Tough guy, p.1
Tough Guy, page 1
Tough Guy
K.C. Everly
Copyright © 2022 by KC Everly
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Cover copy provided by BlurbWriter.com
Contents
1. Before You Read
2. One
3. Two
4. Three
5. Four
6. Five
7. Six
8. Seven
9. Eight
10. Nine
11. Ten
12. Eleven
13. Twelve
14. Thirteen
15. Fourteen
16. Fifteen
17. Sixteen
18. Seventeen
19. Eighteen
20. Nineteen
21. Twenty
22. Twenty-One
23. Twenty-Two
24. Epilogue
Author's Note
Also By K.C. Everly
Let's Stay Connected
Before You Read
Tough Guy contains discussion of off the page domestic violence and interpersonal violence.
Please proceed as comfortable, and always practice good self-care before, during, and after reading.
National Domestic Violence Hotline:
1.800.799.SAFE (7233)
TTY: 1.800.787.3224
Text: "START" to 88788
National Suicide Prevention Line:
Call: 988
(Previously 1.800.273.8255 will continue to function indefinitely as well)
Xx
K.C.
One
Lou
“Hey, baby girl,” I whispered, tucking thin blonde wisps behind her tiny ear. “Wake up, love. We gotta go.”
Bean rolled over, her plump cheeks a sweet pink from sleep. I hated waking her up at night like this. Bean tucked her stuffed bunny under her arm and pulled her thumb from her mouth. “We’re leaving?” she asked, her voice so small.
My heart picked up speed. These were the worst moments for us. The ones when her little face registered it was time to leave again.
I nodded and attempted a smile. “We are. Another adventure.” I pulled the covers back and goosebumps immediately ran over her bare legs. She clutched her bunny tighter.
“Can we bring anything?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
Reaching for her baby blanket, the crocheted pink and white one that I’d picked out when she was a newborn, I wrapped her up, scooping her in my arms. “I packed most of what we need already, baby.” I kissed her cheek, like fire on my lips with its warmth. Her hair was wet at the base of her neck. Kids ran hot in their sleep, like heaters. We didn’t share a bed in this house. I’d forgotten how uncomfortable it could be.
“What do you want to take?” I asked, trying to sound cheerful. “We have our adventure packs loaded up. What else should we add?”
We weren’t in a rush this time, but we needed to leave before daylight. It was the best time to go. The least conspicuous. By daybreak we could be four hours away, in whatever direction we chose. Last time we went south. This time we’d go east. There wasn’t a pattern for choosing direction. That would be too obvious and would give us away. Not that he wouldn’t find us eventually. I shook the thought.
“Can I bring my science kit?” Bean asked, her voice hopeful.
I nodded and set her down, tucking her blanket around her shoulders. “Of course. We can bring that.”
I riffled through her closet, which was mostly empty anyway. We didn’t keep many things on hand, but I’d given her a science kit for her birthday back in January. It was a small gray case with tools and a microscope, some slides with various materials on them, and a notebook for recording her observations, even though she could only draw them. It was the only thing I’d gotten her, and her joy with it relieved me. I was always afraid I was letting her down somehow, and a sad birthday felt immeasurably unfair for a five-year-old.
Bean was no ordinary five-year-old, though. She was adaptable, a forced function in our lives, and god if I didn’t feel guilty about it.
I loaded the last of our things into the car. A box of photos, some of our clothes, Bean’s favorite stuffed animals, and a few household necessities in case we had to car camp. It was all that we needed. I added her science kit to the small pile in our Subaru and shut the trunk, looking back at the tiny house in front of us. It wasn’t much, but for six months it had been home.
I never thought he’d look for us in Texas, but it was probably my fault. I loved city living and music, and I’d always wanted to go to Austin. At some point, I probably mentioned that. Michael had a near photographic memory for things. At least things related to me. I shook that thought, too.
“Goodbye, house,” Bean mumbled under her breath, snuggling into her booster seat. “You were a nice one.” It was what she always said when we’d leave somewhere. I bit back tears and smiled at her from the rear-view mirror.
“It was a nice house,” I said softly. Bean nodded, tucked her thumb in her mouth, and drifted off to sleep.
I stopped to fill the tank before heading east. We’d drive until near empty, then stop for gas. I’d figure out where to go after that. My cell phone was on the counter in the house, with an envelope and cash for last month’s rent, as well as a thirty-day notice to the landlord that we’d be vacating. I’d been sure to email letting the landlord know to look for it. He could do what he wanted with the cell phone. It was probably how Michael found me. I always left the phones behind.
And the hope that seemed possible with each new start. I left that behind, too.
With Bean’s soft snores coming from the backseat, I knew she was in a deep enough sleep that I could turn the radio on. I did, keeping the volume low, and finding the dial for NPR. A soothing voice came on, talking about a book review from an author about body positivity, and I focused on the interview instead of my worry that tonight would not be the last night Bean and I made an escape.
“T-o-w-n-s-v-i-l-l-e,” Bean read the letters.
I looked back at her little face, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. “Very good, Bean,” I said with a smile. “You’ve been working so hard to learn your letters.”
She nodded with approval of my validation. “I’ll be ready for kindergarten!” she squealed.
I swallowed and smiled. “You will, baby." It tugged at my heart, knowing she’d be starting kindergarten in another month, wherever we landed. Not because she was getting older, though that really tugged painfully, but because I didn’t know how long she’d get to stay in whatever school she started. It was hard enough having so many transitions in her life for the last few years, but once she started school, it was going to be so much more complicated.
“What do those letters spell?” she asked, kicking her feet excitedly.
“Townsville,” I said, signaling to get off the freeway. “We’ll stop for gas and some breakfast, okay?” We’d been driving for a little over four hours and the light from the gas tank had just come on. I pulled off the freeway and drove a few miles down the road, looking for a service station.
It was always a risk when we left. Having no phone, no navigation. I told Bean it was part of the adventure, but it never felt exciting to me, only scary. Still, I couldn’t share that with Bean.
One time we’d run out of gas, stranded on the side of the road. A tow truck had passed by, stopping to assist. It thrilled Bean when the driver offered to take us around so she could ride in the oversized cab, hovering above the cars we were passing. If I made it exciting, she would never question how fucked up our lives actually were.
She still talked about that tow truck ride. I tried to pay the driver when he dropped us back off at our car, but he’d refused my money. Good people in this world gave me hope. No matter how many times it was stripped away. Good people always appeared somewhere, somehow, and gave it back to me.
Finding a small service station just a few miles up the road, I filled up, walking into the storefront to pay. Cash, always cash. Paychecks cashed immediately, no bank accounts. I had one credit card, an emergency card, that I’d never used. I wasn’t sure if it would work if I ever needed it, given the billing address was Michael’s house, but he hadn’t canceled it yet. Probably hoping I’ll slip up and use it. I wasn’t dumb, though.
“Good morning, miss,” the man at the counter said, dropping his John Deere hat respectfully. “Pump two?” he asked. There were only two pumps at the station and no other cars pulled up, but I smiled and confirmed, anyway. I liked the twang in his voice and the gentlemanliness of his hat tip.
“Yes, thank you,” I said, shoving three twenty-dollar bills at him. “Actually, this, too,” I said, reaching for a pack of gummy bears. They were Bean’s favorite. I tossed down another five-dollar bill.
“Are you from around here?” the man asked, eyeing me with a friendly look.
I shook my head. “No, I’m not.”
“Just passing through?”
“Yes,” I said with a forced smile. “Just passing through. My daughter and I are looking to stop for breakfast, though. Is there a diner or somewhere here that would be good for that? I don’t have a phone or navigation system. Can you point me in the right direction?”
The man smiled, his worn face splitting excitedly. “Oh, miss, yes. You have to go to Geraldine’s, just about a mile and a half into town. Only ‘bout five or six buildings down there. Geraldine’s is
“Thank you, sir,” I said, smiling for real this time. He was one of the good people. I could tell. “What’s good there? What do you recommend?”
He pulled on the bill of his hat, squinting as he thought and leaving a cascading line of wrinkles by his eyes. “French toast,” he said after a moment. “Geraldine makes the best French toast around. Does something with the batter that makes a mouth go wild.”
I clasped my hands to my chest and laughed. “I love a good French toast. Thank you. You’ve made my morning.”
He blushed and shuffled in place. “Well, miss. It’s not every day I see a beautiful young woman come askin’ about breakfast.” He cupped his hand by his mouth and gestured behind him. “Been married for over fifty years and my wife is the prettiest girl in town, but even she don’t care to ask anymore.” He looked nervously behind him, and I realized that the back door to the service station must lead into his home.
What a charming place.
“Have you tried asking her?” I eyed him, my hands on my hips.
He shoved my five-dollar bill back at me and nodded to the gummy bears. “I haven’t, but you make me think I should. Perhaps I will today.” He winked at me. “Take these, miss. For that little one in the car. Enjoy Townsville, however long you’re passing through.”
“Oh, I can’t,” I insisted, pushing the bill back to him.
He waved it away. “You can.”
I nodded, giving him a sincere smile. “Can I ask your name?”
His brown eyes looked like they were sparkling underneath his cap. “I’m Bud,” he said. “Buddy, if we’re friends.”
“I’m Lou,” I said. “Thank you, Buddy.”
Once in the car, I tossed the bag of gummy bears back to Bean. “I made a new friend, Buddy, and he said these are for you. Can you give him a wave?”
Bean looked out the window at the service station where Buddy stood watching us. She gave an enormous wave, and he grinned, waving back.
“He’s one of the good people,” I said to her. She thought for a moment and nodded.
We’d had many conversations about the good people in our lives. We had to. Bean was so young. All kids need protection, but there were complications for Bean that most kids her age didn’t have and helping her understand the good people in the world would give her a baseline for rooting out the bad. My mother hadn’t prepared me, but I would help Bean to understand.
“Okay,” I said, sighing. “Buddy said down the road is a diner. It’s called Geraldine’s. G-e-r-a-l-d-i-n-e-s. Who is going to find it first?”
“Me!” Bean shouted.
“Okay, baby. Keep your eyes peeled.” She listened, sitting forward in her seat and scanning ahead of us. There wasn’t much. A long road, heavy forest running parallel, until there was a clearing. Buddy was right. There were only about five or six buildings along the main street. A bigger one, a grocery store, was the first. There was a larger building next to it that looked like a complex of sorts. There were a few restaurants in there and what looked like a couple of small shops. I wasn’t going fast, but it was difficult to get a good look while driving. Bean sat in the back, looking around. We came to a stop sign, the only stop sign in town, and I spotted Geraldine’s. It was a bright orange building, impossible to miss, with “Geraldine’s” in dark blue letters down the side. It was absolutely adorable, and completely out of place.
“Found it!” Bean yelled excitedly. “The orange building.” Her finger pointed straight at it.
“Nice find, hawk eye.”
Bean grinned. “I’m hungry, Mama.”
It was easy to park on the street in front of the restaurant. There weren’t many cars out this early, and it was a small town, anyway. I wondered if there was more of a town around. Growing up in Chicago, I was used to noise and chaos and busyness. Small towns always made me nervous. I don’t think I’d ever lived in one.
“I heard a rumor that this place has the best French toast,” I said, taking Bean's hand and opening the door, following her inside.
To my surprise, the diner was mostly full. I looked back out to the street, wondering how they got here. Then I spotted it. A “parking in the rear” sign on the sidewalk.
“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” I said to Bean.
Bean crossed her arms defiantly. “French toast!”
I held my hands up to quiet her. “Okay, okay.”
Two women were working the dining room, moving from table to table hurriedly, taking orders and bringing out food. I spied one chef in the kitchen through a small window behind the bar. He shoved plates through it with lightning speed. A third woman came over to greet us, her face friendly, but slightly impatient.
“Y’all looking to eat this morning?” Her blonde hair was in a high ponytail on the top of her head, and she wore a sparkling pink lip gloss. She was cute, with high cheekbones and a very straight nose. The tight black “Geraldine’s” shirt she wore was tied in a knot on her hip. She couldn’t have been much older than me, if at all. Her name tag said “Daphne.”
“Yes, just the two of us this morning. If you have room,” I added quickly.
Her impatient smile melted into a more sincere one. “Y’all from out of town?” I nodded, and she looked around. “Visiting family or friends or something?”
I shook my head. “No, just passing through.”
“No one just passes through Townsville,” she said with a sigh. Her eyes lit up. “Gotcha. There’s a table back there." She pointed toward the bathrooms. “I can seat you there if you’re okay with it, otherwise it’s going to be about another twenty to thirty minutes.”
“It’s perfect,” I said graciously, watching Bean clutch her stomach and pout.
“Y’all go on and have a seat and I’ll be over in a quick sec with menus and water. I’m Daphne. I’ll be your server this morning. We’re swamped and short staffed, but I make most of my money from tips, so please be kind.” She winked at me and pointed at the table again.
Bean and I sat ourselves. Daphne came back a few minutes later with menus and water, setting a sheet of coloring paper and a few crayons by Bean and giving her a wink. “You’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you?” she asked her.
Bean beamed proudly. “My mama says I’m the sweetest.”
“Honey, you may as well be molasses,” Daphne confirmed, then looked at me. “How old is she?”
“Five years old,” I replied, setting my menu down.
Daphne nodded and smiled. “I have a son about that age. Johnny. Just turned six.” She picked up the menus and tucked them under her arm as she held a pen and notepad. “What are you ladies having?”
“French toast,” Bean said, gripping her crayon so hard it snapped. She pouted for a moment, then held a piece in each hand and continued coloring. Adaptable.
“We’ll both have the French toast, please,” I said. “Coffee for me, too, if you have a moment. And orange juice for her.”
Daphne nodded and winked at me again. “Honey, I’ve got a minute for that coffee. You look like you need it. I’ll get it here stat.” She was off, straight to the bar to pour our drinks while hollering at various customers and giving friendly waves.
“She’s nice,” Bean said, focused on her picture.
“She is,” I agreed.
Daphne dropped our drinks off, then hurried to another table. I watched her move through the dining room with speed and efficiency. She really was busy. I’d leave her a super good tip, I decided. It was best to go easy on unnecessary spending until I figured out what I was going to do about finances, but this kind of felt necessary. Daphne felt like one of the good people, too.
Bean and I ate mostly in silence. She was tired from our middle of the night drive, and I felt like I was fading, too. The crash was always the worst. When I first started having to run, the crash would take me days to recover from. Today, I’d likely just need a nap before we continued on.
Buddy hadn’t been wrong, and Bean and I enjoyed the best French toast we’d ever had. By the time we finished, the diner had settled. The tables had been so full when we arrived, but that first wave of breakfast rush ebbed and now it was mostly quiet. Daphne came over and refilled my coffee and replaced Bean’s empty glass with more juice.
