Rust-Colored Rain

CHAPTER ONE

A Gut Feeling

Zoe reached over and slapped the snooze button on her iPhone. She didn’t want to wake up. She didn’t want to go to class. She just wanted to lie here in the warmth of her blanket, close her eyes, and go back to sleep.

“Did the alarm go off?” Oliver asked, stretching and yawning as he rolled towards her.

They had stayed up too late having the same tired argument that always ended in the same tired place. But this time it was really bad – so bad that she’d lain awake for another hour after it ended. She simply couldn’t afford not to get sleep, not at this point in the semester. “Yeah, you better get up or you’ll be late,” she said evenly, the glow from her phone illuminating the outline of Oliver’s bewhiskered face as she swiped up and then dragged her finger over the screen, switching off the snooze.

“Still mad?” Oliver asked.

She rolled away from him. “No, Oliver, I’m not mad. I’m just… I’m just tired.”

“We stayed up too late.” He pressed forward against her as he tried to kiss her neck.

Zoe pulled away, throwing back the blanket only to be assaulted by the cold as she pushed herself up. How is it that a man can always find a way to ask the dumbest question at the worst time? Did he think she would go to sleep at the peak of their fight not speaking to him, and then somehow what little sleep she had would make her wake up happy and horny – like what, like last night never even happened?

They’d been arguing a lot, but this time she’d finally told him she didn’t believe he was working late. Why couldn’t he just tell her what he was really up to? She found it hard to believe the garbage company had him running so much extra route that it would keep him out late into the evening – several hours later than normal. And just because she was going to nursing school and pulling shifts at the hospital didn’t mean she couldn’t tell he was up to something. For God’s sake, they had cameras on the house! But when she’d pressed him on it, he made excuses. Excuses that just didn’t make sense. Plus, he wasn’t acting himself, and when she’d said as much, he got all dodgy and defensive.

Behind her she felt the bed shift, and Oliver cleared his throat. “It’s only five – you don’t have to get up yet. Why don’t you lie back down for a bit? Maybe try and get some more sleep before class?”

“No, I really need the time to study.” Which was exactly what she should have been doing last night.

“Okay, well, don’t forget we have date night tonight. It’s supposed to be cool enough for a fire.”

“Yeah,” she said flatly, adjusting her bra before pulling her shirt over her head.

“Maybe we can project a movie on the side of the woodshed like last time? Oh, and hey, don’t forget the contractor for the patio will be here tomorrow, and he said we have to have the permit. I already checked. The courthouse in Bloomridge opens at eight. Do you mind…”

“Yeah, Ollie.” Zoe sighed. “I already figured you’d be working late… all that extra route they got you guys running, right?”

“I… well… yeah… It’s just that you’re going to be in Bloomridge anyway and—”

“I’ll grab it before I head to class.”

“Thanks, babe. I’ll get home as soon as I can.”

She knew he was full of shit, but she didn’t have it in her to call him out. And besides, he’d just deny it anyway.

***

Two hours later, Zoe slid into the driver’s seat of her Xterra, dropped her coffee mug into the cup holder, and backed out of the driveway.

Zoe’s typical morning routine consisted of listening to Shakespeare plays on her thirty-minute commute to school. Sure, Shakespeare was a far cry from her medical studies, but she enjoyed them so much and, weird as it sounded, it really helped her get into the right mind-set for her advanced physiology class. Her favorite and current listen was Hamlet.

On this particular morning, she was listening to one of her favorite scenes. It was the skull scene with Hamlet and the gravedigger. “Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio.” But after last night’s fight with Oliver, she just couldn’t get into it. “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,” she said to no one as she switched off the audiobook. “Call Alexis,” she said into the phone.

On the third ring, a woman’s voice answered. “Hey, girl, heeeyyy!”

“Jesus, Alexis, really? Do you have to sound that damn chipper?”

“Fuck you, bitch, what’s got your panties all bunched? Wait! Let me guess? It starts with an O and ends with asshole?”

“We had a horrible fight last night. I swear he’s cheating on me, Alexis!”

“He isn’t cheating on you! Jason was a cheater, and that’s why I left the prick. No way Oliver would ever cheat on you.”

She wanted so badly to believe that, but something in her heart told her he was having an affair. He was coming home later all the time, and he wasn’t talking. She knew in her heart it was another woman. He was probably screwing some whore on the trash route. But no. Sam would tell her if Oliver was screwing around on the route. But then who? One of the women in the dispatch office?

“Did you hear me?” Alexis asked.

“Sorry… what?”

“I said you need to talk to him. Really talk… without blaming and without yelling. You love him, right?”

“Of course, but I think we’re past talking it out.” The truth was, after eight years of marriage and all the shit that had gone along with it, she didn’t know if she loved him, but something inside her wasn’t ready to admit it… not out loud.

“Bitch, please! You aren’t past that. Jason and I were past talking the third time he put his dick in someone else, but you two still have hope. But only if you talk it out. Tell him how you feel, how you really feel, and leave the blame behind. Then ask him how he feels.”

Zoe clicked her turn signal, turned onto Route 9, and pulled a sip from her coffee. Anxiety filled her stomach, and she felt her palms starting to sweat. If he really was cheating, there would be no coming back from it.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Maybe you’re right. We have a date night tonight. After my shift at the hospital, we’re supposed to build a fire, roast marshmallows, and watch a movie on the projector.”

“That’s perfect! And of course I’m right – just talk to him.”

CHAPTER TWO

Victoria’s Secret

A soft glow on the horizon illuminated the streets of River City. Oliver peered out through the windshield of the old Mack garbage truck as one by one the streetlights switched off. Grey shadows replaced the artificial glow in the awkward in-between of a spent night and a new day.

Fall in Illinois was his favorite time of year. The cooler temps after a brutal summer were welcome. The early hours were becoming chillier with each passing day, but by late morning he’d be ditching his grey hoodie. Outside, the leaves had turned from green to an array of burnt oranges, ruby reds, and dark chocolate browns. As much as he loved the season, soon the leaves would drop and the after-hours leaf pickup would begin.

River City Disposal paid their employees salary. Whether you took your time and stayed out all day or busted butt to get done as early as possible, the pay was the same. But this wasn’t the case for after-hours leaf pickup, which paid by the hour. Finish your route, dump the garbage at the transfer station, then the clock starts. Back out you go to fill the trash truck up with bag after bag of leaves. Leaf pickup didn’t pay much though, and frankly Oliver didn’t care. Leaf pickup was optional, and he had no plans of signing up anyway. If he played it right, he could simply tell Zoe he was volunteering to work even later than she already thought he was, allowing him to keep up the charade for a bit longer.

He smiled to himself, knowing that he needed a better excuse not to come home and that leaf pickup would be just the alibi he needed. Leaves couldn’t fall soon enough.

Gripping the worn wooden knob bolted to the steering wheel, Oliver gave the wheel a spin, swinging his rig into the alley. Braking hard, he slapped the gear shift into neutral and pulled the air brake in the same practiced motion he’d already done a hundred times today. His hand instinctively slipped to the door handle. Two cans, he thought, hesitating. After running the route practically by himself yesterday, his shoulder felt stiffer than usual, stubborn about moving at all. Even on the best of days, the old wound never allowed him to forget just how close to death he’d come, how close the bullet had come to taking everything away from him. He shook off the memory. It had only been twenty minutes since he’d taken ibuprofen, and it probably hadn’t had time to work its magic just yet.

Well, screw it, he thought, lifting the latch as he shouldered open the door and leapt from the seat to the road, skipping the step altogether. He ran to the back of the red-and-white truck and grabbed the second can off the curb, a blue Rubbermaid. His helper, Sam, had already popped the top on both cans as soon as she’d stepped off the truck. Oliver jerked the can onto his back as he spun toward the rear of the garbage truck, dumping its contents over his shoulder and into the hopper.

“Two cans, Ollie! I didn’t need you for this one,” Sam scolded.

Oliver dropped the now empty can off his shoulder and back onto the curb. “I know, but I really want to tell you about yesterday.”

“Fine, but you’re going to put us off pace, and I already feel bad enough for bailing on you yesterday,” she said, tossing the lids back onto the cans.

“First off, you didn’t bail, you were sick. I get it. Second, it’s our lightest day, and if we get done any quicker, we’ll have to hide until at least ten o’clock. You saw what happened to Dusty and Ray Ray.”

“Yeah, and I told that dumbass Dusty not to be going back into the shop at eight in the morning. He didn’t listen, and sure enough HQ added three more hours to his route. Now they have to make an extra trip to the transfer station because they can’t get the whole route in one load,” Sam said, shaking her head. “Well, that’s what they get.”

“That’s what they got alright, but that isn’t going to happen to us, so no need to set a record today. Oh, and third, I’m not mad you missed, but don’t think for one second you’re getting out of hearing how bad I had it just because you feel like crap for not showing up.” Oliver bent, snatched a discarded paper plate from the ground, and flicked it like a Frisbee into the hopper. “Besides, this was the most epic thing I have ever seen, and if you had shown up for work yesterday, I would have missed the story of a lifetime,” Oliver said, popping his knuckles.

Sam narrowed her eyes. “You realize you’re setting yourself up for a story that couldn’t possibly live up to this kind of hype?”

Oliver grinned. “Oh, my dear Sam, that’s where you are sorely mistaken.”

“Well, wipe that shit-eating grin off your face and get on with it, bro!”

Oliver drew in a dramatic breath. “You know that house on Melody Court? One green can always full, but the owner tends to—”

“Tends to forget to bring out a bag of trash until the last possible second,” she said, finishing his sentence. Smiling mischievously, she added, “Well, she pretends to forget.”

“Wait, what do you mean she pretends to?” Oliver asked.

“Ollie, come on. Typical fucking guy, you. How did you even end up married? Wait, let me guess, you were in a bar… no, a club – not dancing though, just hanging out. Probably with some pals, right? Zoe is dancing with friends. She exits the dance floor, gives you a smile, and you offer to buy her a drink. She slaps you in the face, grabs you by the collar, and throws you in a lip lock. Then she proposes.” Sam smiled and shrugged. “Well? Tell me I’m wrong.”

Oliver pulled a face. “What is wrong with you? Yeah, totally wrong. For your information, we met at karaoke night. I’m also the one who asked her to marry me! And why would she slap…” Oliver shook his head, waving off the thought. “Never mind. What’s this got to do with the lady on Melody Court?”

Sam stepped around the side of the truck and pushed both hydraulic handles inward. The hopper blade swung open, and the packer panel descended. “This is sad, really sad,” she said, yelling now to be heard over the whine of the power take-off and the rev of the garbage truck’s engine. “Okay, let me explain it so your man brain can understand. She likes to come running out in her robe. The robe that’s way too short and tied way too loose.” Blinking her green eyes repeatedly, she formed her lips into an O and gave Oliver a seductive look. In a sultry rasp, she said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I almost missed you. Thank you for waiting for me.” Smiling shyly, she fluttered her eyelashes again.

Oliver’s eyebrows bunched.

Sighing, Sam dropped the fake smile and changed back into… well, back into Sam. “It’s obvious this chick is flirting!”

Oliver frowned. “I don’t remember her ever saying any of those things to me.”

The blade reached the seal of the hopper and shut down. This time, Sam gave both handles a pull. The blade curled under to the sound of glass bottles popping, metal twisting, and garbage crunching. Steadily, the hydraulics drew the packing panel up, compacting the contents of the hopper into the belly of the truck. Unknown juices, rancid and brown, spilled down the shiny metal to pool in the now empty hopper. “Silly Ollie, not flirting with you – she’s been flirting with me.”

Raising his eyebrows, Oliver shouted over the roaring engine. “What? Really?”

“Don’t look so surprised. How can you blame her! Having all this show up in front of your house once a week.” Sam rolled her hips as she motioned to her body with a wave of her gloved hand.

Oliver laughed. Sam was beautiful though, there was no denying it, even in her uniform shirt that she’d modified by cutting off the sleeves and tying a knot at the waist. It also didn’t hurt that she wore jeans tight enough they appeared painted on. And why not with a figure like hers? After all, she was a local CrossFit champion. She was also the only woman to ever work as a helper at River City Disposal. Hell, maybe the only woman to work at any of the garbage companies, locally anyway.

The power take-off kicked off again and the truck quieted to a low purr.

“Oh shit, um, Sam, tell me you weren’t interested in her?” Oliver asked.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been working her for months. Shit, maybe I’m kidding myself. Maybe she’s been working me in that scanty robe of hers. Either way, yeah, Ollie, I’m interested. Next week, she’ll be giving me her digits – guaranteed.” Sam slapped Oliver on the shoulder.

Oliver snorted. “Hold that thought. Turns out you aren’t going to like this story nearly as much as I’d hoped you would.”

Sam put one hand on her hip and frowned. “Oliver McCallister! What did you do?”

“Wow! You sound just like my wife when she’s pissed. Look, it isn’t what I did, Sam. It’s what my temp did.”

“Insta-Labor?” she asked, pulling a face like she’d bit into a lemon.

“Yeah, and I don’t give a rat’s ass what HQ says, that was the last time I’m using one of those guys. The next time you don’t show up for work, I’m going it alone.” It was bad enough two drivers had been robbed by their temps, and while Oliver hadn’t had that experience, he’d dealt with his fair share of unusual behavior from these guys.

Insta-Labor was a service provided to companies who needed low-skill manual labor in a pinch. Oliver and the other forty-plus drivers, who from time to time had to use the service, could expect to pull into a parking lot and be faced with a lineup of folks who often appeared to be homeless individuals down on their luck or even drug addicts looking to make enough to cover their next fix. As the driver, you had the barbaric task of selecting a helper for the day based on appearance alone. The questions that ran through Oliver’s head when trying to select a helper for the day went like this: Who looks least likely to rob me? Who looks most sober? Who appears to have showered in the last week? Then with safety and hygiene covered, he moved on to the key question: Who looks most physically capable of making it through the route?

With the hopper emptied, Oliver motioned to the truck. “Okay, let me pull up to the next stop and we’ll continue this,” he said, running for the cab.

“Hey, what happened to not wanting to get done too early?”

“Nothing,” he shouted over his shoulder. “But I don’t want to rush this story.” He laughed, climbing the two steps back into the cab.