Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) (2 page)

I’ve averaged a hundred in cash every night. Better
than some waitresses, Brita tells me.

Crazy Brita, she lets me crash at her place when
it’s too late to go home to Thom and Lorna. Her son hits on me, but I think
it’s cute since her guest room has a lock on the door. Tomorrow I’m going to
get a place of my own, off the reservation. Thom never needs to know what I do.
Dancing isn’t that big of a deal. It isn’t like I strip nude.

There are a few regulars here tonight, men that
make me laugh. They pretend that I dance for them and not the money. We all
pretend. A tall, blonde man in a flannel shirt walks in. I recognize him as the
truck driver, a big tipper. Good.

He walks over to Buzz and shakes his hand. A
folded bill passes from Buzz’s hand to the truck driver. Buzz looks at me and I
turn quickly and grab the pole. I still feel a little silly holding on to it,
but Brita coaches me once in awhile. I watch the truck driver; he smiles and
the dimple in his chin deepens.

A new song starts. The truck driver’s shaggy
blonde hair is so oily it looks wet. I prefer to tell myself he went nuts with
gel rather than consider it has been weeks since he shampooed. It isn’t long
before he offers me the money. I know it’s the same bill because his hand never
went near his pocket. My big tips come from Buzz?

Lexi comes out just before the song ends. Must be
time for my break. I walk to the back and grab one of the sodas that Brita
brings once in awhile. We take care of each other like that.

Diet grape fizz forces a pucker in the corners of
my mouth. I guzzle it like water, still remembering the first time I ever
tasted grape soda—summer in a can.

Since I’m alone, I flatten the hundred inside my
rented hardback of Aesop’s Fables. What a disappointment the book is. I haven’t
read a single happily ever after.

The toilet flushes. So that’s where Brita went. “Hey,
Copernicus,” she says when she walks in.

Brita calls me that, or Einstein, because I’m
always reading. I never told her I dropped out of high school; I don’t know how
loyal she is to Cassie and Buzz—or their boss, Brody. I found the school
library about eighteen months ago when I realized I wasn’t going to get
anything out of my classes. It wasn’t until I discovered the public library
that I stopped needing school. I put the book and hidden hundred into my pack.

“Brita, have you ever noticed Buzz tipping the
guys.”

“What do you mean?” She adjusts her bra. I’ve gotten
to where I no longer avert my eyes, but I still don’t look directly at her
underwear. Instead I focus on her blotchy brown hair. Maybe I should offer to
help her next time she dyes it.

“I think I saw Buzz give a guy a bill.” I pause,
waiting to see if she looks shocked. “…and then he gave it to me.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Brita looks away, and
I can’t see her face.

Why would she deflect me? “I wasn’t worried, I
just wonder…”

Splintering wood and glass interrupts me. Brita
spins back, her eyes huge.

A scuffling sound enters the space of our surprise,
followed by a scream. I turn and race to the door, but she grabs my arm.

“Wait, it might not be safe.”

Another scream comes. It’s Lexi!

I shake Brita loose and nudge the dressing room
door open, leaning out. Brita presses behind me to see. She lets me shield her.

The truck driver lies on the floor still in his
overturned chair. A dark stain bleeds through his flannel shirt. On the other
side of him, Buzz stares at me with eyes that seem to scream fear. Why doesn’t
he speak?

A man I don’t know pulls the door from my grip.
With colossal arms, he reaches for Brita.

She dodges and he barges into the room. All I can
see are his meaty hands, woven around Brita’s neck. The world moves so slow, I
focus on his dirty nails.

Brita moans, her eyes plead with me until I lurch
from spectator mode.

I scratch his face and claw at his hands. One of
his hands releases Brita, but then his knuckles rise. I want to block, but can
only watch them float down. The pain starts at my cheek, then it’s everywhere.
It feels like I’m falling from the sky as I watch Brita look down at me,
screaming. Sparkles start to blur the scene. The last thing I see is that he
uses the giant dirty hand that hit me to pull curly, black hair out of his cold
eyes.

The sun softens the chilled air and its warmth
nuzzles the side of my face—at least the side that doesn’t sting. A glowing man
looks down at me. Pyrite-golden eyebrows edge a large sloping forehead of
burnished skin. Calm, brown eyes shielded by sandy lashes search my face. He is
like the sunshine. His hands are under me, but they slip away as a smooth, hard
surface meets from beneath. A gurney.

It’s February again. Where’s Brita?

Two EMTs, one man and one woman caw orders and
dictate their actions. I search the crowd for the golden man but only recognize
Brody. He approaches to tower over me. Smoke and sirens litter the air. The
Wild Lily burns. Where is the man who rescued me?

“Hey, Baby.” He must be proud of his teeth, the
only reason for his smile. My face hurts so much I can’t do anything but
whimper and shake my head.

“Are you the one who pulled her from the
building?” the female EMT says.

“Yes.” Brody touches my temple like my father used
to.

They ignore me as I shake my head no.

“What happened?”

“A chair hit her.” Brody says.

I cry, “No.” Brody was not there. Brita? I thought
I screamed the no, but maybe I’m not making any sound.

“Poor Baby. I won’t leave you.”

Straps hold me down. The gurney rocks up and dips.
The sky disappears slowly as the ambulance ceiling slides into view. Brody
climbs in. Where is the sunshine man?

The earth greets the pounding of my feet. I raise
my arms, and each step emphasizes the thrum of blood coursing through my heart.
Fabric sways against my legs.

The fabric is coarse hospital sheets, and the
pulse in my feet is throbbing pain. I dreamed again.

“There she is.” Brody’s voice ensures that I dream
no longer.

Why is he here? I have never really talked to
Brody. He always has business with Buzz. He holds my fingers with a soft touch,
smooth hands.

“I was so worried.”

I try to ease my tongue into the desert between my
teeth and lips. Brody reads my mind. He holds a pastel cup with a matching lid
and straw to my mouth. An ache chases the icy water.

“I bet it hurts.” He nods at my wincing, but I
don’t care about that.

“Brita?”

He shakes his head and his eyes comfort and mourn
at the same time. “He killed her.” Brody stands and twists the plastic stick on
the window blinds. It’s evening, so the light is mild. When he turns back to me,
his lips press so that they disappear inside his mouth. He unrolls them
thoughtfully. “The police have a few leads. The guy robbed me, torched the bar.
Hurt my girls.” Brody steps back to my bed.

“And the other guy?”

“You mean the one who got stabbed?

I nod.

“I think they knew each other.”

The killer seemed to know Brita, too.

“It was probably drugs or something. I never saw
him before,” Brody continues.

“But you saw him?” I say.

“Me? No, not really.”

Did he see him or not? Brody takes my hand again.
It seems intimate—not the action, but the way he does it.

“I’m going to take you out for a night on the
town. Help you forget about all this.” He waves his hand as if to wipe away the
death of a friend—the horror of an attack. His face moves into a soft-eyed, puppy-dog
expression and he lightly touches my temple. “After this heals you’ll look good
and, you know, feel fab-u-lous.”

The enunciation of that word is Brody’s virus, and
you can always tell who he’s infected. Nevertheless, I can’t wait to feel
fabulous—but I don’t plan to see Brody ever again.

“Come see me at my downtown bar when you’re
ready.”

I nod so he won’t pressure me. I don’t even want
to think about working again right now. He hands me a business card with the
words, “Dames of Desire,” following the curve of a bare shoulder. “Brody Penn,
Gentlemen’s Club Owner.”

Brody lifts my chart. “So-oh, Baby has a name.”

He squeezes my foot on top of the sheet. “Don’t
worry, Sparrow. Your secret is safe with me.”

The detective is so huge there’s no curve of neck
between his jaw and collarbone. His shoulders seem to span more than my arms
would reach, and I would have to stand on a chair to get them that high. He
makes me think of a rhinoceros, but not in a humorous way. I would avoid him in
any setting. He doesn’t smile or even speak after mumbling that he is
“detective-so-and-so.” He seems to be judging me, searching the marks and
notating the left or right side for each wound. He sets an audio recorder on
the bed beside my thigh and presses his chin to his chest.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

As though I have a choice.

“I was in the dressing room with Brita when we
heard a noise.” My voice sounds strange to my ears, as though I’m already listening
to the recording, and it’s at half-speed.

“What kind of noise?

“First a crash, then a scream.”

His eyes remain vague—like we’ve never met, and I’m
the street urchin he passes everyday on his way to work.

“So we opened the door to look outside.” I stop
clenching the sheets and force my hands still.

“Outside the building?” He looks skeptical.

“Outside the dressing room.”

“You both opened the door?”

“I opened the door, but she was close beside me.”
All of a sudden, I see the killer’s leer, feel the rush of adrenaline again. My
thoughts come choppy.

“Yes?” The detective’s brows are like a child’s
drawing of a distant bird.

I’m not sure what he’s asking. “Um, she didn’t
want to open the door.”

“Why did she?”

“I opened it. We wanted to know what the noise
was, we were afraid for Lexi.”

“Another dancer?”

He just choked her. To die that way…

“Is Lexi the other dancer?”

I realize I’m still looking at the killer’s huge
hands on Brita’s neck and his black, curly hair tied back in a pirate-ponytail.

“Is Lexi the other dancer?” The detective acts
like he’s repeating the question.

 “Yes, the other dancer.”

“So you heard a scream, then a crash.”

“Yes.”

“Not a crash and then a scream?”

What is he talking about? “I don’t know. They were
both at the same time.”

“And then Brita opened the door.”

“Um hum.” It squeaks out of me.

“I thought you said you opened the door.”

“Yes, I did. She was with me. A man came into the
room.”

He has hardly made any eye contact. But now, his
brows come together almost as one, divided by exclamation mark wrinkles. Am I
in trouble?

“You were with her?”

“I…I…got hit.”

“Can you tell me what he looked like?”

“No, I didn’t really focus on his face.”  And I
never want to think about it again. 

“Would you be able to describe it to a sketch
artist?”

“No.” I am done talking to him. My eyelids feel
wind-burned as they move across my eyes. I squeeze them shut. Brita…

Thom is sober when he comes to collect me. His red
windbreaker highlights the veins around his nose, climbing the tower of his
shiny face. I wonder if his dad had such a large nose. I hope it isn’t from our
mom’s side. His strands of hair are like tracks, combed back on his thinning
scalp. He must have used hairspray.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Thom walks so quickly I wonder if he forgets I’m
in a wheelchair. At the end of the hall, he looks back and waits until the
nurse and I are within ten feet again.

 “Lorna has been getting your room ready for you.”

“No.” The word comes out of me with a lungful of
air.

“Don’t be like that. She’s been working hard to do
this for you.” He looks irritated, but then glances at the nurse and tries to
smile like it was a joke.

“What did she do?”

“Just cleaned it for you, organized it.”

“Thom, no…”

He bends over and uses his big brother voice.
“Listen, you really need to be more appreciative of the things she does for
you.”

I guess we are done with that subject. Sometimes
it seems like he really sees; sometimes he is on my side. It hurts to breathe
when he doesn’t.

The nurse and I wait just inside the revolving
doors while Thom pulls the Firebird around. The faces that enter and exit wear
fear. I’m not sorry to leave this place.

“I have to make a stop on the way home.” He pats
my knee when I climb into the car. “I spent the whole day at the unemployment
office.”

“Okay.” I rest my bandage against the cold window.
That’s why he’s sober.

Thom shuffles around the braided rug between the
kitchen and his recliner. The remote waits on the stained, blue arm. He plops
down with a newly purchased bottle of White Lighting Vodka hidden under his arm
and lets out a satisfied sigh when he pulls the lever and his footrest lifts.

I decide to go see what Lorna has done. Our
trailer is really nice. If anything, my sister-in-law has a talent with dried
and silk flower arrangements. Her job at Discount Crafts helps fund her hobby.
I wish she worked evenings though. Then we’d miss each other completely.

My bed’s made, but she took one of my blankets. I
dump the contents of my backpack on top. She stacked my library books against
the wall. I start to add Aesop’s Fables, which I finished in the hospital, but
my usual system of organizing books in three piles—finished, unfinished, and
don’t want to finish—has been changed to one useless stack. I grip Aesop like a
security blanket and turn to the closet. The metal hangers are evenly spaced so
the clothes don’t touch. In the dresser, I lost a drawer. It now holds a glue
gun, puffy paint and other craft items.

Not as bad as I—wait. My metal music stand is gone…my
flute too?

I race to the living room.

“Thom, where’s my flute?”

“I dunno.”

I don’t know whether I’m more panicked about the
only item I truly own, given to me by my father—not Thom and Lorna—or the fifteen-hundred
in cash I had hidden in the false bottom of the case.

I danced for nothing. My room—it’s my room again
now that I don’t have money for my own place—looks hideously barren. How did I
not notice the flute missing when I first entered? “Thom, she took it!”

Thom looks up from The Montel Williams Show to a
real-life, sordid family drama.

“I’m sure she didn’t.”

At least he didn’t deny that I had one. Kudos for
big brother.

I hold the hardback up to hide my face, resisting
the urge to smack my head a few times. “My dad gave that to me.”

“Yeah, I know Mom married your dad.” He takes
another long draft from the bottle. In my fury, I have accidently mentioned the
one thing that always steals his sympathy. The recliner chair clanks forward.

“Why you care about a carved stick with holes in
it, from a guy who beat you up…”

He continues muttering and walks down the hall. I
wait to hear the creak next to my bedroom door. Of course, it doesn’t. He won’t
go verify, he’ll just hide in his and Lorna’s room.  

A car drives up and a door slams. Lorna’s
ridiculous titter leaks through the closed window. “Thank you so much!”

Thom scuttles back into the main room and slides his
vodka behind the expired box of bran flakes. We simultaneously turn.

A black, open-toed shoe pushes the front door ajar
and a pink and white, striped bag props it further.

“You’re so kind,” Lorna says.

I hear a man’s voice and then an unusual laugh
from Lorna. It sounds like a whippoorwill on steroids. A tall man enters. His
hair is slightly lighter than his skin; both are offset by his dark, Shoshone-Paiute
Police uniform, which peaks out from a navy, flannel jacket. Light brown eyes join
with mine in that unique, almost spiritual connection.

“This is officer Pruitt. He was so kind to rescue
me.”

We still stare at each other as though we’ve met.

“What happened?” Thom asks.

“Well, since you took the Firebird, I had to
borrow Raenah’s Rabbit, and it broke down on me. I can’t believe she loaned me
a car that couldn’t make it to the mall and back.”

Poor Raenah, our neighbor will probably get an
earful from Lorna in exchange for the kindness. The officer turns and grabs
four more bags from just outside the door and sets them on the floor by Lorna.

“So there I was, stranded, when a car pulls up
behind me. I was so relieved to see the uniform.” She trills again.

I can’t believe the officer is still bringing in
bags. “You sure bought a lot.”

“Hi, welcome home.” Her face doesn’t match the
pleasant words. “I got a bonus. Thom, take these bags.” She holds out her arm
to the policeman. “I can’t thank you enough.” Lorna puts her hand on the
officer’s elbow before she turns and takes a bag to her bedroom. Thom follows
her out.

“It’s good to see you.” At the officer’s voice, I
turn. I do know him.

“I was at the Wild Lily,” he says.

“Oh.” I cut him off and walk out the front door.
Outside, the sun glints off his head. “You pulled me out.” The sunshine man was
real.

“Are you okay?” He still doesn’t break eye
contact.

“Shh.”

“Oh, they don’t…”

I widen my eyes like, “duh.”

He just stares at me.

“So, Officer…?”

“Hayden,” he says.

“Officer Hayden.”

“Pruitt.”

I just look at him, waiting. He doesn’t seem to
notice my confusion. “Officer Pruitt?”

“Call me Hayden.”

I laugh.

“I didn’t get your name.” He just smiles at me and
never looks away. I’ve grown used to men’s gawking, but this is more like seeing
me than the ogling directed up from the base of the dance floor. The last thing
I want is to be on familiar terms with a cop. Instead, I give the name they
gave me at the Wild Lily.

“Baby.”

He looks disappointed, but sticks out his hand to
shake. It’s better this way.

His hand is much bigger than mine. He waits for a
good grip before he squeezes lightly. His skin is dry and rough. At first, I’m amazed
at the warmth I feel in his palm. It makes me wonder how long it has been since
I touched someone’s skin.

“Cops give people rides home?” I fold my arms around
the book—mostly to resist clinging to his hand.

“I was off duty. I saw your mom’s car broken
down.”

Awesome. I wish Lorna’d heard that. “Sister-in-law.”

“I have been worried…praying for you.”

Now it’s my turn to stare. Praying?

He points to the book in my arms. “How do you like
Aesop’s Fables?”

He didn’t ask what I was reading, he just knew.
“I’m not sure yet.” Even after I finish a story, it takes me time to form an
opinion. The book is a hardback, but I run my hand across it, as if to smooth
the cover. “I can’t seem to find that elusive happy ending.”

“I know what you mean.” He swallows. “But it isn’t
that elusive. There’s a book with…”

“Well, then give it to me.”

He laughs like he doesn’t think I’m serious, but
answers, “I will. And if you want—I can take you to hear about the story.”

Oh, so that’s what he wants. “Can police officers
date?”

“Not in uniform.”

I turn away to hide my smile. The sunshine man is
witty. “I should wait until this heals a little more, until I get the stitches
out.” I finger the bandage on my face.

“Why?” The fact that he doesn’t care reminds me
how much Brody did.  

He might not say that if he saw my stitches
though, I’m pretty hideous. “Take me where, like to a bar?” It wouldn’t be good
for a cop to learn my age—not that is matters anymore with the Wild Lily
destroyed.

“I was thinking more like church.”

I mimic a Lorna pose: hand on my hip, feet apart. Yuck,
how did that happen? I don’t want to be her—I drop my arms.

“You know, to hear about the story.” He smiles and
crosses his arms. “Then maybe a mountain bike ride.”

No wonder he’s so tan. He reads, he’s athletic…persistent.

“Where is everyone?” Lorna calls from inside.

“I, uh…” If Lorna comes out she’ll drill him about
where we know each other. “Sure, Officer Hayden Pruitt. In two weeks.” My
stitches will be gone then.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I check to make sure Lorna hasn’t found us
yet. “But leave now.”

He turns and leaps off the front deck. He didn’t
even take a step, just sprang up. I laugh out loud.

“You’re pretty when you smile.”

I smile bigger.

“Two weeks from Sunday, nine a.m.?”

“Sure.”

Lorna steps out onto the deck. “Where’s he going?”
She has changed into a short black dress and teased out her hair.

“I don’t know, I guess he had to get home.”

I leave Lorna to watch Officer Hayden Pruitt drive
away. Her hands weave a lattice over her pudgy belly. She gnaws on her lip to
the beat of her tapping toe. A price tag hanging from her armpit swings in
accord.

“Nice dress,” I say, as I cross the threshold.

“I got a bonus at work.”