Twenty-Seven
While Laura was content with her solitary life, Momma had needs that Laura couldn't understand. Momma didn't like being alone and was always chasing after a dream—a home of her own, someone to share her life with, a new Daddy, and little brother or sister for Laura. She wanted to give Laura all the things she herself never had.
A pattern emerged as Momma pursued that dream, and it followed each new man in and out of their lives. Momma would mention a new name in passing and would laugh more, seem happier. On Saturday nights, she would get dressed up and through a haze of perfume and hairspray would tell Laura she was going to dinner at the Steer Inn or dancing at the Tumbleweed. She would spin around to get a thumbs-up from Laura and then plant a kiss on Laura's forehead, leaving behind a pink lip mark and the faint scent of Jovan Musk.
"There's a TV dinner in the freezer. Be sure to turn the oven off when it's done. Don't stay up too late. I'll see you in the morning," Momma fussed. She never reminded Laura about any of those things on weeknights. Laura guessed it made Momma feel less at odds about leaving her on weekends too.
Sunday dinner the following evening usually meant a new "friend" would be introduced to Laura. She did her best to be cordial to Momma's boyfriends, and for the most part they were to her as well. Some she might never see again while others stuck around for a month or so, coming over more often until eventually they were sleeping at the trailer. On those nights, Laura could hear their giggling and whispering through the paper-thin walls. She would pull out her Walkman (compliments of a forgetful guest at The Roadside Inn), and play one of her cassette tapes to quiet the sounds that embarrassed her.
Bubba Floyd entered their lives the same as all the others. He stayed at the motel while working road construction on the interstate. Bubba was a good-looking smooth talker, but wasn't the most reliable worker. He stayed up too late smoking, drinking beer, and playing cards. He had a habit of ignoring the early morning wake-up call from Charlene Watts, who lived in a makeshift apartment at the Roadside. Charlene and her husband, Mark, kept watch over the motel overnight.
After several days of showing up late or not showing up at all, Bubba got fired. By that time, he had been around long enough to fill up a little of that lonely spot in Momma's life, and she was more than willing to allow him to fill up some more. Bubba moved out of The Roadside Motel and into the trailer at the Dark Horse Ranch, bringing the late nights drinking beer and playing cards with his rowdy friends along with him.
Bubba was tall and had a shock of thick, curly hair that was black as coal. His arms bulged with muscles, and his eyes were dark and always sizing people up. He had a mean streak too. His true colors seeped through more and more with each cap he popped off a beer bottle. Momma wasn't always around to see that side of him, but Laura got a glimpse of his demons, try as he might to keep them hidden.
Once again, Momma was turning a blind eye to things she didn't want to see. "I'm no spring chick," she lamented to Charlene. "My biological clock is ticking!"
She was serious; she could hear the tick-tick-tick in her head as she looked in the mirror, pulling the skin back around her eyes and her neck. Laura caught her eyeballing the hair dye at the TG&Y during one of their Saturday outings, and for the first time noticed the silver strands in Momma's hair.
Laura grew up with the hard-working Mr. Childers and his ranch hands, and felt Momma's weariness when Sunday rolled around, and she faced the work week ahead. But Bubba had to be the laziest person she’d ever known, so it was no wonder to her when he got fired. The toughest thing he did was pick up the phone every day to call the unemployment people and argue about his benefits. Never once did he help clean up around the trailer or do any tasks that might make life easier, like oiling the squeaky doors, or fixing the leak in the bathroom sink. Laura thought he should be helping out and looking for work instead of kicking back watching TV and eating the food Momma worked hard to buy.
Bubba was a different person around Momma. As soon as she walked into the trailer, he would turn on the charm, telling her how pretty she was. He talked sweet to her, complimented her cooking and was always nice to Laura when she was home. But on nights that Momma worked, Laura got home from school to find Bubba on the couch, yelling at a game show with at least three or four of what he called “empty soldiers” lined up on the coffee table and hours to line up more before Momma got home. Laura guessed that was the reason why Mr. Childers said Bubba was a wolf in sheep's clothes.
Bubba had secrets he was hiding from everyone. The court-appointed anger management classes taught him ways to bite back his temper. The psycho-babbling social worker gave him techniques that helped keep his anger in check, most times. He'd come a long way from the days when his fists balled up the second his pulse quickened, releasing his red rage on whatever was closest—a wall, a woman, a window, a do-goodie in a bar who made the mistake of crossing him. Bubba knew when to cut bait, and he knew his current situation, jobless and living off a single mom with wedding bells in her eyes, was not ideal. But he knew enough to enjoy it while it lasted. It was a comfy place where he could lay low and wait for his unemployment benefits. He'd know when the time came to bail.
Twenty-Eight
Mr. Childers was what Momma called "getting up there in years." Laura knew that was a nicer way of saying he was getting old. The ranch was becoming too much for him, and his son Thomas had proven he had no intentions of taking over the family business. He'd passed the bar exam and was moving to Texas with his young wife, who was expecting their first child.
Mr. Childers had doubts about his ability to keep his beloved wife safe at home as her condition worsened. He had gone so far as to look into some nursing homes and found that they weren't cheap. There was also the fear that Miss B would not take to a new environment and deteriorate faster. But he kept the idea in his back pocket and started thinking of ways to fund the move if need be.
The college was growing and more people were moving to Stillwater every day. Some of those people wanted big, new houses. Mr. Childers saw the opportunity and started selling off some of his land. The first big parcel was to the south of the ranch. As soon as the ink dried on the deed, developers started working that land to build large homes. The name of the new neighborhood that was once hunting ground for Mr. Childers and his cohorts was Camelot Crossing.
The face of the terrain changed almost overnight. Laura was drawn to the site, with its steady hammer heartbeat and growling machines that took on a rhythm when paired with the shouts of dozens of workers and the country music they listened to as they built something from nothing on the newly tamed land. The homes were huge; she was pretty sure they were mansions. She meandered through the woods every day just to visit the development.
One house, the third one going up, reminded her of something from a fairy tale. It was a mix of brick and stone and cream-colored stucco held together with dark, wooden beams. It had to be unlike any other house in Stillwater. After crossing a wooden bridge, a cobblestone walk led to the huge front door that had a small hatch instead of a peephole. It was all very medieval and amazing. The chimney stretched toward the sky and was topped off by double stacks that looked like enormous chess pieces. The most awe-inspiring feature was the large stained-glass window at the entrance. She had only ever seen stained glass on churches, never on a house.
She imagined the people who would live in such a fantastical house, and even wondered what it would be like to live there herself. In her mind, she spun a tale of a man for Momma who was good and kind, who would welcome them and build a family. In her mind, she could see all of Momma's dreams coming true. She could picture the man, who smoked a fragrant pipe instead of smelly cigarettes. He had close-cropped hair and graying sideburns, and wore wire-rimmed glasses and sweater vests. The magical house was the perfect backdrop for the wedding in her fabled story.
She found a book at the library and learned that the house was built in the Tudor style. The house and its architectu
re led her down the rabbit hole of Tudor times, reading of war and plague, lords and ladies, child kings and knights, beheadings and famine. It was a time when leaders were feared for their ever-shifting beliefs and the gray air was thick and choking from coal fires and poor sanitation.
How different things were now. The person building the third house in Camelot Crossing had taken a piece of this frightful past and built it here in a beautiful setting, where the air was fresh and clear, medicine had an answer for most maladies, and life was safe and peaceful.
Twenty-Nine
Spring was usually Laura's favorite time of year. But the spring of 1984 brought more leaden storm clouds than sunny days, and the strong winds carried with them changes that would alter the lives of all who called Dark Horse Ranch home.
Bubba became more brooding and demanding as his buddies came around less. Without the distraction of friends and poker, his drinking got worse instead of better. Miss B was taking a change for the worse, as well. She saw fewer moments of clarity as disease ravaged her fragile mind. Momma succumbed further to Bubba's charms and took to apologizing for Bubba's moods as her grip tightened on the flawed man and the belief she could mold him into the image of her dreams.
Bubba fell back into old patterns and his anger fell upon the closest target, which was Laura. Most days she could hide away from his angry tirades by staying outside until the sun went down, then laying low in her bedroom until he passed out. If weather kept her inside, she did her best to become invisible. She even tried to block out his drunken laughter with her Walkman. The Tears for Fears tape Momma found at The Roadside was her favorite. The songs were angry and sad and moody. There were two songs she liked the most: "Memories Fade" and "Mad World," because their lyrics stirred emotion in her like nothing ever had.
Momma was spending more time tending to Miss B and usually found Bubba passed out on the couch by the time she got home. In her overworked, exhausted state, she didn't pay heed to his rapid slip down the steep slope into heavier drinking and darker behavior. Laura kept quiet because she could see the burden of Miss B's decline in Momma's eyes and didn't want to add to her troubles. As long as Laura kept her head down and avoided him, she could usually prevent riling him up. But sometimes something as silly as shutting the door too hard, or not twisting a lid back on a pop bottle to his liking, could set him off.
Monday, April 9th started off like any Monday. Momma woke Laura and fixed breakfast while the two said their good mornings and discussed their day, doing their best to ignore Bubba's loud snores just feet away on the sofa. As Laura gathered her belongings to head up to her bus stop, Momma warned of her incoming storms and told her to grab her jacket. Laura was reaching for the door before she remembered she needed lunch money. She went to the jar where Momma kept her tip money from guests at The Roadside. She pulled out a ten and noticed the old Mason jar was almost empty, confirming her suspicions that Bubba was helping himself to the money.
Though she was already late, she paused long enough for an embrace from Momma, who held on a beat longer than usual and whispered, "I love you," before planting a kiss on the top of her head. Laura wiggled free and bounded out the door, hollering back, "Love you too!" as she ran down the red dirt path, eager to start the new day and not miss the bus.
The day passed as any other. She was happy to see she got a 94% on her algebra exam. At lunch, she sat with her friend, Cami, and the two gossiped about the new boy who they both agreed was super cute. On the bus ride home, she watched the dark clouds roll in, blotting out the sun. Bus 17 pushed against strong winds that whistled through the bus's windows and turned empty fields into Martian landscapes, with red dirt devils spinning into existence, dancing wildly for a few brief moments before dying out.
Mr. Childers and Rex were waiting at the front gate of the ranch in the farm truck to give Laura a ride to the trailer. As they bumped over the cattle guard, large drops of rain broke free of the clouds, sounding like they would punch holes through the roof of the old Studebaker.
The sky released the full force of the storm as she gave Rex a final scratch behind the ear and hopped down from the passenger seat. She turned and waved to Mr. Childers from the top of the cement stairs and was startled by a loud clap of thunder. Her tan jacket was polka-dotted with rain drops as a gust of wind caught the door and yanked it from her grasp with a loud bang.
Mr. Childers was driving away and didn't hear Bubba howl, "Hell's bells, girl! You trying to wake the dead?" as she crossed the threshold. Laura said nothing in reply—there was nothing to say. Bubba already had five dead soldiers lined up on the coffee table, and she spied a couple more that had fallen to the floor.
He got up and stumbled a few steps. Laura cowered as he passed by her on the way to the fridge. He grabbed another beer. A piece of paper was clenched in his hand. He set it on the kitchen table as he popped the lid off the beer, then snatched the paper back up and shook it in her face as she tried to slink away to her bedroom.
"Ya know what dis is?" he slurred, spilling beer on her Members Only jacket. She fought back hot tears that burned her eyes as he proceeded to tell her.
"A le'er from da' Unempoinmt Scurty Commshun."
He was almost incomprehensible, but Laura got the gist. She saw the word Denied shouting in red letters from the top of the paper. Bubba pushed past her to make his way back to the worn couch, where he fell back rather than sat, all the while mumbling and cursing under his breath. Laura took the moment to make her escape.
In her bedroom, she closed the door and locked it for the first time in her life. She leaned against the door trying to calm her breath and noticed an unopened bottle of New York Seltzer (black cherry, her favorite) on her bedside table. It wouldn't be cold, but it would be better than nothing to tide her over till he passed out. She was shivering more from fear than cold, and stripped her damp clothes off, changing into dry jeans and her favorite sweatshirt. She fumbled through a drawer to find the matching socks—the set had been a gift from the Childers last Christmas. The sweatshirt and fuzzy socks were covered in a ladybug print.
She had just turned the page to chapter two of her newest library find, The Door in the Wall, when Bubba started pounding on her door. The knock was so abrupt and loud that she almost fell off her bed. She held her breath until he finally spoke.
"Get out here'n fix me sumthin to eat!" His voice boomed louder and angrier than the growing storm.
She had never cooked dinner for him and knew no matter what she did, he wouldn't be satisfied. In a panic she stumbled over her thoughts, and words were lost to her. Outside her door he grew inpatient, his pounding shaking the walls.
"Ya hear me girl?"
He was trying to open the door now, the knob dancing as he tried to force his way in. The air inside the trailer was more unstable than the storm, and she was filled with a sense of dread. She believed her only option was to run, so she grabbed her rain boots and jacket. The jacket was still a little wet and now stunk of bitter beer and Bubba's breath, but she didn't want to take the time to search for her raincoat. She waved her hand blindly under the bed until it touched on the flashlight she hid there to read after Momma called lights out. Bubba was still hollering and pounding on the door when she raised her window and made the short leap to the rain-soaked ground below.
She hit the ground running and made a dash to the tree line. Her terrified mind blinded her rationale with what-ifs. She lucked upon a deer trail and ran full force, escaping the weather and Bubba's grasp.
Bubba kept pounding on the door to the room for some time after Laura made her escape out the window. The roar of uncontrollable fury filled his ears, and the electrifying buzz threatened to overcome his ability to let it slide.
He gave up on the idea of a hot meal courtesy of the girl. His stomach now threatened to turn on him if he didn't put something besides low-brow beer in it. Bubba stumbled to the kitchen and threw together a sandwich of bologna, white bread, and a squirt of mustard. Before collap
sing into his well-worn spot on the couch, he grabbed a can of Cheez Ballz, foregoing another brew for a Mountain Dew.
The food calmed his blood and his stomach, and he started thinking of how he would explain this to the brat's mom. He wasn't planning on staying around much longer, but this setback, compliments of the unemployment folks, was going to delay his exit. As he tapped the orange dust remnants of the cheese snack into his open mouth, he decided to try to make amends with the kid.
He knocked softly on her door and tempered his voice as he called her name. Heat rose in his cheeks when, after several knocks and calls, she had not replied. Bubba tried the knob again and remembered she had locked it. How dare she? That realization brought fire to his face.
His anger grew as he raised his hand to the top of the door trim and fruitlessly groped about, searching for a key. If he knew anything, he knew how to jimmy one of these flimsy locks. He went to the tiny bathroom and pulled out the drawer under the sink, spilling its contents across the cracked linoleum floor. His vision was growing blurry with rage, but he spotted a bobby pin, plucked it from the scattered mess and headed back for the door, slipping on the tube of toothpaste, flattening it and squeezing its contents over the littered space.
It took no longer than a minute for the cylinder to release with a click. The door pulled sharply inward into the room as the pressure from the open window snatched it out of his grasp. Pink curtains flapped limply under the weight of the soaking rain. She was gone.
Red Water, Shadows of Camelot Crossing Page 13