Blood and Sympathy (12 page)

I paced restlessly. The only sound in the room
came from the second hand on a huge wall clock. Tick-tock, tick-tock. I
scrubbed my hands down my face and waited. I assumed Claire was waiting for us in
the pickup. I was a complete mess, and had there been anything in my stomach, I
would have puked.

Uncle Jeb returned and glanced down at the box on
the floor. "Doubt you'll be able to wear any of that now, but grab it, and
let's get the hell out of here. What do you say?"

He didn't have to tell me twice. I nodded and
asked, "Claire waiting in the truck?" I scanned the parking lot,
looking for her beautiful face.

Uncle Jeb put his big hand on my shoulder and
squeezed. "I'm sorry, son, but she didn't show up. I waited until the last
possible minute for her to get there, but I couldn't wait no more. I had to get
on the road."

I felt as if I'd just taken a work boot to the
stomach. She probably figured out what a stupid idea it was to get involved
with a fucking felon and changed her mind about coming.
Man up, don't be
such a fucking pussy
. "Sure, she probably just overslept."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Graduation was
last night. I'm sure she hit a party or three," he said. He stopped
walking and gave me a long look. "Get over here and give your old Uncle
Jeb a hug, dammit."

I chuckled and obliged him. "Easy, don't go
breaking my ribs before we even get out of the parking lot."

His shoulders shook with laughter. "Boy, you
need some meat on them bones. Feels like I'm trying to hug my shadow." He
rarely called me by my given name. I wondered if he was afraid he'd slip up and
call me Brogan by mistake. He unlocked the beat-up Ford Ranger, and I stowed my
stuff behind the passenger seat before climbing in beside him.

Memories of my first day in juvie clawed at my
brain, ignoring my desire to leave them locked inside the walls my body was now
free of.  A tangle of emotions filled me to capacity. Though anxious to leave
the cold, cinder block prison walls, with its guard towers, and the fifteen-foot-high
razor wire fence, I was uneasy. Fearful of what was before me in a world I
hadn't seen since I was twelve years old.

Scratch that. I was an utter basket case. I leaned
my head against the seat and soaked up the June sunshine. When the sweet scent
of cherries filled the cab, my eyes flew open and I turned toward Jeb.
"You smell that?" I asked.

The arch of his eyebrow and imperceptible shake of
his head told me the aroma was only in my mind. "I bathed before I
came," he said with a smile.

I settled back and closed my eyes again.
"Must've been my imagination. I could've sworn I smelled cherries."

"Could just be wishful thinking. I bet you ain't
had a decent meal since…" He trailed off and never finished his sentence.
We both knew exactly how long it had been.

Claire
Copeland

My ankle wasn't broken, but after seeing the stern
look on my dad's face, I wondered if a broken leg might have gained me a little
sympathy. Olivia wheeled me to the exit, and the two of them helped me into the
backseat of Dad's SUV. Talk about a tension-filled ride home. Dad's eyes never strayed
from the road ahead, and Olivia stared out the window, but nobody uttered a
single word.

Dad parked in his usual spot next to the house,
even though he could have been considerate and parked closer. "Olivia, run
inside and grab that pair of crutches from the hall closet, please."

"Yes, Daddy," she said. Her eyes caught
mine in the reflection of the glass before she pushed open her door and hopped
out.

I felt like I'd swallowed a bucket of wet cement,
and it was starting to harden inside of my stomach. My leg bounced up and down,
and I wanted to dissolve into vapor and float away on the predawn air.

When Olivia came out of the house with the
crutches in her hands, Dad heaved a heavy sigh and looked over his shoulder at
me. His expression was the same face I made that time I drank that chalky shit
at the doctor's office. A cross between wanting to puke and wanting to kill
someone for making me drink it.

He climbed from the car and met Olivia on the
other side. If I had a tail, I would have tucked it between my legs. The
silence was worse than him lighting into me and getting it over with. He held
the door while I maneuvered myself up the steps and into the kitchen.

Olivia brewed a pot of coffee, clicking her
fingernails against the stainless steel sink as she stared out the window.
Sunday morning tag team--two against one--would begin as soon as they were both
armed with caffeine.

I chewed on a hangnail and gazed up the stairs,
wondering how fast I could carry my ass up to my bedroom. On crutches? Not fast
enough.

Dad broke the silence by scraping a chair across
the scarred kitchen floor. "Have a seat, Claire."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and did as I was
told.

Olivia poured two cups of coffee and leaned
against the counter. "Where is my car?" she asked.

"It's in the ditch somewhere on the way to
Trevor Mills' house," I said while focused on the dried spots of blood on
my blue jeans. "Alistair Anderson ran me off the road."

"How much did you have to drink?" Dad
asked.

"I had maybe two beers, three at the
most." I looked him in the eye when I answered. The reason the car went
down the ravine had nothing to do with my being drunk or sober, and everything
to do with that fucker Alistair.

"Why didn't you call the sheriff and report
it?" He sat forward, his hands clasped on the table in front of him.

I shrugged. "What's the use? It would just be
Alistair's word against mine."

"How bad is my car?" Olivia asked.

"Olivia, let me handle this, please? You can
talk to your sister later," he said, putting an end to the two against one
attack.

She huffed and said, "Fine," before
stomping out of the room.

I knew Olivia was pissed about her car, but it
would have been nice if she'd shown me an ounce of sisterly love.

Apparently my dad was out of questions and ready
to hand down my sentencing. "You will get a job this summer. Every dime
you earn will go to your sister to help her either repair her car or find a
suitable replacement vehicle."

Okay. I could live with that. I was planning to
get a job at the bakery anyway. "Yes, sir."

"I'm going to speak with Jeb Sayer. You can
work at his bait shop. I will see that you get to work each morning, and if I
can't pick you up at the end of the day, I'll make sure you have a ride home.
You'll get paid once a week and hand that paycheck over to me to put into a
bank account for Olivia."

Fuck me. Was he kidding me right now? Sayer's Bait
and Tackle? Handling worms and other assorted live bait all day long? It
smelled like dead fish in there and the building was always as hot as an oven
inside. "I already told Belle I'd work for her at the bakery," I
managed to choke out.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Call her and
tell her that due to unforeseen circumstances your plans have changed. You'll
report to Sayer's Bait and Tackle first thing Monday morning. I'll make sure Jeb
gets a stool for you to sit on behind the cash register until you're able to
get around without crutches."

I gritted my teeth and kept my mouth shut. There were
so many things I wanted to say to him, none of them pleasant. Yes, I was
eighteen and capable of making my own decisions, but I had to go along with him
for the time being. If I got too cocky, I'd be out on my ass and looking for another
place to live.

"Now, call Hensteeth Towing and get your
sister's car pulled out of the ditch," he said before leaving me to feel
sorry for myself over the shitty hand I'd been dealt.

Braden
Sayer

"That's where Claire and her family
live," Uncle Jeb pointed out as we drove past.

I craned my neck to get a good look, but the only
things visible were the trees lining a long, rutted lane that disappeared into
nothingness. My breath hitched and I nodded. I knew she lived near Uncle Jeb, I
just didn't remember how close it was until we were pulling into the marina.

He reached over and gave my shoulder a friendly
squeeze. "Come on, let's get you situated."

I smiled in spite of the niggling feeling that
something was wrong. "Sure."

"Here she is. It ain't much, but you'll have
your own place, close enough I can keep an eye on ya, but not too close that
I'll be breathing down your neck."

We had stopped in front of a dilapidated green tin
can of a trailer. It was in sad shape, but I didn't care. I was just happy to not
have someone watching my every move, scrutinizing everything I did, and keeping
track in a file somewhere.

"No, it's great, Uncle Jeb. Really."
Truth was I would have been happy living in a pup tent and sleeping on the hard
ground. I unfastened my seat belt and grabbed my box of belongings from the backseat.
A friendly looking dog greeted us with a wagging tail.

"This here's Katie. She's not much of a
watchdog, but she's my best friend."

I tucked the box under one arm and patted Katy on
the head. "Hey there, Katie."

Uncle Jeb grinned and dug in his pants pocket,
retrieving the key. "I don't know why I bother to lock it. Locks just keep
the honest people out." He chuckled, twisted the key and turned the knob,
giving the door a hearty shove with his shoulder. The flimsy thing made a loud
scraping sound as it slid inward. "Sticks a little at the bottom. Must be
the humidity."

It didn't feel humid to me, but I smiled and took
his word for it. "Maybe it'll keep someone from sneaking in on me while
I'm sleeping," I joked. I wasn't too worried about anyone breaking in,
seeing as how I didn't have anything worth stealing.

"Go on and make yourself at home," he
said, turning to leave. "I'll be down at the marina if you need me."

It was the beginning of June. The marina's first
big Saturday of the season. I knew he was itching to get to work, and truth be
told, I was a little anxious to see the lake myself. "I'll be out in a
bit."

"Take your time, son."

I dropped the box on the ratty looking sofa. It
was olive green, and I wondered if it came with the trailer when it was new.
The kitchen was to my right. I leaned against the cabinets and took in my
surroundings. You could see from one end to the other, and I could probably
spit just as far. The bathroom was down a narrow paneled hallway to the right,
and the one bedroom was at the end of the hall.

Even though the quarters were cramped, my heart
swelled inside my chest with pride because I was home. Unshed tears burned my
eyes and I swallowed hard, trying to keep them from getting loose on me.

There wasn't a bathtub, just a single shower stall
covered with a thick layer of soap scum. The faucet dripped at random intervals,
and the basin was covered with rust, as was the toilet bowl. Hanging above the
sink was a crooked medicine cabinet with a mirrored door. I stared for a few
minutes at my reflection, turning my head this way and that, getting a real
good look at myself.

The bedroom was just big enough for a double bed
and nightstand. There were two closets flanking a built-in dresser. Again, the
predominant color was green, in one shade or another. There was a tiny window
above the bed that did little to light the dark cave-like space. Compared to my
cramped room back at WTJDC, this place was a fucking palace.

Inside the dresser, there were five pairs of blue
jeans and a pair of cut-offs. Hanging in the closet, I found five lime green
t-shirts. Each had a circular logo with a black "Sayer's Marina and Small
Engine Devil's Fork Lake" emblem. There was also a pair of slightly worn
black work boots. I changed into my new "uniform" and grabbed the
pair of shorts before heading out to find Uncle Jeb.

The marina where I'd be working was in a large
metal pole building with sliding doors across the front and sides. All the
doors stood wide open, and a warm breeze blew through as I made my way to the
back of the shop. Uncle Jeb was whistling, and the closer I got, the more
familiar the tune became. It was "You Are My Sunshine." And the knife
in my chest twisted a little as I thought about Claire.

He sat behind a solid looking wooden desk rifling
through some papers. When I stepped into the office, I tripped over something
large, and mostly unmovable propped against the door. "Shit, what the hell
is that thing?" I asked, frowning.

He snickered and shook his head. "I can see
I've got my work cut out for me."

My eyebrows knitted together. "What do you
mean?"

"That's a boat anchor."

"I know that, but what'd it come off of? The
Titanic?" I asked, taking in the size of the thing.

"Nah. It's an antique. Reverend Copeland
found it at a flea market and gave it to me as a gift. Makes a dandy doorstop."
I reached down to pick it up and was shocked by how heavy it was. "It's
solid iron. If you look along the side, he had someone custom make a plate with
the marina's name stamped on it."

I sat the anchor back in front of the door and
asked, "What do you have for me to do?"

He stood and put his hands on his hips. "I
want you to get your shorts on and go have some fun. Christ, kid, you ain't
been out of lockup for more than a few hours. I think you're allowed a day off
before you need to worry about earning your keep around here, don't you?"

I shrugged and said, "I suppose so."

"Ain't no supposin' to it. Go do something
fun for a change, will ya? You can start to work first thing Monday
morning." When I didn't move he flapped his hands dismissively and said,
"Shoo, go on, git."