Lifers (49 page)

“And to me, ma’am. I promise I’ll take care of her. You have my word.”

The Rev swiped at a couple of her own tears and managed a small smile.

“Thank you, Jordan. God bless.”

Outside the church we said our final goodbyes to my dad and Momma.

It was still stilted and awkward, but I thanked them for the new inscription on Mikey’s tombstone.

“I’m sorry it took so long, son,” said Dad. “It was your momma’s idea.”

I looked at both of them, seriously surprised. “Really? Well, um, thanks.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets and we stood there uncomfortably before Torrey kissed each of them, and grabbed my arm.

“We’ll be in touch, Paul, Gloria,” she said.

We climbed into the Firebird, and Torrey waved as she accelerated away. I didn’t look back.

Torrey

I waved out of the window as I drove away. Jordan neither waved nor turned around. He looked straight ahead, his face set, but his eyes calm.

I reached over and took his hand. He looked down at our entwined fingers, then raised my hand to his lips, placing a small kiss on each knuckle. My heart skipped, and I was grinning from ear to ear.

“So, where are we going, Jordan?”

He turned and smiled at me.

“Anywhere you want, sweetheart.” He waved his arm toward the horizon. “Anywhere you want.”

Jordan 

It had been some road trip.

From Texas, we’d driven east, taking in most of the southern states, stopping at Graceland so Torrey could get some souvenirs for her friends in Boston. That’s what she said, but I’m pretty sure she was a closet Elvis fan.

We took our time on the journey, enjoying being together. Talking, always talking, and laughing a lot, planning for the future, daring to dream.

We stayed in cheap motels as we made the long trip north, but woke each morning to a world that seemed full of possibilities. Three or four times we slept outside, laying out blankets on the ground. Torrey wasn’t keen on camping, but after years of being in small rooms, I breathed easier outside, the sky limitless above us. She tolerated it, but the further north we drove, the colder it became, and the more she insisted on staying somewhere with a roof.

Fall in New England was just as pretty as everyone said it would be, but I was shocked by the change in temperature. Torrey said that was nothing, and that if we stayed another month, we’d need to get snow tires and chains.

I liked Boston more than I expected, despite not being big on cities in general. Seeing history in the buildings around me every day was new, and Torrey gave me a full tour of the Freedom Trail, including Paul Revere’s House. East Coast people were more chill than I’d been expecting, although crowds could still freak me out a little. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get used to being around so many people. But wrapped up in a heavy sweater, my prison tattoos hidden, I didn’t feel like people were staring at me all the time anymore.

I liked South Boston—Southie, as Torrey called it—with the converted distilleries where a bunch of artistic types seemed to live, small galleries dotted around, and every café displaying paintings. I’d never been anywhere like that before. Hell, I’d never left Texas before. It made me want to start sketching again, something I hadn’t done since I was a kid, other than the picture I’d made of Torrey when she was sleeping. Of course, that meant Torrey turned up with a sketchpad and a box of drawing pencils. She was always trying to help me think big. It wasn’t easy, and I knew that if I got stressed, I’d shut down on her, but I was trying.

I hadn’t been looking forward to meeting her old man, but he’d been surprisingly okay, for a lawyer. At least, he hadn’t had me arrested. Yeah, I knew that was irrational, but I couldn’t help it. And Torrey said if I kept acting so suspiciously whenever I saw a cop, I’d get my ass arrested. Her exact words were, ‘Chill the fuck out!’

As Torrey had predicted, her dad had taken me up to his den to show me a cabinet full of golfing trophies. He cared less about the fact that I was an ex-con than that I’d never played golf. He offered to take me onto the fairway with him, but Torrey said we wouldn’t be staying that long. Thank God.

His new wife, Ginger, was something else. She sure didn’t seem like the kind of woman a lawyer would marry, but they seemed happy enough, I guess. And Torrey was right about her tits—they were freakin’ huge: with the emphasis on ‘freak’. Ginger said she used to be a singer on cruise ships going back and forth to the Caribbean before she got hitched. After hearing her version of
Big Spender
, I thought my ears would melt, and I couldn’t help wondering how much work she could have gotten from yowlin’ like a bobcat. Torrey’s dad applauded like he meant it, and I wondered if love was deaf as well as blind.

Ginger was friendly enough. Maybe even a little
too
friendly, and after the first evening we stayed with them, I begged Torrey never to leave me alone with her stepmom again. Torrey kept trying to find out what had happened, but I was taking that secret to the grave.

Torrey’s Boston friends had been less than friendly, which I could tell was a huge disappointment to her. They didn’t seem to be able to get over the fact that she’d given up her paralegal job because of her asshole ex-boss, to go and ‘lick her wounds in Whogivesashit-ville’, as one sharp faced woman in a suit had put it. And it was clear that they thought she was scraping the bottom of the barrel by hooking up with me. It wasn’t just about having been in prison, which Torrey was pretty open about, but surrounded by people with degrees from Harvard and MIT, they seemed to think I was just a dumb hick—all muscle and no brain, with straw in my hair.

I even heard one of them telling Torrey that I was the kind of guy that she should sleep with and forget. Except she didn’t say ‘sleep with’. Fucking bitch.

We didn’t stay long in Boston after that.

We celebrated my 24
^th
birthday in a wood cabin in Moose Brook State Park, eating pizza out of cardboard boxes, and drinking beer out of cans. It might not sound like much, but to me it was perfect. And I got to fall asleep in my woman’s arms.

We carried on north aways, almost to the border, then wintering in Vermont. We ended up living in a farmhouse with an old couple who needed someone to do the grunt work while their son was laid up with a broken leg. I knew some about cattle ranching, but that had all been big scale stuff. This was a small, organic farm that raised dairy cattle. I didn’t mind the work, but getting up at 4 AM to milk a cow who was more interested in wrapping a cold, wet tail around my face—well, it wasn’t for me.

But I saw snow for the first time, and Torrey helped me build my first snowman, too. I wanted to make love to her in the snow, but she’d nixed that idea, staring at me like I was crazy. Yeah, crazy for her.

Torrey had bought herself a laptop and was showing me all the amazing stuff I’d missed in the last eight years. I couldn’t get my head around some of the cool shit that had been invented. She’d even tried to get me one of those smartphones, but I argued that I didn’t need it, since the only person I ever wanted to call was her.

She set up Skype so we could talk to Bev and Pete. They had their own news: Bev had got a good job in Corpus working at something in finance, and they’d moved in together. They looked happy. We promised we’d meet up again, although none of us knew when that might be.

Our first Christmas together was perfect. We shared a huge roast dinner sitting with the old couple and their son in front of a real fire, watched
It’s a Wonderful Life
, and phoned our parents in the evening. My conversation was short, but I was kind of glad that I did it.

We’d even borrowed a toboggan from the barn and made ourselves a run behind the farmhouse. Then we went to bed, ate pumpkin pie, getting crumbs on the sheets and on each other.

With the Spring thaw, we headed west, following an old wagon train route across an unending landscape of flat, featureless horizons. We ran out of money in South Dakota so I had to take another job on a farm, while Torrey worked in the office. This farm was huge, with over 2,000 head of dairy cattle, and everything was automated. Neither of us liked it much, so we stayed just long enough to put money in the bank and gas in the car. We were driving a 12-year-old Toyota Prius these days. The Princess had died just outside of Iowa City. I was sad to see her go, but the whole engine block needed replacing and we just didn’t have the money. Torrey shed tears for that hunk of metal, but the Toyota was much lighter on gas. She said it was an old folks’ car but it got 42mpg, so I guess she didn’t mind too much in the end.

After South Dakota, we pushed on west, heading through Wyoming and Utah. By then, I think we both had a destination in mind, although neither of us said anything to confirm or deny it.

It was getting late by the time I saw the lights up ahead, the neon glow of the city throwing an orange halo into the night time sky.

Torrey was fast asleep, her head leaning against the window, my coat providing a makeshift pillow.

I felt excitement bloom in my belly. It was springtime, and we’d driven past miles of yellow, pink and purple flowers painting the desert with vibrant colors. We’d seen so much and been so many places, and yet we’d ended up here. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was inevitable. I liked to think that. From the very first day I’d seen her in the Busy Bee diner—it was all pointing to here.

I rested my hand on Torrey’s knee and gently shook her awake.

“Hey, sweetheart, we’re nearly there. You don’t want to miss this.”

Her eyes opened and she blinked a couple of times.

“Wow! We’re really here! Las Vegas!”

I grinned at her. “You know what this means, sweetheart?”

She gave me an innocent smile, feigning ignorance.

“And what would that be, cowboy?”

“Weddin’ capital of the world. Guess you’ll have to marry me after all.”

She stared for a moment, then wrinkled her nose.

“Jordan Kane! That is the least romantic proposal I’ve
ever
heard!” she huffed.

“How many proposals you heard then?” I teased her.

“None, but it’s still the worst!”

I couldn’t help laughing at her. “Is that a no then, sweetheart?”

We drove past a sign that announced,
‘Little White Wedding Chapel’
.

“Are you certain I cain’t tempt you?”

“Huh,” she pouted. “You haven’t even got a darned ring!”

“Sure I do.”

“What?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve had a ring since before we left Texas.”

Her jaw dropped open.

“What … you … but … I…”

Her face was a picture—until she yelled at me.

“Turn the car around, Jordan!”

Not the reaction I’d been hoping for.

“Sweetheart…”

“Turn the damn car around!”

I made an illegal U-turn, my heart pounding, wondering how the hell I was going to fix this. But when we saw the sign for the wedding chapel again, she yelled, “Pull in!”