Chapter 4
Knox
The trailer door slams into my backside, courtesy of a brazen north wind that insists on having the last word. The gust rattles the trailer and jolts poor Judy nearly out of her chair.
Tugging the stocking cap off my staticky hair, I wince-smile. “Sorry.”
She startles, hand to heart, but her expression morphs into a smile. “You scared me half to death, Knox Herd. I deserve a treat for that.” She reaches into the Santa shaped dish at the edge of her desk and plucks out a red, foil-wrapped chocolate.
I set my grocery sack on the desk and toss my insulated jacket onto the floor. With all the grime it acquired this morning, the floor is the only suitable spot.
“I thought Texas was supposed to be warm, but the Indianapolis job last winter wasn’t half this miserable,” I say as I remove two packaged salads and a box of fried chicken from the grocery’s deli section.
“Sixty degrees and sunny at home.” Judy is grinning when I look over. “Just checked.”
“Ugh. Maybe I should reconsider field work.”
“Nah, you love being on site, and you know it.”
“I guess.” I sit at my desk and pop open one of the salads. I’ll tuck the other and half the chicken into the refrigerator for lunch tomorrow. “But this weather is the pits.”
“Every local I talk to apologizes for the rain and cold. They assure me this weather is atypically bad.”
“Lucky us, huh?” I tear open a packet of vinegarette with my teeth. I was really counting on December in Texas being an upgrade from December in Kansas City. “The heater in my motel room is hit or miss. Half the time, I freeze my rear off at night nearly as bad as I do here during the day.”
Her smile shifts to motherly concern. “Maybe you should get out in the evenings, young man. Check out the local nightlife.”
With a second dressing packet pinned between my teeth, I pause and shoot her a look. “Nightlife? In this town?”
She waves away my argument. “Now, now, it’s not that small. There are several fun-looking places on that cute courthouse square.”
Cute? “I suppose.”
Papers shuffle. “It’s been a year, Knox.”
My stomach muscles pull. “Not quite.” The day is x-ed in black on my mental calendar.
“Fine, if you want to quibble, but you do get my point?”
I squeeze the golden dressing in streaks across the lettuce. “I get it.”
“At least find a church for a few weeks. You’re going to be here a while yet.”
Don’t remind me. Granted, Judy’s super helpful suggestion for Sundays is more in line with the me she knows. I haven’t been much of a nightlife guy since my college years, barely then, and definitely not since Becca.
“So. How are your digs? All the comforts of home?” I should have asked before now.
The other guys haven’t realized it yet, but I had a talk with Rand a couple weeks ago and got him to approve a nicer hotel for Judy.
If they did know, they’d probably cry sexism.
They might even be right, but at almost sixty, Judy shouldn’t have to stay at a borderline dump populated with a bunch of construction guys, linemen, and oilfield workers, the main clientele of the place housing the rest of our bunch.
Judy’s unusually long silence registers, making me glance.
She folds her hands on the desk. “About that, Knox. Home, I mean.”
A bad feeling worms through my empty gut. Judy holds this construction site office together. She’s been with LHS for two decades.
I lay the sticky packet aside and grab a napkin to wipe dressing off my thumb. “Okay, what’s up?”
“You know my mom has dementia, right?”
I nod.
“Well, her memory is worsening daily, and she’s getting crankier all the time. She and my sister clashed a lot when they were younger, and some of their old battles are reemerging. Mom’s filter is basically gone, and my sister, who’s been caring for her, is fit to be tied.”
My hands fall to the side. “You want to go home.” No need to tack a question mark onto that one.
“I’m sorry, Knox. With it being the holiday season and not knowing what next Christmas will bring…”
Crud. I retrieve a smile and force it out. “I understand completely. You’ve talked to Rand?”
She nods, her silver-streaked hair barely moving. She’s ridiculously put together for a construction site. “I’m leaving on Friday. He’s seeing about a replacement even as we speak.”
I roll open the drawer over the chair and pick up the fork I run under hot water after every lunch in. I toss the lettuce, dressing, and whatnot about. “Any idea who he’s going to send.”
Yet another pregnant pause further damages my appetite. I dare a follow-up peek, not liking what I find.
She bites her lip. “He mentioned Vicki from accounting.”
I still the fork mid-toss. “The redhead?” The roaring cougar?
“Sorry, Knox. That’s why I wanted to tell you sooner rather than later.”
Judy would understand if I let loose the sigh I’m feeling, but I don’t want to make her feel bad about doing what she needs to do—abandoning me to care for her mother. How dare she, right?
I smile and spear a hunk of lettuce. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll call Rand when I’m done eating.”
She nods. “I knew you’d understand. Okay, I’m off to lunch now.
” Judy takes her purse from a bottom drawer and hangs it on her shoulder.
She stops by my chair. “I am sorry to do this to you, sweetie.” She smacks a motherly kiss on the top of my head and drops a handful of red, green, and silver-wrapped chocolate dollops next to my salad.
Judy watched me grow up and snuck me miniature candy bars every time my brother and I showed up for a visit, so she gets away with stuff like this.
I squeeze her hand and smile my pearliest. “You just take care of your mom and enjoy the holidays at home for a change.”
At least someone should be able to appreciate the season.
As the door closes, I find my earbuds next to the stapler and cue up my favorite podcast, but the trailer feels lonelier than ever.
The LHS crew got lucky this week, drawing two rain-free days in a row.
Unluckily, temps hovered in the upper thirties, and both days passed beneath a cloak of slate gray clouds.
My normal crew for the drive home found other rides to the motel hours ago. As they clocked out, I heard talk of a rendezvous at a bar.
Afterhours paperwork and phone calls trying to keep this job on schedule held me in the office long past five.
A lone lamp on a pole is the only light guiding my walk to the white truck sporting the company’s logo.
My foot jackknifes on a mud slick, but I catch my lumbering self in the nick of time, preventing full-scale disaster.
When I haul my frozen rump into the cab, the steering wheel nearly ices my fingers to the vinyl rim.
I crank the engine and check the heat controls. They’re already set to red from the drive this morning. Stupid thing will just be warming up by the time I reach—air quotes—home.
My stomach growls into the void, like a beast in the forest.
Fast food?
Nah, but I’m not fit for much else. Except…
A pair of perfect blue eyes have danced around the edges of my solitary dreams the last two nights.
While other places are closing down at this hour, I find Charlie’s glowing a welcome as I back into a front parking slip minutes later. I cut the engine and stare at the nondescript building with light pouring through its windows. No point lying to myself. I ain’t here for the food.
I can’t believe why I’m here. I don’t do this kind of thing, and certainly not lately.
Doesn’t hurt to look a little, does it? All in a very healthy, decent way, of course. If I have to stare at either the TV or more inane videos on my phone one more evening, I might lose it. Even reading barely appeals.
But if all else fails, I can liven up the evening with wacky dog videos. Best thing on the internet.
No, tonight I’m opting for the absurd, driving to a greasy diner nearly at closing time in hope of watching one pretty waitress.
I mean it: one. The rest of Charlie’s crew are not my type. This one may not be either, but she does broadcast a completely different set of vibes than her coworkers.
What are the odds she’s on duty?
I grip the front door pull and stop, running my gaze down my work shirt and jeans. Dadgum. Stupid mud boots are still on my feet.
I peer through the glass door peppered with stickers advising which credit cards the establishment takes as payment. A yellow mop bucket on wheels standing at the ready by the checkout counter makes the decision for me.
I stop in the airlock and toe the heel of my left boot with the right. There’s a giant sucking sound as the rubber releases my foot. I reverse the process on the other foot, then line the boots up off to one side.
I duck and swerve, dodging the jingling bell dangling over the entryway. Warm air from a dusty vent in the low ceiling blasts my cheeks one stride inside the dining room. At the counter, an old man hunches over a basket of something fried. A middle-aged couple occupy a table in the far corner.
And the waitress scribbling down their order is my reason for being here.
Tall, slender, curved in all the right places. A deep chestnut ponytail with strands I imagine flowing like melted chocolate when she lets it down.
The pen freezes. Her flat affect as she watches me choose a table does not match the jump in my heart rate that the sight of her induces in me.
The guy-equivalent of a wallflower, I’m used to ambivalence.
Whatever. At least I’m not spending the night—ahem, evening—alone for a change.
Sometimes, I wish I were the guy who didn’t have to wake up by himself, but the thing is, I’ve got this belief system…