Gun Shy(30)

“He’ll leave, soon,” Damon says, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to reassure me, or himself.

Ray swaggers back into the kitchen, reeking of burnt tobacco.

“You should put on a bra, young lady,” he says, staring at my chest. “Somebody might get the wrong idea.”

I feel blood rise in my cheeks, my arms crossed as tightly as possible. “OhmyGod,” I mutter under my breath. Seriously?

“Ray!” Damon says. He glances at me before fixing his eyes on his oblivious brother.

“If I had a daughter like Cassie, I sure as hell wouldn’t let her run around like that.” He sips his coffee like talking about my tits is the most casual thing in the world. I look down at my pajamas, then at Damon, with a look that says ‘HELP ME.’ “I didn’t know you were here,” I say slowly.

Ray chuckles. “So if I wasn’t here, you’d be fine wearing a see-through shirt with your titties on display for my poor brother here to try not to stare at?”

“Ray!” Damon yells.

An edge develops across Ray’s expression. “What. She’s the spitting image of her poor mother. What do you want me to say?”

Jesus Christ. I need to get out of here. I back up until I’m at the base of the stairs. “You’re absolutely right. I should get dressed.”

“And we should get going,” Damon says tightly.

“See you next week, Ray,” I call over my shoulder, climbing the stairs to my bedroom and closing myself in there. Fuck you, Ray! I take my shirt off, my eye catching movement in the yard at the same time. Ray’s back outside, smoking again as he stands by his truck. He’s looking up at the house, though I doubt he can see anything from this angle. I close the curtains properly and then flip him the bird through the thick drapes as I get naked and search for something clean to wear. He can’t see it, but somehow it makes me feel better.





CHAPTER ELEVEN





LEO





On Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, Pike and I load the kids up in the backseat of his shitty Honda and drive into town. I don’t want anyone seeing me, but in this podunk town, that’s easier said than done.

Especially when Pike is driving around slowly, almost leisurely, with me in the passenger seat. Like a fucking Sunday drive with Miss Daisy.

“Dude, step on it,” I hiss.

“Dude, this is as fast as we go with five of us,” Pike replies. “Fix your fucking Mustang and we can talk about stepping on it.”

I glare at him. “I crashed the Mustang, you idiot. Remember?”

“It’s in Lawrence’s yard, bro. You’re a mechanic. Figure it out.”

My chest tightens as I remember the corner of Lawrence’s Auto Lot where old cars go to die. I guess I’ve never really thought about where my car went after. I’ve blocked it from my memory, just like the accident itself. Suddenly I’m antsy, wondering if the wreck might be salvageable. I could never drive it around here, but maybe one day, when I finally get my license back and leave Gun Creek…

Speaking of. I wanted to come out by myself, but I’m not allowed to drive, a condition of my early release. Guess that’s fair when you almost kill somebody.

Eventually, we get to the garage attached to Dana’s Grill. I’ve come to beg for my old job back. I expect my former boss to chase me out of the place with his old sawn-off, but when Lawrence sees me he drops everything and shakes my hand.

“You’re back,” the old man says as if I didn’t almost kill somebody last time I saw him. As if I’ve been gone the weekend, instead of almost a decade. “I’ve got a sticky one for you….”

And he shows me Mrs. Lassiter’s old Buick on the hoist, pointing out bits of rust and parts that need replacing, and eventually I have to stop him talking so I can get the kids home before they freeze to death in the car outside. He won’t let me go until I promise to come back and start work on Monday morning.

While Pike is getting bread in the store, Sheriff King passes right by our car. He stops dead when he sees me, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so full of hate.

I can’t say I blame him. Pike does odd shifts as a patient care assistant at the hospital sometimes, with Amanda. Apparently she’s the night nurse for Teresa King, and she told Pike once that Cassie’s mom is the saddest patient she has ever had to deal with.



I can’t help myself.

After Pike drives us all home, the kids set up in front of the TV and watch cartoons. Pike leaves, for what I don’t ask. The less I know about the shit he’s up to, the better.

In the time I’ve spent at home, I’m going crazy. Crazier than when I was locked up. And now that I’ve seen Damon, I want to see Cassie. It’s like seeing him has confirmed that she exists. I go full psycho, or at least full armchair stalker, camped out in an old rocking chair by the window, binoculars in hand. I don’t think about Jennifer, about what I did to her, and that’s a terrible thing, isn’t it? I should be sorry for what I did to her, but I’m just… not. Maybe the feelings will come later. Maybe the image of the way I left her will stop making my balls ache, and instead make me feel guilty.

Binoculars in hand, I search all day for Cassie. I cast my magnified gaze along the windows that line the front of her house on the hill, but I don’t see anything. She keeps the blinds drawn. Almost like she’s afraid of catching a glimpse of this old place and remembering me. But in the evening, just as I hear Pike’s car in the driveway, I finally glimpse her.