by Jamie Magee
Bell glanced at Justice with a raised brow as if to say ‘seems like more than worry in that sea of paper.’
“By the time I answer all these he’ll be gone,” Justice said with regret heavy in her mind. She felt guilty as hell for letting one of the last things he said slip her mind—that he was going write to a box she rarely checked but would now if there was a hope of a letter from him.
Bell ticked her head in agreement. “I’m sure at this point, one letter would help matters.”
Justice heard the blower outside kick on and glanced at the groceries her grandmother had. She knew from experience Atticus was a bottomless pit when it came to food, even though he was nothing but raw, lean muscle. “I promised Atticus food for my ride home. Do we have enough? I can go without if I need to, my stomach is in knots.”
“Plenty,” Bell said. She knew how to stretch a meal, and had done so for years. “How did Murdock feel about this ride home?”
Justice shrugged as she read over Declan’s last letter. She could swear she could smell him across the pages, feel him surrounding her. So close, yet so far away. The way they had always been.
She didn’t care what Murdock thought.
Hearing Atticus tease her all the way home about how scared she was about being seen with him made Justice realize she and Murdock had become toxic. And even though they were by no means BFFs before all this, it still sucked. And in some way it made them seem obvious, and she planned to tell him as much when he took her to work on Sunday.
“I don’t know,” Justice said, lost in Declan’s words, which made Bell smile. Nothing was fixed yet, but at the very least she could see her granddaughter emerging from her latest battle.
***
Justice was a rude dinner host. She spent most of her time writing, and being too late to answer questions her grandmother or Atticus sent her way, but neither of them seemed to mind.
The next day when the mailman came at noon, she was waiting on him and handed him seventeen letters. She had more to write, but she wanted some to at least be on their way.
She didn’t write every word the night before, some of the pages had been pulled right from her own journal, words she had written to just get them out, to say what would not leave her lips.
There were parts she did stay up to write the night before, too. Ones where she told him she had forgotten about the P.O. box, but not him. She never explained what happened the night she lost her dad or why Murdock was so close, but she told him no, her and Murdock were friends, only friends.
Letting him know she had it bad for weeks was not good and she knew it. People tended to remember what they read, right? Well, he would remember it because there was a good chance he would read it more than once. People most assuredly remembered how they felt when they learned anything about people they knew. But Justice was caught between a rock and a hard place. For weeks, he had already imagined the worst.
The rest of Saturday was spent responding to even more letters. She signed each one: Your Justice. And each time she felt a twist in her gut, a doubt that the wording was right. What were they? Friends? Pen pals? A hook up? Something real? She didn’t know.
Sunday morning by 4:45 a.m., fifteen minutes after she should have been at work, she was sure Murdock knew Atticus had hung out with her on Friday and was mad. At least, she assumed that was why he didn’t pick her up.
She tried taking Bell’s car, but it wouldn’t start, an issue she’d had for weeks. Most times Bell could get the neighbor to drop her off, but waking a neighbor that early seemed cruel.
Calling her boss wasn’t any easier. He was furious.
Finally, Murdock flew into her driveway at a quarter to six. By then Justice felt like she had already endured a day of hell and was not ready to face the hell her boss would give her for being this late.
~
“Overslept,” Murdock said, looking as if he were still asleep. And in some way he was. He didn’t get in until after two and only thought to rest his eyes for a second. He was almost sure he was still drunk, too.
Drinking was the only way he could stop his mind from making him relive shit he was too young to endure—watching that truck charge into the water, seeing Brent Rose’s body in a pool of blood. Every night, if he did sleep, he woke up in a sweat swearing he had been drowning moments before.
He had fished the spot Declan went down, and he could not find anything. It was too deep.
What made things worse was no one had said one damn word about Declan not showing up for boot camp, or being missing. Nothing. It had been months and nothing.
Still, he felt like every Rawlings stared him down like they knew something, like they were waiting to strike at any second.
The lack of a missing persons report, any stitch of gossip that something was off had Murdock questioning if he had imagined the whole thing. And at some points in the day, he could convince himself that he had.
“I was going to tell you it was good we had space yesterday, that I could set up rides and stuff if you wanted to find something fun to do for the rest of the summer—but clearly it is not an issue since I will be fired today!” Justice said, crossing her arms.
“Whatever, that fuck fires you and he looks like an ass.”
“You know what, not everyone gives a damn what people think. Or what they look like! Life is not a game of popularity, it’s a game of survival!”
Murdock shot a glance her way. He hadn’t heard her talk like this since long before the accident. “Popularity, what people think, especially here—in a town where you murdered your father—is survival.”
She reached across the cab and punched him in the arm. “I did not! I pushed him off me.”
“With rebar in your hand, I’m aware.”
“Fuck you! I picked that up as I ran for my life. He bled out that fast because he was shitfaced—drinking with you, I’m sure.”
Murdock breathed a tight, quick, grin. Her dad had been drinking long before he came across him, but that was not the point. “See if that holds.”
“I will. Is that what I need to do? You’re turning into a fucking alcoholic, we all but hate each other. I’m not living with this secret if it’s going to end up killing me in the long run. Not worth it.”
Murdock swerved off the side of the road.
“I’m late!” she yelled, raising her hands only to drop them and stare at the ceiling of the truck with a flustered stare.
“At this point, five more minutes is not going to make a difference!” he yelled, throwing the truck into park then hitting the steering wheel.
His aggression had her attention, her defensive attention. “You’re not telling anyone anything.”
She stared at him as long seconds ticked by before she spoke. “I can’t do this. I won’t.”
“Is that how it is with you? Out of sight out of mind? You don’t care all this will come down on your precious Rawlings family, too?”
“Your imagination is twisted. I believed you that night, hell I still might—maybe my dad knew I was alone with Declan, maybe he would have struck out and tried to hurt him. And yeah, I can see people thinking I would have wanted to stop him. But the thing is, what’s done is done. Declan wasn’t there that night. I was. You were. I fought back, you covered it up.” She raised a hand as he went to argue. “And yes I let you, yes I took whatever money this town gave me and paid to put the bastard in the ground and a few months’ worth of rent—oh, and I paid off what was left on my grandmother’s car which is now a hunk of metal. Maybe a meal or two. Whatever. And maybe the life insurance will help make a dent in one of the mortgages my father had against my house, or if I’m lucky pay off one of the thirty-one credit cards he opened and maxed out in my name.”
Murdock only glared back. He never liked it when she talked bad about her dad because the asshole was actually grieving for the man. Even when he watched her fight against these companies, claim identity theft—and then accuse a dead man, her father at that—for
them only to laugh at her, or put her file ‘in review.’ Murdock still defended Brent. Said the man had his reasons.
Whatever.
“They want to lock me away for fraud, for self defense—fine. Let me get my sentence out of the way so I can have some kind of a chance at a life.”
“You don’t mean that, you’re mad,” he said, moving his stare forward. He’d be afraid she was going to screw his alibi if she hadn’t said this a thousand times over.
“I do. Either you stop riding my ass, being a dick and glaring at all my friends, or I’m going to lose it.”
“Your friends?” he asked, looking back to her. They had the same friends.
“The other day when I went home early, Atticus was my ride and as I got in his truck I was afraid.” Murdock’s entire body tensed and she nodded toward him. “Because of that. Because somehow I have managed to wonder what you would think or say before any move I make. Just like you were my dad. I mean it. I can’t do that. We’ve both lived here our whole lives. Grew up with those kids. I can’t live looking over my shoulder.”
“You were with a Rawlings?”
“Shut it.”
He shook his head, pretty damn sure her boldness was coming from them. Those high and mighty fuckers. “And what kind of fun did I miss?”
“Yard work.”
He moved his stare forward and heaved a breath out. She had a point. Her staying away from that family did seem suspicious. His paranoid mind even told him that since the whole town was sure he and Justice were a couple, and she abruptly stopped talking to them—that if they ever did find Declan’s body, they’d have reason to think he kept her away out of fear and guilt.
“I’m not choosing your friends for you,” he said finally. “I will tell you hooking up with anyone right now is not smart. And I’ll tell you we still need to be tight. It may feel like it’s over, but I have watched my dad stretch cases out across the better part of a decade.”
For him, it would not be over until he was sure what was left of Declan and his truck had washed out into the ocean. Which could be never.
“Me and you need to keep this front up. Friends, whatever. I’ve already been telling people we didn’t want anything heavy right now.”
Meaning he had been telling all the girls he was fucking that.
“Good. Fine,” she said, nodding for him to go. She didn’t want to be alone with him. Something had snapped in him the night of the accident. She’d known it all along but now, after taking a breath and remembering who she was then, realizing who she was now, and where she wanted to go...she was sure the more space, the better.
Every time he had dropped her off late before he had come in and told her boss it was his fault, or if he was really late like today, he’d have his dad stop by for breakfast and tell her boss as much. It was hard to look the Sheriff in the eye and say you couldn’t take his apology.
This time, Murdock peeled out of the parking lot without a glance back.
The diner was slammed. It always was right at six. People were grabbing food before heading out to their construction jobs or church. Sundays were the worst and she had let her boss down.
The anger in his stare when she walked in said as much, him shaking his head as he loaded trays up to be sent out capitalized on the point.
“Do you want me to expo?” she asked, knowing putting the last touches on the plates and loading them up for the servers was the best she could hope for. All the sections were filled by then. At least this way she could still walk away with a few tips. The waitresses would have to give her ten percent of their take.
“No,” he said, sending a tray out and reaching to put another down on the counter in front of one of the single seats. “I’m done. I gave you over three weeks off work. Sent you damn flowers and a card. I overlooked all the dishes you dropped. I gave you sections that others needed more than you only for you to show up late every time you decided to sleep in.”
“Needed more than me?” she rebutted.
Josh, an older man who always had sheen on his widow’s peak and food stains across his white oxford shirt that framed his potbelly, put his hands on his hips. “Yes, more than you. They have kids at home, mouths to feed.”
“Oh, so because I’m not knocked up at seventeen I don’t deserve a good section? And while we’re at it, because I don’t smoke I don’t get paid breaks to go out back and light up because I’m ‘stressed.’”
“Don’t get in my face, girl. You’re already fired. Making a scene isn’t going to help your rep.”
“My rep?” she shouted.
“Yeah,” he said, with a glance at his dining room. “You come in here looking rode hard and put up wet every morning, late, climbing out of one boys truck and the other day you couldn’t get out of here fast enough with another one. I don’t have time for your teen drama. I have people who need this job and the money I give them.”
She wanted to cry, to yell, but it was pointless.
Instead, she ripped her apron off and the cheap name tag and tossed it on all the food that was ready go out, making it trash.
“You’re paying for all for that!” Josh roared.
Out of nowhere, Justice heard the booming voice of Nash Rawlings. “No, I am. It’s my breakfast, and you can keep it,” he said throwing a hundred down, then nodding for those at his table, Chasen and Tobias, to leave.
Nash Rawlings, even at sixty-two, was a commanding man. He stood six four, had broad shoulders and a lean build. His dark hair that he still kept in a short military cut only had traces of gray. His authoritative stare always made you want to stand up a little straighter. His deep voice offered no room for compromise, that is when he did bother to speak. Most times, people seemed to know what he wanted and did so without question.
Justice turned beet red as she backed out from behind the counter. Even though it was too late to hope for such a thing, she didn’t want a scene—now she just wanted to hush what had already started.
If Josh thought she was partying, and running with more than one boy, he couldn’t be the only one in this town who assumed the same. The man hadn’t ever had an independent thought in his life. Most of the waitresses walked all over him. He was a classic middle management ‘I hate life’ soul.
“I don’t want no trouble, Nash,” Josh said, changing his tune.
“Then I’d suspect yelling at teen girls who just lost their father would be the wrong way of going ‘bout things.” Nash lifted his jaw, then glanced around the diner that was tuned in with what was going down. “My garage picked up Bell Everly’s broken down car a half hour ago. I would imagine that might be why Justice is having to depend on rides to and from this shithole of a job.”
No one said a word. You could hear a pin drop in the diner that not only had every seat full, but a wait to be seated. Even the cooks were standing stock still, peering out from the kitchen.
“But either you didn’t know that, or you didn’t care. I’m betting it’s the latter.” He cast his stare around the room, ignoring the smirk both Tobias and Chasen were sporting from the doorway. “Gossip hounds please take out your cellular devices, pen, paper, what have you and let it be known Josh here fired this girl because she had a string of bad luck. And I’m hiring her because I can recognize someone who not only wants to work, but has to.” He glanced around, daring anyone to even think a cross word about Justice Rose. “And if anyone gives a damn. I’m giving her a ride home.”
Justice’s chest was heaving, her skin was darker than any rose, but she felt pride.
Right as she looked at the door, a way to run from the spotlight, she saw Monty Stouter standing there. She had no idea how much he’d seen or heard, but he was speechless at that moment. Even if he did have something to say it would have been hard to hear. The entire diner started to applaud the Rawlings’ as they escorted Justice Rose out.
Thirteen
Every day Justice went to the post office, and every afternoon when Missy Rawlings drop
ped her off she checked her mailbox.
Not another letter came...
Life had gotten better and worse all at once. She still spent time with Murdock. He’d show up and watch a movie with her, or take her to eat somewhere. They’d even meet up with friends, but at best they only saw each other a few days a week throughout the rest of the summer. And those were usually the two days she had off from the Rawlings’ Garage.
Nash Rawlings wasn’t joking, not that Justice thought he was. He hired her as a clerk at his garage. She set up appointments, called clients when their cars were ready, checked them in and out. Filed. Basically, she was Missy Rawlings’ personal assistant, and she was good with it.
Justice wasn’t making quite as much as she had at the diner, but it was still better. The pay by the hour allowed her to know for sure how much money she was bringing home. The garage didn’t charge Bell for the repairs on her car. Justice’s lunch was always bought for her, and at least once a week Missy would drop off a casserole when she picked up Justice, telling Bell it was too hard for her to remember the boys were not there when she cooked sometimes. And if Missy didn’t do that she invited Bell and Justice to their family dinner on Sundays where all of Declan’s brothers and his dad came, and would then send them home with enough food to last a week. The Rawlings had a way of giving without making you feel like a charity case.
Bell and Justice started to make ends meet, more times than they had in years. One debt at a time, but still, they were making it...
The nights were the worst. Justice still shot out of bed in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. She still felt sick when she remembered the blood, the smell of it mixing with gas and oil. Grief and fear had her in a strangle hold she could not free herself from.
Justice kept her struggle with the way she felt about Declan to herself. She couldn’t figure out why he had written so much and then just stopped. Everything rushed through her mind. From her response being too detailed, to the way she signed the letters. All of it.
She’d learned not to flinch or blush when she heard his name at the garage, because she did often. He was still writing letters to his family. Justice knew, because she was the one who put them on Nash’s desk. Declan’s pictures, from the time he was a boy to recent ones were all over Missy’s desk which Justice shared with her.