Along the Shore

By JD Jones

When Roarke lost his wife and child in that devastating car accident, he believed his life was over. Not a good place for the young minister of a progressive Christian church to be. Where was his faith? Could he find it again on a forced sabbatical from his church? Would he find love again? When he picks up a hitchhiker who is having a bad day, he has no idea what God is working out for him.
Meeting Brenda is like receiving a gift, but Roarke can only see his personal pain. All around him life is blossoming, men and women are reaching out to him, even a young child sees him as a potentially new father. then he receives information from a friend about his deceased wife having carried on an affair with him right up until her car accident. Roarke is even more devastated now. What kind of husband must he have been to push such a wonderful woman to that extreme.
With the help of an ex-biker turned preacher and a woman who's seeking her own reformed lease on life, Roarke finds his way. But it travels through some dark places and requires he discover a new confidence in his God and the good things that life holds for every person.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JD Jones
• Release date: Nov 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005159825

JD Jones

JD Jones now writes full time. As a minister, he and his wife of 30+ years spent their days working with at-risk youth. He has three children of his own who provide him with the source of his belief that he has succeeded. "The greatest pleasures in life are the simple things so many take for granted. All we can do in this life is make a lot of memories. Everything else is just so much stuff."

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Along the Shore

Copyright © 2022, James D. Jones Jr.

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Along the Shore

by JD Jones

A Novel

The Road Calls

1

One Year Before

She was late. She had told herself she would not let it make her late again. Hell, she had told herself she was not going to do it again, either. How had that worked out? Here she was. Not only had she done it again, but now she had to rush to make up for the time she had stolen, too.

She hurriedly checked her clothing, making sure everything was back in place where it belonged. She checked her face in the mirror several times as she drove. No smudges or tell tale signs of where she had been. Satisfied all was in order and she was as yet undiscovered in her deceit, she concentrated on hurrying back to the game. With everything properly hidden and things looking like she had successfully done it again without getting caught, she started to lighten up. She screwed that smile back on her lips. The one all pastor's wives had. Everyone knew it was fake but accepted it as their reality.

Parking in the parking lot, she eased her minivan back into the same parking spot she had occupied when she had left only an hour before. An hour and ten minutes, she looked at her watch. Damn! She mumbled under her breath. Ten minutes late. Maybe they were playing over their time. That happened sometimes. Just not when she was late. She grabbed the Gatorade out of the cooler in the back and pushed the button that closed the big door for her.

She didn't bother locking the car. Everyone knew her car. Who would steal anything from the pastor's wife? Besides, she didn't expect to be gone very long. No time for thieves to target her. Wasn't she a thief anyway? Stealing time from her son's soccer game? Stealing love from one of her husband's congregants? Hell, she was stealing love from her husband and giving it away, wasn't she?

It was always the same afterward. The guilt. The shame. The recriminations. A day or so of feeling bad about it. Then a couple days of feeling good about herself, satisfied. Then, later, the desire came back. The loneliness came back. And with it, she had an answer. It was the cycle her life was caught up in right now. She hated it.

Her lover had offered to help her fill her time whenever she wanted. He would take whatever she wanted to give. He made no demands, content to have whatever part of her she could give him. And she loved giving it to him. He was always so appreciative of her every time. He made her feel loved again. That he was her husband's friend was only fitting. If her husband could not give her what she needed, his friend would.

Don't blame him! She corrected her thoughts. Never! This was not his fault. She knew what she was getting into from the start. Her father had been a pastor. She had watched her mother suffer the alone time and the feeling of being secondary to the congregation at times. She knew what to expect and had married him anyway. She was as much to blame as anyone. More. She had done it knowing what was ahead. He was doing the best he could. So was she.

She did it because she wanted to do it. She liked the feeling of doing the forbidden. She had always followed the rules. What had it gotten her? A life of loneliness and wishing for more. Now, it was a life of sneaking around and rushing and hoping for being just a little smarter than others. Exciting, if one liked that sort of thing. She did not. She did not like the guilt, either. She wanted her husband back. She wanted that idyllic pastor's wife's life that no one ever got to live.

She had been begging him to take some time off and take them on a vacation. But the building program was consuming all his time. Too much to be done. There were lots of members helping him. He was not alone in this endeavor. Only she was alone. Left off to the side like a second thought he'd get back to when he felt like it. When he remembered. That's why she did it. Slept with him. He made her feel like number one, at least for a little while. In his arms, she was not number two. Not ever.

The game had broken up. Parents were still congratulating the winners and gathering up their kids. She was not too late. Quickly she found him. Her son, Jason. He was all smiles. They had won. They were leading the league and he liked being a winner. What nine year old didn't? Hell! She wanted to feel like a winner, too. Was that not why she cheated? To feel like she was winning at something? Can't win in regular life? Build a false life and win in that. Wasn't that what she was doing?

She shook the dark webs of her deceit out of her mind and put that smile back in place. Everyone would expect it. The happy pastor's wife. No one wanted to know about her misery. Know one cared about anything accept that she looked good standing next to her husband. His show piece. The happy homemaker. The perfect wife for the perfect family. That's all anyone wanted from her. She hated it.

There was no one she could confide in. All that would do is feed the gossip mill. And boy! Did these folks like to gossip! After worshiping God, it was their second favorite thing to do. Maybe the first. And any gossip concerning the pastor or his family was the best gossip. She'd heard it all growing up. Her mother smiled wrong at one of the members. Sometimes that meant she was a loose woman. Other times that meant she was unfriendly. Same smile. Different members. Apparently their gossip was driven by their own inner demons. And boy! What congregation wasn't full of those?

Her father slighted another member. Shook too many hands or not enough hands or the wrong hands. Does he not know what manner of woman that touches him? Should not the pastor have some inner sense of God about him, a way to immediately know what's in a person's heart. Boy! Would those people be surprised to know what God told the pastor about them!

And she, as the pastor's only daughter was not immune from their gossip, no matter how nice she tried to be to everyone for her father's sake. The way she laughed at that off color joke proved that the pastor's family was not living for God. Didn't matter to anyone that it was their child that told the joke. Didn't matter that he had heard his father telling it, either. Mr. Self Righteous Council Member. All that mattered was being able to talk about someone that made them feel better about their own failings. No wonder so many people quit coming to church as they grew up.

Anyone that believed being a pastor was about being loved and supported had never been a pastor or part of the pastor's family. She hated the life. But that was no excuse for her behavior. She did not allow it to be an excuse either. She didn't want excuses. She wanted to feel better about things.

She did not justify her choices by the way they were treated. But it sure made it easier to go outside the gospel to find fulfillment. Adulterers will find their place in hell's flames. She knew the scriptures. Was being a pastor's wife any less a type of hell's flames on its own? She was already in hell, she thought. Screw them and their sanctimonious selves. She'd meet God on her own terms and not be pushed along by some self righteous crowd of dried up church goers.

Waving, she called out. Jason.

He saw her as soon as she said his name. She could never understand how he did that. No matter where they were or how many people were around, the minute she called his name, he would look up at her and smile. That smile. It always melted her heart. She would not have made it these last six months without that smile. She wondered if he knew how grateful she was for being his mother. Probably not. Nine year olds didn't think like that. Their hearts were full of adventures and presents and sweets, if Jason was any representation of the average nine year old.

He spoke quickly to some of the other players and then separated from them, running to his mother with his cleats and his ball in his hands, wearing his red running shoes. Those were his favorites of late. Red Nikes that made him faster. That was his claim at least. Always spoken with a big smile that said he believed it, too.

Ready to go home? she asked him.

Sure. Where've you been? She winced at his contraction.

She liked it better when he spoke slower and used all the words, instead of shortening them or using slang. It had become their usual battle of late. He wanted to be cool and sound like the rappers and musicians he saw on TV. She wanted him to sound like a normal kid with normal aspirations. But the battle was her lies right now. She really hated lying to him. It would be worse to tell him the truth, though. Oh what tangled webs we weave...

I ran a few errands. Got you this. She handed him the cold Gatorade.

She had it in the cooler she kept in the back of the minivan with the groceries she had purchased before she picked him up from school and drove him to the park for the game. It was sufficiently sweating in the heat so he'd know she had just gotten it. Part of the cheater's plan, she told herself. Alibi one's whereabouts, even with the little one.

He would tell everyone where she was if they asked. He was holding the proof, his Gatorade. Deception complete. She quickly glanced down at her outfit one more time. All in place. She'd gotten away with it one more time. So far.

Waving obligatorily to a couple of the other moms as they made their way back to the minivan, she felt better about winning this round. Again. Everyone wanted to be a winner. Even cheaters. Wasn't that why people cheated? To win at something. Her something was feeling loved at the moment. She had spent a stolen hour getting her win on. Winning at the deception, now, was good for everyone in this situation, she told herself. She did not want her husband to be affected by her deceit.

As long as she kept it a secret, he was safe. Hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do. Well, maybe not the last thing, but way down on the list. Being alone was the last thing she wanted to do, obviously. At the top of the list was getting her husband alone on vacation, not hurt him with a scandal. She still loved him. This was not a rebellion for love. It was a rebellion for feeling like she still counted to someone.

Jason loaded his gear into the back of the minivan, right beside her cooler of alibi goods. Only the closest inspection would show the ice packs she was using had been in there longer than the time her alibi would need them to be present. They'd been melting for about four hours instead of two hours. But only she ever saw that.

No one cared about her mom duties except her. As long as they got done. She depended on that fact. Being the invisible mom and pastor's wife No one cared what she did as long as she didn't make a scene. Well, she had taken care of her mom duties. Even the one that satisfied her woman's heart for some intimacy. Bet they'd all care about that one if they could learn of it.

She started the minivan and waved again at a smiling mom and her tired looking daughter dressed in her uniform crossing behind them as she backed out. She let her breath come in its normal rhythm again. The danger had passed. No one knew her or her minivan at her lover's house. She had parked it in his garage anyway. She had made her trips both ways and there had been no incidents. No one had recognized her. It was a house he was renting. No one in that neighborhood would be looking out for him or who he might meet. Another perspective renter. Clear on that front.

She'd picked her child up without any confrontation. She'd not stopped to talk to anyone and did not have to tell anyone a lie. Except her child. That lie was necessary every time. The alibi needed to be refreshed again and again. She regretted that need. But it was a need. She looked at her angel, headphones on, listening to his music. A Playlist chosen by his father and approved for all audiences. The picture of complete innocence. She never wanted to ruin that. Not for anything.

She brought the car up to the speed limit as soon as they were past the town limits. Fifty five. She liked to go faster, but with Jason in the vehicle, she held to the speed limit. Never faster. Safety first. Jason first. Family first. The bane of a mom's existence. Everyone came first except her. When would it be her turn? She felt that familiar self pity rising up and pushed it away. It helped nothing.

She started humming along with the song on the radio. Local Christian station, of course. No secular music for the pastor's wife. No life outside of the church for the pastor's wife. Only drudgery and loneliness were allowed. She felt happy that she had foiled the congregation's sanctimonious plans once again. No drudgery for her. No loneliness for her, either. She had filled up those holes in her life this afternoon. She was good for a couple more days, now. And they were none the wiser.

You are God over the storm, and I am yours, she hummed along with the song. Appropriate. If her life was the storm, then her lover was the current god over her storm. I am yours, she sung under her breath as the song moved on. I am yours. She wanted someone to claim her. Anyone.

She checked Jason in the mirror again. He was oblivious to her mood or her words. As much as she loved him, she also knew he was not the answer to her life's issues. Her purpose was to help him grow, not use him as a crutch for her insecurities. She would protect him from herself as much as from this cruel world. Especially those unmerciful members of his father's church. And she would urge him to become anything but a preacher. But for the moment she was happy. Sometimes, a moment is all anyone has, she told herself.

Forgive me, Lord, she whispered under her breath, meaning it. Sincerely.

She always repented after being with him. She did not want to die as an adulteress. She wanted to feel clean again. At least in her soul. She would shower that physical part away when she got home. Her husband would never know another man had used her body this afternoon. She would wash all evidence away as soon as she could.

She wanted to be a good pastor's wife. She was just feeling left out right now. Cheating did not make it better. It was only a temporary fix. She was sorry for her deceptions. She was sorry for her anger against a congregation of members that really had no clue about their actions or how she saw them.

Forgive them Lord, they know not what they do, she whispered further, checking Jason in the mirror. It was still just her and God in the front seat. She always felt better when she talked to God. She never felt his condemnation. Only his concern at times. And always his joy that she had come to talk again. She needed that, now. As wrong as this was, she wanted to feel right again.

Talking with God helped her move back into that pastor's wife's role and leave the world of the illicit lover behind her. She did not feel guilty about shifting roles. Forgiveness was instant and free. God forgave David each time he transcended God's desires for his life. Look how far David went. He was king of Israel. She didn't want to be king. Just a good pastor's wife. She knew God wanted to help her settle into that role no matter how far she strayed at times. And she counted being in another man's arms as straying quite a ways. Everyone had skeletons in their closet she believed.

Thank you, Lord, she smiled at herself in the mirror after checking on Jason again. I know you always hear me and forgive me my transgressions. Thank you, Lord. She felt clean again.

The crash came swiftly. A car veered into her lane. Before she could react, the impact had already crushed metal and glass and lives in a fiery explosion. The sound of tearing metal and shattering glass tore across the mid afternoon landscape. Cars in both direction screeched to a halt, tires leaving dark, desperate, black streaks on pavement. Seeing the big sedan veer off its side of the road, cross the line and contact the smaller minivan, was not usual for their community. Everyone stopped to pay attention to the pastor's wife at that moment. Though none knew she was in that fireball.

Smoke and fire belched from the impact site. Screams filled the air from onlookers horrified by the scene. Traffic halted and people ran as close as they could get to the heat of the flames to see if they could render aid. The fire roared and dared all that would come close. No life could be seen in the mangled vehicles anyway. No one could survive that crash.

No one knew at that instant that the pastor had just lost his family. That would only come hours later, after the fire department arrived and washed the flames and blood away. The pastor was mercifully ignorant of them even being missing until he came home to an empty house. It took another two hours before he was notified by the police that his wife's minivan was involved in a fiery crash. Then the pastor's life crashed.

Across town, it was another day before the papers reported the names of the people killed in the fiery crash everyone was talking about. A man read the words and cried again. He had been notified when the congregation called for prayer for the pastor after they learned of his wife's and son's death. He had personally talked to the pastor and given him his condolences, keeping his secret to himself for all eternity. He would die with his secret and his pain. He had been her lover that afternoon. He could never weep openly. That would be his penance, he told himself. The price he would pay.

2

Present time

She was a pretty woman despite her attempt to affect a tough almost dangerous exterior in her fashion, stance and cold attention to her surroundings. Her fiery, red hair added to the fierceness of her look but those calm, kind, blue eyes belied a soul that was much more suited to a friendly conversation than a search for a wild party. At five foot, six, with creamy, white skin, rich, red, full lips and high cheek bones she was not only beautiful but the kind of womanly presence that men noticed no matter the atmosphere or the circumstances. She turned heads wherever she went.

Roarke Donnelly noticed her at the counter of the big truck stop. In that room full of mostly burly men, she stuck out like a rose growing in a field of weeds. He had stopped for lunch and was quite satisfied that his greasy burger and oily fries had fulfilled every intent he had on killing himself as soon as possible and getting out of this life. Sonia had always told him that his diet was going to kill him. There was some small satisfaction in proving her right he believed.

Thinking of her brought the sadness back. It was never far away. Always hovering and threatening. It had become his constant companion. Nothing displaced it. Not preaching. Not helping others. Nothing he had ever counted as joyous made a difference in the sadness. It just was.

He made a point of telling himself he was getting better because he could look at another woman and see her beauty. This woman was no Sonia but she was pretty. The kind of pretty that made even married men look twice.

The sadness spoke up and asked him what he was going to do about it. Nothing, he answered himself. There was nothing to do about it. The sadness had made its point again. It was winning a lot, lately. Nothing was what his life had become. A big basket full of nothing.

It had been almost a year since the accident and he was still stuck in neutral. Nothing gave him joy. He cared for nothing. He went about his duties daily and did what was required of him. But there was no fire any more. There was no desire any more. There was only the nothing.

The Council had suggested the sabbatical. He had not wanted to admit he was ineffective at his job. He already had too much nothing in his life. More nothing was not the answer, he felt. But they had been insistent. They loved him, they said. But then they told him to go away. How did people who loved you wish you away? More nothing. Nothing mattered.

Only Wade had stuck with him, arguing that the church had a duty to their pastor as much as they felt he had a duty to them. He'd even tried to get them to admit they needed to be part of the solution if it was going to be God's will in this thing. He had argued that the church community had to stand by their man and hold him up until he could walk on his own. He had heard Wade's words and wondered just how bad he had gotten. Was he not walking on his own? Was he that bad? The Council had heard Wade out, but stuck to its guns. Good for them. They wanted something from their pastor. He had nothing. That much he knew.

So, it was decided that he would go on sabbatical for one year. The church paid for half of his salary for the year. Wade had volunteered the other half. He had that kind of money. He was in real estate and owned a lot of properties all over the county. It was rumored that he had millions socked away in various banks. More than the money, he was a good friend. Roarke did not believe he deserved a friend as good as Wade had been through all this. Truly the best.

Wade had always been a good friend to the church and to Roarke and his family. He had personally seen to the details for the funeral and covered the costs himself. He had asked Roarke to let him do that for him. Roarke knew that he had loved him and his family. He had shown his love to them many times since they had come to pastor at this church.

A confirmed bachelor, Wade was like one of the family. Many was the time Roarke came home from a shelter visit or from a member's side in a time of need to find Wade had taken Sonia and Jason out to dinner and seen to their needs like he would have done if he'd been free to do it. Wade was that one in a million friend every guy wishes for but would never let on that he desired. At a time like the last year had been, Wade Moreland was the kind of friend every man needed when he just lost his entire family.

It was with a heavy heart Roarke had driven away from Goodwork Fellowship Church of God. It was the last place she had been alive. He felt like he was leaving her behind. Her and his son. They were both still there in his mind. Not just their graves, but their essence. What made them who they were. It was all still there. He wanted them to be in his heart but all he felt in his heart was more nothing.

He'd had breakfast at a Cracker Barrel a few miles away from their home. Their home. What a shallow and hollow sounding drum that had become. More nothing. Is it actually a home without a family? He doubted it. He did not feel very much at home with himself. An empty home is worse than no home at all. It was a big reminder of what had once been. A monument to his pain.

Wade had promised to keep an eye on the place. He had helped them purchase the place the second year they had come to Goodwork Fellowship. Now, it was a symbol of all the nothing he had in his life. The big house of nothing. Empty rooms. Empty cabinets. Empty refrigerator.

All it signified to him was how much he had lost. Getting away from that house was the only good thing to come out of this sabbatical trip. At least he did not have to stare at the chair where she used to sit or the floor where Jason used to play. He did not have to walk by that room and stare in at his son's empty bed or or lie down in his own bed, feeling the emptiness beside him each night. There was some mercy in this idea of getting away and healing up.

Roarke wiped absently at his eyes. The tears did not come any more. He had cried himself out. But the idea that he was sad enough to be crying still remained. That was why he wiped. A reminder that there once was something. Even his tears had turned to nothing. He had too much nothing already.

The pretty woman at the counter was conversing with a man who obviously drove a truck. She was asking for a ride. Normal enough, he supposed. He knew some people hitched rides. Not that he had ever done it. But some people did.

The man, a fortyish, sweaty, ball cap wearing trucker type, with a leering grin, seemed interested in her or at least interested in how she was going to pay for the ride. They were quietly discussing what she was willing to do for a ride. Roarke could have wished he'd not been close enough to hear the details. The trucker seemed to be getting the upper hand and was smiling about the fact he had her at a disadvantage. Roarke wanted to step in and offer his help but was afraid his intervening would look more like he wanted to be her new benefactor rather than some knight rushing to her rescue. He let the drama play out as life was meant to be played out, without him.

She left with the man, following him reluctantly out the back door of the place, looking around one last time as though she would have preferred another choice if one would stand up and offer. Roarke felt that guilty tug in his heart as she desperately searched the room for another person to offer her a ride. No takers. He knew that was what she was doing, searching for another option. Roarke's silence left her with no other option. She exited behind the trucker and was gone.

Roarke did what he always did when he knew he had missed his chance to step up and let God prod him to help. He considered the social situation he had just observed. Somehow, being an observer stopped him from being responsible for missing God in that moment. He wondered how many women like her answered the questions in their life as he had just witnessed. Giving into the baser instincts of the human condition to achieve basic needs and desires. Maybe we all did the same thing to some extent. Had he not just given into his own baser instinct to be selfish?

It saddened him to believe there was probably a lot of women out there doing the very same thing at this moment. A different kind of sadness than his sadness. A sadness for mankind and its troubles. He counted it as wholly God that he could still see the troubles of men even during his own battle with the great emptiness he felt inside. It was one of his questions. Why did God still allow him to feel anything for others when he could no longer feel anything for himself?

He finished off his fries and pondered his condition. He was stuck, he reasoned. Somewhere between a rock and a hard place, he judged. God being the rock, of course. The hard place being the nothingness he felt his life had become. The way he knew he was stuck was that life kept moving all around him. He was going nowhere.

He knew the answer was filling the nothingness up with something. But one had to care about something before one could use it to fill anything up. He could not find anything to care about any more. That was the essence of being stuck. Wallowing in his nothingness.

He stood up to leave. At six, one, he stretched to his full frame after that confining booth seat. Why did they not make booth seats for people to stretch out and relax? Not everyone was a three foot tall kid. He thought of those clowns at the circus, piling out of the little VW Bug in waves of laughter and hilarity. How could they laugh after being crammed in that tiny space?

He would have liked to stretch out fully after that cramped seat, like a bear climbing out of some cave after a long nap, but thought better of it. Place was crowded. Instead, he ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. He never carried a comb. Combed it once in the morning, maybe, before he left the house. But after that, it was on its own. Fortunately, it had just enough wave in it to keep it looking like he at least tried to remain neat throughout the day in that unkempt chic everyone tried to affect.

Instinctively, he averted his deep, brown eyes from further looking around this place. It was full of people going someplace important. He did not need to be reminded that he was going nowhere. Sometimes, being an observer had its drawbacks.

Like a cat stretching as it moved, he stretched in place, allowing his thin, athletic, runner's body to relax in position as he contemplated the table before him. He had stacked all his trash and silverware in one plate and stacked the plates as his wife had told him many times to do. Makes it easier for the waitress to clear, she reminded him each time they ate out somewhere.

Like returning one's shopping cart to approved buggy corrals, instead of leaving it roaming free in the parking lot. It amused him how she always made it sound like those free buggies were targeting car paint jobs and needed to be stopped. It was just common courtesy, she maintained. We all need to be more courteous. That was her way.

He'd already paid his bill. The waitress had brought him his change minutes ago. Now, he fished a couple dollars out of his wallet and laid them on the table, sliding them under the salt shaker. He looked at the salt shaker and thought that he had become the proverbial salt that had lost its savor. That thought prompted him to put the couple dollars back into his wallet and replace them with a five. That amounted to about a sixty percent tip, he calculated.

There! Take that, Sadness! How's that for savoring life? He smiled at the waitress as he moved to the door and passed her heading over to clean up his booth and retrieve her hard won reward. She was efficient and good at her job, making ready for the next customer as soon as possible.

At the door he saw her pick up the five. She immediately looked toward his retreating figure and he caught her smile. At least someone was smiling today, he reasoned. He might not could smile but he could still feel good inside.

May you never know this sadness, he prayed for the waitress as he headed for his car across the parking lot.

May none of you know this sadness, he prayed under his breath for everyone using that truck stop right then. A blanket prayer of good fortune for everyone.

May God grant you a life full of every satisfaction, he added as he got into his car. He still believed in prayer. He still believed in God and everything he had ever preached. He just had trouble believing the God had anything but emptiness for him.

Bless everyone else, he prayed to God. It was his heart's cry of late. He did not want anyone to feel the nothing he could feel. No one should ever have to feel like he did.

Brenda McCormack accepted the ride after a brief negotiation. The guy knew he had her over a barrel and she let him use that to get what he wanted. It was one of the hazards of accepting rides and needing to go somewhere specific. Otherwise, she could have waited for another driver with a more amenable countenance and less of a demanding nature.

Most trucks were headed south from this point. Very few were headed east. Only one right then. A few were headed west, having already been east and now returning. She could wait until tomorrow morning. More would be heading east then. She'd have a choice of rides, maybe. Of course, there was no guarantee that she'd be better off tomorrow. Live for today, she always said.

That was part of the hazard of looking as she did. Pretty girls could always get rides. But these rough men were always expecting her to pay for that ride, too. She had adopted the leather jacket and tough posture to keep them at some length until she let them get closer, choosing her battles as she desired. Mostly, it worked. Sometimes not.

The truth was she was getting tired. Tired of the acting. Tired of the endless negotiation her life had become. Tired of never really feeling safe. Tired of the road. That was the reason she needed to go in a specific direction. Home. That was why she let Harvey force her into giving up whatever he wanted for this ride. He was going almost all the way to her home town, Shallotte, North Carolina.

It would be worth it, she told herself. She could handle this one last time to get home. Getting home was worth this one last indignity. It was not like she had not done worse. She could shower and brush her teeth later. She had new tooth brushes just for this kind of thing. A girl on the road had to travel aware of what might be necessary. She'd survive this. She had to. She had to get home. She felt the need as surely as she had ever felt anything.

Harvey was already glaring at her as he eased the big rig onto the highway. He set the cruise control on the console and leaned back, guiding the huge freight missile down the road with just a touch of his fingers on the big wheel. He was ready for her. She always regretted the need for this kind of thing but had come to expect it was part of her life.

It was her lot in life, she told herself. Men demanded. She complied. It was how things worked. Don't mess up how things worked. It was her history. It was her future and her present. It just was.

It had started with her father. He'd been the first to abuse her. She'd thought all little girls had to go through that when she was thirteen. By the time she was ready to put an end to it, she had been doing it for her father for four years. That's a lot of time spent on her knees, she reasoned. She wondered if God counted that time she had spent on her knees. Lord knows, she prayed for it to be over quickly every time.

After running away at seventeen, she was doing the same thing and worse for other men, but at least she was deciding who and what she was getting out of it then. That was some consolation, she had told herself over the past fourteen years. It had not all been bad, either. Not all men were pigs. But most of the truck drivers who would give her a ride were. Good men didn't pick up women who looked like she did. Their wives or girlfriends would not like it. Neither would their mothers.

She remembered the eyes of that man in the restaurant as he had stared at her. It was like he was seeing inside her. He had seemed sad. Kind and even interesting in a way that could interest a girl to ask questions or even let him buy her a drink. But definitely sad eyes. The saddest eyes she had ever seen. Something bad had happened to that man. She was sure of that.

She wondered what made that man so sad as she knelt down by the console next to Harvey's seat. He smelled of diesel and baked beans. He must have had the hotdogs and beans special at the restaurant. She saw many of the truck drivers ordering it while she waited for a truck going her way. Damn! He was already farting, too. Indignity upon indignity.

She concentrated on the kind man's sad eyes in her mind as she unzipped Harvey's pants and fulfilled her part of their deal. He gave her a ride. She gave him a thrill. Probably something his wife would never do for him in a million years. If he was even married. Who would marry this guy? Thoughts of Harvey didn't make it any easier for her. She just concentrated on the kind man's eyes. The mystery of their meaning. It was the only way to get through this she had found over the years. Concentrate on something else.

Harvey was like most of the men she met. He wanted something tough for her to perform while he gave nothing really. That part always rankled her sense of decency. She would not have minded it so much, she told herself, if the guy had to do something that caused him some kind of extra work or discomfort. Truth was, he was going to drive in her direction if she was in his cab or not. This cost him nothing while costing her everything. He was getting a bonus for doing his job like he always did because she had a need.

Why are your eyes so sad, man from the restaurant? She asked herself in her mind even as the rest of her dedicated itself to Harvey's pleasure. She convinced herself that knowing the source of that man's sadness was important. Every part of her mind being focused on that question, she let her body react to all stimuli as it had learned to over the years. The question became paramount to her existence. It kept her mind away from what her body was engaged in. Everything else was just so much distraction to her true purpose. She had to know what caused that sadness. Could she make his sadness go away?

Men had told her at times that she was a source of great happiness to them before. Did this man need a source of happiness? Would he even let her near him, let alone accept her as a source of happiness? That was probably the better question for him. She felt pretty sure he would turn her away if he knew what she was doing right now. How she paid for rides with strangers.

She wanted to turn away from this part of her existence, too. She would not blame him for pushing her away like others had. But, this was not her life. This was just her existing. Would he understand that? Was he the understanding type? His eyes looked like they could understand lots of things. They knew things about life. She was sure of that. That kind of sadness came from knowing things.

She wondered where the kind eyes were right now. She imagined them heading for home, wherever that was. A fine home with a fine wife and a couple of fine children. He'd been on the road for a couple days, trying to get home to them. She made up her own story of a man she was sure she'd never see again. He was a good man in her story. A man who loved his wife and never beat his children. A son he taught to play baseball and a daughter he never snuck into her bedroom to abuse. It was a fine story. One she would have liked to live.

She filled out all the details of the man's wonderful life as Harvey guided his truck down the road and let her pay her debt. Harvey was thinking his Harvey thoughts, about his nagging wife and the work he had to do around the house when he got home. That was why he owed this brief respite to himself. He earned it. He was always a good guy on the road, except when he wasn't. Mostly good, he told himself and groaned within himself. Treating himself to this beautiful redhead was one of the best treats he'd ever given himself. Maybe he was bad, but he deserved to be bad once in a while.

Brenda felt the man's body stiffen in his seat and knew what was coming for her. Roughly, his hand grabbed the back of her head and tried to force her closer, hard. He was yelling at her and hurting her with his strength, cutting off her ability to breathe. She was choking and drowning and determined not to die like this in Harvey's hands. He was laughing and enjoying her struggling as much as he had enjoyed what she had done for him. Her father did the same thing sometimes. He had.

She fought Harvey's hands off her head and he made a mess on his pants and his seat as well as the floor where she knelt. Only a little of his mess spilled onto her jacket, staining it, wet. Free of his control, Brenda was laughing hysterically at the mess he had made. Harvey was incensed and fuming at what he could not control. She was laughing at him he believed. He would not allow that. No one laughed at him. Especially not some truck stop whore.

With a hiss and locking thump of the big rig's brakes and a fuming of his already bad attitude, Harvey wiped at his mess with some paper towels he pulled from the door pocket. He had immediately pulled the truck to the side of the road as soon as he found a suitable place to pull off on the shoulder. He was shouting at her, blaming her for what she had done to him.

She just kept laughing. It was too comical to not laugh. Served the jerk right, she thought to herself but kept her words to herself. No sense making this worse. She still needed the ride. It wasn't looking good. She didn't mean to laugh, but it was funny.

Get out! he shouted. Get out of my truck, you bitch!

Who you calling a bitch, you asshole? She retaliated, knowing her ride was over anyway. No reason to be nice to stupid Harvey now.

I ought to... Harvey reared back with his arm and saw the glint of stubborn determination in her eyes. She'd call the police. He knew it. She'd take his license down and call the police. Turn him in if he hit her. Everything in him wanted to annihilate her. Make her regret what she did.

Go ahead, she dared him. I've been hit by bigger men than you. Real men who didn't mess their pants, she laughed at him again, pointing to his mess, further driving home his situation.

She was angry now. Funny was funny but violence required more violence. She felt in her purse for her pepper spray. It was illegal for her to carry it. But it had saved her life more than once. She was not going to end up on some morgue table because she had not prepared herself against the crazies that were out there. If