Cheryl Harper - Keeping Cole's Promise

“Young is relative, son. You oughta learn that.” EW’s rusty laugh was comfortable and reassuring. Cole’s world had ended eleven years ago, but he’d made it out the other side and there was still something to laugh about. He sucked in a gust of hot air. He could do this. He’d done harder things.

There wasn’t much to say as EW navigated the traffic around Austin and hit the two-lane highway that would take Cole home. The truck coughed and sputtered now and then, but the breeze blasting through the open windows covered most of the engine’s knocks. His grandmother had told him more than once that EW could make an engine sing. This truck was long past its life expectancy but still rolling.

As they puttered through Holly Heights, EW took the scenic route. “Few things have changed.” He pointed at Sue Lynn’s diner. “Best things haven’t, though.”

The Shop-on-In was still displaying the weirdest collection in the large front window. Every street corner had a church. And not one person in the small crowd of shoppers doing business on Main Street turned to point at the prodigal returning to the scene of the crime. When they reached the edge of town, Cole tried to chase away the dread building in his gut.

“Old Gulf station closed. Got one of those fancy places what sells fried chicken and ice cream now.” EW didn’t glance his way as they passed a bright gas station with twelve pumps and a neon sign advertising lottery tickets.

This place was a drastic change from the old-fashioned filling station he’d tried to rob at eighteen. That place had had four pumps and made more money from cigarettes than gasoline. Thinking that he could get enough cash to help his grandmother pay for the heart surgery she needed from such a dump qualified him for the world’s dumbest criminal contest. He would have been lucky to walk away with three hundred dollars.

Eleven years of his life and his grandmother’s respect flushed away for three hundred dollars.

At least he hadn’t shot anyone with the gun he’d borrowed from his best friend. Waving it around was bad enough. “World’s dumbest criminal, for sure.”

EW shook his head as he turned down the dirt road that led to the trailer park. “I’d say you don’t have the natural talent for breaking the law. Better try something else this time.”

“Good advice.” The sizzle of anger tingling around his edges made Cole uneasy. If only EW could have given him that handy advice when he was a kid, Cole’s whole life might have been different.

He had to keep his emotions in check. While he tried to douse the anger with gratefulness for all EW had done since he’d been in prison, Cole rested his arm on the hot metal of the truck door and studied the trailers. None of them was a palace, but the whole park was neat and clean. Whoever the neighbors were, they worked hard. The basketball goal at the end listed to the side over hard-packed red dirt. He and his friends had pretended to play games there every afternoon after school. They’d also cooked up some of the worst ideas in the history of dumb plans there, but that wasn’t the basketball goal’s fault.

EW held up a key ring and jingled the single key. “Left a surprise inside. Might help you figure out what comes next.”

Cole took the key ring and struggled to form the right words to express his gratitude, but there was too much to say. EW had been a good neighbor for years before Cole went to jail. After, he’d helped Cole’s grandmother keep the place up, and when she died, EW had been his only lifeline. “I don’t know how to repay everything you’ve done, but...”

EW raised a single bushy eyebrow. “Keep your promise. Stay outta trouble. That’s all. Until the day she died, your grandmama prayed this day would come.” He shrugged. “And when you have the chance, pick me up some beer. Cheap beer. Lots of cheap beer.”

Cole shook his head as bits and pieces of his grandmother’s lectures floated through his mind. She and EW had disagreed on the importance of a good beer. She had no use for spirits of any kind. EW couldn’t get through the day without a buzz.

And Cole was in no position to lecture. “Will do.”

“Hope it’s soon. A man gets thirsty in this heat.” EW rubbed his mouth. “Figure you might need a ride, once you get your feet under you. Let me know.” Then he tilted his head. “You got a driver’s license still?”

Cole nodded. “Yes, sir. Need to renew it, since it’s about ten years expired.”

EW grunted. “You need to borrow the truck, rent’s cheap.” He winked and mimed drinking from a can.

Cole slid out of the truck and waved as EW’s truck lurched on down the road to his own trailer.

“Home, sweet home. Again.” Cole scuffed one prison-issue sneaker in the grass as he tried to convince himself this was what he’d been dreaming of for years.

Except his grandmother was gone.

And there was no telling what memories would boil up today.

Unless he kept those memories and the emotions they stirred up contained, they’d destroy his chance at freedom. It would be too easy to do something stupid under the influence of grief or fear.

The sun was beating down on his head. The temperature inside the two-bedroom trailer might be worse, since there’d been no one to pay the electric bill for years now. Whatever his grandmother had left would have gone to taxes and the monthly rent on the spot in the trailer park.

Air-conditioning had been a luxury reserved for the hottest of days when he was growing up. Today would qualify, even for his frugal grandmother. As soon as he got a job, he’d crank the cold air in her honor.

Cole climbed the three steps leading to the door carefully. The railing he’d helped EW add listed to one side, and he wasn’t certain the wood would hold his weight. “Rot. Wonderful.” And a warning about what he’d find inside.

Before he yanked open the door, Cole closed his eyes. He’d never been good at meditation, not even after the class offered by the jail’s shrink. Controlling his temper had been a problem when he was young and stupid and angry. At least prison had taught him why he’d want to learn how to keep his cool. It was the only way to keep his promise.

To help, he tried to picture his grandmother’s face, not as she’d been during visitation or even as sick as she was the last summer he’d been home, but on the first night he’d slept in her spare room. Now he understood that she had to have known his mother was dumping him, but the joy in her eyes as she’d held out her arms had been real.

That joy. She’d never lost it. It dimmed, but it never disappeared.

“Come on. Don’t be a wimp. It’s four flimsy walls, and you can leave any time you like.” His voice was loud. If any of the neighbors were watching, they had good reason to worry about the convict frozen on the front steps. At least they would keep their distance.

He squared his shoulders and opened the door. Once he was inside, he took a quick look around the tiny, dusty kitchen and cramped living room. Other than the stale air of a house closed for too long, the place was frozen in time. Cole left the door open and stopped at every window to unlock it and throw it open. A weak breeze stirred the yellowed white curtains as he dropped down on the ancient green sofa that his grandmother had hauled home one afternoon, a gift from one of the families she cleaned for.

The letters he’d written her from prison were stacked next to the photo album she’d always kept front and center on the rickety coffee table. He didn’t open it. He knew what he’d find: every awkward stage of his life captured in a school photo or candid shot.

And next to that photo album was EW’s gift, a stack of newspapers. Cole flipped through them. “Holly Heights. Austin. Surely there’s a job in this pile somewhere.” At some point, food would be a necessity. What little money he had would go toward the grocery store and getting the utilities turned on.