He was back in his old clothes, now clean. Claudia’s hung over a chair in the corner of the room. Trucks stood and went over and picked them off the chair. He folded the pajama shirt and set it on the seat. Picked up the bottoms and felt the soft fabric at the cuff. Ran his fingers over the material. Squeezed hard. He folded the bottoms and set them on top of the shirt.
Trucks walked over to his workman’s coat hanging on the door handle. He dug through the pockets and grabbed his sachet of antibacterial wipes and a small quarter-full hotel shampoo bottle. He went back to Claudia’s bedside and sat on the floor against the wall. He leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. The moonlight striking in a light blue. He wondered what it was like to reach such distant places.
He opened the sachet and brought it to his nose. Took a big inhale—gardenia. Claudia had noticed how much it smelled like her mama. Because all Elle ever wore was gardenia perfume. He’d have thought a hooker would have picked something less floral. Less intimate. Opt instead for the kind of smell that would bring on a hard mustang. Not a scent that he’d always remember. That he couldn’t let go. And he’d planned to tell Claudia what it was so she’d know her mama smelled of gardenias all the time. That he’d bought a few gardenia plants and carefully taken apart the buds and stems until he had enough petals to cover the entire surface of Elle’s bathwater. That he’d drawn a bath for her and sifted the flower petals across the top. Lit soft candles. Waited for her to come back to the old rowhouse they’d rented near the train tracks in Klakanouse. Claudia only four years old at the time, asleep on a pile of blankets in their one shared room. And he waited. And waited. And paced. And waited. And rubbed his knuckles. And waited. Stood for hours fixed at the frigid window. His busted hand on the frame. Whispers of wind coming through the gaps. His broken heart wishing all her excuses weren’t lies. That she really was getting hung up at the diner. Working doubles. Covering shifts for sick coworkers. Staying late to wipe down the tabletops and stools and condiment bottles. That she wasn’t working the streets again. Blowing some banker in his car. Tugging a dick in a phone booth. Taking it in the ass in the alley behind the convenience store. Spending that moll cash on crushed-up pills she nabbed off forged scrips. Claudia’s food and doctor money going up Elle’s crooked nose. That nose he’d kiss each night before bed when she actually came back. Her breath smelling like cock and Jack and cigarettes when she forgot to mask it. When she didn’t pop a gob of toothpaste in her mouth and swish it before she came home.
Trucks was getting worked up. His heart raced. He set the sachet and tiny shampoo bottle on the dresser next to Claudia’s hearing aids. Then he opened the curtain and pulled up the window. He got on his knees and rested his forearms on the sill. He breathed in the harsh night, sweat rolling down his temple. Trucks watched his quick breath go out into nothing.
He wondered how he could have had such deep love for such a messed-up person. And why maybe he loved her still in that back-of-the-mind kind of way. Why he tortured himself carrying around her damn scent all the time. And beat himself up for giving her too many chances. For letting her come back into their lives again and again after every time she disappeared and showed up out of nowhere with another split lip and a thousand sorrys and that goddamn haunting smell of gardenias. And she’d never know about all those nights he’d spent staring out their solitary, frost-covered window wondering if she was even alive or if he’d go out and find her some morning, stiff and blue in a snowbank. Their girl lying curled on the floor. Fingers in her mouth. Full-body breathing the way children do.
Trucks slapped the window sill. Then he did it again. And again. And again. He’d have punched right through that stubborn window if it weren’t for the danger of broken glass. His hands were hot. Red. Stinging and going numb. He looked back at Claudia, but she was still out. Her head to the side. He took one last deep, chilly breath to compose himself. Then he shut the window. He was sick of thinking about the messed-up way he loved people. Like if they didn’t break him it wasn’t really love.
He grabbed the sachet and closed it up. He decided he’d never tell Claudia what her mama smelled like. Was there a reason to tell her any of it? Did he owe it to her? Wouldn’t it just bring some kind of hurt to her like it did him? Punish her every time that smell came around? And she might have the same sickness as Trucks. Walk around with a crushed gardenia flower in her back pocket, folded inside a napkin.
Trucks put the sachet back in the pocket of his coat. Then he returned to the dresser and grabbed the little shampoo bottle. Back at the Archibald Suites he’d dumped the generic hotel shampoo in the toilet and rinsed out the bottle. He’d gone through June’s purse while she was passed out and found the onion-shaped perfume bottle. Claudia had been so fond of it. And so fond of June and her kind ways and positive energy. So Trucks poured a bit of the perfume into the shampoo bottle. Figured he’d give it to Claudia as a present. A reminder. Something she could take with her and actually feel good about. Maybe put some on her wrists and neck. Dab it on the “sweet spot” June had shown her. A new smell. New memories.
Trucks set the little bottle on top of the folded pajamas. It’d be waiting there for Claudia when she woke.
Trucks went back to the wall and sat down. He rubbed his eyes and looked at his girl.
“There are no stars, Pepper Flake,” he said. But he still couldn’t remember the rest of the line. “There are no stars,” he said again. And then he drifted off to sleep.
A CHERUB IN BLUE LIGHT
A blue light filled the room, the moon casting strong in the night.
Claudia found Trucks asleep against the wall, hands at his sides, chin against chest, mouth open. He was breathing hard. She got on her knees and looked at the cuts on his face. She reached out and touched them.
Trucks woke. He blinked fast.
Claudia pulled back.
“Pepper Flake?” he said.
“I’m thirsty,” she said.
Trucks was trying to orient himself.
“Jesus, I bet,” he said. “You must be exhausted.”
She pointed to her ears.
Trucks posted on the carpet and stood. Everything was a little hazy. He walked over to the dresser and picked up her hearing aids. He went back to the wall and sat down. Then he said, “I’m gonna put these in, okay?” Then he gently hooked a hearing aid over each of her ears and clicked them on.
“Sound okay?” he asked.
“This one’s still blurry,” she said.
“I’ll figure out how to fix it soon.”
“You said that already.”
“When we find a real stopping place. Promise.”
Claudia didn’t look so sure. Trucks was overcome with so much warmth for his girl sitting there in the moonlight. He’d never been so grateful. He wanted to tell her. But he didn’t want her to feel overwhelmed by him.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Montana.”
“How’d we get here?”
“A nice man picked us up.”
“After you made us leave June?”
Trucks paused. It hurt him to hear it, but it was true. He always tried to make what he thought were the best choices for them. But he could never be sure what was best until later. Much, much later.
“Yes,” he said, averting his eyes.
“I don’t remember much.”
“You were really tired then.”
“Yeah.”
“And you were mad at me.”
“Yeah.”
“And now we’re here.”
“But after June?”
“We walked for a long time in the snow. Do you remember?”
Claudia shook her head.
“Well, we did. And we saw the hills and ridges in the Badlands. Do you remember that?”
She shook her head again.
“I tried to tell you all about them, but it was really cold. And we were both too tired to be walking. And after a while we ran out of steam and
fell asleep beside the road.”
“And then the man came?”
“And then the man came.”
Claudia thought for a while. Trucks was always taken with watching her mind work.
“And now we’re in Mown Tinna?” she asked.
“Montana.”
“Montana.”
“Yeah,” he said.
Claudia pulled her knees to her chin. Hugged her legs. She looked at Trucks.
“Are we done hitching?” she asked.
“We should get you into your pajamas,” Trucks said.
“I’m okay,” she said. “Let’s don’t move.”
“Oh,” he said. He was surprised.
Then Claudia scooted closer. She stared at the floor.
“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.
He wanted to reach out, but he was afraid to touch her.
“Still kinda hot.”
“You were sleeping for a long time.”
“It felt like forever.”
He didn’t want to say how much it did.
Claudia rocked back and forth.
“How do you feel?” Trucks asked.
“I had nightmares. They were weird and sad.”
“You can tell me about them,” he said.
“I can’t remember much.”
“It’s okay. Tell me what you feel like.”
“Okay.” Claudia looked up at the ceiling. “They weren’t good.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s okay to have bad dreams. Life isn’t always peaches. That’s what the house mother at one of the homes used to tell me. I never really knew what she meant.”
“But you do now?” Claudia asked.
“It’s just something people say to make themselves feel better about their own lives.”
Claudia looked at him. “You were dead in one of the dreams.”
“Fuck,” Trucks said.
“The swears,” she said.
“Sorry. It’s just hard to hear.”
“I’ll stop.”
“No. Keep going. Tell me if it’ll make you feel better about the dreams.”
“I think it will,” Claudia said.
“Okay then,” Trucks said. He felt sick and helpless.
“I was inside the home, but it was bigger than normal. Like a really big room. And there was a big window I walked up to and could see all the other kids outside. They were smiling and laughing, and people were raking leaves over the kids. I saw Suzie and Mary and Connie playing in the yard, and I wanted to be out there instead of alone inside. But there weren’t any doors to get out. There was just the big window and a lot of room inside. So I closed my eyes and hoped for a door to get out. I kept my eyes closed for a long time. It felt like forever, and I kept hoping the whole time. Then when I opened my eyes the big window was gone and there was a door. I ran to the door and opened it, but I couldn’t get outside. It was a black closet. You were in there and you were dead. You had white shoelaces around your hands. And when I walked up and pulled on the shoelaces your brains fell out. I felt really sad. You looked like the scarecrow man. And I thought I shouldn’t have called you bruiseity brains so much ’cause it was probably my fault your brains got broken and fell out.”
Trucks could hardly breathe. What was he doing to her? His eyes stung. He didn’t know what to say or what to do. He tried to speak. But all he did was stammer.
Then he started crying. He closed his eyes and put his face in his hands. He felt the hot tears on his cheeks. What had he become? All these breakdowns and emotional rampages. Beyond that. What was he turning her into? All he’d wanted to do was protect her, but now? Wasn’t he just messing up her life? Setting her up to be the kind of failure he’d become?
Suddenly a hand pried at his fingers. Trucks looked up. Claudia had his left hand in both of hers. She squeezed it tight and kissed the old, broken thing. He could hardly see her through the haze of tears. All that soft blue light around her. The waves of her curls dark against the glow. She was some kind of angel he didn’t deserve. He knew that much. He was determined to do right by her. He’d find a way. He’d really try.
PUZZLE OF AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE
Claudia sat on the couch in the living room doing a two hundred-piece puzzle and drinking cocoa from a navy mug. Trucks had helped her set the corner pieces and the beginning of an edge. Watched her build on that long wall until her tongue was between her teeth in concentration.
Gerald had made fried eggs, brown rice, and salted tomatoes for breakfast. Trucks had been relieved when Claudia finished her plate and asked for the puzzle. He’d been afraid that the damage from the past few days might have left her unable to function on the basest level.
Trucks watched her now from the kitchen. Admiring her small hands as she worked over the coffee table, putting together that puzzle of a strange and distant universe. Where some planets took the form of strips instead of spheres or radiated pink or were assembled in wavy levels or split down the middle into floating halves. He watched her pick up jagged pieces and place them where they fit. A pile of waiting pieces beside her. He imagined the gears in her mind. Seeing them turn. Click. Run. Work. This precise, little thing he’d created. It touched him always. It really moved him now.
Gerald came back from the fridge and sat across from Trucks at the kitchen table.
“I assume you’re feeling some relief now?” Gerald said. He gestured toward Claudia. The little hotel shampoo bottle of June’s perfume sat on the coffee table next to the cocoa mug. Claudia was elated with the surprise. When Trucks had handed it over, she’d opened the bottle and taken a deep inhale, her eyes closed. He could almost feel the hope in her heart. A hint of sadness over having to leave June behind.
“Some. Not as much as you’d think,” Trucks said.
“A little guilt, then?”
Gerald slid Trucks the small plate of leftover salted tomatoes. Trucks grabbed a slice.
“More than I’ve ever experienced,” Trucks said. Then he bit into the tomato.
“I understand,” Gerald said. “But it seems like you’re doing all you can, and what more can a man ask of himself?”
Trucks kept eating the tomato slice. He finished it and grabbed another.
“I’ve been giving her the best life I can. A roof, food. I’ve cared for her. I’m no saint, but I think I’ve done good by her. So we’ve never gotten outta the gutter, but that doesn’t mean I love her less or care less or done less than the middle-class parents. But sure, I feel guilty as hell. And sometimes I feel like trash because I’ve made my way with my fists and guts instead of typing out reports and tugging a tie. But that wasn’t ever supposed to be my life. It wasn’t ever me. I never even saw that kind of opportunity. I skipped home to home. Then shelter to shelter. It was a real step when I could afford a place of my own. Like moving up in the sick, forgotten world. But it’s really not much of a leap, just moving from the four broken-down walls you’re used to to ones you’re not. And the place is yours as long as you can keep the landlord off your ass. Don’t get behind too much on the rent. Keep the lights on. I used to joke with the boys that it was light outs in the ring, lights on at home.”
Trucks paused. He thought about shutting the lights out on all those opponents. Pah-pah-pah. Catching each one with the right angle, the quick jab, the looping hook. That ever-calling tingle in his palms when he thought about putting on the old gloves. The feel of the cracking leather. That faded smell. Those old-time babies. He could see the blazing speed of his hands tucked into the gloves like tight pockets. The scent of swift leather when he dug one into the body. Pah. When he went to the temple. Pah. To the bridge of the nose. Pah. Right under the chin so the head snapped back like a limp puppet.
“You okay?” Gerald asked.
Trucks had a faraway look in his eye. He grabbed his glass of water and drank it.
“Yeah,” Trucks said.
“You looked pretty lost there,” Gerald said.
“Just thinking.”
“Hey, I’ve got a question,” Gerald said. “It’s not meant to be a prying thing, but I’m curious.”
“Okay,” Trucks said.
“You didn’t say much about taking your daughter when I picked you up, but you said enough. I realize some part of this must be illegal. I don’t know. That’s not my business, and it’s not my question. What I’m wondering is, are you worried? Do you worry they’re after you? That they’ll come for you? Come looking for her, put you away somewhere? As a father, it’s what I’d fear. But I’m not you, and so I’m asking. I wanna know what that does to you.”
Trucks tapped his fingernail against the side of his empty glass. It made a ting noise over and over.
“Our town wasn’t so big. Middle of the country. We’re just some nobodies from nowhere, and I don’t honestly think the state gives two shits about me, her, or what our situation is. They sure didn’t care then, and I don’t think they’d take the time to care now. I took her from the children’s home they were holding her hostage in, if you want the truth. And nothing was worse than that. This life hitching and moving, all the road running, it’s no hardship compared to being without her. Knowing she was spending every minute with strangers, trapped in some rickety house and wondering if she’d ever see me again. No, Gerald. I don’t fear that at all. Maybe they put something in the paper. Maybe it’s even been on the local news. I really don’t know. But how often do you see poor kids on the TV? Never. What you see is the golden children of the wealthy. Those are the only ones they care about losing. Anyway. The more miles I put between us and all those old memories, the better it is for me and her. And that’s all my life’s gonna be about now, is what’s best for her and what I can make for us.”
Trucks stared off again. He turned the empty glass.
“You’re a good man. I wouldn’t make your kinda decisions, but it doesn’t mean I don’t admire what you’re doing, because I know it’s out of love and deep care. That’s easy to see. We don’t all go about it the same, but that you’re going about it at all, well, that’s the thing that matters.” Gerald paused. “So what were you thinking of earlier when you had that look in your eye?”
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