That Summer

By Candy Caine

Max Turner tries to stop his father from beating his mother and accidentally kills his old man in self-defense. His mother refuses to let him confess to the police and forces him to leave indefinitely. Max makes his way from Arkansas to Texas and is hired by Angie Rawlings, a widow nearly the age of his mother, to help with her farm. Angie teaches him to be a man, but when Max meets a beautiful, black girl named Mallory Washington, he's smitten and soon realizes he must choose between working for Angie or being with Mallory. Only before he decides, fate throws out another curveball and turns Max's life inside out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Candy Caine
• Release date: Oct 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393337270

Candy Caine

Whether she's writing red-hot interracial erotica or less edgy contemporary romance as Candace Gold, Candy Caine believes in living life to its fullest in Arizona with her best friend and husband, Robert.

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THAT SUMMER

Candy Caine

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A Common Elements Novel

Copyright © 2019 Candy Caine. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, no portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the express written permission of the author.

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All names, characters and incidents featured in this publication are imaginary. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is coincidental. They are not inspired even distantly by any individual or incident known or unknown to the author.

Author recognizes that all trademarked items mentioned in the book belong to the trademark holders of said items.

CHAPTER ONE

That summer was a hot, steamy one. You could drink a glass of water and it would magically turn into sweat a moment later. The heat of the pavement burned straight through the soles of your shoes and your toes felt like smoked sausages. Arkansas summers were normally hot and humid, but this one seemed determined on breaking all records.

It was also the summer that forever changed Max Turner’s life, for it was one steamy night that his father came home drunk and laced into his poor mother for the very last time.

That terrible night still haunts Max and always will, though most likely if he had been given the chance to relive that night, he’d do it all again. He was asleep in his small room in the back of the house when he heard his mother scream. That blood-curdling holler woke him instantly. He knew the cause had to be his old man who’d come home to torment the defenseless woman. He’d probably gotten piss drunk and lost his money at poker, again. In his whiskey-sodden mind, he blamed her for his wretched life. It was all her fault for getting pregnant with me so young. How Max wished his father would get so drunk he’d forget where he lived.

Max ran into the kitchen, afraid of what he might find. The sight that greeted him wasn’t pretty. His Father had pinned his mother down on the linoleum floor and was hitting her as if she were a punching bag, opening old cuts and blackening faded bruises. She saw Max come at her husband and screamed No! out of fear for her son. She’d shielded him from Jackson Turner’s wrath as best she could all these years, but Max couldn’t let her bear the pain any longer. It felt as if each blow was hitting Max anyway, and he knew he had to do something. If he let it continue, his old man would eventually kill her. It was only a matter of time. Her scream had alerted Jackson and he turned to see Max. Only, it was too late. He couldn’t stop Max any more than a person could stop a charging bull.

Max was eighteen, with broad shoulders and strong arms from chopping wood and hefting hay bales. He crashed into his father. They rolled and thrashed on the floor, knocking into the table and smashing into the walls. But the elder Turner was a dirty-fighter. He’d sooner hit a person with anything he could lay his hands on. He hefted a kitchen chair and tried to crown Max with it. Lucky for Max, he was quicker and ducked. The chair splinted against the wall behind him. Jackson then charged into Max, head first, and knocked the wind from his son’s lungs as he careened off the wall. Dishes and pots rained down on them from their shelves and they rolled in broken crockery. Blood seeped into Max’s right eye from a scalp cut, but he quickly wiped it away to see his father coming at him with a knife.

His mother grabbed her husband’s arm and tried to stop him, but he shoved her off as if she were a mosquito. That distracted the elder Turner for a split second and Max grabbed the iron poker from the fireplace. He struck his father on the head, splitting his skull like a watermelon. Blood and brain splattered all over, covering Max and the walls. The sight sickened him and he began to dry retch. When his retching stopped, he cried out, I hadn’t meant to kill him, only stop him from gutting me like a fish.

His mother checked for a pulse as Max dropped the poker and crumpled to the floor in a blubbering heap. He’d just killed his father.

Max, his mother said softly, as she kneeled beside him. It’s gonna be all right, baby, she crooned, gently stroking his head.

Max stopped crying and looked at her. One eye had already swollen shut. Her nose was broken and blood dripped from her split lips. She looked as if an abstract painter like Picasso had painted her portrait. Yet, she was reassuring him.

I didn’t mean to— Max said, but it came out as a half sob.

It’s okay. It’ll be all right, she tried to reassure him again.

How? I just killed my father. He may have been a bastard, but now he’s dead because of me. Max looked accursedly at his raw-knuckled, blood-speckled hands.

His mother’s face hardened and her voice became as sharp as a blade. She grabbed him roughly by his shoulders. Now you listen to me, son. This never happened as it did. I killed your pa. You remember that."

No, Ma, let me turn myself in. You’ve had enough pain. It’s time for me to shoulder it.

No! You’ve got a whole life in front of you. I’ll not let you throw—

I won’t let you go to jail for me.

I won’t be prosecuted, she shot back.

You got a guarantee in writing, Ma?

She bit her bottom lip. There’s no guarantees in this here life, son. We make our own way. But, I’m pretty certain it will go down as self-defense.

We don’t know that for certain. That’s why I gotta fess up about what happened, Max pleaded.

Stop! We’re wastin’ precious time blabbering.

Max began to reply, but she placed a finger over his battered lips. "Listen to me. You are going to strip off those bloody pajamas and go wash. I will tend to everything."

When he didn’t move, she roughly shook his shoulders. Do you hear me son?

Yes, Ma, Max said in a shaky voice.

Now git before his body cools.

Max undressed quickly and scrubbed himself raw in the shower. His head stung where it had been cut and he ached in a dozen places where his father had hit him. By the time he’d gotten out of the shower, his ma had left clean jeans and a shirt for him to wear. He had no idea what she had in store for him, but it was obvious that she wanted him to get dressed.

He found her in the kitchen, sweeping up the broken dishes. She stopped what she was doing when she noticed him enter. Motioning Max to sit down in the chair, she said, Let me have a look at your scalp.

It’s nothing, Ma.

Let me be the judge of that.

She parted his thick black hair.

Ouch! Max cried, as she prodded the wound, even though he hadn’t meant to be such a wimp and cry out like that.

She cleaned the cut out. It’s not bad. It just looks worse than it is and should heal quickly.

What are you gonna do with Pa?

Call the police.

I watched as she opened a cabinet and removed a jar. She unscrewed the lid and took out a bunch of twenty-dollar bills. Take this, you’ll need it.

What about you?

Don’t worry about me. I kin take care of myself.

I should stay and help you—especially now... that he’s gone.

No. I won’t let you ruin your life. There’s a big world out there where you can make your mark. Go, son... for me.

But, Ma...

Leave before the body cools.

Max memorized her face in those last moments before he left home for the last time. She held him close and kissed him. His tears fell on her. She was his only kin and he was deserting her for a fate unknown. He hesitated, never knowing if he’d ever see her again.

Go, Max. Please, son. I gotta call the police.

He walked out without turning around. Had he turned, he would never have gone. His ma was a decent woman, too good for the likes of his pa. She’d suffered enough from his hands. Max prayed she’d be all right and not experience more pain by going to jail. Leaving made him feel cowardly, but she’d given him no choice.

So, he slunk out of his own home like a cow thief in the night with the little money his ma had given him and a backpack stuffed with clothes. Opening the shed, he rolled out the motorcycle he’d been restoring in his spare time. It wasn’t running perfectly, but it would take him a good distance from the house. He hated leaving his mother to an uncertain future and feared he’d turn back in a moment of weakness. Without any plan, Max headed toward Texas, where he’d look for any type of job and start a new life.

CHAPTER TWO

On the road for what seemed like forever, though Max had only been gone for three days, he came to a small town called Evelyn. He’d left his motorcycle on the side of the road with a seized engine. He was hungry and tired and needed to rest.

Walking past a small post office, a sheriff stopped him.

Where you headed son?

Nowhere in particular, just passing through, sir.

Just make sure you do, since we don’t care much for strangers around here.

I’m not looking for trouble; just a meal and I’ll be gone.

The sheriff watched as Max walked towards the diner on the other side of the street. He decided to wash up before he ordered so he headed for the bathroom.

A guy about his father’s age was inside washing his hands. Max paid him no mind and walked over to a urinal to do his business. Not a moment later, the guy was standing next to Max watching him urinate. The man made him very uncomfortable so he finished quickly and zipped up his jeans.

Want to make some money? the stranger asked as Max washed his hands.

The way he’d been looking at him didn’t seem right, so Max just figured he was up to no good.

No.

You sure, pal? It wouldn’t take no more than a few minutes. We can do it here, he said pointing to a stall.

Max had heard about guys who liked other guys doing stuff to them, but that wasn’t his thing. He didn’t need money that badly.

No. I gotta go, Max said and turned to leave.

The guy grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to make him stay. Max roughly pushed him out of his way, knocking him against a stall. Remembering what the Sheriff had said, Max was afraid the man might make trouble for him so he didn’t stay to eat. He just kept on walking until he was at least a mile out of that town.

About five miles down the road a truck driver stopped and gave Max a lift.

Where you heading, buddy? he asked as Max lifted himself into the rig.

Nowhere in particular. Just a place where I can get a job and stay a while.

You on the run?

No, just moving on.

Ever been to Abilene?

Max shook his head.

Well, that’s where I’m taking this load. You’re bound to find work there.

I’ll give it a try.

Got family in these parts?

No.

I got a sweet little woman and two little boys waiting on me back in Tucson. Thinking about them gets me through these long hauls.

One day I’ll make enough money to have me a family.

Family is everything. I’m saving every loose nickel to buy me my own rig.

By the time they pulled into Abilene, it was early afternoon. Max felt as if he’d known Charlie all his life. Besides, he was thankful Charlie was straight and didn’t hit on him like the guy in the bathroom. Max thanked him and wished him luck.

Seems like you’re the one who needs the luck right now, Max, as he shook his hand.

Max smiled and said, Thanks, again.

No, sweat, man. Just take care.

With some of the little money he had left, Max went into a small restaurant for a bite to eat. The waitress was old enough to be his grandmother and certainly acted like one. The nametag she wore bore the name of Mabel. He thought it suited her just fine.

What y’all having?

A burger with fries and pop.

From the looks of you, milk is what y’all should be drinking.

Max laughed. I stopped drinking milk ages ago.

Milk drinking has no age limit.

Maybe so, but I’d like pop instead.

She shrugged and mumbled, So much for some healthy advice, and ambled off towards the kitchen.

Max looked around. There were about a dozen or so people eating. It was an old restaurant and could have used some fresh paint and new cushions on the seats, but it seemed decent enough to eat in. Most of all, the prices were reasonable.

A sudden memory flashed at the back of his mind. Whenever he took his mother into town shopping, they’d often stop in for a quick bite at the local diner. She’d seem so different when they were away from home, as if a heavy burden had been