by Sadie Allen
I hoisted myself up over the threshold and was instantly in front of her, cupping her bruised and battered face. My blood roared in my ears, thinking about the condition of her truck and now looking at her face … Was it Ashley and her friends? Or had she gotten her brother to do her dirty work? Could it have been one of her neighbors?
I didn’t know what look I had on my face, but it made Sunny draw back then wince in pain.
“What the hell happened here?” I could hear the menace in my own voice, and by the wary look that crossed her face, she had picked up on it, too.
Sunny looked around her home, as if seeing it for the first time, and then turned back to look at me, biting her bottom lip. I found myself distracted, staring at that lip. I noticed that her bottom lip was cut and swollen, and then my eyes traveled over the rest of her face. One cheek was bruised, and her right eye was puffy and swollen shut.
“Who did this to you?” I asked quietly.
She opened her mouth to reply, but I cut her off.
“Don’t think about lying to me, Sunny. Don’t ever lie to me, okay?”
She snapped her mouth closed, and her eyes searched mine for what felt like a long time.
“Did Ashely do this? Asher?”
She shook her head and looked away from me. Then she turned back, her good eye bright and shiny. That was when she whispered the words that absolutely broke my heart.
“My dad.”
Her face crumpled, and with no thought at all, I gathered her in my arms while her small frame shook with big, body-wracking sobs as she clutched my shirt tightly at the waist.
Smoothing my hands through her soft hair, I felt her jerk and heard her mumble, “Ow.”
Pulling back, I looked down at her as she said, “My head is sore …”
Tilting her head down, I saw the hair at the top looked a little thinner, like she was missing some hair. Again, I could feel my blood heat and my body tense. I wanted to beat the crap out of her good-for-nothing father.
“Shh … It’s okay,” I said as I pulled her back against my chest.
We stood that way for a while, her sobs abating to soft sniffles and silent tears that soaked my shirt. I didn’t care. It felt good to be close to someone, though I hated the reason she was in my arms.
“You need to call the sheriff,” I finally said, my words interrupting the silence that had enveloped us in the chaos that surrounded us.
I felt her body tense, and then she was shaking her head.
“I can’t go to the cops.”
“You have to report this.”
She pulled back to look at me, her dark eyes wide and frightened. “He’ll kill me, Judd. He’s never hit me before, but last night … Something wasn’t right. He was different. Scary.” The last word was just a whisper.
“All the more reason to contact the police. He may come back, but if you press charges, he’ll be in jail, and then you can get a restraining order or something.”
Again, I was distracted by her chewing her bottom lip while she seemed to think it over. Sighing, she then held her hand out and asked, “Can I borrow your phone?”
“Sure.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my smart phone.
“Thanks. My dad actually took mine, so I’ll be unavailable until I can get a cheap one at Wal-Mart.”
“We’ll do that today. While you call the sheriff’s department, I’ll go out and grab the soup and stuff.”
As she started pressing buttons on my phone, I turned and headed for the back door. When I came back in, she was off the phone and holding it as she surveyed the mess around her.
“Where do you want this stuff?”
“Put them on the counter. There should be enough room since he cleared them off for me. The sheriff should be here in a bit.”
I waded my way to her kitchen, stepping over pieces of wood and glass, and then set the container of soup and my Dollar Store bag on the avocado green counters that matched the fridge.
She walked over slowly, every step measured, and I realized there were probably more bruises than the ones on her face. I hope Sunny’s dad rotted in prison for what he did to her.
Sheriff Lang could not get here soon enough.
“What’s in the sack?”
Smiling, I pulled out the box of chocolate brownie mix and wiggled it at her.
“I told you we weren’t doing that for our project!” she exclaimed in outrage, like I had pulled out a dead fish instead of an instant dessert mix.
“I never got a text from you telling me what to bring, but now I know why … Thought maybe you were blowing me off.”
Now, why did I just say that?
I kept my eyes on the counter as I pulled out the eggs and vegetable oil.
“Judd?”
“Yeah?” I asked, still not looking at her, pretending to read the back of the brownie mix box.
“Look at me,” she said softly.
I didn’t want to, afraid that she would see how vulnerable I felt at the thought of her blowing me off. So, I just raised my eyes, keeping my head bent down.
“I’d never blow you off … ever.”
I felt one side of my mouth curl up, and the weight I had felt in the pit of my stomach lifted. I hadn’t realized it until now, but I had been afraid that her confrontation with Ashley and the awkwardness from the diner yesterday had sent her running away from me.
I wasn’t sure what I was feeling toward Sunny, and I knew that I shouldn’t get involved with someone. That would bring them into the hell I was enduring at school, and that wasn’t fair to them. Gaining Asher and Ashley’s attention was not a good thing, which Sunny had already done. Still … Not that she was interested in me or anything, but we could be friends. I didn’t have any of those anymore, and a relationship would most likely end once we graduated, which was only three months away. The situation with my dad had kind of ruined my eligibility status, anyway.
I had gone from being a successful serial dater to dating the most popular girl in school to being made the town’s number one social outcast in the span of a year. I wasn’t exactly a catch anymore. Plus, I was leaving for Dallas as soon as the dorms opened this summer.
“Well, since that’s settled. Do you want me to heat you up this soup? It got cold sitting outside.”
I looked around for the microwave and saw it lying end up on the floor over by the sink. I went to go pick it up and heard a telling rattling sound coming from inside the box. So much for heating up the soup.
I set it on the counter and turned to Sunny in time to see her looking away, wiping under one eye. She just couldn’t catch a break. Then I looked at the stove to see if it was damaged. Surprisingly, it didn’t look like it had taken any hits.
It wasn’t green like the fridge, but a lot newer and stainless steel. It had raised burners with metal squares on them instead of the flat glass top ones like we had at my house. It was intimidating, but if I could get a pot to put this soup in, I would try … for Sunny.
“Where are your pots and pans?”
“If he didn’t get in the bottom cabinets, they should be in the ones by the oven.”
Fragments of dishes and glass littered the floor, but I didn’t see anything else. We would have to get that cleaned up soon before Sunny cut herself.
I opened the cabinet by the oven and, sure enough, her cookware was still there. I pulled a small pot out and put it on the stovetop. Then I turned the knob that was marked for the lower burner. When it started clicking, I let it go, certain I had broken it.
I heard a laugh, and then felt Sunny’s warmth next to me. She reached over and turned the knob until a flame appeared under the pot. Then she turned it until the flame was the size she wanted it to be. I had never seen a gas stovetop, except on TV.
I reached for the Styrofoam container and poured the contents into the pot; chicken noodle from the looks of it. It smelled and looked better than the canned stuff my mother always used to make when I was sick.
&
nbsp; “What do we do now?” I asked since I had never cooked anything on a stovetop in my life.
“We wait.”
“That’s it?” I couldn’t hide the skepticism in my voice.
“We may have to give it a stir or two, but all it needs to do is get warm. The soup is already cooked. Haven’t you ever heated up soup before, even from a can?”
“I told you yesterday that my cooking skills are limited to the microwave.”
She shook her head at me like she couldn’t believe I had never cooked on a stove. What made me smile about it was the little smile that played around her mouth. It was good to see her feeling something other than fear and uncertainty. If I had to make myself sound like a moron to do that, then so what? I had endured worse.
Someone knocked at the front door, ruining the moment.
Putting my hand on Sunny’s shoulder, I told her, “I’ll get it. You watch the stove.” Then I made my way back to the living room and to the door, but stopped. I had forgotten about what was left of the couch and the rest of living room furniture sitting in front of the door.
“Sheriff’s Department!” was yelled in Sheriff Colbert Lang’s gruff, authoritative voice.
“Wait a sec. You’re going to have to come ’round back, Sheriff,” I yelled, hoping he heard me. Then I made my way out the back, jumping down into the backyard to meet him.
Sheriff Colbert Lang was in his mid- to late-forties with a neatly trimmed mustache and a bit of beer gut. He was tall, with wide shoulders, and always wore a cowboy hat and cowboy boots with his khaki department uniform. He always had a stern expression on his face and a no non-sense attitude. I never had any problems with him since he was a huge Sand Creek Bulldogs fan, being a former Bulldog football player himself, but I also never did anything stupid to ever gain his attention.
He must have heard me because I met him about halfway around the trailer. When he saw me, his body rocked to a complete stop and a grimace flashed across his face before he covered it with a neutral expression. Great.
“Judd Jackson, what’re you doing out here?”
I couldn’t tell anything from his tone or the look on his face, but I could feel that he was uncomfortable talking to me, which in turn made me uncomfortable.
I hated this. If people weren’t openly hostile toward me, they were uncomfortable … or curious. Some studied me like I was some strange insect they found on the ground, distant but watchful.
“I came out here to work on a project with Sunny Blackfox for school and to check on her for Sally Lafayette when Sunny didn’t show up for work today.”
“Okay, but why are we going through the back door … especially if there aren’t any steps?” he asked, eyeing the back door with trepidation.
“I’ll let her explain, but the front door is blocked by what’s left of her living room furniture.”
He made a face at that but kept moving toward the door. I tried to let him go before me, but he shook his head, and I could see that he didn’t trust me to be at his back.
My cheeks got hot. I didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or anger. What did he think I was going to do? Or maybe it was a cop thing. I hoped it was the latter.
Sunny was waiting for us when we came over the threshold, arms folded with a pained look on her face. This couldn’t be easy for her. I figured she didn’t want anyone to see what had been done to her trailer or her face. Nevertheless, this was the only way. If she didn’t get some kind of protection, then she would be a sitting duck out here for when her father came back.
“Miss Blackfox,” Sheriff Lang grunted.
“Sheriff,” she replied, not quite looking at us.
I hated this. I hated that she had to go through this all again.
The sheriff sent a quick glance my way, and then pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen from his front shirt pocket before asking, “So, you wanna tell me why your face looks like it went ten rounds with Rocky Balboa and the trailer is in such disarray?”
As Sunny was about to answer, the radio at his hip started squawking, and it made Sunny jump.
“S’cuse me,” he said as he reached down and turned a knob at the top, silencing the voice on the other end. “Now, why’s the furniture in front of the door?”
She sent me a panicked look, and again, without thinking, I went to stand next to her, taking her hand in mine, hoping to lend her some of my strength. Her body was strung tight like a bow string, her hand rigid within mine. But as her quiet, clear voice described a nightmare, she seemed to gain strength, and gradually relaxed into me.
Meanwhile, through every horrible detail, I felt my body turn to stone. Restrained fury vibrated through my veins, my bones, my muscles … I wanted to punch something, but I couldn’t. Me losing my shit was the last thing Sunny needed, when what she needed was to tell the sheriff what had happened and file a police report.
Afterward, two things occurred to me: the first was that there were worse things in the world than having a transgender as a father; and the second, if I ever saw Lonny Blackfox again, I would beat the hell out of him. Scholarship or no.
Judd
SHERIFF LANG CALLED IN to his deputies to pick up Lonny Blackfox, aka “Laughing Lonny,” and “park his ass in jail,” his words. I felt marginally better that Sheriff Lang seemed to feel almost as outraged at what had happened as I did, and that Sunny needed some kind of protection. But the difference was, he felt Sunny should be sent somewhere else until Lonny was rounded up, and I thought that maybe I could get away with spending a few nights on the floor of her trailer.
The panic that flooded Sunny’s face at the thought of leaving her grana’s trailer tore me up inside. From the way she had fought back tears as she talked about her father destroying all of her late grandmother’s possessions, I got that her and her grana had been close. Also, I could see that the thought of leaving the one thing she had left of her grana—the trailer—absolutely freaked her out.
I tried to convince Sheriff Lang to let Sunny stay home, that me sleeping on the floor and my Jeep parked outside would deter someone like Lonny. We would even run out tonight and get Sunny a cell phone. But it wasn’t working.
At first, Sunny looked shocked that I would volunteer for overnight guard duty, but then she joined in, in trying to convince the sheriff that she would be fine with me here. Plus, Sunny was eighteen, so technically, he couldn’t make her go anywhere except jail. He wasn’t hearing it.
“Sunny, I’m going to call Sally Lafayette, and if you don’t want me calling her, I’ll call Pamela over at the women’s shelter. You can’t stay here tonight. I won’t allow it. It’s just not safe!”
Sunny’s face turned defiant. “I turned eighteen back in September! You can’t make me leave my home!”
Sheriff Lang straightened his shoulders and hitched up the gun belt at his waist as he said, “I don’t care if you’re eighteen. You’re going to Sally’s or Holly’s House; your choice. And, Judd Jackson, you’re not staying the night here. Forget it. You need to go home to your mama tonight.”
Right when he took out his cell phone to make a call to either Sally or Pamela, it rang in his hand. He had a short conversation with the person on the other end, and then ended the call with, “Good work, Johnson … Keep me posted.” Hanging up, he looked at the phone in his hand then back at us before saying, “It’s your lucky day, Miss Blackfox.” He blew out a breath and said, “That was one of my deputies. Turns out, your dad was picked up early this morning for breaking and entering, and attempted burglary. Got caught trying to rob some folks’ houses in town.”
Sunny’s eyes almost bulged out of her head at hearing the news. Me? I was happy he was off the streets and in a cell.
“I don’t like the fact that a young lady like you is living out here in this part of town alone. You should be living with family. But when that family’s Lonny Blackfox, you’re probably better off living on your own. So, I’m not going to call anyone as long as you go get you a new ce
ll phone ASAP, little girl.” He fixed her with a serious expression. “You should probably go to the hospital to get looked at, as well, just in case—”
Sunny shook her head. “I don’t have insurance. I’m pretty sure nothing is broken, and he didn’t knock me out or anything. I’m just bruised a bit.”
“I know you’re eighteen, and you own this trailer outright, but you’re still a kid. I’ll always try to do right by you, girl. Your grandparents were good people, and they’d want someone to look after you. I’m not going to push for you to go, but it would put my mind at ease if you did.”
And then he was gone, and we were back out the door, heading toward my Jeep to get her a cell phone at Wal-Mart.
Walking around the store was a test in patience. People gave me dirty looks, but they never said a word to me. it was so different than the girl who walked beside me to the electronics section with bruises covering her body. I doubted Sunny would pass by a battered woman or child without a word. I could see her confronting whoever they were with and demanding answers. That was the kind of person she was.
The apathy and cowardice of our fellow shoppers disgusted me, until the cashier, a woman who looked to be my mom’s age, discreetly handed Sunny a piece of paper.
As we left the store, Sunny showed me the scrap of paper. Written across it was a name and phone number. I couldn’t help smiling. My faith in humanity wasn’t totally destroyed.
When we got back to her trailer, we unloaded more bags, because we ended up buying the ingredients for the mini-cakes that Sunny wanted, and then we set about cleaning up the kitchen.
We swept up all the shards of glass from basically every dish and glass that Sunny’s grana had owned. And we righted some of the countertop appliances and picked up the papers that had been scattered all over the floor. It took a while, but with the both of us working, it made it go by fast.
Now we were sitting cross-legged on a towel that we had laid on the kitchen floor, eating re-re-heated chicken noodle soup out of metal mixing bowls and waiting for the brownies to bake.