RiverTime

by Rae Renzi

  Marionetta shook her head at Justin, then turned back to Jack and took up another complaint. “Where’s my Emma? You got to bring her to see me more. She needs someone to bring her up right.”

  “I promise I’ll bring her soon.” He gave Marionetta another hug and walked to the booth. With only a split-second’s hesitation, he slid into the booth beside Casey and kissed her on the cheek, breathing in her scent of fresh air.

  His hand found hers under the table, like a lost dog returning home. “I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “I’m glad I came, too.” Casey gave him that curious-and-willing look he’d come to know so well.

  “So…what’s going on with Ramona? Give me the short version, then I’ll leave you two alone.” Justin leaned forward, elbows on table, dark eyes on Jack’s face.

  “You pretty much know what I do—I’m still not sure what she wants. She won’t say.”

  “I don’t suppose it could be divorce?”

  “No such luck—at least to this point. But I’m working on it.” Jack turned back to Casey. “Ramona decided recently—”

  “Or had always planned,” Justin interjected.

  “—to take up an acting career. With a little help—”

  Justin snorted.

  “—she landed a small part in a television show filmed in New York. That’s one bit of the background.”

  “The other bit is she’s a bitch.”

  Jack shot Justin a quelling look. “The other part is she loves Emma and, against all odds, is a good mother. So, right now, she’s in the position of having to give up Emma or give up the TV role.”

  “But if she divorces you?”

  “Doesn’t help her. Emma’s legal domicile would be here, so neither Ramona or I could move her elsewhere without the other waiving custodial rights.”

  Casey twisted a curl around her finger. “Unless you’re found to be an unfit parent…”

  “Exactly. If she’s planning for a divorce and thinks to use my infidelity—”

  “We weren’t doing anything,” Casey said. “I mean, we weren’t doing anything then.”

  Justin smirked, then got serious. “Yeah. Thing is, right now she thinks you just popped on the scene, part of the conference crowd. You’d better hope it never crosses her mind that you’re the mysterious river woman. She brings that up during divorce proceedings, and no jury in the world is going to buy that you and Dylan Raines—everyone’s favorite bad boy—remained chaste during two weeks alone in the wilderness. Hell, I wouldn’t believe it. You’re too hot, Casey.”

  Casey choked on her drink. “Hot? I’m a scientist, for heaven’s sake.”

  Justin looked at her quizzically. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “The point is, if she wants a divorce, why not just tell me? Why all these gyrations? She’s never done this before.”

  “Two words. Prenuptial. Agreement,” Justin said. “She wasn’t serious before. If she moves to New York? Expensive. Her settlement would be paltry compared to what she’s used to. She needs the child support.”

  “And she doesn’t want to leave Emma.”

  “She couldn’t leave Emma and still get the child support.”

  Jack shrugged. “It’s not all about the money. It’s more complicated than that.”

  “Well, yeah. You’re her safety net—her source of income, her inside connection for acting jobs, the father of her child. But you’re also a supernova-bright star in the firmament, completely overshadowing her. I agree it’s pretty complicated. Wouldn’t want to be in Ramona’s skin.”

  Casey gazed out the window, looking a little uncomfortable with the conversation.

  “What is it, Casey?”

  “Just thinking about marriage, and how it can go wrong.”

  “How? You mean like how the sun comes up in the morning?” Justin asked.

  Jack drew lines in the condensation on his water glass. “It doesn’t have to go wrong. It’s just that there’s no instruction manual for marriage. Either how to do it, or how not to.”

  “And here I thought there was,” Justin said. “Called The Art of War, I believe. Betcha Ramona sleeps with it under her pillow.”

  Marionetta arrived with plates heaped with roast chicken smothered in cream sauce and fresh vegetables. Jack’s mouth watered. He hadn’t been eating well lately, a fact Marionetta seemed to intuit.

  “Now you eat, eh? I got to go see other people, but I’m keepin’ my eye on you two,” she warned, with a wink at Casey. “And no dessert without you eatin’ your vegetables, eh?” Giving them a last scowl for good measure, she marched away.

  Justin demolished his lunch, then stretched his long legs and stood up. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Walk me to the car, Wildcat.”

  “Be right back.” Jack squeezed Casey’s hand and slid across the vinyl booth.

  Outside, Justin leaned on his truck and gave Jack a long look. “Just want to caution you again. A lot of people could get hurt here if you’re not careful where you step. Casey in there, little Emma. You know, if you lose Emma, we all lose her.”

  Jack looked down at the ground. “You don’t have to tell me, Justin. I’m already there.”

  “Yeah, well, woulda been good if you’d gotten there yesterday. But like you said, you know that. Just take care. I’ll be back soon.” He ruffled Jack’s hair and got into his truck. Jack stood outside watching him pull away, slightly irked that even as a grown man, he still felt like the little brother. He turned and went back inside.

  Casey tilted her head questioningly.

  “You’re wondering why you’re here.” Jack slid into the booth on the side opposite.

  “I hope I’m here because…I guess I don’t know why. I don’t even know what to hope for.”

  The whole poorly woven, knotted and now unraveling fabric of his relationship with Ramona, Casey’s with her husband, and Jack’s and Casey’s feelings for each other hung like a tattered banner between them.

  “Partly I just wanted to see you. But also I’ve been thinking. You’ve told me before that context is everything. So you should have the whole context, that’s all.” He tried to keep his words casual, but his shoulders were tense.

  Casey settled back into the booth, turning sideways and stretching her legs along the bench. She gazed at him, her face betraying curiosity and something else. Fear? Dread?

  “I’m ready,” she said, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger.

  Taking a deep breath, Jack started his story quietly and without embellishment. “My mother was a prostitute. She was pregnant, a teenage runaway, and survived any way she could.”

  Casey’s face registered her shock, but she only asked, “Did you live on the street?”

  “No. With a kid to take care of, that didn’t work for my mom. It was a series of shelters for a while, and eventually we moved into a small house with two other ‘working’ girls and a guy named Toon.”

  “Toon. He was…”

  “A pimp, yeah. He put up with me as long as I didn’t cause trouble because he used me to control my mom.”

  “Jack, that’s horrible.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t all bad. See, my mom wanted more than anything in the world for me to escape the kind of life she had. She took me to museums and art galleries, movies and plays, parks and gardens. She loved and cared for me as hard as she could and told me every day that we belonged to another life, a life that had somehow gotten lost, but that someday would be found again.” He snorted. “Kinda ironic that her death made that possible.”

  Casey covered her eyes with her hand for a moment. “Go on.”

  “When I was nine, Toon decided it was time for me to start earning my keep, but he wasn’t going to put me on the street—he planned to use me for some of his clients’ more, uh, exotic tastes. He started to teach me the art and science of the pleasure trade.”

  “Oh! Well…hmm.” Casey twisted the curl around her finger frenetically.
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br />   “It didn’t get that far. When my mom figured out what Toon had in mind, she went crazy. She threatened to go to the cops if he even thought about laying a finger on me or involving me in his dirty schemes. She got beat up for her trouble, but Toon stopped my so-called education.”

  “And then?”

  “And then she died. They said it was an overdose, but she’d never used drugs.”

  Jack didn’t wait for Casey’s sympathy, but launched into the rest of the story of his young life. He’d gotten away from Toon and survived because he was very fast, very tough, and because he could fade into the background like dirt on a playground. He got food any way he could—begging, stealing, Dumpster diving—and slept in little nooks and crannies he found in alleyways, covered in old boxes or papers. The lifestyle took its toll. His ribs showed and he felt tired all the time and, when winter set in, he was cold.

  One night when he was curled up under an old cardboard box in an alley next to a Dumpster, he heard low voices only a few feet away. He became still as death to avoid drawing attention. If it was a drug deal, his life could be at risk if he even breathed.

  Footsteps moved toward him. He slowly slid his hand out so it was free of his clothing. There was a knife in it—he always slept with a knife in his hand.

  “Justin,” said a quiet voice.

  “Yeah. I see. A little guy,” said a different voice, sounding sad.

  Jack thought furiously. He knew they were talking about him—his feet must be sticking out—but their voices sounded…well, different than he’d expected.

  He felt rather than heard someone put hands on the box to lift it off. Jack exploded in a whirlwind of defensive energy, his knife instantly out and pointed at two older boys.

  They looked like twins. They both had long straight hair and dark eyes and were dressed in jeans. They were both slender and tall and strong looking. They both gazed at him calmly, with their hands open in front, showing him they had no weapons.

  Jack had been on the street long enough not to trust appearances. He started to make a break for the street but one of the boys stepped right into his path, heedless of the knife, confusing Jack and causing him to break stride. The other one moved like lightning and, before Jack could recover, got a lock on his arms from behind.

  “Take it easy, kid,” said the boy in front of him. Jack struggled furiously, fear fueling his efforts. His knife slashed this way and that, trying to connect, or at least threaten.

  “Get the knife, Justin,” said the one holding him. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he continued in a kind voice, “we won’t hurt you, and—listen to me—we won’t turn you in.”

  The one called Justin eased toward him, avoiding the knife, and, quick as a blink, clamped a strong hand on his wrist. He pressed slightly on a certain place, and the knife dropped from Jack’s hand. Justin caught it before it hit the ground.

  “Whew! This one’s a wildcat,” he said, folding the knife.

  Jack didn’t trust them. His meager energy reserves were used up, so he calmed himself. He’d be smart. Wait to make a break. He subsided, but the tension didn’t leave his body. He had to stay ready.

  The one in front—Justin—eyed him. “He’s going to bolt when you let him go, Nocona.”

  “Yeah, I don’t blame him either, after seeing your ugly face.”

  Despite being overtired and scared, Jack snickered. For some reason, the friendly sniping between the brothers took the edge off his fear.

  “How about I go get him some food, and you stay here and keep him company,” Justin suggested.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Nocona said. “But hurry. I’m not sure my arms are up to ‘keeping him company’ for very long. This little one is strong.”

  “Gotcha.” Justin turned to leave, then hesitated. He showed the closed knife to Jack and, moving slowly, slipped it into Jack’s pocket. He rumpled Jack’s hair and slipped out of the alley.

  Jack was now totally confused. Why had Justin given him back his knife? These guys were not really acting like…like he thought they’d act.

  “You must be pretty hungry, eh?” Nocona asked. “And it’s cold as hell out here. Listen, kid, I’m going to back up to the wall and we’re going to sit down, okay? I’d like it very much if you wouldn’t try to break away.”

  Anger shot through Jack. Now he got their game. Sex. That’s what they wanted. He’d survived this long without resorting to that horror, and he wasn’t about to change now. He’d find a way out of here.

  Except, why had they given his knife back?

  Nocona walked backward with Jack until he was against the wall. He released his arm-lock and in one swift motion wrapped him in a bear hug, binding Jack’s arms to his sides. Jack had been waiting for a chance to break free, but Nocona had been careful and fast. Bending his knees, Nocona pulled Jack down into a sitting position. The maneuver accomplished, Nocona relaxed against the wall, pulling Jack up against his chest.

  Jack struggled briefly, starting to feel sick to his stomach. What if he couldn’t get away? What if…? No, he had to. He had to get away. No one was going to do to him what had been done to his mom! He’d wait until this guy made a move on him…then he’d break free.

  Minutes went by and nothing happened. He found it difficult to keep up his anger. Something about Nocona made it hard for him to be afraid. Someone else might be afraid, should be afraid of Nocona—but not Jack. That’s how it felt. As warmth crept into his small body, the tension started to seep out of him. He tried to fight it, but he became drowsy and his head leaned back against Nocona’s broad chest. In minutes, he was asleep.

  “Hey, Wildcat, drink this.”

  Jack opened his eyes, blinking sleepily. A steaming take-out carton of soup was under his nose. He didn’t need to be asked twice. He reached for the soup, barely registering that his arms were now free. He slurped it down too fast.

  “Hey, slow down, it’s not going anywhere,” Justin said.

  Jack lifted his head, realizing no one was holding on to him. He looked at Justin, then down at his soup.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said the voice behind him, the one called Nocona. “You’re wondering if you should make a break for it. I’ll tell you what, if you’ll listen to us for a minute, we’ll let you decide what you want to do. If you want to leave and go back to the street, so be it.

  “Justin and I, we live in a big house with a bunch of other kids, all different ages. Most of the guys were like you once—on the street, nowhere to go. Then they got lucky. They were found by this man, a Navajo called Wink Wiley and his wife Emmaline. They find kids who need help, give them a home. They don’t turn them in to the cops. We’re a family, and we stay a family. That’s all.”

  Justin took up the thread. “There’s rules—there have to be rules—no drugs, no drinks, and you have to stay in school. If you already got a problem with one of those, Wink and Emmaline will help you. When you’re old enough, you have to get a job, at least on weekends, to help feed the younger ones. If you can’t live with those rules—” he shrugged, “—then it’s not the place for you.”

  Nocona again. “Some of the kids, they don’t stay. They can’t hang with the family thing. Mostly, though, no one leaves until they’re ready. It’s a good place. You can come there with us if you want, but we won’t force you—your choice.”

  Jack thought about it for a few minutes while he finished his soup. He thought about the soup, the first hot meal he’d eaten since he could remember, and how Justin had given his knife back. He thought about how scared he’d been for weeks, and how, right now, he wasn’t scared at all. He thought about how safe he felt, sitting with these two big guys, one with a laughing voice, one with a gentle voice. He thought about how they said they were a family.

  He thought about all that, then he asked, “Do I have to do sex?”

  Nocona made a growling noise, and Justin made a face. “Ah, I forgot one rule—no sex or you’re out on your butt. And no hustl
ing on the street. We don’t go for that stuff. Like I said, we’re a family.”

  A warm feeling started deep inside Jack and crawled into his mind, lifting his heart and making his eyes sting. But he couldn’t show it. Couldn’t let these guys know how bad he wanted it to be true. He rubbed his eyes and asked, “Do I have to eat okra?”

  Justin’s eyebrows jumped. “Do you have to…?”

  Nocona laughed out loud, and set Jack aside to stand up. “Here’s the thing. Emmaline, she’s a good cook, but she does have this blind spot about okra. Horrible stuff. She’ll make you taste it. But if you don’t like it, she won’t make you eat it.”

  “Okay,” Jack said. They didn’t need to know that for a safe place to sleep and regular meals, he’d eat okra every stinking day if he had to. He’d gotten to his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets. His knife had felt warm and comforting in his hand. Not because it was a weapon, but because it had been returned to him, because they had trusted him.

  Jack shifted in the booth, twirled a knife on the tabletop. “That was the worst part. It was much better after I went to Wink and Emmaline’s house. I didn’t have my mother anymore, but I did finally have a family.”

  Casey put her head back against the wall and looked at the ceiling. Whole complex constellations of emotions crossed her face.

  “No one else knows, except my family, and that’s the way I like it. But I thought you should know.” Jack looked down, feeling suddenly unsure.

  “Why, Jack? Why did you think I should know? Why now, not when we were on the river?” She didn’t sound upset, merely curious.

  Jack sat there, considering. Then he spoke slowly, carefully.

  “I don’t know what’ll happen with us, Casey. There are complications in both of our lives. Whatever happens, I want it to be based on the truth, even when the truth isn’t ideal—I learned at least that from the river. You say context matters. I think you’re right, but it has to be the whole context, not selected parts.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Nice of you to drop by. You do remember, don’t you, we’re to go to that film company to request permission to shuffle through their archives?” Ditsy looked at her watch. “In very short order?”