Footloose (2 page)

Chapter 2

Three Years Later

The uneven rhythm of the wheels of the Greyhound bus lulled Ren into a stupor. Random thumps and thuds made up the soundtrack of his ride as they rolled over potholes and more roadkill than he'd ever seen on the streets of Boston. He wished he could listen to his iPod, but the battery completely drained four states back. This was the third bus he'd been trapped on in over thirty hours with not nearly enough rest stops. His back hurt, his neck ached, and both his feet were asleep, but he still couldn't get excited that he was close to getting off the bus for good. He wasn't looking forward to reaching his final destination.

The sign outside the oversize bus window told him he was almost there: Bomont, Georgia. Population: 11,780. It was smaller than the student body of Boston College. That's where Ren wanted to go when he dared to dream about college. Mainly because he wanted to stay close to home. But “home” didn't really mean what it used to.

The bus rumbled into a town square lined by old brick buildings. The square was fairly busy for an early Saturday. Some kind of farmers' market was set up, with people selling fruits and vegetables they probably picked off their land that morning.
How quaint.

They had something like that in his old neighborhood in Boston, too, for a couple hours every third Saturday of the month. Ren always found nice deals there, and would stock up on dinner for the week when it was his turn to do the shopping. The food was good, but he really went back for the crazy mix of characters.

In his old neighborhood, wanna-be Rastafarians haggled with upwardly mobile urban professionals over the price of strawberries. Street performers painted their bodies in silver and gold, playing bongos one week and violins the next. The drag queen still working her way home from a Friday night of club-hopping was a regular.

The local color in Bomont was a bit blander. Jeans and T-shirts were the norm. Every now and then, khakis and polos mixed in. It was a small town lost in time. Even the freshly scrubbed kids licking their ice cream cones were straight out of one of those old Norman Rockwell paintings that seemed to be in every doctor's office he'd ever walked into.

Ren wasn't a Norman Rockwell type. He preferred Jackson Pollock or Picasso. Those were the paintings he ran to when his mom took him to the museum on the free Wednesday nights when he was a kid. A lifetime ago.

The bus pulled up to the curb with a squeal and a hiss that echoed Ren's feelings about the place. He grabbed his bag from the overhead rack and made his way down the aisle. The sum total of his worldly possessions had fit in the old army-style duffel he used to use for his gymnastics equipment. Everything else, including the car, had been sold to pay the medical bills and funeral expenses.

The bus door quickly shut behind him and the driver pulled out, leaving him alone on the curb. Nobody else got off at the stop. He was the only person whose destination was Bomont.

With a sigh of fresh country air, Ren started off on the route he barely remembered from his last visit. The place seemed bigger back then, but only because he'd been much smaller. That was back before his mom got sick … back when their only problem was a disappearing dad, which wasn't that big a problem at all.

Ren waited for a slow-moving train to pass, then crossed the tracks, heading for Warnicker Auto Sales. His uncle's dealership didn't look a bit different than it had on his last visit years earlier. The only thing that changed were the cars. A few of them might even have been around back then, too.

It was impossible to believe that the girls sitting in the front seat of a convertible up on a display lift were his cousins. Sarah looked nothing like the little toddler he remembered from his last trip to Bomont. Amy hadn't even been born yet. According to the last birthday cards his mom had made him sign for them, Sarah was nine now, Amy six.

The girls were having a blast in the car. Probably imagining it was taking them the hell out of Bomont.

Sarah was behind the wheel, pretending to drive, while Amy was in the seat next to her. At first, Ren thought she was waving to him, but he quickly realized she was greeting the imaginary friends they passed on their imaginary ride. That changed when her head swiveled in Ren's direction and the waving got more frantic. “Momma!” Amy called. “It's Ren! He's here!”

Nothing like the wild excitement of a six-year-old to make a person feel welcome. Both girls climbed out of the car and ran toward Ren, screaming his name, while Uncle Wesley and Aunt Lulu finished up with a customer. Ren dropped his bag as the girls jumped into his arms, wrapping him in the kind of exuberant hugs he hadn't felt in a while.

“I wanted you to sleep in my room, but Mom said you couldn't,” Amy said with the disappointment of child who doesn't realize there's a difference between being six and seventeen.

“Jump back,” Ren said, playing along. “I thought you and me were going to build a fort.”

Sarah was a little more reserved than her sister, but still beamed happily at Ren. “What's up, Sarah?” he asked as they both clung to him. “Jeez, you girls are huge.”

He managed to break free as Aunt Lulu reached them. Her hug was less excited, but still full of emotion, as if she was passing along a silent message of support with her embrace. “Hey, darlin', I hope you got some sleep on that bus.”

“I got enough,” Ren said as they let go of one another. “No worries, Lulu.”

Ren expected to see his mother's reflection in his uncle's face, but it was still like a punch to the gut to have eyes like hers full of life again. They weren't identical by any means, but close enough that Ren felt a pang of loss. “Hey, Wesley,” he said, extending his hand.

“Wesley?” his uncle asked as they shook. “Used to call me ‘Unky Wes.' You too big in the britches for that?”

Ren just smiled, not sure if his uncle was joking. He'd been calling adults by their first name for years. Nurses. Insurance providers. Bill collectors. It helped put him on equal footing with people much older than him.

“He's not a baby anymore,” Lulu said. “He's a grown-ass man.”

Sarah giggled. “Momma said ‘ass.' ”

“Sarah, mind your language,” Wes said.

“Lord have mercy,” Lulu said lightly. “Anybody hungry?”

Ren wasn't just hungry, he was starving. His last meal was runny eggs and burnt toast at some diner over the state line at the crack of dawn. Ren could usually eat anything in front of him, but that food was particularly foul. He'd left most of it swimming in grease on the plate.

Wes left the dealership in the hands of one of his salesmen and they piled into the family car. Ren wanted to do some sightseeing so he could get his bearings as they went through town, but Amy and Sarah hit him with so many rapid-fire questions about Boston, they took all his attention.

Wes and Lulu probably warned them about asking him any questions about his mom, because the girls steered clear of that subject. That was fine with Ren. He wasn't ready to talk about her final months, after things had taken a turn for the worse earlier that year. He wasn't sure how much the girls knew about all that, but he doubted they had heard much. They probably just knew that the aunt they'd only met a few times was sick, and that the cousin to whom they spoke on the phone every few weeks was now coming to live with them.

Like the car lot, Wes's house was exactly as Ren remembered it. Not much in Bomont seemed to change, as far as Ren could tell. He already worried that he was going to get frozen in time like the town and never get out. His mom wouldn't like him thinking that way—not even inside his uncle's house yet, and he was already dreaming of escape.

The girls ran inside so they could change into their bathing suits. They'd told Ren all about their little wading pool on the way home.

The air was hot and humid enough that he almost took them up on their offer to join them in the cool water, but Ren didn't have a bathing suit. He barely had any shorts. A recent growth spurt shot him out of most his wardrobe, and there wasn't a lot of cash on hand to replace everything. He was happy to play the part of the big cousin, holding out the hose to spray the girls and enjoying the cool mist of water while his aunt and uncle cooked on the grill.

It only took a few minutes for lunch to be ready. The girls dried off, and everyone gathered around the picnic table in the backyard. Ren took an empty spot between Amy and Sarah to avoid the argument that was brewing about who got to sit next to him.

Lunch smelled delicious. Something about a cookout made the burgers and hot dogs in front of him seem more special. They never cooked out much back home.

He was about to dig in when Amy's little hand tugged on his. Ren stopped himself in time to see everyone else around the table take hands to form a circle. He quickly pulled his arm back from the food and placed his left hand in Amy's and his right in Sarah's.

“Okay,” Wes said. “Whose turn is it?”

Sarah looked up at her cousin. “I was next, but now Ren is sitting at the table. Shouldn't it be his turn?”

“My turn for what?” Ren asked. He suspected that he knew the answer, but was hoping he was wrong.

“Saying grace,” Amy said simply.

Damn.
He wasn't wrong. Ren didn't have much of a relationship with God. Over the years, he'd cursed Him almost as much as he'd prayed to Him. Even then, his prayers were more straightforward requests, like “Don't let my mom die.” He didn't know any real prayers.

“Yeah,” he said, stalling. “I don't know that I'd be too good at that. Why don't you just skip me and have Sarah do it?”

Thankfully, his uncle didn't press the issue. Wes simply nodded to his eldest daughter. “Go on, sweetheart. Knock it outta the park.”

“Okay,” Sarah said. “Everybody bow their heads.”

Ren watched as Wes, Lulu, and the girls closed their eyes and lowered their heads. He thought about doing the same, but it would just be for show. He didn't have much to say to God. Nothing nice, anyway. He just sat there, staring off into space, wondering what he was doing in Bomont and how he was going to get out.

Chapter 3

So this was it. The place Ren would call home until he graduated. His new bedroom wasn't much more than a ten-by-ten box with a bed, dresser, and a tiny bathroom off to the side, but for someone used to less, it was more than enough.

This was the first time in years that he had his own room with a door he could shut when he wanted to be alone. Even better, it was his own personal space, built off the garage and totally separate from the house. The room had its own entrance and didn't share walls with anyone except the garage attached to it. Less chance of his aunt or uncle telling him to turn his music down.

Ren got the impression that he was taking over his uncle's personal space. The window looking out into the mess of the garage suggested that the room wasn't originally designed for guests. He couldn't remember even being in this room on his other visits.

“Used to be my office,” Wes confirmed as they scoped out the room. “But Lulu fixed her up for you. Got all the essentials: water, power.” Ren caught something of a wistful tone in his uncle's voice, like he just lost his man cave—the one place he could get away from all the females in the family.

“Look,” Ren said. “I know you're not over the moon about this, taking me in and all. But I appreciate what you're doing here.”

“Just remember, this ain't Boston,” Wes said. “You give people attitude, you'll get it right back. So start sayin' your ‘Yessirs' and ‘No'ms.' ”

“What's ‘No'm'?” Ren asked. “Like those little guys with the pointy hats?”

“No, that's a garden gnome,” Wes replied. “ ‘No'm' is ‘no, ma'am.' Just lazier.” His uncle sighed. “Look, just give people respect and you'll get it back. Understand?”

Of course he understood. It wasn't like Ren was running wild up in Boston, like he didn't have any manners. Being a jerk didn't help when the electric company was threatening to cut the power.

“I want to pull my own weight around here,” Ren said. “That means cooking meals. Getting work.”

“Well, that's good, 'cuz I already got you a job,” Wes said, looking quite proud of himself.

Ren couldn't imagine many jobs in Bomont that he'd be right for. “You did?”

Wes grinned with pride. “My buddy, Andy Beamis, runs a cotton mill up on Chulahoma. He told me you could start the middle of next week.”

Cotton mill? Ren didn't even know they existed anymore. The only time he'd ever heard about cotton mills was in his history books. He had no idea what to say, so he was just silent.

“You're welcome,” Wes added.

Ren knew he should show some appreciation, but he couldn't imagine what he was even expected to do at that kind of job. “Couldn't I work at the car lot with you?” he asked. “I'm good with engines and oil changes. That's how I made cash back home.” He was also a delivery boy, stocked shelves at the grocery store, and did some telemarketing. None of those jobs prepared him for work at a cotton mill.

“In this economy, that's the best I got,” Wes said. “I suggest you learn to love it.”

Wes moved through the doorway that led into the garage without waiting for a response. Ren figured he was supposed to follow, so he did.

The garage was in even worse shape than it looked through the window. It was a mess of random oil-covered car parts and tools. There was even a big loudspeaker contraption that Ren was pretty sure was some kind of tornado siren. The stacks of junk surrounded the tarp-covered body of some large, lumpy thing in the center of the room. He didn't want to see what was under the sheet.

Ren carefully stepped between the debris. “So, how am I supposed to get to work and school?” he asked. “You got subways out here in Mayberry?”

“There's that Yankee sarcasm I been hearing about. Wish it were funnier,” Wes said. “Okay, you say you're good with engines? I'll make you a deal. You get this baby running, she's all yours.”

Wes pulled the smelly tarp off the lump to reveal the oldest, poorest excuse for a beat-up vehicle Ren had ever seen. It was an ancient faded-yellow Volkswagen Beetle. The front was propped up on a cinder block because one of the tires was missing. So was the metal trunk cover. The rear engine sat out, exposed to the world.

The car probably hadn't even been outside of the garage since before Ren was born. “This?” he asked. “You're serious?”

Sarah bounced into the garage. “Daddy, Momma says T-minus two minutes till kick off.”

“Shit,” Wes said, already choking on the word as it came out of his mouth in front of his daughter. “I mean, shoot.
Heck
. Sarah, go tell Momma I'm on the way.”

Ren's little cousin scurried off back to the house. Neither of the girls seemed to walk anywhere if they could skip instead.

When Ren turned back, he caught his uncle staring at him intensely. Wes must have realized what he was doing, because he snapped out of it. “I swear, you look just like your dad.”

It wasn't a compliment. “Yeah? Well, I'm not crazy about it, either.”

Wes went off to his television, leaving Ren alone in the wreckage of the garage with the car that was now his, if he could get it to move under its own power. That was going to be a challenge, but it wasn't like there was all that much else to do in this small town. His only other option was to watch two football teams he didn't care about play a game that meant nothing to him.

He grabbed a toolbox off the shelf, revealing a Quiet Riot poster on the garage wall. Maybe there was a side of Uncle Wes that wasn't so uptight. The fact that the poster was hidden in the garage confirmed Ren's suspicion about the whole “man cave” thing. It also inspired him to pull out his iPod, which he'd recharged during lunch.

Quiet Riot pounded through his earbuds as Ren leaned into the open trunk to get to the engine. It looked nothing like the engines he was used to working on, but the basic parts were still the same. It didn't seem as bad on the inside as on the outside, but there was still some work to do.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ren caught Sarah and Amy watching him. They were in the yard, looking through a small, dusty window. He could tell they were talking about him. No surprise. He was a new mystery in their lives, the cousin they barely knew. He liked the idea of being sort of a big brother. It was only him and his mom up in Boston. Being part of a family was something new; equal parts comforting and terrifying.

The air quickly grew oppressive as he worked inside the small garage. Ren looked forward to a milder winter than he was used to up north, but he wasn't sure if the trade-off in heat and humidity was worth it. He wiped the sweat from his brow, rolled his iPod into his shirtsleeve to keep it safe, and got down to the nitty-gritty.

There was an old tire leaning up against the wall that was the same size as the one missing from the car. That was lucky. The engine work was also less involved than he feared it would be. The main problem turned out to be something similar to a problem he'd had with his old car a year ago. All it took was a few twists of the wrench, getting rid of a useless part, and jury-rigging the car in a way that was probably illegal, but he figured he could at least get it started.

Ren sat behind the wheel and silently promised the car some high-octane premium gas if the engine turned over when he keyed the ignition. A few chokes, a cough, and a gasp later, the vehicle slowly came to life. He revved the engine to give it a jolt, and pronounced it alive and ready for a test drive. The work was far from done, but it was good enough to get him around town until he could afford a major overhaul.

The ancient radio let out a burst of static when Ren turned it on. He adjusted the old-fashioned knob in search of stations, but heard nothing but more static and sports radio, which was the equivalent of static in his mind. That wasn't going to work. He would never survive in this town without his music.

Ren bit off his iPod's earbuds, exposing the tiny copper wires in his headphone cables. A quick twist attached them to the wires of the car's speakers, and Quiet Riot pumped out around him. Better, but not quite good enough.

His eyes focused on the derelict tornado siren lying abandoned in the corner.

Perfect.

There was one shot in a million that the dusty old thing still worked, but it was worth a try. Ren yanked it off the pile of junk and slipped it under the empty hood. A few more tweaks to the system and he'd be in business.

The Riot wasn't so Quiet anymore as the music shook the garage, causing his cousins outside to cover their ears. The car gave a jolt and a shimmy as he pulled it out of the garage and past the girls, now dancing in the driveway. The song wasn't really in their teeny-bopper repertoire, but they didn't care. They were having a blast. Ren circled them twice in the backyard before pulling out into the street, heading off to explore.

When he saw Wes in the rearview mirror, he shouted, “Bean Town!” Score one for the city boy.

This minor triumph improved Ren's entire day. Sure, he was stuck in the middle of nowhere and knew almost no one. But he had wheels. And he had music. That was enough for now.

Time to explore.

The old country road was like something out of a retro-picture postcard, with its abandoned junkyard and an old barn with a classic Coca-Cola sign. There was even a water tower with
BOMONT
painted in tall letters on its side.

He pulled into the parking lot of a do-it-yourself car wash to make a U-turn, attracting a lot of attention from the locals. Some of them were kids his age. He'd probably see them again when he started school on Monday. There were a couple girls he definitely wouldn't mind meeting. He considered stopping to say hi, but changed his mind and just waved to them as he pulled back onto the road.

He'd already driven the entire length of the town. It was time to explore beyond the borders of Bomont.

Ren aimed the Bug down the two-lane blacktop and pushed the car to its limits, quickly finding that he could barely make the speed limit. Just knowing the car gave him access to the rest of the world was enough for now; it didn't matter that it would take some time to get there.

He pulled up alongside a slow-moving train, matching it for speed and volume. He sang along with Quiet Riot, drowning out the engine of the train. He swore he heard the engineer blow the horn in echoing response.

The flashing red and blue lights in the rearview mirror killed the mood. The speedometer showed that he was right on the speed limit, so it couldn't be that. Maybe he had a taillight out or something.

Ren drifted to the side of the road, cut the engine and the music, and used the manual crank to roll down the window. An officer who looked about his uncle's age, or maybe a little younger, was already beside him by the time the struggling window made it all the way down.

“Step out of your vehicle, son,” the officer said in a no-nonsense tone.

Ren did as he was told. “Is there a problem, officer?”

“Driver's license?” the officer said in response. His nametag read
HERB
. Ren wasn't sure if that was a first name or a last, but he handed his license over to Officer Herb without comment.

“Massachusetts, huh?” the officer asked. “You got that music cranked pretty loud, Mr. McCormack.”

“You going to throw me in jail for playing Quiet Riot?” Ren meant it as a joke, but it fell flat.

Officer Herb flicked Ren's chin with his license. “Let's watch that attitude.”

“Yankee sarcasm,” Ren mumbled.

“What's that?”

“Nothing,” Ren said. He remembered his uncle's warning and quickly added, “Sir.”

“You'll have to appear in court.” The officer was already writing out a ticket. Ren still wasn't sure why he'd been pulled over.

“For what?” Ren was genuinely confused.

“Disturbing the peace.” Officer Herb motioned toward the deserted countryside. “Isn't this peaceful?”

Ren bit back more of his Yankee sarcasm.

Officer Herb ripped the ticket off his pad and handed it to Ren. “Welcome to Bomont.”