Poor Boy Road (Jake Caldwell #1) (8 page)

By three o’clock, the sun blazed overhead in a cloudless sea of blue and the temperatures climbed to the upper eighties. A light breeze blew in from the west, a tornado of fallen leaves swirling in the drive. Jake and Janey worked in unison to deposit Stony’s gaunt frame into the front seat of the truck. As Jake leaned over him to fasten his seatbelt and tuck in the afghan around his legs, he caught a sour whiff of body odor mixed with the smell of old, wet leaves. Stony cried out and grasped at his belly. Jake muttered sorry and quickly pulled away as the seatbelt clicked.

He shut the door to the pickup and faced Janey’s tear-filled eyes. Jake had the conflicting urges to yell at her for being emotional over their rotten bastard of a father, and to comfort her with a warm hug. Instead, he settled for the middle of the road and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his blue jeans and alternated glances between Janey and the fascinating chunks of gravel at his feet.

“You sure this place is gonna work?” she asked.

Jake covered the details with her earlier in the living room. No matter who their clientele, Hospice House did miracles comforting the dying and their families. More than a man like Stony deserved, but he decided not to antagonize her with that point. She dabbed the corners of her eyes with a tissue from her pocket.

“It’s a nice place, Janey. He’ll be fine there and they’ll make him comfortable for the homestretch.”

“And the nurses? They seem okay?”

“Better than okay.” Jake grinned.

“What?” she asked. “What are you smiling about?”

“One of the nurses on his wing,” he said. “Maggie.”

“Maggie? Your Maggie?”

Their reunion flashed across his brain. The way his shirt smelled like her all the way back to the house, the lilac drifting into his nose. The feel of her body perfectly against his, taking him back to a sleeping bag under the stars in the woods. Her naked, eighteen-year-old body entwined in his, firm breasts molded against his chest, still warmly inside her, her delicious sweaty brow. He could still feel her soft lips grazing his ear as she whispered she loved him.

“Yeah, my Maggie. How did you not know she worked there?”

“I don’t pay attention where every resident of Benton County works.”

“She still live over there?” he asked, pointing over a clump of trees and a rise of land.

“As far as I know. I don’t pay attention to where every resident of Benton County lives, either. I’ve got too much other stuff going on to track your old girlfriend. She left town a few months after you did. Came back a couple years later.”

“She looked good. Real good,” he said.

“Well? What did she say?”

“Nothing much.” Jake shifted from foot to foot, anxious to get going. He wasn’t sure if the anxiety came from the prospect of getting rid of Stony or possibly seeing Maggie again. “She gave me a big hug, we talked for a few minutes and I headed here.”

“Bull,” Janey said, playfully pushing Jake back into the body of his truck. “You haven’t seen her since forever ago and that’s it?”

Forever ago. A wave of guilt slapped away the happy vision of Maggie. He kicked a rock with the scuffed toe of his boot and sent it into the brush.

“I left her,” he said at last, pissed for letting the happy thoughts rip south so quickly. He glanced to Janey, the joy fading from her face like the air sputtering out of a pierced balloon. “I left you. I left Nicky. I left everyone behind like the selfish prick I am.”

“But you’re back now.” Janey put a cool hand on his arm. “You’re back now.”

“Yeah, but just to fix things. That’s all I know how to do,” he said, shuffling around the back of the truck and climbing in.

Janey stepped on the running board, crossing her arms on the open window. She reached forward and picked up a corner of the afghan, wiping a tiny trail of spittle from their father’s chin.

“Maybe Stony isn’t the only thing you came back to fix.” She dropped her eyes then herself back to the ground and walked to the house.

Stony slumped against the seat, head lolling on his shoulder, the exact pose he modeled after Jake and Nicky would find him passed out in a bar and haul him home. This time, instead of passed out against the door, bloodthirsty cancer cells chewed him up from the inside.

Jake fired up the truck and rolled down the hill to Poor Boy Road. As he did, he looked up to a grassy clearing overlooking the picturesque valley, the clearing where many years ago he last held Maggie Holden. The night he fled Warsaw for good.

Jake hit the outskirts of Sedalia heading toward Hospice House. Would he end up this way? Being driven by someone else to die alone. It was possible. Life was full of wicked twists and ragged turns. He’d never have guessed he’d be a leg breaker for the mafia when he was a dumb, hormonal teenager. They skipped that option on career day.

At seventeen, Jake had the world by the tail. He owned the starting running back and linebacker positions for the high school team, all but promised a full ride scholarship from Kansas State University to go play for the legendary Bill Snyder, and he was madly in love with the head cheerleader. Every muscle on his tall physique popped and he could run down the sun, lean and solid as a rock. He ran his own summer training routine getting ready for his senior year, chopping logs in the woods behind the house and hoisting them up the hill, building endurance and stamina. This would be his time to shine, to get away from Stony.

He talked about escaping Warsaw incessantly. Anyone who listened heard his grand scheme of playing Division 1 football for a top twenty program. Jake would make something of himself, something beyond scrapping for jobs like Stony, or schlepping away for minimum wage at the lumber yard like Nicky. Something more than getting stoned on cheap beer at a smoky, local bar, throwing punches, and fishing on the lake with a bad hangover.

Every time he talked about getting out, he directed it at Stony. Each whip of the belt, each bruise that showed up on his brother’s face, and each promise Stony broke provided the fuel that burned his excellence on the field. His disdain for his father grew with every weight he pressed, every bone-crushing tackle he made, and every mile he ran. The anger would have eaten him whole, if it hadn’t been for Maggie.

Strikingly beautiful with cascading hair and a taut, athletic figure, Maggie could stop conversation in a room with a smile. She and Jake fit together like perfect puzzle pieces, both burning with the desire to get away and do something meaningful with their lives.

As he broke the city limits of Sedalia, a dark row of heavy clouds rolled in from the northeast, still a way off but likely to dump on the area within the next couple hours. His knee ached in familiar places as the atmospheric pressure changed and he rubbed the scar to make it go away. Stony groaned as the truck bounced over a pothole and Jake was cast to the worst night of his life.

Jake and Bear skipped rocks by the creek and drank beer lifted from Stony’s stash in the fridge, Jake’s sweat-soaked T-shirt thrown over his brawny, tanned shoulders. Bear left his shirt on, not wanting to endure Jake’s jokes about his weight. They talked about football and the upcoming two-a-day practices on the Warsaw High field. Their senior year and they’d be the Dynamic Duo. Bear held them up on the line and Jake knocked them down. Ten games, graduation and they’d both be gone to Kansas State.

Jake reached into the stream and tossed one of the last two beer cans to Bear. They drank and continued the rock skipping contest. Stony hadn’t shown his face for three days. He and Bear would cruise the watering holes in town daily until they found Stony’s beat up Ford. The truck moved so at least they were certain Stony wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. Jake could give two shits if Stony came home, life moved easier without him. Nicky had a job and brought home the occasional groceries, but he showed up almost as rarely as Stony. Jake and Janey cooked a decent meal together, and nobody kept him from rolling up the hill late at night to be with Maggie.

“I’d better get going.” Bear crushed his empty beer can and belched loud enough to shake the bark from the nearby trees. “My mom’s making meatloaf tonight and will beat my ass if I’m late.”

“You’d better watch the weight or you’re not going to be able to move on the d-line,” Jake said, draining the rest of his beer.

“Suck it, Caldwell. I’m an all-powerful, monstrous beast of destruction.”

“Teams will tremble at your feet.”

“They will beg for mercy,” Bear shouted. “I set ‘em up…”

“I knock ‘em down,” Jake responded, bumping knuckles with his best friend.

They trudged up the hill, Jake with the axe over his shoulder, Bear carrying an armful of logs. The sun burned overhead, just beginning its descent to the west. Janey read a book at the picnic table snuggled under a grove of trees in front of the house. Stony chained the table to a nearby tree for some reason. Nobody could figure out why. One wrong move would turn the thing into a pile of kindling. Janey waved as the two approached.

“Your sister’s looking good, Caldwell,” Bear said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Keep your dick away from her. She’s too young.”

“Sweet sixteen, baby. Old enough.”

“Fifteen, perv. Not sixteen until next month and still too young and thin for your ass. You need one of those mama’s in the muumuus.”

“You can come for dinner, you know,” Bear said, stopping at his car. “My mom loves you. I think she’d adopt you if Stony would let her.”

“Stony wouldn’t give a shit. I’d tell her to start the paperwork if it wasn’t for Janey.”

“All right, later dude. Tell Maggie hey.”

They bumped fists again as Bear jumped into his Chevelle, cranked the key, and waited for the engine to catch, the endeavor always a bit of a gamble. Would it or wouldn’t it? Today it did and Bear tore out of their driveway and on to Poor Boy Road in a cloud of dust.

Jake went inside the house and smelled something cooking in the kitchen. Janey made her green bean casserole and Jake’s stomach growled. The leaping deer clock on the wall read five o’clock, five hours until he could hook up with Maggie at their spot after she snuck out.

Jake and Janey ate in the living room in front of the television that night. Burt Reynolds jumped his Trans Am over the bridge to elude Sheriff Buford T. Justice in
Smokey and the Bandit,
when the familiar muffler of the old man’s truck roared up Poor Boy Road. An engine revved to redline followed by the clunks of gravel flying in the driveway. Jake’s head swung to Janey, her eyes growing wide.

“That doesn’t sound good,” she said.

“It’s not,” Jake said, jumping up. “Go to your room and shut the door.”

He didn’t have to ask her twice. She padded down the hall and disappeared into her room. Moments later, the truck door squealed open, glass bottles clinked together and broke on the driveway. The door shut and Jake clenched the armrest of the chair, staring ahead at the TV, the muscles in his jaw already aching with tension. He could bail to his room, or out the back door, but he represented the buffer between Stony and Janey. The old man hadn’t hurt her, but the possibility of a first time couldn’t be discounted. It wouldn’t happen on Jake’s watch.

The front door banged open, and an unshaven, dirty mess lurched against the frame. Three days worth of booze, smoke and body odor rolled across the living room and made Jake wince. The old man swayed and scanned the room from side to side as if trying to figure out if he went to the right house. His eyes locked in on Jake on the third sweep.

“Where’s everyone at?” Stony asked, slurring, leaning against the doorway like it would collapse if he moved.

“Janey’s in her room. Nicky came home from work, but went back into town to hook up with some friends.”

“So what the hell are you doing?” Stony said, the corner of his mouth drawn up in a sneer. “Not out finger bangin’ your little blondie?”

Jake remained stone faced as his father laughed and staggered past to the kitchen. He grabbed a cold beer and plopped in his recliner. He chuckled at his joke, but stopped when the vein in Jake’s forehead pulsated with anger.

“Whatsamatter?” He took a long pull from the can, foam on his upper lip and amber liquid dripping down his chin. “Can’t take a joke, you candy ass?”

“I can take a joke,” Jake said. “I’ll wait until you say something funny.”

Stony took another slug. He wiped his mouth on a dirty shirt sleeve and pointed at Jake with a long, bony finger.

“Listen, smart ass,” he said. “I’ll whip your ass if you don’t keep your mouth shut. You think you’re a big man. Big football man fucking the hottie prom queen. You think you’re better than me?”

Jake was well-conditioned to not engage his dad on any level of confrontation. Stony was on a three-day bender and though he could barely stand, Jake couldn’t bring himself to fight him, a line he wouldn’t cross, no matter what Stony did to him.

“I don’t think I’m better than you.”

Stony’s finger wavered in the air, and it took a good ten seconds for Jake’s statement to seep in.

“Good, you miserable little son of a bitch.” Stony sank back in his chair. “Cuz you ain’t better than me. Big football star. Mister college bound douche bag. Ain’t nobody better than me. Especially you. Now go fix me something to eat.”

Jake stood without a word, went to the kitchen and heated some of Janey’s casserole on a plate. He waited a minute for the microwave to finish and took the warm food to the living room. Stony slumped in the recliner, out cold, the empty beer can tilted toward the floor. Jake took the can, turned off the light and left Stony there. He knocked gently on Janey’s door. She opened it enough for her red, curly head to show.

“Go to Darla’s house for the night,” he said. “He’s passed out now, but he’ll wake up eventually and I don’t like his mood.”

“What about you?” Lines creased her forehead.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m going to hook up with Maggie. I might just take a sleeping bag and crash up on the hill. It’s warm out. I’ll be fine.”

Janey grabbed a bag, stuffed a few clothes in it and peeked in the hall. The two tiptoed to the front door, though a parade of trumpeting elephants could trample through the place and Stony wouldn’t twitch a muscle.

Jake escorted Janey a quarter mile up the road to her friend Darla’s house, as small as their own, but better maintained. Darla’s folks didn’t make a lot of money, but they were kind, hardworking people who knew what the Caldwell kids faced at home and would take any of them in without a word when needed.

Janey safely deposited, Jake walked back toward home, past the front yard and up the hill into the woods, following the moonlight touching the dirt path that climbed to the Spot. He waited, taking in the moon-kissed tree tops with his knees drawn up, hugging himself with his brawny arms. He thought of his dad passed out and how they had to escape him. It was fucking ridiculous.

Maggie arrived with her spirit-lifting aura twenty minutes later. They embraced and kissed, said a few words and kissed some more. She couldn’t stay. Her parents were still up and working on something for church. She snuck out her window, but needed to get back. They promised to get together tomorrow and parted ways.

He trudged back down the hill, his work boots crunching leaves and twigs. A rabbit darted across the path, diving into the opposite brush. He wished he’d brought his sleeping bag. But the day’s work and the beer left him wiped out; he didn’t have the energy to walk back to the hill. Stony would be out until morning anyway.

The chainsaw sounds of his dad snoring in the chair shattered the silence of the house. His father hadn’t moved an inch in the hour Jake was gone. In the bedroom he shared with Nicky, he peeled off his clothes and dropped on to his bed in his boxers, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Maggie. His leg dangled off the side of the bed, sweeping back and forth. Jake counted the pendulum sweeps of his big toe brushing the bare wood. He counted to sixty before falling asleep.

He dreamed of a monstrous shadow chasing him through the darkened Warsaw streets. The normally wide Main Street squeezed together to nothing more than an alley, and he darted from door to door trying to escape. The stores were all locked and the windows dark. Long, pale faces with black eyes stared out from inside the shops as he screamed for help. Every time he approached a door, the faces drew back and disappeared into the blackness. The thump of the shadow’s heavy footsteps drew closer and the impact ring of metal meeting metal. The narrow Main Street triangulated to a point, trapping him. As the shadow approached, Jake pressed his back into the unyielding wood and screamed aloud.

He woke in a sheen of sweat, heart racing from the nightmare. The light from the hallway backlit the figure hovering over him with something in hand. Jake smelled beer, dirt and sweat.

“You want to leave, boy? Let me tell you somethin’. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” His father raised the dull silver pipe, eighteen inches long, an inch in diameter. The pitted pipe descended and crashed into Jake’s knee as it dangled off the side of the bed. Pain erupted like a volcano, sending piercing, fiery waves of agony through his body. A second swing of the pipe crashed between Jake’s hands grasping at his shattered knee and sent him reeling into darkness.