Splintered Courage Read online

  Splintered Courage

  J.E. Sawyer

  Contents

  Untitled

  1. Gemma

  2. Gemma

  3. Gemma

  4. Garret

  5. Gemma

  6. Garret “Doc”

  7. Weston

  8. Gemma

  9. Garret

  10. Gemma

  11. Gemma

  12. Weston

  13. Garret

  14. Gemma

  15. Weston

  16. Gemma

  17. Gemma

  18. Garret

  19. Weston

  20. Gemma

  21. Garret

  22. Gemma

  23. Weston

  24. Gemma

  25. Garret

  26. Gemma

  27. Weston

  28. Gemma

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Untitled

  SPLINTERED COURAGE

  By

  J.E. Sawyer

  Splintered Courage

  J.E. Sawyer

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2018 by J.E. Sawyer

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities of characters to actual people are entirely coincidental. The author holds exclusive right to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Created with Vellum

  Mom, you are dearly missed but may your words carry on. – J.E. Sawyer

  Gemma

  I lean over my desk to shut down my computer. Gathering my purse and jacket I head for the time clock.

  Two minutes. Two lousy minutes. Tapping my foot anxiously, shifting my purse from one shoulder to the other, the clock finally reads five o’clock. I slide my time card, the clock beeps. Free for two whole days.

  No time clock, no boss breathing down my neck, cut loose from the noose, ah sweet freedom.

  I walk out of the office building into the heat. I unlock the door of my black 1972 Chevy Nova with white racing stripes leaving the door open to allow some of the heat to escape. It's hot enough to bake a potato in there. Leaning against the door, I notice all the spots left by rock and road grime. Black is a bitch to keep clean.

  Standing outside the car looking around for nothing in particular, I squint in the unseasonably hot June afternoon sun. Trying to get my mind off the condition of my old Nova, I scan the neighboring parking lot and that’s when I see it. Parked beside a row of white pines, is the most beautiful 2016 Chevrolet Silverado Z71 2500 I’ve has ever seen.

  My breath catches in my throat. My eyes study the truck from hood to tailgate. Midnight black edition, tinted windows. Absolute perfect condition.

  I wonder what you’ve got under your hood Black Beauty, 445hp and 910ft lbs. of torque Duramax Diesel? What I wouldn’t give to take you around the block a time or two.

  Shaking myself out of the daydream, I clumsily get into the car hoping the truck’s owner didn’t see me ogling.

  I pull onto main street, headed north towards US 221.Traffic is light for a change. I lean forward to adjust the air conditioner and put a CD into the player. Humming along to the lyrics of ZZ Top’s Sharp Dressed Man, throat as dry as cotton, I pull over to the service station at the intersection of NC 221 and NC 421 to buy a bottle of water.

  Waiting in line to pay for my water, I glance out the plate glass window and scan the parking lot and spot shimmering black once more.

  I can't believe this, not twice in one day, no way.

  I pay for my water and twist off the cap to take a long swallow letting the cold liquid soothe my dry throat and frayed nerves.

  My friend, Joey walks into the service station and notices the far-away look in my eyes.

  “Gemma, are you alright, you look like you saw a ghost or something.” Joey asks.

  “I’m fine Joey, is there a car show this weekend,” I reply.

  “Nothing is scheduled until July Fourth weekend,” Joey says.

  “You sure you are okay?” Joey questions again.

  After a final glance out the window, I answer, “yeah, fine and dandy.”

  I pull back onto the highway, checking my rear-view mirror I catch a glimpse of the black truck once again.

  Are you tailing me Black Beauty? We’ll just see about that.

  I apply more pressure to the accelerator. The speedometer climbs to sixty-five, seventy-five, pushing the Nova to nearly eighty. Checking the mirror again, seeing the truck is nowhere in sight, I slow to the legal speed limit.

  I turn onto McGuire Avenue towards home. Pulling into my driveway, I grab my oversized brown leather purse and go inside. After closing the door, I pause to breathe in the familiar smells of cinnamon and vanilla candles and the constant ticking rhythm of the grandfather clock are a comfort to me, relaxing my weary body and frazzled mind.

  I toe off my shoes and realize I forgot to check the mail. I slip on a pair of gladiator sandals and go outside to check the mail box at the end of the driveway.

  Reaching into the mailbox, I hear the low deep rumble of a vehicle with a big engine and dual exhaust. Looking up to see where the noise is coming from, I turn my head to see the black truck creeping up the street.

  Mail forgotten, I run back to the house, yank the door open, scramble for my purse and dash back to the car ready for action.

  Black Beauty slows to a crawl for a moment as if to take in as much of the neighborhood and surroundings as possible. Scrunched down in the seat, I peek out the window as the truck ambles down the street.

  I back out of the driveway and follow the truck for several miles. I keep enough distance from the truck so the driver doesn’t get suspicious.

  I reach in my purse, keeping my eyes on the truck in front of me, feeling around for my cell phone and 9mm.

  The truck pulls into the Edge Town Inn. I pull in a parking space at the opposite end of the parking lot.

  The driver of the truck gets out, turns and locks his door. He reaches into his back pocket to get his room key. While his back is turned toward me I sneak towards him, gun in one hand and cell phone in the other.

  “Who are you and why are you following me?” I ask the stranger.

  Startled by my cold emotionless voice behind him, he turns slowly and looks down into a set of angry gray eyes. After seeming to study me for a brief moment, he replies, “if you’ll put down your weapons, I’ll tell you who I am.”

  “You are going to tell me who you are regardless.” Holding the gun steadily between us, “and then I am calling the police.”

  Holding both hands up in surrender, he slowly lowers his right hand toward his back pocket. I adjust the gun tightly and yell, “Keep your hands where I can see 'em.”

  “I’m only getting you some ID” says the stranger. Noticing my increasing panic, slowly he raises his hands back up.

  Gripping the cell phone and gun, I keep eye contact with the stranger standing in front of me, “Just tell me who you are and why you are following me.”

  “Okay, okay, calm down. My name is Garret Bradford.” He watches me closely for recognition, a flinch, anger, any emotion at all.

  I slowly lower my weapons. “Is that supposed to mean something to me Mr. Bradford?”

  “Can I put my hands down now?” Even though I appear to relax somewhat, he seems to not to want to risk me panicking again.

  Feeling a bit calmer I reply, “yeah, I guess so. Now answer my question.”

  He puts his hands into the back pocket of his jeans, he hangs his head, taking in a deep breath, gathering all the courage he can muster.

  “I thought it might mean something to you. I hoped it would.” Garret said.

  Looking at this stranger, Garret Bradford, I see a sadness in his eyes.

 
More anxious now than ever to hear his answer, “I’m waiting Mr. Bradford.” I reply coldly.

  Garret looks me straight in the eyes. Courage wavering. He takes a deep weighted breath. It seems like he’s trying to breathe mud.

  “Gemma, I’m your father.”

  I gasp

  “My father?” I echo.

  But as I keep eye contact I know it’s true. I see the same gray eyes that are reflected to me in the mirror every morning. I see the same chameleon hair that changes with the light, from sandy blonde, to red, to light brown. My heart also recognizes a weary soul.

  But how can that be? My father? I’ve never known my father.

  “Why are you here? Why now?” I question.

  “My child,” he starts and I flinch. I didn’t mean to, but a sentiment such as that bears down on my chest. I try to return to appear impassive so he will continue.

  “I know is this unsettling, and no excuse, but I’ve been trying to find you for the last eighteen years,” he states.

  The last eighteen years? So, he has been looking for me since I was a baby?

  “It seems as though you have been well hidden for quite some time. It never should have been this way. You never should have been away from me” he continues.

  “Hang on, how do I know you are telling me the truth,” I interrupt, even though I am already pretty sure he is telling the truth. I don’t feel any ill will from him, so I don’t feel threatened, at least, for now. I’ve always found my instincts be to spot on.

  “Gemma, I know you can see it. I know you can tell I am telling you the truth. I can see it in your eyes that match my own. I see your curiosity. I see your fear. I see your longing for the family that you should have had. I also see your courage and strength. I see you,” he says as he breaks eye contact and bows his head as if he’s defeated.

  “What about my mother?” I ask. I never knew her either. I was told by my grandmother that she passed away when I was a baby.

  He slowly takes a deep breath, as if the memory of her steals his will away. “I did not know about you until it was too late. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but we were just kids. I wished she would have came to me. I would have helped. I can promise you that.” He raises his head to make eye contact once again. To gauge my reaction, I assume.

  I just nod my head. My thoughts are so scattered I don’t really even know what to say at this point.

  I have lived with my maternal grandmother my whole life. She passed away this past year. She was all I had. This kind of sounds like something she would do. Try to shield me from a potential life of hurt, or the possibility of being taken away. Perhaps I’m all she had too.

  “So, how did you find me after all this time?” I can’t help but wonder.

  The corner of his mouth lifts, a sly smile and eyes full mischief. “I have a few friends who were able to pull a few strings,” he says with a smile in his voice.

  Ok, so he’s going to start out by being evasive. I guess two can play at that game.

  “Ok,” I say a bit hesitantly. What does he expect me to do? Run into his arms crying? Or to tell him to leave, that I never want to see him again? When I look at him he seems to be just as lost as I am. “So, what now?”

  “Well…” he starts as he rubs the back of his neck and looks towards Black Beauty. He must be nervous continuing with his next thought.

  “Well...” he starts again. “Fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be. You are too much like me kid, steel and stone. More like me than I expected.”

  Ok, that whatever that means. I will take that as a good thing for now. I guess he has a point, as least we can both have an appreciation for a nice machine like Black Beauty.

  “I know it’s a far shot, but I was kind of hoping you would come and stay with me for a while. Give us a chance to get to know each other. I’ve missed eighteen of your life. I don’t intend to miss anymore if you’ll let me.”

  Wow, ok. I wasn’t expecting that. It’s kind of sweet, but I don’t know him. What if he’s some looney and just plans on cutting me up into little pieces to dump along the highway?

  All except I know that isn’t true. I can feel it deep in my bones that this man is my father. The father I never had.

  Gemma

  “You want me to live with you?” I ask. I’m sure my face reflected my confusion. If Garret’s small chuckle is any indication. Up and move with a complete stranger? It’s not like I have a whole lot tying me to North Carolina right now.

  Sure, I have my full-time job that I’ve had for about 6 months now. I run the office for a local garage. I didn’t get to go to college. Even with my 4.25 gpa, it was never really an option for me. Not that I really wanted to go anyway.

  My house is a rental, with a month to month lease. Most of everything I own was my grandmother’s. I have never needed much. We were more concerned about getting by than possessions.

  The only things that are actually mine that I care about are my car, my gun, my purse and my boots.

  Wait, am I actually considering this? It sure does seem like it.

  I take a deep breath. “So, where do you live anyway?”

  Another small chuckle, Garret seems rather relieved I didn’t head for the hills kicking and screaming. “Texas”

  “TEXAS” I screech. Um ok, I didn’t expect him to live half way across the country.

  Again, am I really considering this?

  “I know this is a lot, why don’t we discuss it over dinner?” He asks, it’s hard to miss the hope in his voice.

  “Um ok, that sounds reasonable,” I reply.

  “You and I are going to get along just fine kid,” he says with a large Cheshire cat smile that shows off his straight bright white teeth, and small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. Eyes that already look at me with warmth, love, and affection.

  I know I should be afraid. Especially, alone in a parking lot with a stranger well over 6ft tall with massive shoulders and arms probably a big as my leg. It’s obvious with my 5ft frame that I didn’t inherit his genetics in the height department.

  Garret scratches his head. “So is there anywhere decent around here to eat?” He asks impishly.

  I can’t help but laugh. “In this little mountain town? Nope, not really. There is a little Pizza place that pretty good up the river.”

  Garret booms out in laughter, “Yep, going to get along just fine. How about I pick you up at your house at seven? That will give me a chance to clean some of my trip off me a little bit.”

  “Ok, that works, see you then,” I tell him as I turn to head back toward my car.

  I climb in my car and watch through my windshield a moment. Garret is still standing there watching. We hold a silent standoff for several seconds before he turns and continues toward the Edge Town Inn.

  I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Ok, so what just happened? I’m totally overwhelmed and confused. It seems wrong but I can’t help but be a little excited too.

  I arrive back home faster than I anticipated, especially considering I don’t remember any of it. I hope I didn’t run any red lights. I’ve been on autopilot since I left the Inn.

  I walk through the door, which I must have forgotten to lock on my way out. I was in such a rush to follow the truck it must have slipped my mind. I head through the foyer which opens up to a modest living room with light gray carpet, beige walls, a stone fireplace to the left and large picture window facing the front of the house. Just past the living room is the kitchen, with uninteresting brown laminate counter tops, linoleum flooring, and black not quite outdated appliances. To the right are the two bedrooms separated by a single bathroom. I enter my bedroom which is the first one and also has a picture window facing the front of the house like the living room.

  I toss my purse on the bed and face plant beside it. Can I really do this? If so, when does he expect this to happen? Oh geez, what am I getting myself into?

  I sit up and begin peeling off my
mint green converse, jean shorts and gray t-shirt that reads “Quick and Dirty”. At least with my job I’m not expected to dress up. Thank goodness, it’s too hot for that anyway. Besides, I much rather prefer to be me.

  I’m somewhat of a tomboy. I participated in boy’s sports for a while in High School, but I’m also a girl through and through. Some girls think you either have to be one or the other. Not me. I’m not afraid to mesh the two together, and I don’t care what anyone thinks about it.

  I grab a change of clothes. One of my few pairs of boot cut ‘Rock and Roll Cowgirl’ jeans, a black sleeveless blouse with blush pink dots, matching black undies and place them on the bed for when I get out of the shower.

  I’m not going to have much time before Dad arrives but I take a minute to look around.

  Wait, I’m calling him ‘Dad’ already? For now, it feels right. I’ll have to gauge how he feels about it though.

  I look around my room at my possessions. It’s kinda sad. If I go through with this I should be able to have my stuff boxed up within an hour or so. I don’t really care about the rest. None of it is sentimental or of any value.

  I force myself to head to the bathroom. I deposit my bra and panties in the hamper by the bathroom door. My feet sigh on the cold gray tiles. I take a look in the mirror. I’m not necessarily ugly, but I don’t feel pretty by any means either. I hold my long hair back with one hand and turn my head to the left and right. Ugh, why couldn’t I have the nice bone structure like a lot of other girls? I look at my curvy figure. My wide hips and shoulders, slim waist and flat stomach.