“No, you guys don’t have to come down for this.”
“You bet your ass we’re coming down, and we will all work through this together.”
I sighed—partially from resignation, partially from pure relief. “Thank you so much you guys.” I felt pathetic after I hung up, but there was no use fighting the combined forces of Cyndi and Sharon.
Five seconds later, Cara walked by my room on her way to the kitchen and yelled, “Keep reading!”
I looked at the book on my bed, grabbed it, and headed for the living room. I didn’t want to be alone for what I knew was coming next.
From All the Roads Between
We pulled into Carter’s egg ranch just after two a.m. Cal Junior was sitting on a wooden bench propped against one of the chicken barns, waiting for us.
“Don’t talk to him, okay?” Jackson said as he parked the truck.
“Why?”
“Just don’t. He’s a fucking bully.”
Cal Junior walked over to the passenger door and opened it. He brushed his greasy hair from his eyes and smiled a crooked-toothed grin. “Scoot to the middle, princess. We’ll let Jax here drive so we can get reacquainted with each other.”
Jax held up his hand to stop Cal from getting in. “No, you’re not gonna touch her.”
“Calm down. I ain’t gonna bite.” He scooted in next to me, stinking like cigarettes and manure.
“Like I’d let him?” I said.
“I told you, don’t talk,” Jax barked.
I swallowed and then nervously moved over as close to Jackson as I could get. He put his right arm over my legs for the rest of the trip. It was only two miles to our road, but it felt like forever. Occasionally, Cal Junior burst into laughter at nothing at all, like a lunatic.
We drove down to the end of El Monte Road. I looked over and saw caution tape and yellow signs nailed to the outside of my father’s dark, desolate house.
Cal Junior got out and walked around to the driver’s side. As Jackson stepped out of the truck, Cal slapped him hard on the back. “See you tomorrow, kid! You owe me.”
Jackson took my hand and pulled me through his house to the back door, through the weeds, to the fort. Our fort. When he lit the camping lamp, I noticed that he had added blankets and pillows to the cot and laid out some bottled water and snacks on the bedside table, as well as a stack of books I hadn’t read before.
“Leila’s shift is over in two hours. You can leave your bag here and take a shower in the house.” We were standing near the wooden door. I realized Jax looked like a giant inside of our fort.
“Will you sit with me for a sec?” I asked.
He hesitated and then sat on the cot. I sat next to him and rubbed my hand down his thigh.
“Have you been working extra hours at the egg ranch? Is that why Junior lets you drive his truck?”
He swallowed and then nodded.
“Jackson?”
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.
“Look at me, Jackson.”
When he turned his neck to look up at me, I could see tears in his eyes. I put my hand on his back and rubbed up and down. “What have you been doing for Cal Junior? When he said you owed him, what did he mean?” My voice was getting higher, almost frantic, and my heart was beating out of my chest with a sense of dread.
His face was back in his hands. He made a sound that fell somewhere between a sob and groan. “Em . . . I . . .”
I pulled him toward me and took him in my arms. “Tell me. I won’t judge you.”
He shook his head no.
“Tell me.”
He pushed me away, sat up, and wiped his hands down his face, as if to erase the sadness and anger. He was impassive now, sitting perfectly upright and staring at the door when he finally spoke. “I sell weed for him at school.” His voice was phlegmatic. “He wants me to sell other stuff, like meth . . . to kids.” He looked in my eyes, expecting disappointment in my own, like I would think less of him . . . but I could never.
“You won’t do it anymore, Jackson. You don’t have to.” I knew the drug thing tore him apart because of its impact on his mother and the still-painful rumors about his brother’s death. Jackson hated drugs. I wanted to say that I was sorry. It was all my fault that Jackson felt like he had to do something as unconscionable as selling drugs to kids. I rubbed his back and tried desperately to soothe him.