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The light breeze from the opening above the courtyard flutters my yellow floral skirt. The tiny white flowers micro-printed all over it are one of my favorite patterns. Now I’m afraid I won’t be able to put it on without thinking of this moment.
“Are you okay?” His voice is completely calm compared to how it sounded a few moments ago, gentle even, sending a whisper of a chill down my spine.
Still, all I can manage to do is nod my head, unable to look at him. Never mind the fact that I’ve been publicly humiliated, I’m also not ready for him to realize I’m the girl from the bar. It would make this situation much more embarrassing.
“I’m sorry that he yelled at you. No man should ever treat a woman like that,” he adds. His sympathy makes my bottom lip quiver. I’m not used to receiving any type of empathy from men.
Most won’t give me the time of day once I don’t humor their advances. They catch wind of my problems and scoff at me or accuse me of lying. Or worse, they try to push my boundaries. I’ve never received an apology from one man on behalf of another.
I can’t speak though, afraid I’ll cry. He probably thinks I’m broken. Oh well, it’s the truth.
“Listen. I’ll go. Just… Don’t let that punk take your sunshine,” he pleads sincerely.
My head snaps up at his use of that last word. Sunshine. That’s what he called me at the bar. He gives me a small wink and spins on his heels, leaving me staring after him.
Chapter Six
Jesse
Earlier that day…
If I’m stuck in this room any longer, I’ll lose my mind.
Before I even consider what I’m doing, I’m out the door and down the street. The motel is right off the main drag through town, so I take my time walking past all the shops and admiring the small town.
This job has been as slow-paced as this place. I haven’t made enough progress on infiltrating the extremist group and it’s driving me crazy. The cabin fever that I’m experiencing being trapped in a single-bed motel room with only a tiny 24-inch TV to occupy me leaves too much room for my thoughts to wander.
How can I do my job properly when the majority of it feels like a waiting game? I complained to my handler that it seems like I’m sitting on my ass doing nothing. He assured me that it was normal for undercover work, 80% of the job is gathering intel and doing paperwork. Adjusting to that practice is worse than watching paint dry.
A little boy, probably about eight years old, comes barreling out of the diner almost colliding with me as I pass by. His mother is hot on his heels, apologizing profusely on his behalf. I smile and assure her, no harm no foul, as they take off across the street.
I find myself staring after them.
I never got to experience life with my mom at eight years old. She was gone by then. How different would my life be if I had even a few more years with her?
On their own accord, my feet keep walking while I drown in the memories I do have.
* * *
Jesse- Six years old
“Momma, momma! Can I have some cake now?” I ask through her bedroom door. Today’s my birthday and I have a whole cake just for me. Momma put some of my plastic dinosaurs on top and made fake grass with some green sprinkles. It’s the coolest cake in the whole world.
“Go ahead, baby. We’ll be out soon.” She doesn’t open the door because she’s in there getting a “talkin’ to” from my daddy. I don’t know what she did, but he’s been yelling forever already. It’s probably making her sad. It makes me sad when he yells at me. Sometimes I cry, but I try not to let Daddy see. If he sees, then he hits me. Hopefully, Momma doesn’t cry.
I climb onto the kitchen chair, making sure the cake is sitting right in front of me on the table. My fork digs into the green sprinkles but then I remember that Momma never got a chance to light my candles. That’s okay, we can do it later. She said I could eat my cake now.
Something shatters down the hall and Daddy’s voice is louder now. It’s always like this on the days he doesn’t get home til morning. Momma says he’s working all night and that’s why he gets home when I’m eating breakfast. I don’t know why it makes him so angry.
When I hear her start crying, I know what comes next, so I put my fork down before I take my bite. I don’t want to eat the best birthday cake in the whole world while Momma is getting hit on.
I crawl under the table and lay on the floor. The tablecloth doesn’t stop the noises I hear, but it makes me feel safe. I close my eyes and pretend I’m in a cool fort like my army guys. I bet they’d know what to do to help me and my momma.
* * *
Despite being lost in my mind, my meandering deposited me right outside the doors of the New Hope Public Library. It’s a Tuesday, I had plans to come here anyway but I’m a little ahead of schedule since I left the Inn so early.
Fuck it. I’ll go in and try to actually read a book today. Maybe if I get lost in someone else’s story, I’ll stop remembering mine.
