Chapter 4 #2
Pancakes reminded me of his jacket, which, given my volatile mood, was too nice a memory to bring out just then. “That’s okay. Thanks anyway.” I moved to start walking up the stairs but paused when he spoke.
“Gillian, if you don’t talk to him, he’ll drive up here.”
“You call him. Tell him I’m fine, but I’m too mad at him to talk nicely.” Ignoring his sigh, I walked upstairs and called back, “I’m going to the shed to run.” Time to play.
I changed into my workout clothes and jogged down the stairs. The door remained closed. In the pole shed, I cranked the radio high and, ignoring the treadmill, picked up a five-pound free weight. When I heard the door open, I made as if to lift it, looked at Racer, and arched a brow.
“Do you mind?” I shouted.
He frowned at me, gave a single nod, and strode through to his side of the shed. The door clicked closed, and I grinned.
* * * *
I breathed deeply, jogging and enjoying my freedom despite the ache that had crept into my side because of my steady pace.
The rhythmic crunch of my feet hitting the gravel soothed me.
I continued for a while before coming to an intersection.
The paved crossroad with a sign calling it Main Street gave me hope that I was getting close to town.
I went right and continued running. Eventually, I saw mailboxes in the distance.
I glanced at my watch. Almost thirty minutes had passed.
I slowed to a walk, letting the breeze cool my sweat.
The first driveway led to a trailer on a cement block foundation.
In the yard sat a beautifully rusted Pontiac.
I wasn’t a car person so I wasn’t sure what model.
Without the little chrome emblem, I wouldn’t have known the make either.
Regardless, the sign in the window stating five hundred dollars or best offer lightened my step.
“Morning,” a man called, stepping out of his home.
He looked close to my age, dressed in work-stained jeans and a thin, dark jacket. He walked toward me with a friendly smile.
“Interested?”
“It sure would beat walking,” I said with a smile of my own.
“Gillian.”
The sound of Racer’s voice made me jump. The angry tone in it made me want to cringe.
“Morning, Mr. Bledak,” the man called, looking a little to my right, the direction from which I’d just run. I watched the man’s steps slow and his smile fade.
I turned, keeping my smile in place. “Hi, Mr. Bledak.”
Racer had the hood of his sweatshirt up. It cast his face in shadows. He walked toward me with his hands in his pockets. Unlike me, he wasn’t out of breath or sweaty.
“Why are you here?” He didn’t bother keeping his voice down.
The man cleared his throat, mumbled something about forgetting his lunch inside, and took off toward the house. I glanced at his retreating form for just a moment before turning back to Racer.
“Where’s the grocery store?”
His clenched jaw relaxed minutely before clenching again. The man was a ball of annoyance and tension. How could he live day to day like that? Just one week had me ready to jump out a window.
“Just down there.” He nodded in the direction I’d been heading. I turned to look. Sure enough. A small grocery waited on the next corner.
I gave him my best puzzled expression. “Is that where you and Dad went?”
He narrowed his eyes and titled his head as he studied me. “Yes.”
“So you drove this way?”
This time his face relaxed completely, going carefully blank. To his credit, he didn’t once glance at the car on the lawn.
“That’s what I thought. Got that phone?” I held out my hand.
“I don’t think now would be a good time to use it.”
“Oh, I think now is a perfect time.” My temper was starting to boil. He just stood there watching me.
“Fine.” I started to walk toward the grocery store, but a hand on my arm stopped me.
“Gillian, it’s time to go home.”
“And just where is that?” I said looking back at him. “As far as I can tell, I don’t have one. Just a prison.”
Annoyance crept back into his features. “Stop being so dramatic.” He pulled me close, obviously ready to drag me along.
I kicked his shin. His eyes darkened again. I ignored them, twisted my arm, which he released, and started walking back to the apartment. It was a long, silent walk.
When I opened the door, he finally spoke again.
“Here’s the phone.”
“I changed my mind. I still have nothing to say to Dad.”
“He’ll come up here if you don’t talk to him.” Racer almost sounded relieved.
I pivoted on the steps to meet Racer’s once again normal gaze. If I had to suffer, he would, too.
“Chuck followed me from college. I’d been watching my mirrors like usual and never once saw him.” I paused then shrugged. “Tell my dad to be careful on his trip here. Never know who might be watching.” I left Racer scowling in the entry.
Later that day, a truck pulled into the yard. I watched from a window as Racer and another guy unloaded bags of groceries. As if that would make it all better.
* * * *
For the next two days, Racer stuck to me whenever I left the apartment.
So, I developed a routine of unpredictability.
I went to bed by ten, woke at 3 a.m. to vacuum, went back to bed until five then blasted the radio to sing in the shower.
The next night I went to bed by seven, woke at 2 a.m. and took out the garbage.
I made sure to splash water on my face first so I looked wide-awake when I saw him at the door. He looked like hell.
“What are you doing?”
I lifted the bag. “Taking out the trash.”
“Wait for me to get my shoes on.”
“No, thanks.” I pushed open the door and walked out to the trashcan. It was cold enough that I tested the air to see if my breath misted. Nope. I lingered outside until I heard the door open.
I walked back into the house and called goodnight to Racer. Then I went upstairs and turned on the radio in the living room. With a smile, I closed myself into my room and went back to bed. He most likely wouldn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
In the morning, I woke with the alarm, turned off the music, dressed in workout clothes, and went to the shed.
He was already on his side of the shed, working on a car.
The double-hung doors were wide open. He wouldn’t let me sneak off the same way twice.
I hadn’t really expected him to. I cranked up some party rock and jumped onto the treadmill.
The world melted away for a while. Waking up in the middle of the night for two nights in a row hadn’t affected me yet, but it had Racer.
When I glanced his way, I caught him leaning against the car with his eyes closed.
I stopped the treadmill, and his eyes popped open.
“Does that little town have a library?”
He just stared at me.
“You know...a place with books.”
He didn’t answer. I sighed. Have it your way, I thought.
“The treadmill just isn’t cutting it. Come on, let’s go for a jog.”
I picked up my hoodie and headed for the door. His faint words reached me before I pulled it open.
“I think I hate her.”
I smiled and went for another run.
* * * *
At eight, the apartment went dark. I felt my way to the kitchen and got a flashlight from the drawer.
Before I could click it on, the heat kicked in.
Standing there, I listened. Below me, I heard a faint sound, like a television.
Narrowing my eyes, I opened the apartment door. The hall light was on.
I went down the steps but didn’t knock on Racer’s door.
He didn’t come out, either. I continued to the basement to check the breaker box.
I’d noticed it when I’d done my laundry.
It was free of spider webs now. The panel hung open.
Inside, the little round screw-in fuses were all there, but three had little scorch marks on them.
Fine. Let the games begin.
I tromped up the stairs and barged into his apartment. He looked up at me in surprise. A game played out on the television.
“My power’s out. Is it okay if I crash here tonight?”
I didn’t wait for his answer but walked toward the open door to his bedroom.
I closed myself in with a smile. In the brief look I’d gotten, he had a recliner and a straight back chair in his small living room.
I couldn’t imagine either would be comfortable for sleeping if he let me stay.
If he didn’t let me stay, I’d keep at him until he turned the power back on upstairs.
Then, I would continue to make his life as miserable as he’d made mine.
“Your phone’s on the dresser,” he said loud enough that I heard him through the door. “Call your dad.”
“Night, Racer.”
I’d won. Stifling my laugh, I looked around his bedroom. A queen-sized bed, dresser, hamper—he owned a hamper?—and nightstand filled his room. His sliding closet door was open so I didn’t feel even slightly guilty peeking. Neat and color-coded. That explained so much.
After paging through texts that Stephanie had sent to my new number, I set two alarms on the phone. One in an hour and another at 1 a.m. I tended to sleep through phone alarms.
* * * *
Cold water hit me in the face. I gasped and sputtered and sat up. Racer stood beside the bed, eyes bloodshot and furious. He’d turned the bedroom light on. The clock beside the bed read just after one.
“Is my power back on?” I asked, wiping my eyes as if it were nothing unusual to be awakened with water in the face.
His gritted teeth didn’t part when he growled his answer. “Yes.”
“Great.” I tossed back the damp covers. “Sorry about the wet bed.” I left as abruptly as I arrived. When I was on the stairs, I heard him yell.
“You didn’t call him!”
I sprinted up the rest of the stairs and closed myself into my apartment. Racer was ready for the next phase of my plan. I went to bed, openly laughing.