Week 12: ST. Patty’s Day

It’s a funny thing that with so many folks of Irish descent living in Peril County, and most central Appalachia for that matter, St. Patty’s Day has never been much of a celebrated holiday in the region. Sure, you might find a green beer at a restaurant or two, but nothing like the festivities in larger cities. When Amber Lynn and Sky realized that they were both scheduled to have three days off in the middle of March, these two young nurses decided to make a trip to Cincinnati for a full weekend of booze, boys and binging on whatever fun they could scare up.

Skye Green grew up in Peril County and graduated from nursing school just over two years ago. A coal mining father and school teacher mother both taught her the value of hard work and a good education. She was pretty, with short brown hair and a round face. Her best friend, Amber Lynn, is a Manchester native who moved to Black Grass last year to be Skye’s roommate. The two are virtually inseparable, working together at the Black Grass Community Hospital, living in an apartment downtown over the pharmacy and traveling to any fun event they can find.

“We all set for The ‘Nati tomorrow?” Skye asked as she poured some salsa into a bowl.

Amber Lynn flipped her hair, dramatically. “Bitch, I’m always ready to get ‘Nati!” she said with a wicked grin.

Skye opened a bag of tortilla chips and plopped down on the couch. “That’s for sure. But seriously, have you packed a thing yet?”

The tall redhead reached under the sink and pulled out a bottle of vodka and a bottle of whisky, turned around while dancing a little and tossed the alcohol into an oversized purse. “Alright, I’m packed!” she laughed.

The TV flickered as it changed from one channel to the next. Skye rolled her eyes as her friend continued to dance in the kitchen.

“Well, I want to go to Molly Malone’s and Hap’s when we get there. And we can walk to O’Malley’s from our hotel, so that’s where we should probably end the night.” Skye was a planner by nature and liked to know when and where her fun was going to be taking place. Amber Lynn had other thoughts.

“So long as I end my night under some hot piece of man with tattoos and a beard, I don’t care where we’re drinking!” As a teen, Amber Lynn’s Mamaw had warned her about men with beards and tattoos, so she had always done her best to find them ever since.

The next morning, Skye and Amber Lynn loaded a couple small bags into the red Corvette parked on the side of the pharmacy. There was more activity in town than usual that morning. “Must be havin’ court today,” Sky said as she climbed into the driver’s seat. “There's more folks on Main St. than I’ve seen in a month.”

Amber Lynn fished a pair of oversized sunglasses from her purse and slid them on. She took a long drink of her coffee and looked around town. The previous night’s drinks were not agreeing with her this morning. “Well hell, we ain’t on no jury. Let’s hit it and get it!”

It was roughly three hours from Peril County to Cincinnati, traveling though Hyden, Manchester, and London on the Hal Rogers Parkway, then north on the interstate through Berea, Richmond, Lexington and Georgetown. Amber Lynn had to make a few pit stops along the way for something greasy to eat and some Goody’s powder for her head. “You gonna make it?” Skye asked her after they parked at a Richmond gas station, their third stop thus far.

“Puke and rally, bitch! Puke and rally!” Amber Lynn chanted as she twisted the lid off of a bottle of tomato juice.

The two young ladies laughed and sang old pop songs as they drove north. Amber Lynn had been raised by her Aunt after her mother passed away from an overdose. And Aunt Norma loved Madonna and The Backstreet Boys. So, Amber Lynn became a fan sort of by default. They were blasting N’Sync as they crossed the bridge into Ohio. “Our hotel is just a couple streets off of the interstate,” Skye said as she shifted lanes.

“It’s not the same place you took me when we went to the Red’s game, is it? That place was a borefest!” Darlene rolled her eyes and shifted in her seat a little.

Skye pursed her lips, curtly. “First of all, that place is super nice. It’s just a little old. And second of all, no, we’re not staying there because you made such a huge deal about it last time!”

The red corvette whipped into the semicircle just outside of the hotel. A handsome young man with green eyes and a scruffy face came and opened Darlene’s door. “Checking in, ladies?” he asked as he helped Amber Lynn out of the vehicle.

“Do you come with the room?” she asked as she took a few steps onto the concourse.

He laughed politely and walked around the car to open the door for Skye. “Don’t mind her. I can’t do nothin’ with her,” Skye sighed playfully. She handed the nice looking man her keys and a $10 bill.

Amber Lynn grabbed both bags from the rear of the car. “You workin’ all night, handsome or do you get to go out and play?” The valet smiled sheepishly and closed the trunk for her.

“No, ma’am. I’m working late. Don’t get off until around 11.”

“I bet us two could help you get off a lot sooner than that,” Darlene said, turning up one eyebrow.

Skye grabbed her friend by the elbow and directed her toward the elevator. “Would you stop! This is a nice place and my name is on the reservation.” The valet wiped his brow and the two nurses stepped onto the elevator.

After checking in and finding their room, the two kicked off their shoes and fell onto their beds. Skye was adamant that she have the bed closest to the window. “Honey, you know I don’t care where I sleep. And with any luck, I won’t be doin’ much sleepin’ anyway!” Amber Lynn said as she opened up her overnight bag. “Ready to pregame?” She pulled out a bottle of vodka and a jug of orange juice. A clinking noise came from the suitcase,.

“Did you even bring clothes?” Skye asked, astonished at the amount of alcohol in her roommates bag.

Amber Lynn reached into her bag and pulled out a green skimpy negligee with two shamrocks on the chest. “I brought this!” she said with a smile.

A few hours later, the girls found themselves at Macintosh's, a traditional Irish Pub where Guinness flowed like water and a shot of Baileys in your coffee was the perfect end to every meal. Darlene was on the dance floor, bouncing back and forth between two muscular men while Skye sat at the bar, nursing a pint. “Local or tourist?” a deep voice asked from behind the bar.

Skye looked up to see old eyes on a young face. The bartender was not classically handsome, but there was something about him that reminded her of a place she wasn’t sure she’d been to. His smile was crooked and his hair jet black. She knew right away that he was trouble. “Tourist, I guess. Just in town for the party,” she said, taking another sip of her beer.

“Yeah. I figured as much. I’d remember if you’d been in before,” he flirted. “I’m Trenton. Next one’s on me.”

“Trenton, like the town?” she asked.

“My dad had a thing about naming his kids after where they were conceived. Got a sister named Phoenix and a kid brother named Frank.”

Skye scrunched up her face. “Never heard of a town called Frank before.”

“Short for Frankfort,” he said with a wide grin.

Amber Lynn stumbled over to the bar and fell onto a stool as ungracefully as one could. “‘Sup bitch. Who’s your friend?” Amber Lynn’s ‘pregaming’ had resulted in her being much too drunk for this early in the night.

Skye helped her friend settle onto the bench. “This is Trenton. Trenton, Amber Lynn, my roommate and best friend.”

Amber Lynn’s eyes watered a little, and she leaned into Skye for a sloppy hug. “Awe, honey. I love you too!”

“I see you have two on the hook out there,” Skye said as she finished off her beer. Trenton was quick to replace it with a full one.

Darlene scoffed and shooed her friend away with a wave. “Those two? Just a warm up. No beards and a tribal arm tattoo. Pass!”

The three chitchatted for a few minutes before Amber Lynn headed back out to the dance floor. Trenton and Skye talked while he filled drink orders and watched Amber Lynn bounce from man to man. The drink in her hand sloshed ever so slightly as she danced. Her current dance partner was a skinny man with pale skin and a pencil thin mustache. He made it a point to dance behind her for some reason. A quick wave of his hand and Amber Lynn’s beer fizzed up just a bit. She brought the glass to her lips, about to take a swig.

“Hey! Asshole!” From across the room, Trenton yelled in Amber Lynn direction. He hopped the bar and bounded in her direction. Before she knew what was happening, he took the class from her hand. “I saw that, asshole! Get the hell out'a my bar!” He shoved the skinny pale man in the chest, sending him back several feet. Without a word, he turned and ran for the door.

Skye ran over to check on her friend and see what the commotion was all about. “Dude, what was that about?” Amber Lynn asked, swaying just a bit.

“He spiked your drink. Happens more than you think,” Trenton said. He walked the beer behind the bar and poured it down a small sink. Darlene and Skye followed him and sat on a pair of stools.

Amber Lynn, finally realizing what had happened shot a look of amazement at her friend. “Do you think we should go to the ER?”

Skye shrugged her shoulders. “You didn’t actually drink any of it did you?”

Amber Lynn shook her head. “No. Mr. Hero-Man saved me.” She looked at Trenton and gave him a sweet, if drunk, smile.

“Glad to be of service,” he said, looking more at Skye than Amber Lynn.

Skye pulled out her phone. “I think it’s time we called it a night. What do you say?”

“I say the night is young and so are we!” she said, tilting her head back and laughing.

Trenton shook his head. “Sorry, kid. Gotta cut you off. It’s the law.” He shot Skye a quick look and winked at her. Skye smiled back at him.

After a lot of convincing and the promise of delivery pizza, Amber Lynn climbed into the back of an Uber a few minutes later. Trenton walked the girls out to meet their ride. He and Skye stood on the sidewalk, the faint green glow of a neon sign lighting both of their faces.

“Thanks for everything you did tonight. Means a lot,” Skye said as she leaned in and kissed his cheek. He nodded and smiled back at her.

He scratched the back of his head, nervously. “You make it into the city often?”

Skye bit her lip and looked up at him. “Not lately. But I could probably be convinced.”

Trenton reached into his pocket and pulled out a drink order pad. He scribbled something on the top sheet, tore it off and handed it to Skye. “Next time you feel like being a tourist, give me a call.”

“Gawd! Can we go? If the only sausage I’m gonna get tonight is on a pizza, let’s get to it!” Amber Lynn was leaning half of her body out of the car while the driver looked back at her puzzled.

Skye looked up at the bartender and gave him one last smile. “See you around?"

“I sure hope so.”

She climbed into the back of the car, next to Darlene. “You ready?” she asked.

Darlene belched loudly and shook her head. “You know, we’re just like three blocks for The Blue Leprechaun’.”

“Maybe we can come up for Memorial Day,” Skye said as the driver pulled into traffic.

Week 11: Preseason Workout

Language Warning

High school sports are somewhat of a religion in the hills of Eastern Kentucky, especially here in Peril County. Historically, basketball was the biggest sport in the region, but for the past thirty years, it is on the gridiron of the football field that folks in the mountains have devoted much of their fervor. At Peril County High School, Coach Simpson has led his football team to twelve district titles, eight region titles and two state championships over the last 20 years. And many students who have played for Simpson and his staff have gone on to receive collage scholarships and better their lives through football. One student, Wayne Johnson, even played three seasons in the NFL.

Starting at a very early age, Mommy’s and Daddy’s can be found out in any flat piece of land working on passing drills and cover 2 defenses. Little tykes not much higher than your knee are taking out tackling dummies and running high step drills, getting ready for their inevitable future as football stars. Unfortunately, many kids falter under this pressure and scrutiny before they even make it to the high school level. But this season, they have something special. Panther Quarterback Graham Carter may have what it takes to bring home another state championship and move on to play at the next level.

Graham, like so many others before him, started out playing flag football in kindergarten. His dad, Eddie, along with a passel of other fathers, led 20 boys and girls (yes, several girls played on the flag football team) through sweeps and dives, counters and sneaks. In reality, it was just a dash to the outside and hope for the best on most plays. But the kids got to play on the big field and, for the most part, it was all in good fun. But even in those early days, Graham’s dad showed signs of…well, issues, that would continue to resurface as he continued to play ball.

There was one particular game of flag football, when Graham was six, that Eddie had to be escorted from the field. Even at this young age, Graham was much faster and more athletic than the other kids in his grade. A fact which Eddie loved to shout from the sidelines. The first few times, other parents thought it was cute how he cheered on his son. But when things weren’t going Graham’s way, another side of Eddie came out. “Get your ass in there and hold on to the ball!” he yelled at his first grade son after he fumbled in the backfield. “You’re embarrassing yeself and you’re embarrassing me out there, boy!”

“Eddie, pal, take it easy, man,” Coach Simpson said. He’d been the Panther’s coach for ten years at this point and was well respected. If anyone could calm down Graham’s dad, it was the coach.

But Eddie just shook his head and spit some tobacco juice onto the turf. “You saw that, Coach. He can’t be fumbling like that.”

“He’s just six, pal. We ain’t suitin’ him up Friday night. This is supposed to be fun.” Coach Simpson slapped Eddie on the back and jogged out onto the field as Eddie watched on.

Graham was on defense now and had been placed as a linebacker. He was a terror, snatching flags and running circles around the other kids. There was one play, however, where Graham was fooled by a counter and a chubby lineman was able to block him, knocking the boy to the ground. “Get up, ya damn pussy!” his dad yelled.

“Hey, woah!” Coach Simpson shouted as he ran toward Eddie. “Listen,” he said, staring right Eddie’s eyes. “I cannot and will not tolerate that kind of language around these kids. They are here to learn and have fun, not be ridiculed. Your son is gonna be a heck of a ball player, but he’s gonna be a whole lot better if you support him and not hold him back. Now, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. But we got a game next Tuesday, and you’re more than welcome to come back then.”

Eddie puffed up his chest, but decided better than to challenge the much larger coach. He turned and stormed off of the field and out into the parking lot. Graham had gotten back to his feet by this point and saw his old man leaving in a huff. He’d heard what Eddie had said as he lay on the ground. The double punch of his father’s cruel words and seeing him escorted from the field left an indelible mark on the young boy.

Now, just over ten years later, Graham found himself doing preseason workouts in preparation for his senior year as the starting quarterback of the Peril County High School Panthers. The after school workouts started this afternoon and Graham was currently seated in the leg press station. “Let’s go 350,” he said to Jake, his center and spotter for this lift. The large teen nodded and slid a few metal plates onto the machine. Graham quickly blasted out 10 reps and Jake went to rack the weights. “Keep it goin’!” Graham yelled over the banging of the machine.

“We’re doin’ sets a ten today, Chief. Lock it up,” Jake said, again trying to rack the weights for his quarterback.

Graham shook his head and waved for Jake to back off. “Gotta push it!” He struggled and strained, blasting out a few more reps on the leg press before exhaustion set in and Jake was forced to step in and secure the weights.

Jake was the same age as Graham and had been his center for most of their lives. His husky frame, scraggly beard and long black hair made him look much older than he actually was. “‘Bout got squashed there, Chief. Lucky for you I’m always here, watchin’ your ass.”

A sly grin spread across Grahams face. “Ready for step-ups?” The two boys continued their strenuous workout for the next hour, lifting weights, jumping boxes, skipping rope and a dozen other exercises, trying to shape their bodies into better football players. Every time Jake would falter, his friend was there to pick him up with words of encouragement. Every time a teammate would question why they were spending so much time in the off-season training, Graham would convince them that it would be worth it in the end. Every time someone stumbled, Graham made sure he was there to help catch them, physically and emotionally.

After the coaches had released the players, Graham and a few of the receivers went out to the field to run some routes. He was stern but understanding when working with his teammates, doing what he could to make everyone the best they could be. Timing is crucial to having a successful passing game in football, and Graham wanted to do all that he could in the winter and spring to prepare for the upcoming season.

Another hour of work on passing done, Graham went back to the training room. He found an old leather jump rope that looked beaten and weathered. His feet were fast and light on the ground as he jumped just off of the floor. Sweat beaded on his brow and ran down his back and arms. The muscles in his shoulders and legs burned from over use. And still, he worked.

Graham closed his eyes and thought of blitz patterns, zone defenses and option reads. He knew that here, exhausted and worn down, was the perfect time to test his mental faculties. If he could focus on what defense Johnson Central was showing him as his ankles ached from jumping, he would have no problem doing it when it was happening in real time.

“The corner strong side is playing up. Gotta watch blitz. Mike linebacker laying back. Zone coverage.” He ran play after play in his head, forcing himself to get better mentally while he punished his body.

Finally, after hours of exertion, Graham collapsed to the floor. His hair was matted to his head from the sweat and the green tank top he wore clung tightly to his body. He lay, face up, breathing rapidly, trying to get his air back. The burning in his calf muscles and shoulders would not subside as he sucked in air.

As he lay there, every barb from his father, every spite-filled comment or passive aggressive remark rang in his head. “If you worked harder, you might make something of yourself.” “Keep playing like that, Simpson gonna sit yer ass down.” “That ain’t bad, but if you was playing when I did, you wouldn’t make the damn roster.” These words and others like them filled his mind, as they always did when it was quiet and Graham was alone. He knew he’d never be good enough; knew he’d always be just a little short of the goal line. But he had to try. Try to do all he could to be the best.

Graham shifted and a horrible cramp formed in his left thigh. He hadn’t been drinking enough water and the lactic acid in his muscles had built to the point that his hamstrings were locking up. He screamed out in pain, but no-one was there to hear it. No one was there to help the quarterback up off of the ground. He reached down and grabbed the toe of his shoe and pulled it towards his hip, bending his knee at an odd angle. The muscle began to stretch and, again, he called out in agony. It felt like his leg was breaking in two as he pulled his toe toward his hip, until finally, the muscle loosened and the pain lessened. He stretched his leg back out, carefully. And there, in the silence of an empty weight room, Graham could hear his father say those words that he’d said so many times over the years:

“Get up, you damn pussy!”

Week 10: Late Shift at the L&T Sure Stop

When the new Speedy Quick opened out on the bypass, little mom-and-pop gas stations like L&T Sure Stop had seen a dramatic drop in their business. Yes, the regulars would come in for smokes and coffee, but sales was down. And the pretty lady working the counter was worried the owners might be cutting her hours. Jordyn Nelson had been working at the L&T for eighteen months now, ever since she graduated from the rehab program over in Prestonsburg. There had been some dark days, and she’d done things best left unspoken. But today, she was clean, healthy and genuinely happy for the first time she could remember.

“How do, Ms. Jordyn?” a scratchy voice said from the other side of the counter. It belonged to Howard Begley, a man in his seventies that looked to be on the other side of a hundred. He had stringy, white hair that hung to his shoulders and deep crevices around his mouth and eyes. His thick, black rimmed glasses sat low on his nose as he smiled a little too friendly at Jordyn. “I’ll be needin’ some scratchers. Three off of number seven and four off of ten.”

Jordyn forced a smile at the old man and pulled his lottery tickets loose from the plastic dispenser on the opposite wall. “That’s gonna be $25, Mr. Begley,” she said as she slid the tickets to the old man. She hated the way he looked at her; a creepy smile that made her think of a rat looking a big piece of cheese. Mr. Begley’s purple hands were spotted with age marks and lined with veins. He dug into his pocket and produced a wad of bills and placed them on the counter.

The alarm above the door gave a harsh electronic noise as someone came in the store. Jordyn looked over as Mr. Begley slowly counted his money. A round woman with big hair entered the store. She was wearing a powder blue dress and no makeup. She walked around the store, picking up a loaf of bread and a case of diet soda. Mr. Begley was still counting bills as she stopped behind him, waiting to check out.

“Twenty-five?” Mr. Begley asked, sounding confused.

Jordyn forced a smile. “Do you need some help with that?” she said, trying to hurry him along. He nodded, with a hint of embarrassment. They pretty lady behind the counter counted out $25 and handed Mr. Begley his extra cash and lotto scratchers. “Why don’t you go over to the other side of the counter, there, and I’ll ring her up,” she said, motioning to the empty checkout area. Mr. Begley widened his smile and walked to the other side.

The big haired lady in the blue dress put her pop and bread on the counter. “You doin’ alright, this evenin’, hon?” she asked Jordyn as she fumbled in her purse.

Jordyn punched a few keys on the cash register and placed the bread in a bag. “I’m doing just fine. How are you?” She could see the big haired lady had a huge Bible in her purse.

“Just left church. We had a singin’ tonight with some of the folks from over in Perry County. It was a real blessin’.” She had a soft, sweet voice that reminded Jordyn of her granny.

The cash register beeped and the drawer opened. “That’ll be $7.98. What church was this at?”

The big haired lady handed Jordyn $8. “Apple Orchard Full Gospel. It’s just over the hill and up 1192. Not too big, but the Lord sure lives there. You should come.”

Jordyn felt warm inside from the genuine care coming from this woman. “Well, I sure do appreciate that. I go to Black Grass Baptist with my mom and son every Sunday. But we might just have to visit with y’all one week.”

“Well, we’d love to have ya!” the big haired lady said with a smile.

A strange yelp came from the other side of the counter. It was like a little dog who got caught in the screen door. “Big winner!” Mr. Begley yelled and made another odd yelp.

The big haired lady took her pop and bread and smiled at Jordyn. “You have ya a good evenin’ now.”

“You too. Thanks for stoppin’.” Jordyn walked over to the other cash register where Mr. Begley was rocking back and forth, from one foot to the other. “Say you got a winner there?”

He handed her the ticket, and sure enough, it was a $100 winner. “Well, look at you, Mr. Money Bags.” She scanned the ticket and gave Mr. Begley two $50 bills. “What are you gonna do with those winnings?”

“Y’ought to let me take you out fer a steak dinner,” he said, a little too serious for Jordyn’s liking.

She smiled and tried to play it off as a funny joke. “That’s a good one, Mr. Begley. You know I’ve already got two men in my life: my daddy and my boy. I can’t be dealin’ with no other men.”

The old man was oblivious to Jordyn’s subtle rebuke. “I could take ye ta Lexington fer a fancy dinner. Treat you right.” The corners of his mouth were turned up in that lascivious grin.

“Aw, that’s awful sweet of you, Mr. Begley. But I think my courtin’ days are over. Now, you’d best be gettin’ home. I know you don’t like drivin’ after dark.” She looked out the window at the last few rays of sunlight beaming through pink and purple clouds.

Mr. Begley’s shoulders sank, ever so slightly. “Welp, I guess I’ll be seein’ you tommar.” He collected his things and shuffled out the door.

Jordyn took in a big breath and let it out slowly, her cheeks puffing out like a trumpet player. She reached back and turned on the small radio sitting on the back of the counter. The Wednesday night Bluegrass show was on and a pair of young girls were singing “In the Highways.” The pretty lady behind the counter started singing along. Her voice was strong, with excellent pitch. She would never admit it to another soul, but she loved to sing. As a child, she dreamed about moving to Nashville and singing on the Grand Ole Opry. But a string of bad decisions had led her to being a mother at seventeen and in and out of rehab for over ten years. Now, at thirty, she sang by herself when the store was empty.

There was a smudge of something blue on the counter. Jordyn grabbed the bottle of antiseptic cleaner from the shelf below and gave it a few pulls, spraying the solution all over the area in front of her. After tearing off a few paper towels, she wiped off the counter, clean as new. But the smell of the ammonia made her a little light headed, so she stepped over to the other side of the counter to get some air.

The electric alarm above the door rang out again. Jordyn looked over to see a man in his thirties carrying a toddler in his arms. Grayson Hughes was a regular at the Sure Stop and gave a friendly smile to the pretty lady behind the counter. He walked to the back of the store as the little boy wrapped around him. A few minutes later, he came to the counter, struggling to carry a box of cereal, a gallon of milk and 30 pounds of kid. “You doin’ alright, Jordyn?” he asked as he sat everything but the boy onto the counter.

“Just fine. Just fine. Looks like you got one tuckered out, there,” she said as she punched some buttons on the register.

Grayson smiled and looked over at the sleepy mass on his side. “He’s been up to his Granny’s and played hard all evenin’. We’ve stayed out past his bed time, but if I don’t have some cereal for breakfast, he’s gonna be madder’n a wet hen in the mornin’.”

Jordyn bagged up the milk and cereal. “Need help gettin’ to your vehicle?” she asked.

“Naw, I can manage. Thanks.” He grabbed the bag and walked out the door, the electronic alarm going off again.

Jordyn watched as Grayson put the bag in the back of his truck and gently placed the boy into his car seat. He took care to buckle him in while not waking him before pulling off his camouflage hat and giving his son a gentle kiss on the forehead. She smiled wistfully. “There’s still a few good ‘ens out ther, I guess,” she said to no-one as the truck pulled out of the parking lot.

The clock slowly spun for the next few hours as only a few stragglers came into the store. Jordyn made small talk and thanked them for their business until finally, it was time to close. She locked the door and turned out the exterior lights before sweeping the floor. The radio was still playing Bluegrass songs, and she hummed along as she tidied up.

“Are you a musician looking to further your skills? Want to learn from the best in the mountains? You can enroll in East Kentucky’s premiere school for music and get your degree in just two years…” The advertisement on the radio caught Jordyn’s attention, like she awoke from a sleep. A school for music? She’d given a lot of thought to going to college and getting a degree for the past few months. But a degree in music? From a school just a town or two over?

Jordyn shook her head, as if forcing the thoughts from her brain. “It’s not practical,” she thought as she swept the dust into the pan. “I don’t have the time or the money.”

She collected the trash from the bathroom and tied the bags before tossing them into the dumpster behind the store. It was almost midnight when she had finished. “Music school,” she said in a disapproving tone. What would her daddy say to that? “Probably to follow my heart and do it!” she thought.

Inside the store, Jordyn clicked off the lights and double checked to front door. As she walked toward her old pickup, she pulled out her phone.

“East Kentucky Music School,” she said into the end of her phone. She looked down at the screen and a picture of smiling students playing instruments and singing into an old can-style mic flashed in front of her eyes. And for a moment, Jordyn allowed herself to dream.

Week 9: The Wreck

The red and blue glow of police lights were blaring on a cold, moonless night. Sheriff Roy Higgins took a sip of luke-warm coffee and scanned the area. This was not his first accident, by a long shot. He had been on the job, in one form or another, for about half of his life. He was a city cop in Richmond for 18 years before a bullet to his leg put him into early retirement. The injury forced him to move closer to home, so that family could help out when needed. He healed quickly and found retirement boring. After that, a couple years as a Resource Officer in his old high school convinced him that he could be doing a lot of good in Peril County as a sheriff. The locals agreed and voted him into office just over two years ago. He and his deputies have been doing what they can to keep the peace and serve the people ever since.

It was 4:18 in the morning and Sheriff Higgins was not happy about being called out so early. He was not on duty, but Deputy McElroy was out with the flu, so they were a bit short-staffed. The WEKT television truck at his crime scene also left a bad taste in his mouth. The working relationship between his department and the news crew was pretty solid, but he hated when they came to active crime scenes and had asked them several times in the past to wait until proper processing had occurred before showing up. But some rookie EMT had mentioned that there were pounds of crystal meth in the trunk of the wrecked vehicle over the radio and the station had heard it over the scanner. That’s all it took.

“Sheriff, we got a mess here,” a female voice said as Higgins exited his cruiser. He put on his hat and started walking toward the scene. Deputy Judy Watts, the only female on the force, was close on his heels. “We got 2 DB’s and a trunk full of meth. Looks like they hit a patch of black ice and slammed into the cliffside.”

“Locals?” the sheriff asked.

Deputy Watts nodded her head. “Peril County tags, but we’ve not id’d the bodies yet. EMT’s still trying to get ‘em out. Vehicle’s registered to John Anderson.

Sheriff Higgins laughed dryly. “Well, check for lumps a’coal. Might be a diamond in there too!”

A confused look crossed the deputy’s face. “‘Fraid I’m not sure what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, sir.”

He shook his head. “‘Fore your time, I guess. There’s an old county singer with family from ‘round these parts named John Anderson. Couple counties over. Had a few hits. It don’t matter. We got an address or contact info. on this John Anderson?”

“Collins and Trooper Joseph are headed over there now,” she replied.

Higgins tried and failed to hide a wince when he heard that Collins was the one heading to the secondary site. Deputy Trevor Collins was the newest hire for the Peril County Sheriff’s Office. He had the makings of a good cop, but he had it in him to be a little over zealous at times. And by-the-book to a fault. “Alright, keep me updated,” he said as he motioned for her to head to her cruiser.

“Sheriff Higgins! Sheriff Higgins, a moment if you have it?” Jess McNamara, the newest WEKT News reporter was motioning for him to come closer. “Sheriff, would you like to make a comment on the accident?”

He shook his head and took another sip of coffee. “Miss, I been here less than five minutes. I ain’t had time to hear what happened, much less make a statement.” He turned to walk on toward the accident.

“Any comment on the multiple pounds of crystal meth found in the vehicle?”

Sheriff Higgins let out a little laugh and stopped walking. He turned to face Jess from EKT. “You new, ma’am?” he asked

She looked confused. “I’ve been with WEKT for a couple of months now, why do you ask?”

He took a step in her direction. “One, most reporters know that we’ll come and talk to them when we got something to say. Two, we can’t make a determination on crystalline substances in the field. Those have to be sent to the lab. So, most know not to even ask if that’s what was found. And three, most reporters know better than to blab pertinent information on an open investigation when the damn bodies are still warm and within ear shot! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go talk to the coroner.” He knew he shouldn’t have lost his temper with the young girl, even as he was chastising her. But, it was early, it was cold, and she had to learn somewhere.

The sheriff walked down to the gully where he saw a blue Corolla laying on its passenger door and resting against the cliff side. Rob Osborne, the county’s long time Coroner, stood watching two EMT’s attempt to remove the bodies from the wreckage. The vehicle had clearly rolled at least once as the top showed deep scuffs and scrape marks. The majority of the windows were shattered, Higgins notices, with severe damage to the back windshield. "Whata’ya got, Robbie?” he asked as he came to a stop.

“One male, one female, DOA. EMT’s said that they were’t wearing seatbelts. I did a prelim before they started pullin’ ‘em out. Car reeked of whiskey and weed. Female had a massive head wound. She was drivin’. Didn’t get a good look at the guy.” He spit into a bottle.

With his flashlight, Higgins scanned the ground around the wreck. “Watts, you do a skid check?” Glass had shot ten feet away from the point of impact, but he couldn’t find any sign of skid marks, which would indicate the driver attempting to stop the vehicle.

Watts shut the door to her cruiser. “Yes sir. Went back ninety feet. Found evidence of some slush and possible black ice. No indication of braking or skids of any kind to point of impact, sir.”

“And the trunk?”

“Best you take a look for yourself,” she replied.

Higgins had wanted to avoid crawling down into the gully. But he supposed now was as good a time as any. The first step he took into the thick brush along the side of the road saw Sheriff Higgins’ foot sink deep into the cold wet mud. “Well, shit!” he said to himself. Pulling it out, he could feel the earth gripping at his shoe, trying to keep it underground. He wiggled his toes and rotated his ankle just enough to keep his shoe on and kicked as much muck as he could from his leg once it was free.

The trunk to the Corolla was open, but a warming blanket covered the opening. Higgins lifted the blanket and shone his flashlight into the darkness. After a few seconds he lowered the blanked back into place. He stood there, unable to believe what he had just seen. He reached back down and pulled the blanket away fully. In the glow of his flashlight, he saw dozens of plastic sandwich bags, bulging full of what he assumed was crystal meth. “There’s twenty kilos here, easy,” he thought as he scanned the trunk. He also saw two small scales and several boxes of tiny baggies, both of which are indications of distribution.

“Watts, get down here!” he yelled out. The young deputy ran down quickly and stood next to her sheriff. “I want this cataloged and processed. Send a sample off to Frankfort first thing in the morning. We need to get this out of here and locked up before whoever it was goin’ to figures out it ain’t comin’.”

He reached up to his shoulder and clicked his radio. “Unit 1 to Collins. Unit 1 to Collins. Come in?

The radio crackled. “Collins here. We’re pulling out of the Anderson’s driveway.”

Higgins stood there a moment, expectantly. “Find anything out, deputy?” he asked as he smashed the button on his radio.

The radio crackled again. “Maybe, sir. We spoke to a Mr. John Anderson. He says he let his son, Sam borrow the car about a week ago and hasn’t seen or heard from him since. I did inform him that his vehicle may have been involved in an accident.”

“Is that all you told him,” the sheriff asked, expecting bad news.

“That’s an affirmative.”

Sheriff Higgins let out a deep sigh. “10-4. Hustle back to scene and assist Watts in extraction of evidence. Unit 1 out.” He took several muddy steps back up the gully toward Rob Osborne.“How long before you can ID these, Rob?”

Rob spit into his bottle again. “Depends. If they got photo ID's on ‘em, bout 5 minutes after I get ‘em to the funeral home.”

The Sheriff nodded. “Well, give the office a call as soon as you do. We’ll notify the families.”

“Will do, sheriff. Will do. Looks like these boys are making some headway…er, progress.”

Jess McNamara stood with her back to the scene, a microphone in her hand. She was practicing her live shot coming up in a little over an hour. “…Reporting live from the Devil’s Leap section of Peril County. This is Jess,” she was saying before the sound of the sheriff approaching startled her.

“Don’t quit on my account,” he said, limping up the hill, his shoe still full of muck.

Her cheeks blushed in embarrassment. “I was just doing some trial runs. This is my first live shot,” she said, sheepishly.

He nodded, not really knowing if that was truly a big deal or not. “I got a statement if you want to record it.”

She repositioned her camera so that the red and blue flashing lights dramatically hit the sheriffs face, and he was well lit by the rig on her truck. She put the microphone in front of his face. “Sheriff Higgins, what happened here tonight?”

The sheriff looked down at the young reporter, solemnly. “Around 3:50 am, Sheriff’s Deputy Watts responded to a crashed vehicle in the Devil’s Leap area of Peril County. She, along with Peril Count EMT’s arrived on the scene to find a Corolla overturned in the gully with a driver and passenger both incapacitated. EMT’s were not able to resuscitate the victims, and they were pronounced dead at the scene. Additionally, an initial search of the vehicle has resulted in the Sheriff’s office locating a significant amount of some form of crystalline substance that we believe may be crystal meth. This will be transported to a secure location and tested. If this is in fact crystal meth, it would be the largest single seizure in Peril County history of any illicit substance.”

Jess nodded her head and turned off the camera. “Thank you for your time sheriff. That will add a lot to my story.”

Higgins smiled. “Good luck with the live shot.” He walked back toward his cruiser, hoping to find a clean pair of shoes and wondering what this much meth going through his town was gonna mean for little old Black Grass, KY.

Week 8: Long Haul Trucker

The satellite radio was cutting in and out as Luke Dobbs drove along the cliff side roads in Peril County. Over the past 20 days, he had driven his 18 wheeler to Nashville, then Denver, onto Seattle, back to Wichita, over to Chicago, down to Cincinnati and finally home. It was a complicated trip, with more stops than usual, but the pay was good. He reached down to his console and grabbed a bottle of diet soda. A quick shake in his hand proved that the bottle was indeed empty. Just as well, he was about to stop.

Luke mashed a button and the radio buzzed over to a local station playing Bluegrass. He’d never been a fan, but it was better than the choppy noise that was coming out of his speakers before. Rita, his wife of fifteen years, had messaged him an hour ago that she didn’t have food waiting and that if he wanted dinner, he would need to get something on his way. There was a Speedy Quick just outside of town that had pretty good fish dinners that he figured would still be hot this time of night. He pulled into the “Trucks” section and collected all the empty bottles and loose trash he could see in the cab. He grabbed some fish and a pepperoni roll from the front counter. Couple of pops and a candy bar made this a complete meal for Luke, and he pointed his truck for home.

Traveling the country made him appreciate this small piece of the mountains he called home. The planes of Kansas, the Rockies in Colorado, the Nevada desert and the lights in the cities couldn’t compare to the simple beauty of Preacher’s Creek in Black Grass, Kentucky. Luke’s family had lived here for generations on this plot of land. His mother still lived in the old home place, with the farm and barn. His sister lived across the creek with her husband and three kids in a double wide. Luke had made a good enough living doing long-haul driving to build a nice home for Rita and himself. It even allowed her to stay home with their kids.

The sun had set hours ago by the time he pulled into the paved driveway that lead to his house. A large street light illuminated his front yard and he could hear Banner, the family’s dog, barking inside. He climbed out of the cab and pulled out a bin of dirty cloths. There was a rustling from inside and suddenly the front door burst open. Hailey and Zander bounded out and met their daddy at the top of the porch.

“What did you bring us, Daddy?” Hailey asked as she jumped up into her father’s arms. She was a cute seven-year old with blonde hair and a big gap between her front teeth. Zander clung to his dad’s waist. He was small for his age of ten, with messy black hair and round glasses. He looked up at the mention of presents.

Luke feigned a look of shock and confusion. “Was I supposed to bring you guys something?”

“Daaaadyyyyy!” the young girl whined, playfully, that had become a well rehearsed game between father and daughter. “You know you always bring us something.”

He sat his daughter down and started patting over his body, as if looking for something, a broad grin over his bearded face. “Well, I did find a few things that might interest you a bit.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a square, green lollypop with a giant beetle inside it. “Zander, this is for you bud. It’s called a scarab sucker. Now, you can eat it, I guess. But I think it’s just pretty cool to look at. Reckon it’s up to you if you wanna lick on a beetle or not.”

The boy took the curious confection and started at it for a moment. A sly grin crossed his face. He hugged his dad tightly, scrunching up his face as he squeezed. “It’s awesome!”

“Now, for the lady of the house, we have…” Luke walked over to his plastic tub filled with laundry and reached along the far side. He pulled out a small, slender plastic man, his hands over his mouth and a pained look on its face. “This is a special friend for you, and Banner I guess. Give him a hug.”

Hailey took the toy and mashed it in the middle. An obnoxiously long, and loud puking sound emitted from the man as his hands moved from his mouth. The girl giggled loudly. “It’s gross. I love it.” Luke bent down and kissed his daughter on the top of her head.

“C’mon, let’s get inside ‘fore mommy whips us all!” Luke said as he ushered his children back into the house. The strong scent of bleach and ammonia struck him like a punch to the face. “Babe, something spill? What’s that smell?”

A short, round woman walked into the kitchen wearing an old tee shirt, sweatpants and yellow plastic gloves. “No, that stupid dog shit in the play room and ain’t nobody else gonna clean it up. I’m elbow deep in dog crap and you waltz in here like a hero.” Luke could tell his wife was in one of her moods and not much he could say was going to ease it.

“Rita, honey. I’ll clean up whatever. Just let me get in the door. It’s nice to see you. I’ve sure missed you.” He put the bin of clothes on the kitchen table and walked toward his wife, motioning for a hug.

She turned up her nose and shook her head. “I’m covered in dog crap!” she called, half mad, half tickled.

“Better or worse, babe. I guess dog crap is worse, but I ain’t had a hug from my wife in weeks, so I’ll risk a little poop.” He enveloped his wife in a tight embrace and rocked back and forth in a kind of waltz. She indulged him for a moment before pushing him away.

“Yer a dang fool.”

“Only over you, baby!” he replied with a smile.

Rita pulled the yellow gloves from her hands and ushered her kids toward their rooms. “That’s enough excitement for one evenin’. Off to bed, you two. Ya got school in the mornin’.”

Hailey and Zander gave their dad one final hug before heading off to bed. Luke picked up the laundry tub and carried it over to the washing machine. It was full of towels that had a dank, sour smell. “That needs another wash.” he said to no-one in particular. Putting the tub on the floor, he snatched up some pods and fabric softener and started the washer again.

He found Rita sitting in a recliner in front of the TV, playing on her phone. The couch across the room was covered with toys and unfolded clothes. He sat at the corner and started sorting and folding shirts. “Anything interesting go on while I was gone you didn’t tell me about?” he asked, trying to start a conversation.

“There puttin’ a new dollar store up on Hatchett Fork Road, across from the branch bank,” she said flatly without looking away from her screen.

Luke folded another shirt. “Well, that’ll help that end of the county. Keep ‘em from comin’ all the way into town for stuff I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Luke found a pair of sweatpants and rolled them into a tight bundle before tying them together with the waistband. “S’there something you’re upset about? Somethin’ I did that I don’t know I did, maybe?”

Rita swiped on her phone. “No, It’s fine.”

“Sweetie, I know fine. I’ve seen you ‘fine’ and I’m pretty sure this ain’t it.” Hank found the match for the black sock in his hand and made a ball out of the pair.

Her shoulder raised up to the point that they almost touched her ears. She let out a loud sigh. “It’s just hard, Luke. You’re gone for weeks at a time and I’m here takin’ care a these children and this house and you’re out seein’ the country. All I’m seein’ is Banner take a shit in the play room.”

Luke had suspected that this, or something similar was the problem. It was a common issue when he came home that Rita resented him for leaving. Strangely, in a few days, she would resent him being home. “I gotta work, hon. And it ain’t like I’m out sight seein’ when I’m on the road. All I’m seeing is a stretch a road through the windshield.”

“Yeah, but the view changes, Luke! An’ when you’re home, it ain’t like you ever wanna do anything or go anywhere.” She was looking at him now, unable to hide her frustration.

He furrowed his brow. “I do wanna do stuff. I wanna see you and the kids. I ain’t got much time and I want to spend it with y’all as much as I can.” He understood her frustration, at least a little.

She plopped back into her chair and stared back into her phone. “It don’t matter. You’ll be gone in three or four days anyway.”

“That’s not fair, now. I’ve offered to get off the long haul routes and do more regional and local stuff where I won’t be gone near as much. It’s a big pay cut, and we’ll have to make a lot of changes, but I think we could make it work.” He was getting annoyed, but trying to keep it hidden. The last few times he’d come home, arguments like this had sprung up and it didn’t matter what he said or did, Rita made him feel wrong somehow.

Rita huffed loudly again. “How are we gonna live on half the money you’re makin’ right now, huh? When we got married, you said you wanted me to stay home and raise your babies. So I never went to the community college like I wanted to. And, it ain’t like I can just walk down town and get a job at the bank or the hospital, now is it?”

Luke folded another shirt. “You workin’ is a completely different discussion. I’m just sayin’ that if you want me home more, we can make that work. We’ll just have to budget and sell my truck and the boat.”

“So, we just gonna share a car when you home, then? You think that makes sense?” Her eyes never left her phone as she berated him. She swiped again.

He pulled a fitted sheet from the pile of laundry and thought better than to try to fold it. “Hon, all I’m sayin’ is if you’re want me home more, I’ll make it happen. Now, let’s turn off the tv and go to bed, what do you say?”

“My feet are swollen, so I’m gonna sleep here in the recliner. I do most nights anymore, anyway. But the bed is made up, so you can sleep in there.”

Luke stood and walked over to his wife. He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Alright, then. I’ll head on ta bed. Love ya.”

Rita sniffed hard. “Can you take the kids to school in the mornin’? I’d like to sleep in for once, if I can.”

He scratched his head and gave a tired smile. “Yeah, babe. Sure.” It was dark in the hallway as he turned toward the master bedroom. Their bedroom?

“Glad your home, honey,” she called out as he clicked the light-switch.

“Me too, babe. Me too.”

Week 7: Top of her class

Peril County High School sat in the middle of downtown Black Grass, the county seat. The old school was built through the WPA program in the 30s and sat across the street from the state-of-the-art facility the county built a few years ago. Five hundred odd students walked these halls August thru May and had access to AP, dual credit and vocational training. The cafeteria featured a full coffee bar and offers vegetarian options every day. The academic team’s quick recall squad had won the Regional Championship for six years in a row. And most Friday nights, the Fighting Panthers could be found either on the football field or the basketball court.

This year’s graduating class had several bright students with promising futures. Tanner Hoskins won a scholarship to attend a computer science program in Chicago. Juliana Bowers will be attending Morehead State and participating in their aerospace program next fall. But none shone as brightly as Brittany Burns, the class valedictorian and cheer captain. Brittany is a bit of a Renaissance woman: she received perfect marks on her ACT test, led her Panther Cheer Squad to the state finals and volunteers most weekends in the pediatric ward over at the Hazard Hospital. But her true talents lie in her writing. She started writing short stories and poems in the 2nd grade and hasn’t stopped since. Her first published piece was in a literary journal featuring the works of Appalachian teens over three years ago. Since then, she’s been featured on several web sites, blogs and even the local news on WEKT.

It was her love of writing that led Brittany to apply to some of the most prestigious creative writing programs in the world. Her top choices, Brown and Columbia, were both extreme long shots, at least in her mind. But her mom encouraged her to apply and the initial interview with the director of the Writing Department at Columbia went well. No word from Brown as of yet, but it is still early in the semester.

“What are we gonna do when you’re a famous writer?” her boyfriend Graham asked her one unseasonably warm day as they sat side by side on two swings in City Park. Graham was a year younger than Brittany, but tall for his age. He was the quarterback for the Panther team and was touted as one of the best players in the mountains. “‘Cause the way I see it, I ain’t gotta worry about football, college or nothin’! I’m gonna be a kept man, livin’ at home and takin’ care a the kids while you’re a big-time writer, earnin’ millions.” A broad grin spread across his face as he teased Brittany.

She gave him a playful shove on the shoulder. “I see several issues in your plan, Mr. Carter. First, to assume that I’ll be anything more than a newspaper reporter or high school English teacher is a tad optimistic. Two, you assume that I will even want kids, much less have them with you. And three, you assume I would want to spend time with someone who’s sole ambition is to be a kept man; uneducated and unemployed while I bring home the bacon. That is a lot of assumptions, sir.” Her smile matched his.

Graham raised one eyebrow. “Well, Ms. Asher did tell us that when you assume, you make an ass out of ‘u’ and me.”

“Well, you’re definitely an ass!” she said with a giggle as she leaned into him and rested her head in the nape of his neck.

He leaned into her and took a deep breath of her hair. “But seriously, you’re gonna be in New York or Boston or Lord knows where next year. And I’ll be stuck right here in Black Grass. You’re gonna find some hot shit writer boy from a city who talks all proper and stuff. You’re gonna forget all about Peril County, and all about me.” His voice had lost that playful tone.

“You’re still making assumptions,” she said, trying to keep it playful, but failing. “I’ve not been accepted to any colleges yet, much less Brown or Columbia. And you’re the starting quarterback for the district champion Panther football team. How could I ever forget about you?”

Graham scrunched up his face and frowned down at her. “I’m bein’ serious, Brit,” he said a little more tersely than he had probably meant.

“So am I. We’ve been dating for about two years now, and we love each other. I’m not saying to go and get a ring or anything. But, we’re in this together. I want get out and see the world, just like you. I’m gonna go to a school with a great writing program. You’re gonna get a football scholarship, hopefully at the same school or somewhere close by. And it’s going to be wonderful.” She wrapped her arm around his back and pulled him closer.

The quarterback leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, that don’t sound half bad, now does it.” The two continued to hold each other as they sat on the swings, watching the sun set over the hills.

The next morning, as Brittany walked into school, Ms. Nox, the guidance councilor and resident busy-body, darted in her direction as soon as the young lady arrived. “Ms. Burns, I’m going to need you to accompany me to my office at once,” she said curtly.

“Is something wrong, Ms. Nox?” Brittany asked as she walked behind her elder. Ms. Nox was a statuesque woman, slim with shoulder-length red hair and bright red lipstick. Her high heels made her even taller than most of the men in the building.

Her keys jangled a shrill, trilling noise and Ms. Nox unlocked her door and shoved it open. “Have a seat, Brittany,” she said, motioning to the two office chairs in front of her desk. Brittany had been in this office a few times before, and the student artwork on the walls always disturbed her. Ms. Nox was an art teacher before she took over the Guidance Councilor position and liked to use art therapy with her students whenever she could. “Brittany, what is the deal with Brown?” she asked, exasperated, as she sat at her desk.

Brittany furrowed her brow as she tried to understand what Ms. Nox was saying. “I’ve not heard from Brown, Ms. Nox. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I’ve heard from Brown, and they say you missed your deadline to apply. If you didn’t want to attend that school, I wish you would have let me know. I really stuck my neck out for you on this. I’m trying to develop a relationship with their admissions office and you’ve embarrassed me.” Ms. Nox was doing a poor job of hiding her rage behind a calm and sweet voice.

“I don’t understand,” Brittany said, a hint of panic in her voice. “I submitted everything digitally and included samples of my work. I even have an email saying they received my application.”

Ms. Nox turned to her computer and typed in something. “And it seems you have let your grades slip in AP English and Calculus as well. If you are wanting to self sabotage, you are doing a good job of it.”

Brittany’s head was spinning. She had no idea her grades were down. She thought everything was going great until this morning. “I don’t understand…” She drifted into her own mind, trying to find any sort of answer to why her academic life was spiraling down.

“Honestly, I expect more from you, Brittany. You’re top of your class and captain of the cheerleaders. How can you be so irresponsible?”

Tears started to well up in Brittany’s eyes.

“I suggest you do some deep reflections on where you are and where you want to be going, Brittany,” Ms. Nox said with an exasperated tone in her voice. “You’ve seriously jeopardized your place at the top of your class with these recent events. I’ve contacted your mother this morning and made her aware of your falling grades and failure to see the application process thru. Now, run along so you’re not late for first period.”

The swell of emotions running through Brittany was almost more than she could stand. She took a deep breath to collect herself, stood and walked out of Ms. Nox’s office. So much of Brittany’s self-image was based on her stellar grades and attention to detail. What was her mom going to say? “She will be so disappointed,” she thought as she walked to her locker.

Brittany tried her best to hide the anguish and confusion in her face as she walked the halls of Peril County High. She could feel every eye of every student silently judging her as she shuffled by banks of green and black lockers. Even if they weren’t looking her way, Brittany somehow knew that they were judging her, that she wasn’t living up to her potential.

“Hey babe,” a voice called from behind her. “What’s the matter?” She turned to see Graham wearing his letter men’s jacket and a Peril County Football shirt. “You ok?”

A flood of tears burst from her eyes as she fell into her boyfriends arms. “I’m never getting out of here!” she found herself saying as she wrapped her arms around him.

He enveloped her in a warm, comforting embrace and patted her gently on the back. “It’s gonna be ok. Whatever it is, we can work it out, I’m sure.” Graham did his best to console her, but in his heart of hearts, in a place he probably wouldn’t even admit to having, Graham had a small sense of relief.

Week 6: Valentine’s Date Night

The road between Peril County and what most folks would call civilization was not treacherous by stretch of the imagination. It was, however, old, pock-marked with potholes, full of curves and two-lane for most of the way. There was roughly a two-hour drive from Black Grass, the county seat of Peril County, to Lexington and then another hour to either Louisville or Cincinnati. For a young couple looking for a romantic night out on the town in Peril County, the local Dairy Cheer or Martha’s Diner were about your only options. So, traveling out of town for special occasions was not out of the norm.

Lou and Donna had been dating on and off for the past four years, since they were sophomores at Peril County High. Lou was currently in her second year at the local tech college finishing up a degree in auto-body repair while Donna was across town at the nursing school with one more semester to go before she became an RN. Being an openly lesbian couple in Appalachia was interesting, to say the least, and they had both expressed a desire to move to a more progressive area at various times to one another. But, for every blue-haired old bitty that looked at them crossways when they were holding hands in the park, there were a couple pink and green haired young people who couldn’t give two flying shits. Peril County, and the rest of the region, got more understanding and accepting as time passed, Lou thought one day while spot welding in the school’s shop. And things would never change if people like her and Donna just ran away because Pentecostal Patty didn’t approve.

“Let’s get dressed up and go to a fancy dinner in Lexington for Valentine's,” Donna said early in the week. She was a tallish woman, with lanky limbs and a slightly crooked nose from when a poorly passed basketball nailed her during eighth grade PE. Her shoulder length brown hair was usually pulled behind her head in a pony tail, and she wore thick glasses with silver frames. The couple were seated on a leather couch in the one bedroom apartment they shared.couple were seated on a leather couch in the one bedroom apartment they shared.

Lou, short of Louisa, was the daughter of Mexican immigrants who had moved to the region in the ’90s. Her parents started a successful restaurant one town over and still operated it to this day. She was shorter and rounder than her partner, but her face was warm and kind. She kept her hair short, shaved close on the sides and typically had a purple stripe running down the left part. “Mom is doing a two-for-one special Saturday. We could go to that,” she replied expectantly with a smile.

Donna laughed a little and playfully slapped Lou on the leg. “Wouldn’t it be nice to put on pretty dresses and go eat something nice that doesn’t come with a side of rice and beans.”

“Do you remember the last time we got all dressed up and went out? It was our Senior Prom. Do you want another night like that?” Lou said. She raised an eyebrow and was somehow able to look down at Donna, even though she was a good foot shorter.

Donna grinned broadly as Lou could see the gears turning in her partner’s mind. “Well, the boys we took were something. I’ve never seen someone puke up that much hooch at one time. My dad had to pay $150 to get that limo detailed,” she said with a laugh.

Lou rubbed her temples with one hand. “And Tom Baker sure thought he was getting laid that night. Boy couldn’t have been more wrong!” There was a moment of silence before both of them guffawed and fell onto each others shoulders.

“I wonder if my mom didn’t know then, about us I mean. I remember she said something about being glad that we safe and home together that night instead of out running the roads or getting blitzed on some strip job,” Donna said. She held Lou close to her shoulder and stroked her hair.

Breathing deeply, Lou snuggled closer into her partner. “You really wanna do this, huh?”

Donna rubbed her cheek onto the top of Lou’s head. “Let’s dress up and go out. We can go eat at a nice restaurant, have some drinks at a fancy club and then stay in a hotel downtown. You’ll love it, I promise!”

“And how are we gonna pay for this extravagant evening, exactly?” Lou asked as she looked up at Donna.

A mischievous grin spread across Donna’s face. “I might have saved a little of my Christmas money from mom and dad just for something like this,” she said.

Lou rolled her eyes and smiled. “I bet you already have it all planned out, don’t you?” she asked, knowing the answer.

Donna sat up straight and pulled her phone from her pocket. A few clicks later, she tilted the screen toward Lou. “There’s a new place downtown called The Turquoise Turtle that has Guatemalan food that is supposed to be amazing! And just down the street is a cocktail bar called Mary B’s that has like eight hundred different types of alcohol behind the bar. And we can stay at the hotel next to Rupp Arena. There’s no game this weekend, so it won’t be nuts.”

“You already made reservations, didn’t you,” Lou said with a smile.

“I’m gonna take you out on the town and get you good and liquored up!” Donna bent down and gave Lou a sweet peck of a kiss.

An infomercial selling rotisserie ovens started playing on the television. “You don’t need to get me drunk, you know. I’m kind of a sure thing,” Lou said, kissing her again.

Later that week, the pair threw an overnight bag into the back of Donna’s Camry and set out for Lexington. Donna tuned her satellite radio to a modern pop station and sang along to every song that played. Lou would offer to change it to a traditional country station every few songs, mostly to annoy her companion.

They drove through the mountains, past tiny communities that had a couple stop lights and a few more gas stations. Donna sang out as she steered her car along roads that ran along the creek bed, roads that climbed high over hills and some that were dug right out of the rock. Lou played games on her phone and checked other apps when they were near a town and the cell service was finally strong enough to have signal.

Late afternoon saw them arrive into town. Donna parked the car in the semicircle outside the front doors of the hotel. The pair walked into the lobby where they saw walls paneled with stained wood and huge glass fixtures hanging from the ceiling. A large cherry-wood desk was ahead of them on the right, with a sign that read “Front Desk.”

“Checking in?” The woman behind the counter asked as they stood in front of her station. She was around Donna and Lou’s age with curly blonde hair and rosy cheeks.

“Williams,” Donna said.

The sound of keys clicking was followed by a few electrical beeps and buzzes. “Looks like we’ve got you for one night. Breakfast is included and that will be one floor below us. It starts at six and runs until eleven. Oh, it looks like we only have king rooms still available. Will that be ok?”

Lou grinned sheepishly and looked over at Donna. “We will manage,” she said, nudging Lou with her elbow.

“Alright, here are your keys. We have you in 814. Elevators are around the corner. Please let us know if there is anything you need.” The desk clerk smiled as she handed Donna a small envelope filled with two plastic cards.

Donna’s fingers interlocked with Lou’s as they walked onto the elevator. She hit the 8 button and the doors started to close in front of them. The smell of industrial cleaner and old wood lingered in the lift. “I’m really glad you planned all of this,” Lou said, placing her head on Donna’s shoulder.

“I mean I didn’t do it just for you. I did it for both of us. We need to get out every once in a while. Just decompress, I guess,” Donna said, resting her cheek on top of Lou’s head.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the eighth floor. They made their way down the hall toward 814. “And don’t get me wrong, I’m all for Guatemalan food, but mom and dad’s place is pretty fancy if you think about it,” Lou said, smiling broadly.

“If it makes you feel better, we can tell them it’s your birthday and see if they bring out a fried ice cream and put a sombrero on you,” Donna giggled.

Lou attempted to feint shock and disappointment. “First, I love that sombrero. And If their deserts aren’t as good as a fried ice cream, you’re gonna hear about it now.” She opened the door to their room and grabbed Donna in a tight embrace, letting the door close behind them.

Week 5: Snow Day

Kyle farted long and loud directly into his twin sister’s face. She gagged and darted after him, arms flailing, trying to land as many blows as she could in revenge. “Gawd, stop!” he protested as Janie chased him through the kitchen and into the den. This was a fairly typical scene when the twins were home from school. Today was a little different, however. Today was special. Today was a snow day.

The twins were old enough to remember when snow days were a fairly common occurrence, before the internet improved enough and schools had to figure out how to hold classes remotely. When they were in kindergarten, Kyle and Janie were out of school for eight straight days due to a particularly heavy snow that just couldn’t quite melt off of the north side of the mountains. The main roads were cleared and passable a day or two after the snow had stopped. But slick spots persisted on the side roads and in the hollers, so school was called off until, finally, a warm rain melted the slush and sludge from where it remained.

When the kids were in 3rd or 4th grade, Snow Packets were all the rage. Teachers sent home worksheets with every student to be completed when school was out for flu or flood or snow. This was the first Kyle and Janie had ever heard of “NTI Days,” or non-traditional instruction. They just thought it was a crappy way to ruin a day off from school.

But, when the world shut down one Spring and schools were forced to find ways to teach kids stuck at home, NTI became a buzzword across the state and the nation. That changed the game for teaching and education as a whole going forward. The twins were now in the 8th grade, despite how Kyle may act some days, and this is the first real snow day the kids have had in years.

It was a heavy snow that fell on Friday of last week. Heavy enough to tear fiber and electric cables right off of the poles. The power was only out for a day, but here they sat, four days later and still with no internet. No Wi-Fi to play games or watch movies. No streaming shows or prank videos for Kyle. No baking how-to’s or make-up tutorials for Janie. And after a few days of this, the natives had become restless.

Their mother had rousted Janie that morning as she left for work. She was a lawyer and had a small office in the middle of Black Grass, the county seat. Mom knew better than to wake up Kyle as he had left strict instructions that he was going to sleep through this nightmare of no internet. Well, at least as much of it as he could. Janie started her morning making blueberry muffins from scratch. Her grandmother had started teaching her how to bake when she was just three years old and Janie had loved it ever since. When Granny Wilma passed a couple of years ago, Janie had asked to get all her cookbooks, of which there were several. This collection of traditional recipes and Granny Wilma’s own creations were now stored safely on the bread rack in the kitchen.

The aroma of the muffins finally caused Kyle to emerge from the cave he called a bedroom. And just like most caves in and around Peril County, Kyle’s bedroom was dark, smelly and not somewhere most folks wanted to be. But he escaped his dungeon- like abode and made his way to where Janie and her muffins were waiting.

“Oh, I want some!” he said as he scratched the sleep from his eyes.

“Just now going in the oven,” she replied in a huff.

It was a few moments later, while the muffins baked and Janie sat reading an old magazine she had found that the farting incident occurred. When Kyle was three, his favorite word was “poop” and that level of humor is where his mind had stayed for the past ten years. Dropping an air biscuit in his sister’s face was the ultimate joke in the young boy’s eyes.

After the butt-burp and ensuring fight had finally left the room, a loud ringing from the oven let the twins know that breakfast was ready. Janie took the dozen muffins out of the pan and set them on a rack. “They need a few minutes to cool,” she said to her brother as he was trying to snatch up a couple.

“Is this one ‘a Granny Wilma’s recipes?” he asked, eyeing the delicious looking muffins in front of him.

“Kinda. I added nutmeg and a crumble topping to these that she didn’t have. Not sure how they’ll turn out, but I think good.”

They ate their muffins in silence for a few moments. Kyle retreated to the fridge and poured them both tall glasses of milk and Janie drank down half of hers in one go.

“This is good,” he said, taking a bite of his second muffin, “but I think Granny’s were better.”

Janie’s first thought was to get defensive and angry. But, if she were being honest with herself, Granny’s were better. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I wish she was here to make us a batch.”

Kyle, feeling a little guilty about breaking wind in his sister’s face earlier, offered to help clean up the kitchen. They spent the next half hour tidying up and getting everything in order. Mom always complained that every time Janie made anything, it looked like a bomb had gone off in her wake.

“Do you wanna build a snowman?” Kyle asked after they had finished.

“OK, Anna! Maybe Olaf can help!” Janie mocked.

Kyle scrunched his face up in annoyance. “No, I’m serious. There’s enough still on the ground to make a good one. Let’s go make a snowman. We don’t have Wi-Fi. We can’t play video games. Let’s make a snowman,” he pleaded.

“Ugh, fine,” she said, fully expecting a fight to erupt soon after.

The twins bundled up in a motley mixture of winter garb: mismatched gloves, boggans and thick, heavy winter coats. Kyle wrapped a black and green scarf with a large “P” embroidered on the ends around his neck. He was proud to be a Peril County Panther!

The air was crisp and clear as they walked onto their front deck. Their boots disappeared into the snow on the wooden floor, and they left deep blue tracks in their wake. The twins walked down toward the front yard, past the car port and mom’s herb garden. “Let’s put it in front of the big window, so we can watch it melt,” Kyle said.

“Morbid!” Janie said. “You wanna watch Olaf die?”

Kyle gave a snide chortle. “One, we’re not calling him ‘Olaf!’ And two, if he’s outside the window, we can enjoy him from inside.”

Janie rolled her eyes. “Why does it have to be a ‘he’ at all. What if I want to make a snow-woman? Ever think of that?”

“Whatever. Can we just make the dang thing?”

The two began rolling and collecting snow into a large mound. With mittened hands, they patted the frozen form into a rough cube shape standing around two feet tall. “That’ll do for the base,” Kyle said. “Now, let’s do the middle.”

Janie walked back to the deck and began scooping snow into her arms, hugging it until in congealed into a large ball. “Come help me pack this!” she hollered to her bother. He was on the other side of the house, making a section of his own.

Kyle snuck over to the back side of the deck and launched a snowball at his sister. “Hey!” she yelled as the cold shot over her face. The snow slid down her cheeks and stopped at the top of her scarf. She shook her hands, trying to clear them from snow so that she could wipe the slush from her face and neck. “I thought you wanted to make a snowman!”

He crept around the corner and went through the front door, leaving Janie to construct the snowman alone. She snorted in anger and continued the work, rolling the torso of the frozen form from the porch to the other side of the house before lifting it up on the base. The snowman stood almost four feet tall now.

After another ten minutes or so, Janie had created a nice round head for her snowman and placed it on top. It was the perfect shape and size to match what was there. With her face red and frozen, she was about to head inside and look for the material to make her snowman turn from a pile of frozen perception into a personified person when her twin burst through the door.

“Look at this!” he shouted as he raced for the snowman. The slick sidewalk almost caused Kyle to fall as he made his way across the front of the house, but his snow boots kept the young lad upright. His hands were filled with various costuming pieces. Janie made her way to help, but he just shooed her away. She had done all the hard work, but he was going to decorate it.

In a moment it was completed. Comically large green sunglasses rested atop a long carrot. A row of black buttons turned up into a smile made the mouth. A mauve and lavender scarf draped around the area where a neck would be and two twigs stuck from the side as makeshift arms. Kyle reached around its neck and draped a long chain of fake pearls around the neck of the snowman, letting them fall over the scarf. “There you go, Granny,” he said with a smile.

“Granny?” Janie asked.

Kyle walked over to stand beside his sister and look at their handy-work. He nudged her with his shoulder. “Sure. You wanted a snow-woman and I thought we should call her ‘Granny’ because Granny Wilma was short and round and always cold!” He laughed at his own little joke.

“I like it,” she said. The two of them stood in the cold and looked at their snow-granny for several minutes before Kyle’s phone began to rattle and beep in his pocket. He pulled his hand from his glove and shoved it deep into his jeans before pulling out his iPhone.

“Internet must be back up. I’m getting like five days worth of texts,” he said.

Janie scratched her nose and turned to look at the house. “It’s getting cold out here anyway. I’m ready to go in.”

“Thanks for building a snow-woman with me,” Kyle said, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Thanks for calling her ‘Granny’ and putting that awesome hat on her.” she replied.

The two of them walked into the house and removed the layers of snow garb they had been wearing to protect them from the cold. Kyle grabbed another muffin from the tray as the twins walked through the kitchen. “Pretty good,” he said, taking a bite. “Granny Wilma would have been proud.”

week 4: Saturday morning at the barber shop

Eight inches of dense, wet snow had fallen since yesterday afternoon, and the roads into Black Grass, KY were covered with a sheen of icy slush. But Fred Jones was not about to let that stop him from doing what he had done six days a week for the past forty-seven years; he was going to open his barber shop. It was just before 7am when Fred slipped and slid his way down the hill to his old pickup truck and cranked the engine.

“C’mon girl. You can do it,” he said as he turned the key one more time. The engine roared to life and Fred began the short drive into town that he’d made for most of his life. He was taking his old truck because the keys to his new car were missing from the kitchen counter this morning. He just chalked it up to old age and grabbed the set to his work truck.

Fred grew up in this town, the son of a coal miner. His daddy was the only black miner for Peril County Coal Company in the ’60’s, but he always heard the other men say that there wasn’t a harder working man than Fred Sr. When he was a little older, Fred was a standout for the Peril County Panther basketball team. He was the leading scorer his junior year and lead them to the state semi-finals. A bad knee injury cut his career short the next year, but it wasn’t so bad that it kept him from being drafted by the Army just after graduation.

Fred did two tours in Vietnam and was awarded the Purple Heart and two Bronze Star’s for his service. He came home and decided that digging coal for the rest of his life was not something he was interested in. He’d spent a little time as a military barber at Fort Campbell between deployments and took that experience to get an early accreditation from the Appalachian Barber’s Academy. Jones’ Barber Shop opened on Main St. in Black Grass forty-seven years ago and except for holidays and two weeks of vacation every year, (always the week of July 4th and the week between Christmas and New Years) the shop was open six days a week.

The Dairy Cheer was doing good business that morning, with a line of cars stretching out to the main road. Fred’s wife, June, had filled his thermos with hot, black coffee before he’d left, so there was no need to stop. Fred never ate breakfast and always got a burger from the diner next to his shop for lunch on Saturdays. These weekend mornings were his favorite day at the shop, especially in the fall. Many of the local dignitaries would bring their breakfast and their papers in and philosophize about what went wrong with Peril County’s football game the night before and strategize on how to win the next week. But here in late January, most folks stayed in on these cold Saturday mornings. Fred figured he might have a few straggle through the doors, but he’d be lucky to make $30 by the time he locked the doors at noon.

Ice and snow were thick on the sidewalk in front of Jones’ Barber Shop right off of Main St. There were a few motorists brave enough to traverse the frozen morning and a handful of those waved at Fred as he walked from his truck to the shop. He could see across the square that the lights inside the bank were already on and the post office was open. “Folks always need their mail and their money,” he thought to himself as he stabbed a key into the lock.

Warm air hit Fred like a shotgun blast as he pushed the door open. The smell of his shop always made him smile and today was no exception. As much as he loved June and the house they shared, the house where they had raised five children, the house where thirteen grandchildren came every Thanksgiving and Christmas; this shop was where Fred felt most at home.

He hadn’t been in the shop ten minutes, cleaning an already spotless floor, when he heard the door open. It was Sheriff Higgins, a white man in his mid-forties with sandy red hair and a handlebar mustache. “Mornin’ Roy. Need a trim?” Fred asked.

The sheriff looked crestfallen as he took off his hat and walked further into the shop. “Not today Mr. Jones. ‘Fraid I’m here on official business.” He sat down and motioned for Fred to do the same. “When’s the last time you spoke to your niece, Frannie?”

Hearing the name come out of the sheriff’s mouth was not much of a shock, but it still sent a fury of thoughts running through the old barber’s mind. "What has that girl got herself into this time?” he asked as he sat in his swivel chair.

Frannie Jones was the baby of her generation; the youngest daughter of Fred’s youngest brother. She was younger than a few of Fred’s grandkids, even. And she had always been “troubled” as his Grand-mama Erma used to say. Frannie would lie and steal from an early age and started drinkin’ and drugin’ before she ever drove a car. She had a couple young’uns that her mom and dad had been raising since they were born addicted to whatever Frannie was taking at the time. She’d been to rehab a few times and county lockup a few times more.

“You seen her around here lately, Mr. Fred?” The Sheriff had grown up coming to Fred’s shop, getting hair cuts and listening to the old men talk about sports and politics. Fred felt that the sheriff respected him as a local citizen and as an honest man. The expression on his face shared that it pained the sheriff to do what he was doing. “I’m ‘fraid she’s in a spot a trouble.”

Fred shook his head. “It’s been a fair piece, I reckon. What’d she do now?”

Sheriff Higgins took in a deep breath. “Got a call early this mornin’ a’ two suspects ransacking an ol’ house out on 431. We dispatched a deputy, but by the time she got there, no sign of anyone and the house was engulfed. Officer said she recognized the smell of a meth lab. Fred, it was your mama’s house.”

Ms. Jones had been passed now 20 years but the family had kept that house up during that time for various folks to use as a stopping place when they were in town. Grand kids, nephews and cousins alike would use it as a place to sleep over on weekends and holidays and Ms. Jones’ kids all chipped in on the bills. Nobody had been staying there since they had a new years service at church. At least, that is what Fred had thought.

“I ain’t heard much from her in a while,” Fred said with regret dripping from every word. He’d always loved Frannie and tried to make over her when he could. But she tried her best to screw up every situation she could find herself in. “She came to the family Christmas for a few minutes, but that’s been it.”

The sheriff took a pad from his breast pocket and jotted something down. He ripped off the paper and handed it to Fred. “We’ve got an APB out on her. Mrs. Lewis across the street was pretty sure it was Frannie running out a the house when it went up. Said it looked like Sam Anderson was with her. We been watchin’ him for a while, if that tells you anything. Just thought you should know that. If you hear anything, let me know, will ya?”

Fred took the paper from the sheriff’s hand and folded it into his pocket. “Will do, sheriff. Will do.” They talked about nothing for a few more minutes before the sheriff’s radio went off. It seemed there was a fender bender on the other side of town, and he was the only officer on duty that morning.

“Guess I’ll go direct traffic for a few minutes. Good talkin’ to ya, Mr. Fred,” Sheriff Higgins said as he stood and put on his hat.

Fred stood to match the sheriff and stuck out his hand. “Always a pleasure, sheriff. I’ll ask around the family and see if anyone has seen Frannie.”

Sheriff Higgins nodded and walked out the door. Fred watched him climb into his cruiser and flip on the lights. He didn’t turn on the siren, Fred guessed, because it was still early and the sheriff didn’t want to wake anyone still sleeping in the apartments on Main St.

The rest of the morning was slow and quiet, with only a couple of regulars fighting the snow and ice to come in for a trim. Coach Simpson, the varsity football coach said he’d heard about Ms. Johnson’s old home place and offered his sympathy. A few hours later, Deacon Barrett wandered in for a shave and said he’d heard Frannie was on the run. “News sure travels fast ‘round here,” Fred said as he lathered up the deacon.

“Bad news travels faster, I’m afraid,” Mr. Barrett said as Fred lowered him in the chair. “The church Messenger Group was blown’ up all mornin with people offerin’ prayer requests and the like.”

Fred thought it sounded more like a gossip chain, but he kept that to himself. He gave the old Baptist a shave and thanked him for the $10 tip. After Deacon Barrett was finished, it was time to close up the shop. A quick swipe of the floor with his old broom, more for habit than necessity, and he started turning off the lights.

As he made his way to the door, the sound of something falling in the back of the shop stopped his heart for a moment. “Rat?” he thought to himself. There had been mice and rats in this old building for decades. He walked back to the storage closet and flicked on the light. When he opened the door, he saw a mass of dirty clothes and a singed blanket lying on the floor. It moved subtly.

“Well, I can guess where my set a keys snuck off to now,” Fred said aloud, looking down at Frannie. She was passed out, a pill bottle and fifth of Jack laying on the ground next to her. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”

Week 3: Overnight at WEKT-TV

The telephone was ringing. It was always ringing. “EKT Newsroom. this is Jackie, how can I help you?”

“Is they skoo in Pearl County tomar?”

This was the seventh or eighth time Jaclyn had heard this exact question since her shift started just over an hour ago. Sure, the information was on the screen 24/7 with their “School-Alert” graphics. And sure, their website had a list of all school closing in the region. And their social media accounts had the info as well. But folks loved to call the TV station, she’d learned. And it was her job to man the news tip line.

“No, ma’am. They’ve called it off for snow. It’s an NTI day.” Jaclyn shot her eyes to the bank of clocks on the far wall. It was just after 10pm. She was on until 7 tomorrow morning.

“Alright, thank ye,” the voice on the other end of the line said. There was a click and Jaclyn hung up the phone.

The newsroom was abuzz with activity as producers and reporters prepared for the live broadcast less than an hour away. It wasn’t anywhere near the level Jaclyn had seen when she interned in Boston last summer; there, they had dozens of folks working on each newscast. Here at EKT, a handful of producers were responsible for each show and a few more reporters went out and covered the stories in the community. Most of the work happened during the morning and in the afternoon for the 6 o’clock news. But a few folks were still here, cutting stories for the late news.

A crash of plastic and person came from the far end of the newsroom. Jaclyn looked up to see a mousy girl wearing a pink pants suit and high heels picking herself, and about a dozen old tapes, off of the floor. “You ok, Jess?” Jaclyn called across the room.

Jess made it to her feet, unsteadily, and collected the tapes. She wobbled to a nearby desk with an editing suite. “Still getting used to these heels.” she said exasperated. Jess was another new hire here at EKT. She came from Nashville and had a background in radio. She and Jaclyn lived across the hall from each other in the apartment complex next to the station. This was her first day solo as a reporter, and she wanted to present a good story for her big debut.

Jaclyn was only an hour and a half into her first overnight shift when the late news started. Jim, the long time anchor at EKT, sat alone at his desk in the studio. A man in his late 50s, he had been leading this news team for almost half of his life. Jaclyn liked working with him, so far anyway. He was friendly and knowledgeable and didn’t care to share with the young staff that worked underneath him.

The phone rang. It was Jess. “My story’s not ready! What do I do?” she sobbed into the phone.

Jaclyn took a deep breath. “Finish it and get it in. We will push it to block 5.” She hung up the phone

“Standby camera 1,” the director said as the show hit the air. Jaclyn was sitting in the producers stand, but Jim had done the majority of the work on this broadcast. She was only there in case something went wrong, and to give him time cues. The next thirty minutes seemed to fly by as Jim read stories about the legislative session starting in Frankfort, drug busts in Harlan, car wrecks in Hazard and a seven-year-old girl hosting a lemonade stand to raise money for her sick granny here in Black Grass.

After the news, Jim gave a stern but necessary talk to Jess, who looked like a deer in high beams. Other notes and corrections were discussed and the post show meeting was over. Now, the graveyard shift truly began.

The first folks out the door were the sports guys. In her two weeks working for EKT, Jaclyn had quickly learned that Animal House had nothing on the sports department located at the end of the hall. To say they were a bunch of frat gays was an understatement. But when she found out that the sports director, the head of the department, was a woman in her 40s who could out drink, out cuss and out party all of these guys in their 20s that worked for her, Jaclyn was both shocked and impressed. She was happy to have been placed in the news department after spending just a few days around them, though.

Next to leave were the production team: camera operators, graphic designers, audio engineers and directors who are responsible for getting the show from the newsroom to the television. Jaclyn hadn’t spent much time with these guys but they seemed friendly enough. One of these guys, Teddy, was the Master Control Operator. He would be one of the three EKT folks with her in the building overnight.

Jess walked over to the Jaclyn’s desk after the rest of the newsroom had left. Jim’s speech must have hit her pretty hard, and she was fighting back tears. “I’m gonna quit!” she said under her breath as she plopped down into a chair.

“You probably should,” Jaclyn replied calmly. Jess looked back at her, eyes wide, mouth agape. This must not have been the response she was expecting.

“What are you talking about?”

Jaclyn cleared her throat and leaned toward her coworker. “Jess, I like you. You seem like a nice person. But we had to push your story back 20 minutes tonight because it wasn’t ready. Jim was more than fair with what he said to you. It’s your job to have a story done every night for the late news. And tonight, it wasn’t ready. So, you can either learn from this and get better, or go home and find something else to do. And it sounds like you want to find something else.” She thought back to all of the times she’d seen reporters, men and women who had spent ten’s if not hundreds of thousands of dollars and countless hours getting journalism degrees question their entire existence after being brought to tears during her internship last summer. It had hardened her a little, and she was thankful for the experience.

Jess nodded her head and grabbed a tissue from the corner of the desk. She blotted her eyes. “See you tomorrow evening?” she asked.

“I’ll be in at 9:30,” Jaclyn said with a smile. Jess grabbed her purse and headed out the newsroom door. Most of the lights in the building were now off and almost all the staff had left for the day.

The telephone rang. “EKT Newsroom. This is Jackie, how can I help you?”

The voice of a small child, probably six or seven, came through the receiver. “Have we got school tomorrow?” she asked.

Jaclyn smiled at hearing such a sweet voice. “What school do you go to, sweetie?”

“John’s Creek Elementary.” Her voice had a strong accent that made her sound almost out of time. She sounded old for her age, somehow.

A quick internet search showed Jaclyn what district the young girl’s school was in. “You’re on a two-hour delay right now. But there may be some snow coming in tonight, so check in again in the morning. And isn’t it past your bed time?”

The little girl giggled as if she were caught. “Maw don’t know I’m still up.” Jaclyn could hear the glee in her voice.

“Well, you’ll get to sleep in a little no matter what, OK?” Jaclyn felt warm talking to this little girl. It reminded her of playing with her young cousins back home in Boston.

The little girl hung up and Jaclyn felt a presence in the room with her. She looked up to see Annabeth Cole, the morning Meteorologist standing in the doorway, white as a ghost. “Jackie, we got a problem,” the statuesque blonde said. It was hours until she went on the air, but Annabeth almost always looked camera ready. She strode off quickly toward the set, stopping in the “Lightning Quick Weather Center.” The large screen showed a long band of white and pink moving toward the mountains of East Kentucky.

Jaclyn had followed quickly behind and stared at the screen, puzzled. “What is it I’m looking at here?” she asked.

“This is a freak sleet and ice storm that was supposed to go fifty miles south of here and be mostly rain.” Her eyes darted to another, smaller screen on the side. “.75 inches of ice over the next six hours expected for most of the region. This is a legit weather emergency!”

The new producer looked around the room, subconsciously trying to find someone in charge. “So, what are we supposed to do? Like break into the broadcast”

Annabeth turned to look at Jaclyn, her brow furrowed. “You’re the producer. It’s your call.”

A wave of panic washed over her. It was her first night soloing as producer, and she was not anticipating a major weather event. Breaking into network could cost the station revenue in the form of commercial time and national allocations. “Let me call Jim!” she said, unwilling to make that kind of decision on her own.

The phone was ringing. She heard the familiar trill in her ear four or five times before a calm voice came on the line. “Hello, you’ve reached Jim Morgan. I’m not able to take…” Jaclyn smashed in the 1 button on her phone and heard a loud beep.

“Jim, this is Jackie. There’s a massive ice storm coming through in about an hour or so. Do we cut in to overnight programming with Annabeth and cover it? Call me back.”

Annabeth walked around the console and stood next to Jaclyn. “No answer?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“You’ve been here a little longer than me. What do you think? Break in and cover it?” Jaclyn starred up at the weather girl, who stood a good foot taller.

“It’s your call. Pro’s: we might keep some people off the roads and give them some time to prepare for power outages. Cons: we lose the station some money and may get reprimanded or fired.” She smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

Jaclyn shuddered at the thought of being fired. She would never tell anyone at EKT, but this was the only station that had given her an interview, much less offered her a job. “Let’s do it!”

For the next five hours, Jaclyn manned the booth while Annabeth went over the latest weather information. Even Teddy, the quiet Master Control Operator, was getting in on the action, making suggestions and helping any way he could. When the morning crew came in, it was time to start the broadcast and the team seamlessly slipped into the AM news and covered the weather and the previous day’s news, plus previewed events scheduled for later that afternoon. After it was over, Jaclyn felt both exhilarated and exhausted.

When the last segment of the AM news ended, she felt a vibration in her pocket. She reached in and pulled out her station issued cell. “Good job!” was all the text from Jim said.

After a long day, Jaclyn gathered up her mug and lunch container from her desk and placed them into her bag. Several of the day shift reporters had made their way into the newsroom now and the buzz of the room was starting to give her a headache.

The phone was ringing. No one seemed to be in a hurry to pick it up, so Jaclyn plopped down at her desk and answered. “EKT Newsroom. This is Jackie, how can I help you?”

“Is they skoo in Pearl County today?”

Week 2: The Start of Spring Semester

Driving into work, William Turner made a point of taking stock of his surroundings. Today marked a momentous occasion for Mr. Turner as he was about to to start his last semester as a classroom teacher at Peril County High School. And even though everyone locally called it “Pearl” County High, this was no jewel of a job for Mr. Turner. He had toiled away in his classroom for thirty-two years now. Thirty two years of breaking up fights, of kicking smokers out of the bathrooms, of grading term papers about chicken fighting and coon hunting, of seeing potential wasted and potential leave. Thirty-two years would be finishing up in twenty-four weeks.

The line at the Dairy Cheer was usually longer than this at 7:15 in the morning, so Mr. Turner decided to treat himself. “Large coffee, regular. Fried bologna biscuit with egg and cheese and a chocolate doughnut, please,” he called into the old speaker at the end of the drive-thru. The voice on the other end said something incomprehensible, but Mr. Turner was fairly certain he was told to pull on up.

Black Grass, the county seat of Peril County, ran along the riverbank and then cut through the valley that sits between Cherokee Mountain on the north side and Osborne Mountain to the south. As Mr. Turner drove along the main thoroughfare, the steep cut rock to his right showed the scars of where roads had been scratched directly into the mountainside decades ago. The high school was at the bottom of the hill, in the middle of downtown. Mr. Turner had made this drive from Mason’s Creek five days a week for the majority of his life now. He was fairly certain he could do it blindfolded.

“Good morning, Mrs. Banks,” he said as he signed the log book for teachers. Mr. Turner was usually one of the first teachers to arrive at the building, but no-one ever beat Mrs. Banks, the school’s secretary. The joke was that she was there from the night before. He meandered down the hall to his classroom. Every pencil, pen, printout and textbook on his desk was neatly placed and ordered, as were the books on his shelves and the desks on the floor. Mr. Turner liked things in order.

He spent the next few minutes enjoying his breakfast and reading the morning paper. Students began to trickle in for first period, plopping their bags on the floor and falling into the beige and blue desks with that exhausted thud only teenagers manage to make after sleeping for eleven hours.

“What’s up, Mr. T?” Albie Higgins shouted as he entered the room. He was a lad of significant girth and greasy black hair. His face was spotted with a splotchy beard that failed to connect in several spaces. His Megadeath tee shirt was sleeveless, revealing a white tank top underneath.

Mr. Turner put down his paper and looked up at the young man. “Good morning to you, Mr. Higgins. How are we today?”

A goofy grin filled Albie’s face. “Finer’n frog hair, Mr. T,” he replied.

“Are you ready to get the semester going?” Mr. Turner asked.

The grin never wavered from his face as the teen replied. “Well, I guess it will be good to get this year over,” he said.

Mr. Turner shook his head. “You know we have a lot of work to do between here and the end of the year.”

Albie’s face dropped. “Mr. T, I ain’t much for doin’ a whole lot a work. Let’s just take it easy. What do ya say?”

“You got time to run and get you some breakfast if you want, Albie. The bell doesn’t ring for another ten minutes or so,” Mr. Turner said as he grabbed his lesson planner. Albie nodded and made his way out of the classroom. Turning to the correct page, Mr. Turner glanced over the lesson he had prepared for his first class.

After a few more minutes had passed, most of the seats in his class were filled with young men and women. Many were bleary-eyed and groggy, but a few looked eager to get the day started. Albie had returned with two breakfast pizzas, a handful of grapes and four small cartons of low fat chocolate milk.

The first bell of the day rang at 7:55 am, signaling to all students who weren’t already in class that they should be heading that way. The last few stragglers made their way into Mr. Turner’s room, and he shut the door. “Four or five minutes, and we will go over the bell-ringers on the board,” he said as he made his way to his desk. He called each student’s name with most calling back “Yeah!” Or “Here.” After attendance was taken and submitted, Mr. Turner walked to his dry erase board and grabbed a green marker.

“Alright, let’s knock these out. Quick grammar review. Let’s list the eight principal parts of speech. Who wants to go first? Anyone? Anyone?”

The students looked back at him, blankly. No hands shot up. Mr. Turner took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Guys, I know it’s early and it’s our first day back from break. But let’s get a little energy going, huh?” The sound of a few seats scuffing on the floor could be heard. Someone in the back of the room cleared their throat.

“Guys, this is not a hard question. These are the building blocks of the English language. As an atom is to Chemistry, these are to Language Arts.” Mr. Turner scanned the room, seeking any form of recognition in a student’s eyes. “Misty, give it a shot.”

Misty Dixon, a small young lady wearing a Peril County High sweatshirt and hair pulled back into a tight ponytail held by a large green bow, looked like a deer caught in headlights as she sat at her desk. “Um, is this on the test?”

Mr. Turner shook his head. “What test, Misty? We’re not talking about a test. We’re just getting our feet wet.”

Albie pipped up from the back of the room. “You gotta get’chu some wader's fer that, Mr. T. You can take ‘em giggin’ this spring and yer feet’ll be dry as a bone!”

“No, it’s just an idiom, Albie. But thank you.” Mr. Turner had forgotten how difficult it was to get this group going in the morning. “I’ll give you one to get started. It’s the one that’s forgotten most of the time. Does this ring any bells: Conjunction?”

If anything, the class looks even more confused and uninterested. Dawson, a dark complected student with long dreadlocked hair sitting in the front row, raised his hand. “Are you talking about, like, nouns and stuff?”

“Yes!” Mr. Turner said excited. “That’s two. Let’s get the other six.”

Dakota Dillon, a freckle-faced girl with long red hair sitting in the far row raised her hand. “Should we write these down? Like, for the test?”

Mr. Turner shook his head, feeling a little put out. “There’s no test, Dakota.”

“No tests?” Albie shouted from the rear of the room.

“Not today, Albie, but we will have a couple this semester.”

“Well, will this be on the test?” Misty Dixon asked.

Mr. Turner looked in her direction and forced a smile. “Misty, let’s not even worry about tests right now. Let’s just try to refresh and learn.”

Albie raised his hand. He had finally finished his breakfast pizza, except for the large piece of sausage that somehow managed to hang onto the corner of his mouth. “Why we gotta learn it if it a’int on the test?”

“Pal, sometimes it’s just good to learn and know stuff,” Mr. Turner said with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Colby Jeffers, a rail thin young man wearing a camouflage hunting jacket, thread-worn jeans and muddy boots coughed. “Mr. Turner, I promise I don’t mean to sound disrespectful when I say this. But I been goin’ to schoo since I was five; we all have. And in about four months, we are all done. All I gotta do is enough to make sure I don’t fail this class and I get to leave this place. And that is all I’m gonna do. I ain’t interested in the parts a’ speech or writin’ papers or none a’ that.”

After so many years in the classroom, Mr. Turner was never surprised by the lack of enthusiasm found in his senior students. They were approaching their final semester, so this was typical, if a little brutal. He scanned the room, seeing a number of his students nodding along with this sentiment. “Guys, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’ve seen senior-itis for over thirty years now, I know its real. You want to get out and see what the world has to offer. Well, this year, I’m in the same boat. We all have the same last day this year sine I am going to retire after you graduate. Now, there are some things we have to do between here and there. But, I promise to make it as painless and enjoyable as I can.”

The rest of class was mostly uneventful, with Mr. Turner straining to pull every ounce of effort he could from his class. And the story was the same for every class he taught for the rest of the day. Senior English was not a priority for most of the 12th graders at Peril County High, it seemed. But Mr. Turner did as he had done for thirty-two years, he stood in front of roughly twenty-eight students and taught to the best of his ability, one hour at a time. He discussed prepositions and punctuation, adverbs and exclamation marks. He reminded students of the work they had done and informed them or work still to do. And as the final bell rang at 3:05, Mr. Turner crashed into his desk chair, closed his eyes and let his mind shut off.

Mr. Turner didn’t move when Albie gave a gentle knock on the door. “Hey, Mr. T? You ok?”

Without moving a muscle or opening an eye, Mr. Turner responded, “Just resting my eyes, Albie. What can I do for you?”

The young man walked across the room and sat something down on the desk. “I got ‘chu a’ apple. They had a box of ‘em for after-school. Figured you might like one.”

Mr. Turner leaned forward and smiled at his student. “Thank’s pal. Been a few years since someone brought this old teacher an apple.”

“Well, guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Albie said as he walked back to the door.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Higgins.” Mr. Turner arched across the desk and picked up the apple. It had a giant bite taken out of one side.

“Twenty-three weeks and four days,” he thought to himself.

Week 1: New Years Day

Her eyelids were heavy. They didn’t want to open. Didn’t want to fight against the bright light that filled this space. The room smelled of stale beer, cheap whiskey, old cigarettes and vomit. The pain in her head was blinding and every muscle in her body burned in protest. She yawned and the taste of too much fun made her gag slightly.

“That you, Adeline?” a voice in the distance asked. It was gruff and hard.

She managed to contort her body into an upright, if seated position and found that she was laying on a dirty futon in a room she was positive she’d never seen before. Empty beer cans, an overturned fifth of Old Crow and two or three little orange pill bottles littered the floor.

“Yeah. Who’s ‘at?” she rasped. Her mouth was dry and sticky. The light blasting through the white blinds in the window took direct aim at her eyes, and she held up a hand to block the beams.

“S’Ray. From last night. You remember?” A man wearing lime green basketball shorts and a white tank top stepped in from the other room. He was older, late forties Adeline thought, with a horseshoe of orange hair and a scraggly beard to match. Rail thin with skin hanging loose around the edges, a broad nose and sunken eyes, Ray was not what one would call classically handsome.

Adeline looked down and saw that her shirt was mostly unbuttoned. “You feel me up last night, Ray?”

He gave a wry laugh and took a long drag from his cigarette. “Hell, I probably could have. Doubt you’d remember.” Adeline began buttoning her shirt back. She noticed a large vomit stain on her pants that ran down to her shoes. “But no, I didn’t touch you last night. One, you ain’t exactly my type, if you take my meanin’. Plus, don’t think many folks wanted around you after ya went and yaked all over ya self like ‘at,” he continued.

Adeline went to stand, but her head felt like she was turning end over end, forcing her to choke back another round of puke. She fell back to the futon and held her face in her hands.

“Best you just sit for a few. You take coffee?” Ray asked.

“Not if I can help it,” she replied.

Ray disappeared into the darkness. The sound of glass clanking and a refrigerator door opening and closing could be heard coming from that end of the house. In a moment, he was back caring a glass of thick, red liquid. “Mater juice? It’s good for what ails ya. Canned it myself”

She nodded and reached up for the tall glass of juice. The earthy smell caused her stomach to turn, but she managed to get a few gulps down. The sour-sweet taste wasn’t unpleasant and anything going into her body that that was organic was a plus at this point.

“So, who the hell are you, Ray?” she asked as she took another sip of the juice.

“Jus’ Ray. This my place.” He shoved a few dirty shirts off of a chair and sat across from her.

She sat back into the futon, closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath in. Bringing her leg up, she went to cross it over top the other, but the sight of puke along her pants and shoes, she decided to place it back on the ground. “Question, Ray. What in the absolute HELL am I doing here?”

He chuckled. “Didn’t figure you’d remember much. You’s goin’ as hard as anyone I ever seen last night. Before the ball dropped, we’s takin’ bets to see if you’d even make midnight. You did, by the way. You made sure we all saw you when the clock stuck 12.” He looked around the room and found an empty beer can to discard his cigarette butt.

“Yes, but what am I doing here? Where are Lauren and Taylor?” She was getting annoyed. Ray wasn’t helping as much or as quickly as she would have liked.

He scratched his bald head and hacked out a brown wad of phlegm into a nearby soda bottle. “I guess that’s the girls you showed up here with. One of ‘em knows my buddy Oscar that was shootin’ off fireworks out in the yard. They stuck around ‘bout an hour. Left before midnight if I ‘member right.”

Rage blasted through Adeline like one of Oscar’s Roman Candles. “You mean those bitches left me here?”

“No, it was more you wouldn’t leave, to be honest.”

She drained the last of the tomato juice and sat the glass on the table in front of her. Almost none of last night was coming back to her. She remembered getting in the car with Taylor and Lauren around seven. Taylor had some wine coolers and Lauren had scored something called “Lemon-heads.” She said they would make the drinks kick. “Damn understatement!” She thought, looking back. “What do you mean, I wouldn’t leave?”

Ray reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a box of smokes and a small red lighter. He lit a cigarette and blew a gray cloud toward the ceiling. “You done much partying, Adeline?” he asked.

“Enough,” she replied.

“I ask because most folks that like to party don’t hit it as hard as you did. You shotgunned a pint of Southern Comfort that I had been lookin’ forward to drinking for a week. I don’t know how many beers you drank and then there’s the pills.” He told another huge drag off of his cigarette.

“Pills?”

Ray stood up and walked to the corner of the futon. Just out of Adeline’s reach sat a denim purse. He picked it up and tossed it her way. “Check your wallet,” he said.

“Did you steal from me asshole?” She yelled. He laughed to himself. Adeline tore open her purse and began rifling though it. She found her wallet and cracked it open to find nothing inside. “I had four hundred dollars in here! What the hell?”

Ray walked back over to his seat by the dirty laundry and plopped down. “You made every person holdin’ very happy last night. Didn’t matter what they had, you wanted it and you bought it.”

Suddenly, Adeline spewed thick red vomit all over herself and the table in front of her. It was uncontrollable. Without missing a beat, Ray stood up and grabbed some towels from the pile of laundry and tossed one to the girl while he laid another on the puke covered table. “Oh, Gawd!” Adeline moaned.

“More room out than in, I reckon,” was his only reply.

Ray headed back to the kitchen and returned with a can of Sprite and handed it to her. “Maybe this’ll do the trick.”

After wiping the sick from her chest and off of the table as best she could, Adeline reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “You got a charger, Ray? Phone’s dead.”

“I got one a them Obama phones, but it ain’t like that one. Sorry.”

Adeline put her palms into her eyes and rubbed gently. “You mind if I use your phone, then? I really gotta get outa…get home.”

Ray tossed her an older model flip phone. She opened it and banged a few numbers into it. After a second or two, she began to speak. “Granny? Hey it’s me. Yeah, I’m on a friends’ phone. No, I’m not a Lauren’s. Can you come and get me? I’m...” She paused, realizing she still had no idea where she actually was. Shooting her eyes over to Ray, her face pleaded for some help, but he was oblivious to the situation. “Ray, what’s the address here?”

Ray jumped a little. “Oh, it’s 1136 Hwy 433 Mayton.”

“I’m in Mayton, Granny. 1136 Highway 433. Yes, I know how far that is. I’m sorry. I’ll see you in a little bit.” She tossed the phone back to Ray. He stood and walked to the other end of the house. When he returned, he was carrying a pair of jogging pants and a clean tee shirt. He placed them next to Adeline on a clear section of the futon.

“Why you bein’ so nice to me, Ray?” She asked.

He rubbed his bald head and scratched his chin. “Well, you made some bad decisions last night. And was fixin’ to make a few more with Oscar and his brother. I just thought if that was my sister or daughter, I would want someone to step in and do somethin’. So, I brought you in and sat you down. You didn’t much care for it at the time, but I reckon it was best in the long run.”

Her eyes watered up slightly. She quickly blinked and began looking out the window. The sun was giving way to dark storm clouds. “Well, I should say ‘Thank you’ I guess.”

“Awe, ain’t no need. Just keep ya head on your shoulders next time you go out a’partying.”

“Ray, I’m seventeen years old,” she confessed.

Ray nodded his head, knowingly. “Yeah, ‘at’s about what I figured.”

Adeline made her way to the bathroom and stripped off the vomit soaked clothes and put on the new ones Ray had brought her. She splashed her face in the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. “Never again,” she promised herself.

Back in the living room, Ray was picking up beer cans and placing them into a garbage bag. After half an hour of uncomfortable silence and light cleaning, it was time to go. The honking of a horn let Adeline know her grandmother had arrived.

“Ride’s here,” she said.

“You take care of yourself, now. Ya’hear?” He tossed an empty bottle of Rebel Yell into the bag.

Adeline stood there, still and silent for what felt like an eternity. Then, suddenly, she approached Ray and wrapped her arms around his neck. She embraced him with all that she had. “Hey Ray, thanks,” she said. She let him go and made her way to the door. As she twisted the handle, she looked back at the man cleaning up the mess she helped to make. She smiled sorrowfully and gave him a wave.

Ray held up his hand and grinned back at the young girl.

“Happy New Year, Adeline.”