Dolly watched as the old truck rumbled after the glossy blue Lincoln. She remained crouched in a shallow ravine, her blonde head peeking up over the edge, until the headlights disappeared into the dark. It was Clark Bailey. He had saved her without even knowing it. She had heard his voice carry over the distance she had run. Recognition had brought sudden relief, along with an onslaught of hot ears streaming from her eyes -- one of them black and swollen-- and down to her bleeding mouth. Her jaw felt funny, too. It caught a little when she opened her mouth. That was an old injury, rearing its head. She had been hit in the face before, though her momma usually hit with an open palm and was careful not to bruise her daughter’s pretty face. Her mother had made sure Dolly knew how important that face was to her survival.
She could have run to Clark, crying for help, pointing the finger at the demonic Roger Carlton. She could have. She should have. But she didn’t. She had stayed huddled and fearful, not wanting him to see her with her face swollen and her hair a mess. She liked Clark Bailey. She had always liked him; he was the kind of man she never pursued because he deserved so much more. She didn’t want him to see her this way; what if he thought she wasn’t pretty anymore? And what if he thought she had been the one to pursue Roger Carlton? What if he didn’t believe her? No, she had done the right thing. She was okay. She had been in worse situations than this. Town was only about five or six miles away, definitely no more than seven. She had on her flat shoes, so she could walk home just fine. Straightening her hair and using her apron to dry her eyes and tidy her makeup, she set out for town, her face throbbing with every step.
She watched fearfully for car lights, worried that Roger would return as soon as he was no longer under Chief Bailey’s watchful eye. But no one came. A little more than two-and-a-half hours later, she reached Julian Street. It had to be close to two a.m. Johnny’s car was parked in the pockmarked drive of her two bedroom home, and the lights were all off. Dolly sighed gratefully. She was good with makeup. If she could just get through the night and steer clear of her boys until tomorrow, with a little foundation and paint she could make this whole dreadful episode go away. She just needed to make it into her room.
She had made it down the hallway and into her room before remembering that she had told Val she would cover the breakfast shift in the morning, only four hours from now. And then Johnny burst through her bedroom door.
***
Chief Bailey was angrier than he had been in a long time. He’d dropped in for a coffee and a big man’s breakfast at The Malt that morning and discovered someone had marked up Dolly Kinross’s pretty face. Oh, she’d done a good job of applying the goop and arranging her hair just so, but Chief Bailey knew a black eye and a split lip when he saw it, and she definitely had both. And she was dead on her feet, and her smile looked like it hurt to show teeth.
He normally didn’t stop in for breakfast, but Dorothy had told him that Dolly would be covering her morning shift today. He had decided he was going to take the kid’s advice and just go for it. He was gonna ask Dolly Kinross on a real date. What was the worst thing that could happen? But when he saw her face he decided romance would have to wait; she was in no condition to be hit on. He pretended he didn’t notice her injuries, because he knew that was what she wanted. But he’d finished his breakfast without tasting it and burnt his tongue when he’d gulped his coffee before it was sufficiently cool. When he paid for his meal, he pulled Val aside and asked the manager if he knew the story. Val shrugged and sighed.
“She’s been havin’ trouble lately here at work. She’s been jumpy and jittery. She even spilled a glass of lemonade over the head of a kid last night. I know she and her oldest son had words a week ago. She told me he thinks that he’s the parent. The kid has a temper, I know that much. I’ve heard he knows how to fight and won’t take anything from anyone. Maybe it was him that roughed her up. Like father like son, you know?”
Chief Bailey didn’t know, and he really didn’t want to know, either. Johnny Kinross hadn’t struck him as the kind of guy to hit his mother. He liked the kid. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have a word with him. If there were some domestic problems at the Kinross house, it would help everyone involved, including the police, if he could head them off right now.
***
Johnny lifted the hood of the jalopy and tried to hold back the anger that wanted to spill over like the oil that was leaking from the jalopy onto the shop floor. He had come to work that morning just as angry as he’d been when he went to bed. Momma had been up and out the door at the crack of dawn, supposedly to work at the diner, though Johnny had stopped in to make sure she was there before heading to the shop. She had covered up the damage pretty well. But she hadn’t made eye contact with him, even when she handed him two pieces of buttered toast with an egg and a few slices of bacon sandwiched between them.
“You’re gonna be late for work if you don’t hustle,” was all she said. He’d left the diner with no appetite, but he was sure hungry for a fight.
Then not ten minutes after getting to work, Mayor Carlton and that little creep Roger had shown up at Gene’s. Apparently, young Roger had swerved to miss a deer and wrapped the tail end of his daddy’s Lincoln around a fence post. Mayor Carlton was not a happy man. Roger seemed unconcerned by the damage he had caused but had the sense not to say much. He smirked over at Johnny a few times, leering a little at his soiled coveralls. Johnny wished the dipstick in his hand was a sword that he could use to wipe the self-satisfied smile off of Rogers face. He wondered how Mayor Carlton would react to having his son’s face marked up. He sure as hell didn’t like the mayor marking up his mother. Let him see how he liked it.
Johnny finished checking the oil and moved to the back of the jalopy, opening the trunk to remove the spare that the owner had said needed replacing. When Johnny pulled the tire free he uncovered something else. The nose of a gun peeked out from beneath an old blanket that had been partially caught beneath the spare. Johnny glanced around almost guiltily. It was as if his wish for a weapon had materialized into an actual gun. He leaned into the trunk and slid the revolver out, running his hand along the smooth barrel, wondering if it was loaded. It was small and light—weight. It would fit inside Momma’s purse just fine. He could teach her to use it. Then nobody would ever hit her again.