Truck Stop Tempest

by Daniels, Krissy

  Tuuli held my gaze. She swallowed.

  And then she forced a smile.

  “You just said more to me in thirty seconds than you have in the past two months.”

  I sagged against her, resting my head on her chest. Her arms came around me, and she stroked my hair.

  “So, what now?”

  “You tell me,” I inhaled her vanilla scent one more time before pushing to my feet and offering a hand to help her up.

  “Friends?” she asked, voice void of any confidence.

  I nodded, trying to appease her, knowing we’d eventually crash and burn. I couldn’t be friends with a girl I jacked off to daily.

  I waited for her to break. Expected a lip quiver, tears to fall, or at least watery eyes. She gave me nothing but that sweet smile, and that soft voice. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

  MY MOTHER ONCE TOLD me I could learn everything I needed to know about a person by studying how they acted when they thought no one was watching. Mom had been right. She had also unwittingly created a monster. A curious, sneaky, quiet monster.

  Two days after that conversation, I learned all the best hiding places in our house, all the secret nooks and crannies of my father’s church and the entire surrounding property. I was small. And patient. And I learned to hide. And listen. And watch.

  The first thing I remember learning was that my father was a liar. He never wrote his own sermons. He watched pastors on the internet, some well-known, most of them not, and twisted their words to fit his agenda. I also learned where he hid the Holy Bible. The real one. Not the fake scriptures he passed out to his followers. When I was twelve, I started reading the real Bible. Didn’t take long to realize that the life I’d known was the biggest lie of them all.

  I’d also discovered that my father had private meetings with the boys of our church. Training sessions, he’d called them. The boys had always left his office looking sick, or sweaty and tired. Erik had more meetings than any of the other kids, spending hours locked in Dad’s office. Erik was the only boy that had ever came out with a smile on his face.

  I learned that my brother, despite being the loudest supporter of my father and his beliefs, had sex at least twice a week with a dark-skinned girl in the old hunting cabin at the far end of our property. Sometimes, the girl would bring friends. Every time, he paid her. I used to wonder how he got the money until I discovered he’d been filming their sexual escapades and posting the videos online.

  Old habits were hard to break, and when Officer Caldwell came into The Stop to meet Tucker and Aida, I happened to be cleaning the table behind where they sat, mouth closed, eyes down, ears open. I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping, my mind still wandering aimlessly in Titoville, but when I heard the name Jonas Carver, my focus narrowed to their conversation.

  When Aida grabbed the officer’s arm and dragged him to Slade’s office, I told Margie I was off to use the ladies room. Only, I didn’t go to the bathroom. I slipped into the utility closet, squeezed between the two metal storage racks in the corner, and pressed my ear to the vent in the wall. From that spot, I heard everything that transpired between the three.

  “Jonas Carver is being released as we speak,” the officer said.

  “He’s getting out?” Tucker asked. “How?”

  “New team of lawyers.”

  “Fuck.” That came from Aida. She always cussed when she didn’t have the baby with her.

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” Tucker said.

  I waited for them to say their goodbyes, holding my trembling fingers over my mouth, shaking my head in disbelief. I stayed hidden in my private little corner of the storage room, trying to make sense of the news.

  Jonas was being released? What did that mean? Was he back in town?

  My head spun. Bile rose in my throat. I needed to leave. The moment he disappeared, I should have left Whisper Springs and never looked back.

  I didn’t want to leave my job. I also didn’t want to cause grief to the people I’d grown to adore. Staying would mean hurting them. So, I squeezed out of my hiding place and headed to the back room, where I gathered my things, took a final look around, then dragged my feet to the kitchen. Aida and Tucker were nowhere to be seen. Charlie whistled a tune from the walk-in.

  “Charlie,” I mumbled to his backside, “I just threw up. Think I have the flu. I’m heading home.”

  He mumbled something while I retreated, tail between my legs, making my getaway before having to conjure more lies.

  When the bus dropped me off in front of 1415 Apricot Lane, I gave the gorgeous home a good, hard look. I wondered about the people inside. Was their life a lie, too, hidden inside the pretty exterior? Or was it only my family whose public and private lives were two different worlds?

  The air was ripe and electric with the promise of an incoming storm, so I ran the rest of the way home. Unfortunately, I wasn’t fast enough to beat the downpour. I hung my wet clothes on the shower rod, slipped into my baggiest sweats and sweatshirt, hid my purse in the hole under the carpet where I stashed my savings, double-checked the locks on the windows and doors, and curled up underneath my pile of blankets on the ratty couch.

  The weight of shame was a heavy and stifling burden, and I was suffocating under its heat, despite the chill in the room. I curled into a ball, and I cried.

  Pellets of rain pinged on the metal roof. I pulled the blankets over my head and prayed. Prayed for forgiveness. Prayed that Jonas would not come home before I could catch a bus out of town. Prayed that I would fall asleep before the thunder came.

  A jolting crack of thunder pulled me from my reading. My thoughts immediately filled with the memory of Tuuli trembling in my arms, her brave face, and her feeble attempt to hide her fear of the storm.

  The dark living room lit up with a bright flash. Rain beat against the windows. I checked the time. Tuuli’s shift would end soon.

  Fuck. I shouldn’t care.

  Last week, we’d agreed to be friends. She’d asked that I not come into the diner for a few days, give her time to adjust, get over her crush. Although I knew her feelings for me were more than a crush, I agreed, not because I was respecting her wishes, but because I needed time to digest our new arrangement as well.

  Worst fucking week of my life.

  I missed seeing her face every day. Missed having her next to me in the car while I drove her home. Missed how she filled the silence and quieted the voices.

  As the storm grew closer, the rain fell harder, and agitation crept over me like a nagging itch, the words on my computer screen blurred. I could not, in good conscience, let Tuuli get home alone.

  I jogged to my car, tore down the hill, and waited at the back door. Eight o’clock came and went. The last customer rolled out of the parking lot.

  Like a lovesick jackass, I waited.

  Eight thirty passed, still no Tuuli. Eight forty-five, the dining room lights went dark. Eight-fifty, the back door opened, and swear to my maker, my heart skipped three beats when Charlie and some guy I’d never seen before appeared. No fucking Tuuli.

  Charlie shook the guy’s hand then came my way, holding a knife bag over his head, like that would protect the giant from the downpour. He ducked to look in my window. “Hey, Tito. Need something?”

  “No. I’m waiting for Tuuli. Thought I’d drive her home.”

  “She’s not here, buddy. Left ten minutes after her shift started, said she was sick.”

  That nasty, aching boom in my chest amplified. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  I started to roll up my window, then paused. “Hey, Charlie. Who’s the new guy?”

  “That handsome dude is my nephew, Eli. He’s joining the crew. Summer’s coming. Need all the help we can get.” He turned and ran to the driver’s side of his Tundra.

  I glared at the building until the buzz in my head cleared. Then I drove until I was parked in front of 1415 Apricot Lane. Fuck. What a sap.

  Lights from the television scr
een flashed through the thin curtains of the front window. I caught movement, the shape of a figure settling on the couch. Tuuli, I guessed, judging by the shape and size.

  I convinced myself she was okay. Waited a while longer. Waited for the television screen to go dark. Watched her form through the curtain rise from the chair and pass into the next room. She turned off the lights, and, I assumed, went to bed.

  I forced myself to drive home and do the same.

  The next morning, I broke my promise about giving her space and settled into my usual table at The Stop for breakfast. If she complained, I’d simply say I was hungry and leave it at that. Only, Tuuli didn’t greet me with her usual bright smile.

  Slade came my way with a coffee pot and two mugs. She then scooted into the seat across from me. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” I grunted, not caffeinated enough for Slade’s level of perky. “Tuuli still sick?”

  Slade filled my cup first, then her own. “Haven’t heard from her. Called the number we have on file, but it’s been disconnected.”

  Fuck.

  “You haven’t heard from her?” Slade asked, cup held to her lips.

  “No. Why would I?”

  “Because, grouchy goose, I’ve seen the two of you together. I know you’ve been driving her home, and I know you don’t grace us with your presence every day because of Charlie’s cooking.”

  I adored Slade. Was happier than hell that she and Tango had found each other again after years apart, but I sure as shit wasn’t about to open up to her about my issues. “Afraid you’re sorely mistaken, doll. There’s nothing between me and the little bunny.” Fuck. I realized my slip the second it left my lips.

  “Ha!” She pointed at me. “You’ve given her a nickname. You’re smitten.”

  I couldn’t look at her face, all proud and beaming, so I stared out the window and tapped a beat on my coffee mug with my thumbs. “Who says smitten anymore?”

  “I do. And trust me, that girl is smitten, too.”

  When I didn’t respond, Slade continued, “Want to know how I know?”

  I didn’t. Not really. The conversation was awkward enough.

  “She’s given you a nickname, too.”

  That got my attention. Tuuli had never called me anything other than Tito. Well, except for that one time…

  I cringed when Slade said, “Grim” at the same time the word played in my head.

  “Grim? What the hell kind of nickname is that?”

  “Seriously?” Slade pointed to the window. I looked, catching my reflection. Black sweatshirt. Black hood covering my head. Scary fuckin’ mug. Okay, Grim made sense. The only thing missing was a scythe.

  “You could at least take that cloak off when you sit down to eat. You scare my customers.”

  I looked around the busy dining room. Not a single soul was looking my way. One fucker, seated two tables over, was mentally undressing Slade, though. Couldn’t blame him, the girl was every man’s wet dream come to life. Regardless, I rapped my knuckles on the table to catch his attention. One look was all it took. The guy blanched, turned in his seat, then pretended to be busy with his cell.

  My stomach chose that moment to grumble. I wasn’t wholly convinced it was from hunger, though. “You gonna take my breakfast order or what?”

  “No.” She smiled.

  I wanted to scream or throw the sugar jar through the window. “Why?”

  “Because you’re going to drive by Tuuli’s house and make sure she’s okay. It was strange the way she ran out of here yesterday.”

  My rage turned to worry. “What do you mean?”

  “She was fine when she clocked-in, then out of the blue, she tells Charlie she has the flu. Trust me, that girl did not have the flu. Take it from a mom who’s experienced the horrors firsthand.”

  Fuck. Even if I wanted to argue, I couldn’t, because my gut told me something was up.

  I took a sip of my coffee, set down the mug, then leaned over the table and kissed Slade on her forehead. “Fine. I’ll check on her.”

  “Good boy,” Slade said, flashing her famous smile.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled, making my way to the exit.

  Fifteen minutes later, I stood at the door of Tuuli’s house. I pushed the doorbell button. Waited. Pushed it again. I slipped my hood off my head, then pounded on the door. I tried to look in the windows, but the curtains were all drawn. “Can I help you?” a frail voice said from behind me. I turned to find a small woman wearing gardening gloves, rubber shoes, and a green flannel jacket. White hair popped out from under her wide-brimmed hat. Tuuli had never mentioned a grandmother.

  “Hey. Hi. …I…Um…I’m looking for Tuuli.”

  “Tuuli?” she asked, brushing a clump of mud off her left knee.

  “Yeah. She, um, didn’t show up for work today. Thought I’d come by to make sure she was okay.”

  “There’s no Tuuli here, son.”

  I rubbed at the pain gripping the back of my neck. My insides twisted something fierce. “You mean she’s not home?”

  “I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong house.” The woman’s concerned expression held no similarities to my bunny.

  “I don’t understand. I drop her off here every night after work.”

  The woman looked over her shoulder at my Mustang. “I recognize the car. Thought it was odd you’d drop off a young girl then drive away.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m still confused. She gave me this address. Told me she lives here.”

  “No.” The woman raised her arm and pointed east. “She always walks that way after you leave. Sorry I can’t be more help.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, holding back a chorus of profanities and jogging down the porch steps.

  The woman offered a sympathetic grin as I passed, her gaze darting from my eyes to my scar, and back again. She still watched as I opened my door.

  “Have a nice day,” I said before dropping back into my seat.

  Could I be any more of a fucking chump?

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” I yelled, pounding my steering wheel.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

  Jolted from a deep sleep, I shot upright, struggling to free my arms from the tangled bedding, unable to focus through my swollen eyes.

  “What the hell are you still doing here, brat?” came a deep, gravelly voice.

  Icy prickles danced across my skin, my body vibrating with nervous energy.

  Oddly enough, I wasn’t scared. I was angry. Wiping sleep goo from my eyes, I mumbled, “JoJo. How nice of you to show up.”

  “Jesus, Brat. Don’t call me that. We’re not kids anymore.” Jonas crouched, brushed the hair off my face, and held it in a fist on top of my head. “You look like shit. Why the hell are you sleeping on the couch?”

  “Because I’ve seen the things, and the women, you’ve done on that bed,” I blurted, surprised by my brazen response. “Don’t want any part of me touching any part of that freak-fest.” I blinked up at him, half-expecting a slap across the face, and not caring one iota. “Where have you been?”

  “Prison.” He dropped my hair. “You didn’t know? I left you messages.”

  Lordy, the man was dense. I refrained from rolling my eyes. “You destroyed my phone, remember?”

  Jonas fell backward onto his butt and roughed his hands over his shaved head. “Yeah. Right. Sorry.” He lifted his blue eyes to mine. “I can’t believe you’re still here. Why didn’t you bolt? You had an out. I’ve been gone for months.”

  He mentioned nothing about my end of the bargain, and why I was even living in his trailer in the first place. I wasn’t about to remind him.

  “I had nowhere to go,” I said, giving him a partial truth. Because the whole truth, especially the part involving Tito, would’ve pissed him off. Pissed-off Jonas scared me to death.

  “Why were you in prison?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about.” He studied the small living space. My heart stuck in my throat when his eyes la
nded on my Bible. He leaned forward and plucked it off the floor, then thumbed through the pages. “You reading this shit?”

  I didn’t answer.

  I waited for him to explode. He only huffed and tossed the book into my lap.

  “The place looks nice.”

  “I did the best I could with no electricity.”

  Regret shadowed his eyes before he slammed them shut and pushed to his feet.

  “I need you gone.” He pulled his shirt up his torso and over his head, revealing his ugly, hate-filled tattoos. Swastikas. Devil’s faces. Quotes from Dad’s scripture. Pin-up girls wearing combat boots and nothing else but a confederate flag. He had gained weight, his muscles thicker, more defined than the last time I’d seen him.

  “Are you kicking me out?” Unbelievable.

  “No, dumb-fuck. I’ve got friends coming over.”

  I stared at him, unsure why I needed to leave because of his friends.

  Then he grabbed his crotch, in a crude and disgusting gesture. “Need to get laid, brat. Been awhile. Pretty sure you don’t want to hang around for that show.”

  “Oh. Oh. Right.” I stood, gathered my blankets, and shoved them in the small closet next to the bathroom.

  Jonas looked through the cupboards, then the fridge. “There’s no fucking food.” He turned to look at me. “No wonder you’re so damn skinny.”

  I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath, imagining Jonas as the punching bag at the mansion. “No electricity. Couldn’t keep things in the fridge. No car, so I couldn’t haul many groceries.”

  “Right. Sorry about that, too.” He scratched the back of his head. “Goddamn. Why the hell didn’t you get out of town, or go home? Christ, kid, you could’ve frozen or starved to death out here.”

  He pulled a wad of cash out of the back pocket of his jeans and tossed it on the small coffee table. “Here. Go buy some food. I’ll call about getting the electricity turned back on.”

  Again, I stood staring, not trusting his subtle, and grossly out of character, gestures of kindness.

  “What?” he barked.

  “The nearest store is miles away. It’s pouring rain.”