"Yep," he said. "We get a lot of accidents at this curve."
Janie didn't respond. She didn't want to give him another excuse to bark at her.
"A guy died here once, a while back." Pete got out and walked over to the edge. Stood, hands on his hips, peering over the edge into the darkness. When he climbed back into the truck, he said, "They should put in a guardrail."
He pulled out and they rounded a couple of curves before he said: "Look, I guess I shouldn't of snapped at you earlier, okay?"
Still, she kept her silence.
"You can start talking to me again, 'cause you're not going to get another apology no matter how long you sulk."
"Can't a person just not talk? Does that always have to be an insult?"
"No. Unless it is."
"What?"
"An insult."
Janie drew a calming breath. "I've had a pretty lousy day, Pete. Can we not make it worse?"
"Well, I can relate."
Janie waited, but he didn't elaborate.
A couple more curves came and went. A car coming from the opposite direction flashed its brights, and Pete flicked off his with a mumbled curse.
"I don't know how I'm going to get to work. What if I lose my job because I can't come in? And I can't afford repairs."
"Insurance will cover that."
"Yeah, if I had it." She hadn't been able to make the payments since Dad died. She leaned forward, hugging herself.
And what if the Taurus was totalled?
"Turn left here," she mumbled. "It's the one on the right with the big bush out front."
"I remember."
"Oh, yeah, that's right." He'd returned her purse after it was stolen.
Pete slowed and coasted to the shoulder. She started to get out, but he put out an arm to stay her.
"You worried you're going to get in trouble?"
She closed her eyes. If only.
"You want me to come in? Explain to your parents about it being a dangerous curve and how it probably wasn't really your fault?"
She tried to smile through the pain, but she could tell it wasn't working. He looked concerned now.
"My dad, ah, died recently."
He blew out his breath. A puff of alcohol and stale smoke on her cheek.
"Your mom?" he asked.
"Texas." She realized she was rocking back and forth, and made herself stop.
He sat very still, focused on the view of the road through the windshield.
"Why don't you just collect what you need and you can stay at my place until you get straightened out."
"Aah--"
"I'm serious. And I’m not--ah--one of those guys. You can sleep in my room, I'll take the sofa."
"No. I couldn't. I don't want to inconvenience you, and besides--"
"No. Think it through. How the hell are you going to get to work? Excuse my language, but you're pissing me off."
"I have a dog," she said.
"I could use a dog around the place. If I'd had a dog, I would've known you were coming tonight."
"I don't understand why you're being so nice all of a sudden." What was in it for him?
"You think I'm not nice? You can effing go to hell!"
Was that supposed to be a joke?
"Okay, but just until my car is fixed." He helped her struggle out of the truck and limp up her front walk. When Janie stepped into the house, Lacey flung herself at her ecstatically.
"I'm so sorry, baby, I'm so sorry!"
She let the dog into the yard to do her business. There was a wet spot on the carpet. Poor Lacey. Janie threw a dish towel down and stepped on it to blot up the pee while she arranged for the car to be towed to Long Shot in the morning.
Then she gathered some clothes and dog food, called up Lacey and headed for Pete's truck. She felt a pang as she locked the door. She didn't want to sleep in this moody man's smelly trailer, but, as he'd pointed out, she didn't really have a better option.
She woke up when he turned off the engine at his place. She was even more stiff after the drive. Pete kindly took her garbage bag of clothes and put it in his bedroom. He changed the sheets while she watched, then threw the dirty bedding on the love seat in the living room.
Lacey sniffed around before settling at the foot of the bed.
"I'll be out of your way in a day or two," Janie said.
Pete looked at her doubtfully. "It seems to me I'll never get rid of you. Don't take that the wrong way. It's just that you keep showing up. Might as well give in."
After Janie went to sleep, Pete opened a door off the tiny living room and stepped into a second bedroom. The bed was white with a frilled pink comforter and plastic pillars supporting a canopy. Faded stuffed animals lounged on the deep windowsill. A photo of Mel in cap and gown sat on the built-in dresser.
He paused by that, then sat on the bed and lifted the pillow to his face. Berries and bubblegum. He could still smell her there if only faintly. He'd told her when she graduated from high school that he'd keep her room here forever, just in case she needed it, and he couldn't bring himself to break that promise, even though it seemed like she was never coming back.
He woke just before dawn, curled on the frilly comforter. He straightened the wrinkles out and closed the door behind him before sprawling on the love seat for the last half hour of darkness.
Janie rode to work with Pete that morning. Usually, Janie would bring a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, but she hadn't felt right raiding Pete's cupboards before work, so she ducked out to the casino to grab a bite at noon.
She ordered the chili special, which was the cheapest thing on the menu, and as she waited for it to arrive, she noticed Roxy at a nearby table with some familiar looking people from work.
It seemed silly to eat alone while a group of her co-workers had a lively conversation just a few feet away. But what if she walked over to say hi and they didn't invite her to join them? That would be worse. Janie switched to the other side of her booth so she could pretend she hadn't seen them. She stared at the ceiling and listened to the piped-in music and the cacophony of slot machines. The group's conversation swelled as they prepared to leave. Janie wished she had something to read. She pulled the condiment caddy toward her and started inventorying the contents.
"Hi! I thought you brought your lunch or I would have invited you!"
"Roxy!" Janie feigned surprise. "I didn't even see you!"
Roxy slid into the booth across from Janie and leaned in conspiratorially.
Just then, Janie's chili arrived, finally.
"A bunch of us got together to discuss the OSHA inspection. They're still poking around today, you know."
Janie shoveled down chili and nodded.
"We could get shut down," Roxy said.
Janie looked up sharply. Frankly, with all of her problems the night before, she'd forgotten all about the inspection. Oh, God. What if she lost her job?
"Why?" asked Janie.
"Just a bunch of bureaucratic bullshit, as far as I'm concerned," Roxy bounced in her seat. But Janie knew why. The cavern was dangerous. Not in any way she could pinpoint. It just felt that way.
"Shit. What will we do?"
Roxy leaned in again, savoring her next tidbit. "They're saying Pete is the one who filed the complaint."
"That doesn't make any sense," said Janie. "He needs his job just as much as the rest of us."
Roxy shrugged. "That's what I heard. So are you going out with him?"
"Pete? Are you crazy?"
Roxy studied her face with a self-satisfied smile.
"What?" asked Janie.
"You didn't answer my question."
Janie rolled her eyes. "No!"
"I know you're into older guys. I think you'd be cute together."
Roxy watched Janie finish off her chili.
"Don't you have to get back to work?" asked Janie.
"I'll wait for you."
Janie consulted the check and pulled exact
change out of her purse.
"Do you know a cheap mechanic?" Janie asked Roxy.
"Around here?"
"Yeah. I crashed my car. I could only afford to tow it to Long Shot and the garage here is going to charge more than it's worth to fix it."
"I can have Charlie look at it. He's good with engines and stuff. Besides, he owes me. He never pays any rent and he thinks none of the mess in the bathroom is his."
"You'd do that for me?"
Roxy shrugged. "We're friends, right?"
Janie guessed they were.
The Taurus was towed over to Roxy's place, a run-down Victorian house she shared with two girls who worked at the casino. Charlie indicated that he'd take a look at it, but didn't give Janie any sort of timeline. He thought he could probably get it limping along.
That night, Janie waited by Pete's faded Explorer while he closed up the building. Some of her co-workers gave her curious looks as they pulled out of the parking lot, but no one stopped to talk to her.
Both Janie and Pete were silent on the way home. The inspection seemed to have sapped the energy out of everyone.
Dinner consisted of elk steaks from the deep freeze and beer. Root beer for Janie.
"This boy was a ten-pointer." Pete jabbed his fork at his plate. I got him from the porch, in my underpants, on Christmas morning. He was right out there by the propane tank. One shot. Pow!"
"Wow."
"That doesn't offend you, does it?"
"No. I just don't want to think about it."
"My daughter was soft-hearted, too. Mel would eat 'em, but she wanted to give 'em a funeral first."
Lacey took a morsel from his fingers and gazed adoringly at him.
"Where is she now? Your daughter?"
Pete bent over his steak, gulped down the rest of his beer, stood and pulled Janie's plate right out from under her, mid-bite.
"Hey!" She grabbed for it.
He lowered it slowly back into place. "You're going to take all day, you can wash your own dishes."
"I was going to wash them all! Jesus! Just let me finish!"
"So you like it?"
"It's delicious. Sit down."
He lowered himself warily back into his chair, leaned across the kitchen and pulled another beer from the humming fridge.
Pete's daughter was soft-hearted. Was. Past tense. Oops. Janie searched for a new subject of conversation.
"People are saying you're the one who filed the OSHA complaint."
"Who's saying?"
Janie squirmed. "Roxy."
"She doesn't know anything. The complaint was anonymous."
While Janie did the dishes, Pete moved his television and DVD player from the top of his dresser and set it up on a grimy plastic picnic cooler in the living room. He lined up several beers on the floor by his feet and started working his way through them.
Janie and Pete slumped on opposite ends of the love seat with Lacey stretched out between them. Janie saw about ten minutes of a Clint Eastwood movie from Netflix before she dozed off. She jerked awake when her head lolled to the side, mumbled goodnight and stumbled into Pete's bedroom to sleep.
When Janie got up in the morning, Lacey was curled up with Pete in a cloud of beer farts.
Chapter 23
Mid-morning, Andrea appeared like a ghost in Janie's office. Janie felt a presence, then leapt to minimize her horoscope. Surely, Andrea saw it all, but she didn't show it. She simply announced, stiff-lipped, that Janie was expected to attend a company-wide meeting across the hall at three.
When the time came, Janie followed the hubbub into the parquet-floored ballroom and claimed a faded velvet sofa against the wall. About twenty people had gathered in the room. Some faces looked familiar, but surprisingly, many she'd never seen before.
At one end of the room was the elaborate mirrored oak bar with the lewd mural above it. The rest was mostly empty, dotted with people and tired furniture, framed by a dusty crystal chandelier and sagging velvet drapes.
Ron Essing stood by the bar and asked everyone to gather around. Janie could see his bald spot reflected in the mirror. People shuffled forward. Roxy waved Janie over to her group. Janie sighed and wove her way over.
"As most of you know," Ron Essing announced, "we had a surprise safety inspection two days ago by OSHA compliance officers."
The group grew still.
He cleared his throat and looked around. "This was not a pleasant experience."
A few people chuckled.
"They took air and water samples, spoke to some of you and confiscated thirteen cartons of employee records, among other things. And we will be receiving a letter, at their leisure, notifying us of the results of their tests and the findings of their investigation. Until then, the future of Long Shot, Inc. is in the air. Your livelihoods, the very life of this town, is in jeopardy."
A murmur ran through the group. Ron Essing raised his voice. "And all of this could have been prevented." He paused. "This inspection was instigated by an anonymous complaint."
Janie saw heads swivel, craned her neck to follow the collective gaze. And there was Pete, alone, leaning against the wall at the top of the grand staircase.
"Rather than running around behind my back, any employee of this company who has an issue," (he gave the word a sarcastic emphasis) "should come directly to me." His eyes seemed to settle on Pete. Then he scanned the crowd and was about to continue when a voice rose above the mutter of the crowd.
"How long have I worked for you, Ron?" It was Pete.
Essing paused before answering. "Since you were a kid, doing odd jobs."
"So, about forty years?"
Ron's response was careful. "Something like that."
The men stared at each other through the crowd.
"And when you offered my daughter, Mel, a job out of high school, I was grateful. It kept her in Long Shot, where she belonged."
Ron nodded.
"And then she changed."
Pete's co-workers gazed at their feet. Roxy and her friends flitted glances at each other. Only Ron Essing looked directly at him.
"And when I needed that time off, after she disappeared, you told me to take all I needed, not to worry about it…"
Suddenly, it hit Janie: the girl she had replaced in the Trends department, the girl who had vanished, was Pete's daughter. It couldn't be a coincidence. But why had no one told her? And how had she never made the connection?
Pete was still talking: "…but you weren't willing to help me search the cave for her. And when I asked about her work, about how she'd changed, well, you don't want anyone asking questions, do you? I don't want to lose my job any more than anyone else here," Pete continued.
Janie felt people fidgeting around her.
"Excellent," said Essing. "I'm sure you'll do your best to help--"
"Which is why," Pete broke in. He stood straight and raised a finger, "I didn't push too hard.
"And then, just a few weeks ago, you had the balls to tell me that mental illness runs in my family. You know what runs in the family?" He threw out an arm. "This place. This effing place! I don't know why I never saw it before."
Ron drew himself up.
Pete raised his voice. "Yeah, I called OSHA. I called effing OSHA."
Janie noted with alarm that Pete's face ran with tears. Everyone started talking at once.
A man next to Janie said, "Takes after his father."
Roxy turned on him. "He's nothing like Jeff."
Janie scanned the room. Pete’s father wasn't there.
Andrea clambered up onto the bar in her skirt and stood, feet by the antique brass taps, shouting, "Everybody, quiet!"
People yelled, jostled each other. Janie threaded her way over to Pete, dragged him down the stairs and out the door.
At the Explorer, Janie took the keys from Pete. The truck jerked backward when she rammed it into gear. On the road out of town she started to get a feel for the thing, picked up speed. She had to point h
er toe to reach the pedals.
Pete gazed out the passenger window. She couldn't tell if he was still crying.
Janie wished fervently that she had another place to stay.
What had made her drag Pete away? The knowledge that her ride home depended on him, certainly. But also a feeling that it was the right thing to do. Whether or not his claims were valid, whether or not he'd filed the complaint that could leave them both unemployed, someone had to save him from that room. And she was the only one.
And she owed him. She owed this grumpy, unpredictable old fart big-time. And, in a way, she kind of liked him. In a way, he was her hero. After all, she'd been down in that cavern. And there was something wrong about it. Something that followed everywhere she went, tendrils grasping at her ankles, catching in her throat, sludging up her mind, fumbling her hands.
"So you did file the complaint," she said, when they were about half way home.
"The police said she ran away. With all the mistakes I've made and her having a kind of a wild streak, I guess it's all clear to them. But that's bullshit, sorry. Mel had spirit. She never ran away from anything. If anything, she ran toward trouble. The question is, what kind of trouble did she run into?
"When things happen in Long Shot, people always have their excuses: Superfund site. Lead in the water from mining. Makes people crazy. Should've drunk Perrier. But there's more to it than that. People come here from all over the world. Normal people who drink bottled water. They get lost. They fall off cliffs. They disappear. I think they come here to die."
"I never heard about that."
"Well, you wouldn't. But what I want to know is why come here? Hell, it's effing easy enough to die at home!"
"So you think it's the cave?"
Pete grunted.
They'd arrived at Pete's place. Janie shut off the engine, fumbled on the parking brake when the Explorer started to roll backward. The trailer rattled with Lacey's barks.
"I'm sorry about your daughter," Janie said to Pete's back as he climbed out of the truck.
That night, Pete drained beer after beer, then passed out on the sofa. On Friday, they drove to work in silence.
Janie wasn't sure whether it was her imagination, but her co-workers seemed to be avoiding her.
Mid-afternoon, the phone on Janie's desk rang. Janie jumped, then fumbled up the receiver.
"Where have you been?" the voice on the line demanded.
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