Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I figured.” Still, disappointment pricks me as I reach into the truck and grab the plastic bag that holds my belongings—a faded wallet with my expired driver’s license, a dog-eared copy of The Outsiders, socks and underwear, and a check for thirteen thousand dollars, the money I saved over the years of folding laundry and mopping floors, after deductions and inflated commissary costs.
Mom stares wordlessly at the bag.
“Light traveling, right?” I chuckle, shrugging off the sad state of my life.
My voice seems to snap her out of her daze. “I’ve stocked your bathroom with toiletries and filled the dresser with clothes Jon thought you might like. Even got you a pair of jeans, but if they don’t suit, we can go shopping on Monday to pick out a pair you do like.”
“I have to meet my parole officer on Monday.”
“Perfect. We’ll go after your meeting. There’s a new outfitter. Better prices than Mark’s! But if they don’t have what you like, we’ll drive to North Bay. Make a day of it.” Her words are frenetic as she slides open the garage doors to reveal the tan-colored 1983 Ford F-150.
A wave of nostalgia hits me. That’s Jay’s truck. It was ready for a scrapyard when he got hold of it. A natural with engines, he spent a year rebuilding it while I stood in the wings, playing tool lackey, learning all I could. I was his first passenger in this thing.
And, as it turned out, his last.
“I can’t believe you kept this.”
“Of course I did! I kept everything.” She gestures to the other side of the garage, where mounds of boxes and other clutter fill the space.
“That’s a lot of stuff.” I dismiss it for the moment, refocusing on the truck. “It still works?”
“It could.” Mom smooths her palm over the hood. “We used it around the property for a few years. It needs some love and a cleaning, but I figured it’d be a good project for you to work on. You can bring it back to life, just like your brother did.”
My stomach is in my throat as I move in to get a closer look, popping open the driver-side door. It still smells faintly the same—like motor oil and tobacco. Jay smoked like his life depended on it, sometimes burning through two packs a day.
The interior looks like I remember it too, right down to the strip of silver duct tape sealing a tear in the tan leather seat. I run my fingertip over it now as memories flood back and grief I’d thought long since faded strikes me.
Jay and I left this truck in a coffee shop parking lot before we hopped into that weasel Ian Murphy’s pickup. It was after we’d driven across the Quebec border to some hole-in-the-wall house turned bar so I could order my first legal beer. I had no idea what we were doing, right up until we pulled into the small regional airport down the road as a bush plane was landing. Jay said all we had to do was unload some boxes and drive them to a self-storage warehouse a half hour away. He’d done it several times before.
I was too stupid to ask questions—like why the plane was landing at midnight, why we had to move quick, and what the fuck was in the boxes. Never would I have imagined what Ian and Jay had roped me into, on my birthday, no less.
The gun he slapped into my hand as the police lights started flashing should have woken me up. Everything that happened after that … that’s on me.
The two fuzzy black dice I gave Jay for Christmas still hang off the rearview mirror. I can’t believe no one’s taken them down.
“They’re gonna make me redo all the road tests. The waiting period and everything,” I say, my voice hoarse as I struggle to push aside my emotion. “I can’t drive myself anywhere for a year.” It’s like I’m sixteen all over again.
“So, you’ll redo the test. It’s no big deal. You’ve got time. Lots of time.” Mom smiles with reassurance, before reaching up to grip my face between her palms. This time, her tears fall freely. “It’s so good to finally have my son home.”
I let the weight of her words settle over me. “It’s good to be home.” Even if we’re the only two people who feel that way.
Chapter 4
Emery
“Is it Benoit or Benny today?” The man’s choice in name usually matches the amount of alcohol he’s consumed.
He glares at me through one eye, the other half shuttered to help his focus.
Benny, it is. “Let’s give you a ride home.”
“Don’t need a ride. I’ve had one beer,” Benny slurs through his heavily accented words, his shoulders slumped over the bar.
“One, huh?” I flash a wide-eyed look at Matt.