Isaac twirled his mug in the condensation on the table. “And what kind of man am I, Sheriff?”
“One with a huge chip on his shoulder.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, who gives a shit what you think? I haven’t done anything wrong. You have no right to bother me.” They’d been friends, more or less, in Myles’s office this morning. But that was then. The sheriff was obviously throwing his support behind Glasses, which put them on opposite sides of this issue. Myles had probably chosen the better man, but it didn’t feel particularly good.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. I know you’re not really yourself at the moment. And I’ll offer you an incentive to make sure you don’t ruin the evening.”
What was this shit about an incentive? Since when did the sheriff have anything Isaac wanted?
Shifting his gaze from Claire’s tight jeans to the sheriff’s face, he drained his mug. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve subpoenaed Les Weaver’s telephone records. You leave now, I’ll call you when they come in and we’ll go over them together. Fair enough?”
It was only a date, a blind date. Claire had mentioned it to him. Isaac had just never dreamed he’d have a front-row seat as they got to know each other, or that it’d be so difficult to watch—not this soon. Maybe it was because Glasses reminded him so much of David, in manner if not in appearance.
“I’m not about to start anything, Sheriff,” he grumbled. Then he threw some money on the table and left.
Jeremy rambled around the empty house. He usually liked being home by himself. Then he could watch a little TV or make himself a bite to eat without worrying about his father getting mad at him for some stupid mistake. But he didn’t like being the only one home tonight. The way his father was acting these days, the calls that’d come in with the whispering and the cursing and the reassuring, made him nervous. What was going on?
His father wouldn’t tell him who was on the other end of the line—he’d yelled at him just for asking—but Jeremy guessed it had to do with Claire’s mother. He was pretty sure Don had been talking to Les Weaver. He’d heard him that one time. And he knew who Les Weaver was, and what he did for a living. Once, when Don was drunk, he said Les killed people for money, that he might kill Jeremy someday if he caused any trouble.
Jeremy didn’t want to cause trouble. He just wanted to go to Claire’s. He needed to make sure she was okay. But he couldn’t. His father had told him not to leave the house. He’d also taken Jeremy’s Impala, the car that Hank, his boss, had given him because the Jeep wouldn’t start. If Jeremy wanted to go anywhere, he’d have to walk. It was dangerous to walk on the highway, but his father didn’t care about that. He didn’t care that the Impala didn’t belong to him, either. He took it whenever he wanted.
The moon glimmered on the lake outside. The mountains Jeremy loved so much rose just beyond it. He considered leaving the house despite being told to stay. Maybe he’d camp out until he was scheduled to work on Monday. That would show his father that he couldn’t boss him around anymore, wouldn’t it? If he didn’t come home tonight? His old man laughed whenever he talked about heading into the wild, said he wouldn’t last a day, but his father didn’t know anything. The mountains were going to be his safe place. Even Les couldn’t find him there. And he had all the gear, had been collecting it for years.
He hadn’t yet braved an all-nighter, but he camped out in the yard sometimes.
His stomach growled as he went into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
Nothing but a few bottles of beer, a jar of olives and some condiments. His father was drinking away more and more of his disability money. He’d already spent Jeremy’s paycheck, too, or so he’d said this morning when Jeremy asked if they could go to the grocery store.
The thought of being so broke made Jeremy feel that panicky feeling he hated. He didn’t want the power company coming to turn off the electricity again. It was scary enough in the basement with his bedroom so close to the crawl space. He wondered if there really was such a thing as zombies, and if they ate people like they did on TV.
Better not to think about that…
He closed the fridge. If he wanted to eat, he’d have to go to Hank’s. He’d worked at the burger joint for almost fifteen years, flipping meat patties, making fries and shakes, sweeping floors and taking out the trash. He did whatever Hank asked, even if he was just stopping in to say hi, and Hank appreciated it. Hank had recently said, “Jeremy, you do a darn good job, son. I don’t know where I’d be without you.” And then he promised Jeremy he could eat at the restaurant whenever he pleased. “You’ll never go hungry long as I’m alive. You remember that, okay? There’s food here for you. There will always be food here.”
“Thank you, Hank,” he’d murmured, because there wasn’t much food at home these days.
Intent on getting a burger, Jeremy headed for the door, but there was one problem. His father would get mad if he left. Actually, there were two problems. How would he get to the diner even if he had the nerve to disobey? He wouldn’t walk there anymore. Not past the cemetery. The idea of so many dead people buried in the earth upset him, and ever since his father had pretended he was going to run him down, Jeremy was afraid to be out on the highway. He believed Don might really do it someday.
If he could just make it to the other end of town, he could eat and visit Claire’s. He liked watching over her. It made him feel so much better about Alana. He’d promised Alana long ago that he’d look after Claire. He would’ve done the same for Leanne, but Leanne wasn’t a very nice person. She snapped at him every time he came close. He didn’t really like her.
The phone rang. Was it his father, checking in to be sure he hadn’t left?
Maybe. They didn’t have caller ID; caller ID cost money.
Drawing a deep breath because he never knew what kind of mood his father might be in, Jeremy picked up the handset. “Good evening. Salter residence.” He always answered the phone that way. The people who called said it was very polite.
“Jeremy?”
“Yes?” It wasn’t his father. It was Tug. But even after he recognized the voice, Jeremy couldn’t relax. Tug had already called and he sounded upset. He definitely wasn’t his normal friendly self today. Jeremy should know. Tug used to be his dad’s best friend when they both worked at Walt’s gun store.