Page 25 of Road Refugees

Chapter Nine

Heaven

Sax whipped the phone from my hand, giving Town and me a chance to share an uncomfortable glance.

During the split second we locked eyes, something happened. I knew I looked like heck, hair still dripping from the shower, wearing a sports bra under a football jersey. I felt as naked as a crown without stones, yet for the first time in years, it didn’t irritate me.

I was sort of proud in a weird way when Town’s eyes jumped to my rack. It was obvious that he felt ashamed of having glanced there, and he looked back into my eyes with a crisp military nod. It was my turn to feel ashamed. I was about to talk to my brother for the first time in ten years, yet I cared so damn much about this soldier, this wounded army captain just brimming with emotion. Why had he told me that intensely personal story about being attacked in Syria? He barely knew me.

Then it occurred to me, he might feel he “owned” me in some way for having saved me from those brutes in Flagstaff. They were just rapists, pure and simple—although I still didn’t know what Town’s motivation was for delivering me from them. Was Town yet another rapist lined up at my door, so to speak? Yet for a few blissful moments riding bitch on his ride, I had reflected on Nathaniel Hawthorne. “Our creator would never have made such lovely days and deep hearts to enjoy them unless we were meant to be immortal.” Could Brighten and my sister-wives have been right? Was God real?

Or was my destiny to attract twisted assailants at every step of the way?

Oh. Sax was talking into the phone. “Hey Sock Monkey. I’ve got your sister here at my house. Yeah, your actual sister Heaven. Heaven, right?”

I nodded, eager and morose at the same time. Could that be Arkie?

“Nah, I think she’s the real deal. One of our men found her in Flagstaff, saved her in a way, brought her here. Fuck yeah, I’ll be at the fish fry. But only if you make that Navajo fish. Semolina? Yeah whatever it was, it was superb.”

I was growing impatient with the chatter. I screeched, “It’s me, Arkie!” Sax grinned warmly and handed me the phone. “Arkie, Arkie!” I shouted into the slim black thing.

“Heaven?” He sounded completely mystified.

“Yes, it’s me!”

“How the fuck did you wind up in Flagstaff?”

“Oh, it’s a long fucking story”—I was becoming like one of them, with my language!—"which I’ll tell you when I see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Who are you with?”

I glanced at Town, who looked at me from under his eyelashes while holding a conversation with Sax. “A guy named Town. He’s former army, so he’s very good at protecting me.” Did a smile flash across Town’s lush mouth?

He mumbled to Sax, “Yeah, I’ll definitely make sure she’s in good hands before I jet off to see Crybaby.”

I was inordinately let down at the thought of Town “jetting off.” “Pardon?” I had to ask my brother, because I hadn’t heard him.

He said, “What about your husband in Cornucopia? He know you’re out here?”

“Oh hell no, Arkie! And don’t you go calling there either! That guy was one abusive sonofabitch”—I used some of the sweetbutt terms for Orson—“and I’m never going back there again. I’ll get a job in Pure and Easy. Don’t worry, I won’t be a burden on you.”

Town muttered, “A massive shitbird.”

“Do you promise me, Arkie? Do you promise you won’t call Cornucopia?”

“No problem, Heaven! I’ve been wondering about your life with those fundy Morbots anyway. Mom and Dad sure did you a bad turn when they stuck you up there. But I’m glad Dad is dead and won’t know you escaped.”

Thud. “Wait. What?”

“I’m glad Dad won’t know you escaped. I’m sure they already informed Mom.”

“Wait. Dad is dead?”

Pause. “Uh . . . yeah.”

Squeezing my eyes tight, I dropped my fist that held the phone to my side. I had to puff about ten or twenty puffs of air through my nostrils until I calmed down a bit. Town was asking me what was wrong, but I didn’t want to include him in this nonsense. My eyes teared and burned when I jammed the phone back to my face. “Say what? I talked on the phone to Mom maybe six months ago and she didn’t say a thing.”

“Oh. Well, it happened maybe two years ago. Don’t feel bad. I don’t talk to those fuckwads either. I only found out a month afterward. Not like I’d of gone to his funeral anyway.” He hurriedly added, “Heart attack. Only fifty years old. Figures, huh? His blood pressure must’ve been through the roof, the way he yelled and pointed fingers at everyone. I hate how they didn’t let you become a lawyer.”