Blood and Sympathy

by Lori L. Clark

  That picture was out of last year's high school yearbook. Thanks for the compliment, but no, I don't have anyone lined up to date me. I tend to have the opposite effect on boys around Hensteeth. I think most of them are scared of dating the preacher's daughter.

  My dad and I argued about college tonight. I told him my idea about taking a year off. He didn't like that. So I suggested maybe going to the local community college. I want to do something with my cooking skills. His response to that was pretty insulting. I shouldn't let him get to me, but he does. Telling me not to do something only adds fuel to the fire, making me want to do it just to spite his ass.

  I wish I believed that my father wanted what was best for me. More and more, I'm convinced that he wants me to do what's best for him. Don't want to do anything that tarnishes the good reverend's name.

  LOL stands for "laughing out loud." I like "lots of luck" better. I could use a little of that right now.

  Braden! That's great news that you're going to be getting out early. I'm real happy for you. Seriously!

  I'll watch you ice skate this winter, but don't expect me to join you. Yes, I am a chicken.

  Well, if you're coming home in June, you can just hand deliver that music box in person. That would make it even more special. How often does Jeb come to see you? Maybe he'd let me ride along? Is that even allowed? Would I have to get some sort of special permission or something if I wanted to visit you?

  Do you think Brogan will come to live in Hensteeth when he gets out?

  I'll make you that carrot cake, and no offense to your Aunt Carol, but I make a pretty mean carrot cake myself.

  "By the strength within, I shall succeed." I like that. I think it suits you. If I can figure out what I want, I'll get one with you. What Dad doesn't know, won't hurt him (or me).

  I look forward to hearing from you soon.

  Always,

  Claire

  The full moon shone a golden beam through my curtains. I pulled my robe tighter and opened the window. The night was crisp and clear and the stars seemed close enough to touch. I lit a cigarette and leaned my elbows on the sill as I stared across the silent lawn, wishing I was anywhere but Hensteeth, Tennessee.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Braden Sayer

  When they hear you're getting out, it can earn you a couple different reactions. Some of the guys are happy for you and give you a fist bump. Others can be jealous fuckers, trying to do what they can to thwart your plans. I had to watch my back, try not to piss anybody off, and avoid the usual troublemakers. Including my brother. No, scratch that. Especially my brother.

  I knew Brogan wouldn't be standing in line to congratulate me on my early release. He didn't even pretend. He called me a suck-up, a pussy, and a few other choice names I tried to ignore. I refused to take the bait and let him push my buttons. There was once a time when that might have happened, but no more.

  He stood in my doorway watching me through narrowed eyes. "What's that picture on your wall?" He nodded toward the tiny black and white photo Claire had sent me of herself. I'd taped it to the cinderblock wall above my desk.

  "Just some girl I've been writing to," I said, shrugging my shoulders. I tried to play it off like it was no big deal.

  He twisted his head, looking over his shoulder into the hallway, and quickly stepped into my room. In two strides, he was across the small space with his nose practically touching Claire's smiling face. "Da fuck is this?" he asked. He shot me a smirk and snorted. "You're dreaming bro if you think a pretty girl like that would ever be interested in a fucking loser like you."

  "It's not like that, Brogan. We're just pen pals."

  "What-the-fuck-ever," he said. He reached up and snatched the photo off my wall before I could do anything. Not that there was much I could do that wouldn't jeopardize my clean record. My jaws clamped tightly around the few choice things I wanted to say to him. "Freak. You're a damn virgin. What the hell you got to offer a hot piece of ass like her, anyway? I'll tell you what. Not a fucking thing."

  He laughed and walked out of the room, taking Claire's picture with him. I sat on the edge of my bed and pounded my fists against my thighs repeatedly. It was better to bruise my legs than bloody my brother's face the way I wanted to, the way he deserved.

  Claire's latest letter was folded inside my history textbook. I pulled it out and inhaled her scent of cherries. It was comforting and helped me get over my irritation at my asshole brother's antics.

  I decided to reply.

  Dear Claire,

  Sorry to hear you had such a bad day. I try not to let things get under my skin, but sometimes it can't be helped. Your letters sure do help me forget the crap, though. I had your picture hanging on my wall, and Brogan swiped it. I don't know what the hell he wanted from me in the first place. Anyway, I'm sorry he took it. It was the prettiest thing I've had to look at the whole time I've been locked up.

  I can't imagine you scaring anyone off. I'm sure your dad's only looking out for your best interests. The boys he scares off don't deserve you, because, if their intentions were honorable, they wouldn't be easy to get rid of.

  You will have to listen to what your heart's telling you about college. I wish I had some sage advice to give you, but I don't. Taking a year off might not be a bad idea. You could save up a little extra money and figure out what you want to study. We can't always please everyone else. Sometimes we have to do what makes us happy and hope that it works out for the best down the road. When we try to do what other people think we ought to do, that's when we wind up unhappy. They say to honor thy mother and father, but you also have to honor someone more important … yourself.

  Thank you for explaining what LOL means. I still think I like "lots of luck" better.

  I'm counting down the days until I'm a free man. Knowing I'll be going home soon is the only thing that kept me from breaking Brogan's nose for taking your picture off my wall.

  I think I'll start a list of all the things I want to do when I get home to Hensteeth. I'll be sure to add "ice skating with Claire" to the list. I won't make you do anything you don't want to do, but trust me when I say, I'd never let anything happen to you under my watch.

  I better get to work on that music box I promised you. I'm almost done with the one for Mr. Collins' wife, and yours is next, I promise.

  Uncle Jeb comes up on the first Sunday of every month. You could ask him if you can ride along, but I have to tell you, as much as I'd like to see you face to face, I'd rather the first time we meet not be in this hellhole. I'd be embarrassed for you to see me here. But, telling you no don't seem like something I have the backbone to do, so if you ask Uncle Jeb, and he says okay, then I'm okay with it, too. I'll see what I can do about getting you added to the approved visitor list, just in case.

  I hope and pray Brogan stays as far away from Hensteeth, and me, as he can get. Mrs. Delmonico said it best when she told me, "Blood is no reason for sympathy."

  You have my mouth watering for that carrot cake. J

  Getting a tattoo is another thing for me to put on my list. There's going to be a whole lot of firsts for me to experience, and I'm looking forward to every last one of them!

  Write soon and sweet dreams, Claire.

  Yours truly,

  Braden

  There were a lot more firsts that I had for the list, but for now, I'd just keep those to myself. I didn't understand what the hell she was doing to me. The girl whose black and white yearbook image had been ripped from my wall, a woman whose letters smelled like cherry pie, the innocent little girl I used to stare at from my seat at the back of her daddy's church. Her letters to me were nothing more than simple words--barely snippets--of a life I wanted to crawl between the lines of. I longed to read everything that was and wasn't written on the plain white paper she sent to me.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Claire Copeland

  Olivia's a runner. She's got the body of one--long and lean and not an ounce of fat on her lanky frame. We're
built a lot alike, except that I have plenty of jiggle in my wiggle and a pooch around my bikini line. Sometimes I go with her when she jogs around the lake. She's training for a half marathon, and for some idiotic reason, I let her talk me into signing up to run with her.

  "Five. More. Minutes," I groaned, and pulled the covers up over my head.

  "Get your lazy bones up out of that bed right now. You promised you'd train with me." Olivia huffed and yanked on the blankets.

  I pried open one eye and gave her the nastiest glare I could muster at four on a Sunday morning. "Can't we go after church?"

  "No. Now get up and get dressed."

  "Fine." I kicked my feet free from the tangled sheets and stood, albeit wobbly. She wrinkled her nose and fanned the air in front of her face. I frowned. "Go away. I'll be down in a sec."

  I quickly dressed in layers and reached for my running shoes. On the way out the door, I grabbed a bottle of water to rehydrate from my late night of drinking and smoking.

  "First night off curfew and you couldn't wait to go out partying?" she asked as I climbed into the passenger seat.

  "I've got a lot of catching up to do." I twisted the plastic bottle cap and took a big gulp.

  She gave me a sidelong glance. "Just because Daddy is oblivious to you sneaking out--and breaking the trellis off the side of the porch--doesn't mean I don't know what you've been up to."

  "Good thing I don't have to answer to you," I muttered, staring into the predawn darkness.

  Thankfully, she shut up, and I drained the rest of my water in peace before lacing up my shoes. Where my wardrobe is a clusterfuck of chaos, she's all color coordinated, hair pulled neatly into a ponytail, cutesy little socks peeking out the top of her expensive running shoes. I stifled a yawn and worked my uncombed strands into a single braid.

  She parked in a deserted lot near the boat dock on the western side of Devil's Fork Lake. Hard to believe that in a few more months, finding a spot to park wouldn't be that simple. There's a running path that skirts the entire lake and distance is clearly marked along the well-maintained trails. We'd do six miles, head home, shower and slip into our usual back pew at church.

  Regret over those last few beers from the night before hit before we even started our trek around the water's edge. Before long, we fell into a comfortable pace, with Olivia leading the way. I'm in reasonably good shape and managed to keep up with her despite of my overindulgence the night before.

  "We'll go down to the caves and turn around. That's about six miles, more or less," she said.

  If it wasn't for the lights that the volunteers had installed along the route last summer, the trail would have been pitch black beneath the canopy of bare tree branches that spanned the area. "This place gives me the heebie jeebies," I told her as we made our way along the dimly lit trail. "I keep waiting for bigfoot to wander out of the brush."

  She chuckled. "Why do you think I made you come with me?"

  "Figures."

  "I mean, let's face it. If something starts chasing us, you're screwed since I can outrun you."

  "Not if I trip your ass first," I pointed out.

  The brisk air was the perfect temperature. At around mile one, I peeled off my hoodie and tied it around my waist. As we approached the caves area, Olivia slowed to a walk and waited for me to catch up.

  "Look," she said, pointing toward the mouth of the cave. "Are those feet sticking out?"

  I stopped in my tracks and felt the color drain from my face, in spite of the flush from jogging. "What? Where?"

  She burst into a fit of giggles. "You should see the look on your face. God you are such a sucker."

  "Ha, ha," I said. "Go on, laugh it up. What would you do if there really was a body there?" I did a fast u-turn and began jogging in the opposite direction.

  "Jeez, Claire. This is Hensteeth. Nothing like that ever happens around here."

  "Famous last words," I muttered.

  For the first time in as long as I could remember, we were close to being on time for church that morning after our run. We took our place in the back row and waited for Mrs. Rummels to take her seat at the organ.

  "Mark this on the calendar," I whispered.

  Olivia's forehead creased as she eyed me. "What are you talking about?"

  "When was the last time we were in our seat before Mrs. Blue Hair?"

  She elbowed me and bit her lip. "Be nice, Claire."

  When Sunday services were over, Olivia stopped to talk to our father. I hurried outside, looking for Jeb Sayer. After reading Braden's last letter, I wanted to ask him something.

  "Morning, Jeb," I said, giving him one of my sugar-sweet smiles.

  He quirked an eyebrow at me and nodded. "Morning, Claire."

  "When do you think you'll be visiting Braden again?" I zipped my coat against the chilly wind blowing across the flat piece of land between the church and the blacktopped parking lot.

  "The first Sunday in April, I reckon. Why do you ask?"

  I stared down at my boots and shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. "I was just wondering if I might ride along? Braden said he'd see about getting me put on the visitor's list."

  "I see. What's your daddy think about you going to visit my nephew in juvie?" Jeb pulled on his leather gloves, studying them like they were the most fascinating piece of clothing he had ever seen. He lifted his gaze to meet mine.

  My shoulders dropped. "I haven't asked. I'm eighteen, Jeb. I don't have to ask my dad's permission about everything I do."

  "Fair enough. If you really want to go with me to visit Braden, you're welcome to tag along. It’s a long, boring drive to make alone, might be right nice to have company." A smile slowly slipped into place.

  "Thanks, Jeb."

  "I won't mention it to your daddy, but I think it might be a good idea if you told him yourself." He tugged his bright red stocking cap down over his equally red ears.

  "I'll tell him." When we get back home. Maybe.

  I watched Jeb make his way over to his pickup while I leaned against Olivia's car and snuck a few quick drags off a cigarette while I waited for her to be done playing kiss ass with our dad.

  "Did I see you talking with Jeb Sayer?" she asked as she unlocked the driver's side door.

  "Yep." I dropped the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out before I got in the Taurus.

  "Why were you talking to him?"

  "Didn't I tell you?"

  "Well, no," she said quietly.

  "Must not have been any of your business, then." I fastened my seatbelt and leaned against the leather headrest. She mumbled something under her breath and I closed my eyes against the death glare I knew she was giving me.

  As soon as we got home, I changed into something comfy and sat down to write a quick note to Braden.

  Dear Braden,

  Olivia and I went for a run around Devil's Fork Lake before church this morning. Then, believe it or not, we even arrived on time for a change.

  Afterward, I asked your Uncle Jeb if I could ride with him when he comes to visit you in April. I hope you don't mind. If you'd rather I didn't come, tell me, and I won't. I won't take it personally, I promise.

  That sucks that Brogan swiped the picture I gave you. Especially since I went to the trouble of cutting it out of Olivia's yearbook. This is another reason you should let me come see you. You can meet me in person and see that I'm nothing special.

  Your Uncle Jeb asked if my dad was okay with me coming to WTJDC. Honestly, I haven't told him and I'm probably not going to.

  College is still a subject my dad and I skirt around. I don't know what he wants from me, ya know? Seriously, he needs to let me get through high school, have a little fun over the summer, and not push me into something I don't feel I'm ready for. The harder he pushes, the more I'll dig in my heels. He should know that better than anyone by now.

  Do you have a calendar on your wall that you can mark the days off with a big black X? Don't go breaking Brogan's no
se for taking the photo. We'll take plenty more.

  You should start a bucket list! I think that's a great idea. If "ice skating with Claire" makes the list, I guess I should be proud. Olivia and I always joke about some Sasquatch wandering out of the woods around Devil's Fork Lake. As much as I love the place during the hot, humid days of summer, it kind of creeps me out after dark.

  What song will my music box play?

  I hope you added my name to the list of visitors because unless you are seriously against me coming there, I'd really like to meet you.

  I like what Mrs. Delmonico said to you about, "Blood being no reason for sympathy."

  It would be my honor to help you out with your list of firsts.

  Hope to see you soon.

  Sincerely,

  Claire

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Braden Sayer

  Now that my days here are numbered, time moves so slowly I begin to wonder every morning if it's not going backward instead of forward. Johnny Cash knew what the fuck he was talking about when he said "time keeps draggin' on."

  Mr. Collins said his wife was going to love the music box I made for her. I sat at the workbench and leaned on my elbows while thumbing through a catalog with all the different music box songs. Claire's song had to be special, but as little as I knew about her, choosing something unique was hard.

  "Penny for your thoughts, Braden?" Mr. Collin asked.

  "Trying to pick a song for a friend's music box," I told him. I sighed and pushed the catalog away.

  "Friend?"

  "Yeah, my pen pal. I don't know what she'd like."

  He put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure it'll come to you. Why don't you work on the box itself first? You don't need to worry about the tune right away."

  "I guess you're right."

  "Which one's your favorite?" he asked.

  "Each one's special in its own way. It'd be hard for me to pick one I liked best." I got up from the bench and replaced the sandpaper on my sanding block with a finer grit.