Chapter 1 #2
“Oh, yeah. Hang on.” Blue set his bottle down on the coffee table and shuffled off into the bedroom.
He dug around and found an old John Deere tee shirt―god only knew where that came from―and handed it to her when he returned to the living room.
“Here. You can pretend you’re the farmer’s daughter,” he said with a laugh and downed the rest of his beer.
“Wanna go to the bedroom?” she asked, a coy smile on her face. Blue thought that was a little odd, but what the hell? More fun in the sack. Sounded good to him.
The birds were chirping and the sun shining when he opened his eyes the next morning.
He didn’t remember much of the night before and, worse yet, his head was throbbing.
One look across the bed told him the girl was gone.
Had someone picked her up? He really didn’t think he’d driven her anywhere. Maybe he had. He couldn’t remember.
But when he dragged himself into the living room, his mouth fell open in disbelief.
His TV was gone, and so was his stereo. His home theater system too.
He checked the kitchen―his microwave was missing, along with his can opener, his toaster oven, and his PorkyPig cookie jar.
Bitch stole my cookie jar! his brain screamed.
Then something blistering and hot poured through his memory.
Sure enough, he yanked open the nightstand drawer and his pistol was gone.
Worse yet, he’d bought it second-hand from a felon who worked at the sub shop down the street, so he had no paperwork on it, and it would be hard to report.
But it had his fingerprints all over it, so that would be some kind of bad news if it wound up being used in a crime, and he was really afraid it might.
He checked the box in the closet and all those guns were still there; she hadn’t found them.
Blue had to believe she’d had someone come and pick her up.
It only made sense. Then he remembered the trip to the bedroom for the tee shirt and he knew that had been her opportunity―she’d drugged him. No other explanation.
Blue called Turner to say he’d be late for work. “You’re already two hours late, dipshit,” Turner reminded him.
“I know that, Turdbucket. I told you what happened. I’ve got to call the cops and then I’ll be there.” Turner was mumbling some gripey shit when they hung up the phone.
The cops were supremely unhelpful. “So, what was this girl’s name?” a tall, blond officer asked Blue.
“I have no idea.”
“So you brought her back here and had sexual relations with her, and you have no idea what her name was?” the cop asked again.
“No. I have no idea. She asked if I wanted to know, and I asked her why I’d want to,” Blue explained.
“She was a one-night stand, man, not a girlfriend.” Blue watched the officer’s face contort in disgust. Like you’ve never fucked somebody you pulled over for speeding , Blue thought, but he didn’t dare say it.
He really wanted to, though―really, really wanted to.
As they stood there, he heard a sound and turned. Sure enough, it was the neighbor, and she had what looked like an almost malevolent grin splitting her face. Blue could tell she was delighted he was having some kind of difficulty that required law enforcement, so he just ignored her.
He decided that, regardless the repercussions, he’d better tell them about the gun, so he made up a story about how he’d gotten it from a friend and that he had no paperwork on it. He might still get in trouble, but at least if they had the police report, he had something to fall back on.
“So what did they say?” Turner asked when he made it to work right before lunch.
“Didn’t give me much hope. So my shit’s gone.” Blue was busy taking a wheel off a Buick in preparation to do a brake job. Damn, he hated brake jobs and they knew it, so they’d saved it for him. How sweet of them. It was a great place to work.
“That’s too bad, man. Oh, well, all you can do is work and hope to replace it.”
“On what you pay me, it’ll take years,” Blue growled as Turner strolled away.
“I heard that,” Turner called back. “You need a better attitude, Wallace.”
That wasn’t the first time BlueWallace had been told that, and he knew Turner was right. He also knew his head was pounding, he was hungry, and he really didn’t want to be there.
The afternoon dragged by, and when he got off work, Blue went straight home. He was so tired he couldn’t think. About halfway between the truck and the house he heard a voice. “Hey, mister?” Blue didn’t even turn, and the voice repeated, “Hey, mister? Hey, mister!”
He wheeled on his heel and found what looked like an eight-year-old boy staring at him. “Yeah, kid? Whaddya want?”
“Can I come over there and get my ball?” the little boy asked, then pointed out into the middle of the weeds.
“Sure, kid. Knock yourself out.” Blue straggled on up to the house.
A small voice called from behind him, “Thanks, mister.”
“Yeah, whatever. Go play.” With that, Blue shut the door behind him and dropped onto the sofa.
He woke up just in time to find the house growing dark and rose to pull all the blinds shut.
As he stood at the kitchen sink, he could see into the kitchen window next door.
The same little boy was moving around the table, setting out plates and glasses, and a girl who looked to be about ten or eleven was cooking something on the stove.
He watched them working, talking and laughing as they did, and wondered where the woman was.
Oh, work. Right. They were alone, but they looked happy and cheerful, and a pang of regret stabbed Blue right in the heart.
He and Bettina could’ve been that happy, but he’d driven her away.
First he’d told her no kids―ever. Then he’d gone out and screwed that waitress in their bed, and he hadn’t even had the good sense to get the girl out of the apartment before Bett had gotten off work.
She’d found them there and that had been the end.
Having her in his life had thrilled him and terrified him all at the same time.
He wasn’t familiar with the concept of commitments, and there she was, wanting one all the time.
In the end, avoiding one had been his downfall.
Blue finally let the blind close and headed to the bedroom. He pulled off everything except his boxer briefs with the intention of rubbing one off, but he didn’t even have it in him. All he really wanted to do was sleep, and he didn’t want to dream about Bettina.
He just wanted a chance to forget.
Hate seemed like such a strong word. No, she didn’t hate him.
Did she wish he’d move somewhere else? Hell yeah.
The yard so overgrown it had gone to seed, the empty beer cans everywhere, the way he carried on, coming in and out drunk or, worse yet, with those women, all rankled her.
Were they hookers? If they weren’t, they could sure pass for call girls.
Anne stuffed her little thermal tote in the refrigerator in the nurses’ lounge and headed out onto the floor.
While she worked, she thought about Polly and Toady at home alone, and she wished there was someone she could depend on to look out for them.
She would be able to afford someone to stay with them if her asshole ex-husband would just pay his child support, but that wasn’t going to happen.
He was a deadbeat if ever there was one, and a rich one at that.
The next thought that filtered through her mind made her shiver―the barbarian next door.
If he ever touched her kids… well, he’d need to be admitted to the urology floor, that’s all she had to say about that .
She’d gone out one day and he’d been coming in.
When she looked his way, he fixed her with a glare that was meant to let her know not to mess with him, but she’d been mesmerized by those eyes.
They were the clearest, most beautiful shade of blue she’d ever seen.
Just incredible. And they were super unusual looking as they peered out from under that mop of wild, dark hair.
Her break couldn’t come too soon, and she pulled out the small container of leftovers she’d brought with her and popped it into the microwave in the lounge. As soon as it was warmed and she’d settled in at the table, she called home. “Hello?” Polly’s tenuous little voice said.
“Hey, sweetheart, it’s Mama. You guys doing okay?”
“Yeah. Toady’s having trouble with his math. I’m not sure I’m doing it right, but I’m helping him.”
“You’re not doing it for him, are you?” Anne asked.
“No, no, no! I’m just trying to work the problems so I can show him how, and they’re hard! But I got a load of towels done, folded, and put away, and we ate the tuna, mac, and cheese that we fixed,” she said.
“Hi, Mama!” she heard Toady call from across the room.
“Tell him hi. I’ve got to get back to work, but thank you, sweetheart. You’re such a good girl,” she cooed to her daughter.
“Thanks, Mama. I try. I’ll see you in the morning. Night.”
“Night, baby.” Anne hung up the call and sat there, trying to choke down her leftover spaghetti through the tightness in her throat as her eyes filled with tears. She missed her kids and they needed her at home, but she had to make a living. There were no other options.