The Easy Way Out

42

"Oh, Babe." Her voice faltered. "It's so awesome to hear your voice."

"I'm on my way." He started the vehicle. Before he pulled out of the parking space, the phone chimed again. A text from Rachel brought a hopeful smile to his face: I love you.

His eyes shifted from Rachel's text to Alex's recent messages. Something familiar drew his attention. As Blake scrolled through Alex's texts, his brow furrowed. Then something in him broke.

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Rachel dumped a bag of ice into the Motel 6 bathroom sink and then unbuttoned her shirt, discarding it onto the floor. She winced when she lowered her raw elbow into the ice. She stood, waiting for her elbow to numb, looking at the assorted supplies spread out on the counter; antiseptic wash, tweezers, gauze pads, butterfly bandages, and, of course, her Glock.

She raised her elbow from the ice and doused the wound with a splash of Bactine. She shoved a folded washcloth between her jaws and, watching in the mirror, positioned the tweezers just outside the wound. When a piece of auto glass caught the bathroom light, she identified the location of her target. Her arm jerked with pain when she penetrated the wound with the tweezers. She gathered herself and made another attempt. A muffled cry of anguish brought tears. She closed her eyes, took three deep breaths, then clamped her left hand on the sink faucet. She plunged the tweezers into the gash, her knees buckling, and withdrew the small nugget of greenish glass. One more piece of glass remained. She whimpered into the washcloth when she doused the wound with another splash of Bactine then went back to work.

Ten minutes of self-surgery felt interminable, but she'd succeeded. Scorching pain smoldered beneath the butterfly bandages that held the wound together.

She carried the Gamecocks jacket into the bathroom, laying it on the counter. She removed two stacks of cash from the pockets and set them on top of the toilet tank. Digging deeper into the pocket, she discovered the pack of cigarettes. She shook a cigarette loose from the pack then jammed it between her lips. The sensation of dry, tightly-rolled paper transported her.

Ashley opened the trailer's flimsy door, then descended the metal stairs barefoot in tight jeans and a crop top. "Evenin', fellas," she said to Tater and his friend, Willie.

Aunt Dina poked her head outside, displeased with Ashley's company. "Where you off to?... Ashley? And where are your shoes?!"

"Jus' taking in the night air," she replied.

"You can't be goin' around barefoot like some savage!"

"My shoes don't fit me."

"I just bought them shoes."

"A year ago."

Dina turned her head, eyes tilting toward the gray clouds stacking along the horizon looking so heavy they could fall out of the sky. "Could be rain comin' in. Said rain on the news."

"I wish it would."

"Don't you wander off too far with them boys, y'hear me?... And be home by nine."

Ashley and the boys chattered and giggled on their way down the open country roadside. She looked over her shoulder then asked, "Well, where you hiding the beer?"

Tater hung his head. "I couldn't get none."

"I knew it."

He brightened when he said, "But I brung cigarettes."

They followed him from the road down a slope of overgrown grass clogged with weeds to the edge of a stagnant copper-colored pond where silvery fish floated on the surface. Thin clouds of gnats hovered over the water buzzing angrily.

He produced a pack, offering one to Ashley. The boys each took a cigarette and fired them up. Tater lit Ashley's cigarette. She coughed.

"Don't inhale so deep," Tater said. "Just take a little bitty puff on it. Like this." He demonstrated.

Ashley was more successful with her next drag. "Maybe I won't smoke it. But I do like the way I look holding it." She posed with the cigarette.

"Yeah, you look real grown-up."

"Sure do," said Willie.

She took another small drag and scowled.

"Hey. Ashley," Tater said, looking at his shoes. "You wanna be my girlfriend or somethin'?

"What for?"

"So we can go together."

"Go where?"

"You know. Just around."

She shook her head.

"Well... can I maybe kiss you then?"

"What do I get out of it?"

"Huh?"

"Boys are wanting to kiss me all the time."

"Well." Tater lifted his chin. "I'm a good kisser."

"Who told you that? Your Momma?"

Willie laughed.