Page 22 of Possibly Texas

Jack stopped me with a shrug and his own reddening cheeks.

I had asked Jack about the school in town, insinuated that I knew I would still be stuck living with him when the school year came around, and assumed he would be okay with that. I’d also made it clear that I was well aware that Mom wasn’t coming back for me anytime soon. Of course, that was an assumption as well, but since she hadn’t even sent a text in three days, it was likely I wouldn’t hear from her at all for a long time. Unless I texted or called her first.

If I can get a signal in this town.

Maybe I’ll have to walk back up to the highway?

The fact that I’d made all of my assumptions and insinuations was what had made Jack’s cheeks rosy, too, I’m sure. Having me around, after being alone for a decade, and allowed his peace and quiet, was probably not ideal for him. To assume that he would want to continue on with our temporary arrangement, long term, after three days of staying with him was…insane.

Jack and I barely even knew each other. In fact, we were virtually strangers. My mom had married Jack when I was still a toddler. Then, when I was six-years-old, before I could really make any solid, long-lasting memories, she had swept me away to live on the road. I hadn’t seen or talked to Jack in those ten years. My mom had dumped me off with a stranger, essentially. A stranger I was now assuming would be pleased as hell to have me hanging around all of the time. Or, at least, until I was old enough to go off and do my own thing, just like my mom had done.

“Um,” I was kicking the toe of my shoe at the ground again and Jack was inspecting the tabletop awkwardly, “so, what are you doing here?”

Jack shrugged, avoiding my eyes.

“I can help,” I offered. “If you want?”

Jack didn’t respond.

“I don’t really know anything about, uh, carpentry, but I’ll fetch tools or whatever,” I said. “You can teach me something?”

Jack shook his head, still looking down.

“Oh, okay.”

Jack slumped, then reached for his notepad. My fingers played along the edge of the table as I waited for what he had to say.

I work better alone. I have a deadline. Maybe next time.

He wasn’t looking at me as he held the notepad out for me to read.

“Okay.”

Jack slid the pen into the wires of the notepad and stuffed the notepad into his back pocket, still avoiding my gaze. That was the final say in the matter. Jack had made it clear where we stood in regards to his feelings about my presence all day long.

“Got it,” I said, slowly backing away from the table. “Yeah. I’ll leave you to it, man. Maybe I’ll go check out The Pueb—the coffee shop or something?”

Jack nodded, then started, looking as though he’d had a thought. He reached into his hip pocket and extracted a bill, then held it out to me. The same twenty bucks I’d returned to him when I had gotten back from getting his smokes at Grandy’s. Tentatively, I stepped forward and took the bill from him, neither of us meeting each other’s eyes. I stuffed the bill into my own hip pocket.

“Thanks,” I said. “Um, I’ll be back later?”

Jack nodded, his attention back on the table.

So, I turned and did my best to will away the redness I could still feel burning in my cheeks. When I rounded the house, out of sight of Jack, I slumped, my shoulders and head falling forward. At first, I thought I might go check out the barn—where the Andersons lived. But even that idea couldn’t make me feel better. So instead, I decided that I really would go check out Starbuck’s. If a guy in a green screen suit and a pirate ship couldn’t make me forget things—especially with Wyatt roaming around firing his gun—nothing could.

Eventually, I’d find out what was up with the lights at the barn in the middle of the night. But my gut was too twisted up in knots to satisfy my curiosity that morning. If there’s something that’s good for a sour stomach, it’s coffee. Right?

Due to the fact that the strange guy in the work boots, bib overalls, plaid shirt, and straw hat was taking his pickaxe to Liberty Lane outside of AMOR once again, I didn’t make it directly to Starbuck’s for a cup of coffee. Like the day before, a police officer was leaning up against the building next door to the radio station, watching the man work. I Only Want to Be with You by Dusty Springfield was the song du jour on AMOR, but I wasn’t sure where I remembered the song from well enough to remember the name or artist. It was funny, standing there, watching the man take the pickaxe to the street with the song coming from all directions from speakers spread throughout town. Strange metallic “clangs” interspersed with the echoey sound of the song was distracting. It was probably just what I needed to take my mind off of my encounter with Jack and the humiliation I’d thrust upon myself.

For more than was probably a good idea, I stared at the man knocking out a hole in the concrete of one of the main streets of downtown Possibly. Then I’d watched the cop for a while, wondering why he just leaned against the building and smiled at the man doing his…work? Upon inspecting the man and his work for a bit longer than I had previously, I realized that I had been right. He was knocking out pieces of the concrete and replacing them with different colored bricks, all of them in a different color of the rainbow. His holes and placement were a bit erratic and scattered—he certainly hadn’t kept up a pattern—but I could see what he was attempting to do.

A street made of rainbows.

It was kind of cool. Odd, but cool. The fact that the police officer—and apparently, everyone else in town—was fine with the man doing it was extraordinary. Everywhere else I’d ever been would have at least arrested a person for doing such a thing. At best, a huge fine would be doled out to the person caught doing what this man had been doing for what looked like some time. At worst, someone would get thrown into jail anywhere else in the country. For how long, who knows? Probably a lot longer than anyone would want to spend in jail.

The tram started to roll down Liberty Lane, towards the other end by the creek, as I stood there watching the man tear up the street. The conductor gave me a nod as he rolled by at a pace slower than a person strolls, and I nodded back. I forced myself to smile. If you’re polite to the crazies, they tend to leave you alone. Or, at least, they don’t act as crazy around you. That’s what I’ve found everywhere I’ve ever been, anyway.

As I stood there watching the man tear up the street, I felt like everyone in town was watching me, even though I knew they weren’t. I was familiar with the feeling. Embarrassing the hell out of yourself does that to a person.