by Cora Brent
I sighed and blotted the chicken grease from my fingers before pulling out my phone. Not because I thought Jeremy might have called. Jeremy didn’t even have a phone.
That suddenly irritated me to no end.
Why the hell was I falling in love with a guy who was so stubbornly antisocial that he couldn’t stand dealing with a phone?
Impulsively I typed his name into the search bar and looked at the images. I’d seen these pictures before, pictures of a young, clean shaven Jeremy Gannon with his head thrown back and an arrogant expression on his face. He was really just a kid in these pictures, a kid who thought he had the world at his feet and was unaware that the very foundation on which he stood was about to be yanked out from underneath him. There was an image I hadn’t noticed on my earlier searches and I clicked on it. Jeremy was wearing a black suit and beside him was an older, dark-skinned man who I recognized from Jeremy’s description as his longtime manager and friend, Darius Corbin. The man’s head was bowed but Jeremy stared straight at the camera, the surprise of being captured on camera melting with the obvious anguish on his face. The sky was cloudy and the two men were surrounded by lush greenery. And headstones. This picture was taken in an Oklahoma cemetery on the day Jeremy said goodbye to his entire family.
I stared at that photo for a long time, wanting to comfort the devastated young man who stared back at me. I’d suffered a day similar to that. Different circumstances, a different funeral. But the agony was something I recognized.
Eventually I set the phone aside and I was about to start gathering up my garbage when I saw an envelope peeking out of my purse. I pulled it out, thinking it must be a bill or something I hadn’t noticed at first when I absently stored the pile of mail Betty had handed me.
The envelope itself was standard, ordinary looking. The only odd thing about it was the fact that my name and address had been neatly handwritten. Receiving a piece of mail that was handwritten in any form was unusual nowadays. Most of the people I knew communicated electronically if they had something to say. The return address was in Pasadena, California. There was no name listed.
Curious, I tore the envelope open. Two pages full of dense script fell out. I flattened the pages on the table and began reading. Any passing shoppers who happened to glance my way might have noticed how I clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking as I slowly read each astonishing sentence in front of me. Or they might have been too absorbed in their own activities and noticed nothing at all.
When I was finished I folded the pages back into their envelope and examined the return address. It was a house, almost certainly the home of the person who had sent the letter to me. I punched the address into an app on my phone and figured out I could be in Pasadena by tonight if I left right now. And I couldn’t think of a single good excuse to not leave right now. Earlier I’d chided Jeremy for using the tragedy in his past as a justification for shutting the world out. I said that even though I knew damn well I’d done the same thing. I hadn’t been hiding out in the desert. I’d been hiding in a different way, but hiding just the same. The time to face my own history was long overdue.
So I was going to California. Right now. I was going to confront the man who’d written the letter I held in my hand.
The only man still alive who might be able to give me some of the answers I craved.
Chapter Twelve
JEREMY
She didn’t come home. I knew that because I’d been keeping constant watch on her place out of fear the Carter brothers would swing by for a dose of revenge.
After our tense standoff in Prickly Flats I’d watched Deirdre drive away in the direction of the freeway so I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t show up at her house anytime soon. But when she hadn’t returned by the time evening fell I grew uneasy. I was still half convinced Buster and his equally foul brother might be hunched down in the shadows waiting to strike so I took my shotgun along to keep me company. Getting into her house was easy enough. I was able to pick the lock in fifteen seconds flat.
If Deidre didn’t want to deal with me right now that was fine. When she got home I’d stand guard outside. But she couldn’t get rid of me completely, not with the Carters running around somewhere and stewing for payback. It was my fault the situation escalated. And I was watching over her whether she liked it or not.
I took a seat on the ugly living room sofa and met with an inconvenient flashback to something that happened on this very spot a few days earlier. Deirdre, flashing a wicked grin my way and reaching over to help my dick escape my pants. She stroked me until I stopped her and told her what I wanted to see. She’d blushed but obeyed, sliding her shorts down along with her panties and then moving her fingers inside of herself until she as all flushed and moaning. Then I got on my knees and pushed my face between her legs so she’d come on my tongue. When my dick couldn’t handle the torment anymore I changed positions and pushed my way inside of her.
Later on that night she heated up a pot of canned pasta that tasted like dirty pennies but I ate it anyway. We looked through some of her books on the Superstition Mountains and I pointed out noteworthy facets of the terrain that I’d noticed on my many hikes in the area. Deirdre was interested in everything and asked a lot of questions. I didn’t think I was a particularly interesting guy but Deirdre eagerly listened to every word I was willing to say. I should have said more of them.
“Sometimes I think I could love you, Jeremy Gannon.”
We’d never had a talk about what we were really doing with each other or where it might all lead. Obviously she’d been thinking about it more than I guessed.
I wished I’d figured out what to say to her before she drove away from me.
I wished she’d come back.
More than anything I wished I had a fucking phone so I could call her.
I hadn’t owned one in years, mostly because there was no one I cared to talk to regularly. Only now did that strike me as colossally stupid. Because I had no way of knowing where Deirdre was or how to reach her. Even if I drove to Prickly Flats and asked to use Betty’s phone I didn’t know Deirdre’s damn number.
The hours kept ticking by with no sign of Deirdre or the Carter brothers. It was killing me, not knowing if she was in trouble or if she just needed a Jeremy Gannon Mental Health Day after all the shit that went down in Prickly Flats. It was a helpless feeling, one I was unfamiliar with.
Deirdre, I think I could love you too.
The hour was late when I dozed off on the musty couch with my shotgun in hand. When I woke up it was morning and I was still in Deirdre’s place alone.
Last night I’d been worried. Now I was downright panicked. Even if she’d planned to skip town for a few days she would have returned to pack some things. I searched around without knowing exactly what I was looking for. A name maybe, a phone number. Somebody I could contact who might have heard from her. Calling the cops at this time wouldn’t do any good. Deirdre was an adult who could do as she pleased and there was no indication anything had happened to her.
I didn’t find any phone numbers. All I found were gobs of books, notebooks full of carefully penciled notes, index cards containing more notes, and scenic postcards that she might have picked up in Betty’s store.
That gave me an idea though.
Betty and Sherman Grable were the only other people around here who knew Deirdre. I knew she and Betty were friendly. Maybe she’d given Betty her cell number.
I ran out to my truck and sped to Prickly Flats. The sign for Burgers/Souvenirs/Museum was turned to Closed so I ran around back to the small home Betty and Sherman had built themselves. I was already banging on the door when it occurred to me that the reason the store had been closed was because it was barely past the break of dawn.
The door cracked open and Sherman Grable’s worn face peered out. He looked like he’d just stumbled out of bed ten seconds earlier.
“Hey Sherman, I’m sorry to bug you so early but I haven’t seen Deirdre
since yesterday and I’m really getting worried and I was hoping you guys knew of a way to contact her.”
The man blinked at me.
“Do you or Betty have Deirdre’s cell phone number?” I prodded.
He scratched his head and opened the door wider. “Who’s Deirdre?”
“Jeremy?” Betty’s voice floated out. She appeared at her husband’s side. She was wearing some kind of long nightgown thing with flowers that were as pink as her face. “What are you doing here so early?”
“He wants to talk to someone named Deirdre,” Sheldon explained.
“D.C.,” I explained, forgetting that was how she was known to most people. “I’m looking for D.C.”
Sheldon was still confused. “I thought D.C. was in California.”
Betty beckoned to me. “Come in, Jeremy.”
The Grables were the closest thing to friends that I had in the area and after five years I had never set foot in their home. The furniture reminded me of my grandmother’s house; lots of shiny light wood and flowered upholstery. On every flat surface there was at least one ceramic figurine. Over in the corner of the cozy living room their dog Tractor snored away on a braided rug like a scene out of a Christmas card. The dog raised his ancient nose, sniffed and went back to sleep.
“I already put on a pot of coffee,” Betty said and indicated I should follow her to the kitchen. I absolutely didn’t feel like sitting down to casually drink a cup of coffee while Deirdre was missing but Betty said something that changed everything.
“You don’t need to worry about D.C. She took a short trip to California.”
“How do you know that?”
Betty poured coffee into a chipped brown mug. “She called last night. She wanted someone to know where she was. She said to pass the message along to you if you came around looking for her.” Betty handed the coffee over. “I’m sure she would have called you. If only you had a phone.”
“Right.” I was so relieved I sank down in a chair and drank the coffee.
Betty didn’t have many details. Deirdre had called her early yesterday evening just after crossing the California state line. She said she was going to take care of a personal errand and she planned to return within twenty four hours. She hadn’t sounded like she was in any distress when she called and insisted all was well. Deirdre had never mentioned anyone in California so I couldn’t guess what she was doing there. But the fact that she’d called Betty and was safe was enough.
Sheldon had disappeared while Betty was chatting away but now he returned fully dressed, suspenders and all.
“Did you tell him about the Carters?” he asked his wife.
Betty slapped a hand on the wooden kitchen table and excitedly broke the news. Shortly after Buster Carter had stumbled away with a broken nose, he’d been arrested with his brother. Apparently their sister was the one who’d called in a tip about the homemade drug lab they were running in the foothills. Betty finished telling the story with a triumphant smile.
“My friend Ina’s daughter is in the sheriff’s department and she heard that there’s enough evidence to put them away for a while so that’s one less thing we all need to worry about around here.”
I wasn’t at all sorry to hear that the Carter brothers were destined for a long vacation in a cage. It meant that I didn’t have to stay on guard waiting for them to show up. It meant they weren’t a danger to Deirdre.
Betty insisted on cooking me breakfast and since I hadn’t eaten much since yesterday morning I wasn’t inclined to turn down the offer. Tractor actually climbed off his braided rug long enough to venture into the kitchen and sniff at the stack of blueberry pancakes that were hanging out on the table. I offered him a piece from my plate and he gobbled it up and lazily wagged his tail when I patted his head.
I’d already imposed on the Grables enough for the time being so I washed the dishes over Betty’s protests and said goodbye. They had a store to open up for the day and now that I knew Deirdre was all right and the Buster threat had been liquidated, I could think of a few things I wanted to accomplish.
By the time I was finished showering and dressing at home, I figured the mall would be open so I headed for the road. I knew what my first stop was going to be. The sales guy was all excited to show me every shiny option in the place but I plucked the first one I saw off a shelf and told him that it was good enough.
My second task was a little less defined. I didn’t know how people were able to choose in situations like this, confronted with rows of eager faces and wagging tails. Fortunately I didn’t have to wander for too long before I found exactly what I was looking for. I just hoped the chickens would understand.
Back home, Deirdre’s car was still nowhere in sight. Belatedly I realized I should have asked Betty to give me Deirdre’s cell number since now it would actually be useful. Then again it was already early afternoon. She’d probably be home in a matter of hours. I could wait.
I tossed the chickens some feed and carefully extracted a cardboard box from my truck. After setting the box down in my kitchen I found an old towel and tucked it into the box. The main occupant was content to keep sleeping for now.
I had something to do while I awaited Deirdre’s return. There was an old friendship to repair. I still had his number memorized and I hoped he’d pick up a call from an unfamiliar number. I also hoped he’d be glad to hear from me.
He was.
“Hey there, kid.” His smile came through in his voice. “So you finally got a phone again, huh?”
“Hi, Darius. Yeah, I’ve been out of touch for long enough.”
“Too long,” he agreed. There was a pause. “So does this mean you’re rejoining the world?”
I thought of Deirdre. I thought of all the things I wanted to do with her outside of this little corner of the desert. And I thought of my family, of all the things they’d wanted for me and how I wanted to do a better job of honoring their memory.
“Yeah,” I told my old friend. “That’s exactly what it means.”
Chapter Thirteen
DEIRDRE
I didn’t even know if he’d be home. Then again if what he’d said in the letter was true then he probably didn’t get around much.
After hitting rush hour traffic it was dark by the time I reached Pasadena. I was tired and kind of fuzzy-headed and I wanted to be sharp for an occasion of this magnitude. I stopped at a Target to pick up some toiletries and a change of clothes and then I found a hotel in a decent neighborhood.
While I was on the road it occurred to me that Jeremy would almost certainly be looking for me by now. He’d worry when I didn’t return. After cursing him out for being a caveman who didn’t own a phone I pulled over and called the one place I could think of. The number belonging to Burgers/Souvenirs/Museum in Prickly Flats was easy enough to find with a quick internet search and Betty answered the phone. She said Jeremy had left shortly after I did and she hadn’t seen him in hours. She promised to let him know what was going on if he came around looking for me. I could tell she was curious but I didn’t feel like explaining everything.
There wasn’t much for me to do in the hotel except re-read the letter four times and search the limited selection of television channels for something worth watching. I paused at a home improvement show because the bearded well-muscled host reminded me of Jeremy. A much more cheerful version of Jeremy who whistled while he hauled giant hunks of wood through construction sites and shouted greetings at everyone he passed.
As opposed to my Jeremy, who brooded in his isolated refuge, wandered through the desert alone, rarely smiled and could be as obstinate as a bull.
My Jeremy, who made me feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet every time he looked at me, who never failed to hold me close after we made each other come, and who would probably step in front of a lion with nothing but his bare hands if that’s what he had to do to protect me.
My Jeremy, who’d haltingly told me about his own pain and comforted me whe
n I cried about mine.
God, I miss him.
“Damn you,” I whispered to the empty room, partly speaking to Jeremy who was unreachable at a time when I really wanted to talk to him. And partly to myself for being the fool who couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The long drive had been tiring and after switching off the light I fell into a restless sleep atop the covers. Before I drifted off I wondered what Jeremy was doing right now.
The next morning I wolfed down the hotel’s free continental breakfast and checked out. My destination was a Mediterranean style home on a quiet street. I stared at it for a moment and tried to picture the harsh man I’d known living in a place decorated with clay pots filled with red geraniums. I couldn’t.
My nerves started to get the better of me as I approached the house. I had no plan if he didn’t answer the door. The letter had included a phone number but I hadn’t driven all the way here to have a leisurely chat on the phone.
I didn’t need to wonder for long. Ten seconds after I rang the doorbell there was a rustling sound on the other side and a moment later I found myself face to face with my uncle for the first time in ten years.
Gregory, my mother’s brother who’d been closest in age to her, had aged considerably. His black hair had greyed and thinned and his once robust physique had shrunken so much that he now resembled his father. His face was ashen and that might have been due to his poor health or it might have been the shock of finding me on his doorstep.
“Deirdre?” My name was a hushed question, like he was unsure if he’d identified me correctly.
“Greg.” I wouldn’t call him Uncle Greg. I hadn’t thought of him as an uncle in a decade and nothing was going to change my mind about that now.