Harold staggered to his feet. James grabbed him by the collar of his coveralls and pulled him close. Harold wheezed, and blood dripped from his mouth and nose.
James said, “If I ever see you on my property again, I will
fucking
kill you. Do you understand me?”
Harold nodded.
“Speak!”
“Yeah, I got it.”
James pointed the man toward the trail, shoved him, and said, “Get the fuck out of here.” Harold stumbled in the right direction.
Chapter 11: Reckoning
Chapter 11
Reckoning
James sat at the kitchen table, reading on his laptop. Brittany stirred in the top bunk.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” James said over his computer screen.
She climbed down from the top bunk in her flannel pajamas. A fire burned in the fireplace insert. She rubbed her eyes, stretched her arms over her head, and sat down across from James.
“You want some breakfast?” James asked. “You must be starving. You slept through dinner last night.”
“I had trouble sleepin’ at the hotel. When we got back, I was exhausted.”
“You have fun?” James asked.
She blushed.
“That good, huh?” James stood from the table. “How about eggs?”
“Scrambled?”
“Coming right up.” James cracked eggs into a bowl. “So how was it?” he said over his shoulder.
She grinned. “It was so much fun. I think I met more people in one night than in my whole life. Jessica and Denise were like the center of everyone.”
James turned around. He held the bowl, scrambling the eggs with a fork. “What did you guys do?”
“We went ice skatin’, dancin’. We hung out.”
James removed a frying pan from the cabinet and set it on the stove top. “With who?”
“Huh?”
James added oil to the pan, turned on the stovetop, and glanced over his shoulder. “Who did you hang out with?”
Brittany’s face turned scarlet. “We met these guys from Temple.”
James grinned as he poured the eggs into the pan. “College guys, huh?”
Brittany smirked. “We were just hangin’ out.”
James sat down across from Brittany, his grin receding. “I think it’s good that you’re spending time with people your age. It’s important. Just be careful.”
Brittany bit the inside of her cheek. “I know.”
“Did you like any of these guys?”
She shrugged, but her face betrayed her.
“Are you going to see him again?” James asked.
“Prob’ly not.” She smiled. “He was really nice though … and
cute
.”
James smiled. “I’m glad.”
* * *
Brittany piled produce onto the small counter next to the self-checkout area. James typed SKU numbers into the screen and placed a bundle of bananas on the scale. The machine told James to place the bananas in his bag.
“That it?” James asked Brittany.
“Yep.”
James pressed the Pay for My Order button. He slipped a one-hundred-dollar bill into the machine. A ten and a couple ones appeared at the bottom, along with a few coins.
Bundled in heavy jackets and knit hats, James pushed the cart into the salt-stained parking lot while Brittany walked alongside. The gray sky made everything look dingy. Dirty snow was piled up in the back of the lot.
“It’s freezing,” James said.
“I’m not cold.”
James looked at her long puffy Patagonia coat.
“The best birthday present I ever got,” she said.
James grinned, stopping the cart next to his truck. “You mind riding with the groceries?”
Brittany handed bags to James, and he placed them on the middle of the seat and in the passenger wheel well. Brittany climbed into the truck, carefully situating her feet among the groceries. James walked around the back of the truck. A flash of red caught his eye—a red Ford Ranger a couple rows over. A shadowy figure sat in the driver’s seat. The engine fired up, and the high beams flicked on and off, on and off. The truck peeled out of the lot.
James climbed into his truck with a scowl. He cranked the engine and gripped the steering wheel strong enough for his knuckles to go white.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
James shook his head as he backed out of the space. “Nothing.”
“I know you, James. There’s something you’re not tellin’ me. If you keep things from me, I end up thinkin’ scarier things in my mind.”
James pulled from the parking lot. He exhaled and glanced at Brittany. “I think I saw Harold.”
Her eyes were wide. “When? Where?”
“Right before we pulled out, after we loaded the groceries. He was a few rows over.” James looked at Brittany. “Are you okay?” He focused back on the road.
“I’m worried,” she said. “Diane said I should be honest about my feelin’s, and I’m really worried.”
James shook his head. “I won’t let him hurt you. He’s just a sick little old man.”
“I’m worried about you. What if he told the chief what you did to him?”
“He won’t. Besides, it’s been weeks. I would have heard by now if he had pressed charges.”
She crossed her arms with a frown.
James glanced at Brittany. “Do you really think he wants to tell his brother that he was beat up by a skinny city boy? He’ll take that to the grave.”
* * *
“What would you like to drink?” the tall waitress asked.
“Iced tea, please,” Brittany replied.
“And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have water,” James said, “but I may want wine with dinner.”
James and Brittany sat at a corner table of a dimly lit restaurant. James wore a dark suit; Brittany, a black dress. If it wasn’t a day for lovers, and if they didn’t look so different, they might have passed for father and daughter.
“How does it feel to be a high school graduate?” James asked.
Brittany looked up from the heart-shaped menu. “It’s only a GED.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t minimize your accomplishments. You’ve come a long way in a short time. It’s only been four months since you started on the GED prep.”
She nodded with a crooked grin. “You sound like Diane.”
The waitress returned with water and iced tea. James ordered fish with white wine—Brittany, the New York strip. After the waitress departed, James raised his water glass.
“I would like to propose a toast
to you
,” he said. “Congratulations on your high school diploma and your driver’s license. I’m very proud of you.”
Brittany sat in her seat blushing and smiling.
James said, “This is where you pick up your drink, and we clink glasses together.”
Clink.
After dinner, James helped Brittany with her coat. He left cash on the table, and they strolled through the restaurant toward the front door. An elderly couple glared at them.
“It’s sick,” the old man said under his breath.
James stopped. “Excuse me?”
The man glowered at James. “Don’t you think you’re a little old for her? I got a granddaughter about her age.”
The heavyset white-haired woman next to him sat with her arms crossed, a plate of untouched food in front of her. “You’ve ruined my Valentine’s Day dinner,” she said.
Brittany stared at the floor.
“Get your minds out of the gutter. I’m her guardian. And I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak of her that way. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
As James and Brittany departed the restaurant, he said to her, “You can’t argue with ignorance. But I still try.”
“I know.” She forced a smile.
In the parking lot, a bitter wind cut through their clothes. Brittany hurried for the truck. James stopped and glanced at the highway, a flash of red catching his eye. He was weary from feeling like they were being watched.
Was it a pickup? Was it a car?
“You comin’?” Brittany said, shivering by the passenger door.
James retrieved his keys from the front pocket of his slacks.
“Do you want to drive?” he asked.
“Not in heels.”
James cranked the engine and turned up the heat. They drove through town. The town square had a fountain that was dry in the winter. Raised beds made with brick and concrete contained neatly trimmed hollies and junipers. Near the square, on the strip, a handful of three- and four-story brick and stone buildings housed banks, accountants, and relationship salespeople, otherwise known as financial advisors. Traffic was sparse as James and Brittany passed the historic district. When they moved beyond the buildings built with the grift of finance, the architecture became less extravagant, mostly two-story converted row homes with brick and vinyl siding. Many had old rusty metal roofs that needed replacement. A carousel of failed businesses rotated through the row homes. The mainstays were the dry cleaners, two bars, and a sandwich shop.
Outside of town, the road was dark and deserted. James glanced at Brittany. She gazed out the window.
Almost home. I’m ready for sweats. And that cake
. He motored around a bend, and his stomach leapt. Brittany turned to him, her eyes wide.
“It’s okay,” he said.
James watched in his rearview mirror as he passed the cross street, where the police car was parked. The cruiser pulled out. He could hear the V-8 gaining ground behind him. The car tailed him—close. James scowled.
Here we go
. He turned onto the gravel road that led to his cabin. The cruiser followed. Brittany turned around, gripping the headrest. James stopped the truck as soon as the officer activated his flashing blue and red lights.
James put the emergency brake on, cut his headlights, and took a deep breath. The truck idled, warm air pumping from the vents. James grabbed his documentation from the glove box and his license from his wallet.
The officer was backlit by the spotlight on the cruiser. He shone a flashlight the size of a baton. He marched to the driver’s side door in a puffy jacket and black gloves.
James rolled down his window halfway. He was relieved to read M. Emory on the officer’s nametag. Officer Emory was clean-shaven, with dark hair and light eyes.
“Turn off the truck,” he said, shining his flashlight into the cab.
“It’s cold,” James replied.
“Turn off the truck.”
James cut the engine.
The officer’s pants were pulled up high to prevent his gut from lapping over his belt.
Officer Emory said, “License, registration, and proof of insurance.”
James handed him his documents. The officer took the papers and shone his flashlight in Brittany’s face. “This your daughter?”
“She’s a friend,” James replied.
The officer leaned forward, almost sticking his chubby face in the truck. “How old are you, miss?”
Brittany was pressed up against the driver’s side door, her arms folded over her chest. “I’m nineteen,” she said, barely audible.
“You’ll have to speak up,” the officer said.
“Nineteen.” Her head was down.
The officer scowled at James. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“Because Chief Strickland told you to.”
The officer looked away, breaking character. After a moment, his glare returned. “You were driving erratically. Have you been drinking?”
“I had one glass of wine at dinner.”
Officer Emory nodded and returned to his car with James’s papers.
James turned to Brittany. “You okay?”
“No,” she replied, her face taut, “This is really bad.”
“It’ll be fine. I haven’t done anything. He’s just messing with me.”
Ten minutes later the chubby officer returned to the truck.
“I’m gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle,” he said to James.
James frowned and stepped from the truck to the gravel road.
“Turn around, spread your legs, and put your hands on the truck,” the officer said.
James spread his legs and leaned forward, his hands touching the cold metal.
“Do you have any weapons or needles or anything that might cut or poke me?” the officer said.
“No.”
He frisked James and then told him to turn around. He led him to the middle of the road. “Stand and hold your arms out to your side,” the officer said. “Now touch your nose with each hand.”
James stood with his arms out and touched his nose without losing his balance. He did it over and over again, gaining speed. “That good enough?” James said.
“Stand on one leg and count to ten.”
James complied.
“Now the other leg.”
James complied.
“Now stand straight, close your eyes, and tilt you head back for thirty seconds.”
James closed his eyes and tilted his head back. After what felt like a minute James said, “Are you keeping time?”
“No, you are,” the officer said.
James opened his eyes and tilted his head forward. “It’s been like a minute.”
“Recite the alphabet backward.”
“
Z, Y, X, V, W
… shit. I’d have to write it forward first. This is ridiculous. I’m clearly not drunk.”
The officer attached a tube to a small plastic device. He pointed the straw at James’s face. “This is a breathalyzer. Take a deep breath and blow into this straw until I tell you to stop. Do not stop blowing until I tell you to, and do not touch the machine. Keep your hands by your side.”
James took a deep breath and blew into the straw.
“Stop,” the officer said after ten seconds, extracting the device from James’s mouth. He looked at the readout and placed the machine in his pocket. “Turn around and place your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for driving under the influence. You have the right to remain silent and to refuse to answer questions. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” James replied.
The officer placed handcuffs on James’s wrists, tightening the metal enough to feel immediate discomfort. Brittany watched from the back window of the truck.
The officer said, “Anything you do or say may be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. Do you understand?”