Alistair McIntyre - Shallow Creek

“A good eater,” she remarked. “We like that around here. You need anything else, hun?”

With his mouth full of chicken, Brendan just shook his head.

“Alright, just bring this check up to the counter when you’re done,” Betty said, laying the bill face-down on the table. She walked off and resumed her position behind the counter, and Brendan continued to devour his food.

“Hey, you’re Darryl Rhodes’ youngest, right?”

Brendan looked across a few booths at one of the few patrons in Schmidt’s this Sunday morning. A haggard, weather-beaten face glared back at him. The leathery texture on Foster McLean’s face hadn’t changed at all in the last ten years, and Brendan got that sinking feeling.

“Yes, sir,” he replied coolly, placing his sandwich down.

“You got a lot of nerve showing up here.”

Brendan knew where this train wreck was heading, but also knew he’d have to play it out with more than one disgruntled father before his time in Shallow Creek was done.

“Clint’s your son, right, Mr. McLean?”

“Damn right, and you did wrong by him, and by me, with what you did to your brother.”

“Sounds like you got it all figured out, sir.”

“Don’t sass me, you little shit.” McLean banged on the table, earning a scowl from Betty. “They were heading for the state championship before you screwed it all up.”

The slurred words slipped right past Brendan. He’d been through much worse in high school, and he’d been just a boy then. Real life extended well beyond high school football, but some folks in Shallow Creek couldn’t quite grasp that concept, especially drunks like Foster McLean.

Seeing no point in causing anymore trouble for Betty as her lunchtime regulars started to filter in, Brendan inhaled the rest of his sandwich and moved to the counter. As he closed out his tab with the lady, McLean continued to heckle him, calling on other patrons to join in. Thankfully they all ignored him, except for one man Brendan didn’t recognize, who told the old drunk to take it easy. Part of Brendan wished McLean would disregard that advice and take things a step further, just so Brendan could feel vindicated in kicking his teeth down his throat.

To make up for McLean, Betty offered Brendan a free dessert in a to-go box, but Brendan politely declined as he headed back out through the door.

Chapter 22

Yet another location added to Brendan’s no-go list. His dad would most likely interrogate him again if he went home, Michelle’s place was obviously off-limits, and now even the diner wasn’t an option. Calling Marcus was also out of the question, and not just because his friend was at work. Brendan figured that Marcus just needed some time to recuperate from getting shot in the back.

Not knowing where else to go, Brendan followed the familiar streets into the neighborhood Michelle lived in during high school. If Mrs. Prost, or whatever her maiden name was, followed the same pattern as the rest of Shallow Creek’s residents, she still lived in the same house she did ten years ago, and that’s where Brendan would find Kim.

Brendan hadn’t really thought to call ahead, but was relieved to see her battered little coupe parked in the driveway. His truck dwarfed the small car as he pulled in behind it. Walking up to the exterior stairs heading up to the above-garage apartment, Brendan saw no movement behind the closed blinds of either front-facing windows. A knock to his left spun him around to see Kim’s mom waving at him from inside the house, through what he remembered as the kitchen window. He gave a small wave in return and climbed the stairs slowly, wondering what he was really doing here.

Muffled voices traveled through the door. At his first knock, the conversation ended. He knocked again. This time he could hear someone, or something, rustling around on the other side of the door. Floorboards creaked slightly as the apartment’s occupant approached the door.

“Who is it?” Kim called. The door had no peephole, which most residents would consider an unnecessary security feature in this small town.

“It’s Brendan.”

A pair of locks disengaged and the door cracked open to reveal a very sleepy woman’s face. Her eyes squinted against the midday sunlight. The room beyond her was dark.

“Sorry to wake you up.”

“No problem. Someone already beat you to it,” Kim mumbled, drawing the door inwards and shuffling away. “Come on in.”

Brendan stepped through the door and closed it behind him. Thick curtains kept out most of the light, but enough leaked around the fabric to reveal a third occupant in the modest apartment.

“Are you following me?” he asked the woman decked out in running gear.

“I got here first,” Casey pointed out, “so I should be asking you that same question.”

“Right.”

Kim, wearing a t-shirt and gym shorts, disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared wearing a long cotton bathrobe. While she fumbled with the coffeemaker, Brendan looked around.

The small apartment was essentially one big open living area that served as kitchen, living room, and bedroom. The only door led to a small bathroom that featured a shower stall, a sink, and a toilet. Next to the bed, a pair of matching old armoires loomed, probably containing the remainder of Kim’s clothes that weren’t strewn all over the place.

“Sorry for the mess,” Kim called over her shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Brendan said. “I should’ve called first.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I turn my phone off after I work a late shift.”

Brendan took a seat on the small sofa situated in the middle of the living space. The sofa faced the two big windows, between which stood a small media console and a medium-sized flat screen TV. Brendan couldn’t see a cable box, but a PlayStation 3 sat on a shelf under the TV.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Casey asked, pulling up a small plastic chair from Kim’s desk. Her skin gleamed with a sheen of fresh sweat.

Kim wandered over and sat next to Brendan on the sofa, now tightly clutching a mug of coffee.

“Honestly, I didn’t really have anywhere else to go,” he explained.

“Glad I’m your last resort,” Kim said as she sipped at the piping hot caffeine fix. When she caught Brendan watching her, she added, “Oh my gosh, how rude. I didn’t offer you any.”

Kim started to get up, but Brendan put a hand on her shoulder and gently ushered her back down.

“I’ll grab some if I want some,” he assured her. “No problem.”

Casey muttered something and went to get a drink from the kitchen.

Other than the different color of eyes, Kim was a carbon copy of her older sister. The resemblance resurfaced the surprise Brendan had felt waking up next to Michelle’s naked body that morning.

Damn, had it just been that morning? It was unreal how slowly time moved when things went rough, yet good times shot by in an instant.

Trying to remain cognizant of appearances, Brendan asked if it would be okay to crack the blinds open. If Kim’s mom showed up and found the three of them sitting around in the dark, with Kim wearing her pajamas, who knew what rumors could result? As if things weren’t interesting enough already, or, maybe it was merely wishful thinking on his part.

When Kim agreed, Brendan drew back the curtains and fumbled with the rod that twisted to operate the blinds. A gear or something was stripped inside the mechanism, so the rod freely spun in his hand. He looked back to Kim for some helpful hints, but she grinned and gave up nothing. At a loss, Brendan grabbed the drawstring and yanked down on it, pulling the blinds halfway up the window.