Results of the ten-day break

Maybe indicative of the old quilt Trevor places over Jamey. From February 2024, sort of when this novel takes place.

Sometimes I truly realize how it's not me writing these novels, but God. Because sometimes I take a break in the middle of a first draft, that of a few days perhaps, but not ten days. And actually now it's been twelve days since I last wrote. And below is the chapter that emerged this morning. And I like it. It's an answer to the cliffhanger of Chapter Nineteen, ending with a cliffhanger all its own. It's indicative of how we here in Humboldt County occasionally view our special little corner of the planet, and indicative of how I see my life lived as a child of God.

And, well, here it is....

 

Chapter 20

 

After the CHP inspection, what was left of Trevor’s truck had been hauled to Harbaugh Automotive, merely as a way for those closest to Trevor to begin to grasp what seemed more than a miracle. It was miraculous that he was alive, all accepted, also marvelous that no one in the SUV, clearly at fault, had been injured beyond minor facial lacerations for the driver and his wife, while their three children had escaped completely unharmed.

That Trevor had undergone a sobriety test on the scene had been due to one CHP officer who knew Trev’s history. Otherwise both vehicles were losses, yet an oddity in Trevor’s truck had made Sailor and Kim insist it be towed to their garage. They didn’t want a bizarre but substantial truth emerging before the main news was filtered to all in their district, that not only had Trevor Mahoney survived an accident not his fault, but that the manner of his extrication was clearly….

It wasn’t of this world, Sailor swallowed for the umpteenth time that afternoon, staring at the wreckage, Rickey at his side, both tapping their toes as slivers of sunshine shone down from heaven. Sailor allowed that word in his head, not because it was spoken in his wife or mother’s voices, or Lora’s, Shauna’s, or even Jamey’s. Heaven was a close as the yards between Sailor and the wreckage, what with a steel rod jammed from the truck bed through the driver’s seat, into the steering wheel, finally resting in the pick-up’s truncated engine. Trevor should have been impaled from the force of impact, dying a most gruesome, agonizing death right outside his mother’s place of employment. Instead he’d been removed from harm’s way in a manner so inexplicable, Sailor thought more than a few people would be getting loaded that Saturday night trying to figure out how Trevor was still with them.

Halli Bridges probably, for she was the first to notice the rod shoved through the cab. She screamed that, then ran across the road, grabbing Trevor from Kim as though Halli was Trevor’s girlfriend. Longtime CHP officer Roger Anderson-Weller might also get tanked that night; Sailor had watched as Roger studied the entire scene, his notebook in hand, a puzzled gaze on his aged face attempting to ascertain how in the hell Trevor had 1) Gotten out of the way of the rod and 2) Exited the truck at all, what with the smashed driver door slammed against the rod while the rest of the pick-up lay against the pavement.

The front windshield was no help, still intact, albeit heavily cracked. The driver door window was in many pieces, but a few jagged sections remained, which wouldn’t have allowed Trevor to 1) Be extricated so quickly without leaving various injuries and 2) If Trevor had exited through that window, the remnants of glass would have gone with him.

Those were mere fragments of available forensic evidence that Roger was probably mulling over right now, Sailor mused, a few empty beer cans near Roger, maybe a half-full can in his hand. Roger preferred lite beer, served cold in the can, as Sailor had known him for maybe most of Sailor’s tenure in Deadfern, a likable cop who was retiring soon, the last they had spoken. Maybe this accident might accelerate that timeline, or would Roger linger on the force, hoping this miracle would lead to others, reducing accidents along their corridor of 101, perhaps eliminating them altogether.

Rickey spat toward the truck, interrupting Sailor’s reverie. “You say something?” Sailor asked.

“Nope, just spitting dude. That’s one messed-up truck.”

How’d he get out of it alive, Sailor wanted to ask his best friend. He was eager for another’s opinion, wishing to somehow explain what seemed truly unbelievable. Would Rickey respond as he might have a few weeks prior, or would God answer all the tricky questions. Was there a God, Sailor permitted, again staring at the hulk of ruin that actually didn’t look as bad as the last vehicle Trevor wrecked. Then Sailor smirked. This wasn’t Trev’s fault. And not only that, but the driver of the SUV had already insinuated compensation beyond what anyone in SoHum might immediately desire. Maybe he did that merely to keep lawyers out of it, Sailor sighed inwardly. Who knew why this had happened at all, he then pondered, thankful he’d kept his mouth shut moments ago, and hoping Rickey didn’t pose that query to him.

Pose a query…. A very Mikey G thing to consider, Sailor then sighed out loud. Had Kim texted Sophie, asking her to pray for Trevor, even though Trevor was absolutely fine. By now Trevor was probably at Jamey’s place, the couple finally getting the opportunity for a little privacy, however that would be at a premium over the next days, maybe couple of weeks, as what had occurred that afternoon reached every person south of…. Where was the line dividing Northern and Southern Humboldt County, Sailor wondered. Some small hamlet halfway between here and Eureka, where magical things happened, according to the late Russ Harbaugh. How magical was it that Trevor had been physically removed from the truck, how miraculous? Miracle finally wandered into Sailor’s mind, spoken in his mother’s raspy voice as though at the end of her life she thought she’d live one more moment, then another, and another, and….

Sailor sniffled, a rare pain bleating throughout his body. All these years more to matter had been his ailing wife, yet he’d loved his parents, never understanding their differences. He didn’t feel this way about his brother, then Sailor glanced at Rickey. Rickey Matos was Sailor’s true sibling, and again Rickey spat toward the truck, nearly hitting the flattened front left tire. He shook his head, muttered Dude under his breath, then rubbed his upper arms, clad in an old hoodie. “Let’s go in, getting cold out here,” he said.

Sailor nodded, following his brother, who led him around the side of the garage toward the house as though they had grown up in the same family right here in Deadfern. Ethnicity didn’t matter, nor did Sailor feel he was older than Rickey. Sailor would always been someone’s younger sibling, whether Harry or Rickey was in charge.

They reached the porch, women’s voices interspersed with tears of a mixed nature; joy that Trevor was alive, wonder at how it had happened, with a slight undercurrent of…. Sailor sighed as Rickey opened the door, asking if it was okay for them to intrude, but he didn’t use those words. He actually spoke Spanglish, which Sailor could grasp, as did Kim, Lora, and Shauna, all three giggling. “C’mon in,” Kim called, her voice caught between a smirk and a sniffle as two brothers entered a house that might be in Kim and Sailor’s names, but the rest of these people should be on the deed as well.

Sailor entered last, closing the door behind him as Rickey removed his shoes to Kim’s giggle there was no need for that. Lora also chuckled, wiping her face while Shauna scooted to the end of the sofa, not meeting Rickey’s gaze. Was this the first time he had seen her since…. Sailor didn’t take off his jacket or his shoes, instead noting how his family, long thought of as only he and Kim, suddenly morphed into what had been sitting beyond a veil for many years all this time. Not a clan of husband and wife and children, but of people the same ages, connected by various threads, but truly one another’s closest relatives. It didn’t matter than Rickey possessed heaps of siblings or that Shauna had Emily across the freeway, or even that Loralye had a son who that night had not died in a traumatic and horrifying collision. Trevor was forging his own community with Jamey, and maybe they would associate with their elders more often than not. Yet on that evening, Sailor Duncan Denton inhaled his nearest and dearest, until death did they part.

Kim stood from the couch, approaching first Rickey, patting his cheek. Then she gazed at Sailor, her face disheveled from many rounds of tears, but a smile graced her…. Countenance popped into Sailor’s head in Mikey’s playful tone, a hint of Hispanic inflection echoing in Sailor’s mind. Had Mike Gonzales been his childhood best friend to lay the groundwork for what now seemed welded to Sailor’s brain, that while Harry Denton had previously been Sailor’s older brother, Rickey Matos now owned that role, similarly to how Kim Harbaugh was Sailor’s wife despite their differing last names. How enchanted was Southern Humboldt County, Sailor wanted to ask his late father-in-law. Or in Kim’s sparkling yet bloodshot eyes, how much grace truly existed, maybe enough for all of them.

“You hungry?” Kim said softly, grasping Sailor’s hand as tenderly as how she’d spoken.

“Uh, no. Well maybe.” He studied her expression, trying to gauge her mood. Gratefulness was paramount, most of that geared toward the death which hadn’t occurred that day. Also for the faith she shared with the rest in that room. And that Sailor didn’t seem to mind being the odd man out in that respect, which he still was, he couldn’t help it. Was it pride, stubbornness, his father in him? Was Bright Duncan Denton rearing his fearful yet bossy head within the son who had never wanted to be that scared or in charge? Caring for Kim had been the by-product of loving her, of being a man, of being the opposite of Bright. Sailor sighed while hearing Rickey tell Shauna he liked her hair as if she had worn this style previously, then on a whim had returned to it. Then Rickey laughed, calling Lora Chica, plopping onto the sofa next to her, telling her how blessed they all were that day.

Again Loralye chuckled, that mirth followed by a beat of silence, then a loud wail emerged as she slumped against Rickey, sobbing a fraction of the angst and dread that humans possessed in these kinds of situations regardless of the positive outcome. For in all truth, Trevor should be in the morgue in Eureka that night, badly disfigured from a steel beam shoved through the center of his chest. Jamey should be here, stiffly crying in Kim’s embrace or maybe storing up all her sorrow as she did every single day. Sailor now realized the level of emotional turmoil within that young woman, maybe why it had been easy for her to hook up with Trevor, for she expected misery, but not like Shauna had, nor did Jamey inflict that level of upset. Yet it dwelled deeply in her, and Sailor sighed, for never again could he look at her and not give a rat’s ass about her relationship with his younger sister’s son.

Shit, he considered. “Yeah honey, I’m starving,” he then said, clearing his throat afterwards. Neither had returned to their meals after Trevor…. After Trevor, Sailor inhaled, then exhaled. No longer was it a post-Kim world any of them inhabited.

“Make a truckload of creamed tuna,” Shauna called from the sofa. Then she shook her head. “God, that was in poor taste.”

Kim laughed, walking toward the kitchen. “It was a truckload of love,” she giggled, opening the cupboard, retrieving several cans of tuna.

“Here, lemme help,” Lora warbled, wiping her face as Rickey released her.

“You sure?” Kim asked.

“Uh, well first I gotta pee.” Lora laughed, stood from the couch, a gaping space in her wake.

Rickey glanced at Shauna, while she tried not staring at him. Sailor rolled his eyes, maybe he still was Rickey’s senior. “I’m gonna get a quick shower,” he spoke to whoever might be listening.

“Take your time honey.” Kim gave him a smile as though she’d been lurking in his brain, knowing all he’d been thinking. He smirked at her, then blew her a kiss, which she caught in her left hand. Sailor sighed, heading to their room, not certain what might happen next.

 

 

Trevor lay atop Jamey, both with stray tears on their faces. She hadn’t asked what he remembered right before he stood on the side of Murdoch Avenue, she hadn’t said she loved him. She had inquired to his current mental state, but that was more geared toward finding out if he’d had a beer before reaching Kim and Sailor’s house. Trevor hadn’t ingested any illicit substances, liquid or otherwise, since the afternoon he placed his hand atop his mother’s print at the garage. And now he never wanted to touch a drop of alcohol or smoke weed or snort anything vile ever again.

He wanted Jamey again, and he pressed against her, which made her moan, then whimper. “You okay?” he murmured.

“Is this real?” she muttered, anger tinging her voice.

He smiled, for she wasn’t only asking if he’d actually survived a car accident. She had driven them here after they had finally managed to get his mom to let him go. For how deeply Lora believed in God, Trevor’s survival had been a test of sorts, what he thought as he brushed tears from Jamey’s cheeks. Then Trevor rolled onto her side of the bed, but faced her, while she remained on her back. She was so beautiful, her light red hair a mess on the pillow, her naked body shining like the light he’d seen right as the SUV….

He draped the old quilt over her, for she shivered. Then he scooted beside her, but left the quilt as a kind of…. She hadn’t asked for specifics because she knew how it had happened, and miracles and Jamey Flynn didn’t mesh. It was a miracle, no more, no less Trevor accepted, and now he accepted a lot more about believing in God than he had since that day in the garage with Kim and Carlene Watson. Carlene was a couple years older than Trevor, he’d known her in school. She lived a few miles past the Wilson Ranch, not off the grid, but certainly in the backwoods. The day he’d come to see Jamey, Carlene had caught his eye first, only that he rarely saw her or any of those associated with her, heavy-duty druggies who stayed as far from Deadfern proper as they could possibly get away with. He’d been hanging around a few of them during the previous months, as well as relatives of theirs down in Willits. Not blood relatives, he allowed, but those of a similar nature. People wanting to drown themselves in toxic solvents, emerging as hollow versions of human beings. It sounded judgy, he frowned briefly, but on viewing it in a post-God light, how else was there to describe it?

Immediately he prayed for Carlene, hoping that day at the garage had been as good for her as it had been for him. Maybe once word got out how he’d survived that day, Carlene would have the inner strength to walk away from such depravity. I am being judgy, Trevor sighed inwardly, for even as his mother had given him her truck, he was certain that within days he would sell it for drugs. Jamey didn’t matter enough to alter him, and certainly not the false promise he’d made to his mom. He’d only stopped by the garage that afternoon because….

Something within him made him do it. He breathed deeply as Jamey continued to whimper, muffled words slipping from her mouth: How, why, I don’t understand. Those same sentiments had ran through his head as he’d left work, crossed over the freeway, then pulled up at a place long associated with his life; he still recalled spending time in Shannon’s sewing room, stacks of soft fabrics on her work table, her loving tone asking which he liked best. He’d chosen bright colors for those yearly pajamas, somehow they warded off the darkness and dankness of his bedroom, of his life as the forgotten element of a bad relationship, of second-hand smoke, of feeling like no one cared other than Kim’s mom, and when she died, then his own mother kind of woke up, realizing she had a child that needed….

“Jamey, you wanna talk about it?”

Trevor said that as though another switch had flipped, how he now clearly saw the last several months of his life. He’d been slowly slipping from Lora’s careful watch, despite living in the same house. He’d been easing himself into a realm dark and dank like his childhood, except the level of dishevelment and confusion was ten or one-hundred fold. A thousand times worse, he allowed, as warmth flooded his chest, some of that the love he felt for this woman now crying, but having turned away from him. Trevor allowed that mostly because Jamey needed the separation.

How much distance, he suddenly wondered, a shiver running along his nude body. Now he was cold from the outside, how he’d been all his life even when standing in the warm Harbaugh home, Shannon’s overflowing kindness unable to reach his core. She’d done what she could, then she too left him, not her fault, he understood then as well as now. He pulled a blanket over his legs, then adjusted it so it covered most of him. He wanted to say: It’s okay honey, I understand. I love you, and yeah, I could’ve died today, but I didn’t. Maybe I’ll die tomorrow, who knows? But it won’t be from an overdose or an accident of my own making. I’m done with drugs, with poor choices, even with fighting with A-holes like Raymond Dressel. I don’t know what job I’m gonna get next, or even what car I’ll drive. But I will always love you, Jamey Flynn. That will never change.

Yet Trevor had never called Jamey honey. Instead he cleared his throat, then spoke. “What do you need?”

“What do I need?” she grumbled, still turned away from him. “You’re the one who almost got killed today.”

Trevor smiled, then scooted alongside her. “I know, but I didn’t. And you’re still sad.”

He didn’t know exactly why her heart was breaking, other than part of it was related to her family, and now a good chunk was due to him having his shit together. He grinned at that, then closed his eyes, tears again trickling along his face. Thank you God, he said silently. Thank you for my life, for sobriety, and for this woman who….

Jamey turned to face him, then pushed him away. “You need to leave.”

“What?”

She sighed, then coughed, then cleared her throat. “Take my car, but you can’t stay here tonight.”

“Are you shitting me?”

She smirked, Trevor could see it in the dim light. “We’re over,” she then said, losing the smirk, but her voice remained as tight as the steel rod that hadn’t killed him.

“We’re over, that’s what you said?” he repeated softly, every word like a step toward certain death.

“I, I can’t take this, I can’t deal with this.”

“With me almost dying or….”

“SHUT UP!” she shouted, putting her hands over her ears.

Trevor fought the strong urge to embrace her and not let go till she had admitted all her sorrows. For her sadness now filled his heart the same way Carlene’s issues turned his stomach, or he hoped Carlene was sleeping that night somewhere safe. Coldness, icy frigidity not sexual in nature, but in keeping one apart from…. “I love you honey,” he said tenderly. “And I always….”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Jamey screamed.

Trevor backed away, taking what he thought of as the last long look at the most precious human being to ever enter his heart. Three weeks, he wondered, nodded, then lifted his blanket, placing it over her. She writhed beneath it as he dressed, then he gathered the most necessary possessions. He put those items into bags, but left her keys, visible on the table. Last he grabbed his phone, charging on the kitchen counter. He texted his mom, asking for a ride, hoping it wasn’t too late. Lora responded immediately, inquiring where he was. He replied, shoved the phone in his back pocket, then spied his jacket, draped over the end of the couch. As Jamey continued to scream Get out, he put on the coat, pulling a beanie over his head. “I love you honey,” he whispered, praying those words would find their way into the woman he did love. Retrieving his stuff, Trevor then exited the apartment into the cold, foggy night.