Mindy refilled my water and whistled between her teeth. “Gonna be honest with you. Didn’t think a little thing like you’d comecloseto finishing that meal.”
“Told you I was starving.”
“A hard day of work will do that.” Her expression softened. “Sorry about docking you an hour. If it were up to me I wouldn’t care that you were five minutes late, but the sheriff is a stickler, and he’s been keeping a close eye on Jayce.”
“What’s up with him?” I asked. “Jayce, I mean.”
The butch woman snorted. “Honey, there’s not enough time left in the day to explainthatboy’s problems.”
“What’s the short version?”
“Stay away,” she said bluntly. “That’s the short version.”
I let out a laugh, but she wasn’t joking. She put down her pitcher of water and crossed her arms over her flannel T-shirt.
“I see that look in your eye. All the girls get it, whether they’re from Eastland or out of town, when they look at him. Jayce is nothin’ but trouble to everyone who gets close to him. Keep your head down, put in your community service hours, and then go home.”
She started stacking my plates as if the conversation was over.
“What’s everyone so afraid of here?” I asked.
She only snorted.
“I’m being serious. I’m just a stupid girl who got stuck here on her way back to Atlanta. Why does it feel like everyone is walking on eggshells?”
Mindy looked hard at me. Deciding whether or not to say anything. There was fear in her eyes as she glanced outside, then over her shoulder.
“The Copperheads,” she finally said. “They own this town. Not the sheriff. Not the judge.Sid. Their leader. Nobody does nothin’ without him knowing about it.” She shook her head. “Jayce learned that the hard way.”
She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed to emphasize her point.
“Do your hours,” she said slowly. “And thenget the hell out of here.”
*
“Hey there sweet pea,” my dad said on the phone. “You got a minute?”
I flopped down on my motel bed. “I’ve got all the time in the world. There’s nothing to do here in Eastland. Give me some good news.”
I could tell by the pause that good news wasn’t coming. Dad always hesitated before telling me something I didn’t want to hear.
“I called Jerome. Old buddy of mine. Remember him? With the mustache you used to make fun of?”
“I don’t remember, Dad.”
“Aww, come on. He came to your graduation party. Bald guy with the wife he picked up in Vietnam.”
“Sure, Dad,” I said with dwindling patience. “What about him?”
“He’s the sheriff one county over from you. Town called Anilene. He told me Eastland’s off limits. Said to avoid it if at all possible.”
“Good to know thatnow,” I mumbled.
“Jerome says they don’t do favors for outsiders there. The sheriff there keeps his cards close to his chest. Doesn’t respond to phone calls, let alone requests for favors. I wanted to try anyways, since you’re my girl, but Jerome made me promise not to.”
“That sounds like a theme. This town has issues.”
“Point is,” Dad said with a sigh, “there’s nothing I can do about your situation. No favors to call-in. I’m sorry sweet pea, but I can’t get you out of your community service or get your license back.”