Swear (Landry Family #4)

by Adriana Locke

  My eyes close as it all plays out in front of me like it just happened. Ford must sense the heaviness of my heart and runs his hand down my back.

  “I never really had a lot of friends in school,” I say. “I mean, I had lots of friends but never those close friends that feel like your people, you know? Never a tribe or a squad or whatever those dumb names are girls call them. It was fine most of the time, but sometimes it bit me in the ass.”

  He squeezes my behind, making me smile.

  “The day you found me was a tough one. There was this little boy in our school in a wheelchair. Something was physically wrong with him, but mentally he was pretty much on par with the rest of us. He just couldn’t speak clearly for whatever reason. You had to be patient with him but it would come.”

  I grin as I remember his lopsided smile. “His name was Scott and he was really sweet. We had the same lunch. The day I met you, I had taken my lunch over and sat with him and his helper, this lady assigned to him by the school. Sitting there making him laugh was far better than listening to the girls gossip and compare the best lipsticks.”

  I mentally walk the hallway from the cafeteria to the bathroom and go into the stall. The sound of their footsteps squeaking against the linoleum rings through my ears.

  “I overheard them making fun of me for sitting with Scott, making these disgusting jokes about him drooling and flailing around,” I remember. “I just hid in the stall and listened. I couldn’t find the courage to go out and confront them because I couldn’t believe I was actually hearing it.”

  “People are evil,” Ford says. “It never ceases to amaze me how mean they can be. They don’t need a reason; they’ll find one. Anything to make themselves feel better.”

  “It was the first time I’d experienced that. Girls had been mean to me before but whatever. I could let that roll, for the most part. But to say those things about Scott? It really bothered me. It still bothers me.”

  “So you were sitting out here that day thinking about that, huh?”

  “I was. My dad used to bring me here to fish on the days he’d let me skip school and hang out with him. I’d never seen another soul out here before. It was my quiet refuge until you came over that hill raising hell on your four-wheeler,” I laugh. “What were you doing out here that day, anyway?”

  “I don’t really know,” he admits. “I was always off by myself. No one in my family or the guys we went to school with liked to ride dirt bikes or ATVs or go fishing or whatever. They were more into chess and newspaper-worthy events,” he grins. “That day, I was riding around on one of the adjoining properties and ran into Mr. Kauffman. He owns this one. He told me I could ride around out here, so I took him up on it. Then I found you.”

  Standing on my tiptoes, I meet his lips with mine. It’s a soft gesture, one that isn’t driven by lust or lost time but, instead, maybe a love that you only find once.

  “I remember you turning around,” he chuckles. “You gave me this look like you thought I was going to kill you or something and all I wanted to do was kiss the girl with mud down the side of her face.”

  “I think you did kiss that girl,” I wink.

  “I did. And then I was hooked.” He takes my hand and leads me to a burgundy and white quilt beneath a tree. A picnic basket is sitting on one corner.

  “You made me pinky swear that I wasn’t a serial killer,” he laughs. “Do you remember that?”

  “It seemed legit at the time,” I say, embarrassed that he remembers.

  My heart is full, memories flooding back like they only can when you’re at the location they took place.

  “This is the best date spot ever,” I whisper. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  We sit on a blanket stretched out under a tree. Ford lifts the lid to a picnic basket. I laugh as he pulls out two glass bottles of root beer, a bag of chips, and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  “It’s not gourmet,” he laughs, his cheeks flushing. “But I got stuck in the office until late and I wasn’t about to stop and buy burgers.” He hands me a sandwich wrapped in plastic wrap. “I’ll happily buy you whatever you’d like when we leave, but—”

  My hand rests on his forearm, stopping him mid-sentence. “This is perfect.”

  He takes me in carefully. “It’s not. I don’t think I could ever come up with the perfect way to show you how much I think about you.”

  I twist his wrist and press my thumb against the little star in the bend of his thumb and pointer finger. “You did.”

  Tossing my sandwich beside me, I crawl across the blanket and curl up in his lap. He locks his hands around my waist and nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck.

  “So, I was talking to Barrett last night,” Ford says. “I think he really might run in the next election cycle.”

  “Really?”

  “Maybe. He and Graham and I had a long discussion about it. He has reservations, naturally, and is afraid he’s being thrown into a lion’s den.”

  “That’s what D.C. politics is, isn’t it? A giant lion’s den.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said,” he chuckles. “But politics is Barrett’s thing. He’s been testing some ideas out, tossing around platforms that he could run on. One of them,” he says carefully, strumming his fingers against my arm, “is the idea of bringing back the family dynamic in this country.”

  “Like sit-down dinners and things?”

  “Yes. Kind of. I understand it like he wants to make the country think more about doing things as a community, helping one another. Being involved in their neighborhoods. That kind of thing.”

  “That’s sensible,” I agree. “I like it. I think it would resonate well with a lot of people.”

  He takes a deep, calculated breath. “A part of the reason he was asking Graham and I for our thoughts is because, to pull this off, he’d need his family to have his back.”

  “Of course you’d support him, right? I’m not following you.”

  Turning in his arms, I see the hesitation in his eyes, the lines forming around his mouth. Forcing a swallow, I wait for some kind of bomb to drop because I know it’s coming. It’s written all over his face.

  “The thing is,” he pauses, “he’d want to incorporate us into his campaign. Really walk the talk, so to speak.”

  He gauges my reaction, his features falling as I sit up. My stomach flip-flops, my mind scrambling to get to the point and to get there fast.

  “So you’d be going to D.C.?” I ask flat-out.

  “If he won. He proposed me being on the security panel of his campaign. I could do a lot of that from a home base—Savannah or Atlanta, for now. But once the actual campaign would start . . .” He blows out a breath. “God knows what it would entail, to be honest.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know this is a lot to take in, but I wanted you to know it was being discussed.”

  I nod, forcing back a lump that’s forming rapidly in my throat. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “I’m not sure he’s even going to do it, Ellie. And if he does, I have no idea what my role will be.”

  Sitting criss-cross applesauce on the blanket facing him, I consider what that life would be like. Or if there would even be one for me included in that plan.

  There’s no interest on my part in spending weeks and weeks alone while he travels the country with his brother. I have no desire to relocate anywhere, much less to the shark tank of Washington.

  I see the resolution in his eyes. I know the loyalty he has to his family. And, sadly, I know where I rank.

  “You’re overthinking this,” Ford says. “Don’t. Don’t start playing out a million scenarios, Ellie.”

  With a half-laugh, I shrug. “How can I not? At least this time, I have a little warning.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I can prepare for you to move on this time and not be blindsided like before.”

  His sigh is sarcastic, frustration laced all through
his tone.

  “Look,” I say, “I get you want to support your brother. You’d be a dick if you didn’t. But that’s a huge commitment you’re making—”

  “I might make.”

  “You might make,” I correct.

  Before I can say anything else, his gaze catches mine. The brightness of the blues is gone, and in their place, is a reluctance I’ve feared seeing in them since they day he walked into Halcyon. It’s a shadow of the look I saw when he broke the news he was enlisting. It’s enough to make my stomach curl.

  I have a hard time pulling a lungful of air in as I look away.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ford says. “Nothing has been decided.”

  Maybe not for him. But there has for me.

  It takes all the courage I have to turn my head to face him again. I paint a smile on my face and even manage a laugh. “Let’s eat these sandwiches before they get soggy.”

  He wants to press the issue, but smartly decides to let it go. We go about unwrapping our picnic in silence.

  “Listen to what happened at work today . . .”

  Ford begins a story about how a contract almost fell through, but he managed to save it in the end. I stop listening after the first couple of sentences and just nod and smile every now and then.

  His cologne fills the air and weaves with the pine scent from the trees around us. My gaze drifts to the dock to my right and I think back to the little girl I was so many summers ago, the little girl that was broken by a boy that moved along to something better.

  I’m not her anymore.

  Ellie

  “DAD?” THE SCREEN DOOR SQUEAKS as I enter the house. The television is on, his chair pulled out, but he’s nowhere in sight. “Dad?”

  My stomach pulls as I head through the house. The hair on the back of my neck is standing on end, the result of the odd vibe in the home I grew up in.

  The dining room looks normal, everything in place. I turn into the living room and call out again, “Daddy?”

  My mom’s Christmas cactus sits beneath the window undisturbed. The throw pillows that I don’t think have been moved since I moved them last are perched where I left them. The remote control is on the armrest of the recliner. Dad is gone.

  “Dad!” I’m digging in my pocket for my phone when I let out a shriek. “Ah!”

  I fall into the wall, a picture of me as a little girl shaking against the paneling with the force. “You scared the crap out of me!”

  Dad stands in the bathroom doorway, looking shaken. A yellow washcloth is held over his forearm, a small scrape marring his cheek.

  “What’s wrong?” I gasp, getting to my feet and rushing towards him. My heart is pounding, veering out of control.

  “Oh, nothing,” he grumbles. “I fell out in the garden. Didn’t see the rake and went sailing into the zucchini.”

  “Are you okay?” My purse hits the floor with a thud. Much to his dismay, I peel back the cloth and take a look. The wound isn’t deep, but looks nasty anyway. “Did you put stuff on this?”

  “Yes,” he sighs like I’m ridiculous. “It’s a scrape, Ellie.”

  “Is your face okay?” I reach to touch it and he pulls away.

  “I’m fine.” With a shake of his head, he marches by me. Grabbing my purse, I sling it over my shoulder and follow him.

  “You don’t need all that zucchini anyway,” I huff as we enter the kitchen. “Just let it rot to the ground.”

  He sits in his chair in the kitchen, slumping in defeat. He refuses to look at me, so I know I have to tread lightly. He clams up if he doesn’t want to talk. If that’s the case, I could sit here for ten hours and get not a word from the stubborn man.

  So, I change tactics. “How’s the garden? Besides the damn zucchini,” I ask, sliding into the chair by the fridge.

  “Tomatoes are coming out of my ears. Want some?”

  “Sure.”

  He doesn’t take his eyes off the television. “I put a bag on the porch hoping you’d come by. Better use ’em up quick.”

  Picking up a lighter on the table, I fiddle with it. I’ve had an edgy, distracted twitch all day.

  After Ford dropped me off yesterday and I told him I had a headache and he should probably just go home, I’ve been a ball of nervous energy. There’s an overwhelming feeling that I’m on the cusp of a major fall and I can’t stop it. That no matter how hard I claw away at the rocks on the face of the cliff, it won’t make a difference. I’ll free fall anyway.

  “Finished painting Halcyon today,” I tell my father. “It looks really good. Want to take a ride and see it?”

  “Not today, pumpkin.”

  Tossing the lighter on the table, I lean back in my chair. “How did you know Mama was the one?”

  He seems intrigued I’m asking this by his raised brow and tight lips, but doesn’t call me out on it. He doesn’t ask if this has anything to do with Ford, and I don’t volunteer it.

  “Your mother was the only one.”

  “That’s sweet, Daddy.”

  “Maybe, but she was the only choice I could make.”

  “You mean to tell me no one else wanted you?” I tease. “I thought I heard something about you being as handsome as they come, and Mama saying you looked like a hunkier Sam Elliott?”

  He grins like he always does when he thinks about his younger years. “Well, I did have my pick of ’em. Ladies were lined up from here to Atlanta to get a look at your Pop. One night I had three dates with three different women.”

  “You were a man whore,” I gasp. “Daddy!”

  “I was indeed,” he grins proudly, “but that was before your mama came to town.” He looks back at his Western. “There used to be a place you could go and watch a show for a dollar and a half. I was there one Friday night and there she was, sitting on the tailgate of Buddy Loren’s truck. Prettiest thing I ever saw.”

  “Did she just leap off the truck and run to you like they do in the movies?”

  He snorts. “It took me six weeks to get her to go on a date with me.”

  “That man whore reputation probably sunk you,” I point out.

  “Probably. But I got her to agree eventually.” He looks at me again. “I knew she was the one a few weeks after our first date. I was down by the coast, looking over the water and the sun was setting. The sky was this purple color and I remember standing there thinking how beautiful it was and I wished she was there to watch it with me.”

  I wait for more, but he just looks at me. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” he shrugs. “That’s the moment I knew that I wanted to share all the things in my life with only her. That’s really what being The One means, ain’t it?”

  “Oh, Daddy,” I sigh.

  “I reckon you’re asking me this for a reason.”

  “Maybe.”

  I pick up the lighter again and start fiddling with it. “His brother is going to run for office again.”

  “I saw that on the television. They were talking about him being eyed for the Presidency.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why does that have you bothered?”

  “I’m pretty sure it would affect Ford too. Like, he’d have to go off with Barrett and do those things. Maybe even move to Washington if he won.”

  Dad just looks at me.

  “Well?” I ask. “Don’t you see?”

  “See what?”

  I look at the ceiling. “I’ll be honest with you, Daddy. I love him.”

  “I know you do.”

  “But . . .” I look at his handsome, wrinkled face. “But I don’t know if I’m willing to put everything on the line for someone that just takes off when they feel like it.”

  “He hasn’t gone anywhere.”

  “Not yet,” I scoff. “But isn’t the past the best indicator of the future? Isn’t that what you used to drive into my head growing up?”

  “You know what I loved most about your mama?”

  “Absolutely. Her pot roas
t. Everyone knows that.”

  He cracks a smile, but stays focused. “What I loved the most was that she let me . . . evolve. Try new things. Remember the time I had that ponytail?”

  “Those pictures will never be shown to your some-day grandkids,” I say, making a face. “That was horrible!”

  “It wasn’t the best,” he laughs. “But your mother didn’t say a word. She let me pick mushrooms when I really should’ve been mowing the lawn and she didn’t say a peep when I wanted to switch careers from the railroad to truck driving. Then I got hurt and that was over before it started,” he notes. “But the fact of the matter is, she let me grow.”

  “So what you’re saying is, I should just let Ford do what he wants because I’m the girl?”

  “Hell, no,” he laughs. “The rest of my speech goes a little something like this: she let me evolve, yes, but I always listened to her. I always heard her feelings out and we compromised. I didn’t always get what I wanted, but I got the chance to be heard. Marriage is a delicate balance, Ellie Dawn.”

  “Whoa,” I say, holding my hands out. “Let’s not start talking about the m-word.”

  He flicks the mute button on the television and pushes the remote a little off to the side. “Do you have an inkling that you want to see someone else?”

  I don’t. Not a bit. But the look on his face, the severity of his features, keeps me from replying.

  “There’s nothing guaranteed in this life, pumpkin. I’ve lived a long one, seen a lot of stuff. There’s not a thing you can say for sure you’ll have in the morning. Not even another breath. That can be paralyzing when you think about it.”

  “That’s true,” I say softly. “It’s a weakness of mine, actually. I get to thinking about what tomorrow will be like and I just get scared. I’m afraid to make the wrong choices. I’m afraid of being hurt.” I look at the table, cuts from knives and dinners and burns from pots and pans over the years scuffing the surface. “I fear regret.”

  “You can’t do that. You can’t let fear of the unknown make you stop living.” He begins to blink rapidly as a wet sheen sweeps across his eyes. “Don’t turn into me, Ellie.”

  “That wouldn’t be a terrible thing,” I say over the lump in my throat.