by K. A. Ware
There was no way around it, we both had the shittiest taste in men. But where I’d picked a loser of epic proportions who spent what little money I had and complained about my lack of emotional availability, Addie had been snared in the web of money and status. Her husband was from one of the richest families in Louisiana, and he made sure everyone knew it.
He could take the silver spoon he was born with and shove it straight up his ass for all I cared. Hell, it’d probably dislodge the stick he’d had crammed up there since he could say the words, investment dividends.
With another side-eyed glance at the waste of space beside me, I made my decision. It was time to face my failures and pay my respects.
I was going back to Terrebonne.
Slowly, I started to slide off the bed so I didn’t disturb the bongo playing asshat, not that a mattress on the floor could ever really be considered a bed. Once I’d managed to slither out from under the thin but impressively heavy arm Atticus had slung across me in the middle of the night, I carefully climbed to my feet. The last thing I needed was another lecture from professor know-it-all.
Kevin nudged at my calf with his wet snout and wiggled his little piggy booty. I swore that I heard him oink, ‘get me my breakfast, bitch’. Padding into the kitchen, or rather ten feet away to a corner that held a mini fridge, utility sink, and hotplate, I searched for something to eat. I rented a room above the bar I sometimes worked at. The owner was pretty cool with my flare for being flakey and plugged me into the schedule whenever I needed extra cash, which seemed to be a lot lately. The apartment had been perfect when it was just me. However, four months ago, I’d been stupid enough to agree to let Atticus ‘crash’ with me.
Of course, a few nights turned into him moving all of his band equipment and his pig in and never leaving. What was once a small but cozy space was crammed full of shit that wasn’t mine and smelled like curry and patchouli. Not a good combination. To make matters worse, after searching every inch of the tiny kitchen, I realized Atticus had flaked on getting Kevin’s food again and we were completely out.
Bending down, I gave him a little scratch between the ears. “He really doesn’t deserve you,” I muttered to Kevin. “Or me for that matter,” I added under my breath as I continued my search for sustenance.
Fifteen minutes later, I sat on an oversized blue floor pillow next to Kevin where we both ate Spaghetti-O’s off paper plates and reflected on our lives. Well, I couldn’t really tell if Mr. Bacon actually contemplated his life’s work or just had gas from scarfing down an entire can of cold Spaghetti-O’s. As I watched him rut around on the beat-up linoleum floor, a plan started to come together in my mind.
According to my calculations, Atticus owed me approximately two grand for back rent, food, and what he’d ‘borrowed’ off me and failed to pay back during the past six months. Atticus also just so happened to own an old beat up van. It looked worse than the before pictures on Pimp My Ride, but it ran. The way I saw it, if I took the van, I was just collecting on what he owed me. I glanced at my phone, and decided Atticus would sleep like the dead until at least noon, so I had a few hours to work with. A snort and an encouraging piggy smile from Kevin solidified my plan. It was the only way I’d to get to Terrebonne in time for the funeral.
Tip-toeing into the bedroom portion of the apartment, I began packing as quickly and quietly as possible. It took two trips down the stairs and into the back alley to transfer all of my worldly possessions from my apartment to a 1973 Ford cargo van.
It was a hideous van. The shag carpeting, interior wood paneling, and bean bag chairs would’ve been enough to make it the ugliest thing I’d ever seen in my life. But that was just the tip of the iceberg. The vehicle’s claim to God awful fame was the paint job. A gigantic mural was airbrushed on either side depicting a female Viking with tits the size of watermelons busting out of her armor, riding a unicorn in space.
I shit you not.
I’d refused to ride in it when Atticus showed it to me for the first time, yet somehow I found myself preparing to drive through two states in it. I could’ve asked Atticus to borrow the van, but then he’d want to come with me and that just wouldn’t do. Nope, I needed a clean break. Well, as clean as I could get in a stolen car.
Desperate times.
I made a last pass through the apartment, snatching up the rest of my jewelry-making supplies and a few throw pillows, since I’d unceremoniously dumped the shitty bean bags in the dumpster, and I was out the door. I’d barely stepped into the hallway when the shrill sounds of a pig squealing alerted me that I’d forgotten one very important thing. Spinning on my heels, I hurried to unlock the door and get to the pig before he woke Atticus up. The squealing got impossibly louder as I fumbled to get my key in the lock.
“What the fuck, Kevin?” I hissed as I finally got the door open. Upon seeing my face he shut the hell up, gave me a snort, and circled my feet. He wasn’t going to let me leave him without throwing a tantrum that’d surely wake Atticus up and completely fuck up my plans.
Kevin was such a fucking dick, but I loved him. The more I thought about it, the clearer it was to me that I couldn’t leave him with a slacker like Atticus anyways—he’d end up starving to death. Shifting the bags to one arm, I bent down and scooped up Kevin, barely managing to stay on my feet. When I turned for the door, my messenger bag fell from my shoulder, causing my grip on Kevin to slip. With a ninja move, incredible flexibility thanks to years of yoga, and the blessing that was leggings, I landed in a half-way split, caught Kevin, and managed not to drop a single thing.
My epic save was lost on Kevin because he started squealing like a fucking banshee, and I couldn’t get him to shut the hell up. He was acting like he wasn’t as much a part of this plan as I was. Fucking dick.
“Van?”
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!
“Van, what the hell are you doing? You know I need sleep. I have to work tonight,” Atticus grumbled rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Yeah, for four hours.
From where I stood, I estimated I had about thirty seconds before Atticus realized what was going on, so instead of standing in the middle of the room like an idiot, I decided to take the offensive approach.
“I’m leaving you,” I blurted out before he had time to put on his glasses. “You’re a lazy, pretentious, manipulating mooch, I can’t stand your poetry, and I’m pretty sure you voted for Gary Johnson,” I said in a rush before spinning on my heels.
“Oh, and I’m taking the fucking pig!” I called over my shoulder before slamming the door and leaving him sputtering.
It probably wasn’t the best tactic, but I hoped my tirade would stun him long enough to make a clean getaway. I hauled ass down the back staircase and burst through the door to the alley where the van was parked. Kevin let out a disapproving snort when I dumped him on the passenger seat. Scrambling with the keys, I cranked the ignition only to be met with a whine and sputter from the engine.
"Come on, come on," I pleaded with the dilapidated hunk of junk.
"Vanna! What the fuck?" I heard Atticus boom.
I fucking hated that nickname.
Glancing out the dingy window, I spotted him barreling down the fire escape. Panic rising, I tried the key again and the engine coughed and roared to life. Slamming it into gear, I stepped on the gas and sped down the alley and into oncoming traffic, barely missing an old pickup truck.
With everything I owned haphazardly tossed into the back of a stolen vehicle, I merged onto the highway, leaving Atticus and everything else behind. Between my emergency stash and the change jar I'd snagged during my hasty exit, I had approximately one hundred and thirty-six dollars to my name. I just hoped it'd be enough to get me back to the only place I'd ever called home.
Growing up in the swamp, we didn’t have much, but we had family and our community. For the most part, that was enough. There’d been tough times when the food boxes from the parish church had been the only thing to get us through
until the next week, but we’d always had each other to lean on. If Miss Mae from down the road needed help repairing her dock after a storm, you’d better believe Daddy and Pappy hauled the old truck over there to help out. And there hadn’t been a spring when Miss Mae didn’t shuffle her mumu-clad ass down to drop off a case of her famous strawberry jam.
A pang of nostalgia hit me square in the chest. I missed the sense of belonging more than I wanted to admit. I’d seen my sister jet off to college as soon as she had her diploma in hand, and I’d wanted so badly to follow her. But by the time I’d graduated high school, my sister had gotten hitched to the devil himself and been whisked away from her backwoods family and less than desirable upbringing, so she could settle into her castle as the princess of Shreveport. I made a promise to myself that I’d never be blinded by the shine of diamonds and promise of fine china and made my way as far away from home as I could.
First, I took off to California for a fine arts degree I’d never in a million years be able to use. After that, I acquired a kind of vagabond lifestyle, traveling from place to place with no sense of direction and never planting any roots. It was all well and good. My roots where still where I’d left them…discarded in the swamp.
“It wouldn’t have lasted anyway,” I said with a sigh. “I mean, you can’t really take a man with smaller calves than you seriously, can you, Kevin?” I asked my companion. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he gave me a happy little snort and went back to the piece of jerky I’d picked up for him the last time we stopped for gas. It was probably wrong to feed him meat, but I figured since it was beef instead of pork that it wasn’t too bad.
“What do you say, Kevin?” I asked as we crossed the state line into Louisiana. “You ready to see what the bayou has to offer?”
Again, he responded with a noncommittal snort.
My heart beat faster, and my nerves frayed at their ends the closer I got to my hometown. I hadn’t been back in nearly five years, and I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I got there. I just hoped it wasn’t a pair of handcuffs and a jumpsuit, because stainless steel chaffed my skin and orange was so not my color.
I breathed a sigh of relief as the rusted sign for Terrebonne Parish came into view. There were dents from bird shot and a couple of clean holes dotting the sign that welcomed me home. I smiled a little to myself, remembering that I’d been responsible for one or two of those blemishes in my day. Pappy always called me his little hell raiser, as if I needed any encouragement.
In every way that my sister was perfect, I was the complete opposite. Addie never missed curfew. I hadn’t bothered to ask if I had one until one night during my senior year in high school when Sheriff Tucker had to bring me home.
You start one little fire and suddenly you’re public enemy number one.
Daddy put on a show for the good Sheriff, making sure he’d heard me getting read the riot act. He hollered about how he didn’t care if I was almost grown, and if he ever caught me out after curfew again, he’d bend me over his knee.
It made me want to laugh, but I’d kept my composure, and even managed to look a little contrite. Once Daddy had waived off the Sheriff and closed the door, he’d turned to me with a pointed look.
“You better watch yourself, Savannah. Pretty soon, that dog and pony show I just put on won’t work anymore. You’ll be old enough that Tucker will just haul your ass down to the station instead of bringing you home.”
I smiled at my father and stretched up on my tip-toes to kiss his rough cheek. “I know Daddy. I’m sorry for waking you and Mama.”
“At least you got caught settin’ fires instead of kissin’ boys,” he’d grumbled shuffling down the hallway and back to bed.
I couldn’t help the laugh that busted out at the memory. Little did he know, I’d done my fair share of kissing boys, I was just smart enough not to get caught. Our parents had been lulled into a false sense of security with my sister. She was so good on her own accord that they never truly had to parent her, and for all intents and purposes, before she left for college, she kept me in line for them. By the time the dust settled behind her, I was off doing whatever I wanted, and my poor parents didn’t know what to do with me.
As long as I stayed safe and happy, they were pretty relaxed about most things. Since I’d earned a reputation for myself as a ball buster and part-time trouble maker instead of the town harlot, Daddy couldn’t really find reason to complain. Besides, I’d heard the stories; my father was no choir boy. Add in Pappy and Babs as my role models, and it was a miracle I hadn’t been locked up by the time I was twelve.
I reached out and patted Kevin’s head, “Are you as nervous as I am?”
Kevin gave a snort, stood from his nest on the passenger seat, and began sniffing around.
“Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let Babs eat you.” I mused, not at all concerned that I was carrying on a full-blown conversation with a farm animal.
He ignored me and continued to rut around in the blankets.
“They’re family. They’ll welcome us with open arms…even when they find out we’ve got nowhere else to go. Ugh, who am I kidding, I can’t let them know what a mess I’ve made of everything, can I, Kevin?” A cross between a wheeze and a gag was the only response I got. “Kevin?” I glanced to my right, my heart sinking to my stomach when I saw my baby struggling to breathe.
“Oh my God! Hold on baby, mommy’s got you!” I shrieked and swerved off to the shoulder.
A loud clunk and popping noise followed, but I didn’t have time to worry about that. Bringing the van to a lurching stop, I threw it in park and scooped Kevin up into my lap, his awful choking noises filling the cab.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” I screamed while trying my best to perform the piggy Heimlich. With a hack and a wet cough, a ball of something slimy and brown fell from his mouth and into my lap.
Gross.
Kevin squirmed and snorted unhappily in my arms until I released my death grip and allowed him to move back to his nest.
“Ungrateful bastard,” I grumbled, digging behind my seat for the McDonalds bag I’d discarded a couple hundred miles ago.
Once I’d retrieved a few crumpled napkins and cleaned up Kevin’s mess, I vowed never again to let him have beef jerky. At least not whole pieces…I wasn’t a monster. Crisis averted, I cranked the engine and tried to pull back on the road, but the entire van shook with a thump, thump, thump as it inched forward.
Fuck!
Hopping out, I rounded the hood only to find that I had a flat tire. No, not just a flat, the motherfucker was shredded.
“Argh!” I kicked the side of the 70s monstrosity with everything I had.
That felt good. Like really good.
“Stupid Atticus, you fucking mooch, stupid degree I can’t even use, and this stupid fucking van!” I screamed, punctuating every point with a solid thwack of my boot against metal.
“Whoa, what did that van ever do to you?” a deep voice called out from behind me.
I spun around too quickly, my boots slipping on the gravel shoulder and promptly fell straight on my ass.
"Jesus, girl are you drunk?" The man was backlit by the sun so I couldn't see his face as he came closer.
And this is how I die. On the side of the road next to a spray painted van, all because I fed my pet pig beef jerky.
"Savvy? Is that you?"
I squinted and shielded my eyes from my place on the ground.
So maybe he wasn't a serial killer.
"Who…” I started, but my words cut off as he came close enough to block out the sun and let me finally see his... beard?
Hot damn what a beard it was. Breaking from my momentary distraction, I forced my eyes to travel up—instead of down his body like they wanted—to bright blue eyes that crinkled at the corners with his wide smile.
"Zep?"
"The one and only," he laughed, giving me a wink.
Zep LeBlanc was in my sister’s class in high school, but t
hat didn't stop him from being the crush of every female in the parish. I wasn't exaggerating. When he walked into a room, little girls giggled, teenagers swooned, and grown-ass women fanned themselves. All but my sister, of course.
He reached out a hand, and I let him pull me up from my perch in the dirt. "Thanks, Z," I said, dusting off my cutoffs.
"You gonna tell me what's got you playing whack a mole on the side of the road?"
"Flat tire."
He walked to the front of the van and examined the damage. "More like shrapnel. You got a spare?"
"Uh, I'm not sure," I stuttered.
He raised an eyebrow at me. "Not sure?"
"Well, it's not exactly mine. I, uh, borrowed it?"
He laughed and shook his head. "You know what? I don't even want to know."
I grimaced. "That's probably for the best."
I opened the slider as Zep headed toward the back searching for a spare. Securing Kevin's harness, I let him roam around on his leash before plopping my ass on the shag carpet.
"Is that a pig? On a leash?" Zep asked coming around the van with the spare I didn't know I had in one hand and a tire iron in the other.
"Yep," I said emphasizing the 'p' and swinging my legs.
He just shook his head. "I’d expect nothing less from you, Savannah Dubois."
I laughed, no I suppose he wouldn’t. No one was ever surprised by my antics. It almost took the fun out of it. Almost.
“So how are you going to get that thing on?” I muttered, mainly to myself, while examining my useless tire. “We lucked out with the spare, but I know there’s no jack hiding back there.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got one in my truck. I’ll have you fixed up and on the road in no time.”
Zep and I chatted as he worked, and I found out he’d moved to New Orleans a few years back. I listened enraptured as he told me stories of nights spent wandering the French Quarter.
Excitement and anticipation buzzed under my skin. I’d only been to New Orleans once, even though I’d grown up less than an hour away. “So, you actually live in the middle of the craziness?”