Jake’s head popped up when a tap rattled against the glass. He cranked down the driver side window. “What’s up, Marco?”
The short Spanish guy, who doubled as a cook and a dishwasher at the restaurant, stood in the rainy night air, the apron still tied snugly around his waist. “Hey. You okay, bro?”
Hell no, he wasn’t okay.
“I’m good. What’s up?”
“Nada. Just checkin’ up on you.” He slipped a soft-pack of cigarettes out from his pocket and lifted it to his mouth, pulling out a smoke. “I’m headed back to mi familia.” He lit the cigarette with a heavy Zippo lighter. The flame danced, casting yellow and orange highlights over his features. He snapped the lid shut.
Jake gestured toward the restaurant with a nod of his head. “Thanks for hooking me up with this job, by the way.”
“Man.” Marco took a long drag, blowing smoke out of his nose. “This job fucking sucks. But it’s something.” He shrugged.
“You wouldn’t happen to know of any other work?”
Marco shook his head. “This is it, bro.”
Jake wasn’t the only one having a hard time making ends meet, and he wasn’t the only one with responsibility, either.
“Hey. How’s your mom?” Jake turned his car off and glanced at the gas gauge, teetering just below half a tank.
“Good. Same old crazy-ass Latin woman.” Marco chuckled. “Pops is getting old, fat and happy, eating and drinking beer.” He drew in another long drag from his cigarette.
Jake glanced at the time. If he didn’t leave now, he wouldn’t have time to finish his assignment that was due tomorrow. And his online chemistry professor wasn’t the type to let him turn it in late without docking major points from his grade. “All right man. I have to go.”
“Okay, bro. Take it easy. See you tomorrow.”
Jake dropped his head. “Yeah. Another double shift.” He started the car and pulled away, his stomach growling as he turned onto the main road. He hadn’t eaten anything since the glass of milk and some strawberry Pop-Tarts that morning.
His phone rang. He flipped it open and pressed it to his ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, Jake. How ya doin’?”
A heavy weight settled in his chest. “Hey Wes. What’s going on?”
“Just wondering if you’re gonna be comin’ back to join the crew? Haven’t heard from ya since ya left.”
“Man.” He pressed harder on the gas, thinking of all the money he could make in just one summer on the boat. “I, uh...I don’t think so. My mom’s sick. She really needs me to stick around.”
“So you’re not coming back? When the hell did you decide that?”
“Just the other day. I wasn’t expecting to stay, but things got bad here and I’m kinda stuck.”
“I know you didn’t make a whole lot last year, but this season’s supposed to be better, and I just got the boat all fixed up. I need you on board.”
He’d made nearly twelve grand last summer on the rickety old boat. Sure, he smelled like fish for three months straight, but it was worth it. He groaned. “You’re killing me. You know I want to, but—” He considered it for a second, gripping the steering wheel even harder. “I really can’t, Wes. I’m sorry.”
The old skipper mumbled a chain of curse words. “All right. Looks like I’ll be lookin’ for another goddamn greenhorn this year.”
Jake grinned, remembering his first season of Wes shouting at him every two seconds, watching while he slipped all over the deck, his foot got caught in the rope and he nearly fell overboard. “Yeah. I know how much you hate training rookies.”
“Damn right. And if I get another pain-in-the-ass-know-it-all like you, I’m holdin’ you responsible.”
Jake chuckled. “Good luck with that, Cap’.”
“Yeah, yeah.” A second later, the line went dead.
He snapped his phone shut and tossed it in the seat beside him. The payoff from that job could have carried them through most of the year if he stretched it enough.
The phone rang again. “Damn it, Wes.” He answered the phone. “I’m sorry, Wes, but—”
“Hey, honey.” His mom sounded sleepy.
“Oh. Hi. What’s up?”
“I forgot to ask if you could pick up my medicine on the way home. I hope it’s not too late.”
He glanced at the digital display in his dashboard. Eleven o’clock. “Where did you call it in to?”
“The twenty-four hour pharmacy by our house.”
“Okay. I got it.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Sorry for making you run more errands. I’m sure you’re real tired.”
And hungry.
“Don’t worry about it. See you when I get home.”
He shut his phone and peered down the road, searching for the pharmacy sign in the dark. A few minutes later he spotted it. He pulled into the parking lot and collected his tips, tossing his apron into the back seat.
When he walked into the pharmacy, the woman behind the counter smiled and yawned. “How can I help you?” She blinked slowly and sipped her Red Bull.
“I need to pick up a prescription for Sheryl Coleman.”
The short brunette turned and plucked the bag from the baskets, and then scanned the barcode. The cash register beeped. “Seventy-nine dollars and eighty two cents.”
Jake stopped counting his money. “What?”
She pointed to the total on the display screen. “Seventy-nine eighty-two.”
“Is there a generic brand you can give her instead? Something cheaper?”
She typed on the computer, shaking her head. “We do have a generic, but with the amount your insurance covers on this one, it would be more expensive.”
Jake shoved the forty dollars back in his pocket. “Can I pick it up later?”
She nodded and filed the prescription back into its basket. “It’ll be here.”
His mind raced as he walked out of the store. He had to find another job, and fast. The search would start first thing tomorrow morning. His chemistry assignment would just have to wait. Sucks, especially after he worked so hard to keep a steady B all year. But at this point, he didn’t have a choice.
Chapter Seven
Maya
Maya lay in her bed, reading through the college pamphlet. If she transferred her credits from California, she could go for an Associates of Art, and maybe get into teaching.
That would probably be the best she would ever do.
She sighed and lowered the pamphlet into her lap, her eyes drawn to the sun beaming through her bedroom windows—eleven o’clock at night.
Summer on Kodiak came with a strange side effect. Sun, and lots of it. But it wasn’t the kind of sun she was used to on the beaches of California, where it heated the air and made the sidewalks too hot to walk barefoot.
In Alaska it seemed so far away, only warm when it was beating on your back, and not falling until ungodly hours of the night.
She’d have to get some heavier curtains if she wanted any sleep.
Maya pulled the blanket over her head and curled up into a ball, letting her eyes drift closed and her muscles relax. The ticking of the clock guided her mind between sleep and awake.
Giggles echoed in her ears. Maya wiggled under the covers, still conscious of the blankets wrapped around her and the way her hair draped over her cheek as she drifted into a deeper sleep.
The sparkling surface of waves flashed behind her eyelids. Sun reflected off the rippling water. Maya stood on the beach, her toes buried in warm sand. Salty air tickled her nose as she scanned the ocean’s surface. She was home. A soft smile spread over her lips.
“Look, Maya. It’s a seashell.”
Maya turned, watching Gracie stoop on the wet sand, digging with a stick while she picked out shiny pebbles and pink shells. Her tiny face turned up toward Maya with a beaming smile. Waves rolled over the shore, crashing against Gracie’s bare feet and wrapping around her ankles before pulling back again. Gracie’s giggles made
Maya’s smile widen.
“The water’s warm,” Gracie squealed. “Let’s go swimming!”
Before Maya could react, Gracie ran straight into the sea. “Gracie, stop!” Maya charged into the waves after her, but her sister had already vanished beneath the surface. “Gracie!”
Heavy storm clouds rolled in, casting shadows over the water, making it impossible to see to the bottom. “Oh God. No!” Maya desperately scanned the surface. “Gracie!”
Maya gasped and sat up, tears blurring her vision. She grounded herself in her bed by gripping the covers. Cold sweat zigzagged down her spine.
Since Gracie died, Maya had the same dream over and over, always ending the same way. For some reason she never saw it coming, and was never able to stop Gracie in time...never got to hug her little sister and inhale the smell of the strawberry shampoo that scented her hair.
The sun had finally gone down. The sound of crickets and a cool breeze crept through her window. Maya slid her legs over the side of her bed and planted her feet on the floor, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.
Another sleepless night.
In California when she couldn’t sleep, she found peace in painting. With everyone sheltered in their homes, no sounds of cars rushing down the streets, and the night’s symphony of crickets, the world seemed like a different place.
Maya stood and grabbed a blank canvas, her container of paints and brushes, and an easel. Balancing them awkwardly in her arms, she dragged them through her house and out her back door to the porch, where she could admire the view of the water.
It was cold, but she was surprised it wasn’t colder. The winds brushed her hair across her neck and over her shoulders, sending a chill up her arms. She set up her easel and canvas, mixing paints by the light of a few bright bulbs on either side of the back door. It wasn’t ideal light for painting, but she needed a release, and it had been entirely too long since she created anything new.
The moon seemed twice the size it was in California. It hung over the vast ocean, casting a soft glow over the night. Maya struggled to match the hue of the sky—not black, but a unique hue of deep royal blue.
The brushstrokes were familiar and comforting, drawing her back to the place within herself where she was safe.
It seemed like she had only been out there for an hour when Maya noticed a soft haze of light in the far distance. The sun had already begun to rise. She’d have to finish up before her scene vanished with the light of a new day.
She swirled the stiff bristle of an old brush in some white paint and poised it over the canvas. With a flick of her thumb, Maya sent tiny speckles of paint on the dark background, creating a cluster of stars. She stepped back and took in her painting, admiring the rich colors and gentle beauty of the night landscape.
It seemed like something her mom would like. She did say her bedroom was bland. Maya carefully carried the painting and her supplies back inside the house, resting her easel against a chair in the kitchen and her supplies on the table. She walked through the hall and up the stairs to her parents’ bedroom. It would be a nice surprise for her mom to wake up to. Maybe it would make her smile. It might even show her that Maya still loved her, in her own way. She couldn’t remember the last time her mom hugged her or told her she was proud.
She crept closer to her parents’ bedroom door and leaned the painting gently against the wall. The creaking of floorboards paired with the soft light peaking out from the cracked door made Maya pause.
Her mother’s whispers carried into the hall. Maya furrowed her brows and poised her ear near the opening of the door. Her throat tightened when she heard the quiet sobs of her mother alone in bed. Dad had been at the base for the last few days—something her mother always hated. Maya hated it too. They needed him, and he was never around. Especially now.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” her mother whispered, desperation woven into each trembling word. “Lord, please...” There was a long pause. Another quiet sob tricked from her mother’s throat. “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.”
Maya suppressed a gasp and stepped back. Her mother was reciting The Serenity Prayer.
Maya had no idea it had gotten that bad.
Her mother used to recite the prayer daily—several times a day even. And Maya had gotten used to hearing it. As long as she said that prayer, it meant she was fighting to stay sober. But it had been so long since her mother had to say it. It meant the wine bottle she found wasn’t a casual drink with dinner.
Certain demons just don’t go away.
Maya backed away, a lump in her throat as a weight settled deep in her gut. She slipped into her room and grabbed her cell phone. It wasn’t until she was typing a message to Beth that she noticed her hands were shaking.
Hey. You awake?
Maya waited for a response.
U know I’m a night owl. What’s up? U OK?
I think my mom has a problem.
How bad?
Maya shook her head. Bad enough to pray...
Her mother had never been a religious person. In AA, they used faith as a means to get sober and stay sober. It was the first time she heard her mom speak of God, and though it was strange, it was a welcome change. Believing in anything was better than believing in nothing as far as Maya was concerned.
Her phone buzzed again. Looks like you made a good choice moving, then. She needs you.
Maya lowered her phone into her lap. Beth was right. Maya had her doubts, but this was why she left her life behind, why she gave up her scholarship, her entire life. Even if her mother didn’t appreciate her loyalty, or even her love, Maya clung to the few memories she had of the good times.
She would start school, work toward whatever degree she could get, and be with her parents, where she belonged. She’d do it for her family. She’d do it because deep down, she knew Gracie would want her to stay.
Chapter Eight
Jake
Jake drove through the wet streets, the glare of his headlights reflecting against the rain making him squint. He leaned into the steering wheel, his windshield wipers doing the world’s worst job at clearing away the thick rain.
He sped past a flash of red. Shit. Was that a stop sign?
He glanced over his shoulder, and then refocused on the road. His palms began to sweat as he gripped the wheel, trying to figure out how he’d come up with the money to pay for his mom’s medicine.
The phone rang, making him jump. He ground his teeth and snatched it from the seat, then checked the caller ID. It was his mom. Apparently he wouldn’t have to wait to tell her.
Jake flipped open the phone and pressed it to his ear. “Hey Mom.” Sharp breaths crashed over the speaker of the phone. Jake narrowed his eyes. “Hello?” His mom moaned, and there was a loud crash in the background. “Hello? Mom?” He threw the phone aside and pressed harder on the gas.
She could have had another seizure and was probably alone, Wayne out partying with his buddies again.
Speeding as fast as he could without hydroplaning, he finally reached the entrance of the trailer park and fishtailed inside. Pebbles spit from his back tires as he sped down the gravel road to his house, slamming on the brakes.
Jake threw his car in park and jumped out. The handlebars of Wayne’s Harley shone in the beam of his headlight.
Every muscle in Jake’s body tensed.
He dashed up the stairs, through the door hung wide open. Once inside, his stomach dropped. Shattered dishes lay scattered over the floor. The coffee table was turned over, a cold TV dinner face down on the floor, seeping into the fibers of the dingy carpet.
“Mom?” He dashed through the hall where the two bedrooms were. Jake barged into the largest one. “Mom?”
A moan came from the floor on the other side of the bed. Jake leapt on top of the lumpy mattress to see his mother sprawled on the floor, blood trickli
ng from her nose, streaked across her cheek. Her hair was matted and stained red, lying limp over her forehead. Jake crouched on the mattress. Light from the streetlamp outside shined through tattered blinds and across her face, showing one of her eyes was completely swollen shut.
She lifted her shaky hand, pointing to the bathroom on the other side of the room.
Jake gently cupped her hand in his. “It’s going to be okay, Mom.” He reached for his phone in his pocket, and realized he left it in his car. “Shit.” He searched for hers, but didn’t see it lying anywhere. “Where’s your phone, Mom?” She just moaned, and he glanced over his shoulder at the door to the bathroom, the sound of running water coming from inside.
He let his mom’s hand slip away and lowered himself to the floor and searched under the bed for the bat his mom kept in case someone ever broke into the house.
It would also work for beating her abusive boyfriend within an inch of his life.
Jake’s fingertips brushed against the cool wood. He pulled it from under the bed and glared at the door. Tightening his hands around the neck of the bat, he prepared to unleash an epic dose of fuck you on the drunk bastard.
He rested his back against the wall beside the bathroom and waited. The handle turned and the door creaked open. Wayne lingered, the scent of alcohol infusing the air.
Jake peeked around the corner into the bathroom. Wayne was looking down at his hands, wiping them clean with a rag as he swayed, and then slumped against the doorframe, his heavy boots scraping the linoleum floor.
Jake’s muscles coiled tighter as Wayne stepped closer. With the weapon poised over his shoulder, Jake gripped the bat in his hands and stiffened his upper lip, grinding his teeth. Wayne shifted forward. Jake swung the bat as hard as he could, but the dim light didn’t help his aim.
The Edge of You Page 4