Make You Mine by K.T. Quinn

9

Charlotte

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. My ankle ached from where I’d twisted it, and soon I had blisters on the sides of my feet where the straps rubbed. It didn’t help that I was hungover, sweaty, and tired.

We pulled up to the community center, where the woman—Mindy, Jayce had called her—was waiting with her clipboard. Jayce signed the time sheet first, and then she handed it to me and pointed at the bottom.

I started to sign, then stopped. “This says I only did seven hours today. I worked eight.” I pointed at Jayce’s section. “You marked him down for eight.”

“You were late,” the butch woman said flatly. “Be on time tomorrow.”

I gritted my teeth but signed it anyways. I just wanted today to be over.

I turned to ask Jayce what people did for fun in this town, but he was already climbing back into his pickup and driving away. I watched his truck turn and disappear down main street.

“Hungry?” Mindy asked.

“How’d you know?”

“Diner has good food,” she said. “Granted, I’m biased ‘cause it’s my diner. But it’s the truth.”

I followed her over to the diner, which was clean on the inside and smelled strongly of coffee and bacon. A weary-looking man in the first booth immediately raised his mug and said, “Coffee?”

“Damn, Flop. That’s the third cup.”

“Got a late night ahead of me,” he said defensively. “They always come by on Tuesday night.” He waved the coffee mug in the air.

“Hold your horses. I’m comin’.” Mindy shook her head and led me to a booth farther away from him. “Don’t mind Flop. He owns the bar across the street. Also, he’s a horse’s ass.”

“I heard that!” he called from the first booth.

“That’s ‘cause I wanted you to hear it. Eat your damn sausages and mind your beeswax.”

“Thanks,” I said when she handed me a menu. I was hungry to the point that all the food looked amazing. “What’s good here?”

“Everything,” she said blandly.

“Um. What’s your favorite?”

“Depends on the night.”

I handed her the menu. “Bring me whatever you’d eat if you were simultaneously hungover, starving, and exhausted.”

She took it. “One breakfast special, coming right up.”

The breakfast special was practically my own buffet of food: two pancakes, two waffles, two slices of toast, bacon, sausage links, scrambled eggs, and a bowl of grits swimming in butter. I wolfed down the waffles and pancakes with lots of syrup, then tackled the bacon and sausage. I slathered grape jam on the toast before eating it, then finished up with the eggs and grits.

While I ate with one hand, I used the other to rub my feet. My ankle was swollen, and the blood blisters were turning from purple to black. That was attractive. I needed to make sure I found my sneakers tonight.

I need to make sure I don’t get pass-out drunk tonight, I thought with a grimace. One night of drinking and feeling sorry for myself was plenty. Best not make it a habit.

Thinking about last night reminded me of why I’d been drinking. Scott’s voicemail about Tammy. Eventually I would need to talk to him, but for now all I could do was focus on the last bit of my dinner.

Mindy refilled my water and whistled between her teeth. “Gonna be honest with you. Didn’t think a little thing like you’d come close to finishing that meal.”

“Told you I was starving.”

“A hard day of work will do that.” Her expression softened. “Sorry about docking you an hour. If it were up to me I wouldn’t care that you were five minutes late, but the sheriff is a stickler, and he’s been keeping a close eye on Jayce.”

“What’s up with him?” I asked. “Jayce, I mean.”

The butch woman snorted. “Honey, there’s not enough time left in the day to explain that boy’s problems.”

“What’s the short version?”

“Stay away,” she said bluntly. “That’s the short version.”

I let out a laugh, but she wasn’t joking. She put down her pitcher of water and crossed her arms over her flannel T-shirt.

“I see that look in your eye. All the girls get it, whether they’re from Eastland or out of town, when they look at him. Jayce is nothin’ but trouble to everyone who gets close to him. Keep your head down, put in your community service hours, and then go home.”

She started stacking my plates as if the conversation was over.

“What’s everyone so afraid of here?” I asked.

She only snorted.

“I’m being serious. I’m just a stupid girl who got stuck here on her way back to Atlanta. Why does it feel like everyone is walking on eggshells?”

Mindy looked hard at me. Deciding whether or not to say anything. There was fear in her eyes as she glanced outside, then over her shoulder.

“The Copperheads,” she finally said. “They own this town. Not the sheriff. Not the judge. Sid. Their leader. Nobody does nothin’ without him knowing about it.” She shook her head. “Jayce learned that the hard way.”

She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed to emphasize her point.

“Do your hours,” she said slowly. “And then get the hell out of here.”

*

“Hey there sweet pea,” my dad said on the phone. “You got a minute?”

I flopped down on my motel bed. “I’ve got all the time in the world. There’s nothing to do here in Eastland. Give me some good news.”

I could tell by the pause that good news wasn’t coming. Dad always hesitated before telling me something I didn’t want to hear.

“I called Jerome. Old buddy of mine. Remember him? With the mustache you used to make fun of?”

“I don’t remember, Dad.”

“Aww, come on. He came to your graduation party. Bald guy with the wife he picked up in Vietnam.”

“Sure, Dad,” I said with dwindling patience. “What about him?”

“He’s the sheriff one county over from you. Town called Anilene. He told me Eastland’s off limits. Said to avoid it if at all possible.”

“Good to know that now,” I mumbled.

“Jerome says they don’t do favors for outsiders there. The sheriff there keeps his cards close to his chest. Doesn’t respond to phone calls, let alone requests for favors. I wanted to try anyways, since you’re my girl, but Jerome made me promise not to.”

“That sounds like a theme. This town has issues.”

“Point is,” Dad said with a sigh, “there’s nothing I can do about your situation. No favors to call-in. I’m sorry sweet pea, but I can’t get you out of your community service or get your license back.”

I closed my eyes and lay back on the pillow. The blisters on my feet were beginning to throb. “There’s got to be something. Anything, Dad. I don’t think I can stay here three weeks.”

I heard my momma talking to him. He responded and then returned to the phone. “I’ve got another contact I haven’t talked to in a while,” he said reluctantly. “An old friend in Macon. I burned some bridges with him years ago, but I might be able to convince him to help. Give me a day or two to see what I can pull. I’ll bring him a bottle of bourbon. That always did the trick back in the day.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I’m sorry to ask you for this.”

Even though I couldn’t see it, I knew my dad was waving a hand dismissively. “Anything for you, sweet pea.”

I went to the motel lobby. Billy was snoring behind the counter. I coughed into my hand until he woke up with a start.

“I need to stay here another night.”

“Uh huh,” he said. “Want the week discount yet?”

I slapped a twenty dollar bill down on the counter. “Nope.”

Even as hope began to fade, I was still praying this would be my last night in Eastland.