Christmas Home (The Coming Home #6)

2. Clyde Griffin

two

Clyde Griffin

“ L ewellen, you get yer trashy white ass back here!” I yelled as the seventy-six Boss Hog Cadillac convertible sped off, spewing mud and gravel back toward me. “Lewellen, yer such a bitch!!!” I screamed, but it was no use. It’s not like I should be surprised. My underhanded cousin was hightailing it and there was nothing I could do to stop her.

“What a shocker,” I could imagine my sister saying. “Lewellen betrayed you again, stole yer money, and left you high and dry.”

“Well, I ain’t a calling you for help, Emmylou. How about that?” I said to myself, and imagined sticking my tongue out at my ass of a sister.

I turned back toward the old, run-down motel and walked to my room.

“Crawford City looks nice,” Lewellen had told me when I needed to get away from the latest jackass I’d met. The man had a lot of fun using my face as a punching bag and almost put me in the hospital. So that night, after he’d gone to sleep, I’d taken his wad of cash and foolishly called my cousin.

Lewellen was my mama’s first cousin’s daughter, which made us second cousins…or maybe third? Hell, I don’t know. All I know for sure is she loved doing this shit to me. Thought it was funny that I kept falling for it. I felt a whole lot like Charlie Brown on them cartoons when Lucy pulled the football away every time Charlie Brown got close to kicking it.

I looked around the dingy little motel room. Lewellen had agreed to stay here with me for a month. We’d used my jackass ex’s money to buy enough groceries to last until then. The idea being that until he or the authorities caught up to us, we would have food and shelter, at least.

That’d been one week ago. Now, the ol’ hag had run off with the groceries that were still in the car and what money I had left. Oh well, at least the motel room didn’t have bed bugs, and I had a safe place to lay low from my ex.

God, I hoped he hadn’t gotten the law involved. This wasn’t the first time a man had taken to hitting me, and it wasn’t the first time I decided not to be a punching bag. My old man used to hit me enough. I didn’t need a boyfriend doing the same damned thing.

Still, last time I’d had to sit in jail for just under a month while a judge decided my part in the fight had been self-defense. Not sure I’d be looked upon as kindly this time, considering I’d taken his money. That was a first for me.

If I was lucky, which I never am, I could avoid Georgia for now. Even if my ex did call the law on me, maybe Tennessee wouldn’t send me back down there for a legal whupping.

Why hadn’t I just left the man the first time he raised his fist to me? Isn’t that the million-dollar question? Why don’t people just leave? I mean, first it’s, “Oh, I was drunk. I didn’t mean it.” Then it’s, “Oh, you deserved it.” Then it goes on and on. Well, after this last time, I didn’t wait around to hear more excuses. I knew how it’d turn out. And I knew if he found me now, he’d whup me good. Kill me if he could.

I flopped on the old, musty bed. God, I hated sleeping in motel rooms. Even though I’d done it plenty growing up.

My stomach grumbled but I ignored it. There’d be no food if I couldn’t find a job or some church willing to let me eat while they prayed over me. I’d go searching for both tomorrow. Besides, if I liked it here, I might stick around.

The town looked quaint. Like in them Hallmark movies. I was ready for quaint…well, ready for something, at least. Something besides the same shitty life I’d lived for the past thirty-four years.