Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

  When he continued to stare at the television, she figured he was ashamed. According to her textbooks, this would be a natural reaction the first time a young man raised his hand in anger against his loved ones. Alcohol would do that, but there was hope. If the church had counseling services, she’d sign them up right away and then tell Lenny about it later. She would be gentle but insist. They had to. Their future depended on this never happening again.

  Jessie lifted the baby in one arm and shrugged into the shoulder straps of the diaper bag and purse. Overloaded, she tried to open the door, but both straps slipped off her shoulder and down to her elbow, forcing her off-balance. She fell against the wall, catching herself and muttering a curse.

  Still no sound except the TV.

  “Could you at least open the door for me?”

  He took his time turning to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot. “Where you going?”

  “Church.”

  “It’s not Sunday.”

  “New Year’s is a church day. The service starts in a few minutes. So can you help me get out the door, please?”

  “How you getting there?”

  Jessie sighed. “I’m taking the car.” She waited. He wasn’t happy when she went somewhere alone in the old Honda. He said he was afraid it would break down, and she’d be stranded. She hoped he wouldn’t insist on driving her, as usual.

  “You want to go, fucking go.” Lenny belched and looked back at the TV. He raised the can and took another swig. “Don’t expect me to help you after the way you acted.”

  She couldn’t believe it. He was mad? He was the one who hit her, not the other way around. She juggled the baby to get a more secure grip and reached for the door. “Fine. Be that way. Don’t trouble yourself.”

  He was up and out of the chair in an instant, pushing between her and the door, his barrel chest blocking her. His face was almost red, and the veins on his neck pulsated. “You want some more?”

  The baby began to wail. Jessie found it hard to breathe. Her whole body shook as she stepped back, away from him. A knot formed in her solar plexus, and she fought to maintain control in order to protect Sunshine and escape. Struggling to slow her breathing, she looked down at the floor. “I didn’t mean anything.”

  “What?” He pushed at her sore arm, the one he’d bruised the night before. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  “Fuckin’-A, you’re sorry.” His head bobbed like a proud rooster.

  She tried to think of evasive action she could take or what she could do to protect herself if he escalated. The most important thing was to get through that door and away without aggravating him further. Utilizing every shred of acting talent she possessed, she dropped her shoulders, averted her eyes, and spoke in a soft voice barely above a whisper. “Is it okay if I go?”

  He moved a couple inches to the side. “Don’t be whining to people about your problems.”

  She nodded, looking down in what she hoped he saw as submission. Fear struggled with growing anger. If not for Sunshine, Jessie would say what she really thought. But now she was a mother, and if he did anything to hurt the baby, she would flat go crazy on him.

  “So keep your mouth shut.”

  “I will,” she mumbled.

  “What?” He put his face right into hers, noses almost touching.

  She shook her head.

  “That’s right. Don’t say anything.” He blocked her for another ten seconds then stepped aside.

  Jessie hurried out, afraid he’d give her a shove on the way past, so murderous was the rage emanating from him. Her hands shook as she buckled Sunshine into her car seat. Jessie swung the back end of the Honda into the bare spot by the dog’s tree. Booger raced to the end of his chain, barking furiously. Shifting into drive, she stepped on the gas. The tires chirped when they hit the blacktop. She hoped Lenny hadn’t heard it. She watched her home grow smaller in the rearview mirror, realizing he could do whatever he wanted now: get drunk, put her clothes in a pile in the driveway, or wreck everything she owned. He could burn the trailer to the ground.

  She concentrated on the road as it wound through the countryside, past broken-down bungalows and rusting trailer homes, past a small pond and a pasture, and past a feedstore, until she found the church.

  Bountiful Baptist Fellowship, a white clapboard building nestled between two ancient willows, was doing brisk business on the first day of the new year. Although the church was small, the parking lot was packed, and a choir was in full voice. She almost turned around and left, but she didn’t know where else to go. Lenny had scared her so bad she couldn’t think straight. She felt numb. As she wove through the parked cars, carrying the baby, she heard rather than felt the gravel crunching underfoot.

  An usher stood at the top of the steps, holding the front door open. A thin frizz of salt-and-pepper gray topped his dark skull, and his suit was shiny with wear. “Just go on in, dear. There’s plenty of places left to sit.”

  “Thank you.” Jessie turned her face to hide the bruise. Inside the second set of doors, she stood looking for a seat, but the church was packed. Not one seat was empty. At that point, her courage failed her. She turned to leave, but to her horror, an usher called out from the front row.

  “Come sit up here, child.” He looked at the people who were already seated. “Can you scoot over a bit for the young lady?”

  Jessie blanched. Now the whole congregation would see her face. Behind the pulpit, a robed choir began singing a gospel song. She was trapped, exposed before the entire community.

  A kindly old gentleman appeared at her side. “I’ll take you.” He held his arm out behind her like a shield and escorted them to the front pew, where a beaming grandmother patted the seat next to her. She wore a hat adorned with purple, green, and blue sequins, topped by a fake songbird. As she moved her head, the bird bobbed and wobbled. Sunshine was entranced. “Welcome,” the woman said. “Today is my lucky day. What a precious baby girl.” She spoke to the man next to her, and he got the rest of the row to shift to the right. “There. How’s that?”

  Jessie gulped and nodded.

  The reverend had ascended the pulpit and stood waiting. “Is everybody good now?”

  “Yes, Reverend, we are just dandy, thank you,” said the woman.

  Jessie felt both trapped and embraced. Even if Lenny had followed her here, no way could he hurt her now. The fear she’d been holding at bay began to dissipate, leaving her weak. It was all she could do not to cry. She glanced at Sunshine, who was studying the hat. The choir began a new hymn.

  “Aren’t you the most adorable little thing?” the woman said.

  Sunshine began to fidget. She leaned away from Jessie, squirming toward the woman, wanting the stranger to hold her. Jessie tried to distract her, jiggling and whispering, but Sunshine wanted to go, so her mother gave up and handed her into the eager embrace of the lady with the bird hat. The baby, now shy, rested quietly in the woman’s arms as the hymn continued. The woman hummed along with the music, rocking back and forth, beaming and cooing at Sunshine.

  The choir finished, their robes rustling as they sat down. The pastor checked his notes and looked up, studying them all for a moment. “We fall into routines,” he began in a sonorous voice. “Routines that take us reliably through our days. Routines that help us take care of business, that help us keep our lives under control and running smoothly. Routines are useful. They help us. They are good.” The congregation murmured assent.

  “But routine can be deadly. Because sometimes”—he grasped the edges of the pulpit and looked out at them—“sometimes routine can lull us. It tricks us. Seduces us. We become hypnotized by our little routines, which are so useful and effective.” His voice strengthened. “We become complacent. We miss what is happening around us.”

  “Amen.”

  “Yes, brother.”

  The reverend leaned forward, glaring. “And that’s when Satan grabs us!”

  Jess
ie flinched, and the grandmother patted her arm, chuckling. The members of the choir were smiling, too. Apparently this was an expected part of the pastor’s act, a move designed to shake them up.

  It worked. Jessie’s brain cleared, and she began to focus on her situation. Whatever love she had for Lenny was unimportant. He had turned into a scary asshole. She sent a silent apology skyward, but it was true. She had to keep herself and her daughter safe.

  And that meant she couldn’t go back. Tears stung her eyes as she saw the reality. She would have to leave with the clothes on her back.

  The preacher finished his sermon and let the choir take over. As they sang “Since I Have Been Redeemed,” Jessie made her plan. The first step would be to clean out the bank account—what little there was—and find a cheap hotel for the night. That was the easy part. She would also have to get as much cash from the credit cards as possible, before Lenny noticed and canceled them. First thing would be to fill up the gas tank.

  If she was going to run, she’d have to run far. Otherwise, Lenny would find her. In fact, he might be looking now.

  She could barely sit still, waiting for the service to end, but when it did, she grabbed Sunshine back from the hat lady and, with baby wailing and bags bouncing, ran to the parking lot and fled.

  CHAPTER 17

  TRAFFIC WAS LIGHT AS Karen left Savannah, deep in thought as to her next move. She would pawn the earrings and bank the cash. Savannah was nothing more than a memory now, a fading image in the rearview mirror, but it had clarified Karen’s intentions. If she’d been focused before, she was now a heat-seeking missile. She knew what she had to do.

  The CRS ladies would be a challenge. With their retiree mind-set, she’d have a hard time getting anything done, short of pulling down her shades and turning into a hermit. They’d never go for that. In the month she’d been at the campground, they’d refused to believe her when she said she needed peace and quiet. Oh, they acted like they were on board, but then something would always happen, and they’d be pounding on her door, demanding her presence at this party or that outing.

  The ladies were good friends, but they were impossible when it came to her work. And for the long term, the app was critical, because if she couldn’t figure out how to work smarter, she’d never get further than where she was, right now. She drove southward, deep in thought.

  An hour later, nausea had been replaced by hunger. At the next off-ramp, she followed a sign that indicated hotels and restaurants at a place called Jekyll Island.

  The lone roadway onto the island narrowed down to a bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway. Down below, yachts and pleasure craft stood at anchor, and pennants flew from the spires of a grand old building. She drove past tidal grasslands and mossy oaks toward a historic area. Grand Victorian homes adorned with slate roofs and gables, and shaded by stately magnolia trees, lined the drive to the Jekyll Island Hotel. A driveway, shaded by massive live oaks draped with silvery moss, curved around to the front of the hotel, a three-story gingerbread-style mansion. Karen handed her keys to the valet and ascended a flight of steps. A veranda, decorated with hanging baskets of ferns, led to the lobby. Lush with leather wingback chairs, a marble fireplace, and a hand-carved cherrywood staircase, it spoke of a lavish life in days gone by.

  The hostess led her to a table in the center of the dining room, which was adorned with crystal chandeliers and white linen tablecloths. A massive fireplace anchored the far end of the room, and candlelight flickered in the center of each table. “Welcome to the Jekyll Island Club.” She handed Karen a menu and wine list and departed.

  Outside the window, a pair of Adirondack chairs posed under a willow tree on a lawn that sloped gently down to the banks of the Intracoastal. Boats, both leisure and working, passed each other heading north and south. A sigh escaped Karen’s lips, and in spite of the prices, she ordered cheese crepes and a mimosa.

  The hostess came back and handed Karen a brochure. “You may want to look around a bit. There’s quite a lot to do.”

  Karen unfolded the map. Jekyll Island wasn’t huge. She could check it out in less than an hour before hitting the road and heading back to the challenge of Key Largo.

  After paying her bill, Karen drove past a collection of sprawling, multistory mansions. Some had been converted to fine-dining establishments or B&Bs. One, the old infirmary, now housed gift shops and a bookstore. Horse-drawn carriages waited in front of a sleepy museum. It was all very quaint and would make a nice vacation spot if Karen could ever take the time. She rolled down her windows and inhaled the balmy sea air.

  The road looped around the island. On the southern end, modest homes lined the shoreline, affording million-dollar ocean views. A sign in front of a small craftsman bungalow read For Rent. Couldn’t be much—the house was faded and worn and needed a new roof. Then she slammed on the brakes and backed up. Down the long gravel driveway, a shiny, new Airstream stood perched on a rise overlooking the ocean. The retro aerodynamic shape looked like a thirty-footer, plenty of room for one person.

  Karen parked and scanned the yard, but all she saw was a few hens, clucking and pecking at the ground. She walked down the drive for a closer look.

  What a perfect place to stay. You’d have solitude, but if you needed supplies or a nice meal, you could drive a couple miles to a shopping village. And all around were sweeping views of the ocean. Karen knocked on the door of the house.

  “Just a minute, please.”

  The door opened, and an old black woman smiled at Karen. She wore a hand-embroidered apron with oversized pockets.

  “I saw the sign. It refers to the trailer?”

  “Yes, it does. Are you looking for a rental?”

  “I might be. Can I see the inside?”

  “I’ll get the key.” The woman came down the stairs, leaning on a cane. They walked together toward the Airstream, parked on a concrete pad that looked as if someone had just swept it. Thirty yards beyond the trailer, the property ended, bordered by a low-growing hedge of palmettos. The land sloped away to the water’s edge, closer than the length of a football field. A couple of patio chairs were tipped against a table, and the umbrella was closed and covered with a canvas sleeve. Twin pots of geraniums bracketed the door. The woman inserted a key, pushed it open, and labored up the step. Karen followed.

  The interior was laid out like a barbell, with the living room at one end, the bedroom at the other, and a narrow hallway down the middle. A queen-sized bed filled most of the bedroom, with windows on both sides and storage over the headboard.

  The kitchen was monochromatic stainless and ivory, with a new coffeemaker on the counter. “There’s silverware and such,” the woman said. “Go ahead and open the drawers and cabinets.”

  “Okay.”

  The kitchen was fully equipped, even to the extent of napkins and condiments in the cupboards. The appliances gleamed. Karen felt a surge of excitement as idea took shape.

  In the combination dining/living room, a large window occupied the back wall of the trailer. Karen opened the curtains to a glimmering view of the ocean. She could work here. It would entail extra expense, since she’d want to leave her rig in Key Largo, but with the earrings in her purse, she felt as if she could afford it.

  “How much are you asking?”

  “How long would you want it?”

  “A month,” said Karen, “depending on the price.”

  “Two fifty a week,” said the woman. She was old. Her milky eyes were glazed with age.

  “Would you take eight hundred, cash? I could give you two hundred today as a deposit.”

  “I would.” The old woman reached out to shake Karen’s hand. “I’m Ida. This is my daughter’s trailer. They live out in LA, but they never use it, so I decided to rent it. You’re my first customer.”

  Karen gave her a business card. “I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

  Ida nodded, studying the card. “See you then.”

  Back on the road, she slid a disc int
o the CD player. This was just what she needed—a lovely secluded place from which to work on all of Ben’s new projects, plus the app. She would need to find someone to do the coding. Maybe Curt knew of someone at the college? Or cousin Lorraine, or her friends back in North Dakota? She would call around tomorrow, in between all the other chores necessary to pack and secure the trailer. She could ask Fern and Bell to keep an eye on it, once they got over being mad at her for leaving.

  Karen couldn’t believe her luck in finding the Airstream. She would be free to avoid distractions and work, work, work until she’d built a foundation for her new life.

  Everything was coming together perfectly.

  CHAPTER 18

  WHEN JESSIE SPED FROM the church, she’d been fueled by fear and determination, but as the miles passed, the enormity of her endeavor began to sink in. She had no idea where she was going, and she had a baby to care for.

  Lenny would be furious, but once he calmed down, what would he be thinking? Would he be sorry? Would it ever be safe to return, and if not, what would she do? She had a couple hundred dollars in her wallet, from cleaning out their checking account. That wouldn’t last long.

  Sunshine had only needed attention a few times, once when her diaper had to be changed and a couple times to be fed. Other than that, Jessie mostly drove without interruption for four hours straight, and that gave her time to think.

  In midafternoon, she found Valdosta and a crappy chain hotel that didn’t look too scary, right off the Interstate. She handed the clerk her credit card, acting brave until it went through and then slumping a little in relief. It might have been smarter to pay cash, but she didn’t want to part with it. Besides, Lenny hadn’t called yet, so probably he was sulking and expecting her to come crawling back—like that was going to happen. In the morning, she’d move on, once she figured out where.

  The hotel room was depressingly bleak. She wadded up the germy floral bedspread and stuffed it into the closet. The baby wanted to get down and explore, so Jessie took her for a walk, holding her. Cars whizzed by on the Interstate, and people drove in and out of the parking lot, loading and unloading, slamming doors and yelling. After a while, Jessie took a seat at the hotel’s café, fed the baby, and picked at a salad for herself. Back at the room, she locked them in and tipped a chair against the door. Using towels as bumpers to keep the baby from getting too adventurous, she fashioned a little corral on the bed for Sunshine. Then she watched TV and wondered what the hell she was going to do.