Lifers (5 page)

“You mean they didn’t visit him in prison? Not at all? Not even once?”

“Well, no. When he became an adult and was moved to the prison, they felt he was a lost cause and decided to grieve for their sons together.”

“Are you kidding me?” I almost yelled at her. “They just gave up on him? So much for being good Christians!”

“You don’t know the grief of losing a child,” Mom snapped back.

I leaned forward in the chair. “You didn’t ‘lose’ me, Mom. You left me behind. Your calling was more important than your family. But you know what, you made a choice—good for you. At least you didn’t hang around making everyone miserable while you decided what you wanted.”

She knew I was referring to the year before she left, when she’d prayed every night for God to tell her what He wanted from her. She’d been strong enough to make a tough choice. It was one of the few things I admired about her, even though it had been pretty shitty for me—and Dad.

“You don’t understand,” she said, quietly.

“Whatever, but you’re saying that Jordan’s family wouldn’t have anything to do with him all that time?”

“No.”

“So why the hell is he living with them now if they still hate him?”

Mom sighed.

“I thought it would help them heal—getting the family back together again. I’m sure it will, in time.”

Even though she said the words, she didn’t sound very sure at all, and bearing in mind what Jordan had said, I didn’t think time was going to make much difference.

“He’s damaged and he’s vulnerable, too. So you see now why I don’t want you getting involved with him.”

My head jerked up at that.

“Um, not really. All you’ve told me is that the State says he’s no longer a danger to the community, but everyone around here is treating him like a leper.”

“I know,” Mom conceded, at last. “It’s been very difficult … for everyone. And because Michael was well liked and well respected, having Jordan back—well, it reopens a lot of wounds, reawakens a lot of bad memories.” She shook her head. “I understand Michael was the school’s quarterback and on his way to college with a full football scholarship. He was going to put this town on the map. You know how Texans are about football. And a lot of good people lost a friend the day he died. It damaged the whole community. Some people are still grieving.”

“Yeah? Well, those ‘good people’ treat his brother like shit.”

“You don’t understand.”

“That’s because you won’t tell me the whole story!”

She nodded slowly.

“I keep hoping that it will get easier for everyone.”

“So how come he’s working for you?”

“Well, he needed a job to fulfill his parole requirements…”

“Let me guess: no one around here would give him work.”

She sighed again. “No, I’m afraid not. Although I’m still hopeful. I’ve gotten him a day here and there. He has a way with car engines. I’m sure a good auto repair shop could use a person like that. I haven’t given up, but in the meantime, I thought he could do something with my backyard. It’s like a wilderness out there.”

“I think you’re fighting a losing battle trying to get him a job, Mom. I know you like to give people the benefit of the doubt, and I kind of think that’s cool, but most people like to have someone to look down on, and serving them up Jordan isn’t doing anything to help
him
.”

She smiled. “You’re more like me than you want to admit.”

“What?”

“You like giving people the benefit of the doubt, too.”

A reluctant smile crept across my face. “Yeah, you got me there.”

It was the first real moment that we’d had between us since I arrived at the Rectory. It passed quickly.

“You’d better go take that shower,” she said, her eyes amused for once. “I believe you have a job to look for today.”

“Yeah, hopefully one where the people aren’t so frickin’ spiteful.”

“Don’t judge them too harshly, Torrey.”

“I think they’re the ones you need to say that to, Mom.”

I left the room and headed for the shower. She’d laid a whole shit load of information on me, and I needed some time to process it.

I felt really bad for Jordan. Ending up in juvie when you were 16—that sucked balls. He’d been painted as this villain, but it sounded to me like he was a kid who’d made some bad mistakes. Working in the law firm, I’d come across a lot of cases where one dumb decision ruined lives. It happened more often than you might think: infidelity, fraud, theft, drinking, drugs. You think you’re on one path and suddenly you’re bumping down some dirt road wondering what the hell happened to your life. Believe me, I’d been there.

I wondered again what Jordan had done. Maybe one day he’d trust me enough to tell me.

I also suspected that if I hung out around town long enough, I’d probably hear the full story anyway. It was only Mom who had any reservations about spreading gossip. It was irritating as hell, but I thought it was cool of her, too.

It had been good talking to her, having a real conversation instead of tiptoeing around each other. I didn’t talk to Dad that much. He’d lost interest in me after Mom left. He spent his time chasing women and living it up. I pretty much raised myself from the age of 13, and I’d always thought I was more like him, so Mom’s comment had thrown me for a loop.

To my surprise, I found that I didn’t mind being a little bit like her. At least she’d stuck up for Jordan and tried to show people he was more than just the ex-felon they all thought he was.

But then again, my tolerance level for her had been reached when she’d accused me of flirting with him. He was good enough to mow her lawn, but not good enough to talk to her daughter? There were some serious double-standards at work here.

I showered quickly, but it took forever to wash my hair. It was so damn thick and curly; there was so much of it. Guys liked that about me, and I liked it about myself, but it was a real bitch to take care of. Most of the time I let it do its own thing. Hairdryers were a waste of time. I’d tried to blow dry it when I was younger, but when I’d burned out my second hairdryer in a month, I’d given up. Now it just air-dried and hung mop-like from my head. The only alternative was shaving it off, and believe me, there were days when I considered it. The Texas heat and humidity didn’t help, because regardless of how I styled my hair—or tried to style it—as soon as I walked into the sweltering summer heat, it just frizzed out.

I dug through my meager pile of clothing to find a reasonable pair of jeans and conservative shirt. If I was going job-hunting, I wanted to look like a responsible and sober citizen. And I had no qualms about playing the preacher-daughter card if it was going to help me find work.

I glanced out of the window as I buttoned up my blouse.

Fuck me! Hot guy alert!

Jordan had taken off his t-shirt and was wearing a pair of cut-off jeans that looked about two sizes too big, making them hang dangerously low from his hips, showcasing the curve of a very nice ass.

The sun danced on his back muscles as he pushed Mom’s beast of a mower, and I could see a tattoo on his left shoulder blade. It was a Celtic cross and had a bleeding heart motif in the center. Something was written across it, but he was too far away for me to see what it said.

Then he turned around and started mowing in my direction. His chest and stomach looked rock hard. Whatever else he did in prison, he must have worked out a lot. I guessed there wasn’t much else to do.

I thought I was having a hot flash because his body was making me think all kinds of things that nice girls shouldn’t have dirtying their minds. It was a good thing I’d never professed to be a nice girl.

I hoped he’d look up and see me watching him, but his eyes remained fixed on the grass he was cutting.

I enjoyed the free show a little longer before unpeeling my eyeballs from the window, and finished getting dressed.

I had a job to hunt down before my gas money ran out.

Jordan 

I didn’t get to see her after the Reverend took her back inside. I knew it was likely that I’d never see her again, certainly not to talk to. She’d have been warned off me by now.

I didn’t blame the Rev—I wouldn’t want a guy like me spending time with my daughter either.

I heard her car start. I’d have recognized that engine sound anywhere—Pontiac Firebird—one of the last of that model. It was a damn fine car. I’d spent several minutes checking it out when I arrived this morning. It seemed like an usual car for a woman to drive. Most around here went for compact Japanese cars that were easy on fuel.

But not this woman. She was different.

I figured she was going to her job at the diner. Now that I knew she truly hadn’t known who I was, I questioned even more why she’d followed me with that coffee. She’d said I was cute. Maybe she’d been hitting on me, and I’d been too dumb to see it? Well, it wouldn’t happen again, not after her nice little talk with her momma.

I tried to put all thoughts of the preacher’s daughter out of my head and concentrate on bringing the yard back from the wilderness.

I finished the lawns then contemplated what needed doing next. It was a long list.

I started working on the rear section of the Reverend’s yard, hacking back the brambles and rambling roses that had taken over the corner by the property line. I really needed work-gloves for a job like this, since both my hands and my arms were getting cut to pieces. But I didn’t really mind; the pain felt good.

In prison, a lot of guys had cut. No one talked about it much, but we all knew it went on. I guess it relieved some of the pent up feelings. I thought about trying it once, but the anger and guilt were all I had left of myself, so if I lost those, there’d be nothing. That was a scary thought.

As I’d gotten toward the end of my sentence—my second sentence—I’d been assigned more of the sought after jobs, like working in the prison garden. It felt good to be outside, working with the sun on my back. I mean, yeah, we were allowed to exercise outside, but really working, growing something, it felt more meaningful.

I guessed the Rev wasn’t much for tending God’s garden because the place had gone wild. I wondered how long she’d lived here. There sure hadn’t been any lady-preacher when I was growing up. So I figured maybe three or four years: long enough that people paid mind to her, and recent enough that she was still an outsider. Although that might have been because she was a woman preacher and a Yankee. It didn’t take much to make you an outsider around here.

I worked until the sun was getting lower and a breeze was cooling the sweat on my skin. There was no one around for me to tell I was leaving, and this was no nine to fiver where I needed to punch a clock, so I just packed up and drove home. Dad and Momma had gone out, so I showered, ate my meal in a silent kitchen, and slept in a silent bed. I couldn’t even hear my parents talking to each other when they came in later.

You know the phrase ‘the silence was deafening’? It sounds like horse shit, right? But in prison it was never silent; there’d be people yelling and doors banging, and a thousand and one different noises echoing from the walls. Even at night, you’d hear people moaning and crying—all those nightmares from the combined crimes of two thousand inmates.

But here at night—no sounds. No one talked; no one cried out. Unless it was me, and I wasn’t aware. I’d asked Momma if I could sleep in the family room and have the TV on the first night. Dad replied that it was a waste of electricity. It was three nights before I managed to sleep more than a couple of hours, and that was from sheer exhaustion. I’d lie awake, straining to hear the small sounds of the house settling at night, occasionally the hoarse bark of a dog fox, or the whine of a skeeter buzzing around. We were too far from the road to even hear another car—just a whole lot of silence. It was unnerving.

I dreamed about Mikey again. He was laughing at me this time, and pointing to something in the road, just seconds before we crashed. I saw it all happen in slow motion—the way his neck snapped, the way the glass fanned out in a shower of shards as his body flew through the windshield, the look of surprise fixed in his dead eyes.

I jerked awake, shaking and sweating. Three AM again. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, so I headed to the garage to work out—again.

Four hours later, I stumbled out of the house and made my way to the Rectory.

I was just working up a good sweat from hacking the brambles and heaping them into a pile when I heard her voice.

“Hey, cowboy!”

I turned around and saw the preacher’s pretty daughter, Torrey, sitting on the porch, just like yesterday, holding up a mug of coffee for me.

Her smile disappeared as I got nearer, and I guessed her momma’s talk had had an effect.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, angrily.

I froze in my tracks. What was she talking about? I looked behind me at the wilderness that I’d been hacking into and turned back to her. Her jaws were clamped together, turning her plump lips into a thin, white line. What sort of game was she playing? Was she going to make out like I’d attacked her or something? The thought caused bile to rise in my throat, and I had trouble swallowing it down.