Trailer Park Heart
Page 23
But there was something in his intuitive gaze that made me nervous. Nobody knew Logan was Max’s father—not even my mom, or Coco. The identity of Max’s dad was my secret alone. There was no way he could ever discover the truth.
Because I knew without a doubt I would never tell him.
Still, I made Brett wait on his table and I left at the first available opportunity. I did take Max for ice cream, after my mom ditched us for who knew where, but I made sure we steered clear of the entire Cole family. Coco and Emilia hung out with us for a while before joining the group that was line dancing near the band.
The night ended after Max and I had our fill of too much spaghetti and ice cream. I drove my son home to my mom’s trailer and tucked him into bed.
That should have been the end of my worry, of my panic. But even safe in my bed in my old bedroom, I still felt Levi’s green gaze on me, interpreting our history, analyzing the years that separated us.
Hopefully, this would be the end of it. Hopefully, we could go our separate ways and I could relax into my small, stable, predictable life and Levi could settle into his, whatever that was.
There was no faster way to chase off the town’s most eligible bachelor than introducing him to your kid.
I was just thankful I wouldn’t have to keep putting off his invitations to get to know each other again. Although I did feel bad… for the missed phone calls from seven years ago and for tonight, for accidentally springing Max on him and squashing whatever weird chemistry still existed between us after all these years.
That was the reason for the pit in my stomach. And the unshed tears collecting in the corners of my eyes.
8
Conspiracy Theories Over Coffee
Three days later, I stood discussing Nebraska football with RJ at the counter of Rosie’s. He was under the impression that this was our season, a return to the glory days of the 90s. I had been thus far unimpressed with our uniforms and therefore convinced it was going to be another disappointing season.
Uniforms was about as much as I knew about football. I had never been the kind to get into team sports. Or group activities in general.
“I just don’t want your heart to get broken,” I told him gently. “Again.”
His thin lips trembled with the hint of a smile beneath his bushy white mustache. “And I just don’t think you know anything about football is all.”
I shot him a conspiratorial grin. “You might have me there.”
“The Thunder Rolls” by Garth Brooks filled the dining room of Rosie’s. I glanced outside to see how apropos that was in light of the thunderstorm brewing outside. The fickle Nebraska weather had not been on our side this season. And while I appreciated the real autumn weather we were having, temps in the sixties and crisp fall breezes that required sweaters and boots, I did not love the rain.
Growing up in a double wide did something to a girl whenever a storm rolled through. I had childhood trauma from the recorded radio warnings whenever there was a possibility of a tornado or bad storm. The crackling voice would always decry “inevitable destruction” for those living in mobile homes.
And that was me. I was the one living in the mobile home.
Luckily, a twister had never gotten close enough to rip our home to shreds, but the threat was there. If Mother Nature wanted to, she could chew us up and spit us out without really trying.
I was happy Max was at school today. At least he wouldn’t have to listen to the pounding of rain on our thin roof or hear the thunder as it roared overhead.
A couple locals hustled through the door, shaking out umbrellas and stomping their feet on the mat. I waved at them and told them to sit wherever they’d like.
“It’s supposed to stop after lunch,” RJ murmured around a bite of hash browns.
My gaze cut to him across the smooth counter I’d spent all morning keeping clean. “What’s supposed to stop?”
He focused harder on his food. “The rain. It’s going to quit this afternoon and then it’ll get nice and humid.”
Tapping my fingers on the Formica, I tried to decide if he knew my secret. I made a sound in the back of my throat. “I shouldn’t have tried to straighten my hair this morning then. What a waste.”
He lifted his face and grinned at me. “Seems like a waste of time no matter the weather. That hair of yours don’t want to be straight.”
I scowled at him and turned back to the coffee pot. He was right about that, but I couldn’t let him know that. He already thought he knew everything.
But my hair truly didn’t want to be straight, no matter how hard I worked at it with a flat iron. It had been difficult to handle my entire life, but after I got pregnant with Max, forget about it. It was impossible now.
Still, I tried. Not all the time. But there were some days I just wanted to look like I had my life together. And I had been in a funk ever since Saturday night, when I ran into Levi and his mom at Supper in the Square.
After wallowing in self-pity and the mess that was my life for a solid two days, I thought I’d crawl my way back to adjusted contentment, meaning the whole straight, glossy hair thing.
It had lasted all the way from my bathroom to the small deck outside our front door when heavy rain drops erased all my hard work.
“I got other customers besides you,” I told RJ as I carried the pot of coffee and two clean mugs toward the table that I watched get seated out of the corner of my eye.
“I’m sure you do,” he muttered at his eggs.
“Coffee?” I asked the new couple as they pulled menus from between the salt and pepper shakers. It was the Cooks. Lord, help us all.
They were good friends with Levi’s parents. Rich Cole and Dennis Cook had been running in the same circles since they were kids. Now the two of them practically owned this town. Not in the proper ways, mind you. They weren’t elected officials or anything. They just had all the money and influence to get whatever they wanted.
The Cooks were most recently responsible for the latest Clark City High School jumbotron, making them practically small-town saints.
“Please,” Dennis mumbled.
“Do you have creamer?” Carol Cook asked sweetly.
I filled up their mugs and pointed to the dish already on the table. “We just have what’s in front of you already, ma’am.”
Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “How about milk or half and half? Surely you have real half and half?”
I swallowed down a tart reply. “I’m happy to check for you.”
“Do that,” she answered. “And when you get back, we’ll be ready to order.”
I smiled, but it was paper thin. “Be right back.”
Turning around, I heard Carol Cook drop her voice and whisper to her husband, “That’s the daughter of that stripper. The one with the kid.”
“Hmph,” was his reply. “At least she’s found more suitable work.”
“That we know about,” Carol sighed.
Biting my tongue, I just managed to keep from turning around and clarifying. “Manager,” I wanted to say. “She’s a strip club manager. She hasn’t taken her clothes off for money in twenty years.”
I blinked at the hot plate where I returned the half-full coffee pot. “Now she does it for free,” I whispered.
The bells on the door jingled again and I escaped into the kitchen before I had to greet another judgmental shrew. I didn’t care who it was at this point. They were all the same.
Because I knew without a doubt I would never tell him.
Still, I made Brett wait on his table and I left at the first available opportunity. I did take Max for ice cream, after my mom ditched us for who knew where, but I made sure we steered clear of the entire Cole family. Coco and Emilia hung out with us for a while before joining the group that was line dancing near the band.
The night ended after Max and I had our fill of too much spaghetti and ice cream. I drove my son home to my mom’s trailer and tucked him into bed.
That should have been the end of my worry, of my panic. But even safe in my bed in my old bedroom, I still felt Levi’s green gaze on me, interpreting our history, analyzing the years that separated us.
Hopefully, this would be the end of it. Hopefully, we could go our separate ways and I could relax into my small, stable, predictable life and Levi could settle into his, whatever that was.
There was no faster way to chase off the town’s most eligible bachelor than introducing him to your kid.
I was just thankful I wouldn’t have to keep putting off his invitations to get to know each other again. Although I did feel bad… for the missed phone calls from seven years ago and for tonight, for accidentally springing Max on him and squashing whatever weird chemistry still existed between us after all these years.
That was the reason for the pit in my stomach. And the unshed tears collecting in the corners of my eyes.
8
Conspiracy Theories Over Coffee
Three days later, I stood discussing Nebraska football with RJ at the counter of Rosie’s. He was under the impression that this was our season, a return to the glory days of the 90s. I had been thus far unimpressed with our uniforms and therefore convinced it was going to be another disappointing season.
Uniforms was about as much as I knew about football. I had never been the kind to get into team sports. Or group activities in general.
“I just don’t want your heart to get broken,” I told him gently. “Again.”
His thin lips trembled with the hint of a smile beneath his bushy white mustache. “And I just don’t think you know anything about football is all.”
I shot him a conspiratorial grin. “You might have me there.”
“The Thunder Rolls” by Garth Brooks filled the dining room of Rosie’s. I glanced outside to see how apropos that was in light of the thunderstorm brewing outside. The fickle Nebraska weather had not been on our side this season. And while I appreciated the real autumn weather we were having, temps in the sixties and crisp fall breezes that required sweaters and boots, I did not love the rain.
Growing up in a double wide did something to a girl whenever a storm rolled through. I had childhood trauma from the recorded radio warnings whenever there was a possibility of a tornado or bad storm. The crackling voice would always decry “inevitable destruction” for those living in mobile homes.
And that was me. I was the one living in the mobile home.
Luckily, a twister had never gotten close enough to rip our home to shreds, but the threat was there. If Mother Nature wanted to, she could chew us up and spit us out without really trying.
I was happy Max was at school today. At least he wouldn’t have to listen to the pounding of rain on our thin roof or hear the thunder as it roared overhead.
A couple locals hustled through the door, shaking out umbrellas and stomping their feet on the mat. I waved at them and told them to sit wherever they’d like.
“It’s supposed to stop after lunch,” RJ murmured around a bite of hash browns.
My gaze cut to him across the smooth counter I’d spent all morning keeping clean. “What’s supposed to stop?”
He focused harder on his food. “The rain. It’s going to quit this afternoon and then it’ll get nice and humid.”
Tapping my fingers on the Formica, I tried to decide if he knew my secret. I made a sound in the back of my throat. “I shouldn’t have tried to straighten my hair this morning then. What a waste.”
He lifted his face and grinned at me. “Seems like a waste of time no matter the weather. That hair of yours don’t want to be straight.”
I scowled at him and turned back to the coffee pot. He was right about that, but I couldn’t let him know that. He already thought he knew everything.
But my hair truly didn’t want to be straight, no matter how hard I worked at it with a flat iron. It had been difficult to handle my entire life, but after I got pregnant with Max, forget about it. It was impossible now.
Still, I tried. Not all the time. But there were some days I just wanted to look like I had my life together. And I had been in a funk ever since Saturday night, when I ran into Levi and his mom at Supper in the Square.
After wallowing in self-pity and the mess that was my life for a solid two days, I thought I’d crawl my way back to adjusted contentment, meaning the whole straight, glossy hair thing.
It had lasted all the way from my bathroom to the small deck outside our front door when heavy rain drops erased all my hard work.
“I got other customers besides you,” I told RJ as I carried the pot of coffee and two clean mugs toward the table that I watched get seated out of the corner of my eye.
“I’m sure you do,” he muttered at his eggs.
“Coffee?” I asked the new couple as they pulled menus from between the salt and pepper shakers. It was the Cooks. Lord, help us all.
They were good friends with Levi’s parents. Rich Cole and Dennis Cook had been running in the same circles since they were kids. Now the two of them practically owned this town. Not in the proper ways, mind you. They weren’t elected officials or anything. They just had all the money and influence to get whatever they wanted.
The Cooks were most recently responsible for the latest Clark City High School jumbotron, making them practically small-town saints.
“Please,” Dennis mumbled.
“Do you have creamer?” Carol Cook asked sweetly.
I filled up their mugs and pointed to the dish already on the table. “We just have what’s in front of you already, ma’am.”
Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “How about milk or half and half? Surely you have real half and half?”
I swallowed down a tart reply. “I’m happy to check for you.”
“Do that,” she answered. “And when you get back, we’ll be ready to order.”
I smiled, but it was paper thin. “Be right back.”
Turning around, I heard Carol Cook drop her voice and whisper to her husband, “That’s the daughter of that stripper. The one with the kid.”
“Hmph,” was his reply. “At least she’s found more suitable work.”
“That we know about,” Carol sighed.
Biting my tongue, I just managed to keep from turning around and clarifying. “Manager,” I wanted to say. “She’s a strip club manager. She hasn’t taken her clothes off for money in twenty years.”
I blinked at the hot plate where I returned the half-full coffee pot. “Now she does it for free,” I whispered.
The bells on the door jingled again and I escaped into the kitchen before I had to greet another judgmental shrew. I didn’t care who it was at this point. They were all the same.
