The Senator's Daughter (26 page)

Keeping Cole's Promise

by Cheryl Harper

CHAPTER ONE

T
HE
DAY
THAT
Cole Ferguson walked out of Travis County State Jail was twice as terrifying as the day he walked in. On that first day, he'd been unprepared to serve fifteen years for six counts of aggravated assault, but he'd been too young to understand how his life had changed. Both then and now, though, the threat of the unknown was enough to make a smart man shake in his shoes.

At twenty, he'd had zero sense and relied on a cocky certainty in his own skill to battle the nerves. Nearly eleven years later, he'd learned some hard lessons. No matter how bad things were, they could always get worse. In lockup, he'd followed the rules and never had to worry about food or where he'd sleep. As a free man, he stopped in the bright sunshine of a hot September day and wondered what he'd do if the one friend he had left didn't show.

Figure it out.
There was no other choice but to make his own way, head down, one foot in front of the other, for as long as it took.

They'd be his steps, his decision. He had control of his life again.

He'd imagined this day a thousand different ways, but raw nerves and the anxiety of overwhelming freedom were a surprise.

“Well, now, let's don't stand out here in the heat. Truck's running.” Old Ephraim Walker was resting against the wall in the only shady corner beside the doors. Cole had been certain EW was as old as dirt when his grandmother had introduced them the first night he'd been dumped at her trailer “temporarily” while his mother looked for work. Apparently, she was still looking. The occasional birthday cards and Christmas phone calls had dwindled to nothing years ago.

“I thought you might have come up with something better to do on a day like today.” Cole held out his hand. “Can't thank you enough for making the trip, EW.”

“I shoulda waited inside with the air, but the place gives me the heebie-jeebies, like all the sadness done sunk into the walls and no amount of good news gon' get it out.” He shivered. EW's shoulders might be slightly more rounded, but his hair was still white with a dark spot in the front, laugh lines still wrinkled his face and when he smiled, bright white teeth gleamed. “But you ain't got to worry about that place anymore.” EW clapped a hard hand on Cole's shoulder.

Four years ago, the first Saturday his grandmother had missed her monthly visit, EW had taken her place and delivered the bad news. His form of comfort had been the same as his congratulations, one hand on Cole's shoulder. Since her death, they'd written now and then. His grandmother's old trailer was under EW's watchful care until Cole's release.

“Needed to get out of the house, don'tcha know? Fish ain't bitin' in heat like this no way.” EW waved a hand in the air and headed for the beat-up truck idling in a parking spot near the front. Sweat was glistening on his brown skin by the time they slid into the truck's front seat. “No thanks necessary, young fella.”

“Sure don't feel young.” Cole's body might be stronger than ever, but there was no denying that the weight of his mistakes had aged him. Maybe time and space would lighten the load. Otherwise, he could only keep putting one foot in front of the other.

“Young is relative, son. You oughta learn that.” EW's rusty laugh was comfortable and reassuring. Cole's world had ended eleven years ago, but he'd made it out the other side and there was still something to laugh about. He sucked in a gust of hot air. He could do this. He'd done harder things.

There wasn't much to say as EW navigated the traffic around Austin and hit the two-lane highway that would take Cole home. The truck coughed and sputtered now and then, but the breeze blasting through the open windows covered most of the engine's knocks. His grandmother had told him more than once that EW could make an engine sing. This truck was long past its life expectancy but still rolling.

As they puttered through Holly Heights, EW took the scenic route. “Few things have changed.” He pointed at Sue Lynn's diner. “Best things haven't, though.”

The Shop-on-In was still displaying the weirdest collection in the large front window. Every street corner had a church. And not one person in the small crowd of shoppers doing business on Main Street turned to point at the prodigal returning to the scene of the crime. When they reached the edge of town, Cole tried to chase away the dread building in his gut.

“Old Gulf station closed. Got one of those fancy places what sells fried chicken and ice cream now.” EW didn't glance his way as they passed a bright gas station with twelve pumps and a neon sign advertising lottery tickets.

This place was a drastic change from the old-fashioned filling station he'd tried to rob at eighteen. That place had had four pumps and made more money from cigarettes than gasoline. Thinking that he could get enough cash to help his grandmother pay for the heart surgery she needed from such a dump qualified him for the world's dumbest criminal contest. He would have been lucky to walk away with three hundred dollars.

Eleven years of his life and his grandmother's respect flushed away for three hundred dollars.

At least he hadn't shot anyone with the gun he'd borrowed from his best friend. Waving it around was bad enough. “World's dumbest criminal, for sure.”

EW shook his head as he turned down the dirt road that led to the trailer park. “I'd say you don't have the natural talent for breaking the law. Better try something else this time.”

“Good advice.” The sizzle of anger tingling around his edges made Cole uneasy. If only EW could have given him that handy advice when he was a kid, Cole's whole life might have been different.

He had to keep his emotions in check. While he tried to douse the anger with gratefulness for all EW had done since he'd been in prison, Cole rested his arm on the hot metal of the truck door and studied the trailers. None of them was a palace, but the whole park was neat and clean. Whoever the neighbors were, they worked hard. The basketball goal at the end listed to the side over hard-packed red dirt. He and his friends had pretended to play games there every afternoon after school. They'd also cooked up some of the worst ideas in the history of dumb plans there, but that wasn't the basketball goal's fault.

EW held up a key ring and jingled the single key. “Left a surprise inside. Might help you figure out what comes next.”

Cole took the key ring and struggled to form the right words to express his gratitude, but there was too much to say. EW had been a good neighbor for years before Cole went to jail. After, he'd helped Cole's grandmother keep the place up, and when she died, EW had been his only lifeline. “I don't know how to repay everything you've done, but...”

EW raised a single bushy eyebrow. “Keep your promise. Stay outta trouble. That's all. Until the day she died, your grandmama prayed this day would come.” He shrugged. “And when you have the chance, pick me up some beer. Cheap beer. Lots of cheap beer.”

Cole shook his head as bits and pieces of his grandmother's lectures floated through his mind. She and EW had disagreed on the importance of a good beer. She had no use for spirits of any kind. EW couldn't get through the day without a buzz.

And Cole was in no position to lecture. “Will do.”

“Hope it's soon. A man gets thirsty in this heat.” EW rubbed his mouth. “Figure you might need a ride, once you get your feet under you. Let me know.” Then he tilted his head. “You got a driver's license still?”

Cole nodded. “Yes, sir. Need to renew it, since it's about ten years expired.”

EW grunted. “You need to borrow the truck, rent's cheap.” He winked and mimed drinking from a can.

Cole slid out of the truck and waved as EW's truck lurched on down the road to his own trailer.

“Home, sweet home. Again.” Cole scuffed one prison-issue sneaker in the grass as he tried to convince himself this was what he'd been dreaming of for years.

Except his grandmother was gone.

And there was no telling what memories would boil up today.

Unless he kept those memories and the emotions they stirred up contained, they'd destroy his chance at freedom. It would be too easy to do something stupid under the influence of grief or fear.

The sun was beating down on his head. The temperature inside the two-bedroom trailer might be worse, since there'd been no one to pay the electric bill for years now. Whatever his grandmother had left would have gone to taxes and the monthly rent on the spot in the trailer park.

Air-conditioning had been a luxury reserved for the hottest of days when he was growing up. Today would qualify, even for his frugal grandmother. As soon as he got a job, he'd crank the cold air in her honor.

Cole climbed the three steps leading to the door carefully. The railing he'd helped EW add listed to one side, and he wasn't certain the wood would hold his weight. “Rot. Wonderful.” And a warning about what he'd find inside.

Before he yanked open the door, Cole closed his eyes. He'd never been good at meditation, not even after the class offered by the jail's shrink. Controlling his temper had been a problem when he was young and stupid and angry. At least prison had taught him
why
he'd want to learn how to keep his cool. It was the only way to keep his promise.

To help, he tried to picture his grandmother's face, not as she'd been during visitation or even as sick as she was the last summer he'd been home, but on the first night he'd slept in her spare room. Now he understood that she had to have known his mother was dumping him, but the joy in her eyes as she'd held out her arms had been real.

That joy. She'd never lost it. It dimmed, but it never disappeared.

“Come on. Don't be a wimp. It's four flimsy walls, and you can leave any time you like.” His voice was loud. If any of the neighbors were watching, they had good reason to worry about the convict frozen on the front steps. At least they would keep their distance.

He squared his shoulders and opened the door. Once he was inside, he took a quick look around the tiny, dusty kitchen and cramped living room. Other than the stale air of a house closed for too long, the place was frozen in time. Cole left the door open and stopped at every window to unlock it and throw it open. A weak breeze stirred the yellowed white curtains as he dropped down on the ancient green sofa that his grandmother had hauled home one afternoon, a gift from one of the families she cleaned for.

The letters he'd written her from prison were stacked next to the photo album she'd always kept front and center on the rickety coffee table. He didn't open it. He knew what he'd find: every awkward stage of his life captured in a school photo or candid shot.

And next to that photo album was EW's gift, a stack of newspapers. Cole flipped through them. “Holly Heights. Austin. Surely there's a job in this pile somewhere.” At some point, food would be a necessity. What little money he had would go toward the grocery store and getting the utilities turned on.

While he was still inside, he'd taken every course he could volunteer for. Only landscape design had been interesting. His reintegration adviser had gotten him guaranteed employment working for a landscaping company out of Houston, but he'd come home to Holly Heights. Would that be the second-worst decision he'd made?

Finding a job where every single employer knew he'd served time was going to be a challenge, no matter how well prepared his counselor promised he was or how big the tax incentive the government offered.

Quitting before I even start.

The thought sounded so much like his grandmother that he almost looked around. Surely there was a recorded message or her ghost.

Cole rubbed his forehead and snatched the first paper. “Let's see, Austin. What have you got for me?” As soon as he saw the first listing for lawn maintenance, he jumped up and dug around through the familiar junk drawer to find a pen. “Only a phone number. Wonder if EW has phone service.”

After he'd circled five jobs, the realization that there was no way he could make it into Austin every day for work crashed around Cole's head. Half a second later, he'd balled the paper and tossed it as far away as he could. His fingers shook until he pressed them hard against his thighs.

So weak
. The disgust tasted bad in his mouth.

No matter how good his intentions might be, the odds were still too high. He was going to fail.

The temptation to borrow EW's truck and go after the beer that would make EW happy and might numb some of his own panic washed over him, but Cole gripped the photo album hard with both hands and concentrated on remembering his grandmother's face.

The tears in Rachel Baxter's eyes hadn't fallen on their last visit, but her voice had wavered. “Promise me. You stay out of trouble.”

They'd ended every visit the same way. Why did it even matter now? She was gone. His promise meant nothing. Robbing that new flashy gas station wouldn't net him much cash, but he'd learned how to navigate prison. This new old world? He was lost.

“Brought a turkey sandwich. Chips.” EW shuffled his feet awkwardly on the yellowed linoleum. “Door was open.”

“Good. I'm starving.” Cole cleared his throat. “These papers are nice, but...” He shook his head.

EW didn't answer, just held out a plastic bag with sandwiches wrapped in napkins. “One paper? You givin' up after one paper?”

Cole shoved half a sandwich in his mouth. Snapping in anger or whining after all EW's help would never do. “Nope.” He grabbed the Holly Heights newspaper and flipped to the two-page classified spread. “Used car. House for rent.” He shoved the other half of the sandwich in his mouth. Talking and chewing would have gotten him a smack on the hand if his Mimi were still here.