30. Dusty

Nebraska gets about two weeks of perfect, beautiful summer days.

They teeter on the edge between a cold, gray spring and hellishly hot summer.

It’s one of those nights.

Perfect. Warm.

Gentle breeze.

The stars are visible, despite the fact that we’ve got the lights on at the baseball field. I’ve always loved the warm glow from those lights. The way they make a little halo against the night sky, moths flying all around bent on destruction.

Something poetic about them.

I tend to notice things like that.

It’s why they always put me in left field. I don’t have the attention span for baseball.

Especially not tonight.

Fucking Jerry Lind.

He weaseled his way into my brain and hasn’t left.

This town has a long memory. There are people who like me and people who wouldn’t trust me to lick their boot.

Jerry falls into the latter category.

He knows more about me than most. That’s part of the issue.

He came into it with a bias. That’s the other part of the issue. Runner and Jerry were never on good terms. And that all springs from old football grievances. They always thought their son would have made a better running back than Runner.

It’s dumb, but high school sports can make or break you in a small town.

When his wife, Rhonda, took over Sienna’s case as her social worker, he got an IV drip of information about the Larson family.

Information he had no right to.

Stories I would have just assumed stayed buried and never saw the light of day.

She knew about the original sin. The real reason Gus Novak hired a piece of shit like me in the first place.

And, no, it wasn’t because I came with good references.

I was hoping the State of Nebraska would forget about us.

Which is stupid, I know, but there’s a part of me that’s still very worried that they might still try to take Sienna away. Gus was her guardian and now he’s gone.

I wasn’t too worried about the state seeing me as a viable guardian for her.

But that was before. When I still had a job.

And a home.

I lean down, snagging a few pieces of grass, and start shredding them, thinking about the god-awful interview I suffered through earlier in the day. Marnie ran off to Lincoln and I slunk off to a job interview.

Gus insisted I go to the local community college, get my diesel mechanic certificate. He said I’d always be able to find a job. And he was probably right.

But he didn’t figure on the type of job I might get. One look at that dirty old shop and I knew it was a prison sentence, not a job. If I went to work there, I’d never get out. These would be the good days that I looked back on with nostalgia.

I always knew this day was coming for me. People like me, with family roots like mine, we don’t get ahead. We hold on. Like weeds.

Why?

This is America, that’s why.

There’s a distant crack, ball hitting bat, and then said ball lands a few feet away. Bounces. And rolls to a stop.

“Jesus Christ, Dusty.”

Skyler shouts from the pitcher’s mound. “Pull your head out of your ass and throw the damn ball.”

I glance down at it, look up to see Trinity Pierson flipping me the bird as he rounds second base. Tossing the grass aside, I leisurely lean down and snag the ball. I toss it once, briefly considering throwing it square between Trinity’s shoulder blades. At the last second, I change my angle and throw it to home plate. Bo catches it, tapping his sneaker on the base with Trinity barreling in on him.

“Out!”

Tyson Kyle shouts.

Bo crows, punching the air.

I glance over at Skyler, giving him my patented devil-may-care smile. He laughs, shaking his head. “You got lucky.”

He calls out.

“Nah. I had plenty of time. Trinity needed to stop to change his diaper.”

I walk a little closer. “Somebody want to explain why we’re letting that juvenile little shit play in our beer league?”

Skyler shrugs. “Ask his cousin. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Seems like that particular cousin is always causing us problems. That’s the thing about small towns. You either live with the bullshit or kindle up a lifelong feud. There is no in between.

“Fucking Ben Pierson.”

Skyler laughs. “Fucking Ben.”