4. Trina
FOUR
TRINA
I sink low in the Challenger’s seat, trying not to be seen by passers-by and taking comfort in the soft Pendleton-style seat covers.
The man has a cross hanging from the rearview, Audubon’s Guide to Birds of the East in the glove compartment, and the empty holster of a gun. But every man I know owns a gun out here. It’s no big deal.
Right?
He’s thirty. I think.
He’s tall as a tree and built like a running back. He’s wearing old jeans, a dirty gray T-shirt, a trucker cap with a fish on it and dirty boots.
His car smells amazing, but it’s so hot outside, the AC is barely doing something.
I want out of this dress.
My shaking hands cover my face and I take deep breaths to calm down. Getting nearly killed by a train and then run over by a stranger has me tripping. But the worst isn’t over yet. By now, everyone in Tippalonga will know what I’ve done. And it won’t be long before the train passes and they come looking for me.
Ask him. You have to ask him.
After what feels like forever, the man comes back with an oreo milkshake, fries, and a big cheeseburger dripping with all the bad things I shouldn’t eat.
“I thought I told you to wait outside the vehicle,” he growls.
“I needed to sit down.”
“Well, here’s your food. You better eat every bite.” He passes me the grease-stained bag. “If you ask me, they overcharge for those fries.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. What’s your name?”
“Trina.”
“I’m Crash,” he says.
“Crash? Really?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. That’s a funny name.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
I realized somewhere in our exchange that he’s a really attractive man.
Almost sinfully good looking.
Tall, with dark hair and olive skin.
“I am very sorry for hitting you,” he says, staring at me right back.
“It’s okay. God meant for this to happen.”
“Uh…right.”
I unwrap the cheeseburger and take a huge bite.
Oh my God.
I stop eating like a wild animal when I notice he’s watching me. Slowly, he hands me the milkshake.
“So…”
I dab my mouth with the crushed napkin instead of the wedding dress. “Yes.”
“Do I need to take you back somewhere? Ah –- to church, maybe?”
The milkshake goes down the wrong way.
He prompts, “Your groom is probably worried. You know. Probably calling the police…”
I lose my appetite. I fold up the rest of the food in the bag, feeling sick. “No,” I say.
“No?”
“I’m not going back,” I say flatly.
“You don’t want to get married?”
“I’m going to California. That’s where I’m headed. I’m not going back at all, ever.”
“Ah, darlin’, maybe you’re not aware, but right now we are a fair ways from California.”
“I know that,” I say stiffly.
“You have money for a bus? A hotel room?”
I have the jewelry I’m wearing and the rest tucked deep in my pocket. Birthday presents, Christmas gifts. My mother loves jewelry, and she was always getting lavished with it when Daddy needed to apologize for something. She gave me the pieces she didn’t like or want, and I have them all here, diamonds and emeralds and rubies and more. But I don’t need to tell Crash all of that.
“I have some money,” I answer. Technically, it’s not lying.
“So where were you planning to sleep, on the way to California?”
“At the Holiday Inn, of course.”
I would sell some jewelry for cash and pay my way there.
“There isn’t a Holiday Inn for another three hundred miles.”
“Well, there’s other hotels.”
“No place a quality young lady should lay her head. It’s rough road from here to Los Angeles. How old are you?” He demands suddenly.
“Twenty three.”
“Prove it,” he orders me.
I take out my license, the one I never got to use since the driver’s test. Mama and her crew missed it when they packed up my things and sent them ahead to the Reverend’s house. My birth certificate remained in her safe, out of my reach.
Crash takes the license from me. Our fingers touch briefly; his are hard and rough.
“It’s expired,” he notes.
“It’s still me. Look at the forehead.”
“Trina Marie Whiteleaf,” he reads, his accent rumbling high and low on every syllable. “Five foot one. Brown eyes. Brown hair. Twenty-three years old.”
He lowers the ID and scans me up and down with a look that makes me go hot all over my body. “You lost weight,” he grunts.
“For the wedding.”
“You looked prettier here,” he says, tapping the ID. “Happier.”
“I wasn’t getting married then.”
He gestures to my left hand. “Is that the ring?”
I show him the ring, but to my surprise it’s my watch that catches his eye, not the sparkly four-carat diamond.
“That’s a Royal Oak, if I’m not mistaken,” he says, circling my wrist with his big, muscular hand. I feel a shock of something go through there , just like it did when he looked at me .
“Um, please let go of me.”
He lets go right away but keeps looking at me funny. “That’s a whole mortgage you’re wearing like it’s nothing.”
“It’s a fake,” I lie.
“A damned good one,” he says dryly.
Lord. I pull away, not sure what he’ll do next.
“Rich girl,” he mutters, looking even more disturbed. “Just my luck.”
“Can you turn on the air conditioning? It’s a furnace in here.”
Crash doesn’t move a muscle. His eyes bore into mine. “You can’t get on a bus or a train with an expired ID. With most good hotels you need a credit card. The rest aren’t safe for a female alone. Anyway, there isn’t a bus station for miles. This isn’t the place a girl like you ought to be hitchhiking.”
“I know it’s crazy.”
“Yes,” he says. “It is crazy.”
I take a deep breath. “I’ll pay you to take me to California, Mister Crash. I have money and my grandmother has even more money.” I nod to the cross hanging from his rearview, even though I think it’s the wrong kind. “I’m asking you as a Christian. Would you please help me?”
He blinks at me in wonder. Crash has long dark eyelashes.
“I believe you were chosen by God to help me,” I add helpfully.
“Missy, besides driving you a thousand miles in the opposite direction from where I’m headed, is there anything else I can do for you?”
The dress feels like it’s burning my skin. Like the longer I wear it, the better the chance of the Reverend coming out of nowhere and dragging me into the church.
But I know one thing. If I came this far, then it can’t end here. I can go as far as I have to.
Are you really gonna do this, Trina?
I tell myself it’s better to live with my bad decisions than to live as Reverend Wilson’s wife.
“Is there…Is there somewhere we can go, Mister Crash? I’m so tired.”
Heat floods to his face. He turns, literally, bright red. He grinds his jaw before finally speaking. “I just have one question for you, before I answer that.”
“What question?”
“Are you– are you with them?”
“With who?”
“Those girls back there.”
“What girls?”
“Jada and them. You know what? Nevermind.” He scowls. “You’re no calico queen, I can tell that much.”
“What on earth is a calico queen ?”
“Are you running from something? Did you do something wrong?”
“I can’t go back, but I’m didn’t hurt anyone. That’s not why I’m running.”
His tone tells me it would be wise not to lie. I’m not a good liar, anyway.
“I would rather die than get married today, Mister. You can believe that.”
“What would happen if you went back?”
“I’m not going back. I can’t.”
“Your groom will be worried.”
“I don’t care.”
Crash rubs his jaw. “Okay. So, California.”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid I’m not going to California today.”
“What about tomorrow?” I whisper.
He reaches for his keys. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters, turning on the vehicle and swinging back towards the motel.
Hours later I wake up in a strange bed. The light of a sunset is piercing through the blinds. Crash is sitting in a chair, watching TV. I rub my crusty eyes.
The Carolina Parakeet, America’s only indigenous parrot species, used to roam across a vast territory–
“I see those all the time,” I mumble.
“They’re nearly extinct,” he says.
“We have them in Tippalonga.”
“No shot.”
“Yes, we do. I swear.”
It’s nice and cold in here with the air conditioning…But I’m not dressed. That fact is like a siren in the distance, getting louder every second.
Where are my clothes?
I stare at the birds on the TV. Apparently this parakeet is extinct for real.
“What’s wrong?” Crash asks.
“Did you undress me?”
The beer can he’s holding crumples in his grip; the veins in his neck stand out. “You passed out in the doorway. I damn near had to cut that fucking thing off you.”
Before I can reply, Crash gets up and goes into what I think is the bathroom. Did I really faint? Where are we?
We’re in a motel room. It’s very small and dirty.
Putting it together, I realize it’s the motel across the street. Serenity Motel. A place known for crackheads and prostitutes and wayward sinners.
I check my watch.
“Oh, my God!”
“What?” Crash calls from the bathroom.
“I didn’t realize the time.”
“Yeah, you knocked out. Hold on a minute.”
That’s when I notice a big fat spider getting comfortable in a corner of the ceiling.
“AHHHHH!”
Crash erupts out of the bathroom. “What the devil—?”
“That spider! It’s disgusting!”
He snorts, rudely, and throws a T-shirt at me. It doesn’t smell clean. But it smells like him, which is maybe even better.
“That’s just Stella,” he says. “Leave her alone, she’ll leave you alone.”
“Can’t you kill it?”
“What for? She’s minding her business over there and you can do the same.”
“This shirt is stained .”
“As long as it keeps your tits and ass covered,” he says, and after that filthy comment turns his back on me, returns to the chair and puts up the TV, loud. They are still talking about these parakeets.
“So, Crash, why don’t you tell me about yourself?” I say, moving to the edge of the bed. I think he’s the most attractive man I’ve ever met and I don’t know what to do with that information. Every time he looks at me I get goosebumps.
“What?” He says, his eyes flicking to me, then quickly away and back to the birds on TV.
“Who are you? Maybe, your hobbies.”
“I’m from Virginia. I don’t have hobbies. I work.”
“Well what is your job?”
“Birds. Birds is my hobby,” he says. “Would you button it and let me watch this?”
“Your hobby can’t be birds. ”
“What’s yours, church girl? Making apple pie? Knitting hats for orphans? Saying the rosary?”
“I don’t cook, and I’m not a Catholic , for your information.”
I shake off some more dust from the bed. The ceiling is crumbling like a cracker. How is this place still standing?
“I’m Catholic,” he says, looking at me.
“Well,” I reply with sympathy, “You can still be re-baptized and Saved in the name of Jesus.”
He laughs out loud.
I frown. He should be more concerned about the fact that he’s going to hell.
“If you start quoting scripture I’ll take you back to your husband,” he warns.
“That’s not funny.”
“I ain’t laughing.”
“What’s your favorite Bible verse?” I ask, trying to salvage the moment.
“One Timothy, two-eleven.”
I bite back an un-Christlike reply.
That is one of my least favorite verses. Maybe because it’s been thrown in my face so many times.
I raise my voice. “Well, there are many other passages that show how women—”
“That’s why I’m glad to be Catholic,” Crash muses out loud. “No editorializing.”
“Your religion is backward. You worship false idols!”
He turns off the TV, and I immediately regret my outburst. “Ever heard of the Ivory Barn Owl?”
I stare at him.
“Each hen breeds once every five years, with a clutch size of about three hatchlings, who grow rapidly until they’re the size of baseballs, at which point they stop growing entirely,” he says. “This owl has somehow out-competed other raptors in its habitat despite its diminutive size and slow breeding cycle. There’s no definite conclusions as to why that is the case. They say the species exhibits greater signs of intelligence than other owls, showing cognition and reasoning skills on par with notable corvid species—”
“Okay, I get it,” I shout. “You really like birds!”
“They hold grudges, they have intimate friendships and fly in groups, just like crows. See? A year ago, a population of the little bastards popped up in Oklahoma and nobody knows why. They’re native to Idaho, and not found anywhere else. In Idaho they are an entirely solitary species.” His voice gets more excited, like this is the most incredible thing in the world. “But here in Oklahoma, Trina, these rogue owls then formed a parliament that’s said to be near here.” He pauses. “In layman’s terms you’d call it a flock.”
“Um…so?”
“A flock. Of owls ,” he growls like I’m stupid.
“Are you crazy?” I ask him seriously.
“It’s a miracle of evolution, see?”
“Evolution is a lie.”
“Sweetheart, right now there’s nothing under heaven or on earth I would rather do than drive out there and get a look at one of the rarest avian species in North America. Care less about my eternal soul and start thinking of a good reason I ought to put all my plans on hold to help you flake on what I wager is a decent man.”
“Is that how you really feel? Your assumption is wrong. I had a perfectly good reason to run away.”
“Gettin’ me into some beef that ain’t not one particle of my doing, nor any of my business -– I’ve been there before. Been there too many times. Hell, I bet tomorrow I’ll be taking you back.”
“I’m never going back, understand? You won’t be taking me anywhere!”
“Let’s see how you feel tomorrow,” he says grimly.
His phone rings. Ignoring my sputtering, he gets up and takes the call, slamming out of the room.
I flop back and watch Stella spinning her web in the corner. I don’t know what will happen next. But at least I’m here. Safe. For now.
If that man thinks I’ll be begging him to return me, he’s dead wrong.
Crash has been talking nearly three hours on the phone. Meanwhile, I’m still curled up in bed watching yet another nature documentary. This time about elephants. You know what? It’s kind of nice. I didn’t know TV showed these nice things. Our house had one TV, and I didn’t like using it because it was downstairs, and put me in the path of my mother and her friends.
I only ever watched Reverend Wilson’s program or the news, anyway.
Elephants are cute. They are matriarchal, and the babies stay at the Mama’s side for a long time, learning everything about what it means to be an elephant. I don’t know why these animals get me so emotional. Is this why Crash is obsessed with birds?
Sighing, I consider the elephant right here in the room with me now. And it looks a lot like the dirty, torn wedding dress hanging off the motel sofa.
To recap, right now I am alone, cash broke, in a dirty motel with a perfect stranger of the opposite sex who is large enough to fight an elephant.
Everyone in Tippalonga will know what I’ve done. I’ve disgraced myself and humiliated the Reverend and my family.
Good , I think. I’m not going back. I’m going to California to stay with my Mamie. I’m going to university, I’m going to get a degree, I’m going to do everything they said I couldn’t.
I jump out of my skin when the door opens, but it’s just Crash. He’s been outside; the smell of fresh air follows him. I crawl out of the bed as he takes off his dirty boots.
“We need to talk, Trina.”
My heart pounds. “Okay.”
Crash sits down and absently touches my wedding dress. “Allow me to apologize for earlier.”
“It’s alright.”
“I can tell you’re in a tough situation. The problem is you caught me in the middle of some very important business.”
“I understand.”
Crash pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I came to this town for a purpose.”
“Okay.”
“Ah, is there nobody you can stay with here in town? Nearby? Aunt? Estranged cousin? Ah — secret boyfriend?”
“No. Nobody. I’ve never had a boyfriend; that would be living in sin.”
“Right,” he says, giving me one of his funny looks. “We wouldn’t want you to live in sin, would we?”
Crash turns his gaze to the window, clearly conflicted. I feel bad. Even if it’s God’s unavoidable will, it is a huge undertaking to help me get to California.
I wonder what he’s doing in Tippalonga and why it’s such a big secret. Is he some kind of government agent? But then again, what kind of government agent would dress like he’s gone wrangling catfish?
“If it’s too much trouble, then forget about it,” I say. “I can make my way out there alone.”
“No offense, darling, you couldn’t make your way out of a cereal box,” he tells me bluntly. His eyes narrow. “Unless you’re a whore, and this is some type of elaborate set up to rob me of my valuables.”
“ What did you call me ?”
“Nevermind.”
“Just to be clear, I’m a good Christian woman, not like these other women you are used to, Mister Crash!”
“Who are those women I’m used to?”
“Women like the ones over there. By the gas station. That was Jada Gambino, wasn’t it? I didn’t realize that was who you meant when you asked if I knew her. She’s a born slut!”
Crash muses, “I knew a slut once. Except she was a nice little church girl like you. Acted sweet as a peach…and took just about every cock she could find. Preacher’s daughter, if you believe it.”
“Don’t talk to me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t say disgusting things like that.”
“Well, I like Jada. You’re the one being a bitch.”
“Don’t call me a b- word!”
“Or what?” he asks, which is a good question. He looks down his nose at me. “We’ll stay here one more night, and then tomorrow we find you a way to get to California. I think that’s more than fair.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I know I have to thank him properly, without attitude. “Look, Mister Crash–”
“Crash is fine, for the love of sweet suffering Jesus.”
I ignore his blasphemy, though he’s making it difficult. “What you’re doing for me is more than my own flesh and blood would, and I very much appreciate it,” I say instead.
“You have pretty manners,” he says, “But not a particle of sense. Deal,” he says, holding out his hand. I shake it, and he holds onto me for just a second longer than necessary. When I pull away his face is all red. “I didn’t say I was taking you to California, mind. We didn’t shake on a deal or nothing.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “If there’s anything you need from me…”
“I don’t need anything from you.” His eyes linger on me for a second before he turns back to the desk. “I need to get to work…check on a few things.”
“Can I fix you some dinner?” I offer, because that’s what ladies always do to return a favor to somebody. Bake a pie, roast a chicken…
“Fix dinner with what?” he asks, and I feel stupid.
“You can get me something from the vending machine,” he suggests, passing me some money.
I don’t really want to leave the room, but a coke would be nice.
The Serenity Motel is dead quiet and the vending machine is basically on the other side of the building. Again, I feel like I’m coming out of my body. I’m here, in this motel, instead of on the Reverend’s private jet heading to our honeymoon in Montego Bay.
I can’t wait to touch you , the Reverend had panted, pushing his hand up my dress one night he came for those “visits”. His finger hooked in my panties and he pulled hard enough to rip the elastic. I felt a cold horror. I pushed him off and ran into the garden and didn’t come out until he left.
The next day my father called me into his office. I hardly ever saw my father; he never paid me much mind at all. Rarely did I enter his office. I looked around for my mother or anybody else but it was only the two of us in the room.
I knew he would listen if I begged him.
“Daddy, please — ”
In a calm voice he said I was going to marry the Reverend no matter what and that was the end. I noticed his fists were raw on the knuckles. He was still beating on Mama; and that was why she was so often out the house with “wedding preparations”.
It was that moment I nearly lost hope.
Whatever my father said was law.
I blink, coming back to reality. But this place doesn’t feel real at all — that carpet, those old windows, the cobwebs tracing maps between rays of sunlight in the rafters, it’s all unfamiliar to the clean, pristine suburban house I left. Maybe I’m not alive. Maybe the train really did hit me. I could be dead, in purgatory.
I make my way back to the room Crash paid for. The girl working at the front looks up from her phone and squints at me. I hastily turn away, passing a tall redhead man and a black lady with dreadlocks. They must be travelers, because I don’t recall seeing a woman with hair like that in Tippalonga. She’s holding a baby.
“We need to leave,” the lady says.
“There might be more than just him. I don’t know how many Roman sent,” the man replies.
“We need to just go, Sebastian. We should go right now. ”
“I’m not putting Skyla in danger,” the man snarls. “We wait for the new car. Bolting like hares won’t save us.”
“And what about — ”
“Hush, Dee, alright?”
“Don’t tell me to hush!”
Their voices fade. It’s strange but I feel like the man looks like Crash. They’re both tall and built the same way.
But Crash’s hair is black, not red, and curly. And he doesn’t have freckles.
Crash looks up when I enter the room. “You alright?”
“I don’t know if I’m dreaming or not,” I confess.
“You’re not dreaming.” He takes the coke. “Thank you. I think you ought to rest some more. Your eyes have this haggard look.”
“ Haggard ?”
He turns back to his computer; I get into bed and close my eyes. I am tired. I barely slept for the past week.
Reverend Wilson had two wives before me. The first one died before I was born, but I knew the second. Her name was Annabel.
There were dark nights I would be up late, my mind all in a tangle about the wedding. I would just feel this terror take hold of me when I pictured it. Why should I feel that way when I was living in a fairytale?
He was Reverend Wilson. A local legend. The most famous man in town, who inspired millions with Precious Blessings TV. I’d watched him every Saturday morning on TV since we joined his church. And then I watched him on Sundays, in person, at the stadium.
His second wife Annabel dropped out of my school to marry the Reverend. It was a private wedding, nothing like mine was supposed to be.
I’d see her in church after that looking nervous and dazed. The rest of the Reverend’s family completely ignored her. She got so thin I swore she’d disappear.
And then a year later, she literally did. Poof. Gone in the night with Deacon Smith. Annabel didn’t seem like the type to run off, but what did you expect from a Jenkins, everybody said. Of course she had shamed the Reverend, who in his infinite goodness had married one of her caliber when he had the pick of every woman in town. She was such a young thing anyway, she had not the sense God gave a clam, and the Reverend was better off getting a wife from a more esteemed family.
After Annabel went missing, they found her brother near the train tracks with a bullet in his head.
The whole family left town after that.
When Reverend Wilson started courting me officially, I was the queen of Tippalonga. Everybody wanted my input on the bake sale. The charity walk. The T-shirts. I even got to lead the choir when Mrs. Patty suddenly resigned. But instead of loving all the attention, I dreaded it. It was like a switch flipped inside me.
The Reverend would come over and stay late talking to me about scripture, but his eyes were never still. He started getting closer, touching me. Touching me through my clothes.
“You don’t have to wear these long dresses when you’re with me,” he said once, smiling. “Wear something more… your age . Something to show the beautiful form God gave you.”
I started having dreams of Annabel. She wouldn’t say nothing in the dreams, just follow me around holding her throat. That was terrifying.
Everybody told me it was a sin to question the will of God. But I knew deep down Reverend Wilson was merely buying me like a fatted hog, and my parents were happy to sell me for thirty pieces of silver. God had nothing to do with it.
The thought makes me sad. I look over at Crash, focusing on something out the window. Men have always scared me, but I’m not afraid of him.
Maybe he’s not from God. Maybe he’s just a normal man you dragged into your problem.
He doesn’t want to be responsible for me. I get that. I don’t have the right to ask him for anything.
Nonetheless, there’s no one else for a thousand miles who can help me. If he can’t help me, I have to go back.
I’d rather die.
He sets the map down and sighs, rubbing his eyes. He runs a hand through his chocolate brown hair, gets up and stretches.
I close my eyes. I was raised to honor myself and my body, to never let my delicate rose become tarnished before my husband could sample its fullest bloom, but I can admit that Crash is a very sexy man.
Why couldn’t God have sent a woman?
As I’m drifting off to sleep, he approaches the bed. I lay still and wait on a held breath to see what he’ll do. I am well and truly defenseless. He could ravish me and my delicate rose any way he wants.
Between my legs throb. Do I want that to happen?
He throws a blanket over me and goes back to his desk.
Oh.
Okay.
When I close my eyes, I dream. I see the Reverend’s mansion, which would have been my new home. Seven bedrooms, five bathrooms, infinity pool, home theater, tennis court, and a pavilion…an acre of land to garden.
But right now I don’t care about that. I’m in the bedroom, my bedroom suite . I’m wearing…nothing.
Nothing at all.
I lie back on the silk sheets of the imaginary bed, pressing my feet into the eiderdown mattress. There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I murmur. I’m not afraid because the man entering the room isn’t the Reverend. He’s my real husband. The man I love, the man I married.
Tall, with dark brown hair.
The mattress sags as he climbs into bed with me and his long, hard body stretches above mine. Our lips brush together. He smells like a man. Like my man. There’s a gentle touch between my legs. “First, darlin’,” he whispers, “ We’ll start right here… ”