Highway

By: Brian Holliday
(© 2010 by the author)
Editor: Rockhunter

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

The valley ahead was flat and empty, except for the highway dividing it in two. He’d enjoyed the shade of a lonely roadside tree along with his meager lunch, but it was almost supper time now. He was hungry, but didn’t want to stop yet. He could walk a few more miles before dark.

Jake shouldered his worn pack with a weariness that was far more mental than physical. How long had he been on this endless road, or one just like it, looking for answers… and finding only the passage of time? He shook his head. It was a familiar question, and he was smart enough to know that such thinking got him nowhere.

Absently, he extended a thumb as he moved down the edge of the road’s dusty length. Few cars appeared, and those that did, passed him without slowing. That was all right. Everyone had to watch out for themselves these days, and he supposed he didn’t look like the best risk for a hitchhiker. His blond hair was long enough to fall into his eyes, and he needed a shave, plus his jeans and shirt were worn and none too clean.

It took a while for him to register the ancient Ford that pulled in behind him. He just kept on walking until he heard a squawk from the horn. The older man behind the wheel nodded and beckoned encouragingly, and Jake turned to trot back and drop gratefully into the passenger seat, throwing his baggage into the already cluttered space behind him.

“Ralph Duncan.” The man stuck out a work-roughened hand and shook with him before urging the little car back onto the road and adding, “Where you headed?”

They always asked that. He often thought of making something up - to see my sister, (mother, cousin, or…), to get a job in (fill in the name of the nearest town), but somehow he couldn’t manage to lie. The truth was difficult to share, when he didn’t know it himself, so he did what he usually did.

“Where are you going, Sir?”

The man smiled. “Home… by way of Tucson. I’ve been on the road for two weeks and I sure will be glad to get back.” His smile crinkled the skin around his eyes. Jake couldn’t help but smile, too. Home… how long since there had been a place he called home?

Glancing over, Jake worried that Mr. Duncan might see the threatening tears behind his smile, so he looked determinedly out the windshield.

“If you’d drop me off in Tucson, that would be good. I appreciate the lift, Mr. Duncan. I’m Jake Reed, by the way.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jake. Now, you call me Ralph, and we’ll get along just fine. ‘Mister Duncan’ makes me feel old.” Jake smiled again at the older man, liking the friendly twinkle he saw as Ralph looked his way.

Jake was quiet, as always, but that didn’t matter; Ralph was a good talker. For the next few hours, he related much of his life story. Job, wife and family, history and opinions were all laid out for consideration and comment. Jake found himself relaxing enough to join in discussions on safe topics – weather and politics being popular with them both. The shadows lengthened toward evening as the little car pushed the miles behind her.

“…And that feller in the White House?” Ralph continued, “Well, all I can say is I’m glad I didn’t vote for him.” Jake nodded in agreement and Ralph went on to something more pleasant.

“Guess it’s almost supper time – what say we pull in somewhere and get a bite?”

Jake considered the few coins and fewer bills tied tightly in the pouch round his waist. He hadn’t planned on indulging in restaurant food.

“My treat,” Ralph added before Jake could open his mouth. Suiting action to word, Ralph turned the car quickly to park next to a small diner which sat alone in a curve of gravel, barely off the roadway. .

Jake felt a familiar mixture of gratitude and reluctance. It was hard when people were mean, but sometimes it was harder when they were kind.

“Thanks, Ralph… I am hungry.” For the most part, Jake was always hungry.

The inside of the diner smelled good, as though it might be a step above the usual “greasy spoon.” Jake sniffed out chili, beef stew, and fresh coffee. Ralph seated them at the counter, where he proceeded to charm the tired-looking young waitress into a smile as she brought their beef stew and coffee.

The bowls of stew were large, served with slices of fresh baked bread and butter, and the coffee tasted as good as it smelled. Jake felt his defenses relaxing as the warm companionship filled an emptiness greater than the one in his belly.

The meal ended happily, with a generous chunk of apple pie, and one last refilled coffee cup.

Ralph belched loudly on the walk back to the car. “Now, if my wife could only cook like that, my life would be dang near perfect.” He laughed at his own humor, and Jake smiled.

When they were seated, Ralph turned, regarding him seriously.

“Y’know, son, it’s fine for a man to be on the road, but it’s kinda nice to settle down, too.” Blue eyes tried to catch his, but Jake looked away.

“If you don’t have anything else in mind, then maybe Mother and I could find you something around Tucson. Our kids are grown and flown. We wouldn’t mind a bit of company in the house for a while, ‘til you get on your feet.”

Jake shook his head, torn between anger and tears. Why did he keep meeting these nice people who couldn’t just mind their own business? He thought he knew Ralph for a kind soul, but he couldn’t do what the man wanted him to do – be what the man wanted him to be.

“You don’t know me…” Jake protested.

Ralph’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

“Sure I do, son. You’re a good man in a bad situation. Way I see it, the world’s a hard place.  All a man can do is try to make the best decisions he can. You just need a little help and you’ll be all right.”

But Jake didn’t need help. He needed…something. Peace of mind, perhaps. And who in this world could give him that?

Blindly, Jake reached for the door handle.

“Thanks for the lift and for supper. I’ll just get out here.”

Ralph started the engine, pulling quickly onto the roadway.

“No, no, I’ll take you on into town at least. And I won’t say another word. All right?”

Jake slumped back in the seat. Whatever energy he’d had was gone. The older man was just trying to be helpful. Why did he always react like this to kindness?

Soon a crossroad appeared up ahead, and he asked to be let out there. Ralph must have known that Jake would soon be looking for another ride.

When he had shaken Ralph’s hand, the older man tried once more.

“At least let me give you a dollar or two to help you on your way.”

Jake smiled, closing the car door. “Thanks, Ralph, but I’ll be OK.”

Ralph nodded. “I’ll pray for you, Son.”

Jake turned away quickly, and the little car drove on. After a while, he began walking along the larger road, in a new direction. There was more traffic than before, and Jake extended his thumb out of habit.

He didn’t mind walking. It was a beautiful evening, clear and cooling. It reminded him of the many summer evenings that he and Ryan had spent together. Ryan… soft dark hair, and a contagious smile. Ryan had accepted and loved Jake without question. The only one who ever had, Jake thought. A familiar lump formed in his throat.

From past experience, Jake had learned just to savor those memories when they came, not to question them, and try not to allow the final – ‘before Ryan was killed.’

He hadn’t been there to protect him when the men beat his lover senseless on that darkened city street. The guilt of that was never far from his mind. If only he’d been there…

He’d tried to go on alone, tried… more than once, since Ryan… for that ‘normal life’ folks talked about, but it didn’t seem to work for him. There was grief in his heart, yes, but other emotions weighed him down, until he had no option left but to move on. From painful experience he knew he couldn’t think those dark thoughts for long without risking total paralysis of will. He had no pistol, but the sharp clasp knife in his pocket would do the job, if he had the courage.

Lost inside himself, Jake didn’t hear the crush of brakes or feel the spray of gravel from the big truck’s tires. The road had widened enough to have a shoulder now, and the resting diesel continued its throbbing growl as the driver dropped out of the cab to catch up with the oblivious hiker.

“Hey, buddy! You want a ride, or not?” Jake turned, startled. The truck driver was an inch or two taller than he was, and dressed in clean denim with a day’s growth of beard on his thin face. Muscles stretched the worn blue shirt. Sandy brown hair fell over a wide forehead beneath a sweat stained cowboy hat. A few curls, more golden in color, decorated the patch of suntanned skin visible in the vee of his collar. Jake felt a throb in his groin. As though he knew, the guy’s smile turned lazy.

“Come on, let’s get back to the rig. I’m tired… can’t drive much farther tonight. We’ll stop soon and get a fresh start in the morning.”

Jake licked his lips. He had no trouble reading between the lines. Lots of guys might have wives and families at home somewhere, but didn’t mind a little fun while on the road – even if it was with another man. This guy was a predator – there was no doubt about that. Jake wondered if he cared, then found his feet taking him to the truck. When they were both settled on the comfortable high seat, the man shoved the big transmission in gear and they were off.

“I’m Lou,” he stated, keeping his eyes on the road, now filling up with big-city rush hour traffic.

“Jake.“

“Pleased to meetcha, Jake.” Lou gave him a look that sent shivers down his spine. Less than a mile of silence rolled under the tires before a large hand placed itself on Jake’s thigh.

Glancing over, Lou smiled. “You know, this is a toll road…?” Jake knew just what that meant. It was a common price for a ride, and certainly wouldn’t be his first time.

Jake leaned closer to the driver, unfastening the man’s belt and popping the fly buttons one by one as Lou leaned back in the seat. Lou’s hardening cock was soon expertly freed and he sighed as Jake placed his mouth over the head.

“Oh, yeah… this makes driving almost bearable.” He laughed and pushed Jake’s head down.

The guy wasn’t terribly large and Jake had no trouble taking him deep into his throat. Before very long, Lou was thrusting urgently, one hand fisted in Jake’s hair, groans of pleasure rolling out of his throat.

“Oh God, oh yeah, like that, suck harder, yeah – oh damn, I’m coming!” Lou’s hips jerked and the truck swerved as his attention faltered. Jake kept sucking and swallowing until a loud “Honk!” and a squeal of brakes made Lou push him roughly away.

“Damn – we almost bought it back there,” Lou panted. Then he looked over at Jake. “Might almost have been worth it.” Lou ruffled the other man’s pale curly hair.

Jake grinned. He was good and he knew it, but it was always nice to hear. He squirmed in the seat, readjusting his own erection. Lou smiled, noticing out of the corner of his eye.

“Hang on, pardner. We’ll be stopping soon, and I know just the place. Then we can take care of that little problem.” There was something in the voice that worried Jake, but Lou was the sort of distraction he needed to help him forget…everything. Whatever might happen tonight, it was better than being alone.

Before an hour had passed, the lights of a truck stop brightened the edge of the road. Lou geared down and pulled in behind the big square building whose signs promised showers, laundry, and “good eats.” Several other rigs were parked in the lot in back.

Lou shut down the diesel and was out of the cab and opening Jake’s door before he could figure the handle. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”

The big room was brightly lit, and noisy with country music from the jukebox. Smoke hung heavy around the heads of the half-dozen men at the counter. Lou guided Jake over with a hand on his elbow.

“Howdy, fellas.” Lou exchanged nods with the men, then pushed Jake forward. “This here’s my new buddy, Jake.”

Jake flinched as six pairs of eyes examined him with varying degrees of interest. A thickset man in stained dungarees cleared his throat and deposited a brown stream of tobacco juice in his saucer. “Ain’t he pretty,” he remarked. As though the spell was broken, the others laughed and shook hands with Lou and then Jake, moving aside to allow them seats at the counter.

The meatloaf dinner was hot and good, as was the coffee and pie. Jake let the conversation of the other men drift around him - weather and road conditions and the temperament of the local state troopers toward truckers. His eyelids felt heavy, and he wondered if Lou really meant to give him a place in the bed behind his truck cab, or if he would need to sack out under the trees.

In a restroom stall, he opened his money pouch and carefully counted out the price of his meal, then rolled up what remained and thrust the small package deep into his boot.

The check paid, Jake followed Lou out the door, hiding a yawn with his hand. Lou slapped his shoulder and laughed. “Hey, wake up, boy. We been invited to a little party.” He motioned to the field behind the building. It was full dark now, but Jake could see the flare of a match, and then the red glow from a cigarette.

“A party? Gee, Lou, I don’t… “

“Come on. You wouldn’t want to be rude to my friends now, would you? They all like you a lot… they told me so.” Lou laughed again, urging Jake forward with a hand in the small of his back. “Besides, I haven’t forgotten that promise I made you.” One arm slid around Jake’s waist and a hand reached down to cup the weight between his legs. “Remember?”

Jake swallowed hard.

Five of the men Jake had met were clustered around an old pickup, smoking and passing around a bottle.

“Waal, there’s the guest of honor now,” a deep voice rumbled. There was a chorus of laughter. Jake pushed back against Lou, but the man’s arm continued to shove him forward. Part of his brain screamed ‘Run!’, but his shoulders slumped. There was no place to go.

“Have a drink,” someone suggested, and the bottle was thrust into Jake’s hands. More hands helped tip the bottle to his mouth, and Jake coughed as the fiery liquid burned its way down his throat. Laughing, the men closed around him.

Numbly, he felt hands at his waist, his jeans pulled roughly to his ankles. Bodies pressed tight, smelling of whiskey and tobacco and sour, eager sweat. Nausea rose as they bent his body across the open tailgate of the pickup. Two of the men got into the truck’s bed, kneeling on Jake’s arms and upper back. Hands spread the cheeks of his ass and someone spit and then rammed a finger inside him. The pain was sudden and hot. “Hey!” a voice called, “Anybody bring Vaseline?” Again the hyena chorus.

Jake flinched as a gob of spit graced his entrance. With no more than that, the first intruder shoved his way into his guts. He feared the pain would split him in two. He struggled, and received a stinging slap in return. “Ride ‘im, cowboy!” a hoarse voice called.

When another man replaced the first, his entry was almost equally painful. But Jake didn’t cry out, not even when someone hit him over the kidneys – the big man with the belly flowing over his belt, Jake thought. “Too pretty for your own good,” he said as his fist drove in, leaving Jake unable to breathe.  

“What’s the matter, Joe?” Another of the men laughed. “That the only way you can get it up?”  

The big man fumbled with his zipper, shoving Jake’s face harder into the bed of the pickup. “I’ll show you who can’t get it up,” he growled.  

Jake lost count after a while, sure only that all the men had taken at least one turn. He fought to hold himself together, to be somewhere else in his head, not to think of anything at all. 

The tears came only when Jake felt a familiar pressure, low in his belly, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, not even knowing which of the men was grunting behind him as his own balls unloaded.  

Jake woke with the sun in his eyes. The drone of vehicles on the highway seemed far away. His rucksack was a few feet from where he lay, behind some bushes. His jeans were still down around his ankles, and pebbles dug into his bare backside as he struggled to sit up. Every muscle ached. Cautiously, he felt inside his boot for the money pouch. It, and the few dollars it contained, was still there. Jake blinked rapidly. The taste in his mouth made his stomach lurch and his belly knot. He lay back and eased the jeans up over his hips. It was a while before he could stand.  

As far as he could see, the parking lot was empty of the trucks that had been there the night before. Nothing but a couple of dusty sedans parked in front of the low building. Around the side, near the gas pumps, was a sign that said ‘trucker’s entrance.’ Jake walked that way. Down a long corridor were the restrooms and showers – twenty-five cents for ten minutes of hot water. There was even a small bar of soap left behind in one stall. Jake used three of his precious quarters. The soap stung his ass, but there was only a small smear of blood. He dressed carefully in the last of his clean clothes, shoving the torn and stained pants and shirt into his pack.  

It was hot, even though morning was only half over. The sky was a cloudless shiny dome of blue. The bright day seemed to mock his despair. What right had the sun to shine when he was alone and in pain?  

He was hungry, but he couldn’t bear the thought of entering the diner. Instead he walked slowly down the shoulder of the road, limping a little, at times. He startled when the car pulled over beside him.

 “Want a ride, Honey?” It was a woman’s voice. Jake turned. She was fairly young, maybe the near side of thirty. Jake never was much for judging age – especially on women. He looked at the shiny Chevy convertible, blue as the sky. Her yellow hair spilled out of the pink bandanna tied around it. Her smile was friendly.

 “You OK?” she asked.

 Jake nodded, walking a little faster toward the car.

 “Yes, Ma’am. I’d be glad for a ride. Thank you.”

 “Sure, Honey. I’m headed for Bakersfield, how about you?”

 Bakersfield. Jake thought that might be in California. “Yes, Ma’am, that’s where I’m headed, too.” Jake sat gingerly on the passenger seat.

“Well, ain’t that a coincidence?” The car pulled smoothly back onto the highway.

The radio sang softly about someone’s lost love. The woman hummed along, looking over at him now and then. Jake leaned his head back against the seat, doing his best to relax as the miles rolled by. After a while he sat up. “Excuse me, Ma’am, but do you know if there’s any work to be had near Bakersfield?”

She frowned. “No need to keep calling me ma’am. Do I look that old to you?” She shifted her ample bottom on the seat. “My name’s Dolores.”

“Uh, no Ma’am… I… I mean Dolores. You don’t look old at all,” he stammered.

She touched her hair. “Hmm… well, I guess I did hear that the tire factory is hiring some laborers. Just minimum wage though.”

Jake nodded. Any pay was better than none. “I’d be obliged if you’d drop me off near there… Dolores.”

Jake was surprised when the car pulled onto the shoulder. She half-turned to him, smiling now and fluttering her lashes. “On the other hand, I’m sure I have plenty of work around my house. Enough to keep you busy for a long time.” She flexed her shoulders and her breasts heaved inside the sleeveless cotton blouse. “Why don’t you just come home with me?”

Jake couldn’t hide his involuntary flinch. “Oh, no Ma’am. Thank you, but I’m sure I’d be better at the factory.”

“Well, suit yourself,” she said, her voice tight. “I guess this is as far as I can take you.” Jake got out and the car sped away, fading quickly into the distance.

Jake stopped at the top of the next rise. He could see the heat shimmer over a little cluster of buildings in the valley. Maybe he could find a few days work there, give himself a better cushion of cash. But he wouldn’t stay long, he never did. For him, the road was like one of those twisted paper strips where you pushed the pencil on and on and only arrived right back where you started. Try as you might to find it, there was never an end.

His mind drifted and, for just a moment, Jake remembered another ride, an old man’s kindness and an offer of help. Tucson? He hesitated, turned to look back down the road, the way he’d just come. Was he ashamed to ask for and receive help, or was it the sin of pride that stiffened his neck? Well, he was properly humbled now, after last night. But… did he even deserve help?

The memory of Ryan’s face rose, unbidden, into his mind. The way he had always looked at Jake, so tender, so… loving. They’d run away together, made a home for themselves in the city, far away from their childhoods. It was supposed to last forever…

For the first time, he asked it… what would Ryan want him to do? Jake sighed. He had no idea.

The little town had a general store, two churches, three saloons, a good-sized diner on the edge of the highway, and a tiny café a few streets away. There was one motor court, a large old house with eight small cabins on the road behind it. Jake supposed that if he were planning to be there long enough to find work, a place to stay was his first priority.

The sign over the door said “Mills’ Rest.” In a chair behind the wooden counter sat a large man with a day’s growth of whiskers on his ample chin. He looked up when Jake opened the screen.

“Excuse me,” Jake said. “I’m looking for work and I figured I might best find a place to sleep, first.”

The man nodded. “This is the only place in town. There used to be a hotel, but they closed down. Folks all driving cars these days, want a mo-tel instead. Two dollars a night for a single, five dollars a week.” The man craned his neck to look around Jake and out the window. “You got a car?”

“No, Sir, I don’t. What I was hoping was that you might let me work in exchange for a room.”

The man picked at a front tooth with a fingernail. “Might could be enough work around here for that. I got a boy, but he’s no account most of the time. Always in school, or running off and the like.” The man stood up, allowing the front legs of his chair to hit the floor with a bang. “Name’s Frank Mills.”

“Jake Reed,” Jake said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“All right, Jake. We got eight cabins to rent out back, and six rooms upstairs in the house. You clean ‘em and keep ‘em clean, change the sheets and towels when people leave, and you can have the far cabin. It’s the smallest, not much, really. Hardly ever rent it, but it’s enough for one man. Do a good job, and I’ll throw in a dollar a day.”

Jake only thought for a moment, then he stuck out his hand and they shook on it.

“I’ll do a good job for you, Mr. Mills,” he said.

“Can’t do worse than I’ve got,” he said, going to the screen and leaning out. “Billy! Billy, get in here, boy!” A minute went by, then another, the old clock ticking noisily on the wall behind the counter. “Where is that worthless little…?“

A small boy, not yet adolescent and dressed in a too-large plaid shirt and rolled–up jeans appeared on the porch. He knuckled a shock of brown hair out of blue eyes, the gesture revealing the remnants of a dark bruise on one cheek. He didn’t look at the man, but cast a quick glance at Jake, then looked away.

“Billy, you show this man where the cleaning stuff is.” Mills’ arm gestured vaguely toward the rear of the building, and Jake thought he detected just the slightest flinch in Billy’s lean frame.

“OK,” the boy said.

“OK, what?” Mills said.

Billy’s shoulders hunched. “OK, Sir,” he said resignedly.

Mills nodded. He looked at Jake. “Little bastards got no respect for their elders, these days,” he grumbled. Jake followed the boy outside and around the back.

In a lean-to shed on the house’s back wall, Jake found mops and brooms, soap and a bucket. Wordless, the boy pointed, then looked up at Jake. “He says show you, so I showed you. But I don’t need anybody to help with the cleaning around here.”

“Why not?” Jake asked.

“On account of I do it all, that’s why.”  

Jake scratched his head. “How old are you, Billy?”

“I’m nine-and-a-half,” the boy said defiantly. “You think that makes me too young to work?”

“Never said that. Just thinking it’s a big job for one man alone,” Jake said carefully.

The boy relaxed a little. “I’m strong.”

“I can see that. How long you been doing all the cleaning around here?”

“Almost a year now, ever since Ma died.”

Jake nodded. “You go to school?”

“Some. When they come get me.”

“You don’t like school?”

“I like it fine. It’s just that he says it’s a waste of time… for somebody dumb like me.”

Jake had to remind himself that he didn’t know anything about these people. At last, he spoke with his usual caution. “Well, maybe you’ll have more time for school, now that I’m here to help for a while.”

Billy shook his head. “Naw. He’ll find something else for me to do. You going to stay in that last cabin?”

“I guess so. Your father gave me the key.”

“He ain’t my father.” It was said quietly.

Jake frowned. “But I thought you said you and your Ma lived here with him… “

The boy’s mouth drew down tight. “I said he ain’t my father!” the boy yelled. “My father’s dead!” Jake opened his mouth, but Billy turned and sprinted away and soon vanished behind the cabins.

Sure enough, the far cabin was no more than one small room with a bare minimum of furniture. Still, he was glad for the indoor toilet and tiny shower stall. Cars might drive in to stay at Mills’ Rest most any time of the day or night, and the cabins filled and emptied regularly. Jake didn’t find the cleaning work hard, but it was sometimes distasteful. The cabins where he found beer and whiskey bottles were also where he had to clean vomit and piss from the beds and floors. Sometimes he needed a clothespin on his nose. Afternoons, he washed the bed linens in the old Maytag on the porch, throwing in his own clothes, too.

When the cabins were clean, he walked to the general store and swept up a little in return for some bread and canned goods. The proprietor said he’d be glad to have more help if Jake had the time.

Jake watched for Billy, but didn’t see much of him the first couple of days. Every now and then, he’d hear Mr. Mills shouting for the boy, and he thought Billy watched him, one night, from outside the tiny cabin’s window. Whatever their relationship, there seemed to be no love lost between Mills and the boy. Jake shook his head. Billy reminded him, almost painfully, of the Ryan he’d known when they both were no more than children.

The second night, Jake bought a pint bottle of milk from the store and laid out two plates and spoons on the cabin’s low table. When he saw the small shadow against the window, he called, “Come on in,” and after a cautious look around, Billy did.

“Had your supper?” Jake asked. The answer was a head-shake and Jake gestured to the table.

Billy ate a man’s share of the canned beans and bread, drank all the milk, and outdid Jake on the peaches and cookies. Watching out of the corners of his eyes, Jake saw just how thin the boy’s frame was. Maybe he was just at that fast-growing stage where any amount of food is never enough, he thought.

They both sat back, full for the moment. Jake wished for coffee, but there was no way to heat it, even if he had the makings.

“This was my place before you came,” Billy said - not angry, just stating a fact. “I used to hide in here, sometimes spend the whole night. I can fit under the bed so, even if he looked, he never found me.”

Jake nodded. “You mean your…“ Billy gave him a look. “You mean, Mr. Mills?”

Billy shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Um… you’d still be welcome to stay here anytime you wanted,” Jake offered.

The boy shrugged. “Naw. That’d just get you in trouble.”

“Not if we don’t tell.” Jake smiled.

Billy gave him a look that was much too serious for his age. “Well… maybe,” he said. “Can I show you something?”

Jake nodded and watched while Billy lifted a loose board from under the bed and took out an old leather satchel.

“Some day, I’m gonna run away from here, get out on my own. I got everything I need, right here. See?” Casting a glance at the door, he opened the bag and laid out its contents on the bed. The first thing was a small thick volume in a hand-sewn calico cover. “It’s Mama’s Bible. She gave it to me when she got so sick, and told me to keep it, and he didn’t care. He don’t never read anything, so he didn’t try and take it. Then, later, when I opened it, this was inside.” Billy took out an envelope and removed a sheet of parchment. “It’s my birth certificate. See, it says Mama’s name, and Daddy’s too. My whole name is William Anthony Kilburn… not Mills. I told you I ain’t his son!”

Jake looked at the official form. “You’re right, Billy.” He thought a minute. “Where are you going to go? You got any other family… a grandma or an uncle or somebody?”

“Naw, it was always just me and Ma… Never thought about where, just thought about leaving.” Billy wiped at one eye.

There was a folded paper valentine Billy had obviously made for his Mother, and a lock of her light brown hair tucked inside it. Billy opened an inside flap of the bag, gave Jake a searching look, and brought out fourteen pennies, two nickels, six dimes, twelve quarters, a fifty-cent piece and three shining silver dollars. Jake’s eyes widened.

“Told you I had everything I needed to run away. The silver dollars were sewn inside Mama’s Bible cover. The rest of the money, I earned! “

Jake’s heart twisted. “When were you planning to leave?”

Billy shrugged. “Soon as I can, I guess.”

“Billy,” Jake said slowly. “There’s some awful bad people on the road. I know you’re strong, but even a man likes to have company sometimes. Maybe a friend to travel with…?”

Billy shook his head, then replaced the items in his bag and secured it under the loose board. “Got no friends. I’ll be all right alone.”

Jake’s heart clenched.

Friday afternoon came, and Mills approached Jake where he was hanging clean sheets on the lines between two trees. “Everything going OK?”

Jake didn’t look at the man. “No problems, Mr. Mills.”

“That’s good.” The man handed him a five dollar bill. “I brought your wages, and I wonder if you’d do me a favor? I’ll be gone for a while tonight, and I need someone to watch out for customers.” He looked around, frowning. “I can’t find that worthless boy.”

Jake agreed to keep an eye open and settle in any new arrivals. The evening was quiet and Jake decided to call it a night around ten o’clock, but to leave his window open in case someone drove in late. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, when it started.

“You little whelp! Where the hell you been all day? I told you I wanted that wood split before bedtime, but there it stands. Didn’t think I’d be back so early, did you? Well, I’ve had enough of your foolishness. We gonna have us an understanding once and for all!” Mills’ words were slurred, and Jake imagined he knew where the man had spent the last few hours. Jake prayed Billy would slip away from him, but he knew the hope was in vain when he heard the boy cry out.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth. Against his will, he found himself at the window. The big house was twenty yards away, but the still air carried sound too clearly. Jake felt as though each blow struck his own flesh. Hot tears burned behind his eyes.

The sounds stopped after a few minutes, releasing Jake from his paralysis. He knew he had to leave, he couldn’t stay here any longer. He gathered his few possessions and stuffed them into the pack, tucked his money safely away, and turned out the lamp. He was at the door when he heard a small voice.

“Jake?”

He opened the door and Billy pushed it shut behind him. “Can I stay here for a while?”

The boy’s nose was bleeding, and he let Jake staunch it with a clean rag, but he pulled away when Jake touched his shoulder. “I’m OK, now. I got away quick, he was pretty drunk.”

Jake shook his head. “Let me see.”

Billy stared for a minute, then turned around. The back of his shirt was in tatters, and streaks of blood stained the cloth. “He already had his belt off when he came in… he don’t always use the buckle.”

Jake swallowed hard. “Come here; let me help you take it off. We got to clean those cuts… “

The cabin door slammed back against the wall. “So this is where you been running off to!” Whiskey fumes wafted into the cabin. Mills’ big hand struck like a snake, grabbing Billy’s shirt front. “You come home with me, you worthless scut. I ain’t through with you, not by a long shot!”

Jake stood up.

“Let him go, Mills.”

The big man looked at Jake as though seeing him for the first time. “You got no call to interfere between me and my son.”

“I ain’t your son, I ain’t your son!” Billy yelled, struggling in the man’s grasp. Mills shook him like a rag doll.

“Your Mama left you to me, boy. You’re mine, you ungrateful little whelp!”

Jake stepped closer. “He’s not your son, Mills. And I said, let him go.”

“He’s mine. His mama died and left him here and that makes him mine.”

“The boy don’t agree with that,” Jake said.

“I don’t give a tinker’s damn what the boy or you think about it. I say he’s mine and I’ll do with him as I please.”

Jake hesitated, watching Mills turn toward the door, the boy’s shirt front tight in one hand, his small fists landing a rain of blows that Mills ignored.

Jake took a deep breath. “I told you to let the boy go. I won’t say it again.” He placed a hand on the bigger man’s shoulder.

Mills turned, his hand opened and Billy scuttled away. Then a roundhouse swipe was on its way toward Jake’s face. He ducked, and drove a fist into Mills’ soft midsection. The man sat down hard, struggling for breath.

Billy came back quickly, his satchel and Jake’s pack held close to his chest. Jake lifted the pack. “We’ll be going now,” he said.

They were almost to the road when they heard Mills’ voice. “Take him, God damn you, and good riddance! Worthless little whelp…!”

The moon was just peeking over the horizon, plenty of light for walking. Jake half expected to hear a car or truck coming after them, but there was nothing else on the road. Billy kept the pace steadily, but after a while Jake bent and picked up the small body. He hardly noticed the extra weight in his arms, just the quiet, sleepy breathing on his cheek.

A farmer came along, just as the sun was rising. He took them home for breakfast, and his wife helped wash the shallow cuts on Billy’s back and gave Jake a clean towel for a bandage. “Man like that ought to be horsewhipped,” the farmer said.

They rested for a while, then set out again. It was afternoon when Billy asked, “Do you know where we’re going?”

Jake scanned the road, noticing it led southwest. “Does it matter?” he asked.

The boy shook his head. “Anywhere’s better than where I was.”

Tentatively, Jake reached out, and the boy took his hand. He looked into Billy’s trusting eyes and, for the first time, he was certain he knew what Ryan would want him to do. Jake smiled. “I think I might know where the road ends,” he said.

By and by, they heard the throb of an approaching engine.

Three long rides later, an old pickup truck turned down a dusty lane and stopped. “Yep.” The driver pulled off his straw hat and wiped away sweat with a red bandanna. “That’s the Duncan place, all right.”

“Much obliged,” Jake called, as the man drove away.

Out of nowhere, a black and white dog ran, barking, toward the gate in the white picket fence. At the house beyond, the screen door opened and a man stepped outside. For a moment, he peered curiously at the newcomers, then his eyes lit with recognition and he hurried down to the gate.

“Mother!” the old man called to the smiling woman on the porch. “It’s the young man I told you about!” He tilted his head and looked down at Billy, who was clutching Jake’s hand tightly. “And who might you be, young fellow?”

The dog sniffed at their pant legs. Billy reached out his hand and was rewarded with a lick. He smiled. “I’m Billy, and Jake is my friend,” he said, looking up proudly.

“Well,” Ralph said. “That’s plenty good enough for me.”

The dog leaping joyously around them, the three continued toward the farmhouse, backs turned to the highway.

The End.
 

Thanks to Rock Hunter for his excellent editing.

Posted: 02/19/10