Lifers Read online

  From the backyard I could hear the sound of some power tool, so I knew Jordan was still working. I hoped those dumb dish gloves were helping him. I decided to buy him a pair of work-gloves with long, protective cuffs. Mom could pay me back.

  I got lucky when I looked at the want ads in the back of the paper. A new Starbucks was opening in the mall, a few miles out of town. I’d worked in a couple of their rival cafés when I was a student, so I was confident I had the kind of experience they were looking for.

  As I spun the wheels leaving the driveway, I saw Jordan in my rearview mirror. He was watching me, a look of longing and disappointment on his lovely face.

  I couldn’t think about that now. I needed to get my head in the game and find a damn job.

  A couple of hours later, I had a stack of applications under my arm and one interview scheduled for the next day.

  Okay, so it wasn’t as well paid as the paralegal job I’d walked away from in Boston, and no, it didn’t exactly require a college degree to make great coffee, but it was a start.

  I allowed myself to celebrate by buying a really cute skirt that whispered my name as I’d walked past from the small boutique.

  Not the smartest thing I’d ever done, spending $75 that I didn’t have, but it made my legs look great. And after the last few days, I really needed a pick-me-up.

  When I got back to the house, Jordan had already left for the day.

  Yeah, I admit I was avoiding him.

  I had one other job to do: I needed to empty out the U-haul trailer. Mom had been on my case about it already.

  When it came down to it, there wasn’t much I wanted to keep. Somehow it all seemed tainted with bad memories. Everything could go: Goodwill, e-Bay—I didn’t want any of it.

  Jordan

  I heard her before I saw her.

  She was swearing up and down, cussing worse than I’d heard in prison half the time.

  “You useless piece of shit! You worn out worthless hunk o’ junk! I’m going to send you to a scrap yard! Start, you motherfucker!”

  Holy cow! That girl had a mouth on her.

  She was sitting in her Pontiac Firebird, wrenching the ignition key and pounding on the dash. I could tell straight away that the engine was cranking but not turning over. Only two reasons why a car won’t start: it’s not getting gas, or it’s not getting power.

  “Um, Miss Torrey?”

  Her cute face was red and angry when she looked at me.

  “What?”

  “I reckon you got a problem with your spark plugs.”

  “How the hell do you know that? Did you do something to them?”

  I was stung by her accusation. She must really think I was a piece of crap if she thought I’d mess with her car like that.

  “No, ma’am,” I said, quietly. “I just know engines.”

  Her face relaxed.

  “Ignore me and my big mouth, Jordan. I’m just pissed because I have to be somewhere and the Princess has let me down. Now I’ll have to reschedule.”

  I couldn’t help a small smile escaping.

  “You call your car Princess?”

  She grinned up at me. “Sure, she acts like a total bitch most of the time. I only put up with her because she’s pretty. That’s a princess, right?”

  An odd coughing sound came out of me, and I realized I was almost laughing. The recognition hurt my chest, and I stopped immediately. I didn’t deserve to laugh.

  Torrey looked at me curiously as I dropped my eyes to the ground.

  “Um, I can fix it for you, if you’d like.”

  “What? You can fix my car?”

  I hitched one shoulder and nodded. “If you’d like.”

  “You really know cars?”

  I nodded again.

  “Hell, yes! I’d like!”

  “Um, you wannna pop the hood? I could take a look now…”

  “Yes! God, yes!”

  I examined one of the spark plugs and saw that my first guess was right. I showed it to her.

  “See this, Mi… Torrey? It’s dry. That means no fuel is getting through. If it was black, that would mean too much fuel.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  “I’d need to check the in-line fuel filter, clean out the carb, and check the jets for blockages, make sure everything is sweet. If that don’t work, you’ll need to get a new spark plug fitted, but I don’t reckon you’ll need to do that. Yeah, I can fix it.”

  “My God, you’d be a lifesaver.”

  Her comment punched me in the guts.

  You’re so wrong.

  Did she know? She must know. I couldn’t explain. I turned and started to walk away.

  “Hey, wait up!”

  When I didn’t slow down, I heard the car door open and then Torrey grabbed my arm.

  “Jordan? What the fuck? I thought you were going to fix my car, and then you just walk away!”

  “Sorry, I’m sorry, I…”

  She let go of my arm, and her voice softened.

  “Obviously I said something to upset you … but I have no clue what it was. I do that all the time.” She laughed sadly. “I’m notorious for it. Look, I’d be really grateful if you could fix my car, Jordan, and I promise I’ll shut the fuck up.”

  I nodded again, too choked up to talk. I seemed to have turned into a freakin’ emotional wreck since leaving prison. I couldn’t control myself anymore. It was so fucking frustrating.

  She clapped her hands together, immediately changing the energy around us, chasing away the darkness that constantly hovered around me.

  “So, you can tell me what you need to do the job, but first I need you to drive me so I don’t miss my job interview.”

  “A job interview?” I was confused. “I thought you worked at the Busy Bee in town.”

  She lifted one eyebrow and smirked at me. “Guess they didn’t like the way I served coffee.”

  And then I got it. She’d been fired … because of me.

  She had her hands on the passenger door before I managed to choke out another sentence.

  “Miss Torrey, I…” My eyes bulged. “I cain’t drive you!”

  “Why the hell not? You got some ‘no chicks in the truck’ rule?”

  Was she joking with me? I wasn’t sure so I risked a quick glance at her. Yep, she was smiling.

  “No,” I choked out. “It’s not that…”

  “Glad to hear it,” she said, with a cute wrinkle of her nose. “Have you got your keys?”

  “Miss Torrey…”

  “Just Torrey! Jeez! Do I have to wear a name badge for you, too?”

  “Torrey … if I give you a ride to your interview, I can guarantee you won’t get the job.”

  “Don’t be such a douchebag!”

  “It’s true,” I said, willing her to understand. “You’ve already gotten fired from one job because of me. Folks around here … they don’t like me. In fact, they pretty much curse the ground I walk on.”

  I waited to see some pity on her face or an excuse to drop from those pretty lips about why it wasn’t such a good idea that she got a ride with me after all.

  “Are you going to tell me why?”

  I stared at her.

  “You … you don’t … your momma didn’t…”

  She folded her arms and stared at me calmly.

  “No. Mom didn’t tell me anything really. Why don’t you tell me?”

  Because you’ll never speak to me again.

  She sighed. “You don’t have to. Just give me a ride, okay?”

  “People will talk, and if they see you with me…”

  “Screw ‘em,” she said.

  “Excuse me?” Did I hear her right?

  “I said, screw ‘em. If someone refuses to give me a job because of who has given me a ride, then they’re not the kind of asshole I want to work for. Now, do you have your keys?”

  I nodded, stunned into silence. Again. Christ, this woman rendered me mute every time I saw her. She was so fucking fearles
s; she’d charge hell with a bucket of iced water.

  She climbed into my truck and sat there waiting for me. I followed slowly, still reluctant. I didn’t want to cause trouble for her; not when her momma had tried to do so much for me. Not when Torrey took the trouble to make me great coffee every day.

  I didn’t know how to phrase it so she’d understand what she was up against. Like I said, couldn’t get the words out of my dumb mouth.

  She looked completely at home in my truck. One of her long legs was hitched up so her foot rested on the dash. She’d worn a skirt today, slightly more conservative than her usual clothes, but she still looked hot whatever she had on. She wore a plain, sleeveless blouse in a pale blue that made her honey-colored skin glow. She was so fucking beautiful and she was sitting in my truck like she didn’t have a care in the world. I don’t know, maybe she didn’t.

  I climbed in next to her and slowly pulled out of the driveway.

  “Where to?”

  “Left. Into town.”

  I did as she said and drove carefully, keeping under the speed limit the whole time.

  I was trying to concentrate on driving, but a million and one thoughts were spinning through my brain.

  She must have sensed the glances in her direction that I just couldn’t help.

  “Ask me,” she said.

  “Ask you what?”

  An amused smile pulled her lips upward as she looked across at me.

  “Whatever you’re busting a gut to hold in. Ask me.”

  I vomited out the question that had been fighting to get past my lips.

  “Don’t it bother you? Sittin’ here with … with someone like me?”

  My stomach clenched when she didn’t reply immediately. I knew she was considering her answer carefully because normally she just blurted it right out, like she didn’t have an edit button.

  “I’d say it bothers you more than it bothers me,” she said, at last.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of her answer. Was it true? Did it bother me that this beautiful girl would put herself at risk by getting in my truck? No one even knew she was with me.

  “Yeah, it bothers me.”

  “Are you going to hurt me?”

  My eyes widened with shock.

  “Fuck, no!”

  I could not believe she asked me that!

  “Then we’re good,” she said, evenly.

  My mouth hung open.

  “You’re really not bothered?”

  “Jordan, if you did something that made me uncomfortable, I’d let you know. Believe me. I have no interest in hanging out with crazies.”

  “I’m not normal,” I stuttered out.

  She looked at me appraisingly, and I felt my cheeks flush under her intense gaze.

  “Sure, you’ve got issues. Who doesn’t? You’re normal, Jordan. Your past is just a bit more colorful.” She arched an eyebrow. “You’re not that special.”

  What a first class bitch!

  Then I wondered if she was joking. I couldn’t tell and that just made me more pissed—at her, at myself. I was too angry to speak. Confused, too. Luckily, she quit jabbering and gave me some peace to think.

  Soon enough, we were driving through town, and I think I was holding my breath, praying that no one would see us together. They couldn’t think any worse of me than they already did, but I didn’t want to make life harder for Torrey or her momma.

  Of course, when I braked for the stop light at the Main Street intersection, I saw Mrs. Ogden gawking at us. She’d always been the town’s biggest gossip. I doubted she’d changed over the last eight years.

  “People will see you with me,” I spat out, thumping the steering wheel in frustration.

  “Mmm, yeah,” she said, her voice far away.

  I turned to look at her and saw that she was staring out of the window.

  Well, I couldn’t do anything about it now, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t warned her.

  “What have you got on your iPod?” she asked, after a short silence.

  “Um, I don’t have one.”

  “Really? You must be the only guy I know who doesn’t.”

  I shrugged uncomfortably.

  “Weren’t you allowed one in prison?”

  I was taken aback by how easily she asked the questions that most people wouldn’t dare voice. My own parents never mentioned prison, and even the Reverend had tiptoed around the subject. But not Torrey. I didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not.

  “No, we weren’t allowed electronic devices. A few people had radios—I had one for a while—but you didn’t keep them for long. Those things are too easy to steal or swap for drugs.”

  “Oh, of course.” She nodded to herself. “And you haven’t gotten an iPod since?”

  I shook my head, too embarrassed to tell her that I didn’t have any money. Her momma paid me next to nothing to do odd jobs and keep the yard tidy, and what with paying my $40 a month to the parole service for the privilege of them checking on me, and a little to my folks for food and rent, there wasn’t more than a few bucks in change left.

  I was glad when she didn’t ask any more questions; my brain was reeling from the ones she’d asked me already. I hadn’t talked this much in, well, eight years.

  I started getting twitchy when I realized that her directions were taking us out of town again. I’d soon be beyond the area I was allowed to go. If I broke my parole requirements, I’d be thrown back inside until the next millennium.

  “Um, Miss Torrey, is it much further?”

  “Just Torrey,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you for the gas—if I get the job.”

  “It’s not that…”

  “Then what?”

  I stared straight ahead, feeling the burn of humiliation flare up again.

  “I’m not allowed to go more than ten miles beyond the town limit. It’s a requirement of my parole.”

  “Oh,” she said, looking at me with concern. “Shit, I’m so sorry! I had no idea! Fuck! Look, you can drop me off here. It’s only another mile up the road. I can walk.”

  “Another mile to where?” I knew this road, and there was nothing along it for miles.

  “To the mall,” she said. “Honestly, you can drop me here.”

  There’s a mall?

  “Since when?” I blurted out.

  She looked puzzled. “Since when what?”

  “Since when is there a mall here?”

  I was choking the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white.

  “Oh,” she said, softly. “I think it’s pretty new. The Starbucks where I’m going for an interview hasn’t even opened to the public yet.”

  Shit. They’d built a whole goddamn mall since I’d been inside. I wondered what other changes had happened that I knew nothing about.

  “Really, it’s fine,” she said again. “You can drop me here.”

  “I guess I can do another mile.”

  “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  I sighed. “Don’t worry about it. Trouble finds me anyhow.”

  I prayed that the mall was within my ten-mile limit. I didn’t want to think about the consequences if I put a toe over the line. And I’d only been allowed to drive because my parole officer had argued that without transport I wouldn’t be able to get work, what with living somewhere so remote.

  Thankfully, the new mall soon appeared just over the hill, and I stared at the sight. I couldn’t imagine that this small town would be able to sustain anything that size. There must have been parking for over a thousand cars, and several acres of scrubby grassland were now paved and covered in gleaming steel and glass.

  But the newness had a feeling of anonymity about it, and I felt more relaxed here than I had in a while.

  I pulled into a spot away from other cars and waited for her to climb out. I had an old paperback on the back seat so I planned on just sitting and reading while she went for her interview.

  “Aren’t you comin
g?” she said, frowning up at me. “You’re not going to just sit there, are you?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “You’re not in jail now, Jordan, and you don’t need to hide away. Live a little. Take a chance.”

  Anxiety spasmed through me, but I knew she was right. And being somewhere like this, where there was less chance of being recognized, well, that appealed. A lot.

  My eyes were scanning the area, searching for trouble. I took a breath and tried to act something like normal. At least I hoped I didn’t look crazy mad-dog scary.

  Somewhat reluctantly, I climbed out of the truck and locked the doors. I nearly passed out from shock when Torrey hooked her arm through mine and started walking toward the shops.

  I looked down at her, speechless.

  “Is this okay?” she said, not letting go. “Dad’s always telling me I don’t respect people’s personal boundaries.”

  “Um, no. It’s … fine,” I stammered.

  “Good,” she said, her voice peaceful.

  I liked the way her soft skin brushed against my forearm. I liked it a lot—too much, probably. I realized we would have been taken for a couple, walking together like that. My throat seized up, and I couldn’t have said a word if my life depended on it.

  She pointed out the coffee shop and let go of my arm. I missed her touch immediately.

  Then she stood in front of me, holding out her arms.

  “Well? How do I look?”

  Beautiful. Gorgeous. Sexy. Off limits.

  “Um, fine,” I managed to squeeze out.

  She raised her eyebrows. “You smooth talking stud. I can see that I’m going to have to watch myself with you.”

  She walked away shaking her head. Then she did a little pirouette as she called out, “Wait for me here? I’ll be about 20 or 30 minutes.”

  She didn’t even stay to hear my answer, but who was I kidding? Other than hauling shit at her momma’s place, I didn’t have anywhere else to be—and nowhere I was wanted.

  I found a bench where I could see the coffee shop entrance and sat down.

  It felt weird being outside without anyone watching me—no guards, no cameras, no townsfolk judging me and finding me lacking. It was hard to believe I was free. I didn’t deserve to have this, but I was so darn grateful to be out of that shithole prison, that I could have kissed the asphalt in the damn parking lot.