Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(129)

Now she wished she’d given in. If she’d agreed to have sex with him, she and Edward would be living in a rent-free room in Rorsch’s motel where she’d been working as a maid. Why hadn’t she shut her eyes and let him do what he wanted? What was the point of being fastidious when her child was hungry and homeless?

She’d made it as far as Norfolk where she’d used up too much of her small reserve of cash to have the Impala’s water pump fixed. She knew other women in her position would have applied for public aid, but welfare wasn’t an option for her. She’d been forced to apply two years ago, when she and Edward were living in Baltimore. At the time, a social worker had stunned Rachel by questioning her ability to care for Edward. The woman had mentioned the possibility of putting him in foster care until Rachel could get on her feet. Her words might have been well-intentioned, but they had terrified Rachel. Until that moment, she had never considered that someone might try to take Edward away from her. She’d fled Baltimore that same day and vowed never again to approach a government office for help.

Since then she’d been supporting the two of them by working several minimum-wage jobs at a time, earning just enough to keep a roof over their heads, but not enough to be able to set anything aside so she could go back to school and improve her job skills. The battle for decent child care devoured her meager paychecks and made her sick with worry—one of the sitters kept Edward propped in front of a television all day, another disappeared and left him with a boyfriend. Then Edward had gotten sick with pneumonia.

By the time he was released from the hospital, she’d been fired from her fast-food job for absenteeism. Edward’s expenses had eaten up everything she had, including her pitifully small savings, and left her with a staggering bill she had no way of paying. She also had a sick child who needed to be carefully watched while he recuperated and an eviction notice for nonpayment of rent on her shabby apartment.

She’d begged Clyde Rorsch to let her have one of the smaller motel rooms rent-free, promising to double her hours in exchange. But he’d wanted something more—sex on demand. When she’d refused, he’d gotten mean, and she’d struck him in the head with the office telephone.

She remembered the blood trickling down the side of his face and the venom in his eyes as he’d vowed to have her arrested for assault. “Let’s see how you take care of that precious kid of yours when you’re in jail!”


If only she’d stopped resisting and simply let him do what he wanted. What had been unthinkable only a week before didn’t seem so inconceivable now. She was tough. She could have survived it. Since the beginning of time, desperate women had used sex for barter, and it was hard to believe she might once have condemned them for it.

She settled Edward next to her beneath a buckeye tree, unscrewed the lid of the water bottle, and handed it to him. As she peeled the orange, she could no longer ignore the compulsion to lift her eyes toward the mountains.

Sun shimmered on a wall of glass, testifying that the Temple of Salvation still stood, although she’d heard it had been taken over by a corrugated-box factory. Five years ago it had been the headquarters and broadcasting studio for G. Dwayne Snopes, one of the wealthiest and most famous televangelists in the country. Rachel pushed away the unpleasant memories and began handing Edward the orange segments. He savored each one as if it were a piece of candy instead of a tough, dried-out segment of fruit that belonged in the garbage.

As he polished off the last one, her gaze moved idly to the drive-in’s marquee.





GRAND REOPENING SOON



HELP WANTED NOW



She grew instantly alert. Why hadn’t she noticed that earlier? A job! Maybe her luck was finally going to turn.

She refused to think about the drive-in’s surly owner. Selectivity was a luxury she hadn’t been able to afford in years. With her eyes still fixed on the sign, she patted Edward’s knee. It was warm from the sun.

“Sweetheart, I need to go talk to that man again.”

“Don’t want you to.”

She gazed down into his small, worried face. “He’s nothing but a big bully. Don’t be afraid. I can beat him up with one hand tied behind my back.”

“Stay here.”

“I can’t, pug. I need a job.”

He didn’t argue further, and she considered what to do with him while she sought out Butthead. Edward wasn’t the kind of child who roamed, and she momentarily contemplated leaving him in the car, but it was parked too close to the road. She would have to take him with her.

Giving him a reassuring smile, she tugged him to his feet. As she led him back across the highway, she didn’t bother sending up a prayer for divine intervention. Rachel no longer prayed. Her store of faith had been eaten up long ago by G. Dwayne Snopes, and now, not even a mustard seed remained.

The patched strap of her sandal dug into her big toe as she led Edward down the rutted lane past the ticket booth. The drive-in must have been built in these mountains decades earlier and, most likely, abandoned for another decade. Now the freshly painted ticket booth and new chain-link fence that enclosed the property testified to its renovation, but it looked as if there was still a lot of work to be done.

The projection screen had been repaired, but the lot, with its concentric rows of empty metal speaker poles, was overgrown with weeds. In the middle, she spotted a two-story concrete block building, the drive-in’s original snack bar and projection booth. Its exterior had once been white, but was now streaked with dirt and mildew. The wide-open doors on the side emitted a blare of acid rock.