by C. G. Cooper
“Sometimes,” I answered. She was starting to sound like the same girl I’d talked to before, the questions lined up and ready before I finished the last.
“Why did you get out?”
Now that was a loaded question, and one I wasn’t prepared to answer. I changed the subject.
“How do you feel about what your dad said?”
That put a damper on her curiosity, but not her quick reply.
“I’m mad. Sad. More mad.”
“What do you think he should do about it?” I asked, wondering if she’d thought it through. Something told me that she had.
“I don’t know. Maybe I should call the police,” she said defiantly.
“You could do that, but I’m not sure it would help.”
She looked disappointed, like she’d already decided I was going to agree with her.
“What do you think I should do?” she asked, her gaze seeking the unspoken answer on my face.
“I think you two should leave, find a quiet place to hide for a while. It looks like travel might be one of your dreams anyway,” I said, pointing again at the paintings on the walls. “Why not make it an adventure, go see things you’ve never seen before.”
“Is that what you do? Is that why you don’t have a home?”
“How do you know I don’t have a home?”
She smiled. “I can just tell.”
For some reason, that made me grin.
“Is there anything you don’t know?” I asked, once again enjoying the back and forth.
Her smile widened and spread to her eyes. She had the look of someone older, someone who understood things kids weren’t supposed to understand.
“I don’t know what you would do if you were in my dad’s shoes.”
I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. She’d just asked the magic question, the one that I was not prepared to answer.
Chapter 6
I closed the door quietly and left Anna to her thoughts. She wanted an answer, any answer. But what could I say? That someone should have kicked her dad’s ass a long time ago? That whoever was behind the human trafficking scheme should be taken out to the woods and shot?
No, I couldn’t tell her those things. Behind her facade of a mature woman still lay a little girl. She tried to hide it, painting a confident look on her face like the fancy murals on her walls, but I saw past the act. In my opinion, she was scared and that was a good thing. The pastor had gotten them in one helluva mess, and there wasn’t much chance of it being fixed soon.
Pastor Walker was waiting just down the hall. I wondered if he’d listened to the conversation. It didn’t really matter to me, but I was curious.
“Did you hear any of that?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I thought you’d want privacy.”
I nodded and walked past him, suddenly needing food. He didn’t pepper me with questions and offered me a sandwich before I could ask. Prepared in silence, the sandwich was delivered with a glass of water and questioning look from Pastor Walker.
“Is she okay?” he asked.
I took a bite of the ham sandwich before answering, using the time spent chewing to arrange my thoughts. He waited, and I took another bite, still thinking. I grabbed the glass of water and chugged the whole thing. He picked it up and went to the sink to refill it. I attacked my food, weighing the pros and cons of saying anything at all. I didn’t want to get involved. A few miles down the road, the train tracks beckoned. I could already feel the familiar call of the road, like an unseen magnet yanking me forward.
I finished my sandwich and the second glass of water before speaking.
“She’s mad, and she has every right to be.”
“I know,” he said solemnly, folding his hands in his lap.
“She says she thinks she should call the police.”
There was a brief look of alarm on his face, but he replaced it with what I was coming to recognize as his “church face,” the soothing look he probably gave parishioners when they came to him for help.
“I can understand why she would feel that way.”
His tone almost made me slam my fist down on the table. I leveled him with a hot glare.
“You seem pretty calm considering what you’re up against,” I said, the words cold and accusing.
“I’ve made my peace with it,” he said. “If God wants me to be delivered, he will show me the way.”
I bolted out of my chair, sending it skittering back.
“This is what’s wrong with you people,” I said, my index finger stabbing in his direction. “You look to God for all the answers, when really you should be looking in the fucking mirror. When did God ever say that you should throw your hands up and wait to be led to water? You’re a hypocrite, Pastor! If I were you, I’d fess up to what you’ve done and beg your daughter for forgiveness. I’m not saying she’ll give it to you, because you’ve probably royally fucked that up, but at least then you’d be taking some goddamn responsibility for your actions.”
I was fuming. My chest expanded, the animal within me growling for release.
“Is that what you’ve done, taken responsibility for your actions?”
That did it. Something inside me snapped. Through the haze, I saw the kitchen table flip to the side and suddenly I had the smug bastard pinned against the wall.
“You have no idea what I’ve been through,” I growled. “It makes your little adventure seem like a unicorn fairy tale.”
The “church face” was gone, replaced by horror. He saw the beast in my eyes, and I barely controlled the rage that could easily rip him to pieces.
“Please let him go.”
My breath caught. It was Anna. Somehow she’d surprised me and snuck into the kitchen in the midst of my tirade.
“Please, Daniel, let him go.” Her voice was soft, but not pleading. It was more matter-of-fact, like a friend asking for a simple favor. I let go of the front of the pastor’s shirt and backed away. I met her eyes. There was determination there. She was in charge now. Anna touched my arm, gave me little smile, and then walked to her father. “You need to fix this, Dad.”
He reached for her, but she pushed his hand away. His face paled.
“I don’t know how to fix it, honey. If I did—”
“You don’t have a choice anymore,” she said. “Either you fix it, or I leave.”
Pastor Walker looked like he was going to collapse. His knees shook and his chest heaved. Then he took a shaky breath and said, “I’ll fix it.” There was only a sliver of conviction in his eyes, but he must have seen something in hers because he then said, “I promise I’ll fix it, Anna.”
She didn’t say a word, only nodding before she headed back upstairs. I heard her door close as Pastor Walker slumped back down in his chair. He stared at the ground, not saying a word.
I thought about picking up the kitchen table and maybe cleaning things up, for Anna. Then I changed my mind, grabbed a slice of ham from the kitchen counter, and walked back to the guest house.
+++
Anna made us fried chicken that night. She delivered it in a wicker basket, like the ones you take on an old fashioned picnic. It was just the two of us, digging in hungrily and occasionally licking the salty grease off our fingers. For the first time since I’d met her, Anna didn’t speak. I figured she had enough to think about, so I focused on the food.
I’d spent the rest of the day sleeping, and at some point I heard the rumble of the pastor’s truck easing away from the main house. I wondered where he’d gone, but didn’t think it was the right time to ask. Not that I really cared anyway.
Anna finally spoke. “If I leave, where do you think I should go?”
I took a minute to think about it, devouring another drumstick in the process.
“Up to you,” I said.
“Could I come with you?”
I stopped eating.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Her eyes went back to her
food. I could see she was disappointed. A couple minutes later, she asked, “Why isn’t it a good idea?”
I didn’t want to tell her, and yet, I found myself answering.
“If there’s trouble around, I’m usually in the middle of it. Not the best place for someone like you.”
“What kind of trouble?” she asked.
I shrugged, not really wanting to explain. She stared at me until I answered.
“Fights, that kind of thing.”
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
Every time I thought she was going one way, she bobbed in the opposite direction. I nodded and grabbed a juicy thigh from the basket.
“Is that why you’re alone? Do you feel bad about killing people?” she asked.
I shook my head slowly. She didn’t press.
“Where did you learn to cook?” I asked, veering away from the taboo thoughts that always found me in nightmares.
She smiled and said, “A couple years ago, there was an old lady, Mrs. Massey, who I used to visit. I’d stop in to check on her, and pretty soon she started teaching me how to cook. She was from Alabama and knew how to prepare every Southern dish I’d ever heard of. In exchange for my visits, she taught me what she knew. Mrs. Massey was a good friend.”
By her tone I understood that the old Southern lady was dead.
“What’s your favorite thing to make?” I asked.
Her face brightened. “Oh, that’s easy. Bread pudding.”
She went on to tell me how Mrs. Massey liked to mix in walnuts but that she preferred chocolate chips. From there she explained the difference between regular tomatoes and fried green tomatoes, and how fried green tomatoes were much better on BLTs. I finished my meal and was more than happy to sit back and listen. But as I watched her get more and more animated with her retelling, my mind half-faded away, going back to her original question from earlier in the day. What would I do if I were in her father’s shoes?
I grinned as the answer came to me in a flash. I would find whoever was behind the trafficking, and kill them all.
Chapter 7
I sat in bed after dinner, sipping on a glass of Jack, replaying the day in my head. Two sides of a coin. One half with Anna’s face and the other with her father’s. I flipped it over and over again in my head, marveling at the way Anna’s face caught the light and the pastor’s sucked in the shadow.
The sound of the pastor’s sputtering truck broke my trance and I walked to the window. He got out slowly, heaving two bags of groceries from the passenger side seat. My lights were off so it was impossible for him to see me through the gloom. But I saw him look my way, a lingering gaze that looked pitiful in the dim light. His eyes were swollen and his nose was red. He kept sniffing like he’d been crying, but he finally turned away and went to the main house.
I stayed at the window, watching as one by one, the lights turned on downstairs. Anna’s bedroom light was still on upstairs, and I didn’t see any flickers to indicate that she’d gone to greet him. Good girl, I thought. Let him stew in his self-pity.
Anna had told me at dinner that the good pastor was off tending to his meager following. There were always people to help and never enough food or time. I’d asked if he spent most nights away, and she said only during the week.
“Other than Sunday service, we always spend the weekends together,” she’d said, softer than before.
There’d been sadness in her voice, peppered with a dose of regret, like she was having to grow up again. Her life had changed.
I downed the rest of my drink and went through my normal bedtime routine. All I could think about was that coin, and which way it would land in the morning.
+++
Morning came with a soft knock at the door. It was Anna, and when I opened the door, the smell of fresh-baked blueberry muffins made my stomach grumble.
“Hungry?” she asked, holding up the same basket she’d used to transport the fried chicken the night before.
I nodded and let her in. She brought an old-fashioned glass jar with fresh-squeezed orange juice and a green thermos with coffee. I hadn’t slept well, and the thought of caffeine sounded good.
Anna was quiet as she set the table by laying the basket in the middle and producing two plastic glasses from her coat pocket. She nibbled at a muffin as I devoured one and then a second. I drank my coffee black, but it still tasted creamy and rich. Pouring myself a second mug, I finally asked, “How did you sleep?”
She shrugged and kept at the muffin.
“Did you talk to your dad?”
Anna shook her head.
“Are you going to talk to me?”
A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, I didn’t sleep very well last night,” she said.
“That makes two of us,” I said, holding up the cup of coffee and taking a sip.
“Why didn’t you sleep?”
“I don’t sleep well most nights.”
“Does the alcohol help?”
There was zero accusation in her tone, just curiosity again.
“Sometimes,” I answered, honestly. “It helps get me to sleep, at least.”
She nodded and I could see her filing the fact away.
“Are you leaving today?” she asked.
She really had a knack for getting right to the core.
“I thought I’d hang around another day, maybe help with the mowing.”
Her eyes perked up at that.
“I could show you,” she said, putting the muffin on the table.
“You know how to use the tractor?”
She grinned like she was hiding a secret.
“Better than my dad,” she said.
I beamed back. It was hard not to. Her spirit was infectious.
“Okay, let’s finish breakfast and then you can show me what to do.”
Anna fetched me a set of her dad’s work clothes after breakfast. They were a little small in the sleeves and the legs, but there was plenty of room to move otherwise. With the precise instruction of a small-arms instructor, Anna walked me through how to check, start and run the tractor.
“It pulls to the left a little, so be careful when you’re close to the creek. Dad almost put it in the water when we first moved in.”
She explained the boundaries and that there were ten acres plus or minus a little that the pastor was obligated to tend.
“I do it most weeks,” she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world for a fifteen year old girl to work the fields.
“Don’t you go to school?” I asked.
“I do it all by correspondence,” she said, “On the computer.”
“Not even home school?”
She laughed. “Dad tried to teach me when I was thirteen until he realized that I picked up math quicker than he did. After that, he bought me a computer and we found a school where I could do the work at my own pace. I’m actually graduating from high school this summer.”
Yet another reason to admire the girl. If I’d tried anything like that when I was fifteen I probably would’ve ended up in jail.
I climbed up on the tractor and asked, “Planning on going to college?”
Her smile disappeared. “I’m not sure…now.”
I didn’t push. There’d be plenty of time to think as I cut.
Something about moving up and down the pastor’s land, the steady running of the engine, and the cool spring air soothed me into a rhythm. My thoughts wandered. I chuckled as I remember the movie Forrest Gump, and how I’d wondered as a kid why a millionaire would cut grass for free. Now I understood. It was the outdoors and the tranquil monotony of the task. I wondered if that’s the way those Japanese monks felt raking their sand gardens. Maybe that’s how you found your Zen.
Occasionally, my mind would flutter back to the problems at hand, to the pastor and Anna. I could just flip my coin again, random fate telling me which way to turn. And yet, the gentle rocking of the trac
tor beckoned me to stay, like an old horse clopping down a worn path, extending the ride as long as it could.
Anna came out to the fields at lunch and brought me leftover fried chicken and lemonade. She didn’t stay, but told me that she’d be making BLTs for dinner.
“Have you talked to your dad yet?” I asked.
She shook her head and walked away. Anna was holding the line. I wondered what Pastor Walker was thinking.
After I finished up lunch, I got back on my trusty steed. Three hours later, I was done. I pulled the tractor back into its spot and turned off the engine. I felt good, like I’d just taken a dip in a cool spring and come out refreshed even though my back was slick with sweat.
That feeling dried up as soon as I turned around. Pastor Walker was standing there with an uneasy look on his face. I stepped the other way, toward the guest house.
“Wait,” he said, reaching out an arm even though I was twenty feet away.
I stopped, still facing the opposite direction.
“What?” I asked, the familiar twist in my gut knotting up inside me.
“I got a call.”
I turned to face him.
“And?”
His eyes were glazed and shifting.
“There’s another shipment,” he said.
I didn’t say a word.
“I need your help,” the pastor said in a lower voice.
“It’s not my job, Pastor.”
“What if I told you that this was the last time, that I’m taking Anna away after this? Would you help me then?” Desperation raised dots of sweat on his forehead and his hands were shaking. He looked like a toddler could push him over.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, the thought of Anna getting away from this situation pulling me in.
“Help me figure out how to leave.”
It wasn’t what I’d expected him to ask.
“Okay.”
“Does that mean you’ll help?” His eyes lit up like I’d just promised to deliver him from the devil.
“If it means your daughter is safe, then yes, I’ll help you leave.”
“Thank you so much, Daniel. I don’t know how—”