Smash Into You (13 page)

             
Now, as we walked hand-in-hand in our unintentionally matching black Chuck Taylor's down Main Street, looking for a quick buck, I was speechless at how much and how easily I was falling for her. Even with all the crap raining on us, she didn't let it haunt her, didn't let it sour her. Just like her past, she was above it.

             
"Maybe they did some kinda tests on us and we can never get sick?" she said and ticked her head to look at me. "Or maybe we'll have spidey sense."

             
I smiled. "I doubt it's anything that cool."
              It started to rain, but Marley didn't seem to mind, so neither did I. I could see a farm on the edge of town, the cornfields brown and dead, but I still took us down the dirt driveway. There had to be something we could do there.

             
The farmer was in the barn and saw us coming. We were both soaked. He wiped grease off his hands and tipped his head. "Afternoon."

             
"Afternoon, sir."

             
He laughed. "Oh, boy. When young folks start off with manners, you know they're about to ask you for something."
              That almost threw off my game, but I forged on. "No, sir." He grinned at that. "We were just wondering if you had some work you needed done around here. We're passing through and haven't had the best of luck. Just…if there's anything you can think of, anything, we'll do it."

             
He looked between us. "Sorry. Got nothing."

             
He turned to go. "Sir, please," Marley tried.

             
"I ain't about to supply two runaways with drug money. Now, get off my property."

             
"We're not drug addicts and we're not runaways," Marley told him. He turned to look at her. She released my hand and stepped toward him, just one step. "We're orphans. We both go to college," she pulled her student ID from her back pocket, "see, and we're really hard workers. We're just trying to find out some things about our birth parents and have had car trouble and…all sorts of things."

             
He sighed, too long and too meaningful. He didn't believe her. "Come on, Marley." I took her arm. "He doesn't believe you. Let's go."

             
She gripped my arm as we turned and left. We'd find something else. We had to soon enough because the money would run out. It always did.

             
He called to us, "Hey!" I turned my head back, but Marley faced away. "I need the field shoveled, the chicken coop painted, and the stumps out by the pond pulled up. I'll give you exactly four hundred dollars to do it all and not a penny more."

             
I nodded. He started to walk back to the barn before he turned and raised his salt and pepper eyebrow. "You just gonna stand there or follow me and get to work?
"
             

x

            
 
"I've done worse," Marley assured me as we shoveled cow manure into a wheelbarrow. "I used to work at that bar, remember? Nothing better than getting slapped on the behind by a guy that just puked on the floor that you now have to clean."
              I growled under my breath. "Don't talk about that place. Even then, I hated the idea of you working there."
              She straightened and adjusted the bandana over her nose. "Aw. Are you jealous?"

             
I flung the poo harder. "Hell no." Then I looked at her and grinned. "Hell yes."

             
She laughed. "Don't hit on me when we're shoveling crap, Jude!"

             
When it was full, we went and dumped it in the garden to be tilled and then went back for more. We were done with task number one in a few hours and started in on the chicken coop, but darkness came and so did my hunger. We told him we'd be back the next day to finish up and he said, "You're dang right you will, 'cause you're not getting paid 'til you do."

             
We got cheap tacos from this little stand by the farmer's market and stopped to eat them at the outside tables. The street was loud, but it was good to sit among people, listen to them talk and laugh around us. I watched Marley watch a couple as they bounced a baby back and forth, the baby laughing and giggling.

             
I could hold it in no longer. "Are we gonna talk about it?"

             
"May as well," she said softly, her eyes never leaving the bab
y—
the baby that reminded us both of what we'd seen on those papers in our hotel. She looked at me, her eyes hard. "He's not just after you, now he's after me, too. At least I know you're not going to dump me off somewhere now to save me, right?"

             
Ouch.

             
She squeezed her eyes closed for a few seconds and then looked right into mine. "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. I know you were just trying to protect me."

             
I sighed, pushing my taco trash aside, and took her hand in both of mine. "I thought I was cursed."

             
Her brow dipped to a 'v'. "What?"

             
"My mom tried to protect me and…" I shrugged. "It was my fault that she died."

             
She squeezed my fingers. "Please, please don't tell me we're playing the blame game. You
know
. You have to know that it wasn't your fault. She was your mom!" she shrieked, worked up in my defense. She calmed and spoke quieter. "Would you rather have a mom that just flat didn't care about you?"

             
I noticed the nerve that was hit in her voice. I gave her a questioning look to tell her to go on. "My mom didn't di
e—
she left me. She brought me to the hospital when I was three and said she didn't want me. That began my parade through every foster home in the state that hated children and was only after the assistance money."

             
She was shaking and I hated that. I scooted over on the bench and rubbed my hand on the small of her back, circles and squares and odd shapes. Anything to soothe her. She went on. "So, when I hear you say how little you value the way your mom cared for you?" She shook her head violently. "Nuhuh. Nuhuh, Jude."

             
"I valued her. I loved her so much it completely broke me when she died," I explained. "She was the only person in my life and then I was all alone, fending for myself, stealing, anything to survive. I hate that she
had
to die for me. I'm not saying I don't appreciate it."

             
"It wasn't your fault. You're going to get your justice on them, Jude. We both are. And then we'll finally be able to move on."

             
I had a thought. "And I wonder about your mom, too." She gave me a look. "No, listen. Did you go into the system as a Jane Doe or did she give them your birth certificate?"

             
"The state named me, my last name. I didn’t have anything with me."

             
"See," I said with renewed vigor, "I bet she did for you what I was trying to do. Get you away from me for your own good. If you were not with me, then when they found me, you wouldn't be harmed. I bet she thought the same thing. I bet she thought if she put you in the system as a Jane Doe they'd bounce you around and Biloxi would never find you."

             
A spark of real hope and gratefulness shown through. "You really think so? Maybe?"

             
"It makes sense." I cupped her cheek. "No one would throw you away."

             
She smiled, but it was the ugly-cry, happy kind. The release kind. I pulled her to me and rubbed her arm as I hugged her and waited for her to let it all go. "You're getting really good at this."

             
I smirked. "At what?"

             
"Being human." She lifted her head. "Thank you. I'm…so glad you're here."

             
I huffed a happy breath and let my fingers caress her cheek slowly with the tips, accepting the sunshine that blasted through me. She closed her eyes, soaking in my touch. When we were both about to fall asleep and the bugs were flying around the street lamps, we threw our stuff away and headed out.

             
But we didn't go to the hotel like she thought. I pulled her into the drugstore, right to the shampoo aisle, and stopped in front of the hair dyes. She looked at me, missing the point. I waite
d—
I knew she'd get it.

             
When she did, it was one of the saddest things ever. "No, not my hair, Jude!" she whined.

             
"We have to. Both of us. It'll help, especially since we know there's more than one of these guys. He was right under our nose and we didn't even know it."

             
She pouted and looked them over. Her lips pulled to the side and she picked up a box that was just a shade darker blond than she was now. I smiled sadly. "Nice try."

             
She rolled her eyes and searched again before grabbing a chestnut brown. I only knew it was chestnut because it was stated boldly on the box. I grabbed black and a pair of cheap clippers. We paid and when we got to the hotel, she went first. I knew she was just getting it over with. She stayed in there quietly the entire time and I waited, with only football to keep me company. The Jags were smoking the Titans when I heard the hair dryer start.

             
Ten minutes later, the door opened to a dark-haired beauty. Holy…she was a bombshell. The dark hair made her skin look like porcelain and her lips looked red and plump even with no make-up on.

             
"Your silence speaks volumes," she muttered wryly and started to close the door.

             
I jumped up and stopped her, groaning a little when my shoulder hit the doorframe, and pushed her to the wall to keep her there. I didn't waste any time on pretenses. "My God in heaven, Marley…you are breathtaking."

             
She sighed. I kept going. "I'm totally serious. Marley, baby, you look…incredible. You're a bombshell like this."

             
"It doesn't matter anyway. I had to do it to keep them from noticing me so easily, not for looks," she sulked.

             
"Wow. You are so adorable with your lip poked out like that."

             
She laughed. "Ok, you can stop now."

             
I smiled and touched her neck where the mark I'd given her still was.

             
"I owe you one, by the way," she muttered and leaned up to kiss me, too quickly.

             
"Owe me what?" My lips twisted into a smirk. "I've got to tell you, I like the sound of that."

             
She grinned. "Owe you one of these," she explained, leaning her neck to the side while holding her collar away. I pursed my lips, full on accepting the guilt. She then leaned up again and kissed the exact spot behind my ear. I made an embarrassing noise in my throat, but she pulled back, again, too quickly.

             
"Maybe later," she quipped, winking before she turned.

             
"
Come on
," I complained, half playing, half
so
not playing.

             
She giggled at my misery. "Hurry up. I can't wait to see what
the new you
looks like."

             
I smiled. "It looks just like this."

             
She bit her lip, understanding, and nodded as she shut the door. 

ELEVEN

             
When I came out, she was on the bed's edge, looking over the papers strewn out everywhere to see them better. Not only had I dyed my hair black, but I'd taken the clippers with the size two attached and took almost all of it off. Her mouth opened soundlessly.

             
I ran my hand along my head. "It's short."

             
"You look like a marine."

             
But she hadn't just said it, she
breathed
it. I quirked an amused brow. "Is that right?" She swallowed and nodded. "Let me gues
s—
you've got a thing for marines?"

             
She shook her head and threw a shirt at me from the pile, laughing. "Shut up."

             
I sat opposite her and started looking around all the papers. "Find anything?"

             
"The thing is that I don’t even know what I'm looking for. I could be looking at something really important right in the face and not see it for what it is."

             
She scattered them around in a frenzy and laughed. "All these wasted trees. You know…" She stopped for a long time, collecting herself. I waited and watched as the emotions played over her face. The light from the lamp in the corner was dim, only lighting half of her face. Finally she spoke again, smiling softly. "I don't have many memories of my mom at all. I was only three when she left me, but there's this one memory of us. We were sitting under this big willow tree. It was massive, or maybe it just looked that way because I was so small. I don't remember what we talked about or anything, I just remember lying under it, watching the branches above us. It felt like something we did all the time. Willow trees have always been my favorite because of that. Even though she left me, I just can't let go of that tree."

             
She looked up at me, strangely shy. "Is that silly?"

             
"Of course not. And we're going to prove that your mom didn't dump you because she didn't want you. I just know it."

             
"Please," I heard her whisper as she started looking at papers again.

             
I turned some of the papers to face me, with renewed vigor. I found BioGene's company financials, since they obviously were a publicly traded company, all the names of their CEOs and head this and head that. Then all the info on their not-for-profit side. The scientific research side.

             
It was supposed to sound so on the up-and-up, which made it sound so shady.

             
We read over everything for hours, changing positions, her lying on the bed, me in the chair, her Indian style on the floor, me leaning on the back wall. My shoulder was aching from all the stretching from dyeing my hair. I rolled my shoulders and focused in on the paper again.

             
It was all these random names and dates. They were labeled "Project 23". But there were more than twenty-three names and the dates didn't match that either, so it must have been some name they chose for whatever this was. There were pages of them as I counted along…and then there she was. My mom.

             
I had expected it, knew it, but it still hammered into my chest at seeing it.

             
Veronica Mae Jackson - December 19, 1991

             
My freaking birthday.

             
I looked up at Marley as she leaned her head back against the bed and yawned. "You don't know anything about your mom? You don't know your real last name?"

             
She shook her head. "No, nothing. Why?"

             
"I just found my mom's name on this paper."

             
She gasped and bolted up to my side. "Oh, my gosh! What? What does it say?" She scanned the list to where I was pointing.

             
"Just a date. My birthday."

             
She looked up at me, as if to say, 'Are you OK?' I nodded and then told her what I knew to be true. "Your mom's on this list somewhere. One of these names is your mom."

             
She didn't look at the list, she looked up at me. I waited for her to be ready. I whispered, "Do you know your birthday? When is it?"

             
"If feels so strange," she told me, gripping my arm, "being this close to her, but still being so far away." She was debating whether she even wanted to know.

             
I leaned down and kissed her. It was becoming so easy to be this guy. The guy who cherished one thing above all else and wasn't just filled with hate. It was surprisingly easy to fall in love with this girl after a lifetime of wanting anything but. I blamed her.

             
I blamed her in the best way.

             
She leaned back just enough to breathe. She licked her lips, her tongue touching my lip with the movement, and whispered. "I knew my birthday and I knew my first name. They just gave me a last name to go with it." I nodded. "January 31st, 1995."

             
I found it pretty quickly on the next page below my mom's. It was then I realized that the birthdays went in order. Each month had one birth and the next month, another baby was born. I met her eyes again.

             
"Elizabeth Violet Sanford," I told her and watched her face crumple as she received the first puzzle piece of where she came from.

             
I let the paper float to the floor and pulled her to me, rocking her in my arms as she cried for the life she missed out on.

             
It was late at that point, so I picked her up and took her to the bed with me. I held onto her the entire time and put her on my lap as I settled against the headboard. She had helped me work through so much crap and it felt amazing to be able to return the favor.

             
Eventually, after several tissues and over an hour later, she took the remote from the nightstand and turned on some old episode of Seinfeld. When she laughed softly at the Soup Nazi, I knew the crisis was over. I felt my whole body relax. We fell asleep watching old episodes and finally, after all this time, had pieces of ourselves put back into place.

             
Now, we just had to go to this place and find out what exactly they had done to our mothers.

             
And to us.

x

             
"Put your back into it, boy!" he yelled.

             
I turned to the farmer and gave him a look. "Sir, we get paid the same amount, no matter how much time it takes us, right? So, please…I've got it under control."

             
Truth was, my shoulder was killing me to the point of crying like a freaking sissy. But I wasn't about to cop out. We needed the money, plus Marley would just try to pick up my slack and I couldn't have that.

             
He had evil eyed us when we came up with our dark hair. "Knew it," he said under his breath and then smiled condescendingly. "All right, runaways, let's get to work."

             
Ever since then, he'd been on our butts to get the job finished and get gone. We had two stumps left. It was after three in the afternoon, the sun was hot and pissed off, and I was so ready to be done. My shoulders were burned, I could tell. I had to ditch my shirt when the stump grinding came up. Throwing that ax over my shoulder and thumping it into the wood was back breaking work, but I was used to the labor. Marley tried to keep up, picking up all the stray twigs and slivers and putting them in the tinderbox, but it had been an awfully long, hot day.

             
I watched him as he walked away, heading to the chicken coop to check out the work we'd finished up there today. I threw my ax into one of the logs and told Marley to stay there. I ran to his barn and laughed when the keys were right there in the ignition of the John Deere. I looked until I found a chain thick enough and tossed it on before cranking it up.              

             
I used to drive one of those every day when I was in high school. I worked on a woman's farm and she let me live in the loft of the barn where they stored all the junk they couldn't bear to part with. So I knew all the ins and outs of a farm. And the old man may have wanted us to hack for four days at those stumps with an ax, but it wasn't happening.

             
I drove the tractor out of the barn, careful not to clip the door with the hookup. He turned to look at me, hands on his hips. I tipped an imaginary hat to him. He shook his head, but I saw the small smile. He waved his hands at me in an
I give up
manner before turning back to his task.

             
When I reached the stump, I took it out of gear and hopped down to attach the chain around it before I hopped back on. I held my hand out and yelled, "Would the lady like a ride?"

             
She giggled. I saw it, but couldn't hear it. Pity. "Love to, stud!" she yelled back. I hoisted her up to sit on my knee.

             
Her tank top showed her sunburn as well. I kissed the side of her neck,
my spot
, before putting the tractor in gear and letting it buck and pull, before giving it slack and going at it again. Marley held on tight for the ride and when the stump finally gave way, pulling the roots out and tipping it up on its side, she squealed, "This is so much fun!"

             
I laughed and we repeated the process for the next stump, which was a little more stubborn than the first. After that, I went and pulled the wood splitter over. It took us a couple hours to split it all and stack it between the trees he told us to. I parked the tractor and put my shirt back on, exhausted. I didn't even want to eat, just get in bed.

             
He met us half way as we walked toward his house. He had the cash in his hand and folded it in half, giving it all to me. I stuck it in my pocket without counting it and told him thanks and we appreciated it. He nodded, but then said, "Can I talk to you for a minute, son?"

             
I looked at Marley and back to him. "Uh, sure." As we walked a few feet away, I told him, "By the way, my name's Jude. We never properly introduced ourselves."

             
"Myron." He shook my hand and looked over at Marley as he spoke. "She was telling the truth, wasn't she? You're not runaways."

             
"No, sir. We're not."

             
"I didn't think you'd come back today after I didn't pay you yesterday, but you did come back and you're not an idiot. You know how to do things and you both work hard… You're too young to be such hard workers unless you been doing it all your life."             

             
I stayed quiet. I didn't think he was looking for an answer.

             
"You've been walking here every day. You don't have a car so how are y'all leaving town?"

             
"We'll probably take the bus."

             
"Where you headed?"

             
"New Mexico."

             
"What's in New Mexico?" he asked. Nosy old man.

             
"Answers," I said and looked over at Marley. "And hopefully, a way of life where looking over our shoulder isn't a requirement."

             
He smiled. "You're in love with that little girl."

             
I should have balked, I should have laughed… "Yes, sir, I am."

             
"Is it the law you're in trouble with?" he asked, his head cocked toward the barn.

             
I shook my head. "It's…someone who's got a grudge on our parents. But they're long gone."

             
He sighed and then nodded his head for me to follow him. I beckoned Marley to me and followed him to the big, white barn. She took my hand and whispered, "Is everything OK?"

             
I nodded. When I looked back at him, he was pulling the tarp off an old Chevy pick-up truck. It was beautiful. He had restored the black paint and glass. I wondered why he was showing it to us.

             
"It's been kept up for a while, but I take her out and run her about once a month just to make sure she's good to go. She was a project truck. My wife hated this vehicle with her very being because I spent so much time and money on it, but when it was all finished, she always wanted to take this when we went to town. I know if she were here, she'd give you some supper and homemade bread to take with you…but she's not here and I can't cook to barely keep my own self alive, let alone two other folks."