Oak Hollow Read online

  Dedication

  This is for Bryan Smith, Alan Spencer, and Edward Lee, some cool guys that I enjoy chatting with and whose books I enjoy reading.

  Chapter One

  Pregnant.

  Unbelievable.

  In the bathroom of the singlewide trailer she shared with her mother in the substandard town of Brickston, North Carolina, Tracey Parks was parked on the toilet. Her skirt and panties clung to her ankles as she gawked at the pee wand in shock.

  A blue plus sign dauntingly leered back at her.

  “I’m in such deep shit.”

  She reached beside her, where the trashcan sat between the toilet and sink, and dug out the empty package. As she read the bold print garishly stamped across the front, her throat tightened.

  99.9% accurate!! If it says you are pregnant, congratulations!!!

  Perfect, she thought, dropping the box back in the trash.

  Tracey stood up, hiked up her panties and skirt, then stepped around to the front of the sink and stared into the mirror. A teenaged wreck ogled back at her from the glass.

  Tracey Parks was going to be a baby-mama.

  She shivered as a wave of nausea rolled over her. She gave it a moment to pass before looking back into the glass. Her face was pale, dark crescents under her eyes.

  “You’re a wreck,” she told the slightly scary Tracey in the mirror.

  She noticed toothpaste speckling the glass in mint-crusted dots and wondered when it was last cleaned. It looked awful. She squatted down and searched the cabinet under the sink for some kind of soap or maybe some glass wipes to clean it, knowing the only reason she was pretending to care was to stall leaving the bathroom.

  Stall facing her mother.

  Digging through the mess, she found a box of tampons, toilet paper rolls, a bag of cotton balls and an unopened jug of bubble bath. She had no clue why it was there, forgotten and powdered in dust. Nothing down here could clean the mirror. Maybe she could use the bubble bath? Dab a towel with some of it? That could work.

  Knock it off!

  She was doing anything she could to prolong the inescapable confrontation with her mother, but if she stayed in the bathroom much longer, her mother would figure out the test results on her own.

  Tracey could hear the conversation in her head: I told you this would happen. You’re only seventeen and running around with a guy so much older than you was like playing with fire. Guess what? You got burned, baby. Brace Dinsmore should go to jail!

  Blah-blah-blah…

  She flopped down on the toilet, dropping her head into her hands.

  The mishap had undeniably occurred last month when Brace had promised her a night of something special. He’d certainly delivered. There was a blue plus sign proving how special that night had been. He hadn’t had a condom, and had promised to pull and pray as he’d so delicately phrased it.

  He hadn’t.

  This was his mistake.

  Takes two, you know…

  She shook her head.

  That night, she’d prepared for a romantic evening at his place, but instead what she was given was a cold night parked in a field, a backseat and a bun in the oven. Such a wonderful present from a boyfriend of four months. And not only was Brace her boyfriend, he was also her manager at Office Warehouse. He’d been promoted after the previous assistant, David Barker, had quit. She worked there part time a day or two after school and on weekends. She recalled their last conversation about their relationship. The same night Brace had made them parents-to-be.

  “I figured that by special, you meant we’d actually get to make love in your bed.”

  “You know we can’t.” He took a deep drag off his cigarette.

  “I don’t care what people think.”

  “Listen, I can’t risk ruining my position. I busted my ass to get promoted to manager.”

  “I don’t see how the two of us fucking in your bed would ruin that.”

  “I’ve told you my roommate’s bitch girlfriend is always over there. And if she knew we were doing this, she’d tell everyone.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me. Besides, I don’t think you’d lose your job over a rumor. That’s all it would be, Brace. A rumor. I wouldn’t say anything, and you know it.”

  “You’re seventeen. The rumor alone would be enough to get people snooping around. It’s just too risky right now. I’m sure you understand…”

  “Then I’ll quit.”

  “Thank you,” he said, sighing as if relieved.

  She realized he’d misunderstood her meaning. “I mean the job. I’ll quit my job.”

  “No, don’t do that.”

  She’d smiled, basking in the warmth of knowing he truly did care about her. Her blushing had been obvious, but she couldn’t have cared less. He was thinking of her for once. “It’s okay, sweetie. Don’t worry about me. I can find another job easily.”

  “I’m not worried about that. I’m saying don’t quit because then people would really get to talking.”

  Brace Dinsmore, ladies and gentlemen. The man of her dreams. Her future husband.

  She had never once doubted in the slightest that one day she’d be his wife. Even after his little oopsy-squirt. Her attraction to him had been instant, and the more time she got with him, the more time she wanted from him. It was impossible for her to resist the fantasy of her lying in bed with a large dome for a stomach and waking him in the middle of the night to send him out for a tub of caramel and apple slices.

  But instead of the make-believe movie in her head, Tracey had been plagued with an upset tummy. Nothing solid had come out of her for days, and now she understood why.

  Pregnant.

  Here it comes…again…

  Her stomach flipped, dropping her to her knees. She hunched facedown over the toilet bowl and vomited. After three violent spasms, she sat up, backhanding the greasy froth from the corners of her mouth.

  Then she began to cry.

  Telling her mother was going to be bad, but dealing with Brace would be impossible. She’d be gentle delivering the news, but he was extremely sensitive, and no matter how carefully she presented it, his reaction would be less than pleasant. She needed to prepare herself for that.

  A light tapping came from outside the door. “Tracey?”

  Mom.

  She continued. “Is everything okay in there?”

  No. It’s far from okay.

  Chapter Two

  “Can’t be mine,” said Brace, certain.

  Tracey made a coughing noise in the back of her throat. “Why not?”

  “I’m impotent.”

  Laughter exploded out of her.

  From where he sat behind the steering wheel of his Maverick, he looked genuinely upset by her reaction. They’d gone through the drive-thru at Burger Bob’s, and Brace ordered two meals, one for himself and one for her. Then they’d driven across the street and parked at the far edge of the Walmart parking lot. Away from anyone who might see them.

  Tracey wasn’t hungry. The three days of dreading this conversation had tainted her appetite. Telling her mother had been the hardest thing she’d had to do in all her short life. But after the smoke from her mother’s initial explosive reaction had cleared, they’d managed to discuss it like human beings.

  With Brace it was going to be brutal.

  “Why is that so funny? I’d like to have kids someday, but the Lord just didn’t bless me with the gift.”

  “After a comment like that, I wish it wasn’t yours.”

  Mouth gaping, he shook his head. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Your baby!”

  He smirked. “You know what I mean.”

  “Impotent means you can’t get it up! Infertile means you can’t get a girl pregnant.
”

  He closed his eyes, leaned back in the seat and cracked the window. Cold air drifted through the narrow opening. As if he was about to smoke, he reached into his jacket, but glanced at her and stopped. Maybe he understood it wasn’t a good idea for her to inhale the smoke, being pregnant. Thankfully he left the window open. The car was stuffy with the heat on and sun glaring through the windshield. She wished they’d parked behind the mall like they usually did. There was more shade back there.

  Tracey continued, “Besides, I’d never cheat on you.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  She nearly gasped. How could he not believe her? She figured he was probably grasping this situation on hints of intellect and pummelings of panic. He’d say anything to make it not be true. And she’d just have to grin and bear it, at least until he’d gotten over the initial shock of it all. She’d be willing to forgive his behavior once he’d gotten back to normal.

  Maybe then he’d even be happy about it.

  “I mean…” He squirmed in his seat, nervously drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You probably did it out of spitefulness, because I wouldn’t let the public know about us. You know…to try and trap me or whatever…”

  That dirty bastard…

  He kept the words coming before she had a chance to reply. “I love you, Tracey Parks, but I’m sorry, I just don’t believe that you’re knocked up with my kid.”

  “Right, because you’re impotent.”

  “So I messed up on the words. Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I guess you’re planning on keeping it? I can give you a loan or something to take care of it.”

  A loan? Is he fucking serious?

  She shook her head, disgusted. He’d gone to the one place she hadn’t primed herself for.

  The abortion route.

  Tracey should have predicted this, but for whatever reason there’d been hope inside of her that he’d be compassionate. “I expected more from you, Brace, but I guess I was wrong to have done that.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Tracey wanted to scream, but instead she exhaled a long, harsh sigh that could have cut him had she angled it properly. She opted for a more subtle approach of laying the cards on the table.

  “I thought this would bring us closer together. I’m scared too, even more since the baby’s inside of me, but I thought that us being together, every step of the way, would make it somehow all worth it.”

  He gulped—loud. There was a mention of quivering in his lips.

  “I was wrong about that, too, I suppose.”

  “Tracey—”

  “Don’t say anything else. You’ve said more than enough.”

  “Well, what are you saying?”

  “My mom went through this same thing when she got pregnant with me. A guy knocked her up when she was seventeen. They say a girl tends to draw herself to boys that remind them of their father. I guess that’s what you are.”

  “I’m a what?” he asked, his face craggy with confusion.

  “Just some guy that knocked me up.”

  He turned away, looking out the window as if her words had violated him.

  “I don’t need you. I can do this on my own.”

  On that note, she opened the door and got out of the car. It shook when she slammed the door shut.

  Tracey sat in her mother’s car, crying. She wasn’t ready to go inside yet and join Mom for another bout of lectures. She’d received too many of them in the past three days. All about how much of a disappointment she was, how dumb she was and how much she’d fucked up her life. Mom hadn’t said those exact words, but Tracey could read between the lines. She had the decoder ring that could decipher all her mother’s hidden meanings.

  It was no surprise Mom hadn’t come outside to check on her. She was giving her some space, allowing Tracey to come inside when she was ready. Then another lashing would probably ensue. After the talk with Brace, she doubted Mom could make her feel any worse. It amazed her how quickly people could turn on you once they learned something they did not like.

  Tracey opened the glove compartment, snatched out two Kleenex from the small, travel-sized box mounting a hill of forgotten fast food receipts. It was all they usually ate, unless it was a special occasion. Then that was a call for pizza. Delivered, of course.

  Mom was a lousy cook, and had never tried to convince people otherwise. But she was a pretty good mom in other areas. Great to talk to and never held back what she thought, whether you wanted her opinion or not. However, this week, Tracey would rather Mom speak through a filter that could catch the spiteful words and only allow phrases that made Tracey feel good to come through.

  She’d almost kill to hear one nice thing right now.

  Mom was also very, very beautiful. Tracey couldn’t think of anyone who might disagree with her, unless it was one of the many wives whose husbands Mom had fucked. And there were plenty of them. Her mother enjoyed sex, and the thin walls in the trailer did nothing to conceal that knowledge from Tracey.

  It was tough having such a hot mom who knew how attractive she really was. Tracey had always assumed it would be different if she had one of those sexy soccer moms who were clueless to their attractiveness. But Julie Parks was not one of those moms.

  She worked at place called Honkers, and her uniform was a white top that left the underslopes of her breasts exposed and midriff bare, and taut black shorts that fit her rump like a latex glove. The customers—mostly male, even some female—liked her.

  Gruff truckers, reeking of gasoline and cigar smoke, would come in and request her by name. The repeaters paid extra just to reserve her as their server, and she always ensured her goods revealed just enough to get them slavering, and that her raven-colored hair always smelled fresh and her skin maintained a dusky shade.

  Julie Parks was thirty-five years old, but the customers mistook her for someone much younger. And Mom did nothing to correct them. She’d even let them pinch her, rub her thighs a little. Though she claimed that she despised the feel of their grimy hands, she also admitted it was somewhat worth the harassment when she counted the appreciation they’d left on the table.

  “Everyone has a price,” Mom would say.

  More than once someone would leave her a motel room key, their cell phone number and the lot number where their truck was parked. As far as Tracey knew, Mom had never lowered her standards enough to have sex with them, at least not for money. But there would be times when a handsome trucker would come along, say just the right things and sweep her off her feet for a wonderful overnight relationship.

  And Tracey would spend the night home alone.

  By and by, Julie Parks had a few repeaters in that area as well.

  Tracey sighed. She didn’t want to be like her mom.

  “Thanks to this,” she muttered, patting her belly. “You’re already on your way.”

  The curtains of the trailer’s front window swayed. Mom must have peeked out on her. Tracey checked the clock in the instrument panel and was shocked to see she’d been out here for twenty minutes. Mom wouldn’t wait much longer before coming out to see if she was all right. A little space was fine, but she wouldn’t allow this much.

  Better get in there.

  She didn’t want to move, but she had to.

  Tracey turned the key from battery to off. The radio continued to play in the Grand Am and would until she opened the door. The song playing on the hard rock station was by a band she liked, Enpsychopedia Satanica. She wanted to hear the end of it, so she took her time taking the key out of the ignition and dropping it in her purse. It was almost to her favorite part, where the guitars cut off their distortion and played a clean riff. The melody was good, and the guitar sounds were darkly beautiful.

  Finally, the song ended and another began immediately afterward. It was from a band she didn’t like that much. When she opened the door, the radio stopped with a thump in the speakers. The antenna groaned
as it retracted back into the car.

  Tracey climbed out.

  There was a biting breeze that brought with it a sweet undertone of burning wood. Naked trees filled the woods behind the trailer park, thin twigs like skeletal fingers reaching upward. The cloudless blue sky overhead looked more like water with fluffy whites streaking across it.

  Carrying her purse, Tracey slunk to the door and climbed the wobbly steps to the aluminum front door. Mom had had a deadbolt installed after someone had broken in last summer. Nothing was taken because there wasn’t much to take. Still, even with the additional lock, Tracey had never felt any safer. She wished the door had been replaced with something more durable. Even now she could see the chunks bent back on the door’s edge from where a crowbar or something had been wedged into the frame to pop the door open.

  Mom would probably never replace the door. It’d been here as long as the trailer, no doubt.

  Tracey tried the knob. It was unlocked. She let the door sway inward as she stepped over the threshold. It was dark inside. No lights were on. Tracey wondered if the power had been shut off again. Sometimes Mom forgot to pay the bill.

  Tracey maneuvered her way up the narrow hallway, using her elbows as guides against the flimsy walls. The hallway opened up as she approached the living room. A dim, flickering radiance came from a scented candle on the coffee table. The entire room was clouded in the scent of strawberry passion, her mother’s favorite.

  Mom sat on the couch, rubbing her eyes with her fists. She looked as if she’d just woken from a nap. She wore nothing but a long T-shirt that draped her thighs. It was so thin that Tracey could see Mom’s breasts through it, even in the pale light. And much like her own, they were almost unnaturally large.

  Shouldn’t fall asleep with candles going. A good way to torch yourself.

  Mom snatched her cigarettes from the table. “Hey.” Her voice sounded groggy and scratchy. “Just get home?”

  “A few minutes ago.”

  Mom nodded as she took a drag. “Thought so. I looked out and saw you sitting there, figured you’d been there a while.” She breathed out a plume of smoke. It traveled across the room in gray swirls. “He didn’t take it well.” It was stated, not questioned.