Blood and Sympathy

by Lori L. Clark

  "There isn't any hurry, is there? Why don't you just ask her what she wants?"

  "I could do that, but I'd kind of like it to be a surprise for her. If she picks out the design, the color, and the song, then it won't be as special. At least that's how I see things."

  Mr. Collins scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly. "The more you chase after the answers, Braden, the more elusive they become. Whatever you decide, I'm sure she'll love it."

  "Yeah, you're probably right." I ran my hands lightly over the sanded wood and when I was certain it was perfectly smooth, I took out some cheesecloth and wiped away the dust particles. Everything had become routine since I'd been doing it for so long.

  "I've got an idea," Mr. Collins said. "What's your friend's name?"

  My forehead crinkled and I replied, "Claire, why?"

  "Okay, give me a minute, I'll be right back." He unlocked his office door and disappeared inside. A few minutes later, he returned with a cheesy grin on his mug. "The name Claire means 'clear,' and 'bright.' Does that help any?"

  I twisted my mouth into a scowl and shook my head. "No, not particularly."

  "Oh, come on, think about it. What's the brightest thing you can think of?"

  "The sun, I guess."

  "There you go! So, you cut out a sun for the lid." He rubbed his hands together and reached for the catalog. "Now, think up a song to go along with it, and I'd say you've got Claire's music box."

  "That's easy, 'You Are My Sunshine.'"

  "Perfect." Mr. Collins flipped through the pages. When he stopped, he turned the book around and pointed. "Right there."

  I worked a little while longer before heading back to my room. I decided to reply to Claire.

  Dear Claire,

  I don't get a lot of exercise, unless you count lifting weights. I can't imagine running very far, but like anything else, I guess you have to ease into it.

  I had your name put on the list of allowed visitors. They said on account my time here is short, they'd allow you to visit. Technically, you're supposed to be a relative in order to visit an inmate. I thought about telling them you're my sister, but they know my only living relative besides Brogan is Uncle Jeb.

  I hope you won't be too disappointed when you meet me in person. I'll probably be so tongue-tied I won't know what to say, and I'll wind up embarrassing myself.

  If your daddy asks you where you're going that day, I hope you don't lie to him. Is it lying if you don't volunteer all the facts?

  You sound like you're stubborn. My mama always used to tell us, don't cut off your nose to spite your face, or something like that. As a little boy, I wasn't sure what it meant, and now that I'm older, I'm not a hundred percent, but I think I grasp the general meaning. So, Claire, don't cut off your nose to spite your lovely face. J

  No, I don't have a calendar on the wall to mark off the days. It's all up in my head. Trust me, I'm not likely to lose track of the days left.

  What's a bucket list?

  There are all sorts of stories about Devil's Fork Lake. "The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead." That's a legend about Lake Superior, but did you know that when they flooded the land to build the lake, they wiped out a whole town, and there's even a cemetery down there. Uncle Jeb used to tell us all kinds of stories that scared the crap out of me as a kid.

  I worked on your music box today. I'm going to let it be a surprise. I hope you like it.

  Now that you've made up your mind about what tattoo to get, you just have to figure out where to put it. I won't think about that too hard, because my imagination might get away from me, and everyone will wonder what the heck I'm blushing about.

  See you soon,

  Braden

  Having her come for a visit made me nervous. Sometimes, I thought it would be better if we never met. If we were just long distance friends. There's a certain illusion that comes with never meeting someone face to face. You get to know them through writing, and even with physical descriptions, it's difficult to put a face with the handwriting.

  She didn't know what I looked like. The only pictures out there of me where from a time before I wound up in this place. If you looked real hard at the seventeen year old I am now, you might find that twelve-year-old boy inside, but I doubted it. He was gentle, he was kind, and he was naïve. I'm a decent person, but it's been hard not to become jaded and bitter after spending so much time locked up.

  Maybe after Claire meets me, she won't like me very much.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Claire Copeland

  Alistair and I had a pretty heated exchange on the drive over to the party. I told him I wasn't staying out all night, and he got nosy and started asking questions. I told him I had to get up early to go running around the lake with Olivia before church.

  "Go running after church." He shot me an irritated look, as though my wanting to get home at a decent hour would ruin his entire night.

  "I have plans after church," I said, bracing myself for the next question he was bound to ask.

  "What plans?"

  Not that it was any of his business, but I didn't like his attitude. "I'm going with Jeb Sayer to visit his nephew." I didn't figure Alistair would remember Jeb Sayer's nephew was locked up in juvie.

  His head snapped in my direction and he narrowed his eyes. "You're going to visit the Sayer Slayers? What the fuck, Claire? Why would you do something so idiotic? I don't think I like you going there."

  "What's the big deal, Alistair?"

  His jaw muscles tensed. "The big deal is you're my girl. What're people going to think about you going off to visit those two killers?"

  "You've got to be kidding me. First off, I'm not your girl, Alistair. I'm my own person. I don't answer to you. Secondly, did you really just ask me what people are going to think? Since when have you known me to give two shits about anyone's opinion of me?"

  For a split second, I thought I saw something that resembled hurt cloud his face. His fingers gripped the steering wheel, and he shook his head before turning up the volume on the radio. It was Alistair's way of letting me know the discussion was over until he could figure out something intelligent to counter with. Who knew how long that might take.

  An hour into the party, I watched him from the other side of the fire as he slammed so many shots of Jack Daniels that I lost count. I started to wonder if it might be time to find another ride home. He wasn't going to be in any condition to drive, and drinking whiskey made him meaner than a rabid dog. Maybe if I got lucky he'd pass out and let me drive his truck home. I sipped my beer, pacing myself while I weighed my limited options.

  "Hey, Kim," I shouted to a friend, as she strode past.

  She turned and wiggled her fingers at me. "Hi, Claire."

  "You leaving?"

  She nodded and said, "Yeah. You need a ride?"

  My gaze drifted over to Alistair. "Would you mind taking me home?"

  Her eyes followed the direction of my stare. "Not at all."

  "Give me a second. I better at least tell him I'm going." I pulled in a deep breath and walked over to him. "I'm catching a ride with Kim Oliver."

  He pushed away from the truck he was leaning on and was in my face in two steps. He reeked of booze, and his pupils were dilated as he glared at me, daring me to cross him. "What? I'm not good enough to fucking give you a ride home now?"

  Mentally, I counted to ten, trying to maintain my cool. "You're drunk, Alistair. Go sleep it off." I turned to leave, and his hand darted out, grabbing me around my upper arm. His grip was tight and his look was venomous. I wrenched free of his hold and told him, "Don't do something stupid."

  He'd hit me once before, and swore it would never happen again. I was counting on the fact that we had an audience to keep him from going there again. My legs were quaking, and I was trying to keep my temper in check. Fight or flight pumped through my veins and I needed to get the hell away from him before he did something ignorant. One foot in front of the other. I started walking away
.

  "Hey, Claire?" My mistake was turning to face him. He backhanded me hard across the mouth. "You're nothing but a lousy fucking lay anyway."

  The coppery taste of blood was thick on my tongue. I should have probably kept my mouth shut, but I couldn't resist getting in the last word. "Yeah, well, if you could keep it up for more than two minutes, I'd have something to work with." I spat the blood inside my mouth in his face and bolted to where Kim stood gaping at me. Sobriety was on my side, along with weeks of training for a half marathon. I knew I could outrun his drunken, out-of-shape ass.

  "Kim! Hurry the fuck up!" I screamed at her as she stood transfixed by my bravery--or stupidity--hard to say. "Let's get out of here."

  She hit the unlock button on the key fob, and we dove into the front seats of her car. I held my breath until we were out on the main road. Laughter bubbled out of me like some lunatic. She peeked sideways at me. "Damn, you're either crazy brave or crazy fuckin' stupid. I'm not sure which."

  "Both?" I grinned and collapsed against the car seat, letting my heart slow to a calmer pace.

  It was the first Saturday night I'd gotten home before midnight in I couldn't remember how long. Olivia stood in front of the microwave making popcorn when I came in. She did a double-take. "What happened to your face?"

  "It's nothing." My lower lip was split open, and my jaw was tender. She reached toward me and I ducked, batting her hand away from me. "I tripped."

  "Right. I forgot how accident prone you are."

  She turned to retrieve her popcorn and I went up to bed.

  ***

  After our run, I took a shower and wrestled with myself over what to wear. I wanted to look nice for my first in-person meeting with Braden, but I didn't want to look too obvious or like I was trying too hard to impress him. Dad would expect me to wear a dress or a skirt for my appearance in church, but I didn't think that would be appropriate attire for me to wear to a juvenile detention center. I decided I'd wear a dark colored skirt that fell just below my knees with a bright blue sweater, and I stuffed a pair of jeans into my oversized handbag.

  Sleep hadn't been easy to come by the night before. I was anxious about visiting Braden and pissed at Alistair for being such a moron. My lip was split with a really unattractive scab, and there was a faint bruise along my jaw. The bruise I took care of with some makeup, but there wasn't much I could do to hide the nasty looking gash on my mouth.

  Olivia peered at me over the top of her coffee cup. "You going to tell me what happened?"

  I shook my head. "No, it's not important."

  She rinsed her mug and dried her hands. "Okay, I'll take your word for it."

  The sun was out and the early April day was unseasonably warm, bringing out a larger crowd for Sunday services than usual. More people meant Dad would take longer shaking hands and schmoozing the townspeople and I could slip away easily.

  After church I was able to sneak outside unnoticed and spotted Jeb leaning against his charcoal gray Ford pickup waiting for me to cross the parking lot. He beamed a smile at me as I approached. "You didn't tell your daddy, did you?"

  "No. He didn't ask so I didn't have to lie." I grinned and climbed into the passenger seat.

  "I suppose I'm okay with that." He sighed and started the truck, pulling onto the road.

  "He won't even notice I'm gone," I said, taking the jeans out of my bag. I tugged them on and pulled off my skirt before tossing my purse into the backseat.

  "If you say so."

  The drive to WTJDC wasn't a long one, but it felt longer because we were silent most of the way. I drummed my fingers on my thigh and stared out the window. Finally we passed a sign that said "Correctional Facility Area: Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers." My eyes widened and I glanced at Jeb.

  "State makes 'em put them signs up. Most of the boys at WTJDC are harmless."

  "Most?" I swallowed and wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into.

  He chuckled. "Well, yeah. There are a few baddies, but Braden's not one of 'em."

  I nodded slowly. "That's reassuring, I guess."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Braden Sayer

  Claire was really going to visit. I reread her latest letter several times.

  Dear Braden,

  Maybe when you get home we can go running together. I have to warn you, Olivia's a pretty relentless coach, but if it weren't for her making me train, I wouldn't.

  Good thing you had my name added to the list because I'll be coming up with your uncle the next time he visits.

  I'll forgive you for being too nervous to talk, but you really don't have anything to be worried about.

  I don't think Dad will ask where I'm going; he usually isn't interested in what I'm doing, unless he thinks I shouldn't be doing it. I've learned over the years that it's just better if he doesn't know everything. He might ask where I was when I get back home, but it's better if I tell him after the fact. He can't tell me not to do something after I've already done it. J

  Yeah, I've been accused of being stubborn. A lot. I suppose I am, a little bit. I prefer to think of it as sticking up for myself and speaking my mind. I try not to argue just for the sake of arguing. I usually have a point to make. If people would just realize, I'm right about stuff, they'd stop arguing with me.

  I'm marking the days off on my calendar until graduation. Also, graduating means that summer is almost here.

  A bucket list is a to-do list of things we've never done before but would like to do before we die. You should make a list, and I'll make one, then we can compare the two. If there are any of the same things, we can do them together. How's that sound?

  Devil's Fork Lake has a lot of interesting stories. It's a fun place to hang out most of the time.

  I'm sure I'll like the music box. I'm looking forward to seeing what you've created!

  I'm going to make you come with me when I get my tattoo. You'll probably have to hold my hand to keep me from passing out.

  See you soon,

  Claire

  Nervous didn't begin to describe the way I felt. My mouth was dry, my hands were sweaty, and I was too antsy to sit still. I paced back and forth while I waited for Uncle Jeb's familiar face. He was a tall man, built like a tree trunk, and hard to miss among the cluster of visitors.

  As soon as I saw Claire, my stomach knotted up and I forgot to breathe. In some ways, she still resembled the little girl I remembered from church. The same sad eyes, the same dark hair and olive skin, but with a grown-up body to wrap everything up in a neat little package. Her legs were long and she wore her jeans well. Fuck me. She was beautiful. My pulse sped up, and I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

  I wiped my palms down the front of my pants while Jeb put his hands on Claire's shoulders and urged her forward. "Braden, say hello to Claire Copeland."

  "Hi, Claire," I said softly.

  She smiled up at me through lowered lashes. "Hey, Braden."

  We sat at one of the round tables in a big room. She probably thought I was some kind of pervert, with the way I couldn't seem to take my eyes off of her. I wanted to memorize every inch of her face. Her lower lip had been split open, and there was a faint purplish bruise on her jaw.

  "Thank you for coming." I pushed the music box I'd made for her across the table and said, "Here, this is for you."

  Her eyes widened and she ran her finger over the cutout sun on the lid. "It's perfect." She turned it over in her hands and wound it up. It began to play "You Are My Sunshine."

  "I hope you like it."

  "I love it. Thank you so much."

  She smelled like I knew she would--sweet cherry pie. She was quiet. I didn't know if it was because she was shy or because she didn't have anything to say to me now that we'd met. She was a whole lot easier to talk to in a letter than she was sitting in the same room.

  Uncle Jeb cleared his throat and started talking about the things we'd normally talk about when he came to visit, putting us a little more at ease.
"It won't be long now, and you'll be back in Hensteeth. You'll need to get your driver's license. Maybe Claire can teach you how to drive."

  Both of us zoned in on Claire and she blushed. "I don't have a car of my own, but maybe Olivia will let us use hers."

  Jeb winked at her and said, "Maybe if you ask permission first, she'll be more likely to let you do that."

  I didn't think it was possible, but Claire turned an even brighter shade of red. "Maybe," she murmured.

  I shifted in my seat, and it had nothing to do with nervousness and everything to do with the arousal she caused me from sitting so close that I could feel the heat radiating off her skin, threatening to suffocate me. I tucked my fingers beneath my thighs in my chair and tried to come up with something clever to talk about.

  I'd never been at such a loss for words in my life. Before I knew it, visiting time was over and I watched her walk out of the room, figuring I'd never hear from her again. She'd probably come to the conclusion I was the biggest loser she'd ever met. There was no way in hell she'd want anything to do with me after that awkward situation.

  When they left, I went to the gym and worked out my frustrations by lifting weights. I stayed there until I thought my muscles were going to snap like rubber bands. My only contact with the opposite sex had come from the counselors and teachers, and trying to figure out how to act around Claire had left me coiled like a spring.

  It was all I could do to keep from spending a little extra time soaping up my dick in the shower after my workout. I could never make a girl like Claire happy, but damn, she would be the star of many fantasies--those long legs wrapped around my waist, my fist wrapped in those silky strands of hair. Fuck.

  After dinner, I collapsed onto the bed and rolled over on my stomach, my dick throbbed painfully against the mattress. I decided to answer her latest letter and thank her for coming to see me.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Claire Copeland

  He probably thinks I'm some kind of mental case. Practically the whole time I sat across from him, my face varied from one shade of red to another. If I ever heard from him again, it would be a fucking miracle. God. I felt like some kind of a lovesick teenager, and I never acted like that.