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Traci
TRACI RUSHED UPSTAIRS and turned on the bathroom faucet. Two things she knew for sure. First, Randall made her angry. Sometimes he was infuriating. Why so much push back on eating more vegetables? Come on. And second, she could never stay angry with him. It was just impossible. No matter what happened, they were in it together. The stars had aligned or the prayers of ancestors, whatever. This was her life now.
She rinsed off the face mask and patted on the vitamin C serum, moisturizer and pulled her hair up into a sloppy bun. She had wanted to cut it during the hot summer. But, Randall loved to play with it, so she decided to keep it long. She untied the ribbon and let the locks flow around her shoulders, looked in the mirror and fluffed them up a bit more. She looked closely at her reflection. “Is that a crease?” she said pressing her finger against the skin between her eyes. She spritzed on her favorite perfume (and his) “not too much” and pulled on a soft summer dress, one circle clasp in the front that draped down from the bodice to her ankles.
She went into the bedroom and took a match from the holder mounted on the fireplace. Soon they would have a real fire in the fireplace, thanks to Randall acquiescing and hiring a chimney sweep to clear things out. The Fire Marshall gave them an all clear. She couldn't wait! It would be so cozy. For now, she would have to make do with a little vanilla and almond scented candle. Randall didn't like fires in the house, even little ones, but he didn't complain much anymore. Or maybe he did, but she didn’t let it bother her. Either way, she would enjoy her scented candle today. She smoothed in the body butter on her bare feet and legs and sprinkled on a dusting of the perfumed powder that he loved. Then she changed the sheets and tip-toed back downstairs.
The Yo-So-Good container was in the trash bin and Randall was gone. She looked out of all the windows, but he was not outside, and the car was gone, too.
She texted him, “Where are you?”
“Working.”
“Of course. You're always at work. See? You can't stop being a cop long enough to have dinner with me...” She backspaced and erased everything and typed: “OK” and pressed Send.
She walked back to the kitchen, shooed the cats off the laundry basket and lifted out a pair of sweatpants. She pulled them on and tucked the bottom of her dress inside the waistband. Peter circled her ankles. She had been trying to keep them indoors as much as possible while the coyote was still prowling through the area. If anyone would find it, Josh would. In the meantime, she had better keep a close eye on them.
She stepped out on the back porch and waved to the officer in the squad car near the alley. Then she peeped through the lattice under the wooden floor but there was nothing underneath. “He must have put it up front,” she thought and walked around the side of the house to the front porch. She pulled back a corner of the lattice and tried to squeeze her hand through but she couldn’t reach it. She didn’t want to deal with this, but Josh was right. He was always right. She shoved the lattice panel onto the ground and crawled under the porch floor. Her fingers reached the edge of the burlap and she tugged it toward her. Finally, she got a fist full and pulled it out into the daylight. She shook the spiderwebs from her hair, brushed off her hands and sat back against the foundation. Her hand traced the outline of the shotgun under the cloth wrapping. She looked down at her fingers, the clamminess and trembling were back. Why did he leave this one?
It had been almost ten years since she first met Josh St. John. Parts of the encounter were still blacked out of her memory. But she remembered the day when everything just snapped. She was walking to school and each step was filled with dread. Everything was wrong about her. Everything. Her skin, her hair, her clothes, her nose. Nothing fit. Nothing matched. Nothing was “acceptable” to the other kids. And, that day was when she decided to never go back and headed to Stevenson’s Ice Cream three blocks from school. Marcus, a senior with his driver’s license and a car, pulled over and offered her a ride. She liked him and he had not been part of the bullying. She climbed in the car with him. After they turned the corner, two more boys got in the car with them. Then a third. They were a mile and a half away before the car stopped and Traci knew something terrible was about to happen.
Marcus and Joey tried pulling her from the car toward an alley while she screamed for help. Her voice echoed against the abandoned apartment buildings along Adams Street where only stray dogs and possums roamed. But there was Josh walking among the ruins of a burnt-out liquor store across the street. He was out rounding up homeless vets and transporting them to shelter in the encampment under the Logan Street Bridge. He scattered the boys with one shotgun blast into the air, gathered her up into his truck and took her to his safe space in the Tent City. Eventually, he convinced her to speak with Myra Rogers, who setup another foster arrangement without any ramifications caused by her running away ... again. She really missed Myra being in her life. So much had happened in the last two years. She wanted to share the experiences with her former case worker, but time had moved on without her steady guidance that Traci had always depended on.
She laid her hand on the shotgun and started to untie the cord around the burlap cover. How many times had it saved her life? Too many. She was startled back from her memories by a long thin shadow that slowly creeped across her legs. It hovered over her body and she froze, heart racing. Why hadn’t she noticed someone approaching? All she heard was her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She glanced over her shoulder toward the alley, looking for the KMP squad car but it was out of sight. Finally, she looked up to face the intruder, her hands gripping tightly to the burlap, inhaling and exhaling short bursts of air.
“Hi, I’m Jenny with the “Re-elect Gundry” campaign. I wondered if we could post a sign on your lawn. You’re voting for him, right? He’s the only choice for a safe Keeferton.”
Traci tried to find her voice to respond but sat staring at the teenage girl, speechless.
“Hey,” Jenny continued, “looks like somebody shot out your streetlight. Probably kids. You should call City Hall and report it first thing, though. It’s pretty secluded back here. You have the number?”
“Yeah,” Traci said, breathlessly. “I’ve got it.” She watched Jenny mount two blue and white Gundry campaign signs in her front yard, then gave a ‘thumbs up’ and walked away. After a few moments, she drew in a deep belly breath and counted down the exhale. “I’m scared of shadows now? It was just a kid, that’s all,” she whispered, then placed her quivering hand on her chest and waited for her heart rate to drop back to normal again. She couldn’t give in to the fear that Charlotte Carter would find her and ... “Shake it off.” She stood up and carried the gun into the house. She stowed it away in the closet next to the front door behind the large five-gallon buckets of paint and rolls of wallpaper. She walked into the kitchen, got a drink of water and paused to clear her thoughts. Then she pulled out her phone to call Josh about the Mossberg and noticed the time. She ran out into the alley and tapped on the window of the squad car.
“Hi Gerald, I’ve got to meet someone and I’m running late,” she said through the partially open window. “I need you to give me a ride.”
“My name is Jerome, and I’m not supposed to transport ...”
“Listen, if I take the bus, I’ll miss them, and you were going to follow me anyway. So, what’s the difference?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Either way we’re gonna end up at the same place together.”
“Okay.” He popped the door locks, “Get in, Miss Traci.”
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TRACI ARRIVED AT MCCLENDON library fifteen minutes before closing and found Ms. McGee seated in a small conference room with Milo.
“Milo why don't you go and pick out a couple of books while I talk to Miss Traci, okay?”
“Okay,” Milo said and left the two women in the room.
“Traci, have you ever heard the term ‘dyslexia’ before?”
“No.” Traci took a seat next to her. “Well, I think I have, but I really don't understand it. It has something to do with getting your words mixed up when you read or talk or think.”
“Yes, something like that,” Kay McGee said. “It's like you see the letters in a word but they get turned around and it makes it difficult to read. When kids with dyslexia try to read large blocks of words, it can be difficult, and they get frustrated. And when kids get frustrated, they stop trying. That's what happened with Milo.”
Traci watched Milo standing in the doorway with his friends from Empire Row. She waved him over to rejoin them in the conference room. “I feel bad,” she said. “I just don't know how to help him.”
“It's okay, Traci,” Ms. McGee said. “Now you know and now you have help. Studies have shown that people that are challenged with dyslexia have strong creative and complex problem-solving skills that support success as team leaders and entrepreneurs.”
“That explains a whole lot, doesn't it, Milo?” she smiled. “He’s been helping Moe get more customers.”
“Yeah, it does.” Milo shrugged. “I think so.”
“There’s no reason why he can’t succeed in high school and beyond. Let's work out a learning plan for him,” Ms. McGee said. “I'll get the ball rolling as soon as you give me the go ahead.”
“I’ll get Moe on the phone and tell him to meet us here. This is the best news we've had in a long time.” Traci patted Milo on the back. “Now we know, now we can plan!”
“Yes, it sure is.” He sat back and finally gave her a shy smile.
