Talisman
By S. E. Akers
Copyright © 2011 by S. E. Akers
Smashwords Edition — License Notes
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This eBook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Table of Contents
Smashwords Edition- License Notes
Chapter 1 — Anywhere Else on Earth
Chapter 3 — Meeting of the Minds
Chapter 4 — Beautiful Stranger
Chapter 5 — He Came Bearing Gifts
Chapter 6 — The Eye of the Beholder
Chapter 7 — Surprise, Surprise
Chapter 9 — How About That Dance?
Chapter 10 — Fight, Flight, or Fright
Chapter 11 — A Tale of Two Mikes
Chapter 13 — Such Sweet Sorrow
Chapter 14 — My Tears Fell Like Rain
Chapter 17 — What Will Be, Will Be
Chapter 18 — Where’s a Real Charmer?
Chapter 19 — Thank Heaven for Little Girls
Chapter 23 — He Won’t Remember a Thing
Chapter 24 — A Girl’s Best Friend
Chapter 27 — A Traumatic Token
Chapter 1 — Anywhere Else on Earth
“Miss? Um, Miss?” a voice called out from behind me. I was in the middle of double-checking a phone-in order when I heard the voice bellow, “Hey, Miss!”
Once my ticket had been clipped to the order wheel, I spun it towards the kitchen and whirled myself around. There stood Coach Earl Hayes, my high school gym teacher, glaring at me through the pick-up window of the Sterling Drive-In.
“Yes, Coach Hayes?” I asked attentively.
“Oh . . . Wallace.” He grumbled out my last name like we were still in 5th period gym class. Since we were officially off “school-time”, I boldly tapped my finger over the spot on my shirt where my name had been stitched.
“Shiloh,” he smugly corrected. “We had an accident over there — Faulty tray or something. It slipped right off the window.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Y’all really ought to have those trays checked out,” he snapped, clearly offended by the look of doubt written all over my face. “They’re not sturdy enough to hold a single order of fries.” He was trying his best to convince me it was truly an “accident”.
I scanned over to where his truck was parked. Sure enough, there was a huge mess. His petite wife, Jillian, was chatting on her cell phone and not paying a bit of attention to what Jeffery, their four-year-old, was doing. He was sitting on the ground, smack dab in the middle of the mess. Jeffery was using the spilled chocolate and strawberry milkshakes as finger-paints; the sidewalk and his dad’s white Ford pick-up were the perfect canvases for his “artwork”. Seeing as how he had attended the Sunshine Pre-School where I’d worked over the summer, I wasn’t the least bit surprised by his behavior. Jeffery Hayes was by far, one of the most rambunctious, stubborn, and downright rottenest kids I’d ever seen. I watched Mrs. Hayes struggle to drag the little monster back inside their truck. Jeffery was just laughing at her. His naughtiness didn’t stop there. Quickly, the willful little boy scrambled to grab a handful of french-fries — which he threw in the air like confetti. His typical, ornery behavior roused my suspicion. I think the jury would rule “this” was “no accident”.
“We need a new order,” Coach Hayes demanded as he adjusted his tan slacks over the top of his bulging belly. “At no additional charge,” he insisted as he arrogantly pointed his finger at me.
I sensed my snarky-side kicking into gear. “Of course — since it was the tray’s fault,” I replied with a forced smile.
The stocky, less-than-perfectly-fit football coach picked up on my snide innuendo, loud and clear. He stood there, vainly inspecting his football ring. The way he was always flaunting that thing around, you’d think he’d won a daggone Super Bowl or something.
The forty-something coach claimed he received it while playing football for Salem College. Supposedly during his senior year, Coach Hayes had been selected by his teammates as their MVP. However my best friend, Katie Stowell, whose parents own the local jewelry store, let it slip that Coach Hayes had her father custom-make it (secretly) a few years ago. Katie’s dad, Ron Stowell, had planned to engrave the correct year of the “alleged honor”, as a surprise, on the inside of the band. He thought it was odd Coach Hayes didn’t mention it, specifically. Mr. Stowell contacted the college, only to discover that Earl Hayes had been kicked off the team during his sophomore year — for steroid use.
MVP — my ass, I thought as I watched him pompously rotate the gold ring, allowing the diamonds to sparkle as they basked under the outdoor lights.
He gave his precious, though meritless “memento” a quick shine on his Welch High Golden Knights jacket and cleared his throat. “ . . . and someone needs to clean up that mess.”
“Sure,” I replied (as professionally as I could) while I searched through the stack of recent orders, trying to find the one marked with an “8”. “I’ll send your order back to the kitchen and tell your server to take care of the mess.” Once his order was located, I glanced at the server’s name on the ticket. “That would be Kara. I’ll get her,” I replied with a curt smile.
“Oh, I think she’s busy right now,” he insisted as he pointed his finger to the left side of the parking lot.
I spotted Kara Leighton immediately. You couldn’t miss her. Busy? I thought. If that’s what you call flirting with half the football team, not to mention a few of the junior varsity. A scowl crept across my face.
I whipped my head back around to Coach Hayes and threw my hands up in the air. “You’re right. She is swamped,” I announced in a scathing tone. Coach Hayes picked up on my bitter attitude as smoothly as a quarterback would receive a flawless snap from his center.
“You can’t blame her. I mean, a pretty redhead like that. She’s bound to get a lot of attention from the boys on my team. I’ve taught ‘em to have sharp skills and apparently, good taste,” he declared with a boisterous laugh as he headed back to his truck, strutting off like he’d just won a coin toss.
My eyes could have burnt a hole in the back of his head. Just like in gym class, Coach Hayes never failed when it came to being a jackass — or pushing my buttons.
Still disgusted, I redirected my stare back to Kara Leighton. Unlike Coach Hayes, I didn’t see what was so fascinating about her. She wore entirely too much make-up, and her waitress outfit was several sizes too small. My eyes rolled as I thought about the limits of her “mental capacity”. How Kara even maintained a C average to stay on the cheerleading squad was beyond me. There wasn’t room to fill her head with any knowledge — that space was already taken up by air. She wasn’t what I’d call a waitress either. Kara was more of a slutty hostess who liked to make sure her male customers received a heaping side order of “tease”. Heck, the tray she carries her orders on has more value around here — at least it does its job! I shook my head and rolled my eyes once more. Whatever!
I debated whether or not to break up her little flirt-fest, but like always, Kara would find some reason why she couldn’t do it. Her excuses were endless. Why waste my breath? I would ultimately end up being the one stuck with yet another task that she felt was “beneath her”. A thought began to cross my mind. Hmmm . . . Maybe she’s not as dumb as I think?
As I maneuvered through the maze of stainless steel prep counters, headed back to the rear of the kitchen, I spotted Charlie Fisher, the owner of the 50’s & 60’s themed Sterling Drive-In and tonight’s cook. He was stepping out of the walk-in cooler. Charlie always had a smile on his face and acknowledged on many occasions that working here made him feel “young again”. He never wore a uniform. Charlie preferred to throw a white apron around his vast collection of vintage tees and worn out jeans. His long brown hair, which was becoming more laden with gray, was always braided in one strand that cascaded down from the nape of his neck like a rope. His idea of a “hairnet” was a colorful tie-dyed bandana that he fastened around his scalp. I think he missed his era, the 60’s.
“Hey, Shiloh. Whatcha needin’ back here?” Charlie asked as he threw a few patties on the grill.
“Coach Hayes’ order had a little accident.” The sadness in my voice was purposely exaggerated.
My tone aroused Charlie’s curiosity. “What happened?”
“Well, your faulty trays are to blame,” I declared as I picked one of them up and waved it in the air.
Amused by my dramatics, Charlie lowered his round-framed, red-tinted glasses down onto the tip of his nose. “Gotcha,” he acknowledged with a nod and then pushed the funky spectacles back up to his bridge. “I’ll pull their order. What bay are they in?”
“Here,” I replied as I handed him the little yellow ticket. “They’re in bay 8.” I proceeded to cross my arms and roll my eyes, deliberately.
“That’s Kara’s side tonight. Why isn’t she taking care of this?” he asked in a sour tone.
I let out a disgusted laugh. “Oh, she’s busy . . . Really busy.”
“She’s busy, or she’s tryin’ to . . . get busy?” he quizzed.
He could tell by the cross look on my face that his latter assumption was true.
“Just holler when their order is up, darlin’,” I announced sweetly, batting my eyes and attempting to put forth my best Kara-impersonation.
My antics tickled Charlie so much he wanted to play along, too. He flipped back his braided ponytail and threw his nose up in the air.
“Will do, honey,” he answered, trying to compete with my performance.
I grabbed a dishtowel hanging nearby and used it to give him a playful swat as I passed him. “Now I’m off to the utility room for a bucket and some rags,” I announced in a theatrical, martyr-like fashion.
“For what?”
“Who else is going to clean up that mess?” I fired back bluntly.
Charlie looked disgusted. I could see him shaking his head as I turned to head down the hall towards the utility room.
I opened the door and flipped on the lights. The harsh fluorescent bulbs flickered around me as I searched for a bucket. I paused to gaze at the person staring back at me in the old, steel framed mirror hanging above the standing sink. A small spot of ketchup on my cheek stuck out like a sore thumb against my light, creamy complexion. After I wiped it away, my almond-shaped blue eyes began to make a slow sweep over every inch of my reflection.
I wouldn’t say I was a Plain Jane; I just didn’t see what all the fuss was about. As long as I was clean and appropriately dressed, that was good enough for me. All the drama involved with constantly trying to make yourself desirable to guys was ridiculous and in a way — demeaning. Then once a guy was “hooked”, most of the girls pretended to act a certain way. It was kind of like they trapped themselves in a cocoon filled with insecurity. Their “self-worth” was defined by their relationship status. Then just like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, they became unrecognizable strangers, even to themselves. Confidence, morals, and convictions were replaced with slutty clothes, no values, and putting out. Girls seemed to do anything (and everything) in the relationship — except be true to themselves. Simply watching the girls at school who put on their little charades, just for the sake of calling some random guy their “boyfriend”, was quite exhausting (though sometimes humorous). Realistically, there was only a one in a million chance of finding your soul mate in high school. Like most teenage-flings, it would inevitably come to a grave end — resulting in teary, swollen eyes and a prolonged period of agonizing heartbreak. I vowed years ago, That would never be me!
I continued to stare at my reflection. For the past several years, I’d had more important things on my mind, and “boy-chasing” wasn’t one of them. My goal was simple; I wanted to graduate from Welch High School, Summa Cum Laude (preferably), so I could coast into a great college and get the heck out of Welch, West Virginia. There were absolutely no opportunities around here, especially for women — with the obvious exception of working for minimum wage and/or getting pregnant every other year, until my uterus fell out. I had been focusing on my “escape plan” for so long that I hadn’t really given the opposite sex much of a thought. It’s not like “boys” never popped into my head. Of course they would — from time to time. But I was being rational; I made school my number one priority and felt like there’d be plenty of time for the opposite sex — later. Plus, the guy whom I’d had a crush on (since first-grade) had been dating the school slut for the past year. My fingers brushed over my naturally strawberry-hued lips. That unfortunate pairing — along with my convictions — is why I’m almost 18 years old and have never been kissed . . .
However, there was a small part of me that was envious of girls like Kara. There were times when I would like to look a little more appealing — I suppose. I’d be the first to admit “my attire” was on the conservative side, and I hardly wore any make-up. Perfume was even a rarity; the only smell my skin emitted was a “clean scent” from my bath soap. Those luxuries simply weren’t an option in my household — at least not for me.
My father, Caiden Wallace, is the night foreman at the Riverside Pocahontas Coalmine in town. I had acquired his work ethic. You kept yourself busy — from sunup to sundown. Like him, I tried to save my money. Currently, it was being banked for college, but I also tried to allot for those “rainy days”. Even though he made a good living, it seemed our household was constantly strapped for cash (what with having a materialistic mother and a spoiled rotten, gets-anything-her-heart-desires younger sister). My rainy day stash was what they considered their “hurricane relief fund”. Truthfully, most of my measly paycheck ended up going into “the pot”, as my mother or my little sister, Chloe, would call it. Without fail, I ended up shelling out most of my money for their trivial wants, rather than for my own selfless needs. I always caved to their requests in an attempt to keep a reasonable amount of peace around the house, but mostly to take the pressure off Daddy. After all, he worked too hard, and I never wanted to add to his financial-frustration the way my mother and sister would (without batting an eye).
Over the years, my mother, Charlotte Wallace, had grown so cold towards me. To say that we were “distant” would be an understatement. In fact, things had gotten so bad between us that I’d stopped addressing her as “Mom” when I turned 16, two years ago — but never around Daddy. He’d think that was highly disrespectful, and I would never, ever want to disappoint him in any way. Daddy didn’t even know about our feud, and I sure wasn’t about to tell him. Charlotte waited to unleash her hell when he wasn’t around and covered her icy words with sugar whenever he was.
The last “motherly” thing I can remember her doing was surprising me, and Chloe with matching gold lockets. They were oval, and our initials had been engraved on the front of them in an elegant, curly script. Daddy was even pleasantly surprised by her gift; he had no idea she’d bought them.
My eyes scanned down to the spot where the little locket lay against my chest. I could never get mine to open — no matter how hard I tried. Daddy even took it to Mr. Stowell’s jewelry shop downtown. After several unsuccessful attempts, Mr. Stowell feared he might damage it if he tried to pry it open. Mom told us that there was something special inside them. Chloe’s held a picture of Mom on one side and Daddy on the other. Since I already knew what was in the locket, the need to open it diminished and eventually passed. It was more precious to me knowing it was a present from my mother. I never took it off — nor did I want to. The little gold locket gave me a sense of security, and I always found myself reaching for it whenever I was upset. It was a gift that reminded of one thing; my mother was once capable of loving me — unconditionally. Deep down, I think it also gave me hope that maybe one day, she could feel the same love in her heart for me again. In spite of all the constant turmoil between us, I needed that security.
A small tear began to form as I clutched the little oval locket. I quickly released it and wiped the corners of my eyes.
You’re at work, and there’s still a mess that has to be cleaned up out there.
I ran my fingers through my dark, golden blonde hair and tightened my ponytail. There was no time to think about the emotional mess staring back at me. Straightway, I grabbed a couple of rags and filled a yellow bucket with water. I checked my reflection one last time and then hurried out the side door.
As soon as I stepped outside, I heard a very familiar, and equally annoying voice calling out to me. “Hey, Shi. Bring me my usual . . . and hurry up!”
Crap. It was none other than my little sister, Chloe, and her too old & way out-of-her-league senior boyfriend, Mike Riverside. I, like Daddy, hated the idea of Chloe dating such an over-indulged, obnoxious creep. The only reason he hadn’t forbidden their union was because Mike’s father owned the local coalmine where he and half the town worked. Our mother, on the other hand, was overjoyed. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if she had secretly picked out their china pattern.
Chloe was an attractive girl, “cutesy” really — so it wasn’t like her options were limited. I’m sure almost every guy in her sophomore class would line-up for a date with her. I secretly admired her long raven hair (it was dyed that way, of course). She reminded me of a little Kewpie doll what with her perfectly round face, big hazel eyes, and tiny button nose, which turned up slightly at the tip. But she was barely sixteen and somewhat naïve. The idea of her going out with the most arrogant senior, with the worst reputation for girls, made me want to puke.
There was no avoiding them, so I made my way over to bay 19, where Mike’s shiny red Camaro was parked. His football minions rushed to his side, fawning all over him like he was a god. Mike was a total ass, but in all honesty, I could see why most of my peers idolized him — he “had it all”. His frame was that of a typical quarterback’s — tall and chiseled. His sandy blonde hair was always gelled to perfection, and he dressed in nothing but designer clothes. I’d be willing to bet Mike had more ponies on the shirts in his closet than there were running around the whole state. What teenage girl at our school could resist him? His parents’ fortune and their breathtaking mansion were merely icing on the cake. Yep, I sulked quietly. My sister’s a goner for sure.
“Chloe, are you taking Daddy’s order to the mine?” I questioned.
“No, she’s not. We’re on a date, and we’re very, very hungry,” Mike declared with a sly wink as he grabbed Chloe by the waist and pulled her close to his chest.
Well, that's nauseating . . .
Disgusted, my lips pursed and drew back. “So, you’d rather be manhandled in public by a sweaty jock, than bring your own father’s dinner to him?” I snapped.
“I told Daddy that I was going out with Mike,” Chloe piped back defensively. “He said it wasn’t a ‘big deal’.”
“Fine.” I started to head over to bay 8 when Kara Leighton, who was being followed by several of the junior varsity players, whizzed past me.
“Hi, Chloe . . . Hey, Mike,” Kara said as she hugged my sister and then gave Mike a similar hug. His “hug” however, she followed up with a sneaky butt squeeze that went unnoticed by Chloe.
She really knows how to pick good friends, I affirmed to myself.
Kara glanced over at me. “There’s the bucket!” she exclaimed. “I was looking all over for it. You look like you have some cleaning to do, Shi. Oh, by the way — there’s been a little spill in bay 8. Do you mind? I’ll cover your orders on this side.”
I contemplated Kara’s plea for a moment. I could throw the bucket of water on her, shower her with the rags, and tell her where to stick ‘em — But then I’d have to wait on the pricks and sluts of my high school for the rest of my shift — Hmm . . . Not hardly.
“Sure, Kara. Whatever.” I didn’t want to hang around this scene any longer than I had to, so I headed straight for the mess awaiting me.
As I walked across the lot, Ty Smith pulled up in his dad’s black ’67 Chevelle. I felt a smile emerging as I watched him get out of the sleek hotrod. He’s just as fine as that car. Ty’s light brown hair looked wet and tousled, like he’d just stepped out of the shower. He was the guy whom I’d had the biggest crush on for years — and in my opinion, the hottest guy in school. His rock-hard physique was only out-shone by his brains. Ty was the only player on the football team to keep an A average, and my closest competitor for graduating with top honors at school. He wasn’t vain like most of the jocks, and he always spoke to me. I guess I’d been focusing on my college aspirations so much lately that I’d forgotten how appealing he was. Tonight was a good reminder. As usual, he waved and smiled at me as he strolled over to meet up with his clique. Kara was too busy flirting with Mike to realize Ty was now standing behind her.
Good . . . Maybe he’ll see her grab Mike’s ass again.
I was approaching Coach Hayes’ white truck, trying to get back into the role of “good little employee”, when I got a better look at the mess the little freckled brat had made. Food had been slung everywhere — on the sidewalk, the menu, and their truck. I looked up and noticed that he’d even managed to get some on the neon lights above their vehicle. Ugh!
“Will our food be much longer?” Mrs. Hayes called out from the passenger’s seat. “My little Jeffery is starving.”
Well, set him out here, and I’ll have him lick it up lady, I raged to myself and desperately wanted to say to her. But I wasn’t that person (unfortunately).
“I’m sure it’ll be ready in a second,” I politely assured her.
After realizing that this was too much of a mess for just one bucket of water, I stomped over to the side of the building to grab the water hose and opened the valve, angrily. I headed back over to bay 8, only to have my path blocked by Mike’s Camaro. His tires let out an alarming “screech” as he stopped, just shy of hitting me.
I scowled at him as my muscles relaxed. “Aren’t you eating, Chloe?” I asked her, looking past Mike’s smug face.
“No. Mike’s taking me home.”
My eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Straight home . . . or straight home after y’all have parked for an hour on Shiloh Ridge?”
“That’s none of your business!” Chloe barked. “How would you know where I go to park? You’ve been scared of Shiloh Ridge since you were little,” she scoffed. Chloe leaned into Mike’s ear. “Mom said she found Shiloh outside crying about a ghost that’d been chasing her out on the ridge behind our house,” she whispered (loud enough for me to hear). They both let out an uncontrollable burst of laughter.
This unfortunately, was true. I was five when it happened, but I could remember it like it was yesterday. I wasn’t quite sure what was out there exactly, but it was something eerie — and definitely evil.
“Yeah, yeah . . . I’m glad my childhood memories amuse both of you,” I snapped, clearly embarrassed.
“Don’t worry, Shiloh. The only thing dead that Chloe will have to deal with tonight — is my wood,” Mike declared with a laugh as he directed his eyes down to his crotch and then back up at me.
Instantly, a wave of anger flew all over me. I tried to douse him with a cold blast of water, but he pulled off before I could raise the hose high enough. The only thing I managed to hit was the rear bumper of his car before they sped out of the Drive-In lot. Jerk!
As I stood there watching his Camaro barrel down the road, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Where can a hard workin’ coalminer pick up some dinner for him and his buddy ‘round here?” one of my favorite voices asked.
I spun around to see Samuel Clark, my dad’s best friend and co-worker. I tossed the water hose down onto the curb and gave him a huge, bear hug. Samuel was like family to me — my “second” father.
“You’re gonna get coal dust all over you,” he remarked as he reciprocated my affectionate gesture.
“Hey, Wallace,” Coach Hayes yelled out across the lot. My head never turned his way. I simply waved one finger forcefully, to let him know I would be a second.
Samuel sensed my frustration. “Rough evening?”
“Oh, just the same old, same old — until Chloe showed up. Then, it got rough. I reckon you’re here to pick up Daddy’s order. The one that Chloe was supposed to drop by the mine?”
“Good guess. You need to start pickin’ my lottery numbers from now on — since you’re so psychic.”
I nodded my head and smiled. “Hey Samuel, um . . . are the rumors true? You know, about the mine?” I probed.
He grinned and began to rub the stubble on his chin with his finger. “Which one? The one about the mine being shut down, the one about the mine being sold, or the one about the mine being shut down — and then sold?” he countered.
“Any of them?” I asked. “Daddy won’t tell us anything, and Mom is about to go crazy with worry — for her purse, that is.”
I was hoping Samuel knew something. I too, was worried about my father’s job, mostly because I knew life would be hell on earth if the “queen of the castle” had to be deprived of anything. One time, Daddy asked her if she really needed a to get a pedicure every week — he slept on the sofa for five months after that.
“All I know is there’s a meeting tomorrow at 3 o’clock with some big wigs from New York City. I promise you, that’s all I know,” he insisted.
“Okay . . . But please tell me if you hear anything else,” I stressed.
“Now you know good ‘n well I’d never leave my favorite girl out of the loop.”
“Let me go see if your order is ready. I’ll just be a sec,” I said as I headed over to the pick-up window.
“Wallace!” Coach Hayes yelled out from his truck. “We’ve waited long enough! I think I need to come in there and run that kitchen like I do my team. Then things would get done in a timely manner around here!”
Every muscle in my body cringed. I know he’s a so-called elder, as well as my gym teacher, but this man was really testing my patience. Keep your cool. No sense in ruining a 4.0 GPA with an F in Gym because you cussed him out in the middle of the Sterling Drive-In, in front of all of his players.
Both orders were waiting for me at the pick-up window, but I decided to make my way over to Samuel first.
“Here. My treat. I’ll put it on my tab. Enjoy sir, and tell Daddy I’m making French toast in the morning,” I added with a smile.
“Thank you, Shi. I’m much obliged.” Within seconds, his brow started to rise. Apparently, my unexpected and generous act intrigued him. “Wait a second — What are you wantin’?” he asked suspiciously.
Pretending to be offended, I let out a fake gasp. “Nothing! But . . . I’m pretty sure someone’s birthday is this Sunday,” I announced coyly.
“I wonder whose birthday it could be?” Samuel joked as he climbed into his old white Jeep and cranked its engine. “Oh, I’ll be sure to do something special for whomever ‘that person’ turns out to be,” he hollered back and gave me a wink.
Spontaneously, my mouth began to widen into a smile.
Samuel had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember, and I enjoyed the perks of being his “honorary” daughter. He didn’t have any children of his own or any kin who lived nearby. The only relative of Samuel’s whom I’d ever known was his wife, Sarah, but I’d never gotten the chance to meet her . . . and unfortunately, never would.
Sarah Clark passed away long before I was born. I’d always wondered why he never remarried until one hot, August evening over ten years ago. I overheard Samuel talking to Daddy about her as they kicked back on the porch, unwinding with a few cold-ones. Daddy was dropping hints to Samuel about Eve Andrews, one of the secretaries who worked the day shift. She had mentioned to Daddy (on several occasions) that she would love to go on a date with Samuel. He let Daddy know — real quick — he wasn’t interested. I listened as he revealed to Daddy that, “No other woman who roamed the earth could even come close to taking Sarah’s place, and as long as she was in his heart, there wouldn’t be room for anyone else”. Samuel was just thankful for what time he’d had with her and insisted, “He would carry his love for her with him forever”. That was the only time I had ever seen Samuel teary-eyed. I thought to myself, Now that’s romantic — Sad, but romantic.
I couldn’t blame Eve. Samuel was a thoughtful, caring man. Of course, the fact that he was also one of the few, handsome men in the 50 & up bracket with a good job and single, only heightened the value of his “dateability” stock. His skin was a warming shade of brown, like cocoa. Samuel’s hair was full and black (for the most part), though Father Time peppered it with gray, just a little, with each passing year. My favorite feature was his eyes. They were a deep shade of brown, much darker than his skin, but they were welcoming, almost soothing, and always sparkled when he laughed.
I waved bye as he drove off and made a beeline for bay 8.
“Here’s your order. I think Charlie gave you a few extra cheese sticks — for your trouble,” I informed the Hayes’.
“It’s about time! You are so slow,” Jeffery cried out from behind the passenger’s seat.
I ignored the little brat’s comment and secured the tray on the truck’s window by giving it a firm push. “See, this one’s nice and tight. No falling off . . . this time,” I announced, looking directly at Jeffrey and then shifted my stare back to Coach Hayes. I flashed a fake smile and turned for a quick getaway. “Let me know if you need anything else,” I called out to them in a sticky-sweet voice as I headed back inside.
Coach Hayes cleared his throat in a loud, suggestive manner.
Crap — The mess, I remembered.
Once the remnants of food had been scooped up from the lot, I retrieved the hose. The asphalt was sprayed off thoroughly, as well as the Hayes’ white pick-up truck. I may have accidentally misted the surly coach with some cold water when I made a quick pass over his side of the truck.
My bad, I giggled to myself.
As I headed over to hang up the hose, Coach Hayes honked his horn at me. I jumped and spun back around (as calmly as I could).
“Hey, Wallace . . . before I forget. Say hello to Charlotte for me and thank her for all the hard work she’s put into the football boosters this year. Yeah . . . It was a real treat,” Coach Hayes remarked with smile and a strange twinkle in his eye.
Without realizing, I innocently glanced at Jillian Hayes — but her eyes weren’t twinkling.
“Um . . . Ok,” I replied, nodding my head as I walked away.
That was odd. Coach Hayes rarely took the time to appreciate anything (other than a touchdown), let alone to actually “thank” someone for their efforts. I was even surprised Charlotte wanted to take time out of her “busy schedule” to help with the boosters this year. She’s probably doing it to keep an eye on Mike Riverside for Chloe. But what was up with that dirty look from his wife? Weird.
Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any more patrons like him for the rest of the evening. I glanced at my watch. Thirty more minutes and I can get the heck out of here.
Before I knew it, I was cashing out my drawer and combing my purse for my car keys.
“Bye, Charlie. Have a good night,” I said as I hurried out the door.
“Hold up a sec . . . I need you to take care of something that’s been bugging me all evening,” Charlie insisted.
“What’s that?”
Charlie grinned. “A fly, of course.”
When I was younger, I’d discovered (by accident) I had a natural, uncanny knack for tracking things with my eyes and ears. I loved the challenge of catching critters; it was like a game. Flies, bees, and even the occasional mouse were no match for me. Truthfully, all of my senses were abnormally heightened, right down to my quick reflexes. No one could ever sneak up on me either. It was an odd talent Charlie put to good use, since his eyes weren’t as fine tuned as they used to be.
I stood very still and listened intently for the muted sound of the fly’s wings. Without looking, I reached out and snatched it in its mid-air flight. I walked over and opened the door to release it, mercifully.
“Are you sure it’s in there?” Charlie asked skeptically.
I smiled and held my closed fist back inside. “Do you want me to open my hand up and see?” I giggled.
“No, no. I’m good.” Charlie joined me in the doorway. As soon as my hand opened, the fly buzzed away and headed straight for the bright, outdoor floodlights. He thanked me and went on to ask, “So, what are you doing tonight?”
“Studying for my Geology test. I might even fill out some more college applications — Exciting stuff,” I replied.
“Have you heard back from any of them?” Charlie asked.
“No. Not yet. I don’t think they’ll send out acceptance letters now . . . Maybe in the spring. I’m not as concerned about getting into a school as much as I am paying for it. I really need an academic scholarship,” I said with a detectible note of worry.
“You can always get a student loan, can’t you?” he questioned.
“I guess so . . . But I really haven’t looked into that yet. I kind of need an acceptance letter first,” I replied with a wink as I headed out the door.
I finally found my keys (hiding in the bottom of my junky purse). Those weren’t so easy to “track”. Once inside, I waited patiently for my beat-up old Charger, which I called a car, to crank up. Thankfully the DMV of West Virginia still did too, or I wouldn’t have any way to get around this small hick town. I didn’t mean to trash my hometown, but in reality — that’s what it was. No sense in candy-coating it.
I pulled out from under the bright neon lights of the parking lot and onto the dimly lit road to start my drive home through the busy & bustling town of Welch, West Virginia.
Along the way, I found myself thinking (again), Everything remains the same. I passed the Coleman’s house. Like clockwork, they were sitting outside on their front porch watching the cars go by. Down the road, our Chief of Police, Marc Roberts, was parked in his cruiser beside Milton’s Barbershop, waiting in the shadows to bust his next speeder. One of my personal favorites was the Johnsons’ house. Their Christmas decorations stayed in place — all year long — but they only turned them on from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day. I guess they had a little sense. Just a few more weeks and it would be time for their annual illumination.
There was something sentimental, yet somber about my small hometown. I loved it and hated it, both at the same time. It’s the only home I’ve ever known, and though I had many fond memories, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t meant to stay here forever. I know the town never changes, so it must be me. Something was churning restlessly and had been for a while. I longed for a change — something exciting — something unfamiliar. Anything that wasn’t mundane — or even remotely “normal”.
Since I started my senior year a couple of months ago, I hardly saw Daddy anymore. Breakfast and a few minutes in the late afternoon, before his shift began at the mine, was all the time I had to spend with him. My mother seemed to be annoyed by his new schedule. Not because he was gone at night, but because he was home during the day. That was her time. Even though he would usually be sleeping, she constantly complained he was and I quote, “interrupting her routine”. Her so-called “routine” mainly consisted of lying around the house watching TV, talk shows mostly. Sometimes she’d go to the beauty salon or out to lunch with a friend. Then there were her spur-of-the-moment shopping sprees, which she and Chloe would take to the mall in Bluefield. Busy, busy, busy. I see why she doesn’t have any time to clean the house or go to the grocery store . . . But then again, why buy groceries when you aren’t the one who cooks anyway? If I’ve learned anything from living with Charlotte over the years, it’s one thing — “fend for yourself”.
My car winded through downtown Welch like it was on autopilot. Not too many people out tonight. The ornate architecture of the four and five story buildings that lined McDowell Street was charming and reminiscent of a booming era, which sadly had long passed. As my car cruised down the town’s main thoroughfare, I spotted Mr. Estell sitting on a bench outside the Flat Iron Drug Store. I didn’t know his first name. He was a strange drifter who didn’t talk to many people, if any. Mr. Estell roamed the streets, hunched over, with his hands always dug into the pockets of his raggedy, old tan trench coat. His black and white hair was wiry and unkempt. There was something about him that gave me the willies — seriously — but it wasn’t in my nature to be rude to him just because he was different. I always tried my best to steer clear of him. Funny thing though, he was constantly “popping up”.
It was starting to get a bit colder. After all, it was already November. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had an early winter this year. Just thinking about the first snowfall made me reach over to turn the heat up a bit. This was the time of year when West Virginia’s countryside was truly spectacular. Nothing beat the beautiful colors of the trees’ foliage cascading over the mountains with a blazing fall sunset at its back. You could be in a horrible mood, and it would always give you a better outlook on everything. I suppose it’s nature’s way of putting things into perspective.
It didn’t take any time at all to breeze through town. Why should it? There were only two traffic lights, and one of them just blinked. After I crossed the Tug River Bridge, I knew I was getting close to home. It was ten o’clock, and I still had some studying to do. Maybe Charlotte will be asleep or more appropriately, passed out. If she didn’t wind her day down with a bottle of wine, she usually popped a Xanax to relax. I preferred the “medicated” Charlotte. That way, she’d only be half as witchy.
Secretly, I wished we could heal our broken bond. But how can you fix what’s wrong when you don’t know “how” it got broken in the first place? I truly envied Charlotte and Chloe’s relationship. Even though I didn’t share their outlooks on life, I did want to find someway to fit into their world — at least coexist with them without too much chaos or drama.
My 18th birthday was coming up this Sunday. I could always forgo wishing for a college acceptance letter and look into the heartless eyes of my mother as I hoped for a change in her attitude towards me. Reality hit me before I finished my thought. I might be getting ahead of myself. That would imply Charlotte would actually acknowledge my birthday by being there for it, let alone present me with a cake. Daddy handled that. For as long as I could remember, I would wake up in my bed on the morning of the big day to Daddy holding a lit, store-bought cake and singing “Happy Birthday”. That was one of our special traditions that only he and I shared. One time, he tried to make one from scratch. We didn’t have any box mixes in the house — bless his heart — so his “attempt” turned out to be a huge disaster. In spite of that, my dependable (and surprisingly resourceful) father marched into my room with a stack of his blueberry pancakes (my favorite), topped with a long, white tapered candle, which he’d snagged from one of the pillars in the dining room. He said that he wanted to do something different, but I knew the truth — Mom hadn’t picked one up, like he’d asked her to. That year, it was truly “the thought” that counted.
As I approached the fork on Highway 52, the Riverside Pocahontas Coalmine came into my view. You could see the bright lights of the facility from a mile away. Daddy and Samuel had probably finished their dinner and were deep inside the mine by now. The parking lot looked a little more crowded than usual.
Maybe they’re working more guys this evening because of the impending meeting tomorrow afternoon? They can’t close down the mine! Over half the town works there. I didn’t want to think about what its closing would do to the area, or how devastating it would be for all the miners’ families — especially mine.
Rumors had been floating around for the past month that Harper Riverside was looking to sell it. A few weeks ago, I overheard Mike complaining to some of his buddies about his dad. Apparently, Harper Riverside thought the mine was becoming a “headache” and more trouble than what it was worth. Even though it was one of the safest mines around, the state had imposed a slew of new mandatory regulations. Mike said his dad was griping about all the money he was going to have to shell out to get it up to snuff.
Maybe he thinks selling it would be the best thing for him, what with all the added expense — especially since the price of coal has dropped. I guess we’ll all find out tomorrow what the town’s fate will be.
I took a left at the fork and winded up the mountain. Before long, I was approaching Shiloh Ridge. There weren’t any streetlights for a couple of miles, so I had nothing but my headlights to guide me along the pitch-black road that twisted through the woods, bordering the ridge’s east edge. It gave me the creeps — no matter what time of day — but particularly at night.
Ironically, I was named after that ridge. However, ever since that day — when I saw that “thing” or whatever “it” was — not only did I not want to step one foot on it again, but I didn’t even want my name associated with it. In an attempt to distance myself from the unnerving event, I changed the “i” in my name, to a “y”, strategically manipulating it into “Shyloh”. That really pissed off Charlotte, but it helped me — a little. No one else has ever acknowledged the switch. A few of my teachers have even knocked a point or two off my assignments for what they viewed as being “an error”. But even as grade-oriented as I was, as long as I still made an A, their deduction was fine by me.
Every time I passed by the ridge, my thoughts returned to that eerie afternoon like it was yesterday; it was unavoidable. I was five years old and had just picked a bunch of wildflowers for Daddy. I couldn’t wait for him to get home from work — so impatiently — I decided to head out on the ridge and walk through the woods, down to the coalmine to surprise him. Mom had always told me to stay off the ridge. She’d say, “It’s too dangerous”, or “You’ll get hurt!” But I was five and fearless — so I ignored her.
I only made it halfway across the ridge when I thought I heard someone whispering my name, almost like they were chanting. I couldn’t shake the creepy feeling that someone was watching me, somewhere through the trees up ahead. The sounds were low and muffled, which made it impossible to figure out what the voice was saying. I did however remember a smell — an odd smell of sulfur. The odor was so heavy I could taste it on my tongue. It reminded me of rotten eggs I’d find hidden around our house a few weeks after Easter.
The next thing I knew, my entire body was besieged by a paralyzing fear. I closed my eyes for a few seconds; my little-girl instincts took hold, and I remember trying to “wish” the feeling away, like only a child would. When they opened, the forest was filling up with a dense, black fog. It covered the ground and was creeping towards me, purposely. I stood there — unable to move — apprehensively watching the mist as it rolled closer and closer to me like waves reaching for the shore. Then it stopped and hovered near the tips of my toes. I was frightened, but found myself awestruck by its presence. Gingerly, I stretched my toes towards the black mist. When it finally touched my bare foot, I felt a jolt of pain — excruciating pain — like someone had set my foot on fire and was stabbing me at the same time. Without delay, the fog began to coil itself around my leg and tightened its grasp as it jerked me to the ground.
My freshly picked flowers flew out of my hand. They littered the ground where I flailed about violently for what seemed like forever. Somehow I managed to wiggle free — luckily — and ran back to my house as fast as I could. Though I never turned around, I could feel that “it” was hot on my tail. Once I’d reached the fence that bordered our property, I hurled myself over it, landing face first in the grass on the other side. Through the gaps in the pickets, I watched the black fog recede, but I could still smell its foul stench in the air around me. My mother had just stepped outside to hang up some wet laundry when she saw me there, lying on the ground. She rushed over to see if I was all right. I asked her to look into the woods, at the ghost-like fog that had been chasing me. She didn’t see anything at all and insisted I must have imagined it. After I’d calmed down — to add insult to injury — she gave me a spanking and ordered me not to go back out there again. Truthfully, nothing could have been further from my mind. I told Daddy about it when he came home. He seemed to be the only one who believed me, or at least he acted like he did for my sake. I was so scared after that I snuck into their bedroom every night for a week. One day after school, Daddy surprised me by painting my bedroom door a beautiful lavender color. He told me that the door was “magical”, and nothing bad could harm me while I was sleeping. His imaginative scheme worked, because I haven’t had a bad dream ever since. That was also around the time when Mom gave Chloe and me, our little gold lockets. Whether it was her gift that did it or Daddy’s trick with my bedroom door, I never saw that fog-like creature again. Realistically, those tactics only work when dealing with the mind of a child. Psychological ploys aside, I knew it was because I’d stayed the hell off that ridge, and nothing would make me go back out there again — Absolutely nothing!
After rounding the last big curve about a half-mile from my house, a pair of blinding headlights came speeding towards me. Their distinct outline let me know it was Mike’s Camaro.
Guess he managed to get Chloe home in one piece. He revved his engine as he whizzed by me. What an asshole . . .
There was our little red mailbox up on the right. Its paint was peeling away, and you could barely make out the name “Wallace” on it anymore. I may surprise Daddy and paint it for him this weekend. That would be one less thing for him to do. He worked many long, hard hours at the mine and help from Charlotte was nonexistent.
I turned onto our gravel drive. Home at last, I thought as I pulled into my designated spot beside our two-story farmhouse. Daddy had built the modest, mountainside home about fourteen years ago with his own two hands. Several of his buddies helped with the construction, but he did most of the work. We lived here in a small trailer while he worked on it — whenever he wasn’t at the mine. Mom hated its cramped quarters and was constantly on him to “get the house finished”. Personally, I liked our temporary, humble abode. Granted it was tiny, but it brought us together, literally, and forced us all to be closer. We were more of a tight-knit family back then. I missed that the most.
Every downstairs light in the house was on tonight. Mom and Chloe were probably in the living room or the kitchen, talking about her date with Mike.
Can they really call it a date when he’s just taken her out into the woods for a piece of tail? Poor Chloe, I thought. She doesn’t have a clue that he’s probably hightailing it back to meet up with Kara — the little slut.
I grabbed my backpack from the floorboard behind me and threw my purse over my shoulder. I’ll make a quick dash up the stairs to my bedroom. I’ve got a lot to do before I can get any sleep, and my alarm clock will be beeping before I know it. I tried to be optimistic. Maybe they won’t even hear me sneak in? But that was an unlikely scenario.
With the precision and stealth of a mouse evading its hunter, I crept onto the front porch and tiptoed to the front door. I peered through both front windows, which flanked the entryway. No sign of anyone in the living or dining rooms . . . Good. They must be back in the kitchen.
My key was already positioned between my fingers. Carefully, I slid it into the lock and slowly turned my hand for what seemed like minutes. Once I heard the “pop” of the bolt, I hesitated — said a quick prayer — and gently eased the heavy wooden door forward. The old, weathered door, which desperately needed to be sanded and repainted, evidently needed some grease on its hinges as well. A loud “creak” rang out and rattled through my body like nails to a chalkboard. Firmly, I grasped the doorknob and held down on it, trying to stabilize its hinges. Steady and smooth, I assured myself. Please, please, please . . . Don’t let them have heard that, I hoped as I continued to push the door open.
Slowly, I closed the door behind me. Almost there. I paused for a moment to survey the area. Charlotte and Chloe were chatting up a storm and laughing in the kitchen. They always seemed to enjoy each other’s company. I was a little bitter about their bond. Our father showed no favoritism whatsoever, but our mother couldn’t be more obvious about her feelings towards me. I wasn’t Daddy’s favorite; I wanted to spend time with him. Chloe always favored Mom. Between Charlotte and boys, there wasn’t any time for Daddy, not in “her world”, unless she wanted something from him — which usually involved money.
Sensing they were unaware of my arrival, I let out a sigh of relief. Overconfidently, a sly smile emerged as started my ascent up the staircase. When my right foot landed on the bottom step, an unexpected and loud, “squeak” echoed around me. I froze.
Crap! I didn’t compensate for the extra books in my backpack. I listened intently. They were still cackling in the kitchen. Surely they heard that, I thought. I waited a few more seconds. Guess not, I assumed as I shrugged my shoulders and giggled under my breath.
Suddenly, I was startled by the unforeseen “beep, beep, beep, beep” ringing from my cell phone. Hastily, I fumbled around in my purse for it — but I was too late.
“Shiloh? Is that you?” Charlotte yelled out from the rear of the house.
I looked down at my phone and shook my head. She was the one who was calling me. I hesitated. “Yeah . . . Who else?” I called back to her. Mental note to self: It doesn’t matter how stealthy you are if you don’t put your cell phone on vibrate — Idiot!
“Well, are you going to come in here, or do I need to leave you a message?” she jeered.
I could hear Chloe laughing.
“I’m coming . . . I was just taking my things up to my room.” I stomped up the stairs. No need to muffle any sounds now. I reached the second floor and proceeded down the hall to my lavender painted door. As I pushed it open, I hurled my backpack and purse inside (not caring where they landed). What could she possibly want?
I huffed and puffed back down the steps like a pouty toddler. Suspiciously, I peeked into the living room. An open bottle of white wine sat on top of Charlotte’s curio cabinet. Almost empty. Great . . . Looks like it’s “drunk” Charlotte tonight, I predicted as I headed to the kitchen.
I grabbed hold of the doorframe and swung myself around into the brightly lit kitchen. There they were, sitting around our round oak table that set in the center of the room. Their eyes scrutinized me like they were holding court and the lowly peasant, whom they’d summoned, had finally arrived to do their bidding.
As I’d figured, Charlotte was sipping on a glass of white wine in her usual lush-like fashion. I noticed her dark roots had been touched up, so she must have spent the day at Ginny’s Salon. If Charlotte wasn’t sleeping, drinking, or fussing, she was usually pampering herself. What would you expect from someone who spent twenty years competing in local and state beauty pageants — only to be chosen as First-Runner up all of their life? From what Daddy had told me, the coveted “crown” always went to Beverly Rhodes, her childhood best-frienemy. Honestly, if they were only judged on looks, I really didn’t see why she never won a single title (though I totally got why the honor of being Miss Congeniality had eluded her). Even in her mid-40’s, Charlotte was still quite a stunner, though a little time worn — naturally. She was a super thin, bleach-blonde, blue-eyed mother of two teenage daughters who wasn’t about to let her youth slip away without a fight.