by Lucy Score
It felt like there was a lot more to that story than he was willing to spill. I decided to be patient… for now.
“Did you confront her?” I asked, resting my chin on my hand.
“Not in any meaningful, satisfying way. I didn’t even know she was cheating. I had my eyes on a Senate race in a few years. Political careers are built decades in advance. It meant less attention on the present. Maybe I should have paid more attention.”
“Did she know about your career goals?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Then it’s her own damn fault, Dev, not yours.”
“I could have tried harder, been more available—”
“Yeah and she could have not put someone else’s dick in her,” I said bluntly. “Don’t be looking for reasons why she’s right and you’re wrong. You didn’t make her go fuck someone else. So stop wasting your time being all ‘what if this?’ and ‘what if that?’ It’s a waste of time and energy. And it’s not going to make you feel better.”
Devlin blinked at my bluntness.
“You’re going to regret not confronting her,” I predicted.
“If I ask you something, will you give me a straight answer?”
“Sure.”
“What’s a pepperoni roll?”
“Are you fucking serious?” I gaped at him. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Clarabell, get this man a pepperoni roll stat!”
6
Devlin
The few bites of pepperoni roll I managed after the open-faced hot turkey sandwich that took up the entire plate were indeed delicious. My appetite had been MIA for a couple of months as had my motivation to go to the gym. Consequently, my strength and energy were waning. My physique, once a source of pride, had withered in the mirror.
Maybe a pepperoni roll or two would be my path back to the gym, back to life.
Scarlett slapped my hand when I reached for my wallet. She paid at the cashier stand and chatted with Clarabell about a softball game that sounded more like a competitive drinking match.
Clarabell gave me a wink and a finger wiggle before making her rounds down the line of booths.
I reached for the door to hold it for Scarlett, but she paused just inside the door at the community bulletin board. She tapped the pads of her fingers to the name on a MISSING PERSON poster. From the looks of it, the poster was old.
“Who’s that?” I asked, staring at the black and white photo of a teenage girl.
Scarlett’s pretty mouth opened in a perfect O. “Granny Louisa didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
She ducked out the door and tugged me with her.
“There are two things Bootleg is famous for,” she lectured, slipping back into tour guide mode. “Bootlegging and the disappearance of Callie Kendall.”
I frowned. The name sounded familiar. Vaguely.
“Callie’s family summered here. Her parents still do. Callie went missing right here in Bootleg twelve years ago this summer.”
“As in kidnapped? Murdered?”
Scarlett slapped a hand over my mouth and glanced over her shoulder. “You hush now unless you want to get in an hour-long debate on all the conspiracy theories Bootleggers have.”
We got back in her truck. And I noticed the marked difference between arriving at the diner and leaving it. I felt steadier. More connected. Interested. Just listening to Scarlett was like a lifeline to the living.
She had so much energy. It was hard to remain numb around her. Despite the fact that her father had died a week ago, she was the one comforting me.
“So, what happened to Callie?” I was curious about the story, but if I were to be honest, I just wanted Scarlett to keep talking.
“Well, no one knows for sure. It was just another summer day. We were at the lake until dark. Everyone scattered to go home for supper. She never made it. Somewhere between the lake and the springs, she vanished.” Scarlett pulled onto the street and circled the block. Tidy brick buildings with colorful store fronts and funny names on their signs lined the street.
“You knew her?” I asked.
“Sure. She was two years older than me, and I wanted to be just like her. She was always so smart and fun. Always had cool clothes. And I was just… well, me.”
I had a feeling no one else on the planet would think of Scarlett in those terms at any point in her life. “Just me” didn’t do her justice.
“And no one ever found her? Were there any suspects?”
Scarlett shrugged. “The local cops talked to just about every adult in town about their whereabouts and whatnot. Callie’s parents came forward and said that she suffered from some depression, some mental issues. I think they believed she’d up and run off or…”
Scarlett wrinkled her nose and stared through the windshield.
“Suicide,” I filled in for her.
“Yeah.”
“What do you think?”
Scarlett laughed. “Everyone’s got their theories. There’s the ‘murdered by a drifter’ theory. Then there’s the ‘ran off with a boy’ theorists. Some think it was politically motivated. Her daddy’s a judge, so some people think one of his rivals took her. Mostly everyone else agrees with her parents.”
“But you don’t?” I guessed.
Scarlett shook her head. “It may be a little hero worship coloring my memories, but Callie was a steady kind of person. Empathetic, thoughtful. She wasn’t the type to just pick up and leave. I never saw any signs of mental shenanigans. Maybe some anxiety, a little fear. But nothing that was a red flag for me.”
“Do you think she’s dead?”
Scarlett chewed on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to believe that. I’d like to think that she ran away to join the circus or make movies or something. But it’s been so long with no word. I don’t know what other answer there is.”
“Twelve years, and you still have the posters hanging up,” I observed.
Scarlett shot me a grin. “We have trouble lettin’ go of the past around here. Besides, we want Callie’s parents to know she was never forgotten. They may only summer here, but that doesn’t mean they’re not part of the Bootleg family.”
“Loyalty or an inability to move on?” I asked.
“Little bit of both. The fact is she was just a good girl from a good family who disappeared. And if I think too long about the fact that I’ll never know the answer, I go crazy and start coming up with harebrained explanations. I don’t know if Callie is alive out there or not. But I like to imagine her alive and well and having a real good time.”
“What do your brothers think happened to her?”
“Gibson thinks she was murdered and dumped in the lake, but he’s a Suzy Sunshine like that. I don’t know about Bowie and Jame. Bowie always wants to believe the best in people, and no one ever knows what Jameson’s thinking.”
“I bet people usually know what you’re thinking,” I teased.
“I don’t see much point in sittin’ around keepin’ my mouth shut. Life’s too short.” She clammed up immediately as if the reminder was directed at herself. Her father’s life had been too short.
I reached across the console and squeezed her arm. Her frame was so small that it was still a surprise to me. It seemed like such a personality would need a bigger container. “Thanks for everything today, Scarlett.”
She brightened. “Just bein’ neighborly.”
I dropped my hand. But she leaned over and squeezed my knee. “You’re gonna be all right, Dev. Bootleg will fix you up, and you won’t even remember that dumbass ex-wife’s name by the time we’re done with you.”
“I feel like you’re threatening me with blackout drunkenness.”
“Well, you are in the home of the best moonshine in the state. I’ve got my great-granddaddy’s recipe, and I just might be willing to spare a mason jar for a neighbor who needs to forget.”
“It’s not the stuff that’ll make me go blind, is it?”
She snorted. “That only hap
pened on the first couple of batches. My great-granddaddy was real sorry about it, too.”
“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
“Little bit.”
7
Devlin
My neighborly neighbor showed up on my deck Saturday at two o’clock squishing her forehead against the glass of the door and knocking. I’d seen a lot of her this week. She’d tackled the work on her list with gusto, fitting me in around other work projects. I would have been flattered that she was prioritizing my tasks, but I knew that Scarlett Bodine was keeping an eye on me.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I said into the phone for the sixth time as I pulled the door open for Scarlett.
“Your father and I just want to make sure that you’re staying focused.”
The McCallisters were nothing if not focused. By the time I was in third grade, I knew I’d follow my father’s steps into politics. I’d never bothered to wonder if it was what I wanted.
“I’m fine. I’m focused.”
Scarlett ducked inside and danced on the balls of her feet.
“Good because we’re going to have to work to undo the negative press before next year’s session begins. And it’s an election year. I hope this hasn’t set us back too far.”
I could hear the clink of china as she set her afternoon cappuccino down on its saucer. My mother was the perfect politician’s wife. A lifelong volunteer, the perfect hostess, a natural social butterfly. She was the perfect supportive partner to my father’s career. I thought I’d made the same choice in Johanna.
“I’m prepared to do the work,” I promised.
“I’m glad to hear it. For now, we feel it’s best if you continue to stay off everyone’s radar for a few more weeks. Hopefully someone else will give them something to talk about this summer.”
Scarlett hopped from foot to foot looking like a kid on Christmas morning in front of a mound of unopened presents.
“I’m sure some scandal will arise,” I promised my mother.
“Just make sure it’s not your own. If you and Johanna can’t work this out, you’re going to have to make sure everyone knows it’s an amicable split.”
There was zero chance of us working it out and also no chance for the divorce to be an amicable one. But I didn’t feel now was the right time to explain that to my mother.
“I’ve got to go mom. My neighbor is here.”
“Ugh, I can only imagine. Are they wearing overalls?”
My mother hated the fact that her mother loved Bootleg. My grandmother invited Mom to Bootleg when she first moved here, and after one weekend in town, my mother vowed to never return. “Those people eat roadkill,” she insisted at dinner parties when it was appropriate to paint her mother as a charming eccentric.
“I’ll call you later, Mom,” I said dryly.
I disconnected and tossed the phone on the coffee table. “Why are you dancing around my living room?” I asked, surprised that I was actually looking forward to the reason.
“Grab some flip flops and let’s go!”
I looked down. I was dressed for a workout in shorts and a tank top. The weather had warmed considerably, taking it into the mid-seventies. With the aid of the sunshine and buzz of spring life, I’d actually made it a mile at a slow jog and had managed a few sets of push-ups and sit-ups today. A small step forward but certainly not the kind of attire I usually left the house in.
“I don’t own flip-flops.”
She goggled at me like I’d just confessed to hating babies. “Fine. Old sneakers then.”
“Don’t own those either.”
“You’re a deprived man, Dev. Bare feet are fine. Just don’t whine about mud.” She started dragging me toward the door.
I dug my heels into the living room rug. “Where are we going?” I asked.
Scarlett had an interesting habit of dragging me where I didn’t want to go.
“Deck party. It’s the perfect day for it. I’ve got a cooler of sandwiches, beers, water. And I’m not takin’ no for an answer. So get your fine ass moving.”
I wasn’t exactly sure where to start. What was a deck party? And did she really think I had a fine ass? Or was that more a statement about the whole package? Because I was feeling as far from my normal self as I ever had.
“Stop overthinking and come with me,” she ordered.
I grabbed my phone from the table. “Fine, but if this turns out to be some kind of Bootleg initiation where you take me cow tipping and leave me in the middle of a corn field, I’m going to hire a different contractor.”
She rolled her eyes, and this time when she tugged my hand, I let her drag me out the door.
“A. There’s no such thing as tipping cows. Urban myth. B. If I left you in a corn field right now, you’d be just fine seein’ as how it doesn’t hit knee high until the Fourth of July.”
She kept a hold of my hand and pulled me through the woods in the direction of her house. I tried to remember the last woman who so freely held my hand. Dating Johanna had been more like a job interview. We both had specific goals. I was looking for the right partner for my career. She was looking for a husband who would provide financial security and the ability to pursue her volunteerism. Looking back it seemed a bit… archaic. Sterile?
Scarlett glanced over her shoulder at me and grinned, and I felt… something.
She beamed up at me, and I felt… tall, interesting, stirred. I was by no means in any position for a spring or summer fling. But this bubbly brunette with a sweet southern drawl was starting to paint pictures in my head.
We peeled away from her cottage and headed down the wooden dock over the dark lake waters.
“Who’s ready to party?” Scarlett crowed.
The end of the dock erupted in hoots and hollers. It was a twelve-by-twelve floating deck with an outboard motor, railings with built-in cup holders, and folding camp chairs. Her brothers were there, all three of them, and two women close to Scarlett’s age.
“Cass, this is my friend Devlin. Dev, this is my BFF Cassidy. She’s deputy sheriff here in Bootleg.”
Cassidy peered at me over her sunglasses and offered a wave. She had dirty blonde hair cut in short layers. Her green eyes considered me impishly.
“A pleasure,” I said.
Cassidy raised an eyebrow. “Well, he’s a hell of a lot more polite than your last ‘friend,’” Cassidy said.
Scarlett flipped her the bird and cheerfully continued her introductions.
“This tall drink of water here is Cassidy’s sister June. June, this is Devlin.”
June was tall with stick-straight hair a shade or two darker than her sister’s. They both had the same upturned nose.
“Are you two having sexual intercourse?” June asked. Her face remained impassive as if she didn’t really care if we were or not but was merely making small talk.
I cleared my throat. “No. We’re not.” I noticed that the Bodine brothers relaxed visibly, and I realized I might have narrowly avoided a physical altercation.
“We’re all here,” Scarlett announced, not the slightest bit perturbed by the sex question or the fact that her brothers looked like they would have cheerfully beaten me to death and dumped my body in the lake. “Let’s cast off.”
Bowie fired up the motor while Cassidy untied the lines. Jameson gave the deck a shove away from Scarlett’s dock, and we were underway. June queued up a playlist, and something country and upbeat poured out of the railing-mounted Bluetooth speaker.
“What do you think?” Scarlett asked, plopping a straw cowgirl hat over her dark hair. She looked like she belonged on the cover of a country album in her short, shredded denim cutoffs and her I Heart America white tank. Her blue flip-flops showed off pink toenails. And was that a peek of a red bikini I was seeing? God help me, it was. And I was trapped on a tiny barge with her three brothers.
I didn’t feel like now was a good time to share exactly what I was thinking. Instead I stated the obvious. “Your deck is floating.
”
“There’s a sandbar in the middle of the lake. On warm days, everyone heads there.”
“To do what?”
She looked up at me from under the brim of her hat like she felt sorry for me. “To have fun, Dev. When’s the last time you had any of that?” She laid a palm against my chest, and while I really liked how it felt there, I heard Gibson clear his throat.
Message received.
I took a step back, and Jameson helpfully shoved a cold beer into my chest. “Maybe this will help you cool off.”
“Thanks,” I said weakly.
We motored out around the boulders that jutted into the lake and into open water. Geographically, the lake was huge. I could barely make out the opposite shore which, if Scarlett’s tall tales were correct, was Maryland. We were heading away from town, and I noticed the lakefront homes grew sparser, replaced by rocky ledges and thick copses of pine trees. There wasn’t much civilization on this end of the lake, and had I been alone, I might have enjoyed it.
I shouldn’t have come. I wasn’t prepared to socialize, especially not with an entirely different culture.
Someone behind me hooted. There in the center of the lake was a long strip of sand and a half-dozen other floating decks. I’d spent summer days on the Potomac on the deck of a sailboat, but I’d never seen anything quite like this.
With the expertise of a riverboat captain, Scarlett piloted us up to the sandbar, beaching the deck gently. Gibson flipped open a section of the railing and tied it to the neighboring deck, effectively lashing us to them and creating a doorway.
Greetings were exchanged, music stations synched, and inner tubes were launched into the dark lake waters.
“Isn’t it a little cold for that?” I asked Scarlett.
“Hot springs, remember?” She leaned down and scooped up a handful of water, splashing me in the face. It wasn’t the icy bath I’d anticipated.
She laughed, and I mopped my face with the hem of my t-shirt. Was it my imagination, or had her gaze locked on to my abs? It made me wish I hadn’t given up on working out. A few months ago, she would have had something to stare at.