Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(3)

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.

She spotted a shabby play area under the screen. It held an empty sandbox, along with half a dozen fiberglass dolphins mounted on heavy springs. She guessed the dolphins had originally been bright blue, but the passing years had faded their color to powder. A rusty jungle gym, the frame of a swing set, a broken merry-go-round, and a concrete turtle completed the pathetic cluster of equipment.

“Go play on that turtle while I talk to the man, Edward. I won’t be long.”

His eyes silently pleaded with her not to leave him alone. She smiled and gestured toward the playground.

Other children might have thrown a temper tantrum when they realized they weren’t going to get their way, but the normal feistiness of childhood had been leeched out of her son. He worried his bottom lip, ducked his head, and tore her insides into a million tiny pieces so that she couldn’t let him go.

“Never mind. You can come with me and sit by the door.”

His small fingers clutched hers as she drew him toward the concrete building. She could feel the dust invading her lungs. The sun pounded down on her head while the music wailed like a death scream.

She dropped Edward’s hand at the door and leaned down so he could hear her over the poisonous guitars and feral drums. “Stay here, punkin.”

He clutched at her skirt. With a smile of reassurance, she gently disentangled his fingers and stepped into the concrete building.