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Jaxson
By the time Jaxson made it home to Campbell’s Junction, it was late. The only place still open was Cheney’s, and while alcohol was definitely in his immediate future, hitting the bar was not. He needed at least one night to deal with the ghosts on his own.
The old house was dark inside and out, so dark that it blended into the inky blackness. Had it not been for the shafts of silvery moonlight reflecting off the windows, his boyhood home would look like just another shadow in the hollow.
His back, hips, and leg were aching from the trek through the woods. He could have called Buck for a ride from the bus station. His old friend would have been there in a heartbeat, no questions asked, but Jaxson wasn’t ready for that conversation or the questions that would inevitably come with it.
So many things had changed since the last time he’d been home, him most of all. He’d come back older, wiser, and far more jaded. And yet, as he approached the house he’d grown up in, it seemed that some things hadn’t changed at all.
The wooden planks groaned loudly as his booted feet pressed down on them. Ignoring the stab of pain down his back, Jaxson extended his arm above the doorframe and felt around for the key. It was the first time he’d ever actually had to use it. People didn’t lock their doors in the hollow. There was no need to.
Jaxson stepped over the threshold and took a moment to fill his lungs with the familiar smells. Old wood. Booze. Car grease. Dirt.
Yep, smelled like home. Didn’t feel like it though.
Without bothering to turn on the light, he swiped a bottle of the ever-present hooch from the pantry closet and went up the creaky stairs to his old room. He tossed his duffel in the corner and opened the window to let in the cool night air, then sank down onto the bed.
He’d known that the next time he came home, his father wouldn’t be there, but knowing something and experiencing it were completely different. Nothing could have prepared him for how empty the old house felt, the sense of loss washing over him in punishing waves.
It wasn’t just the house that felt empty. He did, too. He and his father had always been close. It had been the two of them against the world for as long as he could remember. Now, he was truly alone.
No family. No team. No purpose.
Jaxson brushed off the layer of dust from the cap, then raised the bottle into the air in a silent toast. Putting it to his lips, he drank deeply, relishing the burn, wishing it could override the blade of grief slicing through his chest.
* * *
The incessant rat-tat-tat of a woodpecker roused Jaxson from a deep, dreamless slumber the next morning. It took him a minute to remember where he was. In fairness, he’d woken up in a lot of places over the last ten years.
He sat up slowly and ran his hands over his face, the dull ache in his head reminding him that he’d managed to down half a bottle of locally distilled spirits before he passed out. It barely registered on the pain scale compared with the other aches and pains that plagued him, especially since he’d skipped his prescribed nightly dose of painkillers in favor of the alcohol. He was hurting, but he wasn’t suicidal.
Not yet anyway.
Oh, he’d thought about it often enough. Having bones shattered and chunks of flesh and muscle ripped away, not knowing if he’d ever walk or ride again, did that to a guy.
He wasn’t supposed to complain though. Two more steps, and there wouldn’t have been enough left of him to piece back together. Some days, he wondered if that would have been better.
The first few steps were stiff and painful until his back and hips adjusted to being upright again. The stairs were a little tricky, but no one was there to see him grimace or hear his grunts.
He made coffee and scrounged for something to eat, settling on a bag of stale pretzels. At some point, he’d head into town to pick up a few things, but he wanted to put that off for as long as possible. Once people found out he was back, they’d stop by to offer condolences, bring food, or talk.
Jaxson knocked back a couple of pain pills and then made his way out to the old, detached two-bay garage. He and his father had spent the majority of their time there, fixing up cars and old bikes, anything with wheels and an engine. It was where he’d developed a love for mechanics and the skills that had served him well in the Army. Sure, the Army had trained him on heavy equipment, but he’d learned the basics right here at his father’s side.
Seeing the old 1950 Chevy 3100 made him smile. Jaxson still remembered the joy on his dad’s face when they’d found it in some random widow’s barn two hundred miles away. That scavenging trip was one of many father-son adventures they’d had over the years.
The covered vehicle next to it, however, hadn’t been there before.
Jaxson’s chest tightened when he lifted the tarp and looked. A 1969 Nova Super Sport. He’d always had a thing for classic muscle, but salvageable models were hard to come by. His father must have picked it up while he was deployed, thinking that someday, they’d work on it together.
That had been the plan. Join the service. See the world. Get an education. Return to Campbell’s Junction and work in the garage with his father, where they’d pick up classic junkers for cheap, then restore and selling them to collectors.
It didn’t quite work out like that. With only six months left in his commitment, Jaxson’s father passed away unexpectedly. Massive heart attack, they said.
Jaxson, no longer having a reason or a desire to return, re-upped for another four years. Then another. If it hadn’t been for the car bomb that landed him in a hospital for three months, he’d probably still be in Serbia.
“ ’Bout fucking time you got your ass back here.”
That didn’t take long. Jaxson turned toward the sound of his old friend’s voice. “Buck.”
“When did you get in?”
“Last night.”
“You could’ve called.”
“It was late.”
“Never stopped you before.”
“Yeah, well, your balls were still attached then,” Jaxson ribbed, hiding his wince as his old friend pulled him in for a manly embrace. “How’s Janie?”
“Mean,” Buck said, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “We’re expecting our fourth. She’s threatened to cut my dick off if I get near her again.” He grinned. “Won’t last though. She said the same thing with our first three.”
Four kids in ten years. Jesus.
But that was life in the hollow. Probably would have been his life, too, had he not enlisted.
Buck pointed at the Nova. “Your dad was so stoked when he found it. He didn’t stop smiling for a week.”
Suddenly, the garage felt suffocating. Jaxson walked out into the sunshine and took a deep breath.
Buck noticed his limp. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough to get me sent home,” Jaxson told him.
He didn’t want to get into the specifics. Thankfully, Buck didn’t ask for any.
“Sorry, man, but I’m not going to lie. It’s good to have you home again. You’re sticking around, right?”
“I don’t know,” Jaxson answered honestly. He didn’t know much of anything, other than that he had no plans. Not what he was going to do. Not where he was going to be.
“Does Cherise know you’re back?” Buck asked.
Jaxson shook his head. In high school, he and Cherise had made up half of their friend foursome along with Buck and Janie. They’d been young. Had some good times.
“Figured she’d moved on.”
“She did. Took up with Bobby Cheney when you didn’t come back.”
“Bobby Cheney?” Jaxson asked in disbelief.
He wasn’t surprised that Cherise had found someone else—she wasn’t the kind of person who liked being alone—but the son of the local bar owner? Granted, the pickings were limited in the hollow, but Bobby was big, mean, stupid, and ugly.
“Yep. He’s not in the picture anymore though,” Buck told him. “The dumbass went and shot himself in the face.”
“How the hell did he do that?”
“He forgot to unload it before he cleaned it.”
Jaxson shook his head. “He never was the sharpest tool in the shed.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Buck agreed. “But Cherise got the bar out of it, so it wasn’t a total loss, I guess.”
Jaxson wasn’t sure what to say about that. Some things weren’t worth the cost, and in his opinion, a person’s dignity was too high a price to pay for a shitty hole in the wall dive bar.
Thankfully, Buck said nothing more about it. “Hey, when you’re ready, I’ve got something of your dad’s for you at the house. It was on the floor next to him when they found him. Janie thought it’d be better to keep it at our place.”
Jaxson raised his eyebrows. “What is it?”
“One of those fire safe boxes, the kind you keep important papers in and shit.”
Jaxson nodded. “Thanks.”
“I’ll bring it over later.” Buck scratched the back of his neck. “Or you could come back to the house with me. You know Ma’s going to tan both our asses if she finds out you’re back and you didn’t stop in to see her.”
Jaxson knew nothing about his own mother, but Mabel James had adopted him as one of her own. And Buck had a valid point. She would be pissed if he didn’t head over there before he went anywhere else.
“How did you know I was back?”
“I stop by every couple of days to check on things.”
“Thanks for that.”
Buck shrugged. “Figured you’d find your way back here eventually. Wanted it to be livable when you did. Full disclosure: Janie and I sometimes come here for some alone time. Things get pretty crowded at the house with Ma and the kids, if you know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, Jaxson knew exactly what Buck meant. And he didn’t want to know any more.
“Does your mom still make that fried chicken?”
Buck grinned. “Frying some up today as a matter of fact. Made a pecan pie, too.”
Two of his favorites, which meant that Buck had somehow known he was back and given him the night to get his shit together. Jaxson didn’t believe in coincidences.
“Well then, what are we waiting for?”
* * *
It was much later that night when Jaxson had another moment to himself.
First, there had been the visit to Buck’s place, where Mabel had plied him with hugs and plenty of food. Then, afterward, he spent most of the evening at Cheney’s with people welcoming him back, trying to buy him drinks, expressing their sympathies, asking questions he didn’t want to answer.
Cherise had been giving him the eye, too. She was still attractive, though her features had hardened. Whether that could be chalked up to living life in the hollow or too much alcohol and the cigarette she always had in her hand, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, that ship had sailed the moment he left for basic.
Jaxson stared at the black box and tried to summon the will to open it. It felt wrong. Invasive. Yet he knew he had to.
He wasn’t expecting to find anything beyond the title to the land and maybe his dad’s will, if he’d even written one. Bo Adams had been a good man but a simple one. Therefore, when Jaxson opened the box and found not only those things, but also a small stack of love letters, he was understandably surprised.
Jaxson knew next to nothing about his mother, except that she’d never been in the picture. His father hadn’t liked talking about her, and Jaxson had learned early on not to ask. As far as Jaxson knew, no one in Campbell’s Junction knew anything about her, including who she was.
The letters were private, but he couldn’t stop himself from reading them. It didn’t take long; there weren’t many. But by the time he was finished, he felt as if he’d just encountered another car bomb, except this one hit solely on the inside.
* * *
“You sure about this?” Buck asked the next day. “I mean, you just got here.”
“I know.”
Finding those letters had given Jaxson something he’d desperately needed—a renewed purpose. A mission to discover more about where he’d come from. Who his mother was. Why she’d never been part of his life.
And if he was totally honest with himself, an excuse to get out of Campbell’s Junction for a while. He’d been back less than forty-eight hours, but he’d already answered the same questions a hundred times.
Why couldn’t people just leave him be? Give him time to re-acclimate?
They were coming from a good place, but they didn’t understand. They expected him to be the same guy who’d left town at eighteen, the one who’d had a bit of a wild streak and believed he had life all figured out.
He wasn’t. In fact, if the last ten years had taught him anything, it was that he didn’t know jack shit and that everything could change in an instant.
The restlessness was real, and if he didn’t do something to put some distance between him and them, he was going to end up doing or saying something he’d regret.
“Might be best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Might be,” Jaxson agreed, “but I need to do this.”
Unusually serious, Buck searched his face and then nodded. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, man.”
“Me, too.”
“Don’t stay away another ten years though, huh?”
“I won’t.”
Jaxson went out to the garage and rolled out the Willie G—the limited-edition 1983 FXRDG Harley Davidson that had been his father’s pride and joy. It seemed fitting for such a quest.
His stiff joints and damaged body protested at first, but once he was in the seat and the powerful engine roared to life, he forgot all that. He let the familiar rumble and the feel of the wind in his face wash over him, and with each mile he put between him and Campbell’s Junction, he felt more of the tension drain away and sense of purpose sink in to take its place.
There was a reason his father had returned to Campbell’s Junction one day with him in tow, just as there was a reason Bo Adams hadn’t told Jaxson anything about his mother. Based on the letters, this Ilsa, whoever she was, had been in love with his father at some point. The timing was about right, in any case.
Jaxson needed more information. He didn’t have a lot to go on. She’d signed her name as Ilsa but not included a last name.
The only other thing he knew was that she’d sent the letters from a place called Sumneyville, Pennsylvania, based on the faded postmarks. A quick Google search revealed a small mountain town in the northeastern section of the Keystone State.
It was a long shot but one he had to take. Trying to find the missing pieces from his past seemed preferable to hanging around the hollow, getting drunk, and avoiding Cherise.
As he headed northeast, his mind was working overtime. Many of his boyhood fantasies about who his mother was and why she hadn’t been a part of his life—the ones he’d buried a long, long time ago—rose to the surface. He’d imagined some doozies, too.
The reality was probably much darker, and chances were, he was going to regret digging up the past. That wasn’t going to stop him though.
He’d find out what he could and then decide where to go from there.