Roustabout (The Traveling #3) (12 page)

She opened the door wider and stepped back, and I wasn’t sure if it was an invitation or a challenge.

I nodded, forcing a weak smile onto my face, and followed her inside. The same sagging couch was in the corner, but the other furniture had been moved around and an enormous flatscreen took up most of one wall. Someone had made an attempt to put up wallpaper, but now it was stained and peeling. The room smelled musty, although the place seemed clean enough and dust-free.

“Nice . . . TV,” I managed.

She gave a harsh laugh. “Our pride and joy.”

I was silent, the memories weighing too heavily. I kept smiling as I met her impassive face.

“You look well . . .” I began, but she interrupted me.

“Cut the crap, Tucker. You don’t have to charm me. I know how I look.”

I glanced down and noticed that she was wearing a wedding ring.

“So, you and Jackson?”

Her hard eyes glittered as she stared at me coldly, her hands rigid at her side.

The door was flung open suddenly.

“Momma! Did you see the motorcycle outside? It’s a Ducati! That’s Eye-talian!”

A skinny kid of about 10 or 11 skidded into the room, his eyes narrowing when he saw me and his shoulders tightening defensively. His child-sized hands balled into fists.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his chin jutting out as he spoke.

Renee answered. “This is your Uncle Tucker.” She wrapped her arm around him and her voice softened. “This is my son Scotty.”

I stared in shock.
Renee had a kid?
I don’t know why I was so surprised. All the women around here had kids before they were 25, most before they were 20, and I’d been away a long time.

The kid groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Momma! I told you about a billion times! It’s
Scott!
”

I hid a smile and held out my hand. “Hey, man, good to meet you.”

He stared at me warily then tilted his chin up. “That your bike outside?”

“Sure is.”

His eyes flashed with excitement, but then the sullen look reserved for strangers was back.

I let my hand drop to my side. I wasn’t offended—I’d been just like him at his age. Strangers didn’t usually mean anything good.

“Scott, go do your homework,” Renee said briskly.

He shot her a venomous look but didn’t argue, walking into the addition with dragging steps.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said at last, hostility closing her face. “Mr. Big-shot bike rider, too busy for his own family.”

I gave an ugly laugh. “That shit don’t fly, Renee. You know why I left.”

She stared at me impassively, and I felt like she was weighing something in her mind. “So it took your momma’s funeral to bring you back to Tennessee—is that all?”

I’d been asking myself that question
.

I shrugged. “You made it sound important.”

“Your momma’s funeral isn’t important?”

A thread of guilt pulled at my gut. Probably not as much as it should, but still, I felt it.

And I couldn’t help feeling that Renee wasn’t being upfront with me. I used to think we didn’t have any secrets from each other, but I’d been shit wrong about that. So when she asked about Momma, I wasn’t ready to answer that question yet. I changed the subject.

“Where’s Jackson?”

“Out,” she said, without much interest. “Drinking with Jason is my guess.”

I nodded uncomfortably at her answer. “And . . . Randolph?” Even his name tasted bad in my mouth.

She smiled coldly. “Bumming drinks from Jackson and Jason. They’ll be home later.”

“Shit . . .
all of them?
They all live here?”
Still?

She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “This is their home. Where did you expect them to live?”

I really didn’t want to get into this with her but . . .”I’m surprised you’re still here. In town, I mean, not . . .”

Her shrug was impatient, dismissive. “I didn’t have too many choices when my momma threw me out.”

“What did she do that for?” I frowned, feeling again that there was something missing from her reasoning. “Why come here?” Then I answered my own question. “Because of Jackson.”

She didn’t answer.

“You want a drink?”

I sighed. Renee wasn’t in any hurry to say whatever she had to say. And it looked like I was stuck in town till Friday.

“Sure. Water would be good.”

A harsh, amused smile stretched her thin lips. “You turn into Snow White while you were away?”

I decided to fight fire with fire, and grinned back coldly. “You’re the one living with the seven dwarves—or maybe just three: Grumpy, Dopey and Sleazy.”

Her eyes glittered dangerously, but then she let out a sharp bark of laugher.

“Ain’t that the truth!” Then she smiled a real smile. “C’mon out the back and sit a while.”

In the kitchen, she ran a glass of water from the tap and passed it to me.

“Bottled water costs too much,” she muttered, before pushing her way through the screen door.

I wasn’t expecting a lot from the backyard, but I was surprised to see flowers and a vegetable patch.

Renee saw the direction of my gaze and a dull red crept up her neck to her cheeks. She gave an embarrassed laugh.

“Gotta do something to keep me sane.”

“When does it start working?” I grinned at her, raising an eyebrow

“Hey!” she laughed, swatting my shoulder.

We were silent for a moment while I sipped my rusty-tasting water, and I remembered all the times she’d taken care of me, fed me. And yeah, fucked me. We were kids. What did we know about anything?

I sat down on the deck, stretching my legs out onto the steps. Renee did the same as I stared out at the familiar landscape, the mountains rising up in the distance, sheathed in haze that looked like smoke, the sprawl of trees taller than I remembered.

There were too many memories here—most of them bad.

“How did she die?” I asked at last.

Renee sighed. “The drinking. Her liver gave up, that’s what the doctors said.”

I nodded slowly.

“She wasn’t all bad, Tucker.”

I laughed harshly.

“She wasn’t,” Renee sighed. “She took me in when no one else would. And it wasn’t like she needed the trouble. When she was sober . . .”

“And how often was that?”

“Not often,” Renee admitted. “She missed you.”

“I’m surprised she noticed I’d gone,” I said bitterly. “Or maybe she noticed when the roof start leaking, or when something broke or needed fixing. When she ran out of money for booze.”

Renee gazed at me. “She was a drunk and a lousy mom,” said Renee. “But it didn’t mean she didn’t love you . . .”

“She just loved to drink more.”

Renee grimaced, but didn’t disagree.

“Scotty seems like a great kid,” I offered, needing to say something.

Renee smiled and her hard face relaxed one degree. “He is. Best thing I ever did. What about you? Got any kids?”

“Hell, no!”

The words exploded out of me, making her laugh again.

“You sure about that?” she asked, elbowing me in the ribs.

“I always package the goods!” I replied quickly.

Her smile faded. “Yeah.” Then she looked away. “Got a girl waiting for you, Tucker?”

Without permission, my thoughts strayed to Tera. I shook my head.

“Nope. Happily footloose and fancy free.”

Renee nodded slowly. “Ever?”

I glanced across at her. “There was a girl. But it was a long time ago.”

Her lips compressed into a bloodless line. “Don’t.”

“Renee . . .”

“I mean it, Tucker. Leave it.”

And that was it. If you don’t keep moving, your past catches up with you sooner or later.

I stood up slowly, my heavy biker boots sounding loud on the wooden deck.

“Reckon you’re right, Renee,” I said.

I didn’t want any part of whatever was going on here. I’d left once; I’d moved on.

I stared out at the trees, the low angle of the sun slanting through the thin branches like fingers—all pointing at me.

“See you at the funeral.”

Her mouth turned down. “Always running away, aren’t you, Tucker?”

Even though my gut was churning, I smiled at her and winked. “Best way of not getting caught.”

Tera

I was still cringing from the confrontation with my father.

It was because I’d decided to find out where the funeral for Tucker’s mother would be taking place. Yes, I could have just called him, but I had the feeling that he wouldn’t be answering his cell. Besides, my last two calls had gone unanswered. He hadn’t even sent so much as a text message before blowing me off. I really should have taken the hint and walked away. But after what Aimee had told me, I just couldn’t do it.

Finding the right funeral parlor wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. It turned out that a lot of women in their fifties or sixties had died in Tennessee the same week as Tucker’s mother; I just hadn’t been able to pin it down, especially as there weren’t any deaths registered in the name of McCoy.

Defeated, I’d asked my father’s personal assistant for help.

I’d known Marjorie almost my whole life. She was a sort of honorary aunt and I’d grown up playing in her office when Dad had taken me to work. She was a whizz at finding things out and I swear the CIA had nothing on her.

When I’d told her what I was trying to do and that it was because I was worried about a friend, it hadn’t occurred to me that as well as finding out the information, she’d tell my father.

I was standing in the living room at my parents’ house in Minneapolis reading Marjorie’s email.

“Who’s this friend you’re trying to help?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin when my father touched my arm.

“Dad!” I yelped, clutching my chest.

“Marjorie said something about a funeral? Is it a college friend?”

“No, just a friend.”

“A guy friend?”

I rolled my eyes. “Dad!”

“A girlfriend?”

“The friendly kind of friend. Does it matter?”

“Well,” he said, settling onto the couch and leaning back, “seeing as you had Marjorie working overtime to get you the information, let’s just say I’m curious.”

I sighed, knowing that he’d get his answer one way or another: sometimes it was just less hassle to tell him.

“It’s the mother of my friend Tucker. He works with Kestrel.”

My father’s face remained smooth, but I heard the steel in his voice. “One of those carnies.”

“He’s a lot more than that,” I said defensively. “He’s a very skilled motorcycle stunt rider.”
Like my brother.

“Did your . . . did Kestrel ask you to help?”

“Not exactly . . .”

“Then why
exactly
are you interested?”

“Tucker lost his mother. He’s all by himself and . . . he’s a friend.”

“And you couldn’t just ask your friend where the funeral is taking place?”

“He’s . . . I haven’t been able to reach him. I was worried, so . . .”

My father’s voice remained calm, but I could see his jaw ticking.

“He must be a close friend for you to go to all of this trouble.”

“No, I . . . you know what, it doesn’t matter. I’m just going to send some flowers.”

He nodded, a smile relaxing his whole face.

“That’s sweet of you, honey.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” I said, as I kissed him on the cheek and left the room.

What I didn’t tell him was that I planned to deliver the flowers in person.

Second-guessing myself the whole way, I bought a flight to Nashville, then took a cab the rest of the way.

If I hadn’t been so preoccupied, questioning my motives and actions, the scenery would have been impressive. The Smoky Mountains rose in the distance, clouds gathering around the peaks, swirling like smoke; tall trees grew thickly in the valleys, and Tennessee glowed under the scorching summer sun, lush and beautiful.

As I stared out of the window, the town where Tucker had grown up passed before me. Crowds of people lined the road, and red, white and blue flags were strung along the street. Even so, I couldn’t help but notice the empty lots and boarded up shops—it looked like a town that was struggling.

My hotel was on the outskirts and newly built. It contrasted with everything else that I’d seen, and I wondered if it was a sign that the local economy was on the up. But then again, its location pointed more at tourists who’d come to explore the mountains.