Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series)

by Melissa Brown

  “All right, dear,” Janie said, rising to her feet and unzipping the back of the dress. “It’s time for you to take this off and head home. You can stop in the kitchen for a treat if you’re hungry.”

  At least Janine is happy for me. I always did like the prophet’s first wife.

  Once Ruthie returned to her pale green dress and visited the kitchen for a super-large chocolate chip cookie, she reluctantly made her way back home, hoping that Mama was busy with the little ones so she wouldn’t notice Ruthie had been gone for almost two hours.

  No such luck.

  When Ruthie closed the gate behind her, the first words she heard were, “Your mother’s looking for you.”

  Mother Pennie was knitting on the front steps of the house, staring at Ruthie as if she already knew where she’d been, which was impossible. Mother Pennie was clueless.

  Of all of the other mothers in the house, Mother Pennie was the one Ruthie respected the least. She was too soft, too kind, too sweet. If Mama taught Ruthie anything, it was that wives like that were kicked around, used, taken advantage of. Mama was tough; she stuck up for herself and she didn’t allow other wives to affect her. Mother Pennie was the total opposite of Ruthie’s mother. She was weak . . . even though Ruthie was only eleven, there was no way she’d be like that when she married the prophet. She’d be the thirty-eighth wife, and she’d be proud of it. Ruthie would show respect to the older wives, but wouldn’t let them walk all over her, not like Pennie.

  “Thank you, Mother Pennie,” Ruthie muttered, looking down at her feet. But that wasn’t what she wanted to say. She wanted to roll her eyes, to kick the dirt, and tell Mother Pennie to mind her own children and leave her alone. But Ruthie knew better.

  Mama was sitting in Ruthie’s bedroom with Susan and Beatrice, playing with blocks. As soon as Mama saw her, she pressed a finger over her mouth to “shh” and pointed to her sleeping brother in his bed. Ruthie nodded and waited in the hallway. Mama hopped to her feet and met her outside the door.

  “Walk with me,” she hissed. Ruthie hated when Mama used that tone—it was like a mean whisper that always made her stomach twist. Right in that moment, she wished she did have a mother like Pennie . . . because with a mother like Aspen, you couldn’t get away with anything. Not even a quick trip to the prophet’s home on a Tuesday morning.

  “Where have you been?” she asked when they reached her bedroom. Her mother closed the door behind them and studied Ruthie, looking at her from head to toe. “You disappeared after breakfast. You were supposed to help Mother Flora with mopping.”

  Ruthie opened her mouth to speak but said nothing. She couldn’t decide if she should tell the truth. It was getting harder and harder to mention the prophet in Mama’s presence. On the other hand, she almost always knew when Ruthie was lying. Punishments were so much worse whenever lying was involved. And frankly, having a bar of soap on the end of her tongue was something she really didn’t want to do . . . again.

  “Speak, child.”

  “I forgot about the floors. I’ll apologize to Mother Flora.”

  Mama relaxed her forehead a little bit, but her hands stayed on her hips.

  “That’s a start,” she said. Her voice was almost normal, no more hissing. “But where did you go? You know you’re supposed to get permission before you leave. And none of the other mothers had any idea where you’d gone.”

  Ruthie swallowed hard, prepared to answer.

  “Well?” Mama demanded, her voice raised.

  Ruthie flinched but answered. “Janine needed me.”

  Mama opened her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me? You’re not married yet, girl. You don’t run errands for that woman. No. And why didn’t she ask my permission? Why didn’t I know about this?”

  “She sent Loretta, the youngest wife. She came to the door this morning when you were feeding Jeremiah.”

  “And what was so important that she sent another sister wife to summon you?” Mama’s words were covered in sarcasm, something they were normally expected to avoid. But Mama was unique, different. Always had been.

  “She needed my measurements.”

  Ruthie didn’t have to finish the sentence. Mama knew what she was talking about. Her face turned pale as she stared at Ruthie. She whispered under her breath, “It’s starting.”

  Unlike other times when Mama was angry and irritated whenever Ruthie’s upcoming wedding was mentioned, she seemed sad. And it broke Ruthie’s heart. She loved Mama, despite her bad attitude toward the prophet. Ruthie wondered if it would end once she saw how happy her daughter was as his wife.

  I can only hope . . .

  “Mama, please, it’s the most beautiful dress, really it is. I would have asked you to come with me, but I knew . . . I knew you wouldn’t want me to go.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t want you to go!” she yelled. Ruthie hated it when Mama yelled because all she wanted to do was yell right back. And then she’d get in trouble for her terrible attitude. “That man will never have you in his clutches, do you hear me? Never!”

  “One month, four days, thirteen hours,” Ruthie spat.

  Mama closed the space between them, her nose almost touching Ruthie’s forehead. “What did you just say?”

  She was hissing again.

  “One month, four days, thirteen hours.”

  Mama looked like she was going to be sick. “You’re counting down the days? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Why shouldn’t I count? I’m excited . . . so excited I can hardly sleep at night. And the dress, it has scalloping and flowers. And it’s only for me. I’m the only one who will ever wear it. And the house—it smells like cookies and cakes and blueberry pie. It’s the most wonderful place in the whole world.”

  “Bite your tongue, girl,” Mama snarled. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. None.”

  “I’m smarter than you think I am, Mama.” Ruthie stared her in the eye, waiting to be slapped or for Mama to continue her verbal lashings, but instead, she watched as Mama cried. Mama never cried.

  Mama fell to the floor, hanging her head in her hands, and Ruthie’s heart tore in half.

  “Mama?” Ruthie crouched down and placed one hand on Mama’s shoulder. She didn’t move.

  “Just go,” she said, her voice so choked up by her tears that it was difficult for Ruthie to understand. “Leave me be. Please.”

  And so Ruthie left her mother huddled on the floor of her bedroom, soaking her dress with tears. The old Ruthie would have laid on the floor next to her until she pulled herself together. But she just couldn’t do it. She was too upset, too hurt, too confused to do that. And even though the sight of her made Ruthie’s eyes burn with tears, she had to leave the room . . . quietly closing the door behind her.

  Chapter 11

  Four days passed since Aspen came to my apartment. Four days and twenty-five text messages. Twenty-five groveling, begging, sorry-for-being-such-an-assuming-prick messages asking Aspen if we could move forward, if she could please forgive and forget what went down. Apparently Aspen wasn’t ready to do either as she didn’t respond to any of those messages. Not one.

  The protective side of me wondered if her husband found the phone, but I knew better. She was furious with me, and I had to face facts that I deserved her silence, her anger, and frustration. I crossed a line in a big way.

  Elizabeth let me have it later that day when we met for lunch.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked, tilting her head down, looking over her reading glasses. With one swift movement, she closed her menu and slapped it on the table, glaring at me. “The poor woman is at your mercy, a sitting duck in your apartment, vulnerable because you avoided her messages, and that’s when you attempt to kiss her?”

  “What?” I asked, genuinely confused. “Why are you pissed?”

  “She was vulnerable, needing you—did you think you had a better shot or something? Couldn’t you have waited until after the case? I mean, c’mon, Jon. You ha
ve to know you were out of line.”

  “I wasn’t trying to take advantage of her, I swear. Emotions ran high, and before I knew it, I was kissing her. Or trying to anyway.”

  “I’m glad she told you to go fuck yourself,” Elizabeth snarled, picking up her menu and ignoring me.

  “She didn’t say that, but thanks a lot. I appreciate the sentiment.” I shook my head, feeling like the biggest asshat on the planet. “Girl power.”

  “Oh shut it, that’s not it. But, seriously, this girl’s world is spinning on its axis and you couldn’t wait to get your rocks off.”

  “E, c’mon, you know better than anyone, I’m not like that.”

  “Then, why now? Why couldn’t you just give her time to figure this all out? Figure out if she even wants to stay there without muddying up the waters?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Say it.”

  Goddamn, this woman read me like a freaking book.

  “All right, fine. I wanted to give her a reason to leave. I wanted to be the reason, okay?”

  Elizabeth turned her head to the side. “Now, was that so hard?”

  “You’re infuriating,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Hey,” she said, removing her glasses. “I’m always going to tell you the truth, you know that. Whether or not you meant to, you were taking advantage of this girl—of her out-of-control situation. You can’t be the reason she leaves or she’ll resent you for the rest of your life when she wakes up one day and realizes she doesn’t belong out here. She belongs in there.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yes.” She nodded emphatically. “Listen, you and me . . . we don’t even go to church. Hell, the closest thing I have to a Sunday ritual is binging on Netflix shows while my coffee sets in. This girl eats, breathes, and sleeps her religion—it’s like this intricately woven fabric for her. And you can’t undo that, Jon. I’m sorry, but you can’t.”

  “People leave there every single day,” I said under my breath, pretending to check my phone, not wanting to hear E’s brutal honesty.

  “Yeah, but not her. I mean, for God’s sake, her husband ignores her, the prophet wants to marry her eleven-year-old baby, and she’s still there. If that didn’t make her leave already, nothing will. She’s there for good.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Will you still help her? That’s the question of the hour.”

  I recoiled at her question. “Of course I will, how can you even ask that?”

  Elizabeth smiled before taking a sip of her Diet Coke. “Just making sure.”

  “Oh woman.” I shook my head. “You’ll be the death of me.”

  She gave me a devious smile . . . the kind that used to make me hard in half a second. “Whatever. Let’s order our food. You’re getting hangry.” She raised her voice and looked out into the sea of people in the busy restaurant. “Can someone get this man a burger, please?”

  “Nice.” I shook my head, sending a quick message to Aspen—the first of dozens. “For the record, I’m getting the Reuben.”

  “Touché.”

  Four days later, I was still staring down at the screen, hoping for a response.

  Nothing.

  “Cooke?” Sergeant Ross was standing under the doorframe, pulling my attention away from my phone.

  “Sir?”

  “Where are we on the Stevenson case?”

  Aw shit.

  Where was I on the Stevenson case?

  “Just, uh,” I said, grabbing the stack of files from the corner of my desk. “Waiting on forensics, sir. Then I’ll be out in the field again, depending on the results.

  I was talking out of my ass. Totally. Completely. But he bought it. With a decisive nod, he walked away, leaving me in silence.

  “Damn,” I said under my breath, knowing I had to stop neglecting my job. Ross didn’t hesitate to penalize those who didn’t have their acts together. I’d been a performer since joining the force, and I couldn’t let my personal crap with Aspen affect the reputation I’d spent years building. I needed to get started on the Stevenson case, and in order to do that, I needed a fresh cup of coffee . . . and maybe a doughnut. I was pretty sure Megan was hoarding doughnuts and pastries at reception just so I’d come visit every once in a while.

  I grabbed my cup and strolled to reception, ready to greet Megan, when I saw her. Clear as day, standing there, hunched over the desk. My instinct was to turn and walk back to my office, but instead I froze. And then she said it.

  “Roger?” Linda Jean said, her brow knitted in total confusion.

  Busted. Motherfucking busted.

  “Roger?” Megan said with an awkward giggle. “That’s Detective Cooke.”

  “Detective?” Linda Jean asked, tilting her head to the side. “I thought you said—”

  “Hey,” I said, looping my arm through hers before she could out me to the station. The last thing I needed was Ross up my ass over using a pseudonym in public for the sake of a case I wasn’t supposed to pursue in the first place. “Let’s go to my office.”

  “Um, ohhh-kay,” Linda said. “I’m just here to pay a parking tickets.”

  “We’ll take care of that, just . . .” I led us into my office and closed the door behind us. “Come in here for a minute.”

  “So,” she said, walking around my office, picking up the nameplate on the desk, “you’re obviously not Roger the construction guy.”

  I shrugged, trying to escape the noose with forced humor. “I’ve never worn a hard hat.”

  “You’re a detective, huh?” Linda Jean leaned against the front of my desk, her hair pulled up into a loose bun, large black-rimmed glasses on her tiny nose. The cutoff jean shorts crept up to her ass and her tank top hugged her insanely hot boobs.

  Focus, Cooke. Focus.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  Linda Jean pressed her hands into the wood of my desk. “You can relax. I won’t blow your cover.” It may have been my imagination, but it seemed as though she enunciated the word blow ever so slightly.

  “Look, L.J., I’m sorry I had to lie to you. I didn’t want to, just . . . pitfalls of the job, I guess.”

  “I understand. So, who were you investigating?” She said that last word as if it was a joke, like I was pretending to be a detective. Like this was all a giant playground and we were all playing cops and robbers. She was sorely mistaken.

  “I can’t disclose that, I’m sorry.”

  She tilted her head forward. “You’re kidding, right? I’d have to be a moron not to know it’s Jim. Of course it’s Jim. I mean, he’s the only person you talked to besides me, and he sure as hell isn’t a detective.”

  “You never know,” I deadpanned.

  She laughed. “Good lord, if that man has a badge, I’m leaving this state immediately.”

  I chuckled, in spite of myself. I couldn’t let Linda Jean jeopardize my case, but the idea of Jim Penowsky as a police officer was a humorous (and equally horrifying) concept.

  “Listen, I can’t tell you anything about the case, but I can ask for your discretion.”

  Suddenly serious, L.J. pushed away from the desk and stood to face me, her cheeks blushing. “Of course. I would never rat you out.”

  I shook my head, feeling only slightly better. People lied all the time. All. The. Time.

  “I hope not, L.J.” I said softly. “It’s a big case . . . a really big one.”

  Slowly, she licked her lips and, without meaning to, I watched as her tongue traced a line against her top lip and she sank her teeth into the plump bottom lip. Goddamn, this woman was gorgeous, but she was trying too hard. I preferred the sweet and unassuming bartender I’d met weeks earlier.

  “Your secret’s safe with me. Promise.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

  She paused, then fidgeted with her hands before she spoke.

  There’s the L.J. I know.

  “We should get together. You know, now that you’re
not coming to the bar anymore?” She said it like it was a question, which was actually kind of cute.

  “That’d be nice,” I said, telling myself I was just playing along. Of course, I wasn’t in any state of mind to date someone. My feelings for Aspen wouldn’t disappear overnight. But in my gut I knew eventually she would make her choice to stay on the compound, and I’d have to move on with my life. Hopefully, the case would be closed, the prophet would be behind bars, etc. Regardless, I would end up alone. And as much as I loved my bachelor pad, maybe it was time to at least humor the possibility of a date with Linda Jean.

  She walked to my desk and grabbed the stack of untouched Post-it notes and a pen. She scribbled furiously and handed the stack of neon green paper to me. “Give me a call.”

  She dotted her “i” with a heart.

  Lord, help me.

  “Will do,” I said with a forced smile. “Listen, I have a ton of work to do and—”

  “Say no more.” She smiled. “I’ll see myself out.”

  “Don’t forget about your tickets. Megan can take care of that for you.”

  “Ah, yes, thanks.”

  “And next time, just pay ’em online, L.J.” I winked. “Save yourself the hassle.”

  She licked her lips once again before pushing them out in a fake pout. “Then I wouldn’t get to see you, now would I?” she said.

  I laughed, looking down at the carpet and shaking my head. “I suppose that’s true. Nice to see you, L.J.”

  A warm smile crossed her face and I was reminded of that unassuming and friendly girl behind the bar. She left my office and I looked down at the bright green Post-it. Walking to my desk, I crumpled it in my hand and tossed it into the garbage.

  I sat down and grabbed the Stevenson file, but the green paper called to me. Quickly, I bent down and retrieved it from the can, smoothing out the paper before placing it inside my desk drawer, right next to the paperclips.