Trees, crops, cows, horses, more trees, more fucking corn. What did I do to deserve this? Oh, that’s right. Stopped caring.
I look over at the monster next to me. Or you could call her a faker? Schizo may be more accurate.
My birth mother, Donna. The woman that didn’t give a shit about me four years ago and let me make some of the biggest mistakes of my life. Yep, I’m throwing some sort of fit and blaming my poor decisions on my ‘mother’.
She’s driving me across the country and we’re heading south, y’all.
I was happy in New York. The cops weren’t happy with me, though. Most people aren’t happy with the homeless. Add in a little theft and a lot of drugs because you hit rock bottom, and they’re more than happy to let you rot in jail. I was even okay with that but good ole mom wasn’t. Like I said though, four years ago she was too busy with her career to even recognize me for the shithead I was, so when I walked out, she didn’t even bother to try and stop me. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, but this apple hit so many branches on the way down that the only thing I have in common with Donna is substance abuse.
Donna is a country star. I loathe country music. Donna is a blonde haired, big tittied, southern belle. I cover my blonde with black hair dye so when it starts to grow back I look like I’m balding. My chest has been compared to mosquito bites. I never lived in the south a day in my life and neither had Donna up until four years ago when I became a missing person. That really helped her shitty career blossom. Now though, now she has a drawl that crawls under my skin almost as bad as going a week without a fix.
I’m not proud of the shit I’ve done, but I’m just to the point where I don’t give a shit anymore.
Gasp! How could such a young girl give up so easily?
I’ve heard all the ‘positive’ mantras and there have been so many prayers for me that if The Big Guy is real, he definitely knows who I am. Live a day in the shoes I did prior to the last six months I’ve been in rehab, and you’d give up too. This isn’t your fault or society or whomever you think I’m trying to blame. And I know I said I was blaming Donna before, but honestly, I made the choices I did, and I can make the choice not to give a shit anymore too. It’s my life. Donna gave me full custody of my life on my sixteenth birthday and decided nurturing her career was more important than her daughter. So I took the reigns and did everything possible to fuck it up just enough that I don’t care anymore. It wasn’t intentional; I didn’t set out with the mentality to become a homeless drug addict. I set out to live instead of watching my mom breathe every breath she had into trying to become a country star.
Whatever. That’s my sob story. Now I’m headed south to live on Donna’s farm that her husband and his son tend to while she acts like she’s a retired country singing phenomenon. Her career didn’t take off until the tragic story of her missing daughter hit the media, along with the song she wrote for ‘me’ when I ran away from home.
I’m twenty and can tell her to piss off, but like I said, I just don’t care anymore. It’s just a place to sleep and not worry about where my next meal will come from. And if anything, Donna can afford to take care of me now, unlike years ago when the only thing she wanted to afford was buying a career.
“You’re really gonna like Brandt.” Her drawl seems thicker the closer we get to the place she calls home. Like she’s settling back into her roots that have never been in her blood because she was raised in Canada then went to college in New York, got knocked up, and then had me.
Like most of this trip, I don’t respond. She said she would have just flown me down but wanted the fifteen-hundred-mile drive to ‘bond’. The only bonding we’ve done so far is shared a large fry from McDonalds. I’m not to tell Garrison, her husband, because they don’t eat anything that’s not organic… I can’t wait to arrive.
She keeps blabbing on about this Brandt guy, but I just want to sleep.
“He graduated last year so he’s not much younger than you and he’ll be working around the farm for the summer so you guys can get to know each other. Maybe he can show you the ropes.” And that’s when I stop listening, because unless ‘the ropes’ are sleep, TV, eat, and repeat, there’s nothing Brandt can show me.
Only a few more hours and I can actually sleep. I’ve been pretending to sleep as much as possible, but if I go too long she doesn’t pull over and I’ve somehow developed the bladder of a pregnant woman who’s nine months along with quadruplets.
When her hand lands on my shoulder I open my eyes and clamp my jaw to keep from biting it. The last thing I want from her is to pretend she’s been my mother, or to pretend we’re even friends. But I have to play along until I get out of here, and as of right now, I’m not sure when that’ll be because I’m not in a hurry to do much of anything.
“We’re here,” she speaks in a soft voice like I’m an adopted child that’s being welcomed home.
I don’t even bother to look at the place. It’s a farm. How exciting can it be? When I do glimpse at the house as I head toward the trunk of the car, the first thing I notice is how ridiculously large it is. This isn’t your typical farmhouse. This is a mansion sitting on farmland.
Being homeless for the last three years hasn’t really given me opportunity to build my wardrobe, so I grab my backpack and a rolling suitcase that Donna bought after the rehab clinic gave back what little belongings I had in a plastic bag.
“Howdy.” The deep southern voice that greets me in a way I thought only happened in movies comes from my back, and I turn around to a cowboy dismounting a giant horse. No joke.
Instead of replying, I get enamored by the beast he just rode up on like it’s running on a motor. It’s not the first time I’ve seen a horse, but it is the first time I’ve seen one standing in place of a vehicle and not pulling some bullshit carriage that charges tourists two hundred bucks a pop.
“I’m Garrison.” His huge hand extends and I get caught-up studying it because I’m used to men as thin and fragile as I am.
Before I let my laugh escape at how alien I’m acting I push my hand into his and pull my upper lip between my teeth.
“Jolene?” he asks as if maybe my mother decided to pick up a different ex-drug addict daughter on that three thousand mile drive.
“Jo.” I haul my backpack over my shoulder and reach for the rolling suitcase but he picks it up.
“Alright then. Let’s get through the grand tour of the museum.”
“Oh stop.” A hearty southern laugh comes from Donna while she wraps herself around his arm.
“You hungry, Jo?” he asks. I quickly glance toward her because we just ate McDonalds, but the look on her face makes me reply, “Sure,” and step to the side so they can open the door to their home.
“Brandt will be here in twenty. I’ve got stew in the crock.”
The overwhelming aroma of a home cooked meal hits me and makes my mouth water but also makes my bloated stomach cramp because I haven’t eaten this much in one day since I was a kid.
“Bathroom?” I glare at Donna because her cowboy husband is staring at me and he’s intimidating. Like I said before, I’m not used to men like him. I’m used to fiending crack-heads whose arm I could break before running off with their stash. A man like Garrison though, he could lift me by the collar of my shirt and throw me the distance of a football field. I don’t like feeling intimidated by men.
“Let’s get you to your room and I’ll show you around.” Donna detaches herself from John Wayne and wraps her arm around mine like we’re the best of girl friends. “You okay, honey?” she whispers while leading me toward a long hallway that looks more like it belongs in a museum, like Garrison said.
“Fine,” I mutter.
“Does Garrison make you uncomfortable?” I swear her accent gets thicker and thicker each time she talks.
“No.” I shrug hoping she lets go of my arm. She doesn’t.
“You tell me if he does. He can seem intense, but he’s a sweetheart.”
I have no response for that. I just hope we get to this room sooner than later but it seems like we’re traveling to a completely different house. After she unlocks a door that looks like it leads to a garage, she holds the key out to me.
“You and Brandt will have to work out some sort of rules and boundaries. The guesthouse has been his for the past year.”
As long as the dork leaves me the hell alone and lets me sleep, we won’t cross paths.
“You’ll have your privacy but I won’t be far if you ever need me.” She points her square French-tipped fingernail back toward the door. “Brandt’s room is upstairs, but I don’t think he’d fight you if you wanted to switch. I don’t think it’d be too much of a trouble.”
“A bed in a corner is fine.”
She starts to laugh, making me jump because I wasn’t ready for that cackle. “Don’t be silly, Jolene. This isn’t going to be anything like the life you were used to living. We’re getting you on the right track.”
I raise my eyebrows and stare into her blue eyes, but when her smile doesn’t falter I look away and clench my jaw to hold in the smartass comment. The last thing I need is to treat her like the mother she’s not.
"Can you work on calling me Jo?" It's not really a request, and I hope she doesn't take it as one. I can't stand Jolene.
"Sure, honey." She turns the handles to double doors and I’m hoping it’s to a pool, but it’s not. It’s to a bedroom. Double doors for a bedroom. This woman has more money than she knows what to do with. And I’m sorry, but bedroom is an understatement. This is a suite. “Take a look around, then I’ll take you to the other room and you can decide.”
“This is fine.” I walk toward the bed and release my backpack from my shoulder.
“You sure?” She looks like she’s genuinely worried but I don’t know what the hell she could be worried about. She’s offering a peasant a palace when I was okay with a sleeping bag in a corner.
“Yeah. Sure.” I nod, looking around, because she has a tendency to stare at me for too long and it makes me uncomfortable. I’d hate to try and analyze what she sees. Not to mention, I don’t exactly care.
“Get settled a little, then let’s see if Brandt is home.” She smiles at me like she’s happy I’m a guest in her castle, but she’s going to be disappointed when she realizes any semblance of a relationship between us is long lost.
“I should have thought about this before we arrived. Is there maybe a store within walking distance?” I know there isn’t because we were at least fifteen miles away from the small gas station I noticed on the drive in, and I can’t remember where or when I saw an actual store on our drive.
“What do you need?” She moves closer to me and I’m so worried she’s going to try and hug me that I move away. She tried it at the rehab center but commotion from a new patient made it short lived.
“Toothpaste. Toothbrush.” I shrug. “Just stuff.”
“Go look in your bathroom.” She gestures to another set of double doors that are inside the bedroom and I open my mouth to tell her how absurd this house is, but I quickly clamp it closed. “I stocked it before I got you, but if there’s something you need, I’ll take you to the market.”
“Do you have a Walmart around or something?” I’m not sure what she means by a market. Is this a southern name for convenience store? Or does she literally mean market?
“There’s one in the city.” She nods then heads to the doors that I haven’t made a move for yet.
“I need hair dye.”
“Are you going back to blonde? I can get you in to see my stylist.”
“Black,” I respond before she gets her hopes up. “And box dye is fine.”
“Don’t be silly.” She looks away with discontent but I’m not going to be the little country girl she’s wanted since I was a young New Yorker. “I’ll get you in to see Crystal.”
Whatever. I’m not going to bother arguing right now, but Crystal can use her time on someone else while I pour box dye over my head. I don’t give a shit what my hair looks like, with the exception of the golden locks trying to take over.
“Take a look around, honey. What do you think you need that I forgot?” she asks while gently placing her hand on items she has lined up on a bed-sized sink counter.
“I have to use the bathroom.”
Her boar bristle brushes and electric toothbrushes don’t impress me. I’d be happy with a fork for a brush and dollar store toothbrush.
“You want me to wait out here for you?” she asks leaving the bathroom.
“No,” I respond while closing the doors.
“You remember where we came into the house at? The dinning room isn’t far from there. Why don’t you head that way when you’re done.”
“Sure thing.” When I’m done with sleeping and can’t stand the hunger anymore. I can usually go at least five days.
“Okay, Jo. We’re happy you’re here, honey.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I close the door and exhale a deep breath when I’m finally away from that woman.
She’s not that bad, except for the fact she wants to play happy family. Yes we’re family, but we’re not happy and she wasn’t happy until I left. She can cut the shit.
When I exit the bathroom I stare at the closed double doors and wonder if she’s waiting on the other side. I can’t find the urge to check so I slip my shoes off and climb into the bed that’s nothing like any bed I’ve ever laid on. Letting out a groan, I sink into the pillow with a grin and close my eyes. I’ll be more than happy wasting away to nothing in this bed.
“Jo?” Thudding knocks finally wake me and the unfamiliar masculine voice has me jolting upright, staring at the door in a confused panic.
“Jo? It’s Garrison. Are you okay in there?”
Garrison. Donna’s husband. I’m at Donna’s farm.
“Sleeping,” I weakly call out then clear my throat. “I’m sleeping,” I yell with a little more confidence in my tone.
“Your mom’s worried.”
My head starts jerking around, looking for a clock.
“We thought you’d join us for dinner?”
“Fuck,” I whisper then drag ass out of the bed and over to the door.
When I open it, he eyes me curiously. “You were sleeping in jeans and a hoodie?”
“I was just excited there was a pillow.” My brief grin got the point across and he looks away like he’s concerned about my past life. I want to laugh. “I’m not really hungry. I kind of just want to sleep.”
“You can sleep when you’re dead.” His hand clamps to my shoulder, and it’s all in my head, but his grasp is too threatening. Before I can stop myself I grab his wrist and he lets me twist his arm. It’s like arm wrestling with your dad. He doesn’t even try.
“Do you like beef stew?” he asks, not indicating any awkwardness or discomfort in the pathetic twist I have him in.
I quickly move away and turn so he doesn’t see my embarrassment.
“Jo? Stew?”
“I’m sorry I twisted your arm,” I blurt and move farther away.
“I’ll teach you how to do it so you can actually disarm me.” His smile softens his serious gaze.
“I’m not hungry. I just want sleep.”
I think I’ve had my fair share of interaction with them.
“You’ve been napping two hours and Brandt is a really patient kid, but he’s itching to meet his new roommate.” That smile is still set like he’s trying to disarm me.
I’m disarmed, but I don’t want to play house with these people.
“I’m really tired.” It’s not a lie, but I’m always really tired.
“Your mom said you slept most of the drive.”
“I pretended,” I shamelessly inform him.
“I do that to her sometimes too.” He heads for the door. “Take that sweater off and join us for dinner.”
I look down at my hoodie in confusion then realize it probably looks like I garbage picked it, but I didn’t. I actually paid five dollars for it at a secondhand store.
“Eh.” I migrate toward the bed again. “Wouldn’t want to interfere with your family time. I’ll see you guys tomorrow maybe.” I start climbing back onto the soft mattress and when he turns toward me I only mean to glance but it turns into an intense stare-down. This man demands respect and compliance but at the same time you can see he’ll return it.
Rational. He seems very rational.
“Humor your mom and please come meet my son.”
He’s so weird and I’m in no mood but I have no fight left so I let my limbs hang and head for the door.
“She’s not gonna let you alone and you know it,” he quietly tells me as we head for the door that leads to the small hall…that leads to their house. “You just have to humor her for a few days and she’ll let you start getting on yourself. She cares and wants what’s best for you.”
Here’s where I snort and retaliate with some backhanded comment, but I don’t care enough so I pull open the door and jump back when Garrison’s younger twin is standing there.
“I was just coming to find you,” he says to Garrison then shoves his hand toward me. “Brandt.” He’s grinning and his eyes are just as intense but as kind as his dad’s. It's uncanny, their resemblance. Apparently handsome rugged cowboy runs in their blood. Makes me miss home, and not because of similarities but because I don’t want to be part of this hee-haw life.
“Jo,” Garrison says when I don’t respond. Blinking away my thoughts about New York, I finally move to shake his hand.
“Awesome tattoos.” He grins wider and Garrison clamps his hand onto Brandt’s shoulder like he did to me earlier. Now I see just how unthreatening it is.
“On her,” Garrison says and turns him to head down the hall. “You’d just look like you’re trying too hard.”
“Aw, come on, dad. What do you think, Jo? Don’t you think I’d look alright with a tattoo?”
“I think your dad might be right.” I try not to smirk but when Garrison looks back at me and winks with a smile, I can’t help it.
I didn’t know what to expect from him, and I can’t say I cared, but I’m glad they seem pretty normal despite the whole cowboy thing. Brandt is laughing about something, but I’m trying to study this mansion so I don’t get lost on the rare occasion I may leave my bedroom and venture past the guesthouse.
I’m really not hungry but it smells too good not to eat so I dive in.
“This your first time having venison?” Brandt asks me and my fork freezes as I stare wide-eyed into my bowl at dead Bambi.
“I thought it was cow.” I look at Garrison like he betrayed me. Omittance isn’t betrayal, but it’s close.
“Does it matter?” Garrison asks.
“Honey,” Donna says to him with a warning in her tone and I look from her worried face back into my bowl.
“I guess it doesn’t,” I admit because it was good and both are animals that are mass-produced for consumption.
“You like it then?” Garrison asks.
“Yeah.” I shrug and dive back in.
“Good. I’ll teach you how to hunt and skin one yourself.”
I cringe and look at him. I’ve seen a lot of gross things in life, but that doesn’t mean I want to barbarically hunt for my own food.
“I think I’ll become a vegetarian.”
Brandt snorts. “Good luck. Donna tried it.” He points his fork and looks toward her while she blushes.
“She was put off by hunting for her own food too.” Garrison puts his hand on hers. “She’s a lot more open about it now.”
“It’s not that bad,” she admits as if someone’s trying to argue her.
“Just doesn’t sound like a good time.” I stand and pick up my bowl.
“Aw, come on now. I didn’t mean to ruin your meal,” Garrison says with genuine concern.
“I’m full. It was good and I’ll eat it again tomorrow as long as I’m not hunting down Bambi.” I take my bowl toward what I think is the kitchen but I end up in a wine cellar.
“This way.” Brandt’s voice comes from the doorway. “I take it they didn’t show you around?”
“Hey now,” Garrison says and I look over at him because that southern drawl is like a foreign language to me. “She slept through it. Usually we only sleep through it when Donna starts in about the artwork.”
“Come on now!” Donna’s feathers are ruffled with faked offense and they’re all laughing.
It’s like a bad commercial for breakfast sausage.
Brandt steers me into a kitchen that’s as big as a small house and I sigh because it’s all too intense.
“I’ll be heading to the creek at dusk. You comin’ along?”
I cock my eyebrow at him before letting my eyes study the four sinks. I’m not sure which I should wash my dish in.
“Jo?” Brandt says, taking the bowl out of my hand and setting it into a sink.
“I’ll wash those.” I reach for the bowl but he stops me.
“Donna can do it. You can wash our dishes at our place though.” This kid is a lady killer and it almost makes me laugh because I can guarantee he knows that smile is charming as hell. Not necessarily to me, but I bet it gets him plenty southern belles.
When he opens a cupboard that has an automatic hand dryer built into the door, my brows raise. “This place is so weird,” I say it out loud but meant to keep it internal.
After the blasting dryer goes silent, he looks at me again. “Your mom’s a little extreme. Anyway, buncha my friends will be at the creek. You sure you don't wanna join?”
“Why would I want to do that?” I’m not sure what tone that came out in because I barely even listen to myself when I talk anymore.
“‘Cause it’s fun.” He shrugs. “You twenty-one?”
“No,” I respond, realizing he was probably hoping I could buy beer.
“We’ll get you an ID for the nights we head to Doobs. Just a shitty bar a few towns over, but if the Sheriff comes in everyone has to present something legit that says they’re twenty-one.” He’s smiling at me like this kid lives the best life ever because he’s content living with mommy and daddy’s money while playing cowboy jock. I mean he’s not bad, he’s nice, has an easy smile, and could be a cowboy boot model or something, but spare me.
“I think I’m straight on going to the creek.” I head for the door but he grabs my wrist.
“Hey, you’re not gonna rat on me about Doobs, are you?”
“No offense.” I pull my arm away. “But I keep thinking your name is Brad. I kind of don’t care what you do or lie to your dad and Donna about.” I shrug and head for the door again. “I just need a bed until my bad back can let me walk my ass to a train station.”
He starts to laugh like a rich cowboy’s laugh should sound and I can’t help but look back at him like he’s crazy.
“Is this gonna be like one of those things where you hate your step family and wish your mom would stop talking to you?”
“Naw.” I turn for the door again. “It’s going to be like one of those things where the girl sleeps at least eighteen hours a day and only gets up to eat and shit.” I leave him in the kitchen. “Thanks for dinner. Night,” I mumble to Donna and Garrison.
“Jo, honey,” Donna says before I can get away fast enough. “Garrison was hoping to show you around the property.”
“Why?” I look her square in the eye, trying to detect the evilness, but it’s not there.
“So you’re prepared.” She looks at Garrison and he drops his hands from wiping his mouth.
“Because it’ll get pretty boring ‘round here and fast,” Garrison responds. “Ain’t that right, Brandt?”
“It’s not that bad,” the kid lies through his perfect teeth and grins at me. Grabbing my arm, Brandt pulls me to the front door. "Sometimes you just gotta walk away or they'll never stop," he says with a chuckle then points across a field. “C'mon, I’ll take you to the barn.”
I really don't want to, but unless I want to be rude and possibly kicked out on my first night here, I'm following this kid to barn hell.
"Yeah, so this is nice." I roll my eyes as we walk into the massive barn.
"It's no New York, but I prefer this over the big city any day." He tosses his cowboy hat on the table and walks over to pet a horse.
"Have you even been to a big city?"
"I went to Miami for spring break once." He grins. "Not much other than that, but that was enough to know I need wide open spaces and less traffic. And less crazy people."
I keep my mouth shut because I just want to go back to sleep.
"So daily we need the herd fed, chicks cleaned up after, the horses need some exercise and pens cleaned. Day starts about five, six a.m. if you're lucky. And there're about ten things a day around here that break and we need to fix, so it can get pretty busy. Days are long, but it's worth it. I haven't had to go to a gym yet and I'd like to think I'm in pretty decent shape." The horse nuzzles him like it’s impressed by Brandt’s muscles that make his t-shirt tight at the sleeves. "It's a really fun place, Jo."
I didn’t realize what I needed to be ‘prepared’ for until Brandt starts showing me the chores of the farm. They think I’m going to actually work on this farm.
"Fun. Like a circus. So, can I get back in bed? I haven't slept on a bed like that my entire life. I've been on a cot sharing a room with an ex-porn star for the past few months. I'd really just like some peace and quiet, and a comfortable bed."
"Ex-porn star huh?" He laughs. "I can't beat that, sorry. You know my dad's not going to let you sleep your life away here, right?"
"Um, well, he's not my dad, so." I shrug.
"We all live together, we might as well get along.”
“Technically it doesn’t matter,” I respond while heading toward the door. “I won’t be here long, and if I am you won’t see much of me.”
“That’s what you think.” He chuckles. “My dad and your mom will try and get you to work the farm and they’ll expect me to show you everything.”
“I didn’t come here to work.” I fold my arms over my chest, closing my eyes.
“Why did you then?” When I look at him, he’s still smiling that disarming smile. “I mean, I thought you hated your mom.”
“I don’t even know my mom.” Why would she tell him that? “I came because I was in rehab and it was either go with a family member or end up in jail. Probably should have chosen jail.” I sigh and head for the house.
Those boots jogging up behind me make a distinct sound and I glance over my shoulder when he says, “If you’re respectful and do your chores, they’ll leave you the hell alone.”
“I really just need a place to sleep for a while.”
“You can sleep when you’re dead.” He grins over at me.
"If you don't leave me alone, I will drop dead."
He wraps an arm around my shoulders as we walk back to the house and I keep my arms folded tight to my chest. But when he musses my hair, I shove away from him.
"Aw come on. I'm just tryin’ to make ya feel at home, sis. This is your place as much as mine now, we gotta take care of it. Dad's not gonna live forever."
My eyes go wide and I glare over at him. "Are you kidding?" I laugh. "I'll be here like three months tops." I didn't plan on giving myself a timeline, but I need the hell out of here.
"We'll see about that." He chuckles at me as he opens a door that leads directly into the guesthouse then gestures me inside. "Last chance to come to the creek with me tonight." His eyebrows rise in question while a grin sits on his face.
"Last time I tell you no." I dart to the room I was given and close the double doors, relieved when there’s no knock.