Running On Empty

by Colette Ballard

  Five minutes to get home, ten minutes to shower and get ready. “I’m on my way.”

  “I knew my girl wouldn’t disappoint me twice in one day,” Logan said before the line clicked.

  Disappoint him? Was that his main concern? Slack-mouthed, I stared at the phone until Justice’s voice startled me from behind. “Everything okay?”

  Hoping he hadn’t heard any of my conversation, I put on a smile and turned to face him. “Everything’s fine.” I twined my fingers around a chunk of hair at the base of my neck. “That was just Logan reminding me of the Seniors’ Breakfast that I’m about to miss.”

  “You’re goin’?” He stared at me like I had a pink squirrel tattooed on my forehead.

  I wanted nothing more than to stay here the rest of the day and share my pain with Justice—even if it was in silence. Knowing Logan would never go for that, I pushed the gaping hole in my heart aside. “I’m good now, I had a good cry.” I swatted my hand.

  “Ya know, today’s the first time I’ve ever seen you cry.” He leaned his back against the truck, obviously missing the point that I was in a hurry. “You wouldn’t even cry that day you fell off my pony and broke your arm when you were seven.” His face grew serious. “Or when your—”

  “Yeah, I’m stubborn that way.” I wiped my hands on my jeans, hoping like hell he didn’t finish his sentence. Now wasn’t the time for a reminder of my reaction to my mom’s death—or rather, lack of reaction.

  In my attempt to be strong for my younger sister, I disconnected from my emotions, from things I loved—from Justice. It worked for me until Jack came home wasted one night and I unleashed six months’ worth of the seven stages of grief on him. He slapped me so hard, I didn’t cry for the next five years. Until today.

  Justice sighed. “You’re stubborn in every way.”

  Relieved he’d let me off the hook, I inched closer to the truck and teased, “Well, just don’t tell anybody.” I didn’t want to be rude taking off so sudden, but I didn’t want to upset Logan any more than I already had.

  Justice flashed his uneven, dimpled grin. “I’m pretty sure anybody who knows you knows you’re stubborn.”

  I put a finger to my lips. “It’s the crying part I’d like to keep a secret.”

  He stood up straight and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It’s normal to cry sometimes.”

  “Not for me.” I started to get in the truck but stopped when I caught the look on Justice’s face. It was full of concern, and something else I couldn’t quite place.

  He took a long look at me before he spoke. “Don’t shut down on me again.”

  His words reached deep into my soul, but I couldn’t go there—not now. “Hey,” I attempted to lighten things up, “you just watched me cry buckets. I’m reformed.”

  He didn’t go for it. “If you were reformed, you wouldn’t be drying your tears and putting on a fake smile so you could run off to do something you don’t want to do.”

  Dammit. Sometimes I hated that he knew me so well. It was true, I was terrible at dealing with my feelings—especially the ones that involved tears. And I’d had about all the feelings I could handle for one day—for one year. “Listen, I have to go.”

  “You have to?” He ruffled his hand through his messy, dark hair. “River, why are you with Logan?”

  We’d been down this road before, and I didn’t care to go back—especially when I only had thirteen minutes to get home and pull myself together. “Simple. He cares about me, and I care about him.”

  Justice rubbed at the back of his neck. “He treats you like one of the toys his daddy bought him.”

  “That’s not true. Logan’s kind and generous and…” I was tired of having to defend my boyfriend to my friends. “He likes me, maybe even loves me. Do you have any idea how good that feels? He picked me. He’s the first guy that’s ever accepted me for who I am—the first guy that’s ever really cared about me.”

  The light in Justice’s eyes dimmed, and he cast them to his scuffed, brown cowboy boots. “He’s not the first guy…”

  I put my hands on my hips. “If you’re talking about Freddy Parsons in ninth grade—”

  He shook his head like he was in a daze and stepped into my personal space.

  If he wasn’t talking about Freddy Parsons, then I didn’t know who he was talking about. He certainly wasn’t talking about himself. Throughout my ninth grade year, I had this crazy idea that I wanted to be more than friends with Justice. I should’ve taken the first hint when he tried to fix me up with his cousin who was also a freshman. Even though Justice and I were only a few months apart in age, he was a grade ahead of me. In hindsight, I should’ve realized that him dating an underclassman would’ve been social suicide.

  My determined spirit reared its ugly head again by the time my ninth grade formal rolled around, and I went for it. I was shocked when Justice accepted my invitation but crushed when I overheard him telling one of his friends that we were double dating. Me with Freddy freaking Parsons, and him with Sally—my archmnemesis—Warren.

  Before he snapped out of his daze, I asked, “Why does it even matter to you?”

  He flopped his hands out to his sides. “Because I care about you. You’re my best friend.”

  This declaration should’ve given me comfort, but because of his past rejections, it stung. “Yeah, I got that—loud and clear.”

  He tilted his head to the side and looked at me as if I was some extinct creature he’d never seen before.

  I glanced at the time on my phone and my stomach lurched. Shit. I needed to get out of here. “Drop it, okay? You don’t even know Logan, so—”

  His eyes lit with anger. “I know that since you’ve been dating him things have changed. You ditch your friends, you don’t return phone calls, and when was the last time he let you out of his sight long enough to come see Rang—”

  The second the last words slipped out of his mouth, I knew by his pained expression that he regretted them. But it was too late; too late for him to take them back and too late for me to stop my retaliation. “I love him, Justice.” I raked my fingers through my mop of waves and looked up at him. “I love him, okay?”

  He was quiet a few seconds, and then whispered, “Whatever you say.”

  I could see him giving up, and I was relieved. I didn’t want to hurt Justice, but I needed him off my back. If anyone could get me to dig deeper and examine my relationship with Logan, it was him. And I couldn’t afford to dig deeper right now. I would be receiving the award I’d dreamed of for two years, and I couldn’t have accomplished that without the use of Logan’s parents’ horses and what working for their prestigious horse farm meant. Not to mention the money—the real money they paid me, the money that helped me take care of my sister when Jack didn’t pay the bills. That job was my ticket to a better life, and after I started dating Logan, he had become part of the package. Besides, I loved him. I really did.

  I tugged at a loose thread at the bottom of my t-shirt. “I should get going. I’ve kept you up all night.”

  Justice gazed toward the barn. “I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.”

  Turning away from him, I grasped for the door handle. “Thanks…for everything.”

  “Sure,” he said quietly.

  As I started to step up into the truck, Justice tugged on my arm so I’d face him. “River.” I intentionally avoided eye contact, but he lifted my chin so I was forced to look straight into his eyes. “Be careful,” were his only two words. Then he reached over and tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear.

  A lump caught in my throat as I nodded, climbed in the truck, and drove away.

  3

  PROBLEMS

  My stomach sank like it was weighted by an oversized anchor. I gripped the truck’s steering wheel harder as I stared out at the empty space in my driveway where Logan’s car should’ve been parked. He didn’t wait. I had six minutes to spare and he didn’t wait.

  I bumped my shoulder against
the rusted-out truck door three times before it finally sprang free. After sliding off the seat, I elbowed the door shut behind me, then took the ten steps to the concrete-colored trailer I called home. A large white box with a hot pink satin ribbon lay at the top of the steps like a roadblock.

  I scooped up the box, took it inside to my room, and plunked it on my bed. My fingers itched as I fumbled to open the attached card.

  A beautiful dress for a beautiful girl.

  Love, Logan

  My heart soared and fell at the same time. The words were nice, but the gift wasn’t something he’d put any thought into. His mother had put thought into it, but for all the wrong reasons.

  Hoping for the best, I pulled the ribbon and edged open the lid. Cringing, I held up the froofy champagne-colored dress that looked like something Fashion Fairy Barbie would wear. I let it fall back in its box, then collapsed on the bed and closed my eyes.

  My visions of temporarily forgetting this terrible morning were cut short by an extra-loud muffler outside my window. A few seconds later my bedroom door squeaked open and my younger sister stuck her head around the door. “River, you alive?”

  Before I could decide, Jamie flopped down on the other side of my bed and arranged herself to face me. “You know it’s like 9:30-something, right?” She ran her nail-bitten fingers along the ponytail of her long, caramel-colored hair.

  “So?” I grumbled into my pillow.

  She squinted, her dark brown eyes studying me. “So, I thought you had to go to some important football thing with that crazy-hot, amazingly awesome boyfriend of yours.”

  I wasn’t about to tell her that my crazy-hot, amazingly awesome boyfriend didn’t wait for me, and since my only means of transportation was assembled decades ago, I was disinvited from attending his Seniors’ Breakfast.

  Something over my shoulder distracted her and she hopped up to inspect it. “What’s this?”

  I winced. “A dress for Awards Night. Logan’s mom bought it for me.” Some people have irrational fears like arachnophobia, agoraphobia, even homophobia. Not Sylvia Westfield—she had trailertrashaphobia. Her worst fear was for her son to be seen in public with me dressed in vintage Dollar General.

  Jamie cocked her head as she held it up. “It’s. shimmery.”

  I rubbed my head. “Shimmery is a nice word.” All of mine would need censoring.

  “Sorry I don’t have time to stick around and see you try this stiff, scratchy,” she grabbed the price tag, “ooh, expensive dress on. But Summer’s waiting for me. I only stopped in to get some clothes.” She took a step toward the door. “Hey, I probably won’t see you before the ceremony tonight. Will you tell Dad where I am when he gets home from work?”

  I half-laughed. “You really think Jack’s at work?” I stopped using any fatherly-type references to our dad years ago when he stopped acting like a father, back when my mom first got sick. Turns out my instincts were right—after a heated argument last month, he confessed he wasn’t my real father. I’d felt a weird combination of relief and sadness. Relieved he wasn’t my real father, but sad because my real father left my mom as soon as he found out she was pregnant with me. I hadn’t decided which hurt more.

  Her face fell. “Why do you always have to assume the worst?”

  “Because Duck picked him up last night.” And if he was out with Duck and hadn’t shown up by now, it was likely he’d either passed out somewhere or gotten himself into a serious poker tournament—also likely he wouldn’t show up for days. Instead of unleashing my 1,001 reasons why I assumed the worst about Jack, I nodded toward the racket coming from our driveway and said, “You better get goin’. Summer’s car sounds hungry.”

  She smirked as she tossed the dress at me, but her voice cracked a little when she said, “Dad and I will see you later at Awards Night.”

  She knew as well as I did that Jack wouldn’t be coming anywhere near my awards ceremony. He cared about two things in this world: himself and Jamie. Oh, yeah—and anything that contained at least 4% alcohol.

  Crap. This day was supposed to be special, but so far, it had been a disaster. A pain stabbed at my chest when I thought about the only person who could have made things better. My mom had been my biggest supporter, insisting I had a gift with handling horses from a very early age. Running my fingers over the ruffled neckline of the dress Logan’s mother got for me, I realized I should wear something special—in honor of my mom.

  Since the only things special in this place had belonged to my mother, I’d have to start with the locked suitcase under Jack’s bed. After she died six years ago, he put all her stuff away. I was pretty confident in his whereabouts, so I went into his room. Just as I had done many times, I reached under the bed, dragged out the dusty old suitcase, and held it in my lap. I’d never had the nerve to get further than that because I knew it would be emotional—not to mention there’d be hell to pay if I got caught. Despite the possible side effects, I decided this was the day.

  My heart thudded as I pulled out one of the bobby pins holding the sides of my hair back and popped the lock—a hidden talent I happened to have. When I opened the suitcase, I picked up the wooden frame that held a wedding photo of Mom and Jack. Standing in my grandmother’s back yard, Jack beamed as he gazed at my mom. Clean-shaven and fifty pounds heavier, he looked almost handsome in his pearl button-down shirt, dark jeans, and cowboy boots. He even had a sparkle in his dark eyes I’d never seen before; in fact, I barely recognized him at all.

  My mother looked happy enough as she smiled for the camera. The sun glistened off her long, wavy brown hair, and her light olive complexion was a nice contrast to her simple white sundress. It had been a long time since I’d seen a picture of my mom, and except for the difference in our eye color—hers hazel, mine what she called Siberian Husky blue—my likeness to her was stunning. I flipped the picture over to look for a date and realized she had been the same age as me now.

  Sifting through letters and photos, I came upon something in a sealed clear bag. After removing it, I realized it was the dress Mom had worn in her wedding picture. I held the dull satin fabric to my face and swore I smelled a hint of her light floral perfume. Mindlessly, I slipped out of my t-shirt and jeans and into the sundress. My thoughts drifted back to a time when Jack tolerated me better, before Mom died, before we lost our farm and had to move, before Jack drank so much…

  The unmistakable roar of Duck’s truck ripped me from past to present. My pulse throbbed in my ears as I shoved everything back into the suitcase, snatched up my clothes, and tiptoed to my room. After changing back into my clothes, I followed the sound of clanking glasses into the kitchen.

  “Where the hell did all my bourbon go?” Jack muttered as his shaky hand poured the last half-inch of a bottle of Very Old Barton’s into a short glass. He dribbled some onto a paper on the counter, and I watched as the maple-colored liquid seeped through my Awards Night invitation. After I’d mentioned it to him twice and got no response, I tucked it under his bottle of VOB, knowing that was the place he’d most likely notice it. He never did.

  The dam I had so carefully built around my heart since my mother’s death threatened to crack, so I cleared my throat and pushed the words out. “Um, Jamie said to tell you she’d catch up with you later at—”

  Jack thudded his empty glass down on the counter, then used my invitation to wipe up what he’d spilled. “What? Where’d you say she’d be?” He crumpled the paper.

  I stared at the ruined invitation in his callused hand and fought to steady my voice. “Home. She said she’d see you at home.”

  Only seconds could’ve ticked by between the time I left the kitchen and the time I heard the familiar crack of a beer can being opened, the moan of the screen door open and slam shut, and the creak of the rickety steps from our trailer…one, two, three.

  My eyes burned as I stood by my bedroom window watching a broken man walk away. He looked twice his age, with worn, leathered skin and his hair outlined and po
wdered with gray. I noticed the way his clothes hung off his tall, slender figure, the way the breeze blew through his threadbare shirt, his worn jeans and dust-covered boots. With his fingers gnarled around a can of beer, he slumped away from our scraggly patch of yard and fumbled into his faded red pick-up.

  I didn’t need anyone to tell me he was headed to the liquor store.

  Emptiness consumed me. Distant memories of better times, years of disappointments, sorrow, and pain swallowed up into a dull ache. Staring out at the driveway long after the cloud of gravel dust had settled, my aching morphed into a simmering anger. Screw Jack and Sylvia Westfield—I knew exactly what I was wearing to my awards ceremony.

  After hand-washing Mom’s sundress in the bathroom sink, I hung it to dry over the tub and opened the window. On my way outside, I stopped at the fridge and helped myself to one of Jack’s beers. I needed something to take the edge off my pain—even if it was only temporary. Stepping out on our tiny, weathered deck, I dropped down onto the top step, took a few deep breaths, and looked around.

  As I stared out at the rows of monotone rectangles and sparse, dusty lawns, I realized this place was nothing more than a landfill. A place where all the things nobody wanted were dumped: the used toys, the broken-down cars, the worn-out people. And I was no exception—Jack dumped us here when he traded in his title as half-assed father for town drunk.

  The sun hit the deck just right and a slight breeze blew. I lay back, soaking in the sun, and closed my eyes. As my brain tried to digest everything that had happened this morning, every ounce of me wanted to curl up and melt unnoticed into the splintered wooden decking. I wanted to pretend this day was a bad dream, to fall asleep, wake up, and then start all over. A single tear stole across my temple, but I quickly swiped it away. I couldn’t let my emotions take me under again. I had worked too hard to throw this day away, and I owed it to my mother to make it count.

  When I sensed someone hovering, I squinted my eyes to find it was Kat—one-third of the inseparable team of girlfriends I’d joined when I moved to the Castle Court Trailer Park in the sixth grade. Kat happened to be the most exotic-looking person I knew, with her long, dark hair, flawless pale skin, and dangerous curves. Guys were always crazy for her, and it never seemed to deter them that she was also cold, fierce, and mercilessly honest.