Truck Stop Tango

by Daniels, Krissy

  Say goodbye. Again.

  “Again. Again,” Rocky commanded, climbing up the length of my torso, his toes digging into the tops of my thighs. Teeth chattering, he wrapped his small arms around my neck.

  “Okay. One more time, then we need to head home.” I wrapped my hands around his waist and tossed him up and into the lake. He landed with a splash and bounced out of the water, spitting and wiping his face. Damn, his smile made my heart swell.

  I hoisted him onto the dock and caught him in his towel, rubbing him from head to toe. He laughed like my mom, deep and raspy, the only difference being Rocky wasn’t afraid to share his joy. Mom had always hidden her smile, only giving it when the timing was right, only after I’d won a first place trophy, when the cameras were pointed her direction, or she was in the presence of someone she’d held in esteem.

  I wondered if Rocky could’ve breached her walls.

  He squirmed and giggled as I dried him one more time.

  “Tango.” My father’s voice startled me.

  My spine stiffened, and I tucked my son under my arm.

  “Pop. I didn’t expect you to be home.”

  “I’m happy to see you.”

  Rocky wrestled the towel off his head. “Hi!”

  Recognition shimmered in Dad’s green eyes and he squatted. “Hello. I’m Mr. Rossi, Tango’s dad. What’s your name?”

  I didn’t want to let him go, but Rocky wiggled free and stood in front of his grandfather. Carbon copies, from the tone of their skin, to the thick hair, to the brilliant green eyes the Rossi men were famous for.

  Like a boss, my son held his hand toward Pop. “I’m Rocky James Mason. Nice to meet you, sir.”

  Pop’s eyes filled with liquid, and he cleared his throat before giving Rocky a firm shake. “Very nice to meet you, Rocky James Mason.” Rising to full height, he grabbed my son’s hand and started toward the house. “You must be hungry after all that swimming. How about some lunch?”

  “I’m starving. Do you like grilled cheese? My favorite is grilled cheese. Mom puts magic sprinkles in it.” Rocky continued to rave about his mom’s cooking. The two of them headed up the stairs, leaving me no choice but to follow.

  I’d never seen my father cry. The sight of him tearing up had me clearing an annoying lump from my throat. Yeah, Pop and I were in for one hell of an uncomfortable talk. Good thing Rocky was with us, because he was the glue holding my shit together.

  Rocky dominated our attention, and I’d never seen my dad more at ease. I’d never seen him cook his own meal either, but there he was, making fucking grilled cheese sandwiches, with magic, parmesan cheese sprinkles. It was evident Dad was already head over heels for the child who’d been dropped in our laps.

  I couldn’t deny the regret in his eyes when he managed a glance my way. For Pop, that was epic. He’d always been a master at hiding any emotion other than anger.

  It wasn’t until Maria offered to give Rocky a grand tour of the house that my father and I sat at the kitchen counter and dared to speak.

  “So, T, what version of the truth am I going to get from you?”

  “I’ve never lied to you, Pop.”

  “I know.”

  “Addison Reynolds wasn’t lying either when she came to you for help. Now she’s dead. Rocky could’ve been dead.”

  Dad squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Head hung low, he sighed. It had to hurt, knowing he’d turned away his grandchild. “How did he end up with Slade?”

  “She was forced to make an impossible decision. I’m not giving you details. Trust me, it’s to protect you, but you need to understand something. She’s my boy’s mother. Got me? As far as you, or anyone knows, Slade Mason gave birth to my son.”

  I knew Dad could be trusted with the truth. He didn’t want the Rossi name tainted any more than I did. True, he’d never encouraged my relationship with Slade, but the whole town had believed Slade and I would marry someday. A baby born out of wedlock with my childhood sweetheart would be easier to explain than the shameful truth—I’d revenge fucked a girl I hated because I was a hotheaded, selfish fool. I’d been too drunk to see through Addison’s lie, too caught up in my own self-righteous bullshit.

  Hell. I didn’t even remember the actual fucking. I did recall knowing I’d been royally fucked the moment I looked up and met the most devastated eyes I’d ever seen. Slade’s broken expression had sobered me enough to realize I had become everything I hated about my father. Unfaithful. Arrogant. Weak.

  Slade Mason deserved a man who would never cheat, never get drunk and lose control. Never fucking hurt her.

  “What are you going to do, son?” Dad slid off the tall stool and walked to the fridge.

  Scrubbing my hands over my face, I stood and paced the length of the kitchen. “I’m staying in Whisper Springs.”

  Pop returned to the counter with a bottle of Riesling and two glasses. “And Rocky?”

  I stopped my patrol across the cold, sterile floor and rested my elbows on the counter. “Slade and I will tell him when the time is right. I’m so in love with that kid, Pop.”

  Dad slid a glass of wine my way. “He is your child. You have every right to—”

  I slammed my palms on the counter. “No. No. I won’t take him away from his mother. That’s not an option.”

  Lifting the glass to his lips, Dads eyes snapped to mine, then over my head. He finished the drink in one take and promptly refilled his goblet. Cheeks flushed, he met my gaze again. “I want to be part of his life, too, Tango.” He cleared his throat. “I know you’re disappointed in me, for countless reasons. I’m asking for your forgiveness. I need my boy. I need you in my life. With your mom gone...” Dad choked on his words and paused for a deep breath. “We only have each other now. Come home.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. He’d never been the sentimental type. ‘Sorry’ wasn’t a word that ever came out of his mouth. Was I ready to forgive a lifetime of infidelity, or the fact that he’d turned a blind eye and almost let my child be murdered?

  “I can’t stay here. You’re sharing your bed with a girl half your age. I’m sorry. It’s wrong on too many levels.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand why—”

  “Enough.” I slammed my fist on the granite. “I hate the bullshit excuses. She’s pretty, she’s soft. Your mother hasn’t touched me in years. It doesn’t matter. You took a goddamned vow when you married her. Didn’t that mean anything to you? Every time you fucked around on Mom, you hurt me. Don’t you get it?”

  Rocky barreled around the corner, skidding to a stop by hooking an arm around my thigh. “I love your house, Tango. It’s big. You could fit a pet dragon in here.”

  “Ready to go?” I scooped him off the floor. “We have to beat your mom home.”

  “Can I come back sometime and go swimming?” Rocky asked, bouncing in my arms.

  “Anytime you want,” Dad said, grabbing Rocky’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “Goodbye, Rocky James Mason. It sure was nice to meet you.” Dad clapped a hand to my shoulder. Avoiding my gaze, he whispered, “I’m sorry, T.”

  “Bye,” Rocky shouted.

  Small fingers curled into my back, holding tight, filling my heart and head with fierce, gut-wrenching emotion. I nodded a farewell to Pop, and carried my son out the door, unsure when, or if, I’d return.

  TANGO HADN’T KISSED ME AGAIN. In fact, he’d grown colder, more distant, focusing solely on Rocky. I ached for his touch. A brush of his finger, a bump of shoulders, anything. He gave nothing. Not a smile. No friendly glances. Nothing but forced politeness.

  I tiptoed through the door and locked it behind me, denying myself a final glance at the man sleeping on my couch, and the little boy tucked against his side. Happy as I was that Rocky had his dad, the fear of losing them hovered, a perpetual shadow of dread, nipping at my heels. Their bond had been immediate, undeniable, and natural. I’d become a ghost in my own home, present and vexing, but invisible. I cou
ldn’t help but feel an exorcism was on the horizon.

  Regardless, I was thankful. I’d rather be ignored than rotting in a prison cell.

  I pulled my dollar store shades over my eyes and started for the Truck Stop. Dew clung to the grass, birds sang their good mornings, and the sky boasted an inspiring shade of blue, sucking the heavy fog of woe from my bones. My morning walks to work had always been my favorite time of day.

  At the halfway point of my trek, where my modest neighborhood ended and the stretch of lakeside homes came into view, my phone rang from the deep abyss of my hobo bag. By the time I retrieved my cell, it had stopped ringing. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen and decided to worry about it later. When I reached the diner, I’d forgotten about the call. Wasn’t hard to do, considering the ambulance and three police cruisers surrounding the joint.

  “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.” I sprinted across the parking lot and made it to the red and white van, heart racing, as they were about to lift the bed inside. Bile rose in my throat. Kim.

  “Oh my God, what happened?” I reached for her with trembling fingers. Face bloody and bruised. Hair matted with red, muddy goo. One eye—swollen shut. She stretched a finger toward me, her mouth working in vain, releasing nothing but a wet gurgle.

  “Miss Mason. You need to step back.” Someone grabbed me from behind.

  “What happened?” I yelled, turning to face a wall of blue.

  I recognized the man holding me as one of the officers who’d responded when The Stop had been broken into a few weeks ago.

  “Come with me, please.”

  “Sure,” I squeaked, and followed him between two police cruisers to the north side of the building. “What happened? Was there another break in?”

  “No,” he said, voice gruff and thick. “She was attacked before she entered the building.” He paused before we rounded the corner. “I have to warn you; this is hard to see.”

  I skirted his thick body. Then I squeezed his arm, hard, so as not to fall over. Because when I saw the carnage, all the blood drained from my body.

  Overturned recycle bins. Dumpster askew. Blood-stained ground. Chunks of long red hair. A bloody smear on the wall next to Kim’s purse. The words, Hi, Blondie, spray painted in red across the whitewashed bricks.

  The blood didn’t bother me so much. What horrified me was the torn panties lying next to one of her shoes.

  Oh God. No. No. No.

  I didn’t ask. I couldn’t ask, because I knew. I knew and I didn’t want my fears vocalized. This can’t be real. Not in our town. Not in my Truck Stop. Not Kim.

  I heard the ambulance drive away, its siren a low drone before breaking into the high-pitched wail that warned people to get the hell out of the way. My hand started to cramp, and I let go of the officer. “You okay, Miss Mason?”

  My stomach protested. “Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled, turning from the gruesome scene and running to the tree line in time to purge my breakfast.

  When I was able to stand, Officer Williams stood in wait, offering a handkerchief, and a sympathetic grin. “It’s never easy to see. When you’ve got your bearings, I have a few questions.”

  I shook my head no. “I need to go with her. To the hospital. I need to go. Can someone drive me?”

  “I’ll be happy to drive you. We can talk in the car.” Squashing my chance to argue, he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and guided me back around the corner.

  Charlie stood at the back door, brows worried, eyes liquid. I ran into his open arms and hugged him tight.

  “I wasn’t late, Slade. I wasn’t late. She never gets here before me. I don’t understand.”

  “I know, Charlie. It wasn’t your fault. I’m going with her to the hospital. I’ll keep you updated.”

  “Good. Good.” He shook his head in approval and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.

  “Charlie.” I pulled away and cupped his shoulders. “The diner will stay closed today, but do you mind hanging around to keep an eye on things?” I knew he’d worry himself crazy if he didn’t have something to do. “Make sure the officers have coffee and breakfast.”

  “Of course. You go and take care of our girl.”

  “I will. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  I hugged Charlie one more time and followed Officer Williams to his car. The drive to Whisper Springs Medical Center took less than fifteen minutes. Williams took advantage of our alone time, squeezing me for information about Kim. Unfortunately, I hadn’t much to offer. She had just turned forty-six. Divorced. No children. Dated occasionally, but nothing serious, and nobody recently that I’d known of. Then again, I’d been too wrapped up in my own drama to pay much attention.

  When he’d asked me about the words, Hi, Blondie, painted on the wall, I told him the truth. I hadn’t a clue what it meant, and we’d had issues with graffiti in the past, and maybe that was all it was. He didn’t seem to believe that was the case.

  I sat in the waiting room for three hours. Three hours to hear the bad news. Kim had slipped into a coma.

  I waited several more hours, with Kim’s mother and Margie. We held hands, we prayed, we cried. When more of Kim’s support system showed up, including her brother and Pastor Davies, I headed back to The Stop.

  Charlie had chopped, minced, and diced every available vegetable. The floors had a new coat of wax, the windows sparkled, and the stainless steel appliances had been buffed and shined. He must have locked up and gone home before I arrived. I stumbled into my office and collapsed on the ratty couch.

  “Come in, Blondie. Join the party.” The large, hairy man held an open bottle of beer toward me.

  His stench made me retch. BO and dead skunk. His bloodshot eyes told me all I needed to know about the state of affairs inside the trailer home.

  “No.” I turned my head, desperate for a whiff of fresh air. “I’m just here for Addy. I’ll wait outside.” I backed away from the trailer door and retreated down the three wooden steps of the makeshift porch.

  I silently cursed myself for not being more careful. The only reason I’d come to the front door was because there were no cars or bikes around. Had I known Walter was home, with visitors, I would’ve told Addy to meet me down by the river.

  Thick fingers wrapped around my bicep and yanked, turning me around, and slamming me against an oily leather vest. “That wasn’t a question, cunt.” The man stood on the bottom step and leered down at me. “Don’t be fuckin’ rude. Your little friend inside learned that lesson the hard way.” He tossed his beer across the yard and adjusted his crotch. “In fact, she’s very accommodating now that she’s learned her place.”

  Nausea roiled inside me.

  The man held me in place but hopped off the last step, his feet landing on either side of mine.

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to kick and punch and scratch and fight. My limbs wouldn’t move. My mouth wouldn’t open.

  He walked me backward until I bumped against the wall of the trailer. He shoved his free hand between my legs and rubbed with violent, clumsy strokes.

  Oh God. This wasn’t happening. Why couldn’t I scream for help?

  “Fuck,” he grunted. “That’s prime pussy right there.”

  The man released my arm and tangled his fingers in my hair, fisting and pulling tight.

  He leaned closer, rubbing his nose against my head. “The brothers have been asking ‘bout you. Wondering when Dane was going to share.” He thrust his hips against me. Pinning me with his sweaty body. “But now that I’ve seen you up close, I think I’ll keep you for myself.”

  The world around me blurred, and I slammed my lids closed. Fight, damn you. Fight.

  I heard a dull thunk. Felt a rush of air. The man released me. I couldn’t open my eyes. Until I heard a familiar voice.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Blondie. How many times have I warned you to stay clear of this hellhole? What the fuck are you doing?”

  Dane.

  I collapsed in relief, landing on
my knees in the dirt. Violent green eyes glared down at me.

  “Get up. Walter and the others will be here any minute.” He spit at the unconscious man next to me. “I gotta deal with this shit-for-brains before they get here.” He pulled me to standing and held me at arms’ length, studying my face.

  I watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall. I watched his eyes soften, then darken. Then he shoved me toward the dirt road. “Start walking. Better yet, run. I’ll get Addy, have her meet you at the junction. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take her away from here. Don’t ever fucking come back, Blondie.”

  Hi, Blondie. Hi, Blondie. Hi, Blondie.

  The painted words taunted me. Despite the late July heat, the scene chilled me through and through.

  “How’s Kim?” I asked, teeth gritted.

  “Coma,” Charlie mumbled, roughing a hand over the top of his head. “Whoever did this, beat her something fierce.”

  That could’ve been Slade’s blood spilt on the ground. “Cops have any leads?”

  “No. Nothin’ yet.” He offered nothing more than a vacant stare aimed at the wall.

  Words weren’t necessary with the level of rage we shared.

  It took everything I had not to punch a hole through the fucking bricks. “Thanks for letting me know she was here, Charlie. I’m gonna head inside.”

  He waved me off. “I’m heading to the hospital. Catch ya’ later.”

  Measuring my breaths and steadying my pulse, I watched him retreat. Slade hadn’t called. I’d have been furious if I weren’t so damn relieved she was okay. Couldn’t blame her, though. I’d been a jackass, giving her the cold shoulder for weeks.

  I stormed through the back door, and down the hall, pausing at her office door. It was slightly ajar and through the crack, I could see her thin frame curled on the sofa. Relief swirled through me. Seeing her alive and well evaporated some of the simmering anger.

  It could’ve been her. It could’ve been Slade in the hospital, fighting for her life.