The next day, I woke up ten minutes before my alarm screamed for me to get my ass out of bed. I didn’t sleep well. The dark bags complementing my bloodshot eyes were proof exhaustion ruled me. No amount of makeup, even costume, could fix it. I’d spend the rest of the day looking like a second-rate TV zombie.
The nightmares all revolved around Cash dancing in a turquoise, sequined G-string, complete with dramatic pelvic thrusts. His stage was a room full of multi-colored vaginas swinging from the ceiling. From two over-sized loudspeakers, Mambo Number 5 played on repeat in the background. Even in sleep, that man found ways to irritate me. The dream was relentless every time I dozed, so forcing myself to stay awake was the lesser of two evils. All I could do was watch the minutes tick by on the digital clock. Looking back, I’m not sure what I waited for. An apocalypse? Grass to grow? Spontaneous combustion? The world didn’t end. I checked. A lump sat in my stomach like a brick, and it became heavier as the hours crept by. What felt like a death sentence loomed because the place I was headed? It was the equivalent of prison.
My cell began to play the chorus to I’m Too Sexy. Thanks to Cash, it was his signature text message tone. I wasn’t sure whether I was impressed he operated the phone all by himself or annoyed with his song choice. And don’t get me started on how he’d stored his name in my contacts. His argument was if my phone fell into the wrong hands, no one would know it was him if they skimmed our conversations. Personally, I think he thought he was clever. I reached over to the nightstand and unplugged it from the charger. With one eye open, I knew I wasn’t in the mood for whatever he had to say.
CREAM
You awake, baby?
No.
I thought of something else for you to pick up at the sex shop.
Still not awake.
Three little dots appeared, letting me know he was forming a reply. They disappeared, showed up again, and vanished once more. Then, nothing. I’m not sure what I expected from someone who called himself CREAM to maintain anonymity. It stood for Cash Rules Everything Around Me. I never vocalized it, but I’d assumed his self-proclaimed name had to do with jizz until he’d explained it. Either way was less than heartfelt.
It was dark outside. Even the sky wasn’t willing to cooperate yet. No rising and definitely no shining. At four-thirty, I finally stood up and went through the motions of getting ready. My concentration level was at a big, fat zero. I made tea without remembering to heat the water, and I poured milk directly in the box of cereal instead of into a bowl. Oops. I tried to brush my teeth with hair gel, a combination I don’t recommend. Of course, it was after I emptied the dishwasher by loading plates and bowls into the oven. Don’t worry. It wasn’t on. But for the record, don’t try it. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, Steele Falls had a vice-like hold on me, even from nearly a thousand miles away. I hoped it wasn’t setting a precedence for the days to come.
Pacing my apartment and biting my nails didn’t make me feel any better either. All it did was prolong the inevitable and leave me in desperate need of a manicure. The jury hadn’t come to a decision on whether I tried to talk myself into going or bagging the entire trip. Hiding from reality sounded as good as a vacation to Maui right about then. Deep down, I knew drinking a Mai Tai with a cute little umbrella wasn’t in the cards for me. Nope! There was only one solution to my problems. Step one: Putting on my big girl pants. Step two: Pushing the pedal to the metal.
There was nothing left for me to do except feed Catzilla and leave. Trying to execute that action was worse than anticipating a root canal. The single brick in my gut had morphed into what felt like The Great Wall of China. I filled up Catzilla’s feeder to the brim while she watched, ensuring I did it correctly. I’m guessing I passed her test. She cocked her head to the right and looked up at me with inquisitive gray eyes, meowing before she wove her way through my legs in a figure-eight pattern.
Most of the time she was a good listener. And she served as a great obstacle to trip over when she wanted attention at an inopportune moment. That morning, she was too busy to sprain my ankle or break my foot, much to my disappointment. With a robust purr, she flopped onto her side, pointed one foot straight up at the ceiling, and began gnawing her asshole.
“Tell me how you really feel about me leaving.” I sighed. “Trust me, I have the same sentiments.”
With as much bravery as I could muster, I grabbed both my jacket and tote bag, pushing my squeaky-wheeled suitcase to the doorway. I gave the room one last glance over before I slid the spare key under the mat, in case I needed Justine to stop by and check on the feline butt muncher. “See you in a few days, Catzilla.”
* * *
The side streets were open, and every damn light was green, all in my favor on the way to the freeway. It was evident the travel gods hated me. Every other person I knew would be annoyed to be stuck in gridlock, but not this girl. I was the exception to the rule. Blue was my name, and procrastination was my game. I sucked at it.
A depressing song crept through the speakers about regret and mistakes. The sorrowful lyrics were too much, and I hurried to find a local morning show. Whiny co-hosts spewed news about a recent earthquake across the country, the stock market rising, and Charles, a two-headed bull born in Spain. All of it was far more welcome than getting sucked down the rabbit hole of music.
It took over eleven hours of cruising through foreign highways, which included three breaks at dingy rest stops, two wrong turns, and a partridge in a pear tree…I mean a heartburn-inducing gut bomb of a cheeseburger from a place called The Triple B—Boberto’s Burger Bungalow. There was entirely too much time to think as I choked down soggy fries while I drove. I had been so good at using work to focus my attention elsewhere. Without it, I was lost. The monotone GPS wasn’t the greatest conversationalist either. It sunk in—I was all alone. Even an occasional glance toward the ocean didn’t give me a sense of peace.
The sun was setting by the time I’d reached the outskirts of Grays Harbor County, a rare sight that late in the year. It was five-thirty in the evening, and dread puddled in my stomach, surrounding the brick and burger like a moat. A U-turn sounded as tempting as a sip of water to a dying man in the desert. Yet, I was strong and didn’t give in to temptation.
I maneuvered through the familiar ess-curves in the valley, my hands easily predicting each turn while my eyes scoped out various landmarks—all of them still present and all of them still exactly the same. None of it mattered though; I still felt like a stranger as I headed toward the sleepy town half an hour later. I’d outgrown the space since I’d been gone. Everything felt so small, so limiting. Wide-open cow pasture after vegetable farm after abandoned field cemented it in my head. I had zero regrets.
I was only a quarter mile away from the edge of Steele Falls and a few miles off the 101 when I heard a distinct sputter. It quickly morphed into a repetitive clunking sound as my car slowed to a stop on the side of the road. As a finishing act, a plume of steam poured from under the hood with a hiss. I prayed there wouldn’t be an encore.
There were no other cars in sight when I looked in the rearview mirror. It was nothing but endless fields, cow pies, and me. A shitty situation. Literally. All I could do was sit there and watch in disbelief before I rested my head on the faux leather of the steering wheel. “No.” I groaned, which quickly turned into a whine that could rival one of a six-year old having their favorite toy taken away. My worst nightmare had come true—a common theme in the past twenty-four hours. Steele Falls had taken me prisoner once again. Hello, invisible shackles and orange jumper. Oh, how I’ve missed you.
I got out of the car and leaned against the door, taking in a breath of fresh sea air. The soothing breeze blowing in from the ocean used to help me calm down. That day, it wasn’t consoling a damn bit. “You won, Steele Falls. I’m here,” I muttered under my breath and slapped my hands against my outer thighs. Then, I remembered I had AAA. The figurative life preserver would save me! Dialing the 1-800 number on my cell phone revealed another disappointment as I held it high over my head, searching. Failing. A bold red X blinked in the corner and taunted me. I’d forgotten there were few cell towers around before crossing into the sad excuse for city limits. It was my shithouse luck.
I shielded my eyes from the setting sun as it dipped below the horizon, sending a shimmer of rainbow-colored light across the calm ocean surface toward the beach. The picturesque setting belonged on a sappy greeting card and was lost on me. My heart was cold, and all of my sentimental emotions were under lock and key where they belonged.
A familiar sign up the road read Fast Eddie’s in worn red paint on a splintered board. It swayed in the wind, rusty hinges creaking. Tufts of tall grass had taken charge around the tires of a weathered tractor sitting near the gravel drive. If I had to guess, it hadn’t run in over a year and was being used as a glorified planter box or a poor attempt at a business card.
“Hello?” I asked as I walked toward the property with my suitcase in tow.
From what I remembered of the rumors, Fast Eddie was in his late thirties and a workaholic. I’d never met him, but I was once told he had a horrible laugh punctuated with a piggish snort. His sense of humor was known to be even worse, but the man knew his way around a vehicle. Fortunately, I didn’t need a stand-up comedian.
The metal gate at the entrance was partially open, propped in place with a rock. Knee-high blades of grass and a few cattails had grown around that too. Unless it was a kid’s toy, the smallest car wouldn’t fit through the gap. I had a bad feeling about Fast Eddie’s in the current day and age. My hunch was soon confirmed.
“Hello there!” a croaky voice shouted from the porch. The figure waved at me in an overhead gesture.
It was clear I’d entered a time machine. The guy wasn’t in his thirties; he was ancient. A two hundred-year-old man hobbled down a rickety ramp with a homemade cane whittled from warped driftwood. Each of his movements was shaky and calculated as he jabbed at the ground twice with his walking stick before moving each foot a few inches in front of the other. It was painful watching him repeat the same actions over and over again, making his way down the gravel driveway. My fingers were crossed he didn’t fall and bust a hip.
“Is your son or grandson around? I need a mechanic.” I hiked my thumb over my shoulder as I walked toward him. If I didn’t, I was afraid it’d take him nearly a month to get to where I stood. “My car broke down back that way about a quarter mile.”
The wrinkles on his face deepened as he looked bewildered. “My kid?”
“Yeah. Fast Eddie. He owned this place not too long ago.” I glanced up at the sign. “This is still a mechanic shop, right?”
“Oh, well if you’re lookin’ for Fast Eddie, you’re starin’ right at him, ma’am.” He jutted his thumbs under the straps of his faded overalls and gave them a firm tug. “Edward Miller. Steele Falls’ finest mechanic.”
I had a feeling he was Steele Falls’ only mechanic.
“You’re,” I visually assessed him from head to toe, trying to hide my distaste, “Fast Eddie?”
“Darn tootin’!” He smiled, revealing few teeth in his mouth. “Well, the previous owner was my son. He’s Eddie Jr., but he took off to discover himself in Bermuda. Said the pace of this town was too slow for him. So, I took over.”
I held back my eye roll. Passing the torch to the elder was a bass ackward concept to me. Then again, I was back in Steele Falls, the last place I thought I’d ever step foot.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket with quaking hands to blow his nose, which sounded like a dying goose. It was clear nothing about Eddie was swift. My cell service was still non-existent when I glanced from the corner of my eye, so AAA was out of the question. Hell, trying to contact Cash wasn’t an option either, not that I wanted to anything to do with that douche canoe. Desperation set in though. I was stuck with prehistoric Eddie, and I could do nothing but hope he didn’t keel over while we talked.
“What about Dave Bower? He owns the little auto body shop on the corner of Main and Olive.”
“Owned. Past tense. Closed up,” he looked thoughtful as he rubbed the white stubble on his chin, “about six months ago when he had the second heart attack. Right about the time I moved here.”
Theory confirmed: moved here to die.
“And I’m guessing you’re the only outfit in town now?”
Eddie’s head bobbed comically with a silly grin on his face. Part of me wondered if he had all of his marbles and whether he should be trusted to operate any vehicle.
I sighed at the inconvenience. “Is the nearest dealership still over in Ocean Shores?”
“That’s right.” He nodded. “But they’re closed this late on Saturdays.”
“Of course, they are.” I rubbed the back of my neck and mumbled, “This isn’t happening.”
“You in town for the annual pancake breakfast next Thursday?”
“Um. Not exactly.” I left out the fact I remembered the event well. If the biggest celebration a town was known for included flattened carbohydrates and tapped tree sap, peace out, homey.
“Too bad. They’re somethin’ else. Suckers stick to your ribs like glue for a week.” He smacked his lips. “Where you headed? Maybe I can help you out.”
“1468 Poplar,” I replied, glancing at my watch. It was already six-fifteen.
“The Meyers property?”
“Meyers. Mayor. Whatever.” I shrugged. “That’s the one.”
“I heard about what happened to Tom. A shame to lose such a great man.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Tell you what. My assistant mechanic is working down in the shop right now.” Eddie looked at the numbers on his ridiculously large watch. “He should still be here. I’ll have him give you a ride, and I’ll look over your car tonight. Give you an estimate tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I blurted. The thought of being stranded in Steele Falls at any point without an immediate escape plan left me weirdly claustrophobic. Unfortunately, I was out of options. Eddie was my dusty, old, crotchety knight in rusty armor whether I liked it or not.
Reluctantly, I removed the key from my ring and placed the single piece of metal in the palm of his liver-spotted hand. Convincing myself to let go took multiple tries. It felt as if the door to the prison creaked closed, about to slam in my face.
Eddie whistled loudly and then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey! Wesley!”
Two awkward minutes ticked by, and I wondered if the assistant mechanic was as slow, and as old, as Fast Eddie. If things continued at such breakneck speed, I was starting to question if I’d gone there to die too. A figure finally emerged in the distance. I couldn’t see much from afar though. The sun had dipped well-below the horizon, shadows cast over the person approaching. As they got closer, I could make out jeans with smears of grease stains, work boots, a faded graphic tee shirt, and a baseball cap. It didn’t appear he was antique like Eddie.
The mechanic walked up to us, the jingle of keys in his pocket rhythmically slowing while gravel crunched beneath his feet. The man’s hat shielded his face from the angle where I stood. “What’s up, Eddie?”
“This fine, young lady here needs a ride to 1468 Poplar.” Eddie’s attention turned to me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Blue,” I replied.
Wesley adjusted his hat, looked up at me, and his eyes widened. “Holy shit. Blue Brennan?”
It was a distinct voice I recognized from my past. The tone was one I’d know anywhere. Smooth with a hint of southern accent. Seeing his face confirmed his identity, and I wanted to run in the other direction. “Beanbag?”
“It’s Wesley now,” he replied, his cheeks reddening as he hooked his thumbs into his belt loops.
“Say, you two know each other?” Eddie asked.
I let out a slow, deep breath and stilled. “You could say that.”
Eddie fished around in his pocket and pulled out a one dollar bill, reaching out to Beanbag with a quaking hand. “Why don’t you take off early for the night? Grab somethin’ to eat.”
“That’s not necessary. And not on your dime, Eddie.” Beanbag’s eyes flicked over to me. “Not worth it. Trust me.”
“Oh, come on! It’s less than an hour before your shift ends, and it’s on your way home. You two can grab a cup of sludge over at The Lean, Mean, Coffee Bean and catch up. My treat.” The dollar remained extended in Eddie’s trembling grip. “Besides, you’ve been working that hunk of rust on the lift through your lunch breaks for the past two weeks. I owe you.”
Although the gesture was oddly sweet, it was clear Fast Eddie had no idea how much a cup of coffee cost, let alone overtime, in the current decade.
I shook my head left and right, formulating a lie. “I can’t. They’re expecting me at the house and—”
“See? She can’t, Eddie. No big deal,” Beanbag cut me off. “It’s cool. I’ll drop her off and head home for the night.”
Declining the ride from Beanbag at that moment would’ve resulted in Fast Eddie wanting an explanation and me dragging luggage across town by foot. Neither a long walk nor story time sounded appealing. I was stuck being gracious and accepting while I strained a smile.
“Well, you two have fun catching up,” Eddie said with a grin as he turned to start the painstaking walk back up to the house. “Wheel of Fortune starts in half an hour. Can’t miss it.”
“What about my car?” I asked.
It was clear he didn’t hear me, a momentary distraction before noticing Beanbag about twenty feet away already.
“Hey! Wait up!” I shifted the suitcase to my other hand and hurried to catch up with my unenthusiastic chauffeur.
He motioned over his shoulder for me to follow him without looking back. “C’mon. I don’t have all night.”
“But I thought you didn’t get off work for another hour?”
If looks could kill, I’d have been dead on the spot.
The wheels on my luggage didn’t cooperate against the tiny rocks when I yanked harder on the handle. Picking it up left me off balance, so I resigned to tugging it along in an off-road manner once again.
Beanbag didn’t offer to help. I didn’t blame him. He opened the driver’s side door to a rusty pickup truck, got in, and slammed it shut. There was no checking in the rearview mirror to see if I was all right. No offer to open the passenger door for me. No asking how my day went. He sat face-forward, waiting. After three tries, I succeeded in lifting my heavy luggage into the bed on my own and climbed in on the passenger side.
Gravel spun out beneath the tires as we immediately took off like a bat out of hell on the lumpy dirt road. The needle on the odometer was broken and didn’t waver, so I was left to guess how fast we were going. Forty-five miles per hour. Maybe fifty. There wasn’t time for me to affix the latch of the seatbelt into the floppy end of the anchor before we’d hit our first significant pothole. With a solid thunk, my head collided with the ceiling. Stars exploded behind my eyes as I squealed.
“My bad. Guess I didn’t see that,” Beanbag said.
My body lurched as he took a sharp corner, my shoulder slamming hard into the door. Instinctively, I flailed for the ‘Oh, shit!’ bar above the passenger window. It must’ve been hanging on by a single screw because the whole thing came off in my hand when I grabbed on tight. My elbow smashed into the lock nub on the door, a burst of numbness and tingling coursing through my funny bone. I rubbed my upper arm, certain a black-and-blue bruise was in my future. “Who taught you how to drive?”
“Whoops,” Beanbag said under his breath, his focus remaining on the road in front of him.
Once we’d hit the main roads, his race-style driving skills mellowed out. Cops were known to ticket drivers in the area for going one mile over the speed limit. Regardless, I was thankful. It gave my heart a chance to crawl down my throat and back into my chest.
The rest of the ride to my mother’s house was quiet except for twangy music playing in the background. Country tunes made my teeth itch, but it was evident Beanbag and I weren’t close enough to where I could ask to flip the dial. He nervously tapped the faded steering wheel and hummed as we sailed through the sleepy town, slowing to a whopping maximum of twenty-five miles per hour. It was no surprise that we drove past The Lean, Mean, Coffee Bean without his foot making way for the brake.
“Sorry to hear about what happened to your dad.” His forced attempt at small talk made the experience worse. “You know, his dying and all.”
“Dead as a doornail. And he was my step-father.” The temperature had spiked inside the cab of the truck with the topic. I rolled down the window and looked out at the ocean.
“Right. I forgot.” He paused. “So, you’re just in town for the funeral? Then, you’re takin’ off again?”
I flinched and shut my eyes. “Something like that.” The frayed edge of the seatbelt gave me something to concentrate on before I gathered enough courage to glance at him.
Not much had changed, like everything else in town. He’d grown up a little over the past two years, his reddish, bushy facial hair filling in. Less lanky. More muscular. More freckles. He looked more like a man and less like a boy. But he was still Beanbag. His face was tan from the summer sun, but his eyes didn’t hide he was more than tired, almost exhausted. His sunglasses did little to mask that. Part of me wanted to ask him how he was doing, but a bigger part of me knew I didn’t have the right. That bridge burned to the ground long ago.
After another few minutes of painstaking silence, we pulled up alongside the house where I grew up. The windshield was cracked on the right, but the kaleidoscope of colors and shapes didn’t alter reality. It still terrified me. A shiver crept up my spine, sending a flurry of goosebumps down my arms. On the left, I saw the rickety porch stairs. The third one up always groaned and bowed when someone stepped on it. I remembered falling down and scraping my knees there. A lot. On the right, a faded rope swing dangled under the willow tree. That was where I spent countless hours pushing both Daveigh and Finn. I could almost hear our laughter if I tried hard enough. Farther on the right was the flat-roofed garage. It was where I’d sneak out of my window late at night. Well, that was until I put my foot down and moved into the mother-in-law cottage out back.
Nothing changes if nothing changes. It was the same manicured hedge. It was the same worn, picket fence. It was the same blue house. It was the same uninviting front door. All of it was the same, except for me.
For a minute, I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone.
Beanbag jammed the gear shift into park, adjusted himself in the seat, and turned toward me. He looked uncomfortable as he opened his mouth three times, closing it again like a fish. Nothing happened. Closing his eyes, he inhaled sharply and thought before speaking, his voice soft. “We need to talk about what happened before you left. If you want—”
Boom. That was my hard limit. “There’s nothing to discuss,” I said quickly as I unbuckled my seatbelt and exited the truck, slamming the door.
“Blue, wait….” he said through the open passenger window. “Don’t do this. Please?”
“Thanks for the ride, Beanbag.”
“Wesley,” he replied. “It’s Wesley.”
“Right.” I brushed him off. “Tell Eddie thanks too.” I hopped up into the bed of the truck and grabbed my suitcase, rolling it over the side and letting it fall onto the lawn. The jury was out on which was worse—hanging out with Beanbag in those few seconds or heading up the porch.
“You really don’t want to hear what I’ve got to say?” He pulled his sunglasses down and looked over the rims. “Are you being serious right now?”
The hot tears were nearly impossible to hold back as I shook my head no. Crying hadn’t occurred in months, and I wasn’t about to start then. The emotions I’d tried to avoid fought me tooth and nail. I couldn’t let them win. Instead, I decided to repress it all for the millionth time. “I have to go.”
Part of me regretted my decision to come back more than ever, and I’d only been around for less than an hour. It was another moment where I’d have taken Mrs. Sheetz with her casseroles full of mystery meat and stray cat hair. It all sounded a million times better than what I’d already endured.
As I stared at the porch, that prison door had officially slammed shut with a harsh echo. There was no key and no way out.