Picnic in Someday Valley (Honey Creek #2)(42)

Joey paled, making his bruises look darker. He turned and limped away, mumbling about how life never gave him a break.

She watched him go and smiled. She’d stood up to Joey. She felt a bit stronger. After climbing into her car, she drove slowly through the trailer park, remembering how people used to have flower gardens out front of their homes and colorful lawn chairs so they could visit with neighbors. The kids couldn’t wait for the pool to open the first day of summer break. On hot nights all the children would get together and play kick-the-can, and as it got late you could hear mothers calling their kids in.

Like an apple rotting in the sun, the place had slowly deformed.

When had it changed? What day had it gone from safe to twisted? Where had the grass gone that used to crowd the roads? When had the potholes and trash taken over?

All her childhood hadn’t been bad, but it was time to put it aside. She’d sleep somewhere else tonight, even if it was in her car. Marcie no longer wanted to belong to this place.

When she turned out of the park, she noticed the little picnic table someone had put out in the open field beside the park when she was a kid. It didn’t seem to belong now. Maybe it had been set up to invite travelers into the park, but as far as she knew she’d been the only one to go there.

Someone had planted grass in a ten foot square around the table. Now the grass had spread all the way back to the tree line.

As a kid she’d come out to the table to play. She and her doll had had tea many afternoons when the shade spread over them from the trees. Sometimes she’d crawl under the table and it would become her own little house. In her teens she’d sit for hours and write her thoughts down. Once she’d planted wildflowers all around the table. They still bloomed every spring.

When she was afraid or broken, she’d come out to this one beautiful place to be alone. She’d watch the cars going by and pretend she was leaving. Leaving and never coming back.

Like today, she thought. Funny, the only thing she’d miss from this place was a spot of grass in a place where the valley looked all beautiful, all peaceful. A place for pretending.

As she drove back to Honey Creek, she passed the road that turned off to Brand’s ranch. Part of her wanted to go back there. He’d welcome her, but she had to stand on her own for a while. She was tired of being shattered then broken again before old wounds healed.

As she moved toward Honey Creek, invisible bricks seemed to fall off her shoulders. No matter what happened next in her life, it had to be better. She wouldn’t move her past this time. She’d leave it behind.

Her phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Marcie Latimer, this is Deputy Rip Carter, who took your application.”

“Did I forget something?”

“No, miss. I’m calling to tell you that you need to show up for training as soon as possible. The sheriff wants Pecos to train you. Then you’ll take over the midnight-to-eight shift two nights a week, plus cover for the gaps in the schedule. The dispatcher, Wanda, who had the night shift when Pecos wasn’t working it, just quit.”

“That was fast. Pecos said Wanda only finished her training two months ago. I’m surprised she didn’t last longer.” Marcie considered this job might be harder than she’d thought.

“I’m not,” Rip answered. “Old Jones Whicker calls every week with his newest obscene call. Wanda hadn’t had much sleep ’cause of her twins being sick. She cussed him out and walked away. When she was walking through the office, she was yelling she had to put up with enough shit at home.”

Marcie didn’t know what to say.

The deputy added, “It’s my opinion that women who have babies two at a time tend to be a bit sensitive.”

“Thanks for calling. I can start training tonight. Is that okay?”

“I’ll let the sheriff know. Don’t forget to clock in.”

“I will.” She didn’t ask what the pay was. It didn’t matter. She had a real job. A job that paid her for eight hours twice a week. With the two nights of helping out at the bar, she might just make it.

Now she had to find a place to live. The chicken farm had been her first choice two days ago, but then she heard that Mr. Winston might let her stay at his big house. She’d sleep in the attic if he had a bed up there.

When she got to Mr. Winston’s house, no one answered the front door. She went around to the side.

Again no answer, but there was a note taped to the window. It read, Gone to talk to the mayor, W.

Marcie waited awhile, then decided to walk toward city hall. Maybe she’d run into him coming home.

She made it to the first floor of city hall, where everyone pays their traffic tickets and votes on election day. No Mr. Winston. He might be four floors up with the mayor. Maybe she should wait down here in the huge lobby where people crisscrossed from one office to another.

She blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the shadows after the sunlight. For a moment she thought a bald man five feet away looked familiar, then she remembered him. He’d been with Joey that night. The loudest one. The oldest.

She took a step backward, but he saw her before she could disappear behind a column.

“Marcie, isn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question.

The one man that Brand had not touched had bruises on his face and what looked like a slash on his neck that ran from just below his ear to his collar. It had to be from when he fell over Joey. Both men had hit the cinder-block steps hard that night.