by Penny Reid
“Don’t worry. We can count on them.”
“Cletus Byron Winston! Are you crazy? You asked your twelve-year-old brothers to get a keg?”
“If by ‘crazy’ you mean genius, then yes I am. Don’t worry, Duane’s a good driver—for his age—and Beau could talk a policeman into committing armed robbery. They’ll get it done. Lethal team, those twins.”
I shook my head, not knowing what to say.
“I can sense your amazement. You don’t need to waste breath on compliments. Just get Billy there and we’ll call it even.”
“Cletus—”
“Stop using my name. Who else are you talking to? It’s just us.”
I grunted. “What makes you think I can get your brother there?”
He chuckled. “Oh. I’m sure you’ll figure something out. But it’s important he comes. I’ve already told everyone he’ll be taking the tickets and manning the spin the bottle station.”
“You what?!”
“Shhh!” Cletus clamped a hand over my mouth. “What is wrong with you? Don’t you know it’s almost ten and folks are trying to sleep.”
I made a sound in the back of my throat until he removed his hand, and then I leaned close and whispered, “If you want someone to talk Billy into coming, why aren’t you asking his girlfriend? And what do you think she’ll think of him manning the spin the bottle station? Hm?”
“She won’t care. Billy has no girlfriend.”
“Yes, he does.” He had a gorgeous girlfriend, who everyone liked because she was funny and cool and friendly and the prettiest girl at Green Valley.
“No, he doesn’t. They broke up.”
I flinched, startled by this news. “They . . .”
“Broke up. They’re over. He’s completely unencumbered. The strings have been severed. Unattached. A free agent, as the kids say these days.”
My heart began racing again and my brain soon followed.
He broke up with Samantha? Or maybe she broke up with him. His mood today, how he’d been so distracted, she was probably the reason. Goodness, I felt badly for him. Maybe he was nursing a broken heart. Maybe he—
“Okay, so we’re good? You’ll get Billy there?” Cletus cut into my thoughts.
“No.” I shook my head to clear it. “I can’t. Did you see your brother today?”
“Yes, I saw him. Just before he ran out to go spend the entire day with you.”
Something about the way Cletus said this made the front of my chest flare with heat, but I ignored it. “Then you must’ve seen how distracted he was. He’s probably upset about the breakup, and you think he’ll want to man a kissing station? No. Plus, we’re talking about Billy Winston here. He’s the most responsible teenager in this town and he’ll never approve of using the Weller’s house for—”
“Let me worry about that. He’ll overcome his moral objections. And you’re wrong if you think my brother is upset about breaking up with Sam. He was the one to break up with her, if you need to know the truth, so that’s not a consideration.”
“Really?” I asked before I could stop myself, unable to comprehend how anyone could break up with Samantha Cooper. Everyone knew she did the breaking up, not the other way around. For example, she’d broken up with Ben McClure last year. Shock waves had been felt around town for weeks after. Most folks had assumed they’d get married after high school.
“So, again, we’re good,” Cletus whispered. “You got your side handled?”
“No. I don’t. You cannot do this. Never mind that I’ll never be able to talk Billy into coming, but this is a bad idea.”
“It’s the only idea we’ve got, and we need that money. While you’ve been gone from school, things have happened. Carla is sure someone knows it was her who told on Prince, or it’s just a matter of time before someone finds out and turns her over to the Wraiths.”
Snorting my frustration, I tried to decipher something of Cletus’s features. I couldn’t. “Uh, yeah. She’s right. It’s only a matter of time.”
I sensed him shift, though his arm looped around mine didn’t move. “What makes you so sure?”
I didn’t really want to talk about this, but he needed to know. He’d obviously decided to align himself with Carla, to try to help her, and the more he knew about what he’d signed up for, the better.
“I saw my father on Tuesday.”
Cletus made a sound halfway between surprise and alarm.
I rushed to add, “He offered me money for finding out who turned in Prince King. A lot of money.”
“How much money?”
I sighed, and then said, “Five thousand dollars.”
I wasn’t going to turn in Carla. I’d considered it for a half second, but then the thought of handing anyone over to my father and his men made me nauseous. Just the thought made me feel sick. I’d even had nightmares about it Wednesday night.
It was okay, though. I was glad to know I’d never be that person, no matter how desperate. I’d never hand anyone over to my father in return for money or safety. I wouldn’t be able to live with it. I’d hate myself or die of guilt and shame.
Cletus was quiet for several seconds, obviously considering this information. The wind picked up, whistling behind me through the dead grasses and flowers of the field. I shivered. It was cold, much colder than it had been this past week. Billy had said something about tonight setting a record for cold temperatures and now I believed him.
Looks like I’ll be sleeping with the goats.
“Tell him I did it,” Cletus said suddenly.
I blinked at the darkness, confused. “What?”
“Tell your daddy I did it. That’ll be five thousand dollars and you and Carla can—”
I ripped my arm from his grip, stepping back blindly, terror seizing my brain and all my senses. “What? No! Hell no, I’m not doing that. You know what they’ll do to you?”
“Nothing that hasn’t been done before.”
I choked. And then I laughed on a bout of fear and disbelief, my eyes and nose stinging. He has no idea.
“I am not telling my father that. You can get it out of your head.”
His hand found mine and he gripped it. “Scarlet, listen to me.” He sounded so calm, so reasonable, and so very ignorant. “Take a moment and think about this. That money could send you and Carla far away from here. You could—”
“You ever been cut open, Cletus?”
Silence.
And then, “What?”
“Cut open? Your daddy ever pulled a knife on you?”
More silence, except his breathing. I could hear him breathe. And when he spoke, his voice was strangled, “Are you—are you—”
“Do you know why they call him Razor?” I pulled my hand from his, stuffing it in my jacket pocket. “Do you want to know? Or maybe you want me to show you?”
I couldn’t see him, but I knew he could—somehow—see me. He was staring at my face. He saw I was serious. I heard him swallow, but he said nothing.
“So, no, Cletus. I’m not telling Razor Dennings that you ratted out Prince King. And don’t ask me again.”
Chapter Fifteen
*Billy*
“Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo.”
H.G. Wells, The Wife of Sir Isaac Harman
Your morning haiku:
Just let me know when
You want to tackle that beard.
Or, lumberjack. Cool.
-Forest Fairy
PS Bring your guitar today.
I didn’t bring my guitar.
The more I thought about it, the more I decided teaching her the guitar without first teaching her how to read music was a bad idea. I’d teach her the guitar, but not yet. But soon. But not yet.
I dressed. I grabbed breakfast for two and was at the edge of the forest way before 8:30 AM. Scarlet was already singing Bryan Adams’s “(Everything I Do) I Do It For You,” and although finding my way to the camp was easy this morning, I took my time. I walked slow. I
stepped quietly. And at one point, my eyes open but unseeing, I just plain stopped. Shutting off all my senses save one, I listened.
Scarlet had a beautiful voice, but it was more than merely beautiful. She sang as though she lived the words, whatever they were, and she believed them. As my momma’s friend Ellie Leffersbee said whenever she saw or heard or experienced something she found momentous, I was stirred like a gin and tonic and shaken like a martini.
Scarlet finished the song, holding the last note much longer than Bryan Adams ever had, and then it was quiet.
Why does no one know about her voice? Does the chorus teacher, Mrs. McClure know? She has to.
It was a damn shame, a crime to hide something so meaningful and beautiful from the world, almost as much of a shame as how Scarlet hid her gorgeous, funny, strong self. They’re the same, I realized. Scarlet and her voice were the same.
Momentous, incredible, and unheard.
It took a few moments longer for me to find my vision and feet. When I did, I spotted her almost immediately through the trees. Her headphones were on, a small smile on her pretty face, and she was hanging up wet clothes on the line.
Now she’s doing laundry. I ignored the small twinge of guilt and inhaled a big breath of frosty air.
Last night, I’d opened the back door at ten ’til ten and heard whispering voices. Cletus and Scarlet materialized in the dark, standing just off the back porch. They looked like they were arguing—or she did. He looked upset but not angry.
When Scarlet saw me, she took a step back. From the look on her face I could see she was planning to leave. I had a choice: let her go spend the coldest night of the year alone, in the woods, freezing, or convince her to stay. Convincing her to stay required acting fast, and so I did.
Even after she was inside and up the stairs, I wasn’t certain she wouldn’t run off first chance she got. Therefore, I took her clothes. It was under the guise of washing them—which I did—but mostly I took them so she couldn’t leave. And now she was doing laundry, probably washing everything in near freezing water.
I wished she hadn’t required convincing. I wished she’d stop making everything so hard. I wished she’d just let me take care of her. Tricking her into doing the right thing, the smart thing, made me feel like an asshole.
However . . .
Allowing myself a moment to examine her from where I stood, she looked great. Restored. Her cheeks were glowing and not because it was cold outside. Seeing her now, listening to her now, singing another song with her headphones on, her voice loud and strong, her skin and eyes bright and healthy, I couldn’t bring myself to regret any of it.
And so, I was reminded of something my Grandmother Oliver used to say to Jethro and me growing up, God gave us free will so that we’ll stumble and learn how to pick ourselves back up. But He also gave us folks who love us, to clear away the obstacles before we trip and fall.
Second-guessing myself for doing the right thing made no sense, so I wouldn’t. Banishing the guilt for good, I climbed the small hill to her campsite, making lots of noise since she had on the headphones. Scarlet did a double take once I reached the top of the incline but kept on singing, sending me a confused-looking smile that seemed to say, What’re you doing here so early?
Sitting on the blanket, I spread out the food I’d brought, poured her a cup of hot chocolate, and added the four marshmallows to hers and none to mine. Then I set the mug next to her plate. She wandered over as soon as she was finished hanging up clothes, wiping her hands on her jeans and pushing the headphones to her neck.
“You’re up early.”
“Am I?” I took my time buttering a biscuit. “I don’t have a watch anymore, so I don’t know what time it is.”
Scarlet did her version of a chuckle—which was more like a cackle—and sat cross-legged across from me on the blanket. “If you wanted a watch, then you shouldn’t have given yours away. You’re never getting it back, you know,” she said, leaning forward to steal the butter.
“What if you find your watch? Will I get it back then?”
She took a bite of her biscuit, making a tutting sound when she discovered it was warm enough to still melt the butter. I dropped my attention to the sausage on my plate before I had to witness another of her ecstasy faces.
“Warm biscuits and butter!” she said around a mouthful and a groan. “Is it Christmas already?”
I laughed, ignoring the spikes at the base of my spine and tearing off a bite of my biscuit. Careful to keep my eyes lowered, I decided it was best to change the subject. Clearly, food was a big thing with her and if I didn’t want to be fighting inconvenient thoughts all day, talking about warm biscuits and butter was off-limits.
“Where do you think you left the watch?” I asked, needing to clear my throat. “At school maybe?”
In my peripheral vision I saw her shake her head. “No. No, I think I must’ve left it at the McClures’ on Thursday. I was helping with Thanksgiving dishes and I took it off. I bet it’s at Ben’s house.”
I nodded, glancing at her briefly, and speared the rest of my sausage with a plastic fork, the act of stabbing its fleshy exterior immensely satisfying.
“What? What’s wrong?” Scarlet used her fingertips to nudge my legs. “Why do you look like that all of a sudden?”
“Like what?”
“Like you found a bug in your food.”
I pointed to the cup by her plate. “I brought you hot chocolate.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. So, why’re you making that face?”
The side of my mouth hitched. She wasn’t going to let this drop.
Giving her my eyes, I planned to make another attempt to distract, but instead ended up saying, “Where do you tell Ben you go?”
Scarlet’s eyes rounded and she gulped her food, asking, “Pardon?”
“Where did he pick you up? When you went to Thanksgiving over at . . . over there. Where did he drop you off?”
“Uh, at the Corner Shoppe.” She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, her blue gaze wide and watchful.
A bitter kind of certainty made the delicious food taste bland. I pushed my plate away. “And he doesn’t ask where you’re going?”
Shaking her head, she took another bite of her biscuit.
“Does he think you live there? At the Corner Shoppe?”
She wrinkled her nose, laughing lightly. “’Course not.”
I nodded. ‘Course not. Of course Big Ben McClure didn’t wonder why Scarlet St. Claire wanted to be picked up and dropped off miles from where the rest of her family lived. Selfish jackass.
I would’ve called him a sonofabitch, but his mother was a nice lady.
“Did he send you home with any food? After Thanksgiving?” This time the bitterness bled into my voice and I realized it too late.
Scarlet’s eyes narrowed and she turned her face slightly away, like she was inspecting me from a new angle. I was coming to understand her various looks, and this was the one she used when I said or did something she found puzzling. Or troubling.
“What are you getting at, Billy?”
I knew it. I would’ve bet my letterman jacket he sent her home with nothing.
“Just that I’m not surprised you left empty-handed.”
Her lips parted and she made a small choking sound. “You—you don’t like Ben.”
I shrugged, knowing I looked bored. Ben bored me. He was boring. He was dry white toast and lima beans with no butter. Therefore, other than being irritated on her behalf, this conversation also bored me.
Scarlet’s gaze moved over my whole person, like I was something strange. “How can you not like Ben? He’s like the nicest, most friendly, most—”
“It’s easy to be nice to folks when you’re raised by nice people, and everyone treats you like you’re God’s gift to Green Valley. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Oh? Is that all?” She made another choking sound followed by another sputtering laugh.
“Yea
h. That’s all.”
“Well,” she said, frowning suddenly and sitting up straight. “I think you’re being stupid.”
“Stupid?” I drawled. “I’m being stupid?”
“Yeah. You don’t like Ben because he has a nice family? That’s stupid.”
“I didn’t say I don’t like Ben.”
“You don’t have to say it, Billy—” she reached for her hot chocolate, glaring at me over the rim of the cup “—I am a mind reader.”
I felt my lips pull to the side and worked quickly to clear my expression. “You read my mind?”
“Yep. And you don’t like Ben McClure.”
“That’s what you read from my mind.”
“Yeah. That and other things.”
Now this conversation? Not boring.
I allowed myself a small grin. “You read anything about you?”
Pointedly not looking at me, she pushed around the crumbs on her plate with the pad of her index finger. “Oh yes. Tons of things about me.”
“Such as?” I wasn’t holding my breath, but I couldn’t wait to hear her response.
She huffed. She glanced at the sky. She huffed again.
I grinned wider as I watched her. Scarlet was especially cute today. She’d taken a shower last night and her hair was braided in one long rope hanging over her shoulder. But strands and curls had pulled free and the sun was filtering through the trees behind her, giving her lovely face a halo.
“Well?” I prompted, reaching forward for the thermos.
My movement made her jump and brought her attention back to me. She blinked, adorably out of sorts, her full lips parted. She was so incredibly beautiful when she was flustered. I liked her this way, rattled, struggling for words, blushing.
“What have you read in my mind about you?” I asked again, pairing this question with an uncontainable smile and pouring her more hot chocolate.
“You wish you knew my favorite color.” Scarlet glared at me. She was gorgeous when she glared, and I liked her this way too.
I chuckled. “Oh? You heard that in my brain?”
“No. I read it. I can’t hear minds, that’s just silly. I read them.”