Transcontinental

by Brad Cook

  What he did mind were the flashes of Clayvon clutching his half-foot, screaming for his life, that occasionally popped into his head. He did what he could to block them out. He felt guilty enough without a constant reminder.

  A few minutes later, the Cadillac pulled off the road onto a dirt path, into a trailer park, and up to the shabbiest trailer in sight. Before the car had even stopped, the guy threw it in park and hopped out, the kids yapping at his feet as he strutted inside. Brenda waddled off and sat at a picnic table in front of the trailer. She snagged an open beer off the table and weighed it, shaking it slightly, then downed it, before cracking open another.

  Leroy was left alone in the car, wondering what’d just happened. Brenda had said they wouldn’t take him too far, but he’d hoped they might’ve taken him a bit further than this. He stepped outside and over to her.

  “We gonna keep going?” he asked, rubbing his arm.

  She swigged her Miller Lite. “Whatcha mean? We’re home.”

  “It’s just, you said you would drive me…”

  “And we did. Now you’re here.”

  “I mean, I’m trying to get to Florida, and I returned your stuff—”

  “And we brought ya here, ya ungrateful child!” she said, pointing with her beer hand, spilling a glob of the golden liquid to the ground.

  “Can you at least take me to the closest train station?”

  “What? We been driving all day. Hell naw.”

  “But—”

  “Now quit pestering me!” She held her belly with one hand, and her beer with the other. “I got a child to worry about! I don’t need the stress!” She popped up from the table and climbed the steps into the trailer.

  Leroy let his head fall back in exasperation. Dead end.

  “Hey there,” a throaty male voice said.

  He turned to the right and saw a wispy man with a wispier mustache gripping a rake by a modest pile of dead leaves in front of a tidy trailer.

  “Looking for a ride, I take it?”

  Leroy started toward the man. “Yeah.”

  The man stuck out his hand. “Hi. Glen.”

  “L—Marcus,” he said, and shook it.

  “Well Marcus, what say I take you where you need to go on the condition that you take care of a little yard work around the house? Deal?”

  “That’s what they said. They brought me here.”

  “Mitch and Brenda are awful people,” he sneered. “Just awful. You can’t let a few bad apples ruin the bunch, though. We’re not all bad.”

  It was either trust this guy, or get walking.

  “Deal,” Leroy said.

  Glen handed Leroy the rake, a grin parting his thin lips. “Great.” He headed for the door. “Finish the leaves, then pull the weeds in my flower garden. I’ll whip up a quick meal for when you finish.”

  Leroy stood, rake in hand, feeling both lucky and wary at once. Mitch and Brenda had said they’d drive him if he did what they asked, and look where that’d gotten him. But it was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to pass up. He raked the remaining leaves, imagining what it might be like to have his own property to maintain.

  Every so often, a gust of wind would perturb his pile of leaves, then he’d collect them back into a perfect little mound, and the process would start again. By the third time, he gave up trying to organize them. He found an empty trash can in the yard and brought it over and scooped the leaves in, then finished raking, filled the can, and sat it next to the flower garden.

  Poppies and Lilies formed a colorful moat around the trailer. Between the flowers, thin red vines and thick green stalks sprouted at random. Leroy pulled a vine from the top and ripped about an inch off. He grasped it lower and got another two inches, leaving only half an inch of weed to grab. Leroy dug his fingers in and pulled it out from the bottom, bringing the roots out with it. He used that technique for the others with success.

  After fifteen minutes, he’d rounded the entire trailer, soil caked beneath his black-tipped fingernails. He knocked on the door, then said “Uh, Glen? I’m finished with the chores.”

  Through the closed door, Glen spoke. “Oh, fabulous, thank you. Lunch is almost ready, just hop in the shower and wash off before we eat.”

  Leroy opened the door. “I think I can just wash my hands.”

  “No, no, no. You’re all sweaty and gross. It would be rude not to.”

  He didn’t feel that sweaty, but he didn’t want to be rude, especially considering how good the food smelled. Leroy found the bathroom and shut himself in. He reached for the lock, but there was none. He figured that was normal considering the size of the trailers. Probably only one or two people lived in each. At least Glen knew he was in there.

  Leroy turned the faucet to hot and the shower head began to flow. He was immediately transported back to the group shower at SpiritWood. Although he’d grown accustomed to it, the concept now seemed off-putting. And the fact that an adult male supervised made it that much weirder. He was glad he’d escaped, though given the price, he’d probably reconsider had he the chance.

  He hadn’t the chance, though; he never would, which hurt the worst. Leroy did his best to buoy himself out of that dark part of his mind as he slipped out of his church outfit, vowing to find a change of clothes as soon as possible. He wanted to scrub his mind of all things SpiritWood.

  All he could do was scrub his body. He stepped into the warm water. It was soothing in a way that showers at SpiritWood could never have been. For the first time in a long time, he could relax. Nobody was watching.

  He lathered up his short hair, closing his eyes and mouth as bubbly streams ran down his forehead and into his face. He was massaging his scalp when he heard a click, like the bathroom door had just closed. He froze.

  “Hello?”

  Silence. The shower curtain was translucent; he could check whether he was alone if he wasn’t so soapy. He put his head under the water.

  “I’m in here,” he said louder, eyes still closed. Again, there was no response. As the lather running down his face thinned, he figured he was just hearing things. Leroy scrubbed his head one last time to get any remaining soap out, then went to work under his fingernails. After finishing one hand, he noticed a blurry beige hue through the shower curtain that hadn’t been there before, and figured Glen had slipped a towel onto the rack. That would explain the sound of the door.

  He was scrubbing his right hand when the brown patch moved.

  A cold fear trickled down his spine amid the hot shower.

  Suddenly, the curtain was thrown open. Glen stood on the other side, nude, with a lazy grin and a predatory glare in his eyes.

  Shocked as he was, Leroy’s first thought was concern that the linoleum floor was getting wet. “Get out!” He covered up with the curtain.

  Glen shot his hand out and grabbed Leroy’s arm with unexpected strength, fingertips digging into the bottom of his wrist as he was shoved against the wall. His head bashed the shower tiling, sending sparks dancing across his vision. Glen began to pull the curtain away, which brought Leroy around. He slipped his wet arm from Glen’s grasp, then wrapped the curtain around him and pushed as hard as he could, sending the naked man flying back into the medicine cabinet, which shattered. As Glen slid to the floor, rubbing the back of his head, Leroy grabbed his clothes and made a break for it, slamming the door behind him.

  He slipped on his underwear, then grabbed his bag and dashed outside, putting on pants and shirt as he ran, nearly falling more than once. He didn’t stop until he’d exited the trailer park and hit the main road.

  Panting, he dropped to his knees, then his back as he laid in the grass, clutching his ringing head. He knew he should get moving in case Glen gave chase, but he couldn’t think straight. Part of his mind urged him to shut his eyes and go to sleep, like a riptide pulling him under, but he had to keep going.

  Leroy stood with a wobble, then staggered forward, the bright light of day sending aching ripples through his closed ey
elids. His eyes watered as he forced his sight to adapt. To his left, a car raced past, dragging with it a wall of hot wind, rife with exhaust fumes. Leroy gagged at the smell, turning away to escape it. Then, facing the road, he realized he didn’t know which direction he’d been walking, and he knew something was wrong. He’d always been clumsy and bad with directions, but this was different.

  Shading his eyes as he glanced around, Leroy found the trailer park, and resumed walking away from it. Down the road, he came to a gas station, and went inside for a drink, until he remembered he had no money.

  Back on the side of the road, a bus rumbled past with a logo he recognized: a leaping Greyhound. His mother had taken a Greyhound bus to visit his grandma—her mother—in upstate California on the weekend she’d passed.

  To Leroy’s surprise, the bus turned into a parking lot ahead. He made his way to it and found a Greyhound depot. He didn’t know why he’d never thought of it before. Greyhound buses travel cross-country. He hurried inside.

  Rows of seated people awaiting their ride with nothing better to do stared at him as he strode to the ticket counter. He was so tired of dealing with people at counters. He was tired of dealing with everything.

  “I need a ticket to Florida.”

  “Mmmkay, and what city in Florida, specifically?” asked the young woman as she slid a computer mouse, then clicked and scrolled.

  “Tampa.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “So you’ll need an adult ticket. Memphis to Tampa Bay for an adult comes out to…” She typed something so fast Leroy couldn’t make it out. “One-hundred thirty dollars even. Will that be cash or check?”

  Another oversight by his addled mind. Of course a Greyhound ticket cost money, which, again, he didn’t have. What was with his memory?

  “Sorry, never mind.”

  “You want me to cancel the ticket order?”

  “I can’t pay for it.”

  “Mira, wait.” An elderly Hispanic woman struggled to get up from her seat with the help of who Leroy assumed was her daughter, then met him at the counter. “I will buy your ticket,” she said, thumbing through her wallet.

  Leroy was stunned. “You’d do that? You don’t even know me.”

  She smiled at him the way he imagined only a grandmother could. “I like to help out where I can. I can not afford a ticket to the Tampa Bay, but I can get you to Montgomery, where we are going.”

  Emotion fuzzed his thoughts even more than they previously were. “I… I don’t know what to say, ma’am. Thank you.” He hugged her.

  She embraced him back. “Mamacita, not ma’am.”

  The ticket girl wiped the corner of her eye. “One adult to Montgomery?”

  Chapter 12

  In groups of four, kindergartners slid elbow macaroni in and out of piles on their tables, visually working out math problems. Their minds were so fresh, so pure and innocent at this age, so eager to learn. Every single year, they impressed her. It was the reason she became a teacher.

  Well, amongst others.

  If only Jordan could see them like this, she knew he would understand. If she could just make him see what she saw every day…

  But you can’t see if you refuse to open your eyes.

  So, where did that leave her?

  She rubbed the back of her neck. It’d only agitate her further to replay the argument in her head, as she’d done so many times. She loved him. That was the bottom line. That was what mattered. That was real.

  Still, their perfect smiles, their sweet laughs burrowed into her heart in a way she’d never felt for Jordan. It was deeper than love.

  Of course, she could never tell him that. She was all he had.

  Her unique situation made working with children both that much more painful, but that much more bearable, as well. It was all she’d ever wanted to do, at least since she found out. She just wished it paid a bit better. Although if Jordan would get a real job, her salary wouldn’t be an issue. An hourly wage would never be sufficient for a family.

  The word struck a sad note in her heart. Did two people even count as a family? It sure didn’t feel like one. No matter how hard she tried, how many magazines she read, how many outings they shared, it just didn’t feel right.

  The fact that she loved him made it that much more difficult. How could she pick between her love and what she was convinced was her purpose in life? She was just grateful that she didn’t have to.

  “Miss Shepherd, we need help!” shouted a little boy across the room.

  Spirits lifted, Rehema leapt up from her desk and hurried over to the boy’s table, wearing a smile none of Jordan’s shortcomings could erase.

  Chapter 13

  Montgomery, AL

  An hour or two after it’d grown dark outside, Leroy spotted a sign informing him he was entering Montgomery. As indebted as he was to the Hispanic woman, he couldn’t wait to get off the bus. It had nothing to do with her or her daughter; the bus was simply full of crazies. A mousey woman toward the back of the bus missing most of her teeth hadn’t stopped ranting about a cat she’d apparently encountered, a stoic man with a sheathed sword sat in the back, and a middle-aged woman who would otherwise seem entirely respectable ignored her five young children, who made the bus interior their playground.

  It’d been the longest ride of his life.

  To Leroy’s amazement, the Hispanic woman had seemed to notice none of this. Before she’d wasn’t passed out, she chatted with her daughter or across the aisle with Leroy. She told him about her son in Montgomery, who had just started making good money with some website he created, and how he’d bought a house for the whole family to live in. They were on their way to meet up with him now. It was an inspiring story. The family grew up with nothing, but Mamacita and her late husband had worked their whole lives to send their two children to college, and now her son was paying her back, and then some.

  Leroy hoped he could be as successful someday. He was starting to realize that success wasn’t something that happened to people, it was the product of hard work and persistence, which was the intimidating part. All he wanted to do, though, was art. It wasn’t exactly the most profitable career path.

  The squeak of the bus braking to a stop in the Greyhound depot awakened Mamacita with a start. She fussed with her hair as she came out of her sleep daze, then turned to Leroy and smiled.

  “Not a bad ride,” she said.

  “Not too bad,” he lied, then hopped up, ready to dash off the bus. He caught himself before he did. “Let me help you up, Mamacita.”

  “Oh, gracias dear, thank you.” She grabbed his hand and got to her feet.

  “Thank you. So much.”

  “It was nothing. Now please, let me introduce you to my son.”

  “He’s here?”

  “He is picking us up, yes.”

  “Alright.” It was unexpected, but the least he could do.

  Leroy held her hand as she hazarded the bus steps. A cheer rose from the small crowd outside the bus, and they embraced her as soon as she set foot on the ground. Leroy stood aside in a happy envy as the family reconnected.

  “Miguelito, I want you to meet someone.”

  As Mamacita gestured toward him, the family shifted their attention, beaming at him with the same joy they showed for her.

  “This is Marcus Jackson.”

  Her son, well-dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks with a neat goatee, held out his hand. “Miguelito. Nice to meet you, Marcus.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.” He couldn’t help but smile.

  “This is my wife Betty, and our children Pablo and Lacey,” he said, going down the line. “You already met Mamacita and Inez. This is my cousin Ramon, his girlfriend Lupe, and their son Esteban.”

  “Marcus is going to the Tampa Bay.”

  “Fun!” Betty said.

  “We have family in Orlando,” said Miguelito. “It’s beautiful.”

  “The beaches are
awesome,” Lupe said.

  “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Marcus, where are you staying tonight?” Mamacita asked.

  “Hadn’t thought about it. I’ll find somewhere.”

  “No, no. You stay with us. Right, Miguelito?”

  “I suppose he could.”

  “Of course he can,” she said.

  Leroy could see on the faces of the family that they didn’t love the idea. “Thanks, but you’ve given me so much already. Don’t wanna be a hassle.”

  “I insist,” she said. “You can go on your way after a good night of rest and a big breakfast. A traditional Mexican send-off.” She clapped her hands.

  The opportunity was appealing. He didn’t know where he’d sleep otherwise, and he hadn’t eaten in nearly a day. “Only if it’s okay with everyone.”

  “Once Mamacita has made a decision, the best you can do is live with it,” said Betty with genuine affection, draping her arm around the old woman.

  “What Mamacita says, goes,” Miguelito chuckled.

  * * *

  Leroy had never seen a house as enormous as Miguelito’s in his life. Set on a golf course lake, it wasn’t quite a mansion, but it rivaled the SpiritWood main building in grandiosity, boasted a Spanish flair, and had a screen porch out back the size of his mom’s old apartment.

  After a brief tour of the house as much for Mamacita and Inez as for Leroy, the group settled into a living room with a big-screen TV, leather sofas, and a chandelier that wouldn’t have been out of place in a ballroom, while Betty went to fix dinner.

  Miguelito stopped flipping channels on an animated show about a sponge that the children liked. Leroy had always enjoyed the show, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He felt like he didn’t deserve the generosity Mamacita and her family were showing him. All he’d done was mess up other peoples’ situations.

  By the time Betty had finished dinner, though, the aroma of roasted turkey had chased away any remaining pity and put his stomach squarely in charge. He gobbled through his meal, finishing first, then carried on politely until the others caught up, at which point he excused himself to the room they’d designated for him. With a queen-sized bed, its own TV, and a flattering view of the Montgomery skyline, Leroy’s sleeping conditions for the evening were fully the opposite of what he’d imagined.