Rattlesnake (31 page)

Jimmy stopped and turned slightly toward him. “It’s easy to stand your ground when you have an army at your back.”

“Bullshit,” Shane growled.

“Look, I’m not saying your burdens are easy ones. I’d never say that. But you have a mother who’d wade into a den of rabid lions to save you. My mama regretted having me and never let me forget it. She never once told me she loved me, not even when she knew she was dying. You have a huge family ready to do anything for you. I had three brothers who liked to remind me I was only their half brother, who beat me up when I was little and turned away when I was older. You have Adam, a good man who loves you fiercely. I had a string of my mother’s boyfriends who ignored me at best, hit me at worst. And then there was Robert, who ra—who was the biggest bastard of them all. You had a ranch to live on, practically heaven on earth, and an inn after that. I had a series of roach-infested shacks and apartments, and then when I was fourteen, I didn’t even have that. Your first job was as a cowboy. Mine was as a whore. And goddammit, you even had Tom, and for a few years there he loved you, he sang you to sleep and sat on the porch with you. He thought about you even when he was deep in the bottle. I don’t even have a father’s name on my birth certificate.”

His heart was no longer a stone; it was a heavy pill that spilled acid, spilled poison. And really, it had always been that—he’d just pretended otherwise.

“I’m sorry, Shane. And that’s not a lie. But I can’t be what you need, what you deserve. You can call me a coward and you’d be dead right. I’m… it’s like some stupid country song… I’m just an empty old wrapper blowing in the breeze, and that’s all I’ll ever be.”

When Shane answered, his voice dropped to hardly above a whisper. “You’re lying to yourself too.”

“I liked it here. If anyplace could have been my home…. Well, no point dwelling on it. Take good care, Shane. Can’t ask you to forgive me, but forgive yourself, and think about forgiving Tom. You know, if there’s any justice in the world, a man like you has got some good things coming to him.”

And before Shane could say anything else, Jimmy walked out the door.

J
IMMY
D
ORSETT
left the Rattlesnake Inn with only his good work boots and the dirty clothes he wore. But his wallet was in his pocket, and it contained several hundred dollars—enough to tide him over for some time. The only item he regretted leaving was his coat, but he had Shane’s Pendleton shirt, and anyway the weather was growing warm.

That was a good thing about owning so little: wanting nothing. When you left things behind, it didn’t hurt.

That burning in his throat? Tile dust. That emptiness inside? Well, he hadn’t eaten all day.

Belinda didn’t say anything when he walked through the lobby. He was sorry about the unfinished bathroom, but she hadn’t yet paid him for the previous week. That ought to help balance things out.

Head bowed, he walked down Main Street. He passed the high school, the two churches, the little strip mall, Hank’s gas and garage. He stood at the edge of the highway with his thumb out and waited for a ride.

He didn’t have to wait long. A pickup truck turned from Main Street onto the highway, slowed, and pulled to the shoulder almost right away. Jimmy groaned when he recognized the driver—a jug-eared man named Brandon who came into the Snake once or twice a week for a couple of beers. He’d gone to high school with Shane. “You need a ride, Jimmy?” he asked after rolling down the window.

“Yeah. Where are you heading?”

“Stockton. My mother-in-law lives there and bought a set of dishes for us—I don’t know why, ’cause we already have plenty of dishes—and for some reason she wants us to have them
now
, only she hates driving and my wife’s gotta work, so—”

“Stockton is great.” Jimmy hopped into the passenger seat.

As it turned out, Brandon was a talker. Fortunately he wasn’t much of a listener and seemed satisfied when Jimmy responded with occasional grunts or uh-huhs. And Jimmy paid little attention to Brandon’s long, involved stories about his mother-in-law, his wife, his boss at the lumberyard, his house that needed new gutters, his neighbor with the dog that barked all night, and so on. Jimmy was trying to keep his mind blank and empty. Hoping for nothing, wanting nothing, feeling nothing. Once, in a bus station in Nevada, he’d found an abandoned book on nirvana—the Buddhist kind, not the band—and he’d always imagined that he was attempting a state akin to that. A release of desires that would lead to freedom from suffering. Of course, he never truly reached nirvana, but he continued with his poor substitute. It passed the time.

“Jimmy?”

Jimmy came to awareness with a start. “Huh?”

“I asked where you wanted me to drop you off.”

“Uh, sorry.” They were on a freeway. He could see a water tower, a tall-spired church, and a small collection of multistoried buildings. “Downtown would be great.”

“Why the hell do you want to go to downtown Stockton?”

“I, uh, have an appointment.” What was one more lie in his long history of them?

Brandon looked dubious, but he took the next exit. “Where downtown?”

“Uh, in front of that building.” Jimmy pointed.

When Brandon pulled to the curb, Jimmy jumped out of the truck. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Want a ride home? I should be back this way in about an hour.”

Jimmy’s throat tightened. “No, thanks,” he rasped. He shut the door. Still not appearing pleased with the situation, Brandon gave him a little wave before pulling away.

Downtown Stockton was not promising. A lot of the businesses were boarded up, and the remaining ones looked as though they’d just about given up as well. A few people passed him, but they looked neither happy nor friendly. He found a dingy café, and although he wasn’t hungry, he went inside. Starving himself would only make him sick. He ordered soup and a sandwich, then sat at the window to eat. The proprietor stared at him the entire time, as if she expected him to steal handfuls of mustard packets. He thought fondly of Mae’s and the omelet he missed eating today and the strawberries Shane had promised him.

He wandered after his meal, but there was nothing much to see, apart from a lot of ghosts like him. When he passed a liquor store, he very nearly went in. Not because he truly craved booze but because he knew he had enough money to drink himself to death—a fate that seemed simpler than any of his other choices. God, he was tired. Only forty-three years old, but he felt eighty.

He’d never questioned the point of his life because he knew there was no point. He worked, he rested, he survived, he moved on. Oh, he’d happened on small moments of grace every now and then. A warm bed somewhere safe. A good book. A stunning sunrise or unexpected vista. That was enough, he’d told himself.

Now he knew that was a lie.

He was still rambling aimlessly when he came to the Nomad Inn, a two-story L-shaped structure with scabrous white paint. Young men in the parking lot eyed him with hostility from perches atop their cars, but he ignored them and entered the little lobby, where a greasy-haired clerk stood behind a glass partition. “How much for a room?” Jimmy asked.

“Fifty.”

Jimmy put two twenties and a ten into the money slot and, when the clerk opened the glass slightly, signed his name in the old-fashioned ledger book. The clerk gave him a key on a white plastic fob.

His room was upstairs. It wasn’t the worst place he’d ever stayed, but it was probably in the top ten. It made the Comet look like a luxury hotel. The door had gaps at the top and bottom, and the chain lock was busted as if someone had kicked the door open. Cockroaches crawled fearlessly, and spiders watched him from the ceiling. The mattress dipped so deeply that it was almost V-shaped. A condom floated in the toilet, which lacked a lid. The telephone was missing most of its buttons, a large hole gaped over the bed, and he really did not want to know what fluids had stained the walls and bedding. The Rattlesnake Inn was at least a century older than the Nomad, but the Snake was well cared for, well loved. Nobody had ever loved the Nomad.

He wasn’t planning a long-term stay anyway. In the morning he’d find the bus station and buy a ticket for the next ride out of town. He’d have tried this afternoon, but even the Nomad was better than sleeping on a Greyhound.

The curtains didn’t quite cover the window, so he watched the light dim. As night fell, the parking lot grew more active. He heard gunning engines, shouting voices, wailing sirens. Once, gunshots rang out. And twice people pounded on his door—once looking to buy drugs and once offering to sell them.

Although he probably still had tile dust in his hair, he didn’t bother to shower. He’d only have to put on his dirty clothes again. And he had no toiletries. He’d find a drugstore and pick up a few things in the morning, he decided. Toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, razor. A clean T-shirt and underwear. A book to read while he rode. For now, though, he curled up on top of the dirty blanket and imagined he could smell Shane’s scent in the blue Pendleton shirt.

B
ANG
! B
ANG
!
He woke up disoriented and bleary-eyed, and nearly fell off the bed. When a third knock sounded, he growled, “Go away!” and shielded his eyes from the morning light coming in around the curtains.

After a pause came three more pounds on the door. “I’m not buying or selling any drugs. Fuck off!”

But the intruder didn’t fuck off. He or she knocked again. Grumbling, Jimmy stumbled out of bed. A more cautious man would have looked out the window to see who was there, but really, he didn’t care. Let them evict him, arrest him, rob him… whatever. He yanked the door open.

Shane stood there with a small smile on his face and Jimmy’s duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. He wore one of his two remaining Pendleton shirts and his Stetson. “Hi,” he said mildly.

Jimmy gaped.

After a moment Shane shuffled his foot. “Can I come in?”

“But… how?”

“Brandon came into the Snake last night. Said he dropped you off in Stockton. He was worried whether you got back okay—he said you looked like you might be sick. I was hoping you’d stayed put for a night at least. And I got friends with connections.” He waved out toward the parking lot, where a black-and-white police car idled; the door read
Rattlesnake Police Department
. Jenn saw them looking and waved from the driver’s seat.

“She’s a relative, isn’t she?” Jimmy asked.

“Cousin by marriage. Can I come in?”

Jimmy stepped back into the room, giving Shane space to enter. Shane took a quick look around but didn’t comment on the room’s condition. He simply stood there.

“Why are you here?” Jimmy asked. Not hoping. Never hoping.

Shane let the duffel slide gently to the floor. “Thought you’d want your stuff. Aunt Belinda owed you a week’s wages. That’s in the bag.”

Jimmy focused on the least important point. “But I didn’t finish the bathroom.”

“So? You worked plenty hard. Plus she made a bundle selling all that antique crap you found in the basement. I think she added a bonus to your pay to thank you.”

“But—”

“And I stopped at Mae’s this morning and got you a cinnamon roll, ’cause I figure you ought to eat decent food at least once more before you go.”

For no good reason at all, tears sprang to Jimmy’s eyes. He angrily blinked them away. “Why are you doing this?”

Shane crossed the room, started to sit on the room’s single chair, and then thought better of it. He leaned against the wall instead, looking handsome and anxious and tired. “I’ve been thinking. Done nothing much else since you left yesterday.”

“Yeah?” Jimmy’s mouth tasted bitter.

“Got a few more things I want to tell you.”

But he didn’t say them right away. He waited for Jimmy, who eventually nodded. “I’m listening.”

“First off, I want to tell you I forgive you. For the lying. ’Cause none of the lies hurt me, and if you’d told me about Tom that first night, well, none of the rest would have happened. And that would have been a shame.”

God
damn
it! That little fluttery feeling did not belong in Jimmy’s chest. He viciously stomped it down.

“You know,” Shane continued, “it’s the damnedest thing. Most men, if they were gonna make up stories about themselves, they’d want to make themselves look good. They’d be heroes. But not you. In your stories, you’re always doing stupid shit or maybe just watching while somebody else does something really interesting. How come?”

Never having thought about it that way, Jimmy shrugged. “I guess I’m empty even in my imagination.”

Shane shook his head. “No. That’s the second thing I wanted to tell you. The biggest lies you’ve told weren’t to me—the biggest ones were the ones you told yourself. You think you don’t want things, don’t need things, don’t deserve ’em. Ain’t none of that true. You say you want to keep moving on, but that’s not true either. You want a home more than anyone I’ve met. It’s just, you’re afraid once you get one, it’ll get taken away.”

Clenching his jaw tightly enough to hurt, Jimmy looked away. “No.”

“Lie to everyone else if you gotta, Jimmy, but for Christ’s sake, be honest with yourself.” He pried himself from the wall and walked closer, then rested his good hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “You’re still wearing my shirt. Is that because you’re cold or because you’re gonna miss me?”

In a tiny voice, Jimmy answered, “I’ll give it back.”

“Don’t want it back.” Shane sighed and dropped his hand. “The third thing was that I wanted to apologize to you.”

“What the hell for?”

“I lied to you too.”

“I don’t—”

“Yesterday I said you’re a coward who always picks up and runs. But that ain’t true. When I started bawling like a baby in the cemetery, you stood there and held me until I was all done. Didn’t make me feel like a fool over it either. And just a few minutes later, when I collapsed, you kept me from hurting myself worse. You called for help and waited with me until it came. And then you waited for me again in the hospital. Twice. And I’m guessing you don’t like hospitals much better than I do.”