Panty Dropper

by Shawn, Melanie

  He’d earned this house, there was no doubt about that. It was just strange, that was all, to know that when I walked through that familiar front door, it would be Hank that greeted me, and not my bourbon-soaked old man, sitting in his chair and cursing at the television.

  A heavy weight constricted my chest and it was like a dark cloud settled around me.

  It had been three days since I got the call that I’d known was coming for years. The one where Hank said the words that I’d known one day I’d inevitably hear. “Pop is gone.”

  He’d gone into Pop’s room and hadn’t been able to wake him up. The cause of death hadn’t officially been determined, but we all knew the truth. Pop had drank himself to death. He’d been told for years by the doc that if he didn’t put the bottle down his body was going to give out on him, and it finally had. He used to joke that he’d be well-preserved because of the amount of alcohol in his system. I tried to tell him it didn’t work like that and he needed to take what the doctors said seriously. But since he was always halfway to shitfaced if not already there, he was never in any condition to listen to reason.

  Besides, this was what he’d wanted. Since the day Mama died he’d had one foot in the grave. He hadn’t lived these past twenty years. Hell, he’d barely survived.

  Damn. If I didn’t stop thinking about this shit, I was going to start acting like Hank, and he was one melancholy bastard. I needed to snap the fuck out of it and get out of the truck.

  Nodding my head decisively, I took my own advice and opened the door, planting my feet firmly in the dirt, then marching up to the porch.

  The old homestead was a nice place. I’d give my father that much. He’d bought it when my mother was still alive and somehow managed to hang onto it through all these years. It was secluded, surrounded by expanses of tree-heavy land on three sides, with the fourth backing up to a small cove.

  It wasn’t “oceanfront” by any stretch. The cove was pretty far inland on the delta system that stretched from the coastline, about a half a mile east. But, still. It gave a real pretty view, and it had been a fun place to splash around when I was a kid.

  Without any warning, I saw a scene, clear as day, of me showing Reagan the cove. I’m holding her hand as she steps up and over the rocks. She giggles as she almost slips, I catch her but then end up falling down myself.

  I pictured holding her in my arms as we watched the fireflies light up the night sky. I saw myself brushing a strand of hair off her face, illuminated by moonlight, and softly pressing my lips to hers before whispering how beautiful she was.

  Shit.

  There really was something wrong with me. I’d had plenty of fantasies about women I’d just met, but they were all firmly in the porno category, this was a fucking rom-com.

  Stumbling over rocks. Kissing under moonlight. I needed to get my head checked out.

  I stepped up onto the porch, ready to put the lady lawyer out of my mind, and automatically turned the knob. It didn’t budge. I tried my key and found that it no longer worked. I sighed and lifted my hand to knock. Hank had maintained for years that when the house was his, the open door policy was getting revoked. Apparently, he hadn’t been bluffing.

  A few seconds later the door flew open and Hank appeared, gesturing me inside with a small inclination of his head.

  “Thanks for the invite, Hank. I thought you were kidding when you said you were changing the locks.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  I dropped onto the couch in the front room and positioned myself directly in front of the fan, enjoying the breeze caused by its rusty steel blades. Nowadays, it would be considered dangerous, but we’d had it since I was rollin’ around in Pampers.

  “Where’s Jimmy?” Hank grunted.

  I shrugged.

  His eyes narrowed in question, indicating I needed to provide him with more information. Hank was a man of few words, but his expressions were chatty.

  “Probably out hooking again, can’t keep that kid off the corner,” I answered, living up to my smart-ass reputation.

  Hank gave a small shake of his head. He obviously wasn’t amused by my antics but that was no surprise. He rarely was.

  Just then, the front door opened and Jimmy sauntered in. “Hey, y’all.”

  Hank scowled. “You should knock.”

  Jimmy waved that away. “I’m family. Family doesn’t knock.”

  “It does now. And just a heads up, Hank changed the locks.” I motioned to our beast of a big brother.

  “The hell he did.” Jimmy’s face scrunched.

  “Took you long enough to get here,” Hank grumbled.

  “I told Billy I was stopping to get a bite.”

  “Did you bring enough for the class?” I stuck out my hand.

  Jimmy grinned. “Nah, Hank called the meeting. So he has to provide the food.”

  It was a Comfort brother rule: He who calls the meeting must provide the sustenance.

  “You already ate.”

  “That was first lunch. You know, like Taco Bell has fourth meal.” He grinned.

  I had to laugh. Jimmy was predictable, that was for damn sure. He’d say it was part of his charm. I wasn’t quite sold on that being the case.

  Hank silently headed toward the kitchen and Jimmy and I followed along behind him. We sat down at the table and Hank walked to the refrigerator. He took out a plastic container with cold cuts inside, popped the top, and sniffed it before setting it on the counter.

  Next came cheese, condiments, lettuce, and a loaf of bread. All of them except the bread got the sniff test, just like the deli meat had.

  “Damn, Hank. I don’t know whether to feel good about the fact that you just smelled that food, or shitty about the fact that you had to,” I winced.

  Hank ignored me as he dropped the sandwich fixings down in the middle of the table, along with a paper plate and plastic utensils for each of us.

  “See? This is why I ate before I came over here. I never know what state your fridge is going to be in.” Jimmy said, not letting that stop him from spreading mayonnaise enthusiastically on a slice of bread.

  Hank narrowed his eyes. “I notice that’s not keeping you from stuffing your face.”

  Jimmy shrugged, the carefree grin that was his default spread across his face.

  Hank slathered mustard on his slice of bread, at a much slower and more measured pace than Jimmy. When he spoke, the cadence of his voice matched the rhythm of his knife. “Did Pop ever say anything to you all about a trust fund?”

  Jimmy and I both stared at one another blankly. Once upon a time, our father was a hard-working man. He owned the bar and bought the house we were all seated in, after all. But the past twenty years, since losing our mom, he’d barely been able to make ends meet. Or at least for the first ten that had been the case. Once I took over managing the bar and Hank moved back here, we’d handled all the finances.

  “Pop left a trust fund?” Jimmy asked, sounding just as confused as I felt.

  “No. He said Mama did.”

  “Oh.” We both nodded.

  That made sense. Our mother came from money. Old money. Still, I hadn’t ever heard of this before. “What did he say?” Hank tended to communicate the abbreviated versions of things, so I repeated the question and clarified my meaning. “What did he say exactly?”

  “It was at the end, he wasn’t making a lot of sense. But he kept talkin’ bout the trust. That the trust was ours. That she would want us to have it. And then he’d get real mad and say it was an accident. It was an accident, over and over.”

  “What was an accident?” Jimmy asked, his mouth full of food.

  “Hell if I know.” Hank said in a monotone. “But it has somethin’ to do with the trust.”

  None of this made any sense. I set my knife down. “How much are we talkin’ about?”

  Hank just shrugged.

  Jimmy stopped chewing and—miracle of miracles—put his sandwich back on the plate. “Wait. Do you think that
’s why Cheyenne showed up? Because of the trust?”

  My eyes widened. Damn. That wasn’t like Jimmy at all. Normally, he gave people the benefit of the doubt, and whether he remembered her or not, Cheyenne was family.

  Hank looked down at his plate for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Thought crossed my mind.”

  Protective anger burned in my belly and I felt like telling them both they needed to get their heads out of their ass, but I held myself back. Even though Hank was older than I was and technically should’ve remembered Cheyenne as a kid better than I did, it was also true that he hadn’t been as close with her as I had. She and I had been a matched set. She was my shadow, not his.

  Mama used to smile at us and say that we were like sunshine and blue skies, you never saw one without the other and it never failed to bring a smile to your face when you did.

  So, because they didn’t have that special connection, I might have to be patient. That wasn’t my strong suit.

  I took a deep breath to make sure my voice would be even before I spoke. It didn’t really work. “So, genius, your big theory is that she up and left the lap of luxury to come down here for…what? The off chance that there’s some trust fund? And so what if that is the case? She’s just as much Mama’s child as we are. She’s blood.”

  Jimmy, to his credit, looked rightly sheepish. “Well, damn. When you put it that way. I just don’t know why she only came here after Pop was gone. I mean, she’s how old?”

  “Twenty-five.” I did my best not to sound as defensive as I felt.

  “Why wait seven years after you turn eighteen to come and find your family?”

  Hank grunted. “How do you know she was living in the lap of luxury?”

  My jaw clenched and I had to work not to let my fists follow its lead. “Did you see her shoes? Her bag? The diamond tennis bracelet she had on?” Growing up in a tourist town that was visited by all sorts, I’d learned to spot who had real money and who was pretending they’d had it from an early age. “Those things alone are worth more than this house is.”

  Hank exhaled loudly through his nose. “I’d feel better if I knew why she was really here.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Maybe to see her brothers? To get to know us again?”

  “Then why’d she leave in the first place?” Hank growled.

  “Are you serious right now, Hank? She was five years old! She had no choice. Our grandparents dragged her out, kickin’ and screamin’. If anything, we should be wondering why we never heard from them, not her.”

  Jimmy turned a puzzled gaze on me. “What do you mean, kickin’ and screamin’?”

  “Are there a lot of ways to interpret that?”

  Hank jumped back in. “Pop told me she wanted to go. That she practically begged to, as a matter of fact. He said that she didn’t want to live here after Mama was gone.”

  At that, I let the protective rage I’d tried to suppress earlier have full control. “Are you fucking kidding me? Well, I tell you what, there’s a reason he never tried to shovel that horseshit around me. Because I was there and I would’ve told it the way it really happened.”

  I filled them in on a play by play of the events of Mama’s funeral reception, and by the end of it, they seemed a lot softer toward Cheyenne.

  “Okay,” Jimmy took in a deep breath. “But I still have one question, how in the hell did you guys never tell me about her?”

  I glanced at Hank, whose expression was as unreadable as it always was.

  I shook my head, knowing that it was up to me. “I don’t know. I guess at first I was dealing with losing Mama, and then, the years passed and I don’t know… I never forgot her but, I just didn’t think about her.” I wished I had a better explanation, or at least a better way to explain the one I did have.

  “I gotta admit, it’s sort of a mindfuck finding out that we have a sister.” Jimmy sighed and shook his head. “And why didn’t Pops ever say anything? Why didn’t he ever try to get her back?”

  I had a few ideas, but none of them were charitable, and I had no desire to speak ill of the dead, so I kept them to myself.

  “I don’t know why he did or didn’t do anything.” Hank said, resignation filling his voice.

  Jimmy still looked confused and I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. That guilt was amplified by the fact that he hadn’t touched the second sandwich that Hank slid in front of him.

  Since I was the one that was there that day and remembered the scene, I tried to explain his actions as best I could. “Pop was a good man in a lot of ways, but he was a weak man. Too weak to face the fact that his rich in-laws, who never liked him much, all but snatched his daughter away from him, and he was powerless to stop it. He would never have admitted that to us.”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy sighed. “I guess you’re right. It’s just strange that something I’ve accepted as fact for so many years is just complete bullshit. I mean, we have a sister.”

  “You guys should come to the bar tonight,” I suggested. “Sit and talk with her. Get to know her.”

  “I’m in,” Jimmy easily agreed.

  Hank on the other hand, just stared at me.

  “I ain’t askin’.” I threw his line back at him.

  He threw a wadded up napkin at me and nailed me right between the eyes.

  His retaliation meant that I’d won. And that things, although different, were going to be okay. We were going to be okay.

  Now, all I was worried about was whether lady lawyer’s maybe was a yes or not.

  CHAPTER 8

  Reagan

  I sat at my desk and did my best to concentrate on anything other than the man behind the cocky half-grin that had taken up residency in my brain. No use, though. It was all I could think about. He was all I could think about. I’d never been so affected by someone before.

  I’d been half joking when I’d considered the possibility that I might be having a nervous breakdown before, but I was starting to grow concerned. It had been four hours since Billy Comfort walked his tight butt out of these offices and I hadn’t gone more than a minute without thinking of him since.

  He’d hijacked my mind and I needed it back so I could work.

  Was I obsessing about him because it was easier than facing all the changes in my life?

  No. That didn’t track. I wasn’t avoiding my reality. If anything, it was the opposite. I was relieved. It terrified me when I thought about how close I’d been to making a huge mistake.

  Deep down, I think I’d known it was a mistake for a long time. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t texted Blaine on that fateful day to let him know I was stopping by like I’d always done before. I hadn’t consciously suspected that he was cheating on me, but looking back on it now, it was clear that I’d known something wasn’t right.

  We got along. We shared the same taste in TV shows and had the law in common. On top of that, we never disagreed, which I was now beginning to think wasn’t such a good thing.

  There hadn’t been any passion for a long time. Even in the beginning we hadn’t been burning up the sheets. Our sex life was always the same. It’s not that it was bad, it was just always the same. It started the same, the middle bit was the same, and it ended the same. I’d even timed it down to the minute. It was seven. And unlike the game, it wasn’t seven minutes in heaven.

  I’d tried to spice things up a few times but it had gone over like a lead balloon.

  A realization hit me as I sat trying to concentrate on the brief in front of me. Part of what had been so shocking when I’d walked into Blaine’s office was the position that he’d had the woman in. She was bent over his desk, doggy style. Blaine had never taken me from behind. Every time I tried to flip over he’d stop me and say he wanted to see my face.

  At first, I’d thought it was sweet. But after a while, it just got boring.

  My phone screen lit up and I was momentarily relieved for the distraction. The relief was short-lived, however, when I saw a picture
of my mother at age twenty appear on the screen. It wasn’t a photo that I’d chosen; she’d been the one that’d put it in my phone.

  The reasons not to answer the call were countless. I had a stack of files in front of me that I needed to get through. This was my first day on the job. I could go on and on, but the biggest one was that I knew I didn’t want to hear anything my mother had to say. She was Team Blaine all the way and I didn’t need her telling me, again, that I was making the biggest mistake of my life.

  I seriously considered letting it go to voicemail. But I knew that if I did, she’d just call back again. And again.

  Drawing a fortifying breath, I closed my eyes as I answered the call.

  “Hi, Mom, can I call you back? I’m actually knee deep in—”

  “You’ve made your point, Fancy,” she cut me off before I was even able to get out my greeting, which included an explanation as to why I needed to call her back.

  She also used the name that had been on my birth certificate before Hal had talked her into allowing me to change it when I was ten. That’s right, my mother had named me Fancy after the Reba McEntire song. Don’t get me wrong, it was a great song. But I was literally and non-ironically named after a girl whose mom turns her out because they are poor. Let that sink in for a minute.

  That wasn’t all. My last name, before Hal adopted me, was Cox. Yep, ladies and gentleman, my birth name was Fancy Cox.

  When Hal told me that after he adopted me I could legally change my name, I’d been so excited because I’d assumed it was my entire name. When I found out that it was only my last, I’d been heartbroken. He somehow convinced my mom to let me change both, and that is one of the countless things I will forever be grateful to him for.

  I chose Reagan because it was Hal’s middle name. Harold Reagan York. It just made sense to me. He was a better father to me than I ever could’ve dreamed of. He never had any biological kids and my biological dad was MIA. Hal used to always say that when people had kids “the old fashioned way” they didn’t get to choose them, but he was lucky because he chose me. He chose to adopt me.