Blood and Sympathy (8 page)

"Yeah, my pen pal. I
don't know what she'd like."

He put his hand on my
shoulder. "I'm sure it'll come to you. Why don't you work on the box
itself first? You don't need to worry about the tune right away."

"I guess you're
right."

"Which one's your
favorite?" he asked.

"Each one's special
in its own way. It'd be hard for me to pick one I liked best." I got up
from the bench and replaced the sandpaper on my sanding block with a finer
grit.

"There isn't any
hurry, is there? Why don't you just ask her what she wants?"

"I could do that,
but I'd kind of like it to be a surprise for her. If she picks out the design,
the color, and the song, then it won't be as special. At least that's how I see
things."

Mr. Collins scratched the
back of his neck absentmindedly. "The more you chase after the answers, Braden,
the more elusive they become. Whatever you decide, I'm sure she'll love
it."

"Yeah, you're
probably right." I ran my hands lightly over the sanded wood and when I
was certain it was perfectly smooth, I took out some cheesecloth and wiped away
the dust particles. Everything had become routine since I'd been doing it for
so long.

"I've got an
idea," Mr. Collins said. "What's your friend's name?"

My forehead crinkled and
I replied, "Claire, why?"

"Okay, give me a
minute, I'll be right back." He unlocked his office door and disappeared
inside. A few minutes later, he returned with a cheesy grin on his mug.
"The name Claire means 'clear,' and 'bright.' Does that help any?"

I twisted my mouth into a
scowl and shook my head. "No, not particularly."

"Oh, come on, think
about it. What's the brightest thing you can think of?"

"The sun, I
guess."

"There you go! So,
you cut out a sun for the lid." He rubbed his hands together and reached
for the catalog. "Now, think up a song to go along with it, and I'd say
you've got Claire's music box."

"That's easy, 'You
Are My Sunshine.'"

"Perfect." Mr.
Collins flipped through the pages. When he stopped, he turned the book around
and pointed. "Right there."

I worked a little while
longer before heading back to my room. I decided to reply to Claire.

Dear Claire,

I don't get a lot of exercise,
unless you count lifting weights. I can't imagine running very far, but like
anything else, I guess you have to ease into it.

I had your name put on
the list of allowed visitors. They said on account my time here is short,
they'd allow you to visit. Technically, you're supposed to be a relative in
order to visit an inmate. I thought about telling them you're my sister, but
they know my only living relative besides Brogan is Uncle Jeb.

I hope you won't be
too disappointed when you meet me in person. I'll probably be so tongue-tied I
won't know what to say, and I'll wind up embarrassing myself.

If your daddy asks you
where you're going that day, I hope you don't lie to him. Is it lying if you don't
volunteer all the facts?

You sound like you're
stubborn. My mama always used to tell us, don't cut off your nose to spite your
face, or something like that. As a little boy, I wasn't sure what it meant, and
now that I'm older, I'm not a hundred percent, but I think I grasp the general
meaning. So, Claire, don't cut off your nose to spite your lovely face.
J

No, I don't have a
calendar on the wall to mark off the days. It's all up in my head. Trust me,
I'm not likely to lose track of the days left.

What's a bucket list?

There are all sorts of
stories about Devil's Fork Lake. "The lake, it is said, never gives up her
dead." That's a legend about Lake Superior, but did you know that when
they flooded the land to build the lake, they wiped out a whole town, and
there's even a cemetery down there. Uncle Jeb used to tell us all kinds of
stories that scared the crap out of me as a kid. 

I worked on your music
box today. I'm going to let it be a surprise. I hope you like it.

Now that you've made
up your mind about what tattoo to get, you just have to figure out where to put
it. I won't think about that too hard, because my imagination might get away
from me, and everyone will wonder what the heck I'm blushing about.

See you soon,

Braden

Having her come for a visit made me nervous.
Sometimes, I thought it would be better if we never met. If we were just long
distance friends. There's a certain illusion that comes with never meeting
someone face to face. You get to know them through writing, and even with
physical descriptions, it's difficult to put a face with the handwriting.

She didn't know what I looked like. The only
pictures out there of me where from a time before I wound up in this place. If
you looked real hard at the seventeen year old I am now, you might find that
twelve-year-old boy inside, but I doubted it. He was gentle, he was kind, and
he was naïve. I'm a decent person, but it's been hard not to become jaded and
bitter after spending so much time locked up.

Maybe after Claire meets me, she won't like me
very much.

Claire
Copeland

Alistair and I had a pretty heated exchange on the
drive over to the party. I told him I wasn't staying out all night, and he got
nosy and started asking questions. I told him I had to get up early to go running
around the lake with Olivia before church.

"Go running after church." He shot me an
irritated look, as though my wanting to get home at a decent hour would ruin
his entire night.

"I have plans after church," I said,
bracing myself for the next question he was bound to ask.

"What plans?"

Not that it was any of his business, but I didn't
like his attitude. "I'm going with Jeb Sayer to visit his nephew." I
didn't figure Alistair would remember Jeb Sayer's nephew was locked up in
juvie.

His head snapped in my direction and he narrowed
his eyes. "You're going to visit the Sayer Slayers? What the fuck, Claire?
Why would you do something so idiotic? I don't think I like you going
there."

"What's the big deal, Alistair?"

His jaw muscles tensed. "The big deal is
you're my girl. What're people going to think about you going off to visit
those two
killers
?"

"You've got to be kidding me. First off, I'm
not your girl, Alistair. I'm my own person. I don't answer to you. Secondly,
did you really just ask me what people are going to think? Since when have you
known me to give two shits about anyone's opinion of me?"

For a split second, I thought I saw something that
resembled hurt cloud his face. His fingers gripped the steering wheel, and he
shook his head before turning up the volume on the radio. It was Alistair's way
of letting me know the discussion was over until he could figure out something
intelligent to counter with. Who knew how long that might take.

An hour into the party, I watched him from the
other side of the fire as he slammed so many shots of Jack Daniels that I lost
count. I started to wonder if it might be time to find another ride home. He
wasn't going to be in any condition to drive, and drinking whiskey made him
meaner than a rabid dog. Maybe if I got lucky he'd pass out and let me drive
his truck home. I sipped my beer, pacing myself while I weighed my limited
options.

"Hey, Kim," I shouted to a friend, as
she strode past.

She turned and wiggled her fingers at me. "Hi,
Claire."

"You leaving?"

She nodded and said, "Yeah. You need a
ride?"

My gaze drifted over to Alistair. "Would you
mind taking me home?"

Her eyes followed the direction of my stare.
"Not at all."

"Give me a second. I better at least tell him
I'm going." I pulled in a deep breath and walked over to him. "I'm
catching a ride with Kim Oliver."

 He pushed away from the truck he was leaning on
and was in my face in two steps. He reeked of booze, and his pupils were
dilated as he glared at me, daring me to cross him. "What? I'm not good
enough to fucking give you a ride home now?"

Mentally, I counted to ten, trying to maintain my
cool. "You're drunk, Alistair. Go sleep it off." I turned to leave,
and his hand darted out, grabbing me around my upper arm. His grip was tight
and his look was venomous. I wrenched free of his hold and told him,
"Don't do something stupid."

He'd hit me once before, and swore it would never
happen again. I was counting on the fact that we had an audience to keep him
from going there again. My legs were quaking, and I was trying to keep my
temper in check. Fight or flight pumped through my veins and I needed to get
the hell away from him before he did something ignorant.
One foot in front
of the other
. I started walking away.

"Hey, Claire?" My mistake was turning to
face him. He backhanded me hard across the mouth. "You're nothing but a
lousy fucking lay anyway."

The coppery taste of blood was thick on my tongue.
I should have probably kept my mouth shut, but I couldn't resist getting in the
last word. "Yeah, well, if you could keep it up for more than two minutes,
I'd have something to work with." I spat the blood inside my mouth in his
face and bolted to where Kim stood gaping at me. Sobriety was on my side, along
with weeks of training for a half marathon. I knew I could outrun his drunken,
out-of-shape ass.

"Kim! Hurry the fuck up!" I screamed at
her as she stood transfixed by my bravery--or stupidity--hard to say.
"Let's get out of here."

She hit the unlock button on the key fob, and we
dove into the front seats of her car. I held my breath until we were out on the
main road. Laughter bubbled out of me like some lunatic. She peeked sideways at
me. "Damn, you're either crazy brave or crazy fuckin' stupid. I'm not sure
which."

"Both?" I grinned and collapsed against
the car seat, letting my heart slow to a calmer pace.

It was the first Saturday night I'd gotten home
before midnight in I couldn't remember how long. Olivia stood in front of the
microwave making popcorn when I came in. She did a double-take. "What
happened to your face?"

"It's nothing." My lower lip was split
open, and my jaw was tender. She reached toward me and I ducked, batting her
hand away from me. "I tripped."

"Right. I forgot how accident prone you
are."

She turned to retrieve her popcorn and I went up
to bed.

***

After our run, I took a shower and wrestled with
myself over what to wear. I wanted to look nice for my first in-person meeting
with Braden, but I didn't want to look too obvious or like I was trying too
hard to impress him. Dad would expect me to wear a dress or a skirt for my
appearance in church, but I didn't think that would be appropriate attire for
me to wear to a juvenile detention center. I decided I'd wear a dark colored
skirt that fell just below my knees with a bright blue sweater, and I stuffed a
pair of jeans into my oversized handbag.

Sleep hadn't been easy to come by the night
before. I was anxious about visiting Braden and pissed at Alistair for being
such a moron. My lip was split with a really unattractive scab, and there was a
faint bruise along my jaw. The bruise I took care of with some makeup, but there
wasn't much I could do to hide the nasty looking gash on my mouth.

Olivia peered at me over the top of her coffee
cup. "You going to tell me what happened?"

I shook my head. "No, it's not
important."

She rinsed her mug and dried her hands.
"Okay, I'll take your word for it."

The sun was out and the early April day was
unseasonably warm, bringing out a larger crowd for Sunday services than usual.
More people meant Dad would take longer shaking hands and schmoozing the townspeople
and I could slip away easily.

After church I was able to sneak outside unnoticed
and spotted Jeb leaning against his charcoal gray Ford pickup waiting for me to
cross the parking lot. He beamed a smile at me as I approached. "You
didn't tell your daddy, did you?"

"No. He didn't ask so I didn't have to
lie." I grinned and climbed into the passenger seat.

"I suppose I'm okay with that." He sighed
and started the truck, pulling onto the road.

"He won't even notice I'm gone," I said,
taking the jeans out of my bag. I tugged them on and pulled off my skirt before
tossing my purse into the backseat.

"If you say so."

The drive to WTJDC wasn't a long one, but it felt
longer because we were silent most of the way. I drummed my fingers on my thigh
and stared out the window. Finally we passed a sign that said
"Correctional Facility Area: Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers." My eyes
widened and I glanced at Jeb.

"State makes 'em put them signs up. Most of
the boys at WTJDC are harmless."

"Most?" I swallowed and wondered what
the hell I had gotten myself into.

He chuckled. "Well, yeah. There are a few
baddies, but Braden's not one of 'em."

I nodded slowly. "That's reassuring, I
guess."

Braden
Sayer

Claire was really going to visit. I reread her
latest letter several times.

Dear Braden,

Maybe when you get
home we can go running together. I have to warn you, Olivia's a pretty
relentless coach, but if it weren't for her making me train, I wouldn't.

Good thing you had my
name added to the list because I'll be coming up with your uncle the next time
he visits.

I'll forgive you for
being too nervous to talk, but you really don't have anything to be worried
about.