Page 9 of Absolute Valor

I drove across town, knowing the safest place for me was inside the shop and more specifically, the hidden closet. After Lucas had stirred up trouble, Chase had installed a homegrown system of trip wires and several panic buttons around the shop. I could hide myself in the closet I’d found at night, secured by the alarm Dylan had as well as the trip wires, which ran the perimeter of the shop. Guess it payed to have to have someone in the family who knew how to create silent alarms and big explosions.

Living with Lucas, I’d learned to listen, take in every word and know who you could cross and who to avoid. Working for the Morgans, I learned how to take information and investigate what you knew, learn more and use it to your advantage. Chase was more than your standard issue Marine, just as Austin did more with his computer than create software, and Dylan—well he didn’t wake up one day and decide to build bikes. All three served a better purpose and were using everything they had to make the city better.

Most traffic lights in the city flashed yellow as I crossed town, all except for the largest intersection I had to pass in order to get downtown. Pressing my foot on the break, my hand slips from the wheel, resting on top of my thigh and the fabric of the shirt Chase had taken from his back to stop my nose from bleeding. Glancing around the deserted streets of Charleston, I slowly lifted the shirt to my face, breathing in deep the masculine scent of Chase, mixed with whatever he used to wash his clothes. I’d taken to sleeping with this shirt across my pillow, erasing the stench of cigarettes and body odor the trailer had adopted. It was as close to sleeping beside the man as I would ever get.

I parked in the same spot Dylan had first shown me where the car was when he hired me. I hated taking this car, afraid Lucas would decide he needed to use it for something, and then I would be forced to talk about what waited for me at home—or at least what used to.

Everything I owned fit into a box small enough to set on the front seat of the car. Three dresses, two skirts and a handful of button down tops, all of them as threadbare as my favorite sweater, which was three sizes too big. But I didn’t care. It had been my mother’s; a gift from one of the church ladies who came by to pray with her.

Growing up with nothing, our neighbors made it their jobs to save us from the sins they figured caused us to become so poor. Preaching to my momma if she would just hand everything over to prayer, then they would vanish like the fog in the morning.

During the Christmas season they rallied around, putting our names in the mouths of every charity in the city. Food baskets, generic gifts and promises to keep us in their prayers came every year. Yet no matter how much time Momma spent at her bedside with her hands clasped and her eyes closed tight, her prayers were never answered. Just like the sweater, we remained unchanged—poor, with no hope of the better tomorrow everyone swore would come.

When I had to go live with Granny Netti, she was of a firmer belief, one where you prayed as thanks for what you had. She lived in the promise that sometimes you’ve got to get off your knees and get busy with the hands God gave you. “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day, teach him to fish and you’ve fed him for the remainder of his days.”

All those years, she’d showed me how much I didn’t matter to her, but in the end she showed me how to take care of myself. She bitterly spoke of me being like a mosquito on the butt of society, leaving behind nothing more than a pain in the ass.

When I secured my first full time job, Granny’s words rang true in my ear, reminding me to be productive and not bothersome.

Saint Patrick’s Catholic Church, one of the charity’s who stepped in to help, paid our electric bill so we could have heat during the coldest months of the year. With every paycheck I received, I took twenty dollars, placed it in the return envelope for the electric company, so when Christmas time came around, I could take the envelope, climb the steep steps and shimmy the envelope under the massive wooden doors.

Now, I would do something for the Morgan family before I left, letting them know about some of the people they trusted. As I laid on the cool floor of the closet, not minding the hard surface of the wood beneath me, I sent up silent prayer of thanks for sending the family my way, especially Chase. I only hoped he wouldn’t hate me too much, when I told him the truth.

---