He shook his head. “I just like a change of scenery, you know?”
“I guess,” I answered him. I shook my head. “It’s still a mystery to me why you chose Bottle County, though.”
“Wanted to see what living in a small town was like and my friend Noah lives near here, so,” he left hanging.
“You won’t find any smaller than here.”
“Then it looks like I found the right place.”
I took a bite of my sandwich, but it hurt to chew, so I set it back down and tried to pretend I wasn’t in agony. It didn’t work.
“Jesus, Lily, why didn’t you call the police?”
I felt my face heat up. “I don’t think I can talk to you about this. I don’t know you.”
“Fair enough,” he said, but he didn’t look like he wanted to let it go.
“Just trust me,” I tried to appease.
“But I don’t know you,” he said. Thief.
I swallowed. “I can’t call the police,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because they already know, Salinger, that’s why. They already know but this is a good ol’ boy town, if you haven’t noticed, and Sterling, my stepdad drinks while playing poker with the chief of police. Satisfied? My job is to keep quiet and not die from his injuries. That’s my only job.”
He sat back in his booth. “That’s the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard come from someone’s mouth. I feel sick to my stomach.”
“Let’s drop this.”
“You need to get out of there.”
I laughed. “And go where? No money. No job. No purpose,” I let slip, making my face heat up even hotter.
“Get a job then.”
“Nah,” I said, sitting back a little. I shoved the basket with my sandwich away from me.
“You don’t look like you eat much,” he whispered.
“I’m fine, dude, promise.”
“Lily,” he said with pity in his voice, making me feel worse.
“I’m not a project, Salinger.”
“Lily—” he began, but I’d reached my limit and stood. “Wait,” he offered softly, “wait. I’ll stop. I promise.”
I sat back down and settled in as much my sore body would allow me to. We sat in silence for a good solid minute before he spoke up again.
“Where’d you learn to play chess like that?”
“I told you.”
“You’re telling me that you played a bit of computer chess and that’s how you learned?”
“Yes. The game came naturally and every time I’d beat the computer, I’d try to find the next one, an unbeatable one.”
“What program? Fritz?”
I snorted. “Child’s play.”
“Shredder?”
“Shredded it. Several times.”
“Komodo?”
“Yes, of course. I’ve beat them all.”
“Even Houdini and Stockfish?”
“Yes, Salinger, like I told you, I beat them all.”
He stared at me, his mouth agape. “If that’s true, you could be one of the best in the world.”
“Shut up,” I said, laughing.
“Lily,” he said with weight, “it’s true. You were moving in ways I hadn’t even thought of, didn’t think was possible. You knew every move I was going to make.”
“I knew nine moves in every move you were going to make. I knew I was going to win nine moves in.”
“I believe you.”
I smiled to myself. “At least I’m good at something,” I whispered.
“You’re not good, Lily, you’re a phenom.”
“Shut up,” I laughed. “You’ve only played me one time.”
“Fine,” he said, “let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To the park. Let’s play a little before I have to work.”
“What about your errands?”
“Screw the errands.”
“Okay,” I said, grabbing my hobo bag and making my way toward the doors.
Salinger and I played until it was dark and he had to go. I dropped him off, which felt weird. I asked him if he wanted me to come get him in the morning. He politely declined, saying his car should be done near then and it was just across the street from the store, and that he’d planned it that way. I stifled my disappointment. I liked being near him.
He was an instant friend, which was kind of cool. It felt kind of awesome to be able to talk about chess with him, too, so it made sense that I’d forgotten all about what had happened that morning, driving back home, feeling happy and light for the first time in ages.
I bounded up the front porch, forgetting all about who was inside and what awaited me.
CHAPTER FOUR
I PRACTICALLY SKIPPED through the door.
Immediately an arm came across my throat hard. I slammed to the floor, the wind knocked out of me. Sterling crouched close. I gasped for air but none would come. My lungs burned for air.
I guess Sterling is home.
“Just where in the hell have you been?” he asked. I shook my head, unable to answer. “I heard tell you were out whoring around.”
I couldn’t focus on anything as my lungs began working again and I gasped for oxygen, choking in large gulps of air.
“J.P. saw you in the park today with some boy when you shoulda been looking for work.”
Still unable to talk, I could only stare at the crumbling ceiling, begging myself not to cry.
“You ain’t gonna live in my house for free, you little whore. Now, get yourself up and get to the kitchen. Make yourself useful.” I could hear him fall into the couch.
I turned onto my side and attempted to stand up but didn’t have the strength. I pushed myself on to my stomach and brought my body up on my hands and knees so I could safely stand up without falling over.
I could hear Sterling stand up. “What are you doing? What are you doing? You trying to tempt me, you little whore?”
I fought with everything I had to stand, to face him, and backed into the kitchen.
“No, Sterling,” I said, my voice sounding fatigued. “Just trying to get back up,” I explained, hoping not to enrage him any further.
“Show that side of yourself to me again and I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”
He fell back down onto the sofa.
I ignored him and stumbled into the kitchen, begging God there were cans of something, anything, in the pantry I could put together for him.
Sterling had been making comments to me like that since I turned sixteen, but they’d become more frequent, more suggestive after I graduated. It scared me. He scared me.
I found some rice in an old canister in the back of our pantry, sort of hidden. I grabbed that and some severely freezer-burned chicken that had fallen out of the original bag and sat at the bottom of the freezer door shelf. I threw it in a pot with a bunch of stale spices and the rice and prayed it would turn out edible.
Sterling sat on the couch, watching the crappy television. About ten empty beer cans littered the coffee table, and a cold one was in his meaty hand.
When the rice was done, I plated it, took a deep breath, tiptoed through the living room and placed it on the table, then attempted to walk out quietly.
“What the hell is this!” he yelled, making me stop in my tracks. “You trying to poison me, whore?”
I turned just in time to catch the hot plate to my temple. Instinctively, I fell to sit on the heels of my feet, my hands to my head. I brought a shaking hand down and saw blood there. Lots of it. This one was bad. Sterling stomped toward me; the weight of his body made the walls shake.
“You better get in that goddamn bathroom and clean yourself or I will fucking kill you.”