***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley, has been jilted, fired, and had her ex's son left in her care. 

 

Her neighbor, Aaron Earl, has taken them to Haynes Pond and lured 13 year old Waylon into looking for some cars that were at the bottom of the pond.  Turns out that Aaron's great uncle just might be down there in one of those cars.  

 

Now, Miranda has a lot on her proverbial plate. On her first day back at work, she gets a surprise phone call. ***

 

 

 

By the time we get home it's the middle of the afternoon.  I had plans to do the laundry, fix a nice dinner, start clearing out that storage room for the kid, but Aaron keeps talking about that stupid pond and those cars at the bottom.  He just won't leave.  So, I just let him talk and work around him.  I figure he's bound to catch on that I care as much about whatever is in those cars as I do about the horse power of his new truck.

 

And another thing, how is he affording this truck and his old one?  Is Aaron selling drugs?  If so, he doesn't need to be hanging around Waylon ...or me, for that matter.

 

"I got a question for you," I say, stopping in front of him.

 

"Shoot."

 

"How are you able to afford this new truck and keep your old one?"

 

"I got a really good deal, Miranda."

 

"It don't add up, Aaron.  I don't care how good a deal you got.  It don't add up."

 

I glance over to see if Waylon is listening.  He's puttering around the entertainment center, moving magazines and crouching down to peer under it.  Then it hits me.  Quickly my hand goes to my back pocket and I pull out his phone.  "Hey, you looking for this?"

 

He scowls.  "Why do you have it?"

 

"I thought you might want it while we were gone."

 

He stands up and clomps towards me. I hold it out and he snatches it.  "Did you go through my phone?"

 

I can't help but roll my eyes.  "Gee whiz, because what could be more exciting than going through a kid's phone?  Oh, probably anything."

 

He looks at me the same way I used to look at my parents when I thought I was smarter, cooler and hated them for just being parents.

 

"Waylon, I need you to take the trash to the dumpster.  It's starting to stink."

 

One more sour scowl before he ties the hefty bag up and hoists it up over his shoulder like it weighs fifty pounds. 

 

After the door closes, and he's out of earshot, I turn back to Aaron.  "Are you selling?"

 

"I might later, but I still like my old truck."

 

"Not your damned truck, Aaron.  Are you selling drugs?"

 

His face goes pale. "No!  I would never do something like that.  Why would you think that?"

 

"Because, as beautiful as The Garden of Eden Mobile Home Court is, there isn't one single resident here that can afford to have two vehicles.   So, if you aren't selling weed, what are you doing?"

 

Aaron frowns and looks down. "Truth is, my dad loaned me the money."

 

"Your dad?  Jesus, Aaron how old are you?"

 

"Twenty six."

 

"Twenty six, and you borrowed what, fifteen grand, for a truck, that you didn't need."

 

"Eighteen grand.  But that was still a good deal."

 

"Go home, Aaron."

 

"Are you mad at me?  Because I got the truck or because I borrowed money from my dad "

 

I take a deep breath.  " I'm not mad.  I don't have any reason to be.  I'm just tired of boys and their toys."

 

"It sure feels like you're mad at me."

 

He stands up and looks around.  "You got a real nice place here.  It's cozy."

 

"I'll give you the name of my decorator,"  I say as I lead him to the door.

 

 

Sunday passes just the way a Sunday should.  I sleep in, shower, fix Waylon and myself a nice breakfast of pancakes, bacon and good slow cooked grits.  He eats every single bit and goes for seconds.  

 

"Look, I'm sorry I took your phone. I just thought that, if your dad called, you'd be able to talk to him."

 

"He isn't gonna call.  Why would he?"

 

"Dougie loves you, Waylon.  Don't ever doubt that.  He just doesn't use his head very often."

 

"My mom said he was a narcissist.  You know what that is?" he says.

 

"The center of his own attention? "

 

"He's either the victim or the hero.  Never the bad guy.  He can be really great then he can be a ...," he says, his voice trailing off.

 

"He can be a complete ass."

 

He looks up, startled at my statement.

 

"Hey, I have an idea.  Why don't we take a picture and I'll take it to Walgreens.   I'll print them out and we can put our images on that stupid Mustang picture.  You pose like you're driving and I'll pose like one of those bimbos on the hood of the car.  Then we can take a picture of it and send it to him."

 

Waylon grins.  "Can I have a cigarette dangling from my mouth."

 

"Perfect."

 

I get most of the storage area cleaned out and after vacuuming I look around the tiny room.

 

"Waylon, what do you think? "

 

"What are you gonna do with all the crap that was in there?"

 

"Probably toss most of it. But what do you think about this being your space?"

 

He starts to smile then catches himself.  "What do you mean?"

 

"You can't sleep on the couch forever. This could be your room.  We can get a futon, a small dresser.  I mean, just until your dad comes for you."

 

He nods.  "Yeah. That'd be cool."

 

 

 

Monday morning I'm folding laundry.  I've got about three hours before I have to be at work.  I'm tossing around the idea of hitting the thrift store in search of a dresser for the kid when the phone rings.

 

"Hello."

 

"Is Douglas Wilcox there?" a woman says, articulating every syllable.

 

"No."

 

"Do you know where I can locate him?"

 

"Who is this?"

 

"It's Krista Maples from Patterson County High School."  The woman's voice is very crisp and professional.  It's that passive aggressive type of voice.  "I need to get in touch with Mr. Wilcox.  It's concerning his son, Waylon."

 

"I'm his, uh," I pause wondering how to politely say his father abandoned him with me, "he's staying with me.  His dad had to leave town.  Is something wrong?"

 

"You might want to come down here.  There's been an incident."

 

"Incident or accident?"

 

"He's been found with a weapon in his possession. "

 

Shit.   Shit, shit, shit.  Where would he get a weapon and why would he be stupid enough to bring it to school?

 

"You hang tight.  I'm on my way."

 

I don't say goodbye just slam the phone back on the receiver and grab my keys.  

 

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Miranda?"

 

 

To be continued ...