SHALLOW CREEK
by
Alistair McIntyre
PUBLISHED BY:
the4threalm.com
Shallow Creek
Copyright © 2013 by Alistair McIntyre
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Chapter 1
Shallow Creek
CITY LIMIT
POP. 20,934
Brendan Rhodes smiled as he passed the road sign welcoming him back to his hometown for the first time in nine years. Shallow Creek was a bit of an overstatement; the creek bed lending its name to the town hadn’t held a drop of moving water in the eighteen years he’d spent here. Off in the distance, probably five miles out, he could make out the first buildings of the small town. That was the way things went in west Texas. He remembered a family road trip to Lubbock one summer where they’d passed the Lubbock city limit sign and drove on for what felt like an eternity before leaving the desert behind and embracing civilization.
Stumpy little trees dotted the landscape as he slowed down while entering the town proper. Tall trees couldn’t survive the strong winds across the flat plains, but their shorter cousins did a good job hiding local and state law enforcement. Sleepy towns situated on Texas highways were famous for cheap gas and speed traps. Brendan cruised on for a couple of blocks before pulling into one of the two name-brand gas stations in Shallow Creek.
The Exxon had received an overdue facelift. Instead of going inside to pay the cashier, Brendan slid his credit card through the reader attached to the pump. Marvels of the modern world had apparently crept out west in his decade-long absence. With the gas flowing and his credit card racking up points, Brendan took a moment to roll his shoulders and twist the crick out of his neck.
“Hey, stranger.”
The pleasant words startled him even as his brain pulled a face from deep in his memory. Sure enough, Michelle Prost stood right behind him, a big smile greeting him as she leaned in for a light hug. He returned the gesture, albeit awkwardly; there hadn’t been much opportunity to practice hugs in his recent life.
“It’s been a while, Michelle,” he said as she looked him up and down.
“And you are none the worse for wear there, Tenny,” she said with some approval.
Tenny. There was a name he hadn’t heard in long, long time. He couldn’t even remember why she’d started calling him that back in elementary school, but the name had stuck, as long as only Michelle used it.
“The Marines will do that.” Brendan stuck his hands in his jean pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.
“Right, right.” Her voice trailed off as she watched a truck drive by. “You know, you never called again.”
“I know.”
“You left me here, and I didn’t even get the first call for two full years.”
“I know.”
“And then you did call me, promised you’d call again soon,” she said, still watching the truck down the street. “But you didn’t.”
He shrugged, suddenly ill at ease. She turned her face to his. “You didn’t even come to the wedding. We missed you.”
“I’m sure,” he grunted, now trying to suppress dangerous feelings hidden a decade ago. The giant engagement ring on Michelle’s finger hinted that her husband did pretty well for himself these days. “How is Grant?”
“Your brother’s doing well.” She absently tucked some stray blonde hairs back behind her ear. “He used to talk about you a lot.”
The gas pump clicked off, giving Brendan a welcome distraction. When he didn’t respond, Michelle continued. “We’ve got two kids now. Blain’s three and Sadie just turned one.”
“Good for you.”
He stood there waiting for his receipt to print, and for this reminder of his past life to move on. Instead, she lingered uncomfortably, probably not willing to admit that things could get so weird between such old friends. A lot had happened in the last ten years. People drifted apart all the time, right?
“So what brings you back?” she asked.
He fished his keys from his pocket. “I felt like reconnecting with my roots after getting out of the Marines.” That had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now after meeting just one old friend, he wasn’t so sure.
“Oh, so you’re out?” she asked. He nodded. “So what are you doing for work now?”
“I’m between jobs, but I got money to fall back on. Didn’t spend much in the Corps.”
“Oh, okay,” she said quietly.
Brendan turned his body slightly towards his driver’s side door, hoping she’d pick up on the hint, but instead she lunged forward and embraced him one more time.
“It’s so good to see you again,” she said.
“Likewise.”
“If you do need a job, just ask Grant. He’ll hire you,” she said as she released him.
“And what does he do now?”
She smiled. “Sells ag products to farms. He’ll be back in town in a few days. He’s off to another convention or something.”
“I’ll be sure to call if I need to.”
“Oh, do you have our phone number?” she asked, already pulling out her phone.
Brendan begrudgingly exchanged numbers with her and not so smoothly extricated himself from the situation by opening his truck door.
“I’ve got to get going, Michelle,” he said. “It’s nice seeing you again.”
She took a few steps backwards with a big Texas-sized grin on her pretty face. “Don’t be a stranger, Tenny.”
As she spun gracefully and walked off, Brendan caught himself admiring toned legs between boots and cut-off shorts. So maybe there were some things he missed about his old town. Even so, conflicting feelings that he hadn’t dealt with in a long time wrestled around inside him.
He climbed up into his truck and started the engine, but the growl from the tailpipes did nothing to distract him from his racing thoughts. Nine years ago he’d left a brother behind who swore Brendan had ruined his life. Not even thirty minutes after returning, Brendan knew that Grant had stolen his.
Chapter 2
Brendan absently stuck the truck in park and killed the engine. Between the sound of the exhaust, and his mother’s general nosiness, he doubted he had much time to himself before his parents realized he was here. He spent those last free moments staring at the tailgate of his father’s truck, wondering why he’d come back.
His mother’s face appeared in the entryway window, probably trying to work out who’d parked a new truck in her driveway. The tinted windows were a necessity for a vehicle in Texas, due to the hot sun, but they also did a pretty good job hiding Brendan’s face from his mot
her.
The house looked good. His parents had always taken a lot of pride in their residence and rarely let the maintenance slip, even when times got tight. Brendan took a deep breath, grabbed his wallet and keys, and slowly got out of the vehicle.
The walls of the house barely contained his mother’s screams. He smiled as she disappeared from the window and threw the door open. She rushed him, as much as an old lady can rush anyone, and showered him with hugs and kisses. A full foot taller than his mother, Brendan happily bent down to meet her enthusiastic grasp.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?” she asked, now holding him at arm’s length, smile fading.
“I wanted it to be a surprise.” The words felt hollow even to him.
“Well, let’s get you inside,” she announced as she turned away. “I would’ve made your favorite pies if I’d known.”
“You know, you don’t really need to—”
“And we’ll put on a big spread for your homecoming,” she continued, oblivious to his interruption.
“Okay, but I don’t like—”
“Maybe we can get your brother and Michelle over with the kids. Wouldn’t that be nice, hun?”
Brendan gave up. “Sounds great, Mom.”
As they crossed into the house, she smiled at him before making a beeline for the kitchen, presumably to bake the pies that his brother, Grant, had always liked so much. His mother’s absence left Brendan alone with his dad in the entryway to the small house. The two men sized each other up for a full ten seconds before Darryl Rhodes extended a hand towards his son. Brendan engaged in the cold handshake, surprised that his father’s bone-crushing grip no longer wielded its legendary power.
“You haven’t called in a while, son.”
Tired words from a proud, yet worn-down man.
“I know.”
After few silent seconds, his father turned and wandered into the living room.
“You got my letters, right, Dad?”
A grunt was the only response as his dad plopped down into the same old ratty recliner from Brendan’s youth. The television clicked on at that point, ending the conversation, even when Brendan’s mom appeared with a cheery smile and pound cake.
“Guess I’ll go grab my stuff out of the truck.”
“No, no, hun.” His mom took a seat on the couch and patted the space next to her. “You just got here. Take a load off.”
Brendan relented and sat while his mom cut a piece of cake and slid it onto a plate for him. She asked if he wanted anything to drink, but he shook his head as he chewed his food. It was pretty good, so obviously store-bought.
He watched his mom as she sat anxiously next to him. She made motions like she was about to say something, but always hesitated at the last moment. Just when he thought things couldn’t get more uncomfortable, she asked if he had a girlfriend. The gleam of hope in her eye didn’t make it any easier to tell her the truth.
“No, not yet.”
“You ain’t one of them queers, are you?” his dad grumbled without taking his eyes off the local news.
“No, but even if I was—”
“Darryl! Of course he isn’t,” his mom snapped. “That’s not the way we raised him.” After an awkward silence, she casually added, “There’s a lot of pretty single girls in town, Brendan. I can introduce you to a few if you like. I know all their moms.”
Brendan put his head in his hands and massaged his temples and across his eyebrows. He’d forgotten what it was like out here.
“You doing okay, hun?” his mom asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Brendan put his plate on the coffee table and stood up.
“Yeah, just a headache from all that driving today,” he said. “I’m going to go grab my stuff real quick.”
“Well, okay. Just hurry back in.” She cut another piece of cake. “We got a lot to catch up on.”
Chapter 3
Dinner was a grand affair featuring too much food for too few people. Brendan wondered if his mother hadn’t bothered asking anyone over, or if she had made the calls and no one cared to show up. Either way, she’d never admit to either one, so he just chewed his green beans and sliced off another piece of ham. The woman couldn’t bake to save her life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t cook up a storm in a hurry.
As the three of them quietly plowed through mountains of food, Brendan realized that this wasn’t even weird. Most of the family dinners during his formative years had passed in this laconic manner. Nothing short of an upcoming high school playoff game could distract his dad from shoveling away his dinner, and his mom was too shallow to engage in any conversation that might’ve actually mattered. So instead, they would sit in silence, enjoying each other’s physical presence, but not much else.
Unfortunately, the scene didn’t suit Brendan anymore. Chow was a time to talk and to discuss, to joke and to bullshit. With that in mind, he strode into dangerous waters right off the bat.
“How’s Taryn doing?” he asked before forking a piece of ham into his mouth. His sister was five years older than him, and he hadn’t really seen much of her in the years before he’d skipped town, never mind the last decade.
His mom pensively looked to his father, who glared at him with his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. The seconds ticked by and his mom started fidgeting with her food, pushing it around her plate and avoiding Brendan’s questioning gaze. His dad broke eye contact and resumed eating as if nothing had transpired. Well, technically nothing had transpired, and that was really the problem. Brendan watched his mother until she finally looked up with a feeble smile.
“Taryn moved out a few years ago,” she said.
“Karen—”
“She moved in with her boyfriend,” she said, ignoring her husband. She was visibly unhappy with this living situation, and Brendan knew why. His parents liked to believe that everyone should stick to what they called traditional values: No beer before twenty-one and no sex before marriage. They drilled that mantra into Brendan’s head all through high school, but it hadn’t really helped. He could’ve probably avoided a lot of trouble if he’d heeded their sage advice.
“So who’s he? Anyone I know?”
“His name is Serge,” his mother replied evenly.
“Damn WOP,” his dad grunted.
Brendan smiled at his dad’s racism, and not in an approving way.
“So he’s what? Eastern European or something?”
“Something like that,” his mom said, a little unsure. She’d have a difficult time pointing out Europe on a map, so the eastern side was probably beyond the scope of her radar. “We don’t see her much.”
After high school, Taryn had developed a habit of sneaking out and shacking up with a couple of different guys after any number of drag-out fights with their parents. Brendan could only assume a huge, cataclysmic bust-up had driven her off into the arms of Serge, whoever the hell he was. Must’ve been a pretty good fight if she’d stayed gone for years, although maybe she’d just grown up and gotten sick of living under the burden of their parents’ narrow view on life.
“The Shallow Creek pie-eating contest is coming up fast,” his mother declared cheerily out of the blue. Did he have the heart to tell her he didn’t even like— “You should definitely enter, Brendan.”
Before he could say anything, his mother disappeared into the kitchen. His dad looked up from his empty plate with fire in his eyes. “Don’t bring up your sister in this house again.”
Brendan stared his dad down, but relented. This was his father’s house, not his. “Yes, sir.”
His dad probed his face for any hint of sarcasm or deceit, but finding none, snorted gruffly. Brendan’s mom flew into the dining room a moment later, wielding a large knife and a freshly baked pie. She squeezed it into the small amount of real estate left on the table and started cutting without another word. Brendan tried not to wince as her knife revealed syrupy piles of cherries inside the pie shell. There was only one thin
g he hated more than pie, and those little red bastards were it. Of course, Grant loved them, so this shouldn’t have been a surprising revelation.
His mother switched out his dinner plate with the one covered in everything he hated in the world of cuisine. When he hadn’t taken a single bite by the time she returned from stacking all the dirty plates in the kitchen, she reprimanded him playfully. “Come on, hun. You’ll need the practice if you’re going to win that contest again.”
It took every ounce of his being to smile and not point out that she’d once again confused him with his older brother, but even then, he couldn’t remember Grant winning the whole thing. His brother wasn’t exactly his favorite person in the world, so it wasn’t hard to believe he’d forgotten such an illustrious achievement as winning the Shallow Creek Pie-Eating Contest. Hopefully he wouldn’t have a chance to run into Grant and ask him.
The spoon moved painfully slowly, scooping up the red goop that he knew would taste like crap. He fought to keep the mild smile on his face to appease his mother’s blatant anticipation of the flurry of compliments sure to fly her way. Brendan noticed a smirk on his dad’s face.
Years of military food had suppressed Brendan’s gag reflex to a certain point, but apparently it hadn’t quite killed the natural response to inedible objects. As he chewed the pie and its sugary filling, he resisted the urge to spit it all right back onto the plate.
“Good, right?” his mother asked, grinning like a fox in a hen house.
Mouth still struggling to purge the cherries, Brendan smiled big and swallowed the lot of it whole. As bad as that was, he realized he had about twelve more shovels worth of the stuff to force down before he could escape this hellish dinner. His mother’s demeanor took on a whole new look with this validation from her son. She smiled a lot and caught him up on years’ worth of gossip he couldn’t have cared less about, but he played the role of the good son. Slowly, but surely, he worked his way through the enormous piece of pie, and then chugged a glass of water upon completion.
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