I thought breakfast was never going to end.
After the sheriff left, the Liars’ Table talk turned to politics, the decline of civilization, world peace, fishing, and hunting—the usual topics, and none more important than the other. We took turns telling jokes—the dirtier ones spoken quietly to avoid the wrath of Martha—and laughed no matter how many times we had heard the punchline. We teased each other as only good friends do, our way of showing affection.
Most days, I didn’t care how long we sat and talked. Saturday sessions always lasted longer than any other day because Ronnie, the only person with an actual schedule, didn’t have workers to supervise on the weekends. Without others in the building, he could drift to the plant at his leisure to catch up on paperwork. At least, he claimed the need for reporting to his corporate bosses required his weekend presence. We suspected it was because he didn’t have anywhere else to be. Just like the rest of us.
On this particular day, however, I did have something to do. Yes, I had agreed to do a police report on my stolen car, but watching some deputy hunt and peck on a keyboard to fill in a bunch of useless information wasn’t interesting. I wanted a more direct solution.
Without a way to get around on my own, though, I needed C.J.’s chauffeuring. I needed to convince him to give up his usual Saturday afternoon fishing trip.
Eager to get moving and nervous about his response, I couldn’t sit still. Throughout breakfast, I glanced repeatedly at the clock over Danny’s stove and twisted so much in my chair that C.J. elbowed me a couple of times to settle down.
It felt like an eternity, but finally, the talk dwindled, the coffee cups were drained, and the dishes scraped clean. Ronnie fished his wallet out of his pocket and tossed a wad of bills onto the center of the table for his portion of the meal. “Well, boys, it’s been fun, but work awaits. I’ve got to head into the office.”
Levi’s face crinkled with puzzlement, although I suspected he was about to ask the same question he did at least twice a week. “I don’t get it. You’ve paid off your house and car. You’ve got savings socked away from all your years at work. You could get your social security check. Why are you still working? When are you going to quit that place and retire?”
Ronnie snorted. “What would I do instead? Sit around this table all day with you guys doing nothing?”
“Pretty good life, if you ask me.”
“Besides,” Chip piped up, “we don’t sit here all day.”
“Oh, yeah. What major plan do you have?”
“I’m going to the fire station this morning.”
Ronnie raised an eyebrow. “And what are you going to do there?”
“Sit around a table, drink coffee, and shoot the breeze.” Chip tilted his head toward Martha and lowered his voice. “At least over there we can cuss when we want to.”
With that final exchange, the morning magic of the Liars’ Table was broken. We added our own money to the growing pile on the table. After everyone had contributed, Abe stuffed it into an envelope and slid it under the cash register drawer, uncounted and unreconciled against the bill as always. I’ve never seen anyone calculate a check for our breakfast.
At long last, C.J. and I were away from the others and outside. The parking lot shimmered in the sun. A cool breeze rolled off the mountains, but the summer heat was building. We walked past the collection of full-size pickup trucks to C.J.’s Ford Ranger. I’ve always kidded him about being the biggest man in town driving the smallest truck. Even with the bench seat adjusted as far back as possible, the fit behind the steering wheel was tight for him. Once he wedged himself into position and I was settled in the passenger seat, he slid his key into the ignition. Before he started the engine, he asked, “Ready to go do your report?”
I ran my fingers through my beard. “You know the sheriff won’t really try to find it. The paperwork is just to make it look like they’re doing something.”
C.J. snorted. “I don’t think they’re going to form a major crimes task force to search for your car, but they still might stumble across it. You heard him about the report alerting other cops in the region.”
“Maybe.” I bit my lip. “But if it was kids and they hid it in the woods or a field or something, they might never spot it. I was thinking we could look for it.”
I should’ve expected he wouldn’t be surprised. We’d known each too long. He had probably been wondering when I was going to ask. His protest was half-hearted. “Instead of fishing?”
A harried dad drove a minivan full of kids into the city park across the street, soccer or baseball or skating in their future. Such innocents, heading for a day of summer fun.
“Yes.”
He twisted the key, and the engine puttered to life. “Then let’s go appease the paperwork gods, so we can go car hunting.”
The steady bass thump of a radio announced Wyatt’s arrival before we saw him. His 4Runner barreled down Broad Street. When he spotted us, he braked hard, turned into the parking lot, and screeched to a stop, blocking us in before C.J. could back out of the space. I’d lectured him countless times about his reckless driving but to no avail.
He scrambled out of his SUV and stood beside my open window, bouncing with excitement on the balls of his feet. “Guess what?”
“If the sheriff sees you driving like that, you’re going to get another ticket.”
He dismissed my concern with a wave of his hand. “You’re not going to believe this—”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“I am. Finished up the Coleman project this morning and headed to Jenkins’s place now to rough in the wiring. Now, would you hush?” He grabbed my arm. “I know where your car is.”
My lecture was derailed, and my mouth clamped shut. I shook my head to clear it. A single word bubbled out. “What?”
“Losing your hearing, old man?” His grin stretched from ear to ear.
C.J. chuckled at his insolence.
I grumbled. “Don’t call me old.”
He ignored me. “A buddy of mine knows where it is.”
My pulse quickened. “Really? Where?”
“Over in Knoxville.”
The excitement of hearing my car had been spotted faded quickly. A lump formed in my stomach. “Knoxville? As in Tennessee?”
Wyatt’s face scrunched in thought. “Is there another one?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. Maybe.” Knoxville was a fine enough town, but it carried bad memories for me. “What I mean is… what’s one of your friends doing in Knoxville?”
Wyatt stepped back from the window and looked across the parking lot, an obvious attempt to avoid eye contact. “Noah lives there.”
“So… he’s an old friend from Knoxville?” I gripped his shirt and pulled him close to the truck. “I thought you didn’t stay in touch with any of them.”
He shook off my hands. “He’s one of the few. Most of them”—he shook his head and looked away from me—“are lost causes. Noah is different. We were in school together.”
The fact that Noah was a school friend didn’t provide much comfort. Wyatt’s school history, at least the parts the social workers had pieced together and shared with me, was checkered, to say the least. In many towns, Jessica had never even bothered to register him. For some reason, she had in Knox County, but that seemed to be the end of her parenting there. His records mostly detailed truancy, detention, and suspensions. His grades the last semester were straight Fs. Many teachers assumed he had dropped out and were probably happy he had. A note in his school file said only that he and Jessica didn’t live at their address of record, suggesting they might have moved out of the county. In other words, the school personnel assumed he was no longer their issue.
“This friend…” I swallowed, always uncomfortable with the past and never wanting to know the details, but this was a time I had to ask. “Was he doing drugs before you met him?”
“Everybody I knew was.”
“He’s clean now?”
“I wish. I beg him to get clean. But…” Wyatt loosed a mirthless chuckle, a haunting sound signifying sadness rather than humor. He shrugged in defeat. “What I want for him doesn’t matter. You can’t get straight until you’re ready. I know that.”
“I just worry—”
“You don’t need to.” Wyatt pushed up his sleeves. “I’m clean. I’ll go take a piss test if you want. I never want to go back to that.”
Will these doubts always plague me?
C.J. laid his hand on my shoulder. He didn’t have to say anything because I knew what he would tell me. He had sat with me through many a long night as Wyatt struggled with his demons. C.J. had a brother who had suffered with opioid addiction for years, so his experiences were both a comfort and a worry. As much as I wanted to think of Miller County as an oasis from the troubles of the rest of the world, it wasn’t true. You could get any illegal drug here just as easily as anywhere else. Knoxville wasn’t special in that regard for any reason other than my own memories.
I changed the subject. “Is he sure it’s my car?”
Wyatt snorted. “The Christmas car? Man, that thing’s unique. A green driver’s door, a red passenger door, and everything else primer gray. Not too many of those on the road.”
C.J. clapped his hands together. “Perfect. Let’s go tell the sheriff.”
“Hang on.” I turned back to Wyatt. “If we call the sheriff, we’ll have to tell him how we know it’s there. You still being in touch with your old friend may not look so good. If it turned out not be mine, then we open up a big old can of worms for nothing.”
“How else could we know?” C.J. asked.
I chewed my lip. “How far is it? Two hours each way?”
Wyatt and C.J. exchanged glances. C.J. asked, “So?”
“I’ll go look for myself. To be sure.”
“And do what?” C.J. asked.
“Just be sure. If it’s mine, I’ll figure out a story about how I found it. That way, I can leave Wyatt out of it.”
Wyatt said, “I can handle it, Grandpa. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I know. But what about Noah? Do you really want the cops looking for him?”
He rested his arm on my open window. I could see him thinking it over before he said, “We’ll go on a couple of conditions.”
“We?” I didn’t like the sound of that. “The whole point is to leave you far from this mess.”
“I don’t care. I know where it is, and you don’t. The only way I agree is if I’m with you.”
“You can’t leave. You’re working.”
“You’re not going today anyway,” Wyatt said.
“Why not?”
“The place where it is? Not good. And on a Saturday night, really not good.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t.” He leaned back from the car. “Besides, you can’t get over there and back before dinner with Grandma. You’d have to miss for the first time in forever.”
I looked at my watch and saw he was right. “Fine, so I’ll go tomorrow. Alone. I don’t want you going.”
“How? You don’t have a car, remember?”
I pointed at C.J. “He can drive me.”
C.J. retorted, “The hell I can.”
I ignored my friend and grabbed Wyatt’s arm. “I don’t like you going over there. Being near those people.”
“I’ll be with you the whole time. What could go wrong? When we find it, we’ll call the cops and let them handle it. If it’s not there, we’ll grab some chicken from Bojangles, eat some lunch, and come home. Call it a vacation.”
“And Noah? I don’t want you seeing him.”
“I won’t call him until we’re safely back here. No way he’d have any clue we’ll come tomorrow.”
My stomach clenched. My promise to Shelby as she began to fade was that I would look after Wyatt. “I would feel better if C.J. was with us.”
We turned and looked at the big man. He grunted and asked, “Bojangles?”
We nodded.
He loosed a long exhale and waved his hands. “Fine, but you’re buying my lunch.”
Wyatt rubbed his hands together. “A road trip. It’ll be a blast.”