Where Petals Fall

by Melissa Foster

  Corky cleared his throat, callin’ my thoughts away from my sister. He looked up at me, thick tufts of dark hair bobbin’ like springs atop his head as he nodded. I bristled at the schemin’ look in his brown eyes. He smirked in that cocky way that was so familiar that it was almost borin’. With muscles that threatened to burst through every t-shirt he owned, one would think he’d be as abrasive as sandpaper, but he was the quiet type—‘til somethin’ or someone shook his reins. He came from a typical Forrest Town farm family. His father was a farmer, like mine, but unlike Daddy, who saw some value in education, Corky’s father believed his son’s sole purpose was to work the farm. Everyone in town knew that when Corky’s daddy grew too old to farm, he would take over. Corky accepted his lot in life with a sense of proud entitlement. He saw no need for schoolin’ when a job was so readily provided for him. I swear Corky was more machine than man. He worked from dawn ‘til dusk on the farm, and still had the energy to show up here smellin’ like DDT, or hay, or lumber, or whatever they happen to be plantin’ or harvestin’ at the time, and stir up trouble with Jimmy Lee.

  Corky took a long pull of his beer, eyein’ Jimmy Lee with a conspiratorial grin.

  I tugged Jimmy Lee’s arm again, hopin’ he’d choose a walk with me over trouble with Corky, but I knew I was no match for a willin’ participant in his devious shenanigans. Jimmy Lee shrugged me off and locked eyes with Corky. Tucked in the alley behind the General Store, trouble could be found fifty feet in any direction. I bent forward and peered around the side of the old, wooden buildin’. At ten o’clock at night, the streets were dark, but not too dark to notice the colored boys across the street walkin’ at a fast pace with their heads down, hands shoved deep in their pockets. I recognized one of the boys from Daddy’s farm. Please don’t let Jimmy Lee see them. It was a futile hope, but I hoped just the same.

  Jimmy Lee stretched. I craned my neck to look up at my handsome giant. Maggie called me Pixie. Although she and Jake both got Daddy’s genes when it came to height, I stopped growin’ at thirteen years old. While bein’ five foot two has minor advantages, like bein’ called a sweet nickname by my sister, I often felt like, and was treated as if, I were younger than my age.

  Jimmy Lee set his beer down on the ground and wiped his hands on his jeans. “What’re those cotton pickers doin’ in town this late?” He smirked, shootin’ a nod at Corky.

  “Jimmy Lee, don’t,” I pleaded, feelin’ kinda sick at the notion that he might go after those boys.

  “Don’t? Whaddaya mean, don’t? This is what we do.” He looked at Corky and nodded.

  “It’s just…” I turned away, then gathered the courage to say what was naggin’ to be said. “It’s just that, after findin’ Mr. Bingham’s body…it’s just not right, Jimmy Lee. Leave those boys alone.”

  Jimmy Lee narrowed his eyes, put his arms on either side of me, and leaned into me. He kissed my forehead and ran his finger along my chin. “You let me worry about keepin’ the streets safe, and I’ll let you worry about—” he laughed. “Heck, worry about somethin’ else, I don’t know.”

  Corky tossed his empty bottle into the grass and was on his feet, pumpin’ his fists. My heartbeat sped up.

  “Jimmy Lee, please, just let ‘em be,” I begged. When he didn’t react, I tried another tactic and batted my eyelashes, pulled him close, and whispered in his ear, “Let’s go somewhere, just you and me.” I hated myself for usin’ my body as a negotiation point.

  Jimmy Lee pulled away and I saw a momentary flash of consideration pass in his eyes. Then Corky slapped him on the back and that flash of consideration was gone, replaced with a darkness, a narrowin’ of his eyes that spoke too loudly of hate.

  “Let’s get ‘em,” Corky said. The sleeves of his white t-shirt strained across his massive biceps. The five inches Jimmy Lee had on him seemed to disappear given the sheer volume of space Corky’s body took up. He was as thick and strong as a bull.

  I jumped off the hood of the truck. “Jimmy Lee, you leave those boys alone.” I was surprised by my own vehemence. This was the stuff he did all the time, it wasn’t new. I was used to him scarin’ and beatin’ on the colored boys in our area. It was somethin’ that just was. But at that moment, all I could see in my mind was poor Byron Bingham.

  Jimmy Lee looked at me for one beat too long. I thought I had him, that he’d give in and choose me over the fight. One second later, he turned to Jake and clapped his hands. “Let’s go, Jake. We’ve got some manners to teach those boys.”

  “Don’t, Jake,” I begged. “Please, leave them alone!”

  Jake looked nervously from me to Jimmy Lee. I knew he was decidin’ if it was safer to side with me, which would lead to instant ridicule by Jimmy Lee, but would keep him out of a fight, or side with Jimmy Lee, which would not only put him in Jimmy Lee’s favor, but also make his actions on par with our father’s beliefs. He’d happily fight for a few bonus points with Daddy to balance out his poor grades.

  My hands trembled at the thought of those innocent boys bein’ hurt. “Jake, please,” I pleaded. “Don’t. Jimmy Lee—”

  They were off, all three of them, stalkin’ their prey, movin’ swiftly out from behind the General Store and down the center of the empty street. Their eyes trained on the two boys. Jimmy Lee walked at a fast clip, clenchin’ and unclenchin’ his fists, his shoulders rounded forward like a bull readyin’ to charge.

  I ran behind him, kickin’ dirt up beneath my feet, beggin’ him to stop. I screamed and pleaded until my throat was raw and my voice a tiny, frayed thread. The colored boys ran swift as deer, down an alley and toward the fields that ran parallel to Division Street, stealin’ quick, fear-filled glances over their shoulders—glances that cried out in desperation and left me feelin’ helpless and even culpable of what was yet to come.

  Jimmy Lee, Jake, and Corky closed in on them like a sudden storm in the middle of the field. The grass swallowed their feet as they surrounded the boys like farmers herdin’ their flock.

  “Get that son of a bitch!” Jimmy Lee commanded, pointin’ to the smaller of the two boys, Daddy’s farmhand. The whites of his eyes shone bright as lightnin’ against his charcoal skin.

  Corky hooted and hollered into the night, “Yeeha! Let’s play, boys!”

  Bile rose in my throat at the thought of what I knew Jimmy Lee would do to them, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he might take it as far as killin’ those boys—if even by accident. I stood in the field, shakin’ and cryin’, then fell to my knees thirty feet from where they were, beggin’ Jimmy Lee not to hurt them. Images of Mr. Bingham’s bloated and beaten body, his tongue swollen beyond recognition, seared like fire into my mind.

  Jimmy Lee moved in on the tremblin’ boy. I was riveted to the coldness in his eyes. “No!” I screamed into the darkness. Jimmy Lee threw a glance my way, a scowl on his face. The smack of Jimmy Lee’s fist against the boy’s face brought me to my feet. When the boy cried out, agony filled my veins. I stumbled and ran as fast and hard as I could, and didn’t stop until I was safely around the side of the General Store, hidden from the shame of what they were doin’, hidden from the eyes that might find me in the night. There was no hidin’ from the guilt, shame, and disgust that followed me like a shadow. I sank to my knees and cried for those boys, for Mr. Bingham, and for the loss of my love for Jimmy Lee.

  (End of Sneak Peek)

  To continue reading, be sure to pick up

  HAVE NO SHAME

  Every paperback and digital copy of HAVE NO SHAME provides readers with two full versions of the book and an option to read with or without the dialect in the narration

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest gratitude goes out to my readers, friends, family, bloggers, and social media fans and friends, who have inspired, supported, and encouraged me during my writing journey. Special thanks to Esther Iseman, PhD, who was kind enough to provide resources regarding repressed memories and walk me through several scenarios to flesh out Junie’s life;
Nicole Cook, an amazing baker and treasured friend, who helped me to create Junie’s Life Sucks Bars and other delicious recipes; Kathleen Shoop, Patricia Fordyce, Hilde Alter, and Kian Vencill, who read early versions and helped me to bring my characters to life.

  Big hugs to my editors, Kristen Weber and Penina Lopez, and my proofreaders, Jenna Bagnini, Juliette Hill, and Marlene Engel. Without each of you, my books would not be as well received. I’m not an easy person to work with when it comes to refining covers, and I am indebted to Natasha Brown for nudging and tweaking my cover with the patience of a saint. Thank you, Rachelle Ayala, for always making time to format (and reformat many times) my books. Your generosity does not go unnoticed.

  The original title of this book was Petals in the Wind, and I’d like to thank Heather Taylor Severin, who entered to win a contest on my Facebook fan page to come up with a new title. Thank you, Heather. Where Petals Fall is perfect.

  To my husband and children, once again, you amaze me with your patience and understanding of my crazy schedule. I adore you all.

  Melissa Foster is an award-winning, International bestselling author. Her books have been recommended by USA Today's book blog, Hagerstown Magazine, The Patriot, and several other print venues. She is the founder of the Women’s Nest, a social and support community for women, and the World Literary Café. When she's not writing, Melissa helps authors navigate the publishing industry through her author training programs on Fostering Success. Melissa hosts Aspiring Authors contests for children, and has painted and donated several murals to The Hospital for Sick Children in Washington, DC.

  Visit Melissa on her website, or chat with her on The Women's Nest or social media. Melissa enjoys discussing her books with book clubs and reader groups, and welcomes an invitation to your event.

  Melissa’s books are available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and most online retailers.

  www.MelissaFoster.com