Simple

by Toler, B N

  I climbed into the backseat and my father slammed the car door behind me before getting behind the wheel. Through the windshield, I watched as my mother spoke to Cole for a moment, but he shook his head at whatever she’d said. The moment her door closed after she climbed in my father backed up so fast the tires squealed.

  We rode the short distance in silence and once parked, my father stomped angrily to the porch. I followed quickly behind him, unable to fathom how rude he’d been to Cole. Over what? Kissing? I got the whole over-protective-daddy bit, but this seemed over the top.

  “Daddy, why are you so angry?”

  He spun around and thundered down the steps stopping inches from my face. Red-faced, eyes lit with rage, he bellowed, “Do you think any father would be happy to see his only daughter laid out in the back of a dirty truck with some simpleton nowhere near good enough for her sprawled out on top of her?”

  I narrowed my eyes, offended on Cole’s behalf. “We fell,” I tried to explain. “He was helping me get my bike out of the back of the truck and we slipped.”

  He snorted in disbelief. “So you fell, huh?” Lowering his head, he met my gaze head on. “Nothing else?”

  My mouth suddenly felt dry and I swallowed. I certainly hadn’t done anything I was ashamed of, but that didn’t mean I wanted to get into specifics about my make-out session with Cole. “Do you really think I’d have sex with a boy in a grimy truck bed?”

  His nostrils flared. I’d said it. Sex. It was a word he didn’t like where I was concerned. “I don’t know, Emalee. I wouldn’t have imagined you hanging out with the likes of him to begin with.”

  My mouth dropped open. The likes of him?

  “He’s a good boy,” my mother intervened.

  “He’s poor trash, Betty. Even you said they’re about to lose that farm.”

  My head whipped to my mother. “Is that true?” Mama had said they had financial troubles, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.

  Her mouth was set in a hard line as she shot my father a glare. “Those boys inherited that burden—that’s not indicative to who Cole is,” she gritted out. “And some people can have all the money in the world, but still lack class and a moral compass. You,” she pointed at him, “should know that better than anybody, Stan.”

  His expression hardened. “I don’t even know what that means, Betty.”

  Neither did I.

  Though she was being vague, whatever she was insinuating was big. My mother wasn’t one to toss around flippant insults.

  “And might I remind you, Stan,” she gave him a pointed look, “that simpleton, as you called him, not only gave our daughter a ride home when you abandoned her at the fair, but also helped her pick you up off the asphalt and load you into the car when you were too drunk to walk. You’re the last person in the world that should be throwing stones at someone, Mr. Glass House.”

  My eyes widened as I glanced at my father. We hadn’t discussed him going on a bender and forgetting I was at the fair performing, relying on him to take me home afterward. The following morning when I’d left to head to the Kepner’s, he hadn’t been in the car anymore. He’d never mentioned what had happened that night and with things so tense between him and Mama, I’d thought it best not to bring it up.

  Unable to counter mama’s point with anything solid, he spun and disappeared into the house, heading straight to the kitchen. A moment later we heard the sound of ice clinking in a glass. Great. He was making himself a drink.

  When I shot my gaze to Mama, her features were tight as her chest rose with a deep inhale. I knew that look too well. She was fed up. “Go take a shower and put on some clean clothes, Emalee,” she instructed before following my father inside and into the kitchen. I moved slowly up the stairs, my back still sore from the fall, deciding it was best for me to stay out of both of their ways. It seemed my parents had bigger problems than my father and I did.

  After my shower, as I was walking to my room, I heard my parents yelling at each other. I went in my bedroom and stood just inside with the door cracked, holding my towel around me tightly as I listened.

  “So what, Stan!” my mother shouted. “She deserves to have fun. So what if she wants to have a summer romance; that’s what growing up is all about. Don’t you rememb—”

  “Betty,” my father cut her off, impatience threaded in his voice. “I let you drag us out here so you could work through whatever it is you’re working through under the guise that Emalee needed a summer as a kid.”

  There was a pause, and I could picture my mother’s expression perfectly. “Oh,” she laughed sardonically. “Guise? That’s rich coming from you.”

  “What does that mean, Betty?”

  A moment of silence followed before my mother spoke again, her voice too quiet for me to make out what she said.

  Rushing to my closet, I yanked a summer dress off the hanger and tugged it on. By the time I got back to the door, they were still speaking in hushed voices. How rude. I carefully crept across the creaky old floors so I could eavesdrop better.

  “I think you should leave, Stan,” my mother suggested. The insult and fight that had been in her voice moments before was gone, replaced with something worse—complacency. She was done arguing. “I think you’re right. I am going through something, and I think I need to be away from you while I work through it.”

  “Betty,” my father said exasperated. “You’re being irrational.”

  I winced on my father’s behalf. That was completely, and emphatically, the wrong thing for him to say in that moment.

  “We’ll have a birthday breakfast with Em in the morning, and then you can tell her you have to leave on business again. I’d like to spend the rest of the summer with her before she goes on this tour you’ve arranged.”

  Ice clinked in a glass, the sound of my father polishing off his drink. “And what happens after that?” he asked her gruffly.

  “I don’t know,” she replied defeated.

  On my tip toes, I slipped back into my room and lay on the bed. I knew deep down my mother asking my father to leave wasn’t my fault, but I still felt responsible on some level. Finding me with Cole had been the catalyst to this particular argument, and now it seemed they would spend the summer apart. My parents are going to get divorced. Happy eighteenth birthday, Em. Resting my head on my folded arms I tried to forget their fight—to forget what I’d overheard.

  I only wanted to think about the warmth of Cole’s kiss.

  The weather man was calling for another hellacious storm, and by the time Emalee showed up the next day, Bailor and I were hustling to finish all the day’s work before it hit. I was secretly relieved to be too busy to greet her. I had no idea how to greet her. She’d broken me the day before in the back of the truck and there was no going back, but I was fumbling with the what now?

  When the sky finally fell out, we were quickly drenched and bore a striking resemblance to wet dogs by the time we trudged inside the house. It was only four in the afternoon, but with the heavy overcast it felt later. Light leaked into the hallway from the den when we stepped inside.

  “This is Cole?” I heard Emalee exclaim. “He had such a cute little tush.”

  Bailor grinned and I winced at the realization Emalee was looking at our photo albums. Glancing into the den, I saw Emalee lying next to our mother on the bed, a worn photo album propped open in her lap for both to see. Sensing our presence, she peeked up and pink whispered across her cheeks when our eyes met.

  “Really, Mom?” I feigned annoyance. “You had to show her our childhood photos?”

  Mom let out a squeaky laugh. “Best years of my life raising you three.” It took her a minute to get all of the words out, but it was the volume I noticed more than what she’d actually said. Her voice was quieter. That’s not good. I kept playing along with her, hoping the banter would keep her smiling.

  “What you really mean is from the day I was born on were the best. The years before were probably pretty awful.�
��

  “Pfft,” Bailor snorted, joining in. “You and Joe’s birth were before and after the glory years that are known as the time of Bailor.”

  Emalee rolled her eyes. “Constance you are such a modest soul. How’d you end up with these two ego maniacs?”

  Mama let out a breathy laugh as she tapped at her screen.

  God. Is. Good.

  Closing the album, Emalee stood and placed it on the bottom shelf of the nightstand before straightening the blanket she’d been sitting on. “I saw the cake you made for me, guys,” Emalee said with glee. “It looks amazing.” Bailor and I glanced at each other. We hadn’t made Emalee a cake. We’d briefly discussed it the night before, but it had been late by the time we were done with the truck, and with the early start that morning because of the impending rain, we hadn’t had a chance to make it. It was still on our never-ending to-do list.

  “We can serve it after you two change. You’re getting water and mud all over the damn place,” Joe griped from behind us.

  Bailor cut his gaze to Joe, then me. I knew what he was thinking. Joe. He’d made the cake, but obviously didn’t want Emalee to know. The kind gesture would clash too greatly with the asshole vibe he was always trying to uphold. Bailor opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. Joe was so damn complicated. Why couldn’t he just admit he’d made it.

  After a long moment, Bailor jerked and started toeing off his boots as he swung one arm out, clothes-lining me. I hadn’t expected to be hit and the shock of it sent me stumbling back against the wall.

  “I call first shower,” he shouted as he struggled with his second boot before bending down, opting to tug it off.

  “Oh hell no,” I gritted as I slid down the wall to wrestle off my own boot. Bailor got his second one off about one second before I did and bolted for the stairs. I jumped up but slipped and only managed to get my arms around one of his legs. He thudded to the ground hard, accidentally hitting me in the nose with his elbow. We both let out pained groans as we struggled to untangle ourselves from one another.

  “What the hell, Cole?” Bailor bellowed, his eyes squeezed closed in pain, as he arched his body putting one hand to his back.

  I was too busy covering my face, protecting what felt like crushed cartilage instead of a nose, to answer him.

  “Jesus, are you guys okay?” Emalee shrieked as she knelt between us.

  Joe, having witnessed the entire debacle, was completely devoid of any reaction. “You’re getting blood on the rug, Cole.”

  “Your nose is bleeding, Cole,” Emalee said panicked as if she’d just realized it.

  “Damn it, Bailor,” I snapped. The whole thing was my fault, but at the moment, it felt more like his.

  “Hey, don’t blame me, asshole,” Bailor grunted as he moved to his knees and crawled toward the stairs. “You’re the one lacking speed and coordination.”

  “I’m getting the first shower,” I yelled after him as I sat up. Emalee rushed to the kitchen and returned with a dishtowel, handing it to me.

  Bailor crawled up the first two steps. “Over my dead body.”

  I moved to go after him, but Emalee put both of her hands around my bicep, stopping me. “Why don’t we get your nose to stop bleeding first. Hot water and steam might not aide in that right now.”

  I squeezed one eye shut as my nose throbbed and looked at her with the other. I briefly pulled the towel away to ask, “How bad does it look?”

  She twisted her mouth in a weird way that screamed it looked awful. “It’s not that bad,” she lied, and I couldn’t help but smile a little. “Why are you smiling?” she asked.

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re the worst liar in the world? Your face is an open book.”

  She rolled her eyes and stood, bending down to offer me help getting to my feet. “Well we need to get you cleaned up, Mr. Kepner.”

  “Everyone’s okay, Mom,” I heard Joe say from inside the den. “Cole and Bailor were just rough housing a little.”

  I didn’t want her to see me with a bloody nose, unsure of how she’d react, even though it had been an accident. I sat at the kitchen table and leaned my head back.

  “Don’t do that,” Emalee said, gently pushing my head forward. “Keep your head straight so it doesn’t drain down your throat.” She glanced at my shirt. “You have blood all over your shirt. Take it off so I can rinse it before it stains.”

  I awkwardly tugged it off then returned the dish towel to my face. She dropped my shirt in the sink under the running water before returning to me and swapped the saturated towel with a clean one.

  I watched her eyes skate down my body, making me smirk. She was checking me out. “Like what you see there, Em?”

  Her cheeks blazed as she turned and busied herself at the sink rinsing my shirt.

  Oh, I liked this. Usually, she was the one pushing and teasing, but now the tables had turned. “Look at you. My face is all busted up and you’re still checking out the goods.”

  She shrugged as she looked over her shoulder at me. “Nothing a brown paper bag couldn’t fix.”

  I snorted, spewing blood from my nose, then bellowed in pain and agony as I tried stifling my laugh.

  She rushed over to me, her eyebrows raised. “Are you okay?”

  “Why’d you make me laugh like that?” I groaned as she gingerly touched me everywhere, not knowing what to do to help me.

  “Because you were goading me.”

  “You always goad me,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, and I’m better at it.” Her dark eyes were filled with mock pity. “Just accept defeat and quit trying to throw your hat in this ring.”

  I fought the urge to laugh again. “Stop being funny.”

  She grinned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d try to blow half your brains out your nose.”

  I half-laughed, half-whined again. Damn it hurt. “Em!”

  “Okay. Okay,” she chuckled.

  “You think it’s broken?”

  She held my face as she inspected me. “I don’t know. You’re already bruising around your eyes a little. Does it feel broken? Maybe we need to take you to the doctor.”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t think it is.” My face hurt like hell at that moment, but I wagered it would’ve felt a lot worse if it was actually broken. Glancing at her, I jested, “Still wanna kiss me with my face busted like this, or am I now a but-her-face?”

  “You’re impossible, Cole Kepner,” she mused, then her features tightened as she grew serious. Kneeling down, she pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, then to my cheek, then my lips. “Yep. That mouth of yours really is perfect, ya know.”

  She turned away, oblivious to my sudden shock. I hadn’t expected her to do, or say anything so…sexy. Had she meant it to sound that way, or was I just jacked up from the commotion of the afternoon?

  “What happened with your parents?” I finally asked as she continued to rinse my shirt and wring it out in the sink.

  Her body sagged ever so slightly. “Nothing. They didn’t say anything to me about it.”

  “Really?” I asked, perplexed. “Your father seemed pissed.”

  “He’s left for the summer, so you don’t have to worry about him.” Her tone lacked all emotion.

  I frowned. Something didn’t sound right. “Is everything okay?”

  She shook her head. “Everything is fine.” As she grabbed another towel from the drawer, I realized she really knew her way around our house. She grabbed a couple handfuls of ice from the freezer and twisted them up in the towel. “Put this on your face,” she ordered me. “Maybe we can eliminate some of the bruising.”

  I took the ice pack and gently laid it over my nose, grateful that the bleeding seemed to have stopped. She was avoiding discussing her parents, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe they were really angry, and she just didn’t want to tell me. I decided to let it go and attempted to lighten things. “We’ve been dating for zero-point-one seconds and you’re already bossing me around,”
I teased.

  Her face went slack, eyes widening in exaggerated joy. “Is that what we’re doing, Cole?” She waggled her brows, goading me this time. “We’re dating?”

  I let out a defeated sigh, realizing my mistake.

  “Well, I’ll be,” she burst out in a fanciful southern accent. “Cole Kepner is my boyfriend. Oh Lord, I thought this day would never come!”

  “Okay.” I held a hand up. “Let’s calm down.”

  “Calm down?” she gasped as she placed a hand to her chest and fluttered her eyelashes obnoxiously. “Why, I believe you just gave me heart palpitations.”

  “Okay,” I said dryly. There was no point fighting it. Emalee was a performer at heart. She had to get this out of her system. She was like Bailor in some ways; there was just no stopping it. “Go ahead. Get it all out.”

  With her eyes still wide and bright and an obnoxious smile on her face, she sashayed her hips as she slowly turned in a circle and sang, “I’m your girlfriend. You wanna love me. And give me smooches.”

  I chuckled. “Smooches?”

  She beamed a beautiful grin at me before pursing her lips. “You know you love smooching me, Cole Kepner. That’s why you want to date me.”

  She knew she’d gotten me. She’d thrown her hook out and harpooned me, and I was nothing but a speared fish unable to escape. I hadn’t even been thinking when I said dating. I mean, I suppose we were, even though we both knew anything we might have between us would end with the summer. Reaching out, I took her hand, trying to ground us both a little. We were laughing and joking now, but I needed to know we were both on the same page. I needed to know she understood exactly what we were agreeing to.

  “I can’t promise you this is going to be some epic summer love to stand the test of time, Em.” I scratched the back of my neck. “Things…are…complicated here.” She knew about my mother and her impending death, but there were other things. We were close to losing the farm, in debt up to our eyeballs, with only two of us to actually work the farm. This wasn’t summer at the Hamptons, where we wore pastel polos and sweaters over our shoulders because we were elite college kids with nothing to do but bask in a summer of young freedom. There was no vacation from our lives, and we had little foot-loose-and-fancy-free to offer anyone. I had no idea why she’d even want to be around a place like this.