Before heading to the trailer park where Jackson grew up, Blaire turned her SUV into a late-night diner in Port Coyote called Sit a Spell. We both need coffee. A large berm landscaped with rhododendrons and grasses flanked the front of the parking lot. A few dim pagoda lights thrust into the soil cast a yellow glow over the plants.
She glanced over at Jackson who still slept, mouth open, in the passenger seat. My poor baby. She’d been grateful for Jackson’s slumber. She didn’t want to overload him any more than he was already burdened by fuming and seething about Jake. She couldn’t imagine the kind of turmoil Jackson experienced inside.
Once the SUV had been parked, she opened the driver’s door and slid from the seat. As quietly as she could, she closed the door and peered through the window.
He didn’t even stir.
Good. He needs to sleep.
Pressing her hands to her back, she stretched her spine, gazing at the starry sky. The air still smelled of smoke. They’d probably smell the fumes for weeks. In the distance, bright orange flames, barely visible, dotted the mountains. They look so innocuous from here. Yet, they almost consumed my lover and others on his team. Another wave of rage shot through her belly at Jake. Goddamn his shiftless soul. She shook her head. Stop thinking about Jake and focus on the here and now.
Another curious emotion, a yearning of sorts, stirred inside her heart.
I wish I could have been by Jackson’s side as he fought the fire. Fighting fire seems like a fulfilling career. It would beat listening to Josie whine about her privileged life and scraping sebum from the scalps of old ladies who never wash their hair.
She stepped along the gravel parking lot and made her way to the sidewalk leading to the front door of Sit a Spell. Inside the bright cafe, a few bleary-eyed patrons sat hunched over their meals. Pendulum lights hanging over the tables cast an orange glimmer on the occupants of the booths. In the corner, a group of rowdy teenagers laughed and shoved one another.
Blaire waited at the front foyer area for a few minutes next to a counter. She tapped her fingers on the glass top. When no one came to help, she sauntered toward the back bar.
A darkly complexioned guy wearing a red baseball cap printed with the restaurant name shuffled over to where she stood. His uniform top had smudges as if he constantly wiped his hands across his belly.
“Can I help you?” he said without smiling.
Blaire held up two fingers and said, “Two large coffees to go.”
He nodded and turned, heading toward the back counter.
A display case held several pies in states of untouched and mostly gone.
“Can I have a couple of slices of apple pie, too?” she called to him.
He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. Crouching, he retrieved a couple of large Styrofoam cups from a shelf. He stood and placed them on the stainless steel counter with a barely discernible thwack. He lifted the glass coffee pot from its burner and filled the white cups, and then topped them with black plastic tops. Then, he leaned over and retrieved a couple of Styrofoam to-go boxes, placing them on the counter next to the coffee.
As he slid the apple pie from the display case, Blaire’s mouth watered. Did I even eat dinner? I don’t think so.
While the waiter packed the to-go bag with pie, she stared out the window while drumming her fingers on the counter. Fucking Karlos. Fucking Jake. Both can go to hell.
He turned and plunked the container in front of Blaire. “Here you go. Follow me to the front where I can ring you up.”
As he stepped around the corner, one of the teens called, “Where’s my pie, Rick?”
Rick’s face broke into a smile, revealing the first signs of a personality Blaire had witnessed. “In your dreams, asshole.”
He shuffled around the counter.
Blaire followed him to the front where she paid for the treats, and then she exited and strode toward the car. The smell of coffee and pie wafted in her nose, taunting her. She opened the driver’s door. Jackson still didn’t stir. She placed the bag with the pies in the center console and secured the coffee in two drink holders.
Finally, she leaned across the seat and gently shook his arm. “Jackson. Jackson. You’re going to have to tell me how to get to your brother’s house.”
“Huh? What?” he said, jerking awake and staring about the SUV with what looked like wild, unfocused eyes.
“Easy, baby. We’re in Port Coyote. I bought coffee from this late-night diner. And the pie.” She nodded at Styrofoam cups. “I need to know where to go.”
He sat up and wiped his face with both hands. “Jesus H. I was deeply asleep.”
“I know,” she said. “I’ve been listening to your snores for the past hour and forty-five.”
He flashed a sleepy smile in her direction. “Thanks for the coffee.” He reached for one of the cups. “Did you get creamer and sugar?”
“Yep,” she said, reaching into the paper bag. She handed Jackson one of the creamers and took one for herself. After she poured the artificial cream into her coffee she said, “I’ve never seen where you grew up. This is a big moment.”
An unfamiliar, guarded expression shadowed his face. “I don’t know how big it is. I’m not looking forward to it. I never wanted you to see that dump. I still don’t. I have half a mind to leave you here at this diner and go get the mutt myself.”
“No!” she said, with more vehemence than she’d intended. “I want to know everything about you, Jackson.”
“I don’t know,” he said, before sipping his coffee. “Let me think about it while I eat my pie.”
“Jackson,” she pleaded.
He aimed a look in her direction that let her know the discussion was over. He would give her his answer when he was good and ready.
She fished into the bag and handed him a Styrofoam container of pie and a fork.
He took it, opened it, and began eating. “Man, this is good,” he mumbled through a mouthful. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”
He stared out the window and continued to eat.
She forked her pie and began chewing, studying him, waiting for him to decide. She barely tasted the butter crust and cinnamon-flavored apple.
“Okay,” he finally said, stuffing the empty container back in the paper bag. “Let’s go.”
“Really?” she said, her voice rising in glee.
“Yes, really. Let’s get this over with and put it behind us.”
She shoved her half-eaten pie in his direction. “You finish it. You need it.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. I’m famished. Maybe we should stop for burgers on the way home.”
“Whatever you need,” she said and powered up her vehicle.
“Head out of town,” he said, with a frown on his face. “Just go straight on this road.”
They passed the quaint little downtown area of Port Coyote with its historic buildings and seaside charm.
When they got to the opposite end, he said, “Turn left.”
She did so and then followed the road.
“Turn right at that mailbox,” he said, pointing.
She peered into the night and nodded, cranking the wheel of the vehicle. The SUV lurched and bobbed along a dirt-road, peppered with potholes. The headlights cast their beams upon spindly trees and shrubs as if even the landscape was impoverished.
“Up there. See that stupid sign?”
She blinked and strained to discern what he was referring to. A well-worn sign with barely legible words, The Port Resort, stood in shadows.
“It’s a fucking joke. It ain’t no resort, I can assure you. This trailer park was built in the fifties. Hell, some of the trailers were probably built at that time,” Jackson said, crossing his arms over his chest.
She turned up the even more potholed road, inching her way along.
“The potholes are to keep the intruders out,” Jackson said, letting a sharp laugh erupt from his throat. “Or, the inmates in, I could never tell.”
She glanced at him but quickly directed her gaze back on the road.
In the cloak of midnight, the trailer park looked spooky. Laundry hung outside several of the homes on lines or thrown over fences. Beat-up vehicles encircled many of the trailers. Some of the decrepit homes were surrounded by piles of trash.
Blaire’s heart surged with sympathy for Jackson. She couldn’t conceive of how he grew up here and turned out so amazing. “How is it that this town is so pristine and quaint and yet they allow a place like this to exist without insisting on clean-up?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Jackson said. “Let’s just get the damn dog and get out of here. You can park in front of that shithole right here.”
She pulled in front of a mobile home and flipped off the ignition. An uneasy silence settled around her shoulders. The headlights of her vehicle were aimed at the trailer, illuminating it like an interrogation light.
The beige siding of Jackson’s former home and Jake’s current one peeled away from the sides revealing insulation and electrical wires. Streaks of grime covered the few intact walls. The metal door looked like it had been bashed in with a crowbar. A small, dim glow lit one of the windows.
“Is someone in there?” she said, easing open her door.
“Nah. Jake and I used to leave a night-light on at all times to keep the boogeyman away.” He kind of, sort of smiled. “It was stupid, but Jake probably still carries the tradition.”
He opened the glove box and rummaged around for the flashlight Blaire kept in there.
“I see.” She pushed the door wide and was met with a mournful howl that broke her heart. “Is that the dog?”
“I don’t know, but it sounds like it.” Jackson’s face looked grim as he exited the vehicle. After flicking on the light, he led the way toward the source of the plaintive cry.
Blaire scurried after him. Her heart clenched when she rounded the corner.
A makeshift pen had been fashioned out of chicken wire. A red plastic dog bowl lay upside down in the dirt. A bucket, which perhaps had been filled with water, was on its side. And standing in the middle of the pen was a big dog with the saddest eyes Blaire had ever witnessed in an animal.
His tail began wagging like a helicopter propeller.
“Shit,” Jackson said, rushing toward the pen. “My fucking brother can’t even treat a pet right.” He extended the flashlight toward Blaire. “Hold this, will you, baby?”
“Sure,” she said, her fingers curling around the metal base. She aimed the beam at Padre. His skin hung from his skeletal frame. “Gosh, he looks skinny.”
“Right? He’s emaciated and probably thirsty as hell. I doubt Jake cares for him like he thinks he does. This guy hasn’t had a good meal in a while.” Jackson unwound some of the twine that bound the chicken wire closed in a makeshift gate.
Padre kept up his tail wagging and trotted toward Jackson.
Jackson crouched before Padre and placed both hands on either side of his face. “Hey, Padre. How are you doing? Not so good, huh? Don’t you worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Padre licked Jackson’s face, whining.
Jackson glanced over his shoulder at Blaire. “Can you hold onto him for a second?”
He rose to his feet and guided Padre toward her.
“Okay. Come here, boy.” Shoving the flashlight underneath her armpit, she hooked her fingers around the collar and used her other hand to pet Padre’s liver-brown and tan coat.
He licked her fingers, effectively worming his way into her heart.
“You’re about to get two awesome sisters, pup. Think you can be a good big brother?” She leaned over and kissed the top of his wrinkly head.
The flashlight fell to the ground.
“Here, you take this again,” she said, stooping to retrieve the light. She handed it to Jackson.
He reached for the flashlight and aimed the beam at the ground.
“I’m going to see if my brother still has the water turned on and get something for the dog to drink,” he said, stepping back into the pen to retrieve the plastic dog dish and the bucket. “I’ll also root around the kitchen for any other supplies Jake might have around.”
“All right.” She and Padre followed Jackson around the corner.
Jackson yanked on the door handle.
The door refused to budge.
“Is it locked?” Blaire asked, crouching next to Padre.
“Nah. It sticks a bit.” He gave another mighty yank, and the door flew open. His face fell as he stared inside. “Baby, get the dog into the car and lock the doors.”
She jerked her head up. A chill frosted her scalp. “What? Why?”
He stared inside the trailer, a look of utter ferocity on his handsome face. “Just do it.”
“Should I call the police?”
“Nope. Just get in your car, lock the doors and wait for me.”
She turned to hustle toward her SUV, Padre in tow.
From inside the trailer came a grating man’s voice. “Hello, son.”