Opening the Door Read online

  Opening the Door

  © 2018 Michael Roberts.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-54394-358-0

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-54394-359-7

  Praise for Savannah Girl: Street Smart

  Book one in the Savannah Girl series

  “A good novel and a good read.”

  —Hank Schoepp, author of

  “Shoot First: Code of the News Camera Man.”

  “Real Life Places – Real Life People”

  —Review, Daily Press in Eastern Virginia

  “With this book, Mr. Roberts authentically, vividly and honestly portrayed a young person’s unapologetic struggle to survive under tough conditions. He opened the door to a world which

  I never knew. The message in his story stays with us long

  after the last page is read”

  —C. Dunlap, book club member

  “His conversational style of writing brings the story to life.

  It is also refreshing to find a male author who understands

  women’s minds so well”

  —A.K. Stewart, avid reader in Savannah Georgia

  “After reading this book, I decided to stop making assumptions about other people based on the jobs they hold”

  —B. Velas, reader in Atlanta, GA

  “It has been a long time since I read a book I enjoyed

  as much as this one about real people struggling to

  overcome life’s problems”

  —F. Miller, Construction Specialist in Hampton, VA

  “Why chase your past when you can own this day.”

  —Sarah

  Special thanks to Kathleen Nichols and Anne Korff for their help in editing this book. Any mistakes remaining are, of course, my own.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ann’s Chili Recipe

  Home made Kahlua

  Chapter One

  Damn.

  Still raining. ‘Doesn’t it ever stop?’

  Back in Savannah this is what people would call a ‘frog strangler’. On the other hand the rain makes it easier to drive just below the speed limit without attention. Tom’s boss had been very emphatic about his not getting a ticket for speeding. Or for anything else for that matter. He had already seen two cars pulled over by the cops on Hwy-58 and had no desire to be another one. It was his first time on this leg of the run and he wasn’t going to screw it up by being stupid.

  Although his name was Thomas his friends called him “Tom”. Only cute girls and his momma were allowed to call him “Tommie”. He liked his name because it was average – sort of forgettable. He thought of himself as forgettable too. He had average height and weight. Medium length brown hair and liked to blend in with a crowd. He always looked people in the eyes when he talked to them. That way they would believe the things he said. After all, everybody knew that liars shifted their gaze constantly. Liars also had blue eyes, Thomas’ eyes were brown. Being able to blend into a crowd was very useful to him.

  Before this he had only made the Florida run, but someone had done whatever it was that pissed his boss off and that someone wasn’t working there anymore. Probably not anywhere else for that matter. Working for Manny’s Used Cars in Savannah had its perks, things like great pay and in cash. You just had to keep your mouth shut and not ask any questions. He was good at not asking any questions.

  Questions like, why did he bring a truck load of cars from Savannah down to Coco Beach in Florida, spend one night in a local hotel room across the street from the car dealer. Then drive the same truck load of cars back up to Savannah the next Day? But he always kept his mouth shut.

  This was his first time going north to Virginia. Instructions were simple and never written down. Go up I-95 to Emporia in Virginia then onto Hwy-58. Go thru Courtland to Ivor Road and turn left. Then make a delivery at the car lot in Ivor. He was to drive up on Friday, get there in the evening, and leave to come back on Sunday morning. Coming back he was to go up 460 to I-95 then back to Savannah. Like always he was had been given an envelope of cash for fuel and other expenses and was told what hotel to stay at in each town. He never asked questions and life was good.

  He had grown up in Savannah and this was his first time up North. The only thing he knew about Virginia was that a girl who used to live in the same trailer park he grew up in was supposed to have moved there.

  But what were the odds of running into her? Besides that, he hadn’t known her that well. To help keep his mind focused and awake while he was driving he tried to remember her. She was a couple of years behind him when she dropped out of school. He really only had two memories of her, both were violent.

  When his family first moved to the Isle of Hope trailer park he was waiting at the school bus stop with the other kids, casually checking everyone out. When you’re the new kid sometimes it pays to move slowly in getting to know other people. There was another boy who kept ragging on one girl about wearing the same dirty clothes to school every day for a week. The girl was not overly pretty but not bad looking either. Skinny with long dark brown hair. His comments to her for wearing the same dirty clothes had gone on for at least a week. Everyday her clothes were a little dirtier and his taunts a little more insulting. She never said anything to him just kept in her own little world inside her head.

  This particular morning though, the kid had evidently gone too far. She had taken enough and slowly turned to him. The boy belatedly realized he had gone past the line and put his hands up in front of his face, like he thought he was in a boxing match. The girl didn’t cry, scream or any of the things other girls do. In fact she almost smiled at him then suddenly kicked him just below the knee cap. His hands went down to grab his leg and she head butted him in the face and broke his nose.

  He was on the ground screaming while she sat on his back. She rubbed a handful of dirt in his face while whispering softly in his ear “Who’s dirty now?” Then she stood up, grabbed her book bag from where she had dropped it, and went back to waiting patiently with the others. Everyone in line stared anywhere but at her. They pretended that nothing had happened. Meanwhile the boy was lying in the dirt at their feet bleeding and sobbing.

  The other time he remembered seeing her was when an older boy, who was also new, thought he would have some fun. He grabbed her arm and she tried to pull away. He was much bigger and held on, after a few seconds he grew bolder (stupider) and threw her to the ground. He knelt over her straddling her chest and held her hands down over her head. She stared at him. He grew bolder and with his free hand turned her face towards him and kissed her. Laughing loudly he said “She likes it, just like her momma.” Then he got up and walked away laughing.

  She got up, spit on the ground and walked back inside her trailer without a sound. Others who had seen it said something about a snake but wouldn’t explain what they meant.

  The next morning as the bus pulled up everyone was standing around. The boy was smirking like he was hot shit when she worked her way up next to
him in the bus line. She smiled sweetly and asked “Would you like to share my lunch?” The boy grinned like he was some kind of winner and said “Sure, what you got?” She smiled even sweeter saying “This.” Faster than anyone could measure, she swung her lunch bag towards the boy. The brick inside hit him squarely in his mouth.

  Her first swing busted a couple of his front teeth. He fell down. She jumped on him grabbing his throat with one hand and using her other to grip the brick while she kept hitting him in the face with it. If the bus driver had not quickly jumped out of the bus and broken it up she would have probably killed him.

  That time the police were called but before they could show up the boy’s family grabbed him, threw everything in a car and hauled ass. Cops later found out that his family had been cooking meth in their trailer. When you do that, then the last thing you want is for the cops to show up. (It took the Savannah police over an hour to get there.) No one at the scene said they had witnessed anything unusual. In Savannah you do not talk to the cops. Ever, ever, ever.

  The girl was kicked out of school for fighting another girl the following week. Thomas remembered that he saw her sometimes working at the corner store. He heard that if you paid her extra you could buy beer there underage. He had said “Hi” to her when he went in but that was all he wanted to do with her. She was a little too psycho for him. Later she disappeared and he remembered someone saying that she and her mom had moved to Virginia. But this is a big state, what were the odds that he would see her here? Hell, he wasn’t even sure he remembered her name.

  * * *

  Officer Danvers watched the car hauler heading by him on Hwy-58. Going a steady clip just below the speed limit. It had Georgia plates and didn’t look like anything special. There were always plenty of speeders along this road, the best ones to get were out of state tourists or the ones with military decals on their cars. Those people seldom showed up in court and paid their fines by mail so he didn’t have to spend time in traffic court on his days off. Locals might show up to complain but few would come back here from out of state. The military people didn’t want their commands to know, so it worked out pretty well for him. The city got money from the fines, his boss thought he was doing a good job as a ‘team player’ and the work was easy. Of course the people he ticketed were not too happy but who cared about them. They shouldn’t have been speeding in the first place.

  * * *

  “Sarah, more wine!”

  That was from Cindy. She and Kathy have been helping me and Ann in the kitchen while we were cooking spaghetti and warming up the rolls for “Monday Night Madness”. That’s when a bunch of us would go to some one’s place and drink, cook some food. Drink and the guys would watch football, and of course drink.

  Usually I am a very light drinker but since tonight it is at my place I am free to indulge without fear of a DUI charge on the way home. Ann, my best friend and self-adopted sister who lives across the street, was feeling no pain either. The four of us women were having a discussion about how to tell if the spaghetti noodles were really done. Someone said the best test was if you threw a noodle against the wall and saw if it stuck or simply fell down. All four of us got one noodle apiece and counted down from three before tossing them against the kitchen wall. Then no one could remember if sticking to the wall meant that they were done or not.

  Predictably Cindy’s solution was “More Wine!” Which is a universal cure all. The game was about to start on TV when we finally put everything on the table along with plastic plates and bowls, plus plenty of rolls. We told everyone to “Dig in”. (We always use plastic because I’ll be damned if I am going to clean this mess up tomorrow plus do dishes for a dozen people.)

  Rico was watching TV and letting everyone else go first. I fixed a big plate and took it to him so he wouldn’t lose his seat on the couch. I also told him to save me a spot and went back to get my own plate and of course more wine.

  People are often puzzled by our relationship. If you did not know him you would think Rico was always scowling and angry about something. But that’s just the way he looks, and like he voiced to me once “People can’t help how they look.” He works as a bouncer for local clubs and has the build and skill to go with the job. Occasionally he does security at special events put on by ‘Dark Dreams’ the company Ann, and some of the others, work for.

  New people to our group often think Rico and I are going together, which both of us find amusing. Truth is we hit it off the first time we met and have grown steadily closer ever since. Rico would be the perfect big brother that every girl should have growing up. If he wasn’t gay he would be the perfect lover that any woman would, or ever could dream of. For me this is a perfect relationship and every day I am thankful for it.

  I noticed Ann was sitting next to some guy named Bobby, the two of them have been spending a lot of time together. Not sure how I feel about that. On one hand I want her to be happy but on the other hand there is something I don’t trust about him. Rico thinks I am jealous because Ann is not just my best friend but the closest thing to a real family that has ever happened to me. He says not to worry but just see where things go. He likes to play it cool but I know that he cares about her too.

  It is a sure sign that I have had a little too much wine when I catch myself beginning to slur my words. Not to mention asking the other guys (not Rico) why they watch football. Saying things like “I guess it is kind of hot watching a bunch of big beefy sweaty guys slap each other on the butt and enjoying that male on male bodily contact.” As usual they all ignore my brilliant observations.

  I guess some people simply do not appreciate my finely tuned sense of humor.

  There are those blessed few who can drink all night and still feel fine the next day. Unfortunately I am not among them.

  Still I was up and presentable the next morning and heading to my boss Beverly’s office trying my best to be bright and chipper. (What exactly is a chipper?) Beverly is only 5’4” but she is a force to be reckoned with. She has a commanding presence and steady gaze. I am now working for her three days a week as an unpaid intern. It gives her free labor and gives me valuable experience plus a mentor pushing me towards what I need to do in life.

  I think I am somewhat of a ‘project’ to Beverly. All I can say this morning is “Thank God for coffee.”

  Originally I was working two days a week in her office to have something to put on a resume but that has been expanded to three days, sometimes four. She also insisted that I go to school. She is right of course. Unless I want to be a cashier the rest of my life it is up to me to do something about it. The two of us sat down a few months ago to chart out my course schedule. She insisted I take ‘Remedial Courses’ the first semester to get into the swing of things, especially when I told her I had dropped out at 16 and gotten a GED.

  Going to school was tough to begin with. I often thought of quitting. But Beverly wouldn’t hear of it. Since all of the course work was online she had me bring my laptop to her office so I could ask her questions when I was stumped. The first month I asked her stuff almost non-stop, but she never got mad or angry or impatient.

  Lately I only ask her to review my work occasionally to make certain everything is presented neatly. This semester is the first one where the courses count towards a major and not as electives, they are also a lot tougher. I told her the full time load at this school is three classes. She smiled and told me to take four. She either has a lot of confidence in me, or wants to kill me. Maybe both.

  Another problem is paying for all of this. Last year, by methods best left undiscussed, I came into possession of three duplexes. I live in half of one. The others pay a nice amount of rent money every month. I maintain them and the rent is lower than average. I keep the kind of tenants who won’t cause any problems. Especially with folks who carry badges. I also have about $2,000 a month from someone else’s accounts that I tap into every few weeks. That basta
rd won’t complain about it. Ever.

  This gives me what should be a very comfortable living but I know I need to keep moving forward. Also I know that all good things come to an end and want to be prepared, at least as much as possible. I have been hungry and homeless before and am never going to be like that again. Ever.

  Paying for college is not exactly easy but I am making it work. I know that school is necessary for me to get a decent job at a living wage. But what good does it do to make more money if you end up paying the difference in student loans for the next 20 years?

  I know I am whining but I hate to spend money. Old habits die hard. The duplexes I ‘acquired’ are paid for, so is my car. The only expenses I incur with them is for maintenance and taxes. I also make certain to keep the places well maintained.

  I may have evolved into being a land lord but I will be damned if I am going to be a slumlord.

  Last week when I watched surveyors from the city going around measuring property lines I felt a cold grip on my heart. Since I did not exactly acquire these properties legally I am paranoid about being caught. Orange is so not my color and I would not get out of jail until sometime after social security kicks in. There are not many juries that would look kindly on someone who forges signature so she could steal someone else’s car and personal belongings. Plus their real estate properties, military pension and social security checks. Not to mention burying that same someone in an unmarked grave on the side of the road. Even if he was a worthless child molesting bastard.

  But this is my life and we have to deal with the hand we are dealt. I did feel better when I saw them surveying other properties besides mine. But I digress.

  I always ‘dress appropriately’ when going to work at Beverly’s office. Even if I am only going to sit at the corner desk and do my school work. One time I went in a little too casually dressed, Beverly gave me a disapproving look and sent me home to change. When I came back she and I had a talk about appearances and first impressions. I have never made that mistake again. Even when I just go in on a Saturday to answer the occasional phone call I dress well. But this did cause me to spend more on a wardrobe then I am used to.