County Line Read Online Free PDF

didn’t think much of it. You know how she is. Trying to save the world one hobo at a time.”
    Ruby Jane will talk to anyone. She’s generous with the homeless locals, donates ground coffee and cocoa packets to the St. Francis Dining Hall, provides hot water to people who show up at the shop with a tea bag and a cup. There on the street, I find myself inextricably on the verge of tears. In need of a distraction, I take a bite of my forgotten pie. It’s good. They’re always good. But even the buttery crunch of fried crust or the creamy chicken filling can’t penetrate my anxiety. Marcy clasps her bare arms across her chest, cup hooked on one finger. I can feel the chill in the air now that we’re away from the crowd. She tilts her head and looks sideways at me.
    “What’s up with you two anyway? You and RJ.”
    Her questions surprises me. “I’m worried about her. We’re friends.”
    “Break-into-her-apartment friends?”
    “I didn’t break in. I used a key.”
    “So you snooped. Fucking stalker, that’s what you are.”
    “Are you going to arrest me, Officer?”
    “I think I’ll let you off with a warning this time, kid.” She lifts her cup, looks at me over the rim as she drinks. Her eyes are amber with flecks of glinting gold. “She told me you kissed her.”
    My face grows hot. Even in the scattered streetlight glow, I’m sure my cheeks flash as red as a baboon’s ass. Crowd noise behind me seems to rise like a rushing wind.
    Marcy smacks her lips and grins. “I can understand why you’re in love with her.”
    “Who said I was in love with her?”
    “No one has to, dipshit.” Her grin morphs into a smirk. “You’re not going to ask me how she feels about you?”
    Jesus. I blink and look away, watch a tow truck cruise by. “She can tell me herself when I find her.” My voice sounds thin and reedy in my ears. Ruby Jane had four months to tell me before she sent me on my retreat—she chose instead to busy herself expanding the Uncommon Cup empire. A fine mist gathers around us. Not quite rain, but thinking about it.
    “Okay, think about this then. I’m twenty-three, turn twenty-four next month.”
    “Happy birthday.”
    “My mom is forty-five.”
    “When is her birthday?”
    She gives me a look. “My dad turns seventy-seven the day after I turn twenty-four.”
    I notice the uneaten pie in my hand. Summer and Gregg will be disappointed. I’ve failed to give my Whiffies the attention it deserves. “You think I’m thirty-two years older than Ruby Jane?”
    “God, I hope not. Gross.”
    “Marcy—”
    She reaches up and pats me on the cheek. “Go get her, tiger.”
    “You assume she wants to get got.”

 
     
     
    - 5 -

    Lot of Layers
    I don’t follow Marcy back to her table. She’s got trash-talking to do and I’d only cramp her style. She tosses the dregs of her drink into the street and leaves me with my cold pie in hand. The rain returns, a soft dribble from a sky less cloudy than star-filled. I hot-step it to my car, drop behind the wheel. According to the dashboard clock, it’s after two. I’m awake again, cycling back to restiveness from troubled fatigue. A wriggling itch marches across my shoulders. At home, half a bottle of Macallan and what’s left of the furry cheese and pear awaits me. Fuck that.
    This time I park right next to Ruby Jane’s side door. I don’t expect to see anyone, so it’s no surprise the night is empty of all but the rush of water over the edge of a clogged gutter down the street. Pockets of mist hang over the storm drains. In my trunk under a reusable New Seasons grocery bag I’ve never re-used I find a crushed and almost empty box of nitrile gloves, holdovers from my cop days. The click of Ruby Jane’s deadbolt behind me is a thin reminder of its inadequate protection.
    I cross the wide room to Fairweather’s campsite. The only sound is the refrigerator’s faint hum. I can smell his sleeping bag, a urea top note announcing a foundation