by Reid, Penny
“If it matters to you, I think she’s starting to like you too.”
“It matters to me, if it matters to you.”
“Ha.” We were still talking at a near whisper, likely because our booth wasn’t the most private in the diner, so I asked, “Why’d you sit up here? I thought you would be in the back of the diner since you were talking to Karen.”
“That booth was already taken, which—in and of itself—made the meeting with Karen worth it.”
“What do you mean?” I began to turn and crane my neck to see who sat in the booth near the back.
Cletus covered my hand with his, stopping me. “No. Don’t look. I already know who’s there.”
I leaned toward him. “Who?”
His gaze grew intent. “Roger Gangersworth, Posey Lamont, Deb Brightwell, Josephina Ortiz, Hamell Jefferson, and Elena Wilkinson’s sister, Tricia Wilkinson.”
With each name rattled off, I felt my eyes grow wider. “Wait! Wait a minute,” I whispered urgently, ducking as I slid out of my side of the booth and into his. “Except for Elena’s sister, those are all my state fair competitors!”
“Not exactly.” Cletus pulled out his phone, navigated for a bit, and showed me his screen. “All second or third place winners to your blue ribbons for the last five years.”
“Then why did you say not exactly?” I scanned the list he’d compiled on his phone. Sure enough, all the folks presently in the back booth were on his list, plus a few other names not currently in the diner.
“Does Tricia look at all familiar to you? We saw her at the Miller Farm auction. She stood behind Elena, looking like she was chewing orange juice and toothpaste flavored gum. I mean, aside from being Elena’s sister, does she look familiar?”
“No. Why?” I handed him back his phone.
“I visited the library last night after I left you and your momma.”
Having him so close—literally, right above me on the second floor—had been a special kind of torture. But last night after dinner, he’d left for a bit. I didn’t get a chance to ask him where he went before I passed out, asleep.
“I’d asked Julianne McIntyre to pull the state fair baking contest winners for the last twenty years. None of the winners’ information is available online prior to five years ago.” He leaned to the side, pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. “Turns out, Tricia Wilkinson won for three years in a row, and eight total of the last twenty, until she lost to you six years ago—well, almost seven, with the contest coming up this March.”
“Seven years ago . . .” I scanned the paper he handed me, new lists of names sorted by date, placement received, and Tricia’s name had been highlighted in yellow next to each year she’d entered and won. Leaning back, I tried to remember my first foray into competitive baking. I’d been a teenager and the whole business had been a terrifying blur.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember her.”
“Interesting, though, don’t you think? A notable coincidence, that Elena started working at the high school almost seven years ago, began the affair with your father almost as soon as she started? You being the one to dethrone Tricia from her on again, off again winning record?”
My face screwed up at that. “Maybe. I mean, what are you suggesting? That Tricia and Elena planned a long game strategy master plan to get back at me for winning a state fair baking contest by getting a job at the high school, sleeping with my father, breaking up my parents’ marriage, then what? Using my momma’s renovation money to start a farm stay business?”
“No.” Cletus gave me a quick flash of white teeth, his gaze moving over my face like he enjoyed the view. “No. I’m just saying it’s a notable coincidence, a connection we didn’t know about. We should take it under advisement to inform our conclusions moving forward, not string together baseless conspiracy theories.”
“Okay.” I turned back to the table and reached for my salad, deciding to stay put next to Cletus while I ate rather than move back to the other side. “Makes sense. It is a strange coincidence.”
“And now Tricia is back there, huddled together with all those losing bakers.”
“I would hardly call second and third place losing.”
“Says the woman who always takes—and deserves—first place.” Cletus finished his hamburger in four more bites, washing it down with a cup of black coffee.
Meanwhile, I enjoyed—and was tormented by—our closeness, how his elbow brushed mine every so often, the warmth created by our legs pressed against each other. Once more, my mind arrested itself with objectifying imagery of the big, sexy man, lying in bed, covered at the waist in just a sheet, hand behind his head, smile and eyes on me as I reached under the sheet and—
“Why do you think they’re all here?”
“Pardon?” I swallowed all the saliva in my mouth and forced myself to concentrate on the conversation. But, goodness, it was difficult with him so close. I just want to kiss his face off.
He gave me that knowing smile again, the tenor of his voice deeper as he repeated himself, “Why do you think they’re all here?”
“I’m not sure. Entries were due today. Maybe it has something to do with that?”
“Hmm.” He didn’t look convinced, and his attention flickered between me and my plate. “I thought you were hungry. Aren’t you going to eat any more of your salad?”
Setting my fork down, I rested my elbow on the tabletop and leaned toward him, feeling restless. “What are you doing after this?”
“Given what Karen said, I had planned on driving over to Nancy Danvish’s with you and asking her about the business with your father.”
“What if we stopped by my place first?”
“Your place?” Cletus’s gaze burned with a comprehending light, dropping to my lips. “You mean, your momma’s house, or . . .?”
I grinned, not caring that a rush of heat had climbed up my neck and cheeks, my chest and lower abdomen tight and achy in the best way.
But then, like a bucket of cold vomit soup, a voice interrupted, “Well, don’t you two look cozy,” and I froze.
All those pleasant, swirling, lovely feelings vanished, replaced with a shock of frosty fear, followed by revulsion, embarrassment, and fury.
My father, the last person in the world I ever wished to speak to ever again, stood directly behind me. And apparently, he was in the mind to talk.
Chapter Fifteen
“No one believes more firmly than Comrade Napoleon that all animals are equal. He would be only too happy to let you make your decisions for yourselves. But sometimes you might make the wrong decisions, comrades, and then where should we be?”
― George Orwell, Animal Farm
*Jenn*
Not missing a beat, Cletus slid his arm around my waist, bringing me closer. “That’s ’cause we are cozy, Kip.” He over pronounced the p at the end of my father’s name, giving it a strong popping sound. “Consequently, if you don’t mind . . .”
Without having to look, I could imagine the face my father made in response to that. I worked to school my features and force my heart to settle. Cletus, meanwhile, conducted a quick inspection of my features, as though evaluating my thoughts and feelings, how likely I was to shatter into several small pieces.
I worked to project reassurance and calm. I was anxious, but I was in no danger of falling to pieces. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I made to turn, pasting on another smile like the one I’d given Karen Smith earlier. No use causing drama or a scene by refusing to speak to him. Besides, if he thought I was open to communication, perhaps he’d let something of his plans slip, maybe something I could use to help Mr. Badcock and Old Man Blount.
But before I could turn, my father hissed, “I raised you better than this, Jennifer Anne. Sitting in a diner, being indecent in the sight of God and half the town. And with that man.”
Cletus scratched the side of his face, and then placed the hand on my thigh. “Now, I know math wasn’t my strongest subject in s
chool, but I don’t think half the town would fit inside Daisy’s, seeing as how we have over fifteen thousand people who live—”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” my father snapped. “I am speaking to my daughter, and I’ll thank you not to interrupt.”
“Don’t thank me for something I have no plans to do.” I understood Cletus was still trying to sense how much I wanted him to intervene, be a barrier between me and my father’s hatefulness, and how much I wanted to deal with on my own.
Truth was, I didn’t want to deal with my father at all. If I could make him disappear from my life for good, I would. But I had to believe God puts difficult people in your life for a reason. If I didn’t believe this, I’d hide under my covers all day rather than confront difficulties as they arose. Obviously, I still had something to learn or gain from interacting with this man, and I suspected the lesson would be defining boundaries and holding myself—and others—to them.
“I’ll be right back,” I whispered. Covering Cletus’s fingers on my leg with mine, I squeezed, giving him an appreciative smile before finally turning and sliding out of the booth. My hands were clammy, and a fretful tightness curdled, but I was determined to confront this difficulty.
I am afraid, but I am strong. Bravery is the child of fear and strength. Lord, give me strength so I can give birth to bravery.
My father shuffled backward as I exited. Hazarding a glance at his face, I saw he wasn’t looking at me. He glared at Cletus, shooting harpoons of hatred at my fiancé. And you know what? That helped. I latched on to a flare of protective defensiveness and indignation. How dare he look at Cletus that way. How. Dare. He.
“I’ll meet you outside,” I said to my father firmly, reaching for and pulling on my jacket.
His lips pursed, he angled his chin, gave a stiff nod, and turned for the door, leaving in a simmering huff.
As I zipped my jacket, Cletus stood, gave me a soft kiss on my cheek, and slid into the other booth. “I’ll sit here. As long as you stand between Posey Lamont’s PT Cruiser and Mrs. McClure’s Honda, I’ll be able to keep an eye on you.”
“Thanks. But I don’t think he’d try anything in front of a diner full of people. He never hit me, Cletus.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d feel better if I could see y’all, make sure he’s not in a trying-new-things sorta mood.” His eyes were cagey, and his look was sideways, like he was bracing himself for witnessing a worst-case scenario through the window necessitating that he intervene.
Cletus hid it well, but I could sense he was afraid for me. He didn’t want me to go out there on my own, he didn’t believe I would be safe. I suspected this belief was born out of life experiences with his own bad father.
Even so, he wasn’t going to stand in my way, or handle my father for me, or insist upon being present while we talked. Thinking things over as I walked to the door and outside, I didn’t know if I’d give Cletus the same degree of self-determination should Darrell Winston ever show up. I suspected I’d shoot the man, if the means and opportunity ever presented itself.
“You are not to see that man again. You are not to associate with him.” My father spoke through clenched teeth and peered down his nose at me, sounding furious, and for a split second I was back in my parents’ kitchen that night, when my father had unleashed the full force of his nastiness, heart in my throat and tears burning in my eyes.
I would not be intimidated. I refused.
Gathering myself up, I lifted my own chin and attempted to peer down my nose at him. “We are engaged.”
“I—” he sputtered, his fury dissolving into plain shock. “I beg your pardon?”
“Cletus and I are engaged. Given your feelings on the matter, I do not think this is a topic we should discuss.”
“You’re engaged to a Winston?”
Wrinkling my nose at the way he said it, like any of the six Winston boys were interchangeable with each other, I folded my arms and lifted my chin higher. “As I’ve said. Now, is there any other reason you wish to speak with me? Or are we finished here?”
“I would’ve preferred Billy.” He eyed me, looking disappointed and frustrated. “You sell yourself short with Cletus Winston, Jennifer. You are much prettier than your momma was at your age, and so much prettier than anyone else in this town.” He showed me his palms, as though making an appeal to my better sense. “Any man would be happy to have you on his arm. Please. Don’t waste your beauty on that—that buffoon.”
I heaved a watery sigh, not knowing where to start. How many times had my daddy told me how dumb and beautiful I was in the same sentence? How many times had he praised my looks while reminding me that men preferred a pretty surface and obedience over critical thought and substance?
It hurt. It still hurt that my own father thought of—not just me, but apparently—all women in this way. Not for the first time, I wished there were some way, some magical collection of words that would allow him to see me and value me as I was, not as he wanted me to be.
And I guess, that was ultimately why I was out here. That wish for something that would never be.
He must’ve mistaken my struggle as something other than it was because he stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Say the word, and I will rescue you, Jennifer. Let your daddy rescue you from this mess. I have a place for you in my new business venture, a big place, but you need to meet me halfway. Your momma works you too hard at the lodge, and Cletus Winston isn’t ever going to be the kind of man who can take care of a family. He’s not a breadwinner.” My father tilted his head to the side, his gaze sympathetic.
Meanwhile, I now struggled for a different reason. Is that what he thought? That all I wanted was a breadwinner? I was trying not to laugh.
My father had never been the breadwinner in our household, not that it should’ve made any difference. A marriage is a partnership, or at least the kind of marriage I planned on having. Maybe Cletus would make more money than me, maybe I would, I didn’t honestly care, and I knew Cletus didn’t either.
And yet, here was my daddy, preaching to me about the importance of finding a man to provide for me.
“You don’t think I can support myself.” Surrendering to the urge, I laughed, looking at the sky. “You don’t think I’m smart enough.”
“Why would you want to? You’re beautiful, baby girl. If you were smart, you’d see you don’t need to have a hard life. Life with Cletus Winston won’t be easy. He won’t give you the life you deserve, with fine things and a big house. And make no mistake, you deserve a man who can give you those things.”
I didn’t know which repulsed me more, my father still thinking I was an idiot, or him believing “fine things and a big house” was all I wanted from life.
If you wanted to, you could get him to tell you what’s going on with the farms, get him to admit his part, and report back to Boone. Your father thinks you’re such a moron, he’d never suspect subterfuge.
I wasn’t surprised by his condescending assumptions, but for some reason—maybe the obscenely large balance in my bank account due to all the lemon custard cakes I’d been making and shipping to Sienna Diaz—the assumptions did strike me as absurdly funny.
“Gosh, I don’t know where to start.” I shook off his hand, stepping back, addressing him directly but without anger. Why be angry when the situation was so futile? He obviously didn’t know me at all. “I hope . . . I hope you find peace with your new life. And I hope treating others with kindness becomes important to you, as you find your way.”
My daddy lifted an eyebrow at that, pressing his lips together in an unhappy line. “That’s all you got to say to your father? The man who raised you? Kept you safe your entire life?”
I took several more steps away, shaking my head. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“How about, ‘I’m sorry, Daddy’? Sorry for being disrespectful? For being disobedient? What about that? I am your father, and I deserve both your respect and your obedien
ce.” He strolled forward, backing me into the door. “Or how about a thank you. ‘Thank you, Daddy, for giving up your hopes and dreams, settling in life and taking care of me. Thank you for putting my needs above your own.’ That would also be nice to hear.”
I wanted to volley back, If any of it were true, I would say it, but those words would only make him angry. He wasn’t going to change. He was never going to see me as someone who had value beyond my exterior and how that might be leveraged for his own benefit.
Allowing sadness to shine through my words and eyes, I said goodbye and pushed open the door, walking back inside the warm diner and to the booth where Cletus waited, having no desire to look back at what I’d left behind.
* * *
“Do you want me to turn up the heat? Are you cold?”
“I’m fine.” I tore my unfocused gaze from the scenery outside the passenger window to Cletus’s profile. He chewed on his lip, his forehead wrinkled in consternation, or deep thought, or both. “Besides, we’re almost there. I really am fine.”
“So you say,” he mumbled, adjusting his hold on the steering wheel. “And yet, you did agree to an indulgence.”
“Cletus.”
“Furthermore, I suspect you’d be great if you’d allow me to—”
“No. No maiming my father. Not today.”
Cletus grunted, a sound of frustrated dissatisfaction, and said nothing else.
Instead of going back to my place like we’d discussed, Cletus had taken one look at me when I walked back into the diner and insisted we pay Farmer Danvish a visit to “continue our investigation into the local farm upheavals.” Then he’d called her and told her we were on our way.
I suspected he sensed my underlying melancholy and hoped to distract me. Either that, or after so many weeks apart and several misfires, he didn’t want us to have sad sex with the cloud of my father’s intrusion darkening the mood.