"Work," I answered, keeping things simple. "And yourself? Why are you here, Eric?"
He placed the uneaten Power bar down beside him and frowned. "I was... sent. To find God."
I cocked my head to the side again. "What do you mean? I didn't realize God was lost."
"You're funny," he laughed, shaking his head.
I was actually surprised by my quick wit. It wasn't usual for me and more than likely would bring me trouble if I ever spoke that way to my father.
"My grandfather's the town's pastor," he continued. "My dad thought spending the summer in a house with a man who does the Lord's work would set me on the straight and narrow path, or so to speak." His voice took on an edge that told me he wasn't too happy about being in Ligonier.
"What does your mother think?" I asked.
"Well, she died several years ago, so I'm not really sure." He pondered on that thought for a moment. "She'd be angry, most likely. I mean, not that I'm here, but that I was screwing up my life back home. Actually, she'd be downright hitting me up the side of the head for my choices.”
"My mother is gone, too," I interjected.
"So, you get it then?" he asked, misunderstanding me.
"Get what?" I replied confused.
"The Dead Mother Look," he stated plainly. "You know the one." He opened his eyes really wide and forced a comically sad face.
I nodded, letting the mistake stand. As far as I knew, my mother was still alive. My father just told me that she didn't want either of us anymore and up and left. I was pretty sure that's when he began drinking; well, that's what I told myself. Truthfully, I couldn't remember him ever having a sober day.
"I've seen that one, for sure," I stated and steered us away from the topic of mothers. "So, what did you do?" I asked him.
"Well, how do I make a long story short?" he rubbed at his chin thinking about how to explain it. "I was attending Memphis College of Art on a scholarship. It was a pretty big deal, since neither of my parents went to college."
"Do you paint?" I interrupted excitedly.
"Nah, I'm a sculptor, I like to work with metal," he said with a hint of sadness, then perked a little as he added, "I also play guitar."
"I'd love to hear you play sometime," I smiled at him. Then caught myself and what I had said. I was letting him know that I wanted to see him again. Was I being too forward?
"Well, I hope to play for you sometime," he smiled back and I couldn't help but blush as I looked away. I think he had noted my embarrassment, so he swung back around to what we were talking about. I was appreciative.
"Anyway, back to the story. I started hanging out with some of my dad's old motorcycle club buddies." He paused, rubbing his chin in thought again. "You ever heard of the Heathens?" I shook my head. "They're a motorcycle club based in Memphis. There was this guy, Arnie, an old brother of my dad's from before he went straight, that offered me a job. Being in college, I could use the money. So anyway, it started with soft drugs like weed. Arnie would give me a couple of bags every few weeks and I'd deal to some of the kids at the dorm. It was easy and product moved fast. Eventually though, he started wanting me to push the harder stuff, like cocaine and meth. It was a side gig, of course. The club knew nothing about it so I figured my dad would never find out. And truthfully, selling the harder stuff didn't sit right with me, but I did it anyway since the money was too good to turn down." He paused, looking at me to gauge my reaction.
"You don't look like a biker," I replied and I meant it. Eric didn't resemble a hardened rider. If anything, I found him manly, a touch intimidating, but maybe a... little pretty–no, beautiful.
"Ha, just because I grew up around them doesn't mean I need to be them. Besides, my mother tried her hardest to make me choose my own path in life. She encouraged me to go after what I wanted." He grinned at me and for just a second my heart skipped a beat.
"So, what happened next?" I prompted. I wasn't used to people being so open with me and now I wanted to know everything about this stranger, who somehow spoke to me with ease, as if I had known him my whole life.
"My dad happened. He ran into some of his old brothers from the club who told him they found out what Arnie was doing and he admitted to hiring me to do some stuff for him. My dad just about blew a gasket. The guys from the club have deep respect for my dad so they pursued Arnie, which wasn't a good thing. Dad came and got me from school, took all of my cash, and then donated it to some rehab center. When I fired up at my old man and told him there was no way I was going to stay with my grandfather, well... he caught me off guard and knocked me out."
I couldn't believe it. His father must be a big man if he managed to knock out this broad guy sitting in front of me. The thought sent shivers down my spine.
"Hours later, I woke up with the worst headache I ever had, a pretty decent lump on my forehead, and slumped over in his truck on my way here. Guess it’s better to be here than back in juvie.” My mouth fell open, and flapped about as I tried to absorb what he had just said. “You’ve been to prison?” He nodded and looked away from me. “Yeah, once for breaking and entering.” His face was grim and he paused a moment before he turned the conversation back on me. "So, what about you? What's your story?"
Now it was my turn to look away from him. I felt deflated. My story was bland in contrast to what he had just told me. I figured if he was being honest, then so should I.
Shrugging my shoulders, I began. "Not much to tell. Dad and I are a little nomadic. Well, not a little–really nomadic. We drive from place to place in his truck and we camp out."
"Even in winter?"
"That's when we head for the warmer areas like Nevada, California, Florida..." I trailed off, going silent.
Eric nodded, as if he understood, but he didn't. He would never understand the loneliness that came with this kind of lifestyle. After his confession, I felt I owed him a little more candor than I was used to sharing, but not too much—I never said too much. Too much brought me a world of pain.
"He's a bit of a drunk, my dad." I looked at right at him as I admitted that. I was sharing something that wasn't entirely mine to share, but there was something I trusted about this young man I had met no more than ten minutes ago. It was a strange feeling.
After a brief silence, Eric did us both a favor by changing the subject. He was really good at reading silent cues. "Do you have any plans for today?"
"I've got to head to the orchards," I said, wishing it wasn't true. What I really wanted to do was to get to know this mysterious boy a bit better. I shouldn't call him a boy, he looked and spoke like the young college man that he was. It was risky to have him sitting at our campsite though. If my father stumbled out from the trees and saw us together, it wouldn't be good for either of us.
"Why do you have to head to the orchards?" he inquired.
"I have to get a job."
"Oh, of course. You told me earlier, that you were here for work. My bad." He seemed a little deflated as he said that. As if he was enjoying my company, as much as I was his.
"But I will be around tomorrow," I let him know.
"Okay, well, I guess I will see you tomorrow?"
I nodded. "Sure, I mean, if you want to. Don't feel like you're obligated to come see me. But it would be nice," I replied.
"No, I want to," he quickly jumped in and my nervousness calmed at the response. Eric stood up, reluctantly, lingering a few seconds as if wanting to say more, yet he remained silent. He turned and gave me a small wave as he began walking away.
"Oh, I won't be able to see you until about four if the job hunt goes well," I called out to his retreating figure.
"Four it is!" He smiled, looking back at me one last time before disappearing into the trees.
I felt the rush in my blood–deep and heady. I could hardly wait until tomorrow. I really didn't want to wait at all. I walked over to the stream near the clearing and knelt down to wash my face in the piercingly cold water, needing to dampen down the blush that had crept up my
neck and covered my face after my encounter with Eric. It seemed as if the Ligonier I had always known and loved had just gotten a whole lot better.
Chapter Three
Eric
Breathe Eric, just calm down and breathe, I told myself as I walked away from the campsite, disappearing amongst the trees and out of Ashley's line of sight. I was seriously freaking out as I walked away from the most stunningly beautiful young woman I had ever laid eyes on. She wasn't dressed up or painted with make-up; she was actually wearing old, wrinkled clothing and was completely bare faced. She was just naturally breathtaking. The very sight of her stopped my heart the moment my eyes met hers. I couldn't have looked away if I tried. And believe me, I tried.
I didn't dare turn my face around for a third time to look back as I moved further away from her. Once I was a fair distance from the campsite, I slowed my pace and continued trekking towards my grandfather's.
Who would have ever thought in a million years you could run into the girl of your dreams in the damn woods! Not me, that was for sure. I didn't believe in love at first sight. I thought my mother had been lying to me for years. However, I was starting to reconsider the prospect altogether. Maybe my mother had been spot-on. I shook my head to dispel the crazy thought as I stepped out of the woods and into the open paddock. I looked ahead, my grandfather's house now in sight.
As I cut through the ankle-length grass, I couldn't seem to get the young woman out of my mind. Ashley... she was an anomaly. There was just something about her that was drawing me to want to see her again. She seemed like such a contradiction, a mystery that I longed to know more about. At first glance, she had looked startled, almost frightened as I approached her campsite. Yet, as I sat there talking to her she wore an expression of awe, her body sitting up with an inner strength and the fragile, frightened girl I met had disappeared. She seemed hesitant to talk at first, as if it was forbidden to share anything about her life. It made me want to pry further and find out everything about her. I struggled to not stare at her like a stalker, she was that mesmerizing.
On the other hand, I couldn't seem to shut up as I spilled my own shortcomings. I probably should have zipped my lip before I began, but something about her made me want to tell her everything down to the tiniest, dirtiest detail I inwardly kept hidden. Her large sapphire colored eyes were hypnotizing, and if I had stayed any longer, I would have been trapped within them. Yet, I was certain if you took all those features away, you would still fall head over heels for the heart that beat inside her. I don’t know how I knew that, or was so sure of that fact. Maybe my grandpa was right and God existed. It was the only explanation I could think of as I whispered Ashley’s name to myself once again. How could someone so perfect exist?
I had arrived at my grandfather's three days ago, spending the entire time hiding away in the bedroom he had set up for me. I was beyond angry at my father for even bringing me to this place that I didn't even say goodbye as he left. I wasn't a child anymore, yet he continued to treat me like one. Then again, my actions the past few months weren't one of a responsible adult, by far. I knew better than to sell drugs, but the lure of a quick buck drew me in. When I looked back, especially after Ashley brought up what my mother would think of what I had been doing, I felt ashamed. Still, I should have stood up to my old man a little more. I looked like a weak punk for going along with this ridiculous time-out, as he had called it.
Then again, maybe this was all some bigger elusive plan the universe, God or whatever was about to let me in on. Who would have thought my first morning out of the house would have me running into a beautiful girl I could only have ever imagined in my wildest dreams.
I walked around the side of the house and let myself in through the kitchen door. Mrs. Brooks, my grandfather's cleaner and all-round helper, was standing at the kitchen counter kneading dough. She smiled at me as I walked on past. I couldn't help but smile in return after the morning I just had.
"Someone looks like he had a nice walk," she said as I opened the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water.
I reached for one and unscrewed the cap, taking a large gulp since my throat was parched. "It was interesting," was all of the information I dished out. I shut the fridge door and leaned up against it. "Have you ever met a girl named Ashley Nash?" I inquired.
I watched as she rolled the name around in her mind, trying to pinpoint if she knew anything. She shook her head. "Nope, doesn't ring a bell. Why?" she asked.
I shrugged. "I just met her in the woods is all. She and her father seem to be camping out there for the summer."
As if something clicked, she nodded towards me. "Ah yes, the travelers. Yes, Ava from the bed & breakfast has mentioned that young girl to me before."
I waited for her to say more, but just as she was about to keep going, my grandfather entered through the kitchen's swing door. "Who are we talking about?" he interrupted as he walked in, newspaper under his arm, and took a seat at the dining table.
"Morning, Grandpa," I greeted.
He smiled up at me as he placed his spectacles on. "Morning, Eric. You were up bright and early this morning."
I nodded, "Yep, I figured if I was going to be here for the summer, I might as well see what the town has to offer."
"And he met a girl. That's why he's smiling uncontrollably," squealed Mrs. Brooks, or Helen as she had repeatedly asked me to call her. I like Mrs. Brooks better—it seemed more respectful. Her husband died a few years back, and she didn’t have kids from what my grandfather had told me. Since then, she had lived in the guest cottage behind the house. I liked her a lot. She had sass.
My grandfather's ears perked up, "And who's this girl you met? Do I know her?"
"I think you may have heard of her. Actually, come to think of it, I'm sure she came to church one summer with the O’ Connor twins," Mrs. Brooks answered for me.
"Her name is Ashley Nash," I interjected, even though it seemed as if they were happy to forget I was even a part of the conversation.
My grandfather, Graham, nodded his head as if he recognized the name. "Oh yes, the travelers. I haven't actually properly met them, per se. But I would like to meet her, that is if you intend on hanging out with her again." He peered at me above the rim of his glasses. I rolled my eyes. "Eric, I promised your father you wouldn't get into any trouble while you were here, so I—"
"Yes, okay. I promise to bring her over tomorrow. I'm seeing her sometime in the afternoon. Will that suffice?" I spoke back, a hint of irritation lacing my voice.
My grandfather noticed, but chose not to start an argument about my attitude. I think a part of him understood how I was feeling about even being there under duress. He was smarter than I gave him credit for.
"Brilliant," he clapped. "Well, I look forward to properly introducing myself to the young lady." And just like that the conversation was over, as he went back to unfolding his newspaper.
Mrs. Brooks winked at me before I turned and left the kitchen. I walked down the long hallway and into my bedroom. Throwing myself backwards onto the bed, I placed my hands behind my head and stared at the ceiling as my mind went back to thinking about Ashley.
I must have laid there for hours remembering everything about her, every tiny detail of the young woman that had me so enraptured. It had turned out to be the best day since being in Ligonier. Maybe this punishment thing wasn't so bad after all.
Chapter Four
Ashley
I finally got dressed. The weather was perfect so I placed on the cleanest pair of denim cut-offs I had in my bag and a red and white striped tank top, paired with my running shoes. I didn't need a mirror to know it was time for me to pocket some of my earnings, once I got another job, to go shopping at one of the local charity stores for some new clothes. Securing an old watch I had found a couple of months back around my wrist, I prepared to go get my father.
The sound of crunching twigs caught my attention and I looked up to see my father rambling through the woods like
a grizzly, cursing the air with every step. Once he came into view, I looked into his eyes; they had that bleary, bloodshot look to them, as though he was still half asleep.
"We have any food?" he grumbled.
No hello or good morning–typical. "No," I lied.
"Not any of those God-awful bars I know you keep hidden?"
"Nope." I looked at him apologetically. I was anything but sorry. "Do we have any grocery money?" I dared to ask in return, my voice barely above a whisper.
"No," he replied in short.
I looked down at the ground, tears beginning to well in my eyes. How could my father keep doing this? Didn't he care about me at all?
"You ready to head to the orchards?" He rubbed at his forehead, more than likely suffering a raging hangover.
I wanted to say no, I wasn't ready to go job hunting. I wanted to say he needed a good bath because I could smell the alcohol and sweat from five feet away, and no future employer wanted a whiff of that. I wanted to say a lot of things, but that would only bring me trouble.
There was no point in arguing with him. Somehow my father was always right, even when he was dead wrong.
Raising my head, I nodded. "Yes, I'm ready to go when you are," I responded.
"Good. Give me five minutes and then we'll leave," he grumbled as he crawled inside the tent.
It was the seasonal picking work that kept us afloat. I had been working the fields since I was twelve. Before that, I wandered alone through the town’s streets and on the farms wherever my father decided to hunker down for the season. I never got the chance to attend public school. With our nomadic ways, somehow my father had gotten away with not enrolling me. He repeatedly told me time and time again, "You don't need no schooling, working the fields is all you'll ever be good for." Maybe he was right.
As I waited for him to get ready, I thought back on this one summer after I had just turned five, the first summer I remember arriving in Ligonier. I was looking through the window of the Baskin Robbins ice cream store, just to see the types of treats other people were buying. That was when I saw two kids, about my age, with hair as bright as a full-burning fire. If the two were not wearing different clothes or had dissimilar haircuts, I wouldn't have been able to tell them apart. They were sitting at a table across from their mother, a tall, slender woman with equally orange hair, all sharing a huge sundae covered with all kinds of delectable toppings. I couldn't remember ever having a dessert that hadn't come from a gas station shelf and I remember wishing I could just walk in the store and join them.
Where She Was Loved Page 2