Page 37 of Truck Stop Tempest

MY MOTHER ONCE TOLDme I could learn everything I needed to know about a person by studying how they acted when they thought no one was watching. Mom had been right. She had also unwittingly created a monster. A curious, sneaky, quiet monster.

Two days after that conversation, I learned all the best hiding places in our house, all the secret nooks and crannies of my father’s church and the entire surrounding property. I was small. And patient. And I learned to hide. And listen. And watch.

The first thing I remember learning was that my father was a liar. He never wrote his own sermons. He watched pastors on the internet, some well-known, most of them not, and twisted their words to fit his agenda. I also learned where he hid the Holy Bible. The real one. Not the fake scriptures he passed out to his followers. When I was twelve, I started reading the real Bible. Didn’t take long to realize that the life I’d known was the biggest lie of them all.

I’d also discovered that my father had private meetings with the boys of our church. Training sessions, he’d called them. The boys had always left his office looking sick, or sweaty and tired. Erik had more meetings than any of the other kids, spending hours locked in Dad’s office. Erik was the only boy that had ever came out with a smile on his face.

I learned that my brother, despite being the loudest supporter of my father and his beliefs, had sex at least twice a week with a dark-skinned girl in the old hunting cabin at the far end of our property. Sometimes, the girl would bring friends. Every time, he paid her. I used to wonder how he got the money until I discovered he’d been filming their sexual escapades and posting the videos online.

Old habits were hard to break, and when Officer Caldwell came into The Stop to meet Tucker and Aida, I happened to be cleaning the table behind where they sat, mouth closed, eyes down, ears open. I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping, my mind still wandering aimlessly in Titoville, but when I heard the name Jonas Carver, my focus narrowed to their conversation.

When Aida grabbed the officer’s arm and dragged him to Slade’s office, I told Margie I was off to use the ladies room. Only, I didn’t go to the bathroom. I slipped into the utility closet, squeezed between the two metal storage racks in the corner, and pressed my ear to the vent in the wall. From that spot, I heard everything that transpired between the three.

“Jonas Carver is being released as we speak,” the officer said.

“He’s getting out?” Tucker asked. “How?”

“New team of lawyers.”

“Fuck.” That came from Aida. She always cussed when she didn’t have the baby with her.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Tucker said.

I waited for them to say their goodbyes, holding my trembling fingers over my mouth, shaking my head in disbelief. I stayed hidden in my private little corner of the storage room, trying to make sense of the news.

Jonas was being released? What did that mean? Was he back in town?

My head spun. Bile rose in my throat. I needed to leave. The moment he disappeared, I should have left Whisper Springs and never looked back.

I didn’t want to leave my job. I also didn’t want to cause grief to the people I’d grown to adore. Staying would mean hurting them. So, I squeezed out of my hiding place and headed to the back room, where I gathered my things, took a final look around, then dragged my feet to the kitchen. Aida and Tucker were nowhere to be seen. Charlie whistled a tune from the walk-in.

“Charlie,” I mumbled to his backside, “I just threw up. Think I have the flu. I’m heading home.”

He mumbled something while I retreated, tail between my legs, making my getaway before having to conjure more lies.

When the bus dropped me off in front of 1415 Apricot Lane, I gave the gorgeous home a good, hard look. I wondered about the people inside. Was their life a lie, too, hidden inside the pretty exterior? Or was it only my family whose public and private lives were two different worlds?

The air was ripe and electric with the promise of an incoming storm, so I ran the rest of the way home. Unfortunately, I wasn’t fast enough to beat the downpour. I hung my wet clothes on the shower rod,slipped into my baggiest sweats and sweatshirt, hid my purse in the hole under the carpet where I stashed my savings, double-checked the locks on the windows and doors, and curled up underneath my pile of blankets on the ratty couch.

The weight of shame was a heavy and stifling burden, and I was suffocating under its heat, despite the chill in the room. I curled into a ball, and I cried.

Pellets of rain pinged on the metal roof. I pulled the blankets over my head and prayed. Prayed for forgiveness. Prayed that Jonas would not come home before I could catch a bus out of town. Prayed that I would fall asleep before the thunder came.

A jolting crack of thunder pulled me from my reading. My thoughts immediately filled with the memory of Tuuli trembling in my arms, her brave face, and her feeble attempt to hide her fear of the storm.

The dark living room lit up with a bright flash. Rain beat against the windows. I checked the time. Tuuli’s shift would end soon.

Fuck. I shouldn’t care.

Last week, we’d agreed to be friends. She’d asked that I not come into the diner for a few days, give her time to adjust, get over her crush. Although I knew her feelings for me were more than a crush, I agreed, not because I was respecting her wishes, but because I needed time to digest our new arrangement as well.

Worst fucking week of my life.

I missed seeing her face every day. Missed having her next to me in the car while I drove her home. Missed how she filled the silence and quieted the voices.

As the storm grew closer, the rain fell harder, and agitation crept over me like a nagging itch, the words on my computer screen blurred. I could not, in good conscience, let Tuuli get home alone.

I jogged to my car, tore down the hill, and waited at the back door. Eight o’clock came and went. The last customer rolled out of the parking lot.

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