by Rich Bullock
“You texted me.”
“That was like fifteen hours ago.”
Ember shrugged. “I was busy.”
“Ever heard of calling?”
Ember pointed to the computer. “Song’s over.”
Skyy saw the counter. The song ended four seconds ago. “Crap.”
“Language,” Ember said, flashing a cheeky grin as Skyy clicked the mic button.
“We’ve got some good comments coming in about where you’d live if you could go anywhere in the U.S. Keep them coming.” She scrolled through her notes. “Bobby in Brooklyn wants a cabin in the Rockies near the ski slopes. C-EllieRun picks Phoenix because she likes the heat.”
Skyy shuddered at that one, and Ember slapped a hand over her mouth, her body shaking silently. Skyy shot her a look and pointed at the hot mic as a reminder.
“Dozens of people want homes right on the beach,” Skyy said. “Malibu, Galveston, Cape Cod, Maui and all places Hawaii. San Diego has the most votes, though.
“ConnieC3 wants family nearby, and Albertmarkedassafe in Oklahoma City says being with the one you love is more important than location. Aww, isn’t that romantic? Too bad we’re past Valentine’s Day.” A flurry of heart emoji comments followed—probably by those teen girls.
Skyy laughed. “Well, it sounds like Albertmarkedassafe has won the ladies’ hearts tonight. And no, girls, I can’t give out his contact information. Sorry.
“Here’s some new music by Jen & Harley from Akron, called ‘Inappropriate Ingredients.’ I hope it’s not a love song, but tell me what you think. And after this, I’ll take the next caller, so hang in there, CT.” She muted her mic.
“You’re pretty good at this,” Ember said, rising and opening the refrigerator.
“I’ve had lots of practice.”
Ember came back with an Orange Crush. “I could do it.”
“You vying for my job?” Skyy kept her tone light, but she was quite cognizant that, at twenty-nine years old, she could lose relevancy for the younger generation. While her knowledge, life questions, and feelings were maturing, her listeners were regularly replaced by the next crop of upcoming teens and young adults. Sure, she had some listeners in their forties, fifties, and even older, but the demographic surveys Big Jerry ran consistently showed the bulk of her audience fell into the 16 to 30 range. The key was working to stay in touch with those fans, delve into issues they confronted in this changing world.
“Nah,” Ember said. “I’m just saying, if you ever need a fill-in, I’m your girl. I’ve got topic ideas enough for a year.”
Skyy watched Ember lift the can to her lips. This was a special girl with mountains of potential—if life would only give her a break. But Skyy wouldn’t get to see that happen. She was moving in three days.
“I need to tell you something,” Skyy said.
“How did you get your name?” Ember asked. “With the two Ys, I mean.”
Skyy scrunched her brow at the right turn in subject, but it gave her a reprieve to confessing her move. “It was from my father. His favorite brand of vodka.”
Ember laughed. “Good thing he didn’t like Grey Goose.”
Skyy smiled. That’s exactly what she thought when she discovered the link between her name and alcohol. Although she considered changing it, by the time she found out the truth, she had settled into the name. That she consciously chose to keep it made the decision hers, not her parents’.
“I heard you’re moving,” Ember said, her own smile slipping. Her tone was buoyant, hopeful, but fear showed in the tight lines around her mouth.
Skyy shouldn’t be surprised the girl knew. “Troy came by this morning. That’s why I sent the text.” She explained about his daughter and granddaughter moving in.
Ember rubbed her fingers up and down the side of the soda, staring at the evaporating condensation. “I was serious the other day when I said I want to go with you.”
“I know,” Skyy sighed, noting on the monitor the current song would run out in fifteen seconds. It wasn’t enough time to dive into this discussion, and Ember needed to get home. “Can you come by tomorrow after school so we can talk more?”
Ember sat still for long seconds, then nodded as the song ended.
Relieved, Skyy keyed the mic button and leaned close. “And now will take that next caller. Hi, CT, this is Skyy D. Thanks for holding. Tell me, where would you like to live?”
“Hi, Skyy. Let’s see…” His voice was deep, mellow, like he’d woken from a nap. “Well, I sort of already have a place I like, but I don’t get to live there full time.”
“Tell me about it,” Skyy said, leaning back in her chair. She closed her eyes, letting his voice fill her headphones.
“My parents died and left a cabin to my brother and me. It’s on a lake in California.”
Skyy straightened and cut a glance at Ember who was still playing with the moisture on her soda can.
“Our cabin is old and needs some work, but it has a great view down the length of the lake. The weather is cold right now, and I have a fire going in the wood stove. Summers are when everything comes alive. Lots of kids swimming, people boating, tubing, barbecuing hot dogs at the swimming beach. And the ocean’s not far.”
Ember snapped up, wide eyes locked on Skyy.
“I guess the thing I like most is that people who live here know each other. When I go to town, they call me by name.”
“It sounds wonderful, CT,” she said. She had to take a drink of lemon water to clear the growing lump in her throat. Truth was, it did sound wonderful. A real life mash-up of the iconic Cheers bar and the town of Mayberry RFD. But those were television fiction—old fiction from simpler times. Could such places exist in the real world?
“My job down south is pretty stressful, so I take every opportunity to get here, kick back, get dirty, and go jump in the lake.” He laughed. “When it’s not freezing, that is.”
“Is it far from where you live and work?”
“I wrangled an extra day off, but I have to leave early tomorrow to go back. It’s a few hours’ drive.”
Despite the nighttime heat pressing through her shed’s thin walls, goose bumps rose on her arms.
“That’s a long way,” she said, her voice came out wispy, but she resisted the urge to clear it.
“It’s worth it. The worst thing is, I can’t text and drive.”
Ember bounced in her chair and mouthed, It’s him!
Skyy realized she was grinning too.
When CT, aka Canon Truax, hung up, it was Ember who remembered to click the checkbox for Big Jerry to play the next song.
Chapter 8
Skyy held her breath while the Arizona Motor Vehicles Department inspector peered at each trailer light, checking boxes on a clipboard form as she went.
Troy promised the electrical wiring was in good condition. He had been reluctant to trade her the trailer instead of returning her rent deposit, which hadn’t been a lot of money, but she played the guilt card. He was basically kicking her to the curb with barely any notice. Plus, she knew he bought it for a song, intending to restore it and take it camping. He’d done neither.
Ultimately, he even agreed to pay the neighbor boy to wash the trailer, Armor All the tires, and vacuum every square inch of the bare plywood interior. The little fenders were painted a red close enough to the color of her fifteen-year-old Jeep Cherokee, that the clerk said it looked like a matched set.
“Okay, hon,” the woman said, scrawling her signature on the clipboard. “Might want to get those tires replaced before you tow it too far. Got some sidewall cracking. Other than that, looks like you’re good to go.”
Skyy breathed a sigh of relief and left the office a few minutes later with a new title and registration sticker. The little teardrop was hers.
The trailer’s lift-up rear hatch contained an outdoor kitchen compartment, consisting solely of a tiny sink with a faucet fed by pump from a five-gallon tank mounted under the cabinet. That was it.
At her favorite thrift store, she scored a single burner propane stove for seven bucks, a $3.00 ice chest that, from the black scuff marks, looked like it skidded down a roadway, and a pint-sized microwave in its original box for $8.00. The used sleeping bags that who-knew-what had slept in—or what was still living inside—didn’t even tempt her. A girl had to draw the line somewhere. She swung by Target for a new bag and air mattress.
The store parking lots had several pull-through spaces, making it easy to park the Jeep and trailer. But Skyy worried all the way home about how she could back the trailer into the driveway. Fortunately, Troy’s house was on a quiet street, so she drove just past the driveway and cranked the steering wheel first one way, then the other, trying to aim the back of the trailer into the narrow entrance.
Her frustrating efforts were made all the worse by the teen neighbor boy watching her from astride his bike on the sidewalk.
“You want me to guide you back?” he asked after her fifth attempt. If she kept this up, Troy wouldn’t have to trim his hedge for months. Maybe ever.
“I—”
“I used to pull a trailer,” said a woman Skyy recognized as the boy’s mother. “I’m Wanda, by the way,” she said, offering her hand through the driver window.
“Skyy.” She shook the woman’s hand. “I’m afraid this is my first time. Never thought backing up would be so challenging.”
“It’s tricky,” Wanda nodded, “especially with a short trailer like this. But here’s the key: put both hands on the bottom of your steering wheel.”
Skyy did as instructed.
“Now, whichever direction you move your hands, that’s the way the back end of the trailer will swing. That’s all you have to remember.”
Wanda pulled her boy to safety as Skyy processed Wanda’s instructions and tried again. “That’s all…” may have been an oversimplification. It took her a several more times to maneuver the trailer down the side driveway until it was near her guest house. She turned off the car and got out. Three good-sized hedge branches and a dozen smaller ones lay on the dirt.
“Whew. I hope I don’t have to do that again.” Sweat dripped down the middle of her back, and the sun glaring off the aluminum trailer was like standing next to a solar furnace. She moved into the shade of the house.
“Oh, you’ll have it down in no time,” Wanda said. “I’ve been watching this little trailer wasting away over here for years. Glad to see it’s getting some use. Are you taking it camping? I’ve got plenty of equipment if you need to borrow anything.”
Skyy shook her head. “Actually, I’m moving on Friday. I’m staying in the trailer as I travel.”
“Oh,” Wanda said, her voice sagging. “Well then, I feel bad about not introducing myself sooner.”
Not for the first time, Skyy wondered if there was something wrong with her. She rarely got to know neighbors. Wanda seemed a caring, warm person, and she’d been right next door the whole time Skyy lived in Tucson. It could be because each place she moved felt temporary, like a motel room—not a place to establish friendships and roots. Or was it a deeper wariness of relationship, ground into her after Loser Boyfriend’s sudden departure?
The virtual world was far safer. That’s where her business was—and, perhaps sadly, almost all her relationships. A hurtful comment or obnoxious person could be banished with the click of a button. No confrontation, little stress, gone forever. But in real life, broken trust and betrayal ran deep, leaving torn edges that resisted healing—at least not without an ugly scar.
“Where are you moving to?”
“What?” Skyy blinked away the troubling thoughts and focused on the woman standing next to her.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy,” Wanda said. “You don’t have to answer. But I’ve always loved it here in Tucson. Perfect place to live, far as I’m concerned. I was just curious where you were going? Someplace special to you?”
Skyy turned to her Cherokee and trailer, imagining them loaded with her few possessions, rolling down the road. But there were no signs along the way telling her where the road led. How could she pull out of the driveway and not know which direction to go? She turned back to Wanda.
“I have no idea.”
Wanda appeared nonplussed, but then forced a smile. “Well, I’m sure it will be great—for you.” The woman mumbled her goodbye, then walked down Troy’s driveway, skirting the litter of hedge branches.
Skyy rubbed her forehead, knowing she needed to get her act together and make a plan. But the destination that kept rising to the top was Cheers or Mayberry on a lake. Wherever Canon Truax was.
Hours later, Skyy pulled off the bandana tied around her forehead and wrung it out. A small puddle of mud formed in the dirt at her feet, drying even as she watched.
“After ten o’clock at night and still cooking,” she said to the dark. “That’s the Tucson I know and love. Not.” Leaving couldn’t come soon enough.
The back seats of the Jeep were down, and the space was already half filled. By the time she loaded the rest of the boxes, it would be up to the headliner in some spots. That could be a good thing, preventing glare in her rearview mirror off the shiny trailer.
She should have filled the passenger seat too, but it was still empty, perhaps evidence of her indecision about Ember going along. The girl hadn’t come by after school as promised. Had she changed her mind? That possibility bothered Skyy. And the fact that it did so, bothered her as well.
“I’m too used to being alone,” she mumbled. Maybe she should get a dog. It could ride in the passenger seat and bark at passing trucks. At least she’d have someone—something—alive to talk to.
Wanda had returned at sunset and showed Skyy how to distribute her belongings for good weight balance. Only lighter things went inside the trailer: clothes, dry foods, towels, paper products, and her sleeping gear. Canned food was in a box in the Cherokee, and cleaning supplies were remaining behind for Troy’s daughter. The bed, cookware, and most of the furniture came with the rental.
The more Wanda talked about fishtailing and using low gears going up and down hills, the more nervous Skyy became. Then the woman piled on instructions for leveling and stabilizing the trailer at a campsite. Fortunately, she demonstrated it all. It was a lot to remember, and Skyy was grateful when Wanda wrote out a simple checklist to follow when hitching and unhitching.
Skyy switched off the porch light and sank to the stone step by her door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the night. Several weeks ago, she joined a group sponsored by a local planetarium for a trip into the desert. They pulled off the highway and followed a dirt road for a mile or so as it climbed up a low hill. When the car lights went out, a million stars filled the heavens, increasing in multitude by the second as her eyes adjusted. The leaders set up telescopes and passed around binoculars.
Here in town the stars were far fewer, muted by the wash of city light. But she would never forget the splash of the Milky Way, the belt of Orion, W-shaped Cassiopeia, or the Big Dipper’s outline. It was one thing she’d miss about the desert.
She wiped her forehead on her shirtsleeve. Stars, yes, but not the heat.
The shower beckoned, but she feared she was too tired to get up. She still had to clean the guest house tomorrow, but that wouldn’t take long now that most of the packing was finished. Then she was free to leave whenever she chose. But when she drove out of the driveway, where would she go? In all her moves, she’d never been this unclear about the next step.
“Skyy?” A curse followed the bang of the plastic waste bin beside the main house.
“Over here,” Skyy said, clicking on her phone’s screen so Ember could make her way across the yard. This was a conversation she didn’t want to have but couldn’t avoid.
“Did your porch light burn out?” Ember asked.
“Just seems cooler with it off.”
Ember laughed and sat down next to Skyy. “I’ve lived here my whole life. Believe me, darkness doesn�
�t help the heat.” They sat side by side in silence for a minute, the diffused city lights revealing a monotone gray.
“I thought you were coming by earlier. Guess you knew I was doing a lot of sweaty work.”
“I had to go into work and do some things. And I had to talk with Mrs. Oso.” She cleared her throat. “So, you’re all packed up?”
Skyy nodded, knowing what was coming next. Mrs. Oso ran Ember’s group home. If Ember was talking to her…
“I want to go.” Ember’s voice quivered slightly, but there was determination in her tone.
Skyy pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s not that simple. I don’t even know where I’m going.”
“It is simple,” Ember said. “You leave and I go with you. That’s it.”
“But the transition home is a good place.”
“Sure, for two more months. Then it’s sayonara, baby, and I’ll be living in a cardboard box down by the river.”
“No you won’t. You’ll find a roommate, rent a place. There are other resources. And you already have a job.”
Ember shot her a look. “Cleaning toilets at BCJ? Do you know how much retail pays?”
Skyy did know. On Night Thoughts, she’d talked with both boys and girls who had aged out of their foster systems at eighteen with a minimum pay job. Or worse, no job, no transportation, and no place to live. Some states and counties were better than others in equipping kids for the transition, but most provided the barest resources for young people being on their own at such a young age. And because of their screwed-up home lives, they were less prepared than teens who came from a stable situation.
The smack-in-the-face reality was, if Skyy and her brother’s aunt and uncle hadn’t taken them in, they might have been in the same position as Ember. In all Skyy’s time on her own in her twenties, she’d never been as close to homelessness as Ember was right now. Two months. It was unfair to downplay the girl’s trepidation.
“I’ve saved up,” Ember said. “I can pay my own way.”
“Or,” Skyy countered, “I could try to find another place here in town for a while longer, give us some time to decide. I need an Internet connection for my show tomorrow night, but I could probably sneak back here and park on the street.” Troy’s Wi-Fi router had a strong signal.