Goodbyes and Second Chances (The Bleu Series Book 1) Read online

  Goodbyes and Second Chances

  T.I. LOWE

  Copyright © 2014 T.I. Lowe

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 150271969X

  ISBN-13: 978-1502719690

  DEDICATION

  To my Bethlehem Women of Faith Group.

  And to my Georgia Girls.

  You ladies ROCK!!

  White Trash

  White trash is not a choice. Just like any other social status, you are born into it. You can take as many bleach baths as you want, but the stigma is embedded in your pores. Trust-fund babies are born with a silver spoon in their million-dollar mouths, while white-trash babies are born with a rusty fork, with missing prongs, in their poor mouths. But hey, you learn to take what you can get.

  In the brutal life of white trash, you grow up in tired, worn-out houses that continue to be punished with the build-up of way past-due bills and beyond-neglected chores. No one wants to take responsibility for any of it. It is always someone else’s fault and someone else’s responsibility. And you’re lucky if it’s a house. Normally, you move a lot and see the inside of too many ramshackle motel rooms and mildew-reeking trailers.

  Beer bottle fights over women, emergency room visits for stitches, and police reports for domestic violence are a given. A white-trash family responds to their disputes with fists or any object they can get their hands on. There seems to be a lot of underlying anger—for what? Maybe past disappointments? Or life struggles? Or instabilities? Most likely, it’s a combination of all. There’s never a break to be had. Never…

  I have tried to push this stigma off and dress in normal wear. But no matter, I feel that I will always wear my white-trash badge whether I like it or not. It’s part of my roots even though I have groomed myself to blossom into something better.

  Part one

  Goodbyes

  The Young and the Stupid

  Chapter One

  Sometime in the late ’90s…

  I’m too young to go to jail, and I really have no desire to go, either. Yet, here I sit. I’m only a seventeen-year-old girl. I may act a bit stupid sometimes, but I’m really not. This whole situation is totally unfair. If I was born on the other side of Shimmer Lakes, this moment would be laughed off. Instead, I am from the wrong side of the water tracks, and it is why I am looking down at the smudges, from being booked and fingerprinted, on my fingertips. I try unsuccessfully to wipe the evidence of my guilt off onto my jeans, but the ink ain’t having it.

  What’s on the other side of the lake? Although we share the same body of water with those people, many levels of social status separate us. Wealth on that side is evident with expansive lakeshore homes, resorts, high-rise condos, and the million-dollar marina. To live on that side, bank accounts have to range in the six to seven figures.

  On my side of the lake, tin can trailers that smell like mildew make up the residences, and most struggle to make it into the five figures. It’s not that this side doesn’t try. It’s because we have been born with the rusted fork in our mouths and seem to not figure out how to better ourselves. Once you’ve been deemed a nobody, society struggles to see you in any other light. This means not many opportunities come your way, and so the cycle of only being able to keep your head above water continues hopelessly. Well, it’s how I see it anyway.

  I scratch my head. How in the world did I get myself in this mess…again…?

  I sit here shooting daggers at my cohorts as the officer rambles off the long list of charges. He’s already told us this once, but now he is repeating it for my Aunt Evie. She is none too happy, just let me tell you. I know we have pulled her out of bed, because I can see the nightgown peeking from underneath her long coat. She looks tired and was probably half-asleep when she put her hair in the haphazard bun from which several strands are now escaping. It’s well past midnight, and her day will begin too soon. The woman rises and sets right along with the sun like clockwork.

  “Arson, unlicensed use of pyrotechnics, operating a powerboat without a valid license…” Blah, blah, blah… In other words, we’ve screwed up. Again.

  Good grief, this has been one long night. There are only three guilty parties present in this station. The other three were lucky enough to get away unnoticed. They are faster runners, and it’s my fault that us three sit here now. I’m short and slow, and these two wouldn’t leave me. For that I’m thankful. Really, who wants to get handcuffed and hauled off to jail alone? No one, that’s who! This is one of those situations that are most definitely better with a buddy.

  The officer finishes the spiel of charges, and Aunt Evie cuts her eyes so sharp at me that I can feel the sting straight through. I can barely swallow from my guilt eating at me. This was stupid. Just plain stupid. I’m the oldest, so I guarantee I will be the one to blame.

  All I can think about is a nice hot shower and dry, clean clothes. We’ve been sitting here for a few hours with the air conditioner blasting on our shivering bodies. Our T-shirts are wrinkly and damp, and our jeans are still holding on tightly to the lake water. It’s beyond uncomfortable. If we adjust in our seats, our squishy shoes squeak against the tiled floor. I’m beginning to wish they had offered us orange jumpsuits. Wearing dry prisoner attire has to be better than sitting here wet and freezing.

  “What you reckon is gonna happen to these young’uns?” Aunt Evie looks over each one of us as though she is trying to decipher where we keep our stupid buttons, in hopes she can turn those suckers off.

  “Since it’s their first offense, they will probably get slapped with a fine for the damage caused and sentenced to community service.”

  I hear a quiet chuckle and look over to find Dillon smirking at the first offense statement. I cut my eyes at him again and glare with all my might. Those charges against me last year were dropped, and he knows it—not enough evidence. I promise I’m not a bad kid. I’ve just made some stupid choices. I glance at Kyle and then back to Dillon. It might be time to start keeping different company.

  “So, I can take Jillian and Kyle home now?” Aunt Evie signs the document to verify she gets how stupid we were tonight.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The officer accepts her check. I add that to my I-Owe-Aunt-Evie list. Ugh…

  “Are you sure I can’t take Dillon home, too?” We look towards the man-child in question. He’s fifteen years old, but I swear to you he looks to be in his twenties. He is already over six feet tall, and I kid you not, the dude is sporting a five-o’clock shadow as we speak. If I didn’t know any better, I would believe his mom is lying about his birthdate. But I grew up with the dude and knew him before he hit some overly-anxious growth spurts. Dillon says it’s the Italian in him. His jet-black hair is shoulder length and sports a deep-blue streak in the front. It’s homage to his band, Bleu Streak. He also has a tattoo of his dad’s military service number neatly tucked behind his right ear. He always says something dramatic about the location of the tattoo, something along the lines of it’s his way of always listening out for his dad. I personally know he is just hiding it from his mother. She would beat him silly if she knew he got a tattoo behind her back. That’s one feisty woman. I try to always steer clear of her.

  The only thing boyish about Dillon Bleu is his signature dimples. I’ve nicknamed him Dimples, which irritates him to no end. Those deep-blue eyes that are nearly purple look up hopeful at Aunt Evie’s request.

  “Sorry, ma’am. He has to be picked up by a guardian.” The officer says sorry, but you can tell he couldn’t care less. He is playing on his computer as Aunt Evie pleads with him. I bet he’s playing solitaire. I can’t see the screen from where I’m sitting
, but I just bet…

  “Well, I’m on his school forms as an approved person to pick him up. Ain’t that good enough?” She’s trying to stay calm, but I see her slipping.

  Now, here is another example of being from the wrong side of town. This wouldn’t be a problem for the other side of good and plenty. No, sir. This thick, bloated officer would be slapping the pick-up person on the back, having a good laugh at the expense of the rich kids’ stupid prank gone bad, while telling them to put their fat wallets away and pretend the incident didn’t really happen. The pick-up person would promise a lunch date soon at the marina and haul the whole lot home without question. But poor white trash doesn’t get such breaks. We are already deemed a nuisance to society, and they seem to take it seriously to keep us in our place.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” the officer repeats again, without even looking away from the computer screen. The mouse clicks and clicks and clicks. Yep. The jerk is playing solitaire.

  Aunt Evie walks over to a disappointed Dillon. He has soot smeared across his forehead, and she tries unsuccessfully to rub it off. I watch as he plays into her pity for him. It’s not that he is on board to be pitied, but he has no qualms of playing into it with adults to get his way. I roll my eyes at him to convey my not pitying him message. A smile twitches from the corners of his wicked mouth, but he controls it in front of my aunt.

  Dillon was exiled to the Shimmer Lakes Trailer Park and Campground a few years before me and Kyle. His dad was killed while serving our country the same year Dillon was born to a seventeen-year-old Cora, who was not allowed to marry Dawson Bleu before his deployment. He left behind a brokenhearted girlfriend who wasn’t legally his widow, so the death benefits were directed to his family instead. The only thing left behind that Cora got to claim was his newborn son and his Gibson electric-blue acoustic guitar. Dillon laid claim to the guitar before he could walk and plays that thing like it is his life’s purpose. The boy is crazy talented and can play any instrument placed in his hands. I’ve never seen anything like it anywhere. He can pick one up and bring the instrument to life like it’s some divine calling. I would be jealous if I wasn’t in such awe of his talent.

  Cora waitresses to make ends meet, so Aunt Evie has helped her care for Dillon over the years since Cora stumbled into the trailer park, flat broke and devastated. That feisty woman busts her butt in hopes of making a better life for Dillon one day. Neither side of her family wanted her after they found out she was unwed and pregnant—another example of judging someone due to their circumstance. She hates it and hates that she has had to drag Dillon down with her. Cora has spent a many a night on our small porch, crying on Aunt Evie’s shoulder. I really do feel sorry for her until she starts in on Dillon. She rides that boy something hard. I know she’s scared to death that he’s going to foolishly make some kind of mistake as she did. I know she believes I am not good enough to be friends with her son, so she hates me for him not being able to stay away from me. That’s my fault somehow, too.

  My younger brother and I have been dragged from pillar to post throughout our younger life. My parents like to live the gypsy lifestyle, so we’ve lived in a variety of places—anywhere from trashy roach motels and campgrounds to squatting in a few abandoned homes. They fall into the category of parents mindlessly spitting young’uns out into this world and having totally no clue as to what to do with them. Aunt Evie, being childless, offered to take us in after the authorities hauled us away from our neglectful parents. Kellan and Lucy Whitman had not enough sense or desire to raise us, so they quickly agreed. Fine by me! Good riddance.

  By the time Kyle and I arrived at Shimmer Lakes, we were both malnourished and ate up with head lice. Aunt Evie took to mending us up and showing us a simpler, yet better, way of life. I couldn’t get over those first few weeks of not having my scalp constantly itching. Crawling lice had become a torturous part of our neglected life. Kyle’s lice infestation was so severe Aunt Evie had his head completely shaved bald. Mine wasn’t much better. My long, thick hair had to be buzzed considerably shorter. Dillon thought I was a boy for the first months of us being neighbors. Aunt Evie bought Kyle a cowboy hat to cover his bald head, and me a hot-pink sunhat to help them remember I was a girl. She kept reassuring us that it was only hair and that it would grow back, and eventually it did. I was only six at the time. Now I know that’s mighty young to remember much, but some things you can’t ever forget, no matter how badly you want to.

  Aunt Evie places her hand on Dillon’s shoulder somberly, as though he is the victim and not a conspirator in all of this night’s fiasco. “I’ll find Cora and get her here as quick as I can, sweetheart.” She hugs him.

  “Aunt Evie, we can’t just leave him here.” My voice breaks as I whine. I don’t pity him… Okay… Maybe I do a little.

  “Well, we wouldn’t even have to worry about this if you would act your age. Jillian, you are almost eighteen. You know how to make better decisions than this. I depend on you to be more responsible. Now look at the mess you have gone an’ gotten your brother and Dillon into.”

  Dillon has a stoic expression painted on his aggravating face. When Aunt Evie turns towards me, the manly face transforms into a mischievous brat with dimples popping out full force. Jerk. I take it back. I don’t pity him one bit.

  “Me?” I jab my finger towards him and Kyle. Kyle is the same age as Dillon. Those two have been glued together since they were toddlers. “It was their idea!”

  “Don’t even blame those boys for your decision. You’re older!” She’s full of vinegar, and I can’t blame her. She has the trailer park to manage and will be dead on her feet in a few hours when she is expected to get to work.

  So I continue to be the follower and not the leader. The boys have not muttered one word since we were brought in, and I decide it’s in my best interest to follow suit. I look over at Kyle. He seems to not have a care in the world. He is actually nodding off to sleep with his dark blond hair flopping over his eyes. It’s all frizzy from our unexpected plunge in the lake. I brush my hair over my shoulder and inspect my own frizzy mess that spills almost to my lap. Ugh. I really need a shower and lots of conditioner. I twist it in a long braid to try to tame it for the time being. Kyle looks like me with the same dark blond hair, but with lighter green eyes. He’s a good bit taller than me too. I topped out at a grand five feet two inches in height. I blame my stunted growth on the malnutrition from my years with the parents.

  “We will stay until Cora arrives.” Aunt Evie wearily relents, so we stay put in the police station until three in the morning.

  A frazzled Cora storms in, wearing her food-smudged uniform, with her dark auburn hair slipping from her ponytail. Bags are prominent under her eyes, and her mouth is set in a severe sneer. And, oh boy, is she ticked. Her whole body trembles with her anger. She stops in front of a sleeping Dillon and lands a slap across his face, rousing him abruptly. He almost falls out of the chair from the shock of it. His face is deep red from the slap and embarrassment. He won’t even meet my gaze. He just hangs his head and stands behind his witch of a mother. She shoots me a look that sends the message loud and clear—it’s all your fault. She has always had something against me, and I just don’t get it. She doesn’t say a word to anyone as she signs the required documents and storms back out of the door. I want to shout at Cora to not treat Dillon that way and to keep her hateful hands to herself. It’s on the very tip of my tongue, but I catch sight of Aunt Evie shaking her head sternly at me as she points us to the exit through her own silent scold. I bite my tongue right off and file out of the police station like a zombie.

  Chapter Two

  I look at the remains of the burnt-out boat and charred dock that were the victims of our poorly-executed stunt. The lake is crystal clear, so I can easily spot more remnants on the sandy bottom. Another charred piece unceremoniously plops into the water and sinks to join the other remains. It’s shallow here, so we get the fun task of pulling that mess off the lake floor, too
. I shake my head and let out a long sigh. We really shot ourselves in the foot with this one.

  It’s spring break, and we were bored. Due to last night’s boredom, problem solved . . . I guess. Because now on this humid April day, we have the chore of cleaning up the mess we made. Pleasure boats pass by with noisy passengers enjoying their cushiony lifestyle as we dredge up the soggy debris. I look towards Kyle. He is intently studying some bikini-clad teenage girls who catcall to him and the other boys as they pass by. I roll my eyes in my friend Leona Hill’s direction. Her deep mocha eyes return the gesture. She and the other two escapees volunteered to help us clean up the mess made by our stupidity. This is how we roll. We stick together. We have a strong bond due to circumstance, an unspoken pledge to stick together through thick and thin. Because, who do we have but each other? If you are not from the less fortunate side of the tracks, you haven’t a clue. It’s never easy-peasy.

  Not all of the residents from Shimmer Lakes Trailer Park are of the poor white trash lineage. Leona is from the poor black background. She lives with her dad in a small trailer down the street from mine. Her mom passed away when she was only a baby. Her dad is a nice man. Dillon thinks of him as a hero because he was also a soldier like Dillon’s dad. Mr. Dan went to war, too. And although it gave him back, it didn’t return him the same as he was when he left. He suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder and has had a hard time fitting into society since returning. Some days he doesn’t even make it out of bed, but he does the best he can for his daughter. Leona has such an exotic beauty, with rich brown skin and golden eyes. You just want to spend time admiring her beauty. I swear she needs to be a model. Her hair is in thick, well-kept dreadlocks that are blonde on the tips. She totally pulls it off.