Line in the Sand, (the rest of the story)

Jake Atkins drove slowly down the winding road through the trailer park negotiating the mud holes and ruts. The place looked more like an abandoned junk yard than a trailer park. Some of the trailers were empty, their doors open, windows broken out. Broken down rusty old sedans sat here and there on flat tires, or no tires at all. Broken furniture was strewn here and there. Black plastic trash bags ripped open by ranging dogs, spilled cans, beer bottles, dirty diapers and rotting food along the roadside. He glanced over at a dull maroon '73 Buick parked beneath the rusty steel frame of a child's swing set. The car's hood lay nearby in tall weeds. A black greasy motor hung suspended above the Buick, dangling precariously from a chain, its weight pulling the overhead pole of the swing frame into a sagging bow. Everything looked just the way it did some 3 months ago when he was thrown into the county jail. He pulled slowly up to trailer 39 and sat there with the motor running, his eyes scanning the windows that were draped in white sheets. He saw several fingers pulling back the sheet a small bit, then closing it again. She had seen him. He glanced down at his watch, and lit a cigarette.

Deanna grabbed a pillowcase stuffed with clothes and hurriedly scribbled a note to her father. "Fuck you, asshole." was all it said. She swung the door open and ran toward Jake's car. They hugged and kissed and then Jake floored it doing a 180 degree fishtail , his spinning tires flinging a spray of mud into the air. "Oh, my God! We did it!" she said sliding over close to Jake. "Did you get any money, baby?" Jake asked putting his arm around her. "I got a little." she said grabbing the hand on her shoulder and kissing it." "How much?" Jake asked as they turned out of the trailer park and onto the county road. "About a hundred dollars." she replied. "That should get us to Galveston." he said, shifting into fourth gear, and turning to smile at her. "What's in Galveston?" she asked, kissing his cheek. "It's just a place to get lost in, baby." She rested her head on his shoulder as they crossed the railroad tracks on the edge of town. "What if he finds us, Jake?" she said quietly. "If he's got any sense at all he won't try. What I did to him last time, ain't nothin' compared to what he'll get if he shows his face again." Jake replied.

Jake had just done 90 days on an assault charge for going after Deanna's father with a baseball bat. He had broken the old man's leg just below the knee. But, he had it coming, as far as Jake was concerned. After seeing him throw Deanna against the wall so hard the blow knocked her out. Lucky for her father, that he hadn't broken Deanna's nose, because then the bat would have come down over his head. He glanced over to Deanna. "You sure got a cute nose." he said, reaching over to pinch it. "Quit it Jake," she giggled. "You're gonna run us off the road." There was one thing for certain, her father would never lay a hand on Deanna again; or see her again, for that matter. He turned off on a side road and into a driveway and pulled up to Jackson's house - a buddy of his. "Stay here, baby," Jake said, 'I gotta pick up some clothes and stuff. I'll just be a minute." "Hurry, Jake," Deanna said, "I'm scared." He kissed her. "You ain't got nothin' to be scared 'bout anymore, baby. You're with me now. I'll be right back," he assured her, giving her nose another playful pinch. Deanna nervously chewed on a fingernail and turned to look out the rear view window toward the highway, as Jake disappeared into the house.

She watched as Jake stood at the front door holding a large green Army duffel bag. She smiled as she watched them awkwardly trying to say goodbye. The quick and manly hug with slaps on the back, and a high five, then knocking their fists together. The door closed and Jake approached, tossing the bag into the back seat. "Let's go baby." he said firing up the engine. Jackson came running out of the house, waving his arm at them. "Dude" he said, handing Jake a small box through the open window. "I almost forgot to give you the bullets."

The Rest of the Story

From Galveston, the ride to Bolivar Island was short and by ferry. There was plenty of work there on the island since the recent hurricane. In fact, the island was a somewhat surreal scene as they drove across the debris littered sands of its wide and desolate beach. Beach houses lay in piles of splintered wood or were simply blown over onto their sides as though taking a nap. Inland, there were some sounds of industry. There was the churning sound of chain saws sectioning Live Oak trees that had been up-rooted and thrown about. The voracious noise of chippers reducing them to mulch. There was the sound of bulldozers pushing destroyed homes into burn piles, and here and there the black and sooty smoke of large fires darkened the sky.

For awhile, it was not too bad for Jake and Deanna. They spent their first several nights sleeping beneath a brown canvas tarp that had washed up on the beach. They had draped it over a palm tree that had almost been taken out by the gale winds but still hung on, leaning low to the ground. Jake got a job feeding tree limbs into a chipper. Deanna worked for a guy with a lunch wagon, a truck that drove through the neighborhoods selling sandwiches and cold drinks to the demolition crews. A week later they secured a better shelter. A small two room above a garage. It had survived the storm, but sometimes the structure swayed in gusts of wind. Deanna was sick a lot in the early stages of her pregnancy. And Jake worked that much harder.

It all ended quite abruptly. Within two months, Jake was dead. A falling rafter of a beach house being pushed down by a dozer had snapped his neck. The crew boss assured Deanna that he never knew what hit him. The bus ride back home was bleak, with Deanna crying in the arms of some woman she didn't even know. She walked wearily down the road into the trailer park, the heavy duffel bag dragging along the ground. Nothing had changed much in the three months she had been gone. Except for one thing. Trailer 39 stood abandoned and boarded up. A neighbor informed her that her father was dead. He had died in the front yard while staggering out to his car. Police said it was a drug overdose.

It was Jackson, Jake's buddy who helped Deanna pick up the pieces of her life. They now live together in Cleveland in a small but comfortable apartment. Jake's son, also named Jake is going on seven. There is another baby on the way.