He knew he shouldn't be out as late as he was. But that was part of the thrill too. Twenty-one-year old men should not have curfews. The only thing he felt guilty about was that when he got home he would have to wake his mom or dad to help him to bed, which took some of the fun out of his late night excursions. Plus, he wanted to head to the store and see Fern and Ambrose. Those two needed a chaperone. It had started to steam whenever they were together, and Bailey was pretty sure it wouldn't be long before he was the third wheel on wheels. He laughed to himself. He loved puns. And he loved that Fern and Ambrose had found each other. He wouldn't be around forever. Now that Fern had Ambrose, he wouldn't worry about her so much.
He wasn't living dangerously tonight. He'd tried to sneak out without the headlamp, but his mom came running out behind him. Maybe he would just conveniently leave it at the store when he left. He hated the damn thing. He smirked, feeling like a rebel. He stayed on the sidewalk and streetlights guided his way; he really didn’t think he needed a spotlight shining from his forehead. Bob's Speedy Mart was on his way and Bailey decided to stop in, just because he could. He waited patiently until Bob himself came out from behind the register and opened the door for him.
“Hey, Bailey.” Bob blinked and tried not to look directly at the light blazing from Bailey's headlamp.
“You can turn that off, Bob. Just click the button on the top,” Bailey instructed. Bob tried, but when he clicked the button the light still blazed, as if there was something that had come loose on the inside. He pulled the elastic band around so the light shone from the back of Bailey's head and he could look at him without going blind.
“That'll have to do, Bailey. What can I help you with?” Bob made himself available as he always did, knowing Bailey's limitations.
“I need a twelve pack and some chew,” Bailey said seriously. Bob's mouth dropped open slightly, and he shifted his weight uncertainly.
“Um. Okay. Do you have your ID on ya?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. Well . . . what kind would you like?”
“Starbursts come in packs of twelve don't they? And I prefer to chew Wrigley's. Mint, please.”
Bob chortled, his big belly shaking above his giant belt buckle. He shook his head. “You had me going for a minute, Sheen. I had this picture of you heading down the road with your lip full of tobacco and a case of Bud on your lap.”
Bob followed Bailey down the aisles, picking up his purchases. Bailey stopped in front of the condoms.
“I'll need some of those too, Bob. The biggest box you have.”
Bob raised one eyebrow, but this time he wasn't falling for it. Bailey snickered and rolled on.
Ten minutes later, Bailey was back on the road, his purchases tucked by his side, Bob laughing as he waved him off, having been thoroughly entertained. He realized belatedly that he hadn't righted Bailey's headlamp.
Bailey chose to head down Center and hit Main instead of cutting down 2nd East. It was a longer route to the store but the night was balmy and the air felt good on his face. And he had time. He would give the lovebirds an extra ten or fifteen minutes together before the fun arrived. The silence was welcome, the solitude more welcome. He wished he'd thought to have his dad stick his ear buds in his ears so he could blast some Simon and Garfunkel. But he had been unsuccessfully trying to escape without the headlamp.
The businesses along Main were empty and dark, the black windows reflecting his image back at him as he motored past the hardware store, the karate dojo, and the real-estate office. Mi Cocina, Luisa O'Toole's Mexican Restaurant, was closed too, the twinkle lights and strung habanera peppers swaying in the light wind, clacking against the mustard yellow siding. But the building next to Luisa's wasn't closed. Like Bob's Speedy Mart, Jerry's Joint–the local bar–was never closed. A neon orange light advertised that status, and a few old trucks were pulled right up to the door.
Bailey could hear faint music leaking out from the establishment. He listened, trying to place the song and heard something else. Crying. A baby? Bailey looked around, puzzled. There wasn't a single soul in sight.
He moved forward, crossing the paved entrance to the bar, passing the first few vehicles parked in the long row. Crying again. Parked slightly behind the bar in the gravel that wrapped around the establishment was Becker Garth's black 4X4 complete with jacked up wheels and a skull and crossbones in his back window. How original. Bailey rolled his eyes. What a douche.
Crying again. Definitely a baby. Bailey veered off the sidewalk and bumped over the gravel toward the 4X4. He could hear his heart beating in his temples, and he felt nauseated. The crying was coming from Becker's truck.
The passenger door was slightly ajar, and as Bailey got closer he could see blonde hair streaming over the edge of the seat.
“Oh no. Oh no. Rita!” Bailey moaned as he maneuvered his chair alongside the opened door. He was afraid he would bump it closed. If he did that, he wouldn't be able to open it again. He lined his chair up so his hand, lying against his armrest was only inches from the edge of the door. He raised his hand as high as he could and wedged it into the opening. He pushed as hard as he could and the door wobbled and then swung slowly open. Bailey's hand fell back to his armrest and his heart fell to his feet. Rita lay unconscious on the seat of the truck, her blonde head hanging off the seat, her hand resting against the door. She'd clearly opened the door but hadn't made it any further. Two-year-old Tyler Garth stood in the foot well, one hand in his mouth, one hand on his mother's face.
“Rita!” Bailey cried. “Rita!” She didn't stir.
Ty whimpered and Bailey felt like whimpering too. Instead, he lowered his voice and tried again, talking to Rita, urging her to respond. There was no blood that he could see, but Bailey had no doubt that Becker Garth had done something to his wife. He couldn't help Rita, but he could take care of Ty. That's what Rita would want him to do.
“Ty Guy. Hey, buddy,” Bailey coaxed, trying not to let his terror show. “It's me, Bailey. You want a ride in my chair? You like riding in Bailey's chair, huh?”
“Mama,” the child whimpered around his fingers.
“We'll go fast. Let's show Mommy how we go fast.” Bailey couldn't lift Ty onto his lap. So he beckoned to him with curled fingers. “Hold my hand and climb into Bailey's chair. You remember how, right?”