Bear Strength

CHAPTER 1

“I swear, this is the last time you do this to me,” I growl at Dominick, my fingers clutching the steering wheel of the old clunker which barely got us to his school.

He doesn’t even look at me. He doesn’t need to. We both know he’s guilty, but we also know that I don’t have the time to deal with this now. I’m already late as it is. Really fucking late.

He turns to go, his hand on the door already, his backpack hanging loosely on his left shoulder, and I always think how all of his books are just going to come spilling out of it.

“Hey!” I shout a little less angrily this time. “Didn’t you forget something?”

He sighs, facing me again, with that annoyed teenage look of angst. Crap. And, he’s only 11. I thought I had at least a year, hopefully two, before that starts.

“Aren’t you upset?” he snorts.

“Take it as part of your punishment, being nice to your mom in front of your new friends,” I grin, turning my cheek to him.

He sneaks a glance around, to make sure no one is watching, then plants a quick peck on my cheek.

“Sloppy, but it’ll do. Now, get out. I need to get to work,” I add. “If I still have a job, that is.”

He doesn’t show any concern over this. I mean, why would he? Kids generally tend to think money grows on trees. I wait a few seconds for him to cross the street. Then, I roll down the window, and peek out of it.

“Hey, Dom!” I shout as loud as I can. “Love you!”

I can’t see it from here, but I know he’s rolling his eyes at me. That kid is really going to be the death of me, but I can’t think about that right now. I press on the gas pedal, and rush across town.

In about half an hour, maybe a little more, I’m pushing the door open to a small diner. It’s one of those old school places, which seems like some lost remnant from the 1950s. Surprisingly, there are still people out there who actually enjoy this ambiance, with the red tiles, retro posters on the wall and Jerry Lewis rocking from the old, light up jukebox.

I myself don’t have a particular preference for it. It’s a nice enough place. More importantly, it’s a place that was hiring when I needed a job a few months ago, when Dominick and I first moved here. The owner, Bill Warrington, just took one look at me, and he seemed to read right through me.

“You runnin’ from somethin’?” he asked me, as if that’s the most common interview question anyone could get asked.

“What makes you say that?” I replied, all nonchalant.

“No one moves to Swallow Springs unless they got somethin’ to hide.”

“Well, not me,” I lied just like that. Didn’t even blush. Blushing would reveal the truth, and the truth was too dangerous to share. “My husband passed away, and I just couldn’t stay in our old apartment, with all those memories of him around. Plus, it’d be nice for my son to grow up in a small place. Different values, you know?” I rounded up my little monologue, as Old Bill, as others here referred to him, eyed me from behind his thick rimmed glasses.

That was how I got the job, the same job I’m now not so sure I have any longer, because I’m over an hour late and I didn’t have any way of calling in.

“Is Bill in?” I ask Susie, the girl who’s usually working the second shift, and she just nods.

I’m surprised to see her in. She should be arriving after 2. I leave that question unanswered for now, and rush over to Bill’s office, or the slightly larger storage place which he likes to refer to as his office.

When I open the door, he is sitting at his desk, his balding head bowed down. A moment later, and he’s aware of my presence there.

“Bill, I’m so…” I start.

“Sorry?” he asks, and I can just nod to that. “I’m sure you are. But, you should be tellin’ that to Susie as well, because I had to call her to come in hours before her own shift starts, to cover for you.”

“I know, and I’m really -”

“Sorry, yes. This is the second time this happened. Why didn’t you just call to let me know?” he doesn’t sound angry, just trying to understand.

Susie told me his own daughter died in a car accident when she was 21, and he never really got over that. His wife died shortly after, and now it’s just him, running this place on his own. So, he’s always been understanding, even compassionate, as if he’s looking for his daughter in every young woman that crosses his path, trying to help her somehow.

But, how can I tell him that my son hid my car keys because he doesn’t want to go to school and that it took me half an hour to get him to fess up about it? It sounds ridiculous. Also, I don’t have a cell phone. It’s safer that way. So, there was no means of me calling ahead of time to let him know I’d be late.

“I know I screwed up,” I press my lips tightly together. “Please, don’t fire me. Please. I need this job.”

I start fidgeting on my feet, as if the floor is lava, like that game Dom and I used to play when he was little. It seems like a whole lifetime ago.

Bill gives me a hard look, still trying to figure out what to do with me. I know that if I were him, I’d fire me. Of course I would. But, I’m hoping for one more chance. Just one. Dom has to start taking responsibility for his actions, too. That kid…

“This is the last time,” Bill shakes his index finger at me, but there is no threat behind it. At least, I don’t feel it. “Also, sort it out with Susie. Do her shift or something. I don’t want you girls to give each other the evil eye over this for the rest of my days.”

“Of course,” I nod quickly, realizing that he just said that he wants me to stay here indefinitely. “I’ll cover whatever shift she needs me to. You can be sure of that.”

“I really hope we won’t have this conversation again, Danica.”

His words linger in the air around us. I wait a moment for them to be fully absorbed.

“I promise, Bill.”

He just makes that shoo, shoo sound to get me out of his office, and I’m thankful for the clean slate. When I emerge back at the bar, I see Susie’s smiling face, greeting me. I doubt that girl even knows the meaning behind the word angry, being so mellow, but I’d rather not try and find out.

“Listen, Suse…” I start, and she just stops me right there, shaking her head.

“It’s fine,” she says it so simply, so sweetly, and I know there is no arguing with that. Why would I?

“Whenever you need a shift covered, or even if you need me to work the whole day, I’m here, OK?” I just add, wanting her to be sure that I really appreciate this and I don’t plan on taking advantage of her kindness.

“I have kids, too, Danny,” she nods gently. “I know how that can be. And, I have no idea how one can do it alone.”

We don’t say anything after that. Instead, we just exchange a deeply meaningful glance, which fortified our growing friendship.

In a new place, making new friends is hard. Anyone will tell you that. But, making friends when you’re a single mother trying to make ends meet… well, that’s downright mission impossible. And yet, I managed to make a friend right off the bat. A part of me wanted to scream at him that I am worthy of being loved, I am worthy of being someone’s friend, someone’s confidant, even someone’s partner and lover, but those wishes are only momentary. Reason takes over quickly enough, and I know what I need to do, and what I must never do.

I look around and I see that the place is still empty. It’ll be packed by lunchtime, but there are still 2 hours until then.

“You can go home, if you’d like,” I hear Susie say. “Come back around 2? We can just say we switched shifts today.”

“Nah, that’s not fair,” I shake my head. “I’ll stay to help you out, and I won’t ask Bill for overtime, of course. You take off whenever you want, Suse. I really owe you for this one.”

But, before she could say anything to that, we both hear the sound of the bell, which signals the entrance of a customer. We turn to the door, and the first thing I see is the leather jacket.

Whores and bikers. Birds of a feather.

I try to drown that voice in my head, and focus on the man, who is now approaching me. He gets comfortable on one of the bar stools. It’s hot in here. The air conditioning has been giving us some trouble lately, but he doesn’t take off his jacket. It is old and worn out,

It takes me a second to walk over to him, and slide the laminated menu over to him. He doesn’t even look at it. Instead, his eyes travel up and down my body, giving me a strange feeling, focusing on my name tag.

“Danica?” he asks.

“Yes,” I nod.

I glance over at Susie, but she’s already disappeared back in the kitchen. I don’t really need her help, but a gut feeling tells me I want her here, with me.

“Is that Jewish?” he asks, and I can see the yellow stains on his teeth, on his fingers. A smoker. A heavy smoker.

“It’s Eastern European,” I explain, with no particular gusto to discuss my name origins. I grab a kitchen towel and pretend to wipe a glass.

“So, you’re an immigrant?”

He continues with the questions, and I feel less and less comfortable. But, I can’t throw him out. I can’t ask him to leave. He hasn’t really done anything. So, I just continue to shrink underneath his stare, hoping that either Susie or Bill will eventually show up. Or, that he’ll finally order his food, eat it and be gone. But, life is rarely that simple.

“Weren’t all Americans immigrants at some point?” I snort back at him, feeling irritated. “So, what can I getcha?” I ask, hinting that this conversation is, hopefully, over.

“Well, what are you recommending?” he inquires, but doesn’t even look at the menu in front of him.

“Anything on the menu,” I shrug. “The apple pie is fresh.”

I can feel my nerves doing a number on me, and I know it’s not him. He hasn’t done anything apart from being an asshole. It’s a free world. People can be assholes, if they want to. But, it’s something else. Something that always starts from somewhere deep inside, and it surfaces no matter what I do. Fear is always the same. It just wears a different cape.

“What about your pie?” he asks.

For a second, I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. I really do. But, the way he’s looking at me, the way he’s talking… I know I’m not wrong.

“Excuse me?” I ask, in a non-threatening manner, as if I really just overheard.

“I asked what about your - “

“Doyle!”

A voice hits my ears like lightning, and my eyes immediately roll over to where it’s coming from. I didn’t even hear the doorbell ring this time. I was too focused on this asshole in front of me, asking about my pie. He turns around at the same moment I do, and I see his cockiness just ooze out of him.

“We need to go.”

The man at the door has a calm voice, but at the same time, demanding. There is no negotiation with men like that. I swallow heavily as I watch the biker get up from his stool, and with a lowered head, lumber out of the diner. The kitchen towel still in my hands, that glass now sparkling clean. My eyes are still on the man, who is holding the door open.

Only now do I realize that he is wearing the same jacket, with the same red patch on the left shoulder. It’s too far away for me to see what it is, so I don’t even try. His jeans are torn at the knees, brown at the bottom hems, where the jeans disappear into his black, ankle high boots. He’s wearing a black bandana on his head, and he looks like he hasn’t seen a razor in days. But, he makes it work. It’s just the right amount of civilized with a touch of a lumberjack.

He throws a casual glance my way, and it expels the air right out of my lungs.

“Tell Bill the poker game’s on for Tuesday,” he throws at me, then slams the door on his way out.

I have no idea why I’m shaking so much. I quickly put the glass down on the counter, just in case I drop it. A moment later, Susie manifests out of the kitchen. She scans the room quickly, then looks at me, all puzzled.

“Didn’t I just hear the bell?”

I take a deep breath, my heart panting.

“You OK, hun?” she asks, walking over to me, and placing a matronly hand on my shoulder.

“Fine,” I smile. “It was just a biker and he was just asking me all these questions. Then, another biker opened the door, called him, and said to tell Bill the poker game’s on for Tuesday.”

“Oh, the Hellraisers,” Susie replies, with a mixture of emotions all intertwined in her voice, indistinguishable one from the other.

“Hellraisers?” I repeat.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of them?” Susie seems not just surprised, but downright shocked. “They practically run this town. And, all the towns around us.”

“You mean, like the mafia?” I ask, and we both chuckle.

“Something like that, yeah,” she nods. “Just like the mafia. Only, they aren’t just plain old criminals. They help the community, they renovated the old school. They build playgrounds, for God’s sake. That’s why it’s so hard to hate them.”

“So, they’re like criminals with a heart of gold?” I wonder.

“All joking aside, it’s wisest to just stay out of their way, if you can.”

I glance at the door, and the image of that rugged biker came to me again. Goosebumps travel up my body, just once. Then, they settled down.

“I don’t plan on rocking anyone’s boat,” I assure her. “I’ve got enough waves of my own to take care of.”

We both smile at each other. The doorbell is heard again, and I realize that it’ll be lunchtime soon.