Chapter Four
Jack
T he highway stretches out in front of me, endless and dark. I drive until my eyes burn and my hands cramp around the steering wheel. The radio’s busted, so it’s just me, the hum of the engine, and the occasional flash of headlights from passing trucks.
I don’t have a plan.
That fact hits me somewhere around the third hour, when the adrenaline from leaving starts to fade. I’ve got my guitar, some cash, and a full tank of gas—but no idea where I’m going. Just away .
“And then what, Jack?”
I shake my head. I’m not really the spontaneous type. Never have been. I don’t break the rules or the law. Everyone says I’m a good kid. My brothers can get a little rowdy, but not me. I’m the quiet one. I prefer to sit in my room and play my guitar than go out and find trouble. I’ve seen too many of my friends and classmates do that. They’ve got drunken horror stories. Embarrassing photos and more than a few regrets.
My only regret is sticking around that damn farm a month longer than I should have. I should have taken off the day I graduated. But I kept thinking my dad would change. That he would wake up one day and say, ‘Son, you love music, and I want to support your dream’ and we’d hug it out.
Pipe dreams.
Now, I’m on my own headed south. Where?
I glance down at the fuel gauge. It’s hovering above empty. Since I have no real clue where I am or what’s between me and wherever I’m going, it’s probably a good idea to get gas while I can.
A green exit sign looms ahead, announcing a motel, gas, and food.
Good enough.
The motel is called The Starlight, though there’s nothing starry about it. The neon sign flickers, missing an L , and the parking lot smells like piss and vomit. I have a feeling this is one of those places that will rent to anyone, no ID required. But it’s cheap, and the guy at the front desk doesn’t ask questions when I hand him cash for a room.
I grab my stuff out of my truck. There’s no way I’m leaving it overnight. The place is as I expected it to be. But for a guy who shovels shit every day, it’s fine. I’m not picky. I grab my phone and see the missed calls and texts from my brothers. I check the time. It’s almost midnight. They’re probably in bed, but I’ll call anyway.
The phone rings twice before Michael picks up.
“Jack? Where the hell are you?”
“Millfield.” I drop onto the bed, the springs groaning under me. “Just wanted you to know I’m fine.”
“Is he coming back?” Caleb asks in the background.
“No,” I answer.
Michael exhales. “You’re really doing this, huh?”
“Yeah.” I rub my eyes. “Tell Dad—”
“Don’t.” Michael cuts me off. “Just be careful, okay?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. I will.”
“Check in so we know you’re alive,” Caleb says.
“I will.”
I put the phone down and use the bathroom. I ignore the state of the fixtures. I’m only going to be here long enough to get a few hours of sleep before I start driving. Driving where...that’s still to be determined. I grab my wallet and the key to the room. There’s a truck stop across the street with a restaurant that claims it’s open twenty-four hours.
I make my way across the nearly empty parking lot. Inside, the air smells faintly of grease and burnt coffee. A waitress with tired eyes nods at me as I slide into a booth by the window. I glance at the laminated menu, though I already know I’m just going to order a burger and fries. Comfort food for a runaway.
A couple of truckers come in, greeting the sole waitress. They take stools at the counter, chatting with the waitress like they’ve been here a hundred times before. I stare out the window at my truck, parked under a flickering streetlight, and wonder how long it’ll take before this feels normal—sleeping in motels, eating at truck stops, not knowing what’s next.
“Want coffee?” the waitress, Darla, asks while holding the pot.
“Please.”
She fills it up and then puts the pot on the table. “Know what you want?”
“Cheeseburger and fries, please.”
She nods and scribbles on her notepad. “Passing through?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “This the kind of place that has work?”
She shrugs. “Depends what you’re looking for.”
“Anything, really.” I stir my coffee, even though I haven’t added sugar. “Need to get settled somewhere.”
“Try Hank’s Auto. Or the lumberyard. Always need hands. Hank’s a decent guy. Won’t screw you over.”
“Thanks,” I say.
She walks away. I sit and look around, half-listening to the two guys at the counter talking about baseball. This place isn’t exactly a goal. I imagine there are plenty of guys just like me trying to get the hell out of here. But it’s the kind of place where things are going to be cheap. And cheap is what I need. Tomorrow morning, I’ll check things out. I am far enough away from home that Dad can’t control me, but close enough I can still visit my brothers.
Darla brings my burger and shuffles away once again.
I take a bite. It’s not Patty’s cooking, but it’s enough to quiet the gnawing in my stomach. As I eat, I pull out my phone and open the maps app. My finger hovers over the screen, tracing the lines of highways and state borders. South. That’s the only direction I’ve got so far. South means warmer weather, bigger cities, more opportunities. Maybe even Memphis. The thought makes my chest tighten with something between excitement and fear.
I didn’t set out with the intention of hitting Memphis or Nashville, but deep down, I can’t deny that inner dreamer sees the bright lights of the big city. Music. I know that’s what’s pulling me, but I’m a realist. I know the odds of breaking into the industry. Slim. Less than slim. I’d have better luck playing the lottery.
I finish my burger and push the plate away, sipping the last of my coffee. The diner is quiet now, the truckers gone, and Darla is wiping down the counter. I leave a couple of bills on the table and head back to the motel.
I strip to my underwear and crash on the bed. The window AC is loud, but necessary. I manage to fall asleep with hope blooming my soul. I finally made a move. I got off the farm. Now, I just have to keep going and not give in to the fear that’s telling me I can’t make it on my own.
I wake early the next morning. I want to be at those businesses Darla mentioned first thing in the morning. I hop into the shower, not thrilled to discover the hottest it gets is lukewarm.
That’ll wake a guy up.
Checkout isn’t until eleven. I leave my bags and guitar in the room and step outside. I don’t think it’s going to be hard to find the auto shop. The town is small—smaller than the one I left. I see the sign I’m looking for and pull into the parking lot.
Hank’s Auto smells like oil and rubber and every other auto shop I’ve ever been in. A guy in coveralls wipes his hands on a rag as I walk in.
“Can I help you?”
“I heard you might be hiring.”
He sizes me up. “You know cars?”
“Enough to change oil. I learn fast.”
He hesitates. Then, “How old are you, kid?”
“Eighteen.”
His eyes narrow. “You got ID?”
I hand him my driver’s license. He studies it like it might be fake.
“Millfield’s a long way from home.”
“Just passing through,” I lie.
He hands it back. “Sorry. Not hiring.”
Later, the lumberyard manager doesn’t even let me finish my sentence.
“You’re what, eighteen?” He crosses his arms. “Go back to school, kid.”
“I graduated—”
“Not interested.”
I see a hardware store and figure that’s the one for me. The owner, a wiry guy with glasses, takes one look at me and shakes his head. “Runaway?”
“No.”
“Sure.” He snorts. “Parents know you’re here?”
My jaw tightens. “I’m looking for work, not a lecture. I’m eighteen. An adult. I don’t need my parents’ permission.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve seen enough kids like you. You run away, land here, and bring a shitstorm with you. I don’t need that.”
I slam the door of my truck harder than I mean to. My hands are clenched into fists at my sides as I drive back toward the motel.
These assholes treat me some like some lost kid who doesn’t know which way is up. Like I’m not capable of making my own damn decisions. Like I don’t know what I’m doing. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m getting out, not staying stuck in some dead-end town.
“Fuck it,” I mutter.
I’m glad I found out quickly that this isn’t the place for me. I’ve got some cash left. Not much, but enough to get to the next town. Maybe someone there won’t care that I’m eighteen. I know I look younger. It’s the baby face.
I shove my stuff into the truck and head for the ATM on the corner. Thankfully, I’ve got enough money to keep going. Assuming the truck doesn’t break down on me, I can make it all the way to Florida.
I punch in my code and tap two hundred dollars. I don’t want to keep paying ATM fees, but I don’t want to worry about someone stealing my cash or my dumb ass losing it.
I tap my foot waiting for the machine to spit out my money.
Insufficient funds.
“What the hell?”
I assume it’s the machine. I try again, typing in a hundred dollars.
Once again, the screen tells me I don’t have the funds.
I know that isn’t true. I check the balance.
$0.00
I blink, staring at the screen. That isn’t right. I pull the card out and check it, as if I just used my PIN on the wrong card.
But it’s my card.
My stomach drops.
No. No way.
But there it is. Empty. Every cent I saved from the hardware store—gone.
And I know why.
Dad.
He’s friends with everyone at that tiny bank back home. All it would take is one phone call, one “My son’s not in his right mind...” and poof. My money vanishes.
I slam my fist against the machine.
A woman walking her dog gives me a look. I force my hands to unclench. He’s doing this because he thinks he can make me quit. Thinks I’ll go back home with my tail between my legs.
I get back in the truck and count the cash I have. It’s not enough to get me anywhere.
It’s enough for another night at another shitty motel. Or a tank of gas.
Not both.
I stare at the bills.
If I stay, I’m stuck in a town where no one will hire me. If I go...
I crank the engine.
The needle hovers just above E .
I drive to the gas station and fill up. It takes almost everything I have.
I don’t look back as I pull onto the highway once again. He thinks I’m going to give up. He’s wrong. He’s only stoked the fire. Now, I don’t know if I’ll ever go back.