A Shadow on the Ground

by Smith, Rebecca Lee

  “You always say that, but we never do.” He shook his head sadly. “I feel like I’m losing you. Like it’s never going to be in the cards for us.”

  His emotions were raw. He had just lost his father. This wasn’t the time to break out the cold hard truth that she would never love him in that way.

  “Oh, come on.” She tried to sound cheerful. “The old poker game isn’t over yet.” And then, because she was the real coward in the room, she said, “You know I love you, Eth. We’re friends. Great friends. And I would never jeopardize something so dear to me.”

  He let her go. “You’re right,” he said, smiling. The old poker game isn’t over yet.”

  ****

  Morgan straightened the last two bar chairs and gave the counter a final swipe with her rag. “Are you done, J.D.? I don’t owe you another one, do I?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am.” J.D. drained the last of his beer then wiped his graying blond mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “I allow this is all I’ll be able to handle tonight.” He smiled, crinkling his bright blue eyes, then adjusted the ever present blue bandana wrapped around his wide forehead. “I’ve gotta get home. I like to get there before my dad goes to sleep.”

  “How is your dad?”

  “Ninety-three, half-blind, and mean as a striped snake.”

  “And you stay with him?”

  “Oh, he’s not so bad. I take care of him. He takes care of me.”

  Morgan dumped the container of lime and lemon slices in the trash. “You’re a good man, J.D.”

  “No,” he said softly. “I’m not worth much.” He grinned at her and picked up his denim jacket. “But I’m happy.”

  After he left, Peach emptied the plastic tip jar onto the counter. “Why do you even talk to J.D.? He’s nothing but a worn-out old hippie who still makes moonshine behind his garage and smokes anything he can get his hands on. I’d never waste my time on a loser like that.”

  “J.D. is a nice guy. He’s a little lost. But half the people who come into this bar are lost souls.”

  “Listen to you. You want people to think you’re tough, but inside you’re a bleeding heart just like your brother. Get real, Morgan. J.D. is trailer trash.”

  Morgan looked at her incredulously. “You live in a trailer.”

  “So, what?” Peach swept a long strand of bleached hair over her broad shoulder. “I’m not gonna live in one forever. I have plans. I have dreams. J.D. will die in that airless little shack he lives in, and never know there’s anything better out there. Like every other barfly who pisses away his paycheck in this dump.”

  “I thought you loved it here in Riverbirch. You said you always wanted to live on a farm.”

  Peach stopped counting one-dollar bills and glanced up. “I do. But unless you own one of these fine farms, you’ll never get anywhere.” She scraped a pile of coins into her hand. “Good thing I have my eye on a man who not only owns a farm, but treats me like a queen.”

  “Who?”

  She shook her generous hips and laughed. “Well, Sean, of course.” Her eyes closed halfway and unfocused dreamily. “He just hasn’t realized it yet, but he’s all about me. Oh! Guess who came into the bar this afternoon looking for you? Denny.”

  “My ex-husband Denny?”

  “I told him you didn’t come in till five, and were probably still at home.”

  “He came by. Peach, I wish you’d called me. At least given me some warning.”

  “I didn’t want to upset you. What did he want?” She bit her thick bottom lip. “I’d forgotten what a hunk he was. He looked good, Morgan. Real good.”

  Peach handed Morgan her share of the tips, then pulled a bottle of bourbon off the shelf. She poured a double shot and downed it, then cracked opened a beer. Beneath the yellow bar light, her face looked puffy and sallow. And old. The amount of hard liquor she consumed on a daily basis was taking its toll.

  “Andy’s beginning to notice the bourbon is disappearing.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he’ll mind if I borrow a buzz. All I have to do is remind him I slept with him after he married Carol. He was all about me then, but Carol has always hated me. She thought I was having sex with him long before we actually did anything.”

  “How can you do that to another woman? How can you sleep with a married man?”

  Peach shrugged. “He got me drunk and said he wanted to leave her. He said he’d heard I was the best.” She grinned. “He paid my rent through June; I had to prove him right. That’s why I still have a job here. That’s why I’ll always have a job here.”

  Morgan realized her mouth was hanging open, and closed it.

  Poor, sad, delusional Peach. Did she really believe the men she latched onto gave a damn about her? Couldn’t she see they were using her as badly as she used them? Her reputation was legendary. How many of these men, unless they were sober, and in strong, loving marriages, would turn her down if she came on to them? Riverbirch and Cherokee Bluff were small towns. By now, the local men knew what kind of woman she was. And after three drinks, most of them didn’t care.

  Peach poured herself another shot.

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Morgan chided gently. “You have to drive.”

  “Not for a while, Mother. I still have to make out the schedule for next week.” She fished a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. “Andy doesn’t care if I smoke in the office, either. Another perk I’ve earned.”

  “I’m gonna head on home. Want me to lock up?”

  “No, I’ll do it.” Peach pulled a bottle of cologne from her purse and spritzed some on her wrists. “Ethan said he might come by later. The two of us need to talk.”

  “What about?”

  Peach hoisted her purse on to her shoulder. She picked up her shot glass. “I need to straighten some things out with him. For a few weeks, he was all about me, then he stopped calling. I really liked the guy. I thought we should talk it out, see where we went wrong.”

  “I didn’t know you and Ethan were seeing each other.”

  Peach smiled. “Well, I guess he doesn’t tell you everything, now, does he?”

  Morgan crossed the empty bar and left by the back door. Was Ethan really meeting Peach tonight? Was he like some of the other men in town who trashed Peach behind her back then said yes to her the minute she invited them into her bed? Hard to tell with Ethan, though. Sometimes Morgan felt she didn’t know him at all. If he was meeting Peach, she hoped he didn’t mind paying a price. Nothing was ever free with Peach.

  Halfway home, Morgan remembered she'd left her paycheck in the office. She banged her fist on the steering wheel and cursed. Of all the stupid-ass things to do. If, by some miracle, the pickers Harlan had talked to showed up, they would expect to be paid in cash. She had no choice but to turn around and go back.

  She turned left into the abandoned Texaco station and made a U-turn, circling the only two pumps left standing. She braked at the road and waited for a car to pass. Her cell phone jangled to life beside her.

  “Morgan here.” She balanced the tiny phone between her ear and shoulder.

  “Gage here.” The low, familiar baritone sent a shiver skittering across her shoulders.

  “Checking up on me?”

  He laughed softly. “Well, I could lie and say Jeremy wanted to know why you're forty minutes late, but I'll take my chances and admit that yes, I was checking up on you.”

  “J.D., one of our regulars, hung around while we closed. It took forever. I just turned around on Barkerstown Road, and I'm on my way back to Bad Moon to pick up my paycheck. I can’t believe I left it in the office. Hang on.” She pulled on to the narrow, deserted road, then rolled the window down and breathed in the cool damp air. She switched her lights to bright and pushed the gear shift to second, then third. “Okay, I’m back.”

  “I wanted to say something about Jeremy and me moving into the guesthouse. I know it's the last thing you thought would happen today.”

  “You got that righ
t.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. “I'm still angry as hell at your uncle, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.” She didn’t mention the warning bells clanging like a three-alarm fire in her head, or the voices screaming at her to run the other way.

  “Good,” he said. “I know having us around might seem like an intrusion. Jeremy and I discussed it, and we don’t want to cramp your style.”

  “That would imply I have a style to cramp.”

  “What are you talking about? You have a lot of style.”

  “Oh, I’m stylish, all right. Jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, secondhand work boots, my grandpa’s old straw hat. What do they call that, Early Barnyard?”

  “Don’t knock the farm girl dynamic. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island.”

  “Aren’t you a little young for that show?”

  “Reruns on cable. Every day after middle school. Mary Ann made puberty almost tolerable.”

  “I’m not going to ask what Ginger did for you.”

  He laughed. “I like this. You and me. Talking like normal people.”

  “I don’t think normal people talk like this—oh, my God. Now, this is weird.”

  “What?”

  “I’m turning into Bad Moon, driving around back where the employees park. All the lights are off, and Peach's car has a flat tire.”

  “Why is that weird?”

  “Because I've only been gone fifteen minutes. Peach said she had work to do before Ethan stopped by. Maybe he got there early, and they decided to leave. I didn’t notice her car had a flat before I left. You’d think Ethan would have stayed to help her change it, or called Triple-A.”

  Morgan switched off the ignition. She got out of the truck and climbed the rickety steps to the back door. She jiggled the doorknob. “Door's locked. That's a good sign.”

  “Morgan, I don't think you should be—are you by yourself?”

  “Of course, I'm by myself. I’m unlocking the door. Not easy with a phone in one hand.”

  “Don't hang up. What are you doing now?”

  “I’m walking down the back hallway. Damn, it’s dark in here. Now, I’m reaching around the corner for the light switch. I can hear you breathing, Gage. This is starting to sound like an obscene call. Next thing I know, you'll be asking what color panties I'm wearing.”

  “I'm breathing hard because I don't have a good feeling about this.”

  “They're blue, by the way.”

  “Morgan, I hear something. What’s that noise?”

  “The door banged shut. Ah, good, the light came on. Well, that helped. One little light bulb dangling from a cord. I never realized how seedy this place looks. God, what’s that?”

  “What’s what? Do you see something?”

  “No, I smell it. What? It’s smoke. I think I smell smoke. Peach’s jacket is still hanging on the hook beside the door. She must still be here.”

  “Get out of there now!” Gage cried.

  “Peach! Peach, are you in here?”

  Morgan ran through the eating area, knocking tables and heavy wooden captain's chairs out of her way. She pushed open the kitchen door and flipped on the fluorescent light. The bitter stench of burning grease invaded her nostrils. She sniffed hard. “The air’s beginning to fill with smoke, but I don’t see a fire.”

  She sprinted down the hall to the office.

  “Morgan!” Gage yelled. “Get out of there now! Hang up and call 911.”

  “I’ve got to find the key. If Peach is in the office, she’s trapped.” Morgan looked around frantically. “I don’t know where the key is. Where’s the key? Where’s the fucking key?”

  Then, she remembered. Andy always kept a spare under the money tray in the cash register. She ran back through the kitchen to the bar. She punched in her password, released the cash drawer, and lifted out the metal tray. Empty. Her fingers flew over the bottom of the drawer, felt in every corner. Still, nothing.

  “Where is it?” she shrieked into the phone. “Where is it?”

  She held the tray up to the light. The tiny halogen bulbs over the bar caught a quick glint of silver taped to the bottom of the tray. “Got it.” She pried the key loose and ran back to the office. The acrid stench of smoke invaded her nostrils, burning them.

  Wispy trails rolled from beneath the door like morning mist off a riverbank. Morgan held the phone under her chin. Her hands shook as she inserted the key into the lock. The key turned easily, and she pushed. And pushed. But the door would not budge.

  “I've got the door unlocked,” she cried. “But it won’t open. Something’s blocking it. I can't see what’s in the way.” She banged against the doorframe with her fist. “Peach! Are you in there? Peach! Answer me!”

  “Morgan!” Gage yelled. “Get out of the building! I'm on my way. I’m hanging up to call 911, then I’ll call you back. Just get out! Now!”

  “The window on the door is painted. I can’t see inside. The hallway is getting really smoky.” Her lungs filled, and she coughed it out. “Oh, God, Gage, I think I hear her crying. She’s in there. I hear her in there. Peach! I don't know what else to do. I need both hands to do this. Peach, where are you? Get away from the door! Move away from the door, Peach! I’m breaking the glass!”

  ****

  Gage's phone went silent.

  He called 911, reported a fire at Bad Moon Rising, then called Morgan back. He paced the length of the guesthouse, his heart pounding, waiting for her to pick up. “Come on. Come on.” When her cell went to voicemail, he snapped his phone closed. He grabbed Jeremy's jacket off a nail and banged on the bedroom door. “Come on, son, we need to go. Morgan's in trouble.”

  Jeremy opened the door and stared at Gage, wide-eyed. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. Get in the car.”

  Gage sped down Milltown Road then turned onto Barkerstown, taking the treacherous hairpin turns as fast as he dared with a child in the car. Somewhere between making sure Jeremy was buckled in and starting the engine, he had switched to automatic, emptying his mind, concentrating on the crisis at hand, planning his next move. He had done it for so many years, it was second nature. It was also the only way he could hold the fear at bay without conjuring every worst-case scenario he could think of.

  “Go faster, Dad,” Jeremy said quietly. “I’m not scared.”

  He pulled into Bad Moon's parking lot, rumbling over the mud ruts and gravel, braking too fast and jolting the souped-up Mustang to a halt. A tall, thin man stood beside a dark blue sedan, staring at the front of the building.

  “Stay here,” he said to Jeremy. “Lock the doors and do not move.” He got out, and for the second time that day, reached for his non-existent gun. He approached the man slowly. “Sir?”

  The man turned around. He held a cell phone in his hand. “I just got here. I was getting ready to call for help.”

  “I've already called.” Gage ran to the front door and jiggled the knob. “It's locked.” He pushed hard against it with his hands, shoved it with his shoulder. “It feels like a wooden bar may be blocking it. You've got to help me break it down. Morgan Maguire is inside.”

  The man stared at him, then shook his head as if suddenly awakened from a fog. “What did you say?”

  Gage kicked the wooden door frame. “Don’t just stand there. Help me!”

  The man thrust his foot at the door. One-two-three kick, like a boxer practicing his moves. The side of the pine frame splintered, but the thick door remained impenetrable.

  “I thought Morgan went home,” the man said, huffing out air. “I—I was supposed to meet Peach. Are you sure Morgan is in there?”

  “She forgot something.” Kick. “And had to—” Kick. “—come back for it.” Gage stopped. His foot throbbed. The muscles in his thighs burned with exhaustion. But he’d be damned if he was going to bend over and hold them like the man standing next to him. He swallowed air then looked at the road. Panic clutched his throat. “Where the hell is t
he fire truck? It should be here by now!”

  “I—I don't know.” The man stood wringing his hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Jesus.” Gage pushed the man out of the way and picked up an aluminum bucket filled with sand and cigarette butts. He swung the bucket back.

  “Are you going to throw a bucket at the door?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  The man shook his head.

  Gage swung the bucket back like a discus and prepared to hurl it toward the wide door. He used the painted blue and white full moon logo as his target.

  The front door crashed open. Plumes of gray smoke streamed into the night.

  “Morgan!” the man beside him cried.

  “Ethan! Gage! Help me!”

  Gage threw the bucket on the ground and rushed past Ethan. Morgan held onto Peach, half dragging her across the threshold. Both of her arms wrapped around Peach’s thick waist. Peach groaned loudly as they stumbled out the door.

  “Morgan!” Jeremy was suddenly beside them. “Are you okay? Dad, is she okay? Her arm is bleeding.”

  Gage pulled Peach from Morgan’s arms and helped her to a picnic table in the grassy area at the side.

  The high-pitched whine of a siren wailed in the distance, louder and louder, until the bright swirl of red flashing lights appeared at the end of the road.

  The next few minutes were a jumbled blur. Firemen in heavy black coats stormed the low slung building, carrying hoses the size of pythons. Two paramedics hovered over Peach. Morgan sat on the EMT truck’s running board beside Jeremy, holding an oxygen mask to her face. She winced as she lifted her bandaged arm and slid it around Jeremy's shoulder. A slash of soot streaked across the right side of her face. Her jeans were shredded below the knees and spotted with fresh blood.

  She looked up at Gage. Their gazes locked.

  For one exquisite moment, the clamor of the firemen, the bitter stench of smoke, the red lights cutting across the black night sky—everything—all fell away. She smiled and waved her hand. His heart constricted with relief. She looked down and grinned at Jeremy, gently thumping the bill of his baseball hat to reassure him again she was all right. The kid wouldn't let her out of his sight. And Gage knew how he felt. The adrenaline that had pulsed through his veins like ice water the second he realized she was in trouble, and too far away for him to save, had only begun to subside. Whatever made him think an adrenaline rush was fun? Jesus. He never wanted to feel that wave of sheer helplessness again. Just thinking about it made him want to lean his head against a light pole and cry.