by Reid, Penny
Please be nice to me, Billy. Just be nice.
I sensed him shift a split-second before asking, “Can I help you bring that in?” His delicious, smooth, deep voice was calm—so calm—it was near hypnotizing. But his small movement drew my attention. Billy had stepped forward, his hands outstretched, like he was going to take the dip and bread bowl.
Oh no! No no no no no.
Yes, I’d wanted him to be nice, but I couldn’t let him take the dip. The action would bring him too close. I’d never been able to handle a close Billy Winston. I’d made too many mistakes when I’d allowed it. His closeness was the equivalent of chloroform to my good judgement.
So I clutched the bread and Tupperware to my chest, turned abruptly, and walked around the opposite side of the car towards the house.
“No, thank you. I got it. But thank you.” I forced a smile as I said this, hoping some of my cheerfulness would sound sincere, and focused my attention on the front porch stairs.
First, I would walk to the stairs. Then, I would climb the stairs. Then I’d walk from the porch to the front door, in the front door, smile, say hello, shake hands, give hugs, engage in chit chat and so forth.
I can do this. I made it to the stairs and began climbing. Look, I’m already doing it!
Breaking down tasks to their smallest and most immediate parts helped me navigate what frequently felt like insurmountable obstacles. My adoptive momma had taught me this.
“Hey pretty lady,” Cletus moved forward from where he was still hovering just outside the front door and gave me a kiss on my cheek, taking the food from my grip with practiced smoothness. Knowing Cletus, I suspected he’d perfected the act of absolving folks from their edible burdens through frequent practice.
“Heya, Cletus. Merry Christmas.” I let him take the food as he stepped away and did my best to meet his eyes directly, trying not to think about the fact that Billy was still behind me somewhere, maybe close behind.
A shiver at the thought had me standing straighter, making it near impossible to catch my breath. Never before had I been winded from climbing four stairs.
“I will prepare you, since I like you. There is mistletoe hidden in various places around the house. Sienna has already kissed all us boys more than once.” Cletus dipped his chin down as he said this, holding my gaze as though imparting a precious secret. “So if you want Sienna to kiss you, just stand in the entryway to the kitchen, she’ll happily oblige.”
Rolling my lips between my teeth, I nodded. “Thank you, honey. That’s helpful to know.”
“I also have mints in my pocket, should the need arise.” He wagged his eyebrows, and then turned, motioning with his free arm that I should proceed him into the house. “Go on, get inside. The twins keep asking after your whereabouts. Duane thinks I’ve been lying about you being in attendance.”
The sound of Billy climbing the stairs behind me propelled me forward and into the Oliver house. Most folks around town called it the Winston house now. But to me, it would always be the Oliver house.
I hadn’t been inside the old place since . . . I won’t think about that.
Thankfully, I didn’t get a chance to dwell on memories. As soon as I stepped within, someone big and tall with a beard pulled me into a hug.
In other words, it could have been any of the Winston brothers.
“Claire!” Jethro’s voice exclaimed, sounding happy to my ears as his arms squeezed me tight. “I can’t believe Cletus was telling the truth. Damn, it’s so good to see you.” In a quick, fluid motion, he held me away, his big hands gripping my shoulders. “Let me look at you.”
I couldn’t stop my huge smile the instant our eyes met, my hammering heart relaxing, slowing to a gentle hum.
“Jet,” I said, gripping his upper arms for balance, but also because Jethro was safety and kindness, patience and understanding. He was precious to me because he was an extension of Ben, we each filled that role for the other. Looking at him now, emotion clogged my throat. “It’s so good to see you.”
His rakish grin widened as his big hazel eyes moved over my face. “How do you get prettier and prettier every year? Must be all that rockstar living, huh? Being famous agrees with you.”
Laughing, I shook my head at him. “I’m not famous,” I said automatically, rolling my eyes. “Now your brilliant wife, she’s famous.”
“She is famous.” He nodded, his eyes shone with pride. “Did you see Sienna was named the most influential person in Hollywood this year? Only third time a woman made the top of the list. Ain’t that something?” Using his leverage on me, he pulled me under his arm and walked us further into the house. With Jethro at my side, some of my nerves dissipated. “She deserves it, of course, every bit of it. Hey,” he called to the big family room, which I just now realized was full of people, “look who I found.”
“Claire!”
“Cletus was telling the truth?”
“Come on in!”
“What do you want to drink?”
“You came!”
I wasn’t given a chance to respond to any one person or question before the twins rushed over and grabbed me from Jethro, sandwiching me between them and giving me several cheek-kisses on either side.
“Beau! Duane!” Ashley hollered from somewhere. “Y’all are acting like big puppies. Give the woman some room to breathe!”
“I missed you.” Beau rested his chin on my crown, his beard mussing my hair.
Duane, on my other side, had tucked his head behind mine; when he spoke I felt his chest rumble. “How’s the Mustang driving? Giving you any problems?”
“It’s just fine.” I squeaked, seeing as how I was being constricted between two man-walls. But I also smiled, seeing as how I was being constricted between two brother-walls.
“Do you want another car? We can get you another car.” Duane drew away, glaring at me. “Just say the word.”
“I don’t need another—”
“Shelly just picked up a 1952 XK120 from Asheville, near mint condition. It’s sitting at the shop.” Beau lifted his head and said this to Duane, not to me. “All it needs is a tune up.”
Faintly, I became aware of A Bluegrass Christmas by Andrew Collins playing softly over a nearby speaker.
Duane nodded thoughtfully, talking over my head. “What’re you doing tomorrow? Six? I’ll bring pancakes.”
“Deal.” Beau nodded, like it was all settled.
“Y’all,” I made my voice sound firm. I didn’t naturally have an especially firm voice, so this was a skill I’d been forced to learn. “I do not need another car.”
“We know you don’t need another car, Claire. We just really want to give you one.” Beau squeezed my shoulders.
“Humor us.” Duane stepped a half foot away, one arm still around my back, his words sounding like a brotherly order.
I looked to Duane, and was about to point out that normal people do not give folks cars as gifts—sisters or otherwise—when the sight of Billy walking past distracted me, sent a jolt of alarm and confused longing down my spine. He didn’t look my way which meant my eyes were free to track him across the room where he sat next to Duane’s wife—and my good friend—Jessica James Winston.
Inclining his head towards her, he asked or said something that made her smile. She touched her stomach with the flat of her hand, nodding. Then she said something and they both laughed. The light, happy sounds reaching my ears and making tears prick behind my eyes.
I loved Billy’s laugh. Such a great laugh, deep and real, rumbly and thrilling. He so rarely bestowed it. The sound carried me away, to a different time, to a different version of myself. Objectively, my life was better now, and I did not miss the old days. But I did miss singular moments, including telling jokes just to hear that man’s laughter.
Make him laugh again, I willed, hoping Jessica would somehow pick up on the pleading brainwaves I was sending.
Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, I would never know, because Billy’s
gaze lifted at that moment and collided with mine. His grin dissolved, his chin notched up, and he looked at me. Just simply looked.
My heart answered by beating wildly between my ears, drowning out the sounds of the room around us. Whatever his thoughts were—good or bad—he gave nothing away, which was fine. Billy owed me nothing.
Even so, gravel and sand in my throat, ringing in my ears, no matter how much I told myself to stop staring, I could not tear my eyes away.
But then Cletus appeared out of nowhere, stepping in front of me and blocking both Billy and Jess. “What kind of pancakes you making Duane?”
I sucked in air, blinking my surroundings back into view, feeling like I’d just breached the surface of water after holding my breath for a long time.
Cletus—likely pretending not to notice my discombobulated state—peered between his twin brothers, his hands on his hips superman style. “Blueberry? Cause I got to tell you, Duane, there out of season here. But, don’t panic,” he lifted his hands, palms out, as though he truly believed this news might be too much for Duane. “I flash-froze some last summer and those’re in the freezer—”
“No one is panicking, Cletus.”
“—next to my sausage.”
“Oh good Lord,” Duane mumbled under his breath while Beau looked to me and grinned.
I did my best to mirror his happy expression, but I was still feeling raw from my eye-contact collision with Billy. That, just then, just now, was why allowing myself to be anywhere near Billy Winston was a big, fat mistake. If he was in the room, any room, and within my line of sight, I couldn’t see anyone else. He’d permanently rewired my anatomy.
Ugh. You’re a grown-ass woman, Claire. Find that grip, get that grip. Silently reprimanding myself, I redoubled my efforts to pay attention to what Cletus, Beau, and Duane were discussing, checking back into the conversation just as Cletus warned sternly,
“Don’t fondle the sausage hunting for the berries.” He poked at Duane with a stiff index finger. “I don’t want your hands all over my meat, getting it hot before the time is right.”
“Here, honey,” Ashley appeared at Cletus’s right side, sending him a reluctantly amused side-eye and reaching for my arm to extract me from the huddle. “Come with me. Shelly and I need your help.”
“Shelly needs help?” Beau asked, suddenly sounding like he was on high alert. “What does she need help with?”
“None of your business,” Ashley replied tartly, and then winked at me. “Come on, follow me.”
Dutifully, I did, not stopping to greet my good friend, Jessica, or give Drew—Ashley’s husband—a hug of hello.
Keeping my head down, I followed Ashley right out of the room. I gathered a deep breath of relief as soon as we entered the hallway. I exhaled the breath once we were inside the library and Ashley shut the door, cutting off our connection to the other room and the sounds of conversation, A Bluegrass Christmas, and holiday cheer.
It was going to be a long night.
* * *
“I have a philosophical question.”
“Oh? Really?” Sienna stroked her chin in a very Cletus-like mannerism, squinting at him and his statement.
“Yes. Really,” he said, giving her a flat look. “It’s about the nature of genius, artists, and art, and the creative mind. I’ve already asked Jenn, so I know her brilliant thoughts on the subject, but maybe— Sienna, Shelly, and Claire—y’all can give us your perspectives.”
We’d finished dinner two hours ago, and dessert an hour after that. At present, Shelly, Sienna, and I were sitting together on the back-porch swing while Cletus and Jenn sat on a wicker love seat across from us. A few other rocking chairs were scattered about, none of which were occupied. Most everyone else was still inside, where it was warmer and well lit.
However, in the center of our small gathering was a cleverly constructed, portable and porch-friendly fire pit that had been designed and welded by Shelly as a Christmas gift for Jethro and Sienna. It came with a fan which dispersed the smoke, mounted to the porch ceiling and out of the way.
“You’re an artist too, Cletus,” Jenn reminded him sweetly, drawing his attention to her. They stared at each other for a moment, like two people drunk on love, and his eyes seemed to soften and heat at once.
I glanced between the two and my heart warmed at the sight. I was happy for Cletus and Jenn, just like I was happy for Jethro and Sienna, Ashley and Drew, Beau and Shelly, and Duane and Jess. I’d been able to get out of my own head (and heart) enough over the course of the evening to enjoy watching these good people and loving couples be that—good and loving.
“Well now, I appreciate that statement,” he said, capturing his wife’s hand and bringing to his lips. His tone had turned just as soft as his gaze. “And while I might be something special in your eyes, what I’m talking about is creative genius. Folks who have achieved success in their given field and are operating in the top one percent of creative professionals, like you.” At this point he pressed his lips to her knuckles and turned back to us, not releasing Jenn’s hand but instead cradling it on his lap, absentmindedly playing with her fingers. “What we have here tonight, including Jenn, are four bona fide creative geniuses.”
I gave my friend a small smile as his gaze moved over me, but I also almost rolled my eyes, almost. I wasn’t comfortable with the word genius being applied to me in any capacity except as sarcasm.
As an example: I was a real genius about forgetting my keys and locking myself out of my house. I was extremely gifted in never knowing I had food in my teeth before smiling. I was a bona fide Einstein about messing things up and making things worse. See? Look how much of a genius I was.
I didn’t get a chance to object because Sienna said, “Indeed you do, Cletus. Indeed you do. Geniuses.” She draped her arms around Shelly and I, and asked, “What questions do you have for we three sirens of cosmic creative prowess?”
Now I did roll my eyes and was about to object to being lumped in the same category as Sienna and Shelly, two actual creative masters, but Beau chose that moment to open the back door. Directly behind Beau was Duane.
And directly behind Duane was Billy.
The words died on my tongue. Before my gaze could tangle with his, I dropped my eyes to the wooden floor boards. The restlessness that always plagued me whenever he was nearby drove my concentration off a cliff. What were we talking about?
It was—I was—infuriating.
I was so darn frustrated with myself, especially after the last several hours. Here I was, still acting like a teenager with a crush. Meanwhile, if Billy’s behavior this evening was anything to go by, he’d obviously let the past go and had moved on. Like an adult.
As an example, earlier, just as we were taking our seats for dinner, I’d found myself standing near mistletoe. This fact was pointed out gleefully by Jethro. Both Billy and Sienna were an equivalent distance away. I’d held my breath, wanting to sink into the floor boards because I feared all possible scenarios, which—in retrospect—I now realized made me a bit of a loony bird.
What was it I expected Billy Winston to do? March over and kiss me?
No, girl, no. Obviously no. Billy Winston did not kiss me.
Not a split second after Jethro had made his gleeful discovery, Sienna darted forward, grabbed my face, and gave me a hilarious, Hollywood style kiss. As an aside, I loved that woman. Also, she was a seriously good kisser.
But I digress.
Afterward Sienna’s shenanigans and everyone’s subsequent laughter, Billy claimed a spot at the end of the table farthest from me, asked Cletus to say the blessing, and we all took our seats. Then, he requested the mashed potatoes from Jethro and spoke with Drew and Cletus about Park and city business for most of dinner. I knew their topics of conversation because I was involuntarily struggling to eavesdrop for most of dinner
i.e. I was a creeper.
Another example, I’d almost collided with Billy while exiting the bathroom after desser
t. Drew was also there, the two of them standing together in the hall, having a quiet conversation.
Billy had said, “Excuse me,” stepped to the side, and continued his discussion with the Federal Game Warden. Meanwhile, I’d walked away shaken and sweating.
So, although the evening had been an enjoyable one overall, it hadn’t been free of fraught moments, all of which had been self-imposed and imaginary courtesy of yours truly. Billy’s good manners and chivalry, which I’d always been exempt from prior to now, proved what I already knew. I was the only one still running around with dry kindling in my chest, ready to burst into flames with a look, or a word, or—God forbid—a touch.
Reality was, it had been years since Billy and I had spoken in any meaningful way. Years, Claire. YEARS! Since then, I’d been mostly absent from Green Valley, and Billy had been elected to state congress. Plus, he was now engaged.
Also, yes. Before you ask, I was fully aware that sometimes I called myself Claire, and at other times I referred to myself as Scarlet. Claire was the name I’d chosen after leaving Green Valley as a fifteen-year-old. She was the new me, the smart one, the steady one, the responsible, calm, sweet, level-headed me.
And Scarlet, the name my parents had given their only daughter, wasn’t.
But back to Billy and his completely appropriate indifference. Clearly, the man was a busy, important person with weighty things on his mind and someone new and wonderful in his heart.
Good.
Good for him.
I hope . . . I swallowed, my tongue tasting unaccountably bitter and thick even though the last thing I’d eaten was a delicious slice of sweet potato pie, and resolutely finished my thought, I hope Billy Winston nothing but love and happiness.
Suddenly I had a headache.
Cletus waited until his brothers had walked past the fire pit to ask his question, “With all the current events and such—and not so current events, like what’s come out about Pablo Picasso—do you think that, in order for a creative genius to reach her or his full potential, he or she must be able to indulge their impulses, even their worst ones?”