

“What?”

“I normally just go skinny dipping, but since Bev and Pete are here…”

I groaned. “We are definitely comin’ back here by ourselves. You, me, a blanket and nothin’ else.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nope.”

“Not even condoms?”

She laughed at my expression and left me standing in the water while she swam back to the beach. I needed a minute.

By the time we both joined the others, Bev seemed to have forgiven Pete.

“Let’s eat!” said Bev, as we sat down next to them. “I’m starving!”

The girls started laying out the chow, and I reached into the cooler and passed a beer to Pete. “Have one for me, man.”

He grinned. “You got it!”

I was hungry by then, so I was pretty quiet while we ate. The girls talked about work, swapping stories of awkward customers and their bad-tempered manager, Gus.

Pete asked me if I was into football. Turned out Pete was a Dallas Cowboys fan, but I was solid with the Houston Texans. We argued about that for a while, but soon we were deep into who could bench press what, and who’d signed, and who we thought should be traded—things that bored the girls. Torrey had made it pretty damn clear to me and Dad that she wasn’t interested in football. She even insisted that the TV stayed off during meals, making no never mind as to whether it was a big game or not. Dad was somewhat surprised about that but too chicken to argue. Yeah, that was pretty funny, considering it was his house and all.

Damn, she was bossy. I wasn’t sure why I liked that. If a woman had tried to tell me what to do when I was 16, I was out of there faster than a bolt of lightning. Things change, I guess.

It was good talking to a guy other than my dad. Hulk was cool, but he didn’t speak much and I spent most of the day working by myself.

Not one of my friends from high school had stuck around or shown any interest in getting reacquainted, and I didn’t really make friends in prison, so it was good to talk to someone like a buddy.

“We should catch a game some time,” said Pete.

“Sure,” I said, “so long as it’s not in the next six weeks.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh my God,” grumbled Bev. “Learning has not taken place.”

“Waal, got a 11 PM curfew and a 10-mile travel limit ‘til my parole’s up,” I reminded him.

“Oh, right,” Pete said quietly. “After that then.”

“Yeah, maybe. Although Torrey and me might not be stayin’ around.”

Bev looked up and frowned. “Why? Where are you guys going?”

Torrey shrugged. “We haven’t made any definite plans, but I don’t think we’ll stay here. People in town are pretty shitty toward Jordan.”

“You don’t have to stay right here,” urged Pete. “There’s plenty of work in Corpus, or Galveston, or even Freeport.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, non-committal. “I don’t want to make plans ‘til I’m really free … until it’s real.”

Pete nodded slowly. “I get that. I mean, it makes sense. One of my friends joined the army straight from high school. His folks didn’t have much money and he didn’t want to end up with a large student debt, so he figured he’d serve in the military and get college paid for when he came out. But he didn’t want to plan anything until he was done either. He said he didn’t know what the future was going to bring, not when he had a tour in Afghanistan coming up. He got out this spring. But you know, man, you should think about taking some college classes. Bev says you’re good with cars. You could get yourself certified as an auto mechanic at a trade school.”

I threw a look at Bev, and she smiled encouragingly. I suppose I should have gotten used to people talking about me behind my back. And it wasn’t like this was the usual bad shit or anything.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinkin’ about it. I’ve done some of the ASE certificate, but I didn’t finish…”

“ASE? What’s that?” Torrey interrupted.

“Automotive Service Excellence,” Pete answered. “It certifies repair and service professionals. It’s a pretty big deal.”

“You didn’t tell me about that!” said Torrey, a beautiful smile making her eyes sparkle. “That’s great! Why didn’t you finish it?”

“Well, sweetheart, while the prison workshop was pretty good, they weren’t really big on lettin’ us out for on the job trainin’.”

I raised my eyebrows at her, and she burst out laughing.

“Oh my God, Jordan! You made a joke about being in prison! That’s major!”

I grinned back at her. She was right—it was some turnaround from when she’d first met me. I could tell that Pete felt much more awkward talking about it. Bev just seemed curious.

“Did you want to go to college?” she asked. “Before … before everything, I mean.”

“Sure. I hadn’t really decided on what I wanted to do. Mikey was gonna be pre-med…” I sighed. “But I wasn’t smart enough to do anythin’ like that.” I looked down. “I liked art. I don’t know.”

“You should definitely go!” Bev insisted.

“I kind of think that ship has sailed,” I said, my voice wry.

Bev shook her head. “No, really. People do college classes at all ages.”

“I don’t think it’s for me anymore, Bev. I’ve spent too much of my life on hold and I don’t want to go and spend time with a bunch of kids where I have nothin’ in common with them.”

Pete disagreed. “There are some good accounting courses at the community college. They’d be useful if you want to start your own business some day. People always need good auto mechanics.”

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable with their questioning, and kind of educationally subnormal, as I was the only one of them without a college degree.

It was real nice of them to be so interested though, and I appreciated it. The accounting thing sounded like it might be helpful, but I didn’t dare let myself think that far in the future. I still had six weeks of parole to get through. And a lot can happen in six weeks. A lot can happen in six seconds.

Your whole life can change in less than a heartbeat.

“They should offer more college courses in prison!” asserted Bev.

I couldn’t help smiling at her. She sounded so indignant, and I knew it was on my behalf.

“Yeah, well they do. You can get online degrees from accredited colleges. But there’s a lot more that are just for basic literacy and numeracy skills. The majority of the guys inside didn’t get much in the way of formal schoolin’.” I shrugged. “I read a lot of books—whatever they had in the library really. Wasn’t much.”

“What was it like?” asked Bev. “In prison?”