wished she could throw him in with them. After slamming the trunk hood down, she got into the back seat with Max. Wayde had driven Savannah’s car; that was unusual, but she was thankful for the privacy of the back seat. His truck would have forced her to be closer to him.
He leaned over and looked into the window. “What the hell are you in the back seat for?”
“I want to be with Max.” It bothered him. Things always bothered him. From now on, she’d only appease him when necessary.
“I don’t want to sit up here alone. I’m not your chauffeur.” He leaned with one arm propped on the roof and stared up at the sky. After taking a long drag of his generic cigarette, he flicked the butt from his fingers with the finesse of a thirty-year smoker. He continued staring at her.
“I said I’m sitting with Max.”
“Have your way now, but don’t think I’m putting up with this new attitude when you get home.”
“That shit box isn’t my home.” She bit her tongue; she was pushing the limits talking to him the way she was.
“Only home you got.”
She gave him a dismissive shrug, dropped her head against the window, and held Max’s hand. He fell asleep after the first ten miles. Eventually, she dozed off, too. When she woke, they were close to Wayde’s house. The landscape was dull and boring, not the Florida people think of. It was the other Florida where the terrain was nasty, and the people were poor. She stared out at the rundown shack housing of the predominantly Mexican migrants who picked the oranges. They had an invisible world of their own, separate from the community.
The drive was long, and when they finally turned into the driveway off the long stretch of dusty road, a wave of nausea swept over her. She hoped she’d never have to return to the place again. Her mind wandered to places she didn’t want to go, and she relived the last three months with Wayde. She wasn’t sure what was ahead of her, but something was, and not knowing worried her.
The house was small, like a box with windows centered on both sides of a door, and other than the acre the house stood on, it was surrounded by orange groves. A big, crooked, southern oak with downy moss hanging from the distorted limbs stood in the yard. The oak was picturesque, but its eerie appearance gave a sense of foreboding. Beside the house was another dirt road, and about a mile down stood a single-wide trailer with a barn and horse ring. Veda, her only friend, lived there.
With no assistance, she wrestled Max from his car seat and headed into the house. They entered through the kitchen door. The delicate floral print wallpaper covering the walls, in far too busy a pattern for the small room, had yellowed over the years. No doubt sped up by Wayde’s heavy smoking. The strong smell of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air twenty-four-seven. She squeezed through the narrow doorway into the small living room trying not to wake Max in her arms. The trampled beige carpet felt like concrete beneath her feet. The room, sparsely furnished with only a couch, loveseat, and antiquated console television that barely worked without cable, was gloomy. She tucked Max into his bed in the living room. Not in a bedroom of his own as Wayde promised. The stripper slept in there. He told her about Savannah when she arrived. Savannah was only staying for two weeks―three months ago. She kissed Max’s forehead and hoped if she got them home soon, he’d never remember the last few months.
In the closet of a kitchen, the small table and fridge were so close together she had to squeeze between them. She crouched down, opened the bottom cupboard, and stared at the bottles in front of her. Hard liquor never agreed with her. Still, she hoped a couple shots would help her sleep until Max woke up. After retrieving a bottle of vodka and a shot glass, she fell into the chair and poured the first shot. She was still looking at the glass when Wayde came into the kitchen.
“What the hell are you doing with that?”
“I’m hoping the alcohol will put me to sleep. Maybe I can get lucky and dream I’d never been here.” She was asking for trouble talking that way, but she was angry and frustrated.
“Maybe I can lay down with you,