Lost in Clover (13 page)

36. A SIMPLE ERRAND

Jessica and Sam brought Kalya down to Clover for her eighth birthday in late January. Jeremy came up from the basement and watched the Jayhawks battle a close basketball game against the Oklahoma Sooners with Gary and Sam. Gail and Jessica worked in the kitchen on the birthday feast. Kalya probably would have preferred pizza, but fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a chocolate cake were on the menu. The aroma from the kitchen filled the house and made Jeremy’s stomach rumble. He couldn’t wait to eat, but, like at all family gatherings, he had been asked the same question all day long. Even Kalya asked it. It made him want to stay in bed and eat his stash of Twinkies and Doritos.

“Why don’t you have a job, Uncle Jeremy?”

At least Sam had kept his trap shut. Jeremy was certain that he must have a twinge of envy. After all, Jeremy had no mortgage, no children, no nagging wife. But then again, he had no future.

Later, the score was tied at 84 with less than 30 seconds left when the Sooners stole the ball and made a fast break. Then a forward missed an easy slam-dunk, the ball was thrown half court to… Jeremy’s mother stepped in front of the television, arms crossed.

“Mom!”

“Gail!” Jeremy’s father shouted, craning his neck.

“Jeremy, you had one thing, only one thing to do today.”

Jeremy looked around his mother’s legs. What was happening?

“Look at me.”

He did reluctantly. The game was being interrupted because of him, not her. It wasn’t fair.

“What?”

“Don’t you remember the one thing you needed to get today?”

Jeremy looked blankly. What the hell could it be? She was always telling him to do something, get something, find something. There were so many somethings that he didn’t know which ones to listen to and which ones to ignore.

“Chocolate milk, your only contribution for Kalya’s party, for Pete’s sake.”

“Well, don’t sit there,” Gary said. “Get up and go get it.”

“But the game and—”

“Can I go with Uncle Jeremy?” Kalya said, walking into the room.

“No, Kalya,” Jessica shouted from the kitchen.

“But the chocolate milk is for
my
party!”

She stood in front of the television too; her arms were crossed like Gail’s.

The crowd went wild on the television. Something big had happened.

“Come on!” Sam shouted.

The rising anger in the room was about to burst.

“Fine,” Jeremy said standing. “I’ll go.”

“Me too!” Kalya said.

There was a collective sigh. The announcer said that viewers had just witnessed a spectacular, once-in-a-decade kind of shot, a shot that nobody in the den had seen. Jeremy felt Sam and Gary scowl.

“Let’s go, Kalya,” he said, getting out of the room before he was pummeled.

*

Jeremy started up his pickup, letting the heater warm up the interior while he scraped ice off the windshield. Winter had come early and strong, freezing everything since early November. Kalya, already buckled up, had changed the radio station from his heavy metal station to teeny-pop music. She was mouthing the words to an overly produced song by some high-pitched teen idol. He cursed and continued to scrape away.

*

The roads had occasional icy patches, but were manageable. Kalya was a non-stop chatterbox, singing the artificially flavored songs and talking about her first grade class during the instrumental breaks. Jeremy tried to tune out by thinking of all the places he’d rather be. None of them were in Kansas—that was for sure.

“You’re fat,” Kalya said, bringing Jeremy’s attention back to her.

“What?”

“That’s what Mom says. She says you don’t do anything at all.”

“I mow lawns.”

“But it’s too cold for grass to grow now.”

“I rake leaves and shovel snow too.”

“When we got to Grandma’s house, Mom said you didn’t rake the yard.”

“She really said that?”

“Yep. She said it looks like Uncle Jeremy is sitting on his big butt again.”

Kalya giggled. Jeremy turned down the heat and opened his window. It was getting hot in the cab.

*

He pulled into the IGA grocery store’s parking lot, but there was not a single car anywhere. An orange poster board was taped on the window. “Sorry. Pipes broke. Closed due to flooding,” with crudely drawn pools of water.

“Does that mean no chocolate milk?” Kalya said with a pout.

“What? No, it means…” He looked at his niece who was almost a foreigner. Even at eight, she was becoming uptight like the rest of the family and no longer the fun and carefree little girl he used to wrestle with. He wanted the old Kalya back. “It means we’ve got an ice-covered parking lot all to ourselves.”

“What’s…ayeeeee!”

Kalya squealed as Jeremy hit the gas and braked, sliding several feet. She gripped her seatbelt, eyes wide. He hit the gas again.

“Ayeeeee! No! Stop!”

Jeremy hit the brakes, and they slid. Kalya squeaked.

“Don’t do that.”

“Nope. No can do,” Jeremy said with a devilish grin.

“I’ll tell Mom.”

“Well you can tell your mom she has a big butt, too!”

Jeremy hit the gas.

“Stop, stop, stop,” she said, knuckles white on the seatbelt.

“Not until you put your hands in the air like you just don’t care.”

“What? Ayeee!”

Jeremy hit the brakes, spinning the wheel of the truck.

“Hands in the air like you just don’t care.” They spun in a circle.

“I’m scared. Stop it!”

He took his hands off the wheel. “Hands in the air like you just don’t care.”

“No.”

The truck came to a stop, and he accelerated.

“Noooo! Please.”

“Hands in the air like you just don’t care, say it.”

“Hands-in-the-air-don’t-care.”

“Just don’t care,” Jeremy corrected.

“Just don’t care.”

He braked, and they slid.

“Hands up,” he said.

“Hands up.”

“No, take your hands off the seatbelt.”

She shook her head adamantly.

“Come on, hands in the air like you just don’t care.”

The truck came to a stop. She put her hands up.

“There, are you happy now?”

She stared at him defiantly. So much like her mother.

“Seriously. That’s all you’re going to do? Not while we’re in motion?”

“Yeah.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Jeremy slammed the gas, racing across the parking lot, and then hit parking brake. The truck spun out of control. Kalya screamed bloody murder. Jeremy saw they were headed for a ditch.

“Hands-in-hair-don’t-care! Hands-don’t-care. Just don’t…”

He slammed the brakes, turned the wheel back and forth and shifted the Ranger from drive to reverse as they spun circles closer and closer to the ditch. Jeremy closed his eyes as they approached the lip of the deep trench and stopped abruptly on the edge of the grass. Jeremy looked over to Kalya. She still screamed with her eyes shut and hands straight out.

“Kalya, it’s okay.”

She opened her eyes and looked around, breathing heavily.

“Let’s find some chocolate milk.”

“No,” she said. “Let’s do it again.”

They smiled at each other, and Jeremy pounded the accelerator.

*

Ten minutes later they drove to the Quick ’N Go not far from the Cooper’s property. As Jeremy turned in, an orange Bronco almost clipped the truck as it barreled past in reverse and onto the street before spinning its tires and taking off.

“Is he going sliding on the ice?”

Jeremy watched the Bronco disappear and exhaled. He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath.

“No, that was Crazy Eddie Cooper. The meanest, worst man there ever was.”

“You pulling my leg?”

“Nope. He was in prison for a few years, but they let him out because he was too crazy inside the jail, beating up everybody. Even the guards were scared of him.”

“Really?”

“That’s the way I hear it. Listen, let’s forget about him and grab some chocolate milk and get back before your big butt mama throws a hissy fit.”

*

Inside, Jeremy felt like something was off. The store looked the same. It felt warm, and the fluorescent lights hummed as usual. Jeremy often came here for a Dr. Pepper or a fill up. He had even considered asking about the “Help Wanted” sign that hung in the window, but he knew he wouldn’t make it a week into the job—counting money, cleaning up messes, restocking cups and lids—he couldn’t do it. There was too much responsibility, and so many things he’d screw up.

“Look, Uncle Jeremy, there’s the chocolate milk.”

Kalya ran to the refrigerated section while Jeremy tried to figure out what was bugging him. He walked to the counter to find the cash register open and empty. And Shirley Simplot, sixty-something, who always asked about his parents, lay on the ground with her head bleeding.

“Uncle Jeremy, which one should I get? Uncle Jeremy?”

He walked behind the counter. Bending over he touched her neck, trying to find a pulse.

“Shirley. Hey.”

She blinked and touched her head. She seemed dazed as she stared at her bloody fingers.

“Are you okay, Shirley?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ll call an ambulance.”

Jeremy dialed 911 when Kalya started babbling again.

“Uncle Jeremy, Uncle Jeremy!”

“Just get whichever one you want. I don’t care… Yes. An emergency. At the Quick ’N Go at—”

“Uncle Jeremy, Uncle Jeremy, the crazy guy is coming back!”

“What?”

Jeremy followed his niece’s gaze to the window. The orange Bronco was racing toward the store.

“Kalya, get away from the window now!” Jeremy dropped the phone and grabbed Shirley.

“Can you stand?”

Shirley nodded, and Jeremy hefted her to her feet just as the Bronco jumped the curb and crashed into the store. Glass and junk food flew everywhere. Kalya screamed.

“Kalya, where are you?”

She ran to them behind the counter and turned ghost white upon seeing Shirley. Then they all turned to the Bronco with its nose in the store and shards of glass all around it. They looked at Crazy Eddie behind the wheel, and he looked at them. Crazy Eddie looked much older and his gaunt face was covered with a full beard and a couple of blue teardrop tattoos under each intense tiny pupil. They all held the stare for several seconds. Jeremy heard the faint voice of the dispatcher over the phone asking if everything was okay. Then Crazy Eddie turned and brought up a shotgun. Jeremy grabbed Kalya’s hand and supported Shirley as they headed for the “Employees Only” door.

Shutting the door, Jeremy saw the muscular 6’9” frame of Eddie Cooper bounding into the store with his shotgun in hand.

“Where’s the key to lock the door? Where is it?” Jeremy shouted.

“Here,” Shirley said, pulling a key on a lanyard attached to her belt. He grabbed it, pulling her to the door. As soon as Jeremy locked it, the doorknob turned and then several kicks followed.

“We’re going to have to reinforce—” he said as a shotgun blast punched a hole in the middle of the door. Splinters of wood somersaulted in the air, most of them missing Jeremy by inches. Kalya squealed.

“Is there a back door?”

Shirley pointed to a wall with stacks of boxed soda pop concentrate.

“There, but I don’t have a key to that door. Greg’s never given it to me.”

Crazy Eddie slammed his body against the employee’s door. Jeremy’s mind raced. He looked around the small storage area stacked full of plastic wrapped snacks, boxes of concentrate for the fountain machine, and beverages on cardboard trays. There was a steel door to his left with a note stating rules about refrigerator safety. Jeremy didn’t want to freeze to death hiding in there if he could help it.

“Let’s barricade this door,” Jeremy said, nodding his head at the shot punctured door, “and hope it holds until the police come.”

He hauled the soda concentrate against the door along with trays of canned soda pop and beer, while staying low to avoid shotgun blasts that caused fountains of sticky syrup to cascade on the floor. The door held.

Kalya shivered in the far corner of the room. “Why’s he doing this?”

“It’s…complicated, Kalya,” Jeremy said, trying to keep his voice steady and calm. “He’s always been mean.”

“Awful quiet now,” Shirley said, holding a bloodied rag to her head. “Do you suppose he left?”

“Dunno, but I’m not opening this door until the police get here.”

Jeremy found a wet mop and worked to remove blobs of the syrup covering his jeans. Then they heard sounds coming from the walk-in refrigerator. Jeremy and Shirley looked at each other.

“You think he’s just stealing some beer?”

Jeremy shook his head. He took hold of the stainless steel handle of the refrigerator door and opened it. He saw Crazy Eddie trying to force his colossal body through the shelves of milk. He shoved gallons and cartons of milk to the floor with his shotgun. Jeremy looked into his pinhole pupils.

“I’m going to get you, Jeremy Rogers. Can’t have no witnesses. Ain’t going back to prison again.”

Jeremy slammed the refrigerator door shut. No witnesses? What was he talking about?

“We need to get out of here.”

He pulled the gooey boxes away from the “Employees Only” door, piling them against the refrigerator door. Jeremy pulled, heaved, and shoved, feeling like that Greek guy who kept doing the same thing over and over again. Who was that guy? Socrates? Napoleon? He got the ladies through the blasted door and puddles of goop as Eddie began slamming against the refrigerator door.

The barricade held long enough for them to get to the truck. Jeremy shook so much it took three tries before he got the key in the ignition. Crazy Eddie staggered out with a shotgun in one hand and chocolate milk in the other, the brown liquid trailing down his bearded chin.

“It’s on, Rogers! Oh it’s on,” he shouted.

He aimed the shotgun, but Jeremy threw the truck in reverse and flew away from the gas station and into the road, not unlike that orange Bronco five minutes earlier. Crazy Eddie blasted the shotgun wide of the truck and howled like a wolf.