by Vicky Jones
"Well, Miss Jackson, I've decided to speak to some of the staff to hear their ideas of how we can improve conditions here." Chloe fidgeted in her seat, trying to make the excuse for seeing her sound convincing.
Shona waited a few moments before answering, willing Chloe to read her mind so that the awkward, heart-piercing longing for her could just come out into the open.
"In what way?" she responded finally.
"What would make you happier here?" Chloe probed, her pen poised.
Shona paused as she considered the answer she really wanted to give.
"What have others said?" she ventured instead, backing out.
"I can't tell you that, of course. I'm interested in what you have to say. You normally have great ideas."
"OK, you asked for it! Let's start with the food," Shona began, folding her arms. "The food is shit. I wouldn't feed it to a dog! We need a better selection, some healthier stuff maybe? And more color! Well, just somethin' other than brown slop would be a start, for Christ's sake! And the uniform! This one itches the hell outta my ass! OK, while we're at it, we should only work a half day on a Friday. I bet you'll see morale jump right up. And a good damn pay raise! There!" She leaned back in her chair, smiling.
"Very honest, Shona. Some good suggestions there," Chloe said, writing them down, trying to stifle a blush at her ass remark.
"You're serious? You're gon' try to get some of those things introduced? All due respect an' all, ma'am, but your father and others will never in a month o'Sundays agree to them, especially if they knew they came from me."
"I'll make it happen." Chloe leveled her gaze at her.
"OK, well, I better get back to it."
Shona rose out of her chair and headed to the door, looking back as she left. She was certain she saw the tiniest glint in Chloe’s eyes. Puzzled and excited, she walked out onto the balcony, feeling a glimmer of hope in her racing heart.
What she didn't feel, though, was even more confusing to her. The volcanic agony that usually erupted in her gut when she thought about or saw Chloe was incomprehensibly dormant.
Chapter 57
"You hear the news?"
Elbie came and sat down at their table at break time the following Monday morning. Shona sat picking at her food. She hadn't slept much that weekend, mulling over the meeting she'd had with Chloe the week before and the strange energy that seemed to pass between them as they said goodbye.
"What news?" Cuban replied.
"Miss Chloe’s outta town. Gone to Mississippi, so I heard." Elbie took a bite of his eggs.
Shona's head sprang up.
"Why Mississippi?"
"Not sure, something about visiting other businesses, to get ideas."
Shona's blood ran cold. A research trip for information? Oh no, she thought…Please god, NO!
After three hours on the road to Mississippi in search of answers, Chloe pulled up in front of a bustling garage just off the main road and checked the name against the address she’d scribbled down.
Wreckers.
Several trucks were parked up in front, in various states of repair. Some had hoods and fenders missing, and some had mechanics lying underneath them on creepers as they changed oil filters. There was an atmosphere of calmness and order around the place; the workers looked happy and not in the least bit self-conscious about singing along to the radio as it played the latest Elvis Presley ballad. Chloe stepped out of her car, pausing to listen to the song, the words resonating with her. Just then, a cheery young pup raced over to her, forcing her to refocus her attention.
"Hello, ma'am, how can I help you on this fine day?" He smiled widely, his well-fitting denim overalls splattered indiscriminately with oil stains.
"I'd like to speak to the manager, please. Harry, is it?" Chloe removed her cat eye sunglasses.
The young mechanic looked crestfallen. "Is there a problem, ma'am–did we not fix your car right?"
"No, of course not," she added. "I'd just like to chat with your boss about some work ideas I'd like to share with my own lil' place and–" Chloe tailed off, realizing her cover had been blown as the boy's face illuminated with recognition–and panic–at who he was talking to.
"You're Miss Bruce, ain't ya! Damn, I seen you in all those magazines–I mean, I only read 'em for the articles, of course, not the pictures!" Reddening with embarrassment, he took his cap off and ran his oily hand through his short brown hair. Chloe smiled politely, willing him to stop digging a deeper hole for himself as he tried to explain.
"I'm sure you do. Is it possible to speak to Harry?" Chloe prompted.
"Oh yeah, of course, ma'am, allow me to escort you to his office." He recovered himself and walked Chloe into the building, reminding her to be careful not to hit her head as they ducked underneath the truck-lift and sidestepped the work benches, air compressors and jack stands. Stepping past two men standing six feet below her in the mechanics' pit, it felt refreshing for Chloe to hear a polite, "Good morning ma'am," rather than the usual wolf whistles she got most days.
"Miss Bruce! What an absolute pleasure to see you."
Harry came out of his office and greeted Chloe warmly. He was around fifty years old, his formerly dark hair going gray at the temples. Harry had the brown leather skin of a man who had worked his whole life outdoors, his calloused fingers showing the honest dent of where a wrench had sat snugly as he fixed thousands of trucks over the years. His clean blue denim overalls bore the Wreckers logo proudly.
"I won't keep you too long, sir. I just wanted to ask about how you run things here," Chloe began as she followed him back into his office.
"Come on, have a seat over here, somewhere comfortable. Marcie, could you fix us some drinks please, darlin'–" Harry called out to his wife, who stopped dead in her tracks when she laid eyes on Chloe, as if Grace Kelly herself had just walked in.
"Of course, dear–right away!" She buzzed out of the office as quickly as she had flown in.
"Thank you. Now, tell me about what keeps your staff so happy here?" Chloe began, taking out her notepad and pencil from her black Chanel handbag.
"Well, as simple as it sounds, I started with the grub! I found a food delivery service that is out of this world. Only the best for my guys! They work their asses off for me." Harry smiled proudly. "Oh, and overalls had to change. The ones we had before were too damn itchy," he added, making Chloe giggle as she remembered Shona's cheeky gripe regarding the Ellis and Bruce uniform. "I also decided that my guys should have Friday afternoons off, you know, to spend it with their families. It's made them ten times happier and upped productivity threefold. I can't even remember the last day I had a guy call in sick, so I guess my way works!" He leaned back in his chair, a smile of accomplishment on his weather-beaten face.
Chloe was impressed, but it wasn't the real reason she was there.
"You got what you needed, Miss Bruce?"
"Almost." She took a deep breath and asked the question she’d driven three hours to ask. "Do you remember a Shona Jackson?"
One of the clerks standing just outside the door by the in-trays looked up when he heard the familiar name. He listened in but kept his distance.
"Shona? Of course. She worked here for a period a while back. Why d'you ask?"
"Could you tell me about her? What was she like?"
Harry's eyes lit up. "Bless her heart, Shona was the best! Better than the best! Did more work around here than four of my guys, never had a day off sick, wasn't into drinking, and she was a real pleasure to have around. Everybody liked her. I mean, she kept to herself, but I respected that. But then–"
"What?" Chloe’s back straightened in her chair.
"She vanished. Just like that. No word, nothing." Harry's voice lost its enthusiasm. "The old lady she rented a room from, Dorothy, rang up one morning to pass on a message that Shona had gone and to say sorry for letting me down. The poor old girl lives out there in the sticks all on her own again now, Shona used to take her shopping, and her rent money really
helped the ol' gal out. Dorothy had this beat-up blue truck she kept out in the yard. It wouldn't drive so good, so Shona used to try and fix it up down here for her. I let her because, well, she was such an asset to this place I thought I'd cut her some slack. But then, when she disappeared without a word, I guess, well, you never really know people, do ya?"
"And you have no idea why she left?"
"Not really. I mean there was gossip, but unless I hear it from the horse's mouth I don't listen–"
Realising Harry had no more to tell her, Chloe rose to her feet and offered her thanks to him for his time.
A few yards away from reaching her car, she turned to see the admin clerk from Harry's office running towards her.
"Miss…MISS?" he yelled, almost out of breath.
"Did I forget something?"
"I'm Frank Smith. I'm sorry, but I heard some of your conversation and I may be able to help you."
Frank was in his late twenties, with slicked-back hair and a five o'clock shadow on his face.
"Really? With what?"
"With telling you the real reason Shona Jackson vanished."
"I got a real bad feeling about this," Shona whispered to Cuban when they briefly stopped for a drink while sweeping the yard.
"What d'you mean?" He wiped the drips from his chin.
"With Chloe gone, Ellis not here, there's an eerie calm around this joint, don't you feel it? God knows what she’s findin' out about me right now. I jus' know she'll go to Wreckers, I know it–"
"And if she does?"
"Then she'll finally know the truth about me." Shona's face blanched at the thought.
"And you'll finally know how she feels about that," Cuban added sagely.
Chapter 58
After she left Wreckers, Chloe sped off in search of the little farmhouse with the blue truck in the yard. She pulled over several times to ask for directions, getting a little closer every time. Driving down the same road several times, she looked closer through the leafy trees and spotted the corner of a rusting blue fender. Poetically, the yard she had driven into was the very last house before the end of town. Shona really did like her privacy.
That sentiment resonated loudly in her mind. What am I thinking? Why am I prying into Shona's past? What am I even going to say when I knock on Dorothy's door?
She slammed the brakes on, finally coming to her senses. The crunch of her skidding on the gravel, however, drew attention from inside the house, the drapes in the front room gently twitching.
Chloe stepped out of her car and approached the house. Her mind was racing as she tried to think of a reason to give for being there. The house was made from simple whitewashed timber, the pale green paint peeling at the edges of each square window frame. It looked solid enough, a rocking chair on the veranda on one side of the front door and a porch swing on the other. Sturdy wooden beams held up each apex of the roof, and a plume of black smoke billowed out of the chimney stack in the corner.
Catching the scent of freshly baked cornbread in the air, Chloe made her way up the gray cobblestone path which was flanked on each side by the yellowy-green lawn. In the far corner of the yard, she saw a small partition fence with three black chickens pecking the ground inside. The battered, rusting blue truck sat in the front yard looking like a project that somebody had started but not finished, its hubcaps upturned on the grass.
She reached the front door and lifted her hand to knock.
"Can I help you, sweetheart? Are you lost?" A croaky old voice sounded from behind the door.
"Hi, are you Dorothy?"
"Yes, I am, dear. Who are you?"
"My name’s Chloe. Chloe Bruce. Could I come in and talk to you, please?"
"Of course," Dorothy replied as she unbolted the wooden door.
Chloe was invited to sit in a small, high-backed armchair in the cramped front room. The air smelled damp, not helped by the small puddles of condensation on the windowsills, the putty on the insides black with mold. There was no sign of anyone else living here, only Dorothy. She watched silently as the old lady hobbled around the tiny ramshackle kitchen, leaning heavily on her walking stick. Putting the kettle on the little coal-fired stove, she waited patiently for the water to boil. She looked to be in her early seventies, with her white hair wrapped up in a bun on her head. She wore a long, pale blue pleated skirt, cotton shirt and a ratty old, light green knitted cardigan with a little hole near her left elbow. Her kindly features were wrinkled now, but her keen blue eyes still retained their sparkle. Even though her body looked ravaged by age–a small hump noticeable at the top of her back–her wits still seemed to be sharp.
After a few minutes of silence, Chloe heard the kettle whistle. Dorothy appeared soon after with two cups, handing one to her unexpected young visitor.
"I'm sorry just to come out and ask, but did you know a Shona? Shona Jackson?" Chloe asked, blowing the steam off her cup and then taking a sip.
"Why d'ya ask, dear?" Dorothy picked up the sugar bowl and offered it to her guest, who shook her head.
"I heard a rumor about why she had to leave town, but I wanted to know the truth. About the real Shona." Her voice trembled.
"Why?" Dorothy plopped two cubes of sugar into her cup and stirred slowly.
"Because…because she's my friend and I–" Chloe looked down at her cup. "She works for me and it's very difficult for her there. But we used to talk and spend time together. We went out riding once. It was such a lovely day, she really listens to me, you know?"
The old lady nodded.
"What a pretty necklace y'got there," she said, noticing that her guest hadn't been able to stop caressing the shiny pink pebble all the time she’d been speaking.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she smiled, her eyes shimmering. "Can you tell me about Shona? She did live here, right?"
"Yes, she did."
"What was she like? I keep hearing about her being this monster because of what happened with that woman, but, well, ma'am, I just don't see it. I've never felt it. Have you?" Chloe said, constantly twirling the pebble over in her trembling fingers.
Dorothy's eyes welled up. She gazed at the necklace as she took a long deep breath.
"Shona is…the kindest, gentlest, most thoughtful and funny woman you'll ever have the pleasure o'knowin'. There ain't a question in my mind 'bout that. I spent a great deal o'time with her. We talked and talked. She said I was the only person who knew about her life, her father and what happened to her when those people trapped her in that basement!"
Chloe's ears pricked up at her last comment. What people? Trapped? Not wanting to interrupt Dorothy’s flow, she made a mental note to ask her about it later.
"She worked damn hard at Wreckers, often pullin' double shifts to support me. My husband died over in Normandy in ‘44 and by the time Shona turned up all the money'd run out. That's his truck out in the yard, but I just can't bring m'self to get rid of it. He often used to tinker with it and it makes me feel like he's just outside, you know? It keeps me goin' when I get lonely." Dorothy paused and turned her head to the side to look at the truck through the living room window. She smiled, a faraway look glazing over her aged face. "I've left Shona's room pretty much as she left it. Can't bear to have anybody else stay; the house just wouldn't be the same. She took care o'me, paid me rent, got my groceries on her lunch break. She was the daughter I couldn't have. My husband and I weren't blessed in that way, but y'know, life happens. Shona would help me up the stairs 'cause I busted my damn leg years ago and can hardly walk, so I just sit here and reminisce."
"If you don’t mind me asking, how do you support yourself now? Financially?" Chloe asked, looking around Dorothy's modest front room.
The old lady winked. "My angel still sends me money."
"What? You're still in contact with her?" Chloe's eyes widened.
"I've never been outta contact! I'm the only one she can speak to, though I hear nothin' but good things about Tom and Ruby who’ve taken her and her frien
d Cuban in. She sends me letters all the time!"
"She tells you about her life now?"
"Of course! And her plans to leave. I told her to get the hell out o'that minefield as soon as possible. Oh, no offense, dear!" she added, seeing Chloe's face drop.
"Did she say when?" she asked, leaning forward.
"Soon. But I do know one thing. I know that she'll miss you!"
Chloe almost dropped her coffee cup.
"Shona writes about me in her letters?" she exclaimed.
"Every time." Dorothy reached forward and put her wrinkled hand over the top of Chloe's trembling one. "I just wish you could get rid o'that asshole Kyle who keeps sniffin' round you. And your father, he needs to step down and stop bullyin' people! There's a lot goin' on that you don't know about Miss–"
"I know. I'm sorry for that. It's difficult for me too. I'm working on making it better for her, and the others."
"Do y'know how little they’re payin’ Shona, Cuban and Elbie?"
"I got told all the workers are paid the same. They’re not?" Chloe's eyes narrowed.
"Oh no, dear. They pay them less than half what the others get! Shona's on such a low wage that I don't know how she manages to save a nickel once she's paid her rent to Tom and Ruby, then sent me a bit too. "
"So Shona sends you money every time she gets paid?"
"Yep, regular as clockwork. I've tried sendin' it back three times, but she just puts it in an envelope and sends it back to me with the next batch. It's that poor child who goes without, not me! No, it’s time she had some happiness for herself with what she's been through and how she's been treated by people who she trusted, who supposedly loved her. Right now, if you told me she'd found love with somebody of her own kind, you know what I'd say?"
Chloe shook her head as the old lady took an excruciatingly long sip of her coffee, the cup shaking in her arthritic hand as it rose and fell from her lips.
"I'd say, that woman better love Shona the way she deserves to be loved." Dorothy pointed her long fingernail in front of her.