Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
JENSEN
AGE NINETEEN
One morning in early July, I take my truck out to see Holly before work. It’s scorching hot. The air conditioner in the truck is broken, but I’m putting off getting it replaced because I need to fix something else that’s rattling. Might as well do it all in one go.
I pull up under the willow and get out, wiping the sweat off my face.
And I stop in my tracks.
There’s a man standing on the porch. He’s got one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette. He’s wearing Sunday kind of clothes, but not the flashy ones. Good and simple dress pants, a starched shirt, open a few buttons and rolled up to the forearms. His tie hangs loose around his neck.
A tingle runs through my body. He’s giving off the strangest aura. If the sun could come out at the same time as a storm rolls through, it would feel just like him.
I walk up the path to the porch. As I get close, I can see he’s no younger than thirty, with a lean, handsome face.
Almost an Appalachian Gregory Peck. His hair is colorless brown above hooded eyes with drooping lids.
His whole demeanor is lazy, like a dog in the sun.
All except for that sharp stare that follows my every move.
“Nice truck,” he says.
The door opens behind him. Were they…doing something inside? My stomach is twisted with jealousy, but I’m relieved to see Holly is fully dressed.
No, I’m being paranoid.
“Hey,” she says nervously. “This is a friend. He’s looking for someone to help him with some odd jobs.”
My shoulders sink. Okay, maybe this is innocent. It’s not unusual that Holly hooks me up with clients. I lean forward, offering my hand. The man’s face breaks into a smile, sweet as honey, and shakes it.
“You’ve got a good strong grip. I like that,” he drawls. “Now, what’s going on with that truck? I hear something rattling on it.”
“Not sure. Once I get a chance to take the whole thing apart, I’m sure I can figure it out.”
The man flicks his cigarette into a potted plant and dusts his hands off. “Let me take a look at it real quick.”
I glance at Holly, who gives me a small smile. She’s acting real cagey, but I know she’s probably nervous about our secret getting out.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Brothers,” he says.
“Say what?”
He walks past me, and I hurry after him. He’s moving confidently as he pops the hood and braces it open. “It’s Brothers Boyd,” he says.
“Brothers is your first name?”
He nods. “Yeah, what’s yours?”
“Jensen,” I say, “Childress.”
He dips his arm into the engine bay and starts digging around. “Mind if I call you Jen?”
I shake my head. He takes the toolkit from the bed and starts working on the truck like we’re good friends. I go along with it, because people are friendly in these parts. Miss Holly brings up iced tea after a while. She doesn’t talk much, but I’m too distracted by Brothers to care.
Hell, I thought Kyle was cool, but Brothers is a clear winner.
He’s a charismatic revelation. He talks slow and easy, like nothing bothers him, and he asks me questions like he cares about the answer. It’s not lost on me that this is the first man, including Kyle, to work on my truck with me. That feels good.
I ask him what kind of work he needs me for. He says mostly delivery, pretty easy.
“What’s the pay like?” I ask.
“Around a thousand a week, with room to move up,” he says. “And room and board, for those who need it.”
It sounds way too good to be true. I keep my face impassive and say I’ll think about it.
We finish up the truck around noon. Brothers says he’s got to go and hands me his business card.
Then, he invites me to Lexington, up to the racetrack, to see some of his horses train. I agree because I’ve never been.
I go, and it’s a whole new world. Brothers knows everybody at the track. He can walk into a room and remember the names of three dozen men, their wives, their children, their dogs too. He chats his way through the crowd, introducing me left and right, shaking hands like a politician.
That night, I go home to Cherry’s trailer like usual. The second I step through the door, I know something’s wrong. Her raspy voice booms over the house, cussing somebody out in the living room. I walk in, and she turns on me.
“You fucking serious, Jen?” she yells.
The phone sails over my head. I duck.
“Jesus, what’s the matter with you?” I say.
“Holly? Really?” She pushes a chair out of the way, coming close enough that I start backing up. “You fucking that whore? I thought I raised you to be better than that.”
“I’m not fucking her,” I say automatically.
“Yes, you are, and you got sloppy with it,” she barks. “I just got off the phone with her, and she folded so fucking fast. Really, Jen? You’ve been fucking her for a year?”
My mind goes back to how scared I was that day on Holly’s kitchen floor, but I don’t know how to explain to Cherry that this wasn’t intentional. It was like slipping on ice and sliding all the way down to a place I can’t climb out of.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” Cherry says, voice dropping. “Or I’m going to go over there and kill that bitch.”
My whole body freezes. There’s a pile of things on the table that Cherry never cleans off. Magazines, keys, screws from me fixing stuff around the house. My eyes fall on it, and I realize underneath unopened bills sits my lunch box. The one Cherry packed for me every day my last year of school.
“Leave?” I whisper.
“You explain what the fuck you’re doing with yourself, Jen, or you get out,” she says, deadly quiet.
“I don’t know,” I manage.
That’s the God honest truth. Looking back, I don’t think I wanted to get into this mess in the first place, but now I’m neck deep and guilty as sin.
“You don’t know?” she repeats.
I shake my head. There’s a hollow in my chest.
“Alright,” she says, standing aside. “Get your shit and go.”
She means it. Numb, I go upstairs and gather my things.
I don’t have much, no leftover things from my childhood.
When my mother passed, all my childhood toys were sent to the charity shop.
I arrived on Cherry’s doorstep with a backpack of clothes.
I repack it, grab my cash, and walk downstairs.
Cherry sits at the kitchen table, an entire glass of whiskey in her hand.
“You should be ashamed, Jen,” she says.
“Cherry—”
“You’re grown,” she says. “Get out.”
Silently, I go out onto the porch and take my flip phone out.
Miss Holly doesn’t answer, even when I call her three times in a row.
I get in my truck and start driving, not sure what to do.
I can park in a gas station and sleep there tonight.
Then, I have enough money to get a tent and find a place they won’t chase me off tomorrow.
My phone lights up. It’s an unknown number, but I answer.
“Hey, Jen,” a man drawls.
Brothers Boyd.
“Hey,” I say. “Everything alright?”
He laughs, but I’m not sure why. “I just got the feeling you might need a helping hand.”
I drive in the dark, state route flying by, dazed from just becoming homeless, and it seems like a miracle. Everything spills out, and it feels so damn good to have a listening ear. I tell him about Holly, about Cherry, about only having a backpack of shit in the passenger seat.
I’m taking a breath to start on Kyle and how much it fucking hurt when he just off and went to Lexington without saying goodbye when Brothers stops me.
“Come on over, Jen,” he says. “I’ll text you the address. I’m not letting anybody live on the street.”
I’m unsure how I feel about it, but I agree.
He sends the address, and I turn the truck around to the other side of Lexington.
When I roll up, I have to give my name to get through the black metal gates.
Then, all the way down the drive, I’m just staring with my jaw slack.
I knew Brothers was well off on account of owning racehorses, but he’s got a mansion.
The doors open. Brothers stands between them, a shadow in a golden glow. I park and get out.
“Come on in, Jen,” he says. “You had dinner yet?”
I climb the stairs, backpack on my shoulder. “No, but I’m fine.”
“Nonsense,” Brothers says.
We’re in a stately hallway leading to a spiral staircase. There are doors lining both sides looking into large, well furnished rooms, but it’s not that I’m staring at. It’s the woman standing at the bottom of the stairs in a short, silk dress that has me stunned.
I’m frozen.
“What’s Miss Holly doing here?” I whisper.
Brothers waves a hand like he’s shooing away a fly. “Oh, she works for me. How’d you think she could afford that house?”
Holly takes a step closer, like she’s going to touch me. Brothers slides right in between us.
“You’re dismissed,” he says firmly, giving her a cold stare.
She goes, like a dog with its tail between its legs. Before I can react, Brothers has me pulled into one of the rooms to my right. It’s a lounge with a big fireplace and leather chairs. He pours a bourbon and lights a cigarette, handing both to me.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“Nothing,” he says. “I run a delivery business. She’s in logistics, makes sure I have the means to keep all the routes running.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” I blurt out.
He leans back, laughing. “No, she’s not mine. Not like that.”
A man appears and sets a tray of food down.
Brothers fills my glass again and starts talking, laying everything out.
He owns a shipping and delivery business in addition to racing and gambling.
They distribute liquor, weed, and other products he’s careful not to name.
It’s a lot to manage, so he keeps the people who work most closely with him here on site.
He’d like to try me out as a delivery driver.
Room and board is free as long as I do a good job.
I agree, but deep down, I’m making plans to figure something else out.