Page 36 of Even After Sunset

I have a feeling that scoring a supply these next few weeks is going to be even more of a challenge.

I wade out of the stream, running my hands through my hair to squeeze out most of the water. And once I’m dressed, Jackie follows quietly. I know the drill,so I turn my back and wait this time until she’s fully dressed… no matter how tempted I am to take one last peak at those taunting neon letters.

You go girl, indeed.

It’s eight-thirty by the time we pull into the festival grounds and it takes us half an hour to get set up. Turns out Trudy is a needy gal: she has raw sewage and used water that needs to be emptied, electrical and water to hook up and a few other things that need to be done before we can settle down inside her big ol’ belly for the night. I’m not complaining: she’s pretty pimped out for such an old broad. Jackie even installed a window AC unit, which is sweet. It’s an oven in there without that thing on. It’s loud, and unreliable—sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, right?

Once we’re settled, Jackie tells me she’s going to walk around a bit while I call Richard. Clearly, this is her way of giving me some privacy - which would be nice, except I’ve been asking her to back off for the past two days andthisis when she finally relents? For a bloody check-in call with her adoptive father, who is basically stepping in as my glorified social worker slash shrink?

The call is as awkward as I expected. It’s not that Richard isn’t a nice guy—he is. He’s just a certaintypeof nice guy. Namely, the type who wants to get you to open up and talk and help you figure out your shit. But I don’t want anyone else wading through my shit, and it’s hard enough trying to get that through to Jackie, without having her fairy foster-father waving his magic wand at me, too.

I manage to keep the call short and sweet again, at least. Richard feels bad for yacking about me with Jackie yesterday on speaker-phone while I was there listening the whole time. Which he should. And I fully intend to milk his guilt for as long as I can. So for now anyway, he’s just trying to feel me out, waiting to find what angle will work to get me to let down my guard so he can “reach me.” That’s the catch-phrase I’ve overheard at least a dozen times from counselors and social workers over the years: “I just wish there was away I couldreachhim.”

Once I’ve hung up with Richard, I take the opportunity to quickly scavenge for any liquor Jackie might have stashed in here. It’s a long-shot, but I’m a desperate man. I only get as far as checking the fridge and cupboards before she gets back, and there’s nothing. I’m panicking a little because I need at leastsomethingto take the edge off tonight. It’s a small space and I’m sleeping literally twelve feet from Jackie’s bed. I do not want her to wake up to me talking in my sleep or screaming like a two-year-old on Halloween. Or worse: when I’m in that horrible in-between state where I’m half-delusional and likely to do or say any number of embarrassing crap that is hard enough to deal with on my own, let alone in front of an audience.

I’m so desperate at this point that when Jackie opens the mini freezer to take out one of the pre-cooked meals to heat up, I use the opportunity to peer over her shoulder in the hopes of spotting a bottle of vodka or something that she might have stashed away in there. I’d even take a couple of those tiny one-shot bottles, if that’s all she’s got. But it’s a no-go, for any kind of liquor in any kind of size. And same for the cupboards I didn’t get to earlier: zilch. No-thing.

Either I need to score something in the next few hours or I’m going to have to keep myself awake until tomorrow, when I’ll make finding a bottle my top priority.

I should have left the chocolate bars and nabbed booze instead. Hell, I probably should have just kept right on walking along that country road this morning. Hitchhiked straight to the nearest liquor store and drank myself into a two-month slumber.

It might just have been the smartest decision I’ve made since I got kicked out.

Chapter Eleven

Jackie

Iwake up the next morning feeling positive.

I’ve got the entire day ahead of me to bake enough cookies not only for the festival tonight but for tomorrow, too. I’ve got the first run under my belt, ironed out the kinks, and now I’m ready to kick butt.

Also, there’s the fact that yesterday didn’t end up totally sucking. Silas wasn’t sullen and angry theentireday: the afternoon was good. And yesterday evening at the falls was actually amazing. There were glimpses of the old Silas. He actually smiled. He even kind of laughed.

When I sit up, I spot him leaning against the counter. He’s sipping a mug of coffee, still wearing the same clothes he had on last night. He looks shot.

“Hey,” he says when he sees I’m awake. His voice is deep and groggy. He unhooks a mug from one of the hooks above the sink. “You want coffee?”

His actions are kind; but I’m getting broody vibes again.

“Sure. Thanks.” I glance over at the couch, but his sleeping stuff is all stashed away, and my laptop is sitting on the seat cushion exactly where I left it last night. Like it was never even moved.

I look back at Silas. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Sure.” He takes a sip of coffee. “You?”

“Um, yeah.” I get up and study him more closely from the galley between my bed and the kitchen. There are serious dark circles under his eyes.

“Are you sure you slept okay? It looks like you pulled an all-nighter.”

He waits a beat, then passes me my coffee. Then he dumps the rest of his into the sink, practically slamming the mug back on the counter. “Great.” He sneers. “We’re back to this again. Questioningeverything I say.”

I’m so stunned by his reaction—at the bitterness in his tone, that I actually freeze with my mug halfway to my lips.

“I’m heading out for some fresh air,” he mumbles, brushing past me. “I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

And then he’s gone, slamming the door behind him and leaving me with my mug still gripped mid-air.

Okay… what the heck just happened?

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