Haven

by J D Worth

  We fly by vast fields filled with cattle and come up to a dingy diner in the middle of nowhere. Trucks and cars fill the entire dirt parking lot of the surprising local hot spot. Mace parks on the grass. As we climb out of the vehicle, a light gust of wind carries the nearby cow pasture scent in our direction. He laughs when I slap my hand over my nose.

  “Wow. That’s pungent.”

  “Not something found in the city,” Mace says. I scrunch up my nose. The smell of hay assaults my memories, bringing my old beloved horse to the forefront of my mind. My mother was sick when we sold him, and I was too worried about her to agonize over his loss. I drag my feet behind Mace. The weight of my past is catching up with me.

  Mace holds the door open as I force myself forward. I stop just inside the door of the bustling diner. The windows are cloudy, the floors need polishing, and the ripped vinyl seats need replacing. Every single patron gawks at me. The hum of the diner halts to murmurs. Mace brushes past, pulling me along by my hand. “We seat ourselves?” I say a little too loud. “What about the hostess?”

  He muffles a laugh. “Like I said, this ain’t New York.”

  “No, gun racks and chickens are the norm here,” I reply as we pass locals who narrow their eyes at me. Mace sends the patrons pointed looks, and they return to minding their own business. We slide into a tattered red vinyl booth. Deloris, our white-haired waitress, sets down two glasses and pours iced tea without asking if we want any. The cook dings a bell in the pass-through, and she hustles to pick up the order. Mace takes a long pull from his glass.

  “No Jack?” I tease, emptying a sugar packet into my tea. The corner of his mouth twitches up when I grab a second one, noting he hasn’t added any to his. He pushes the sugar container in my direction after I reach across the table and fiddle with the packets.

  “Jack this early in the day. Do you think I’m an alcoholic?” Mace’s face turns stony, signaling I’ve touched on something here. On the trading floor, you push as hard as you can, or you’ll find yourself pushed right off the floor. Here, you may only push when exposing sore spots.

  “You did steal a bottle to support your habit.” I tip my head towards him in a knowing way.

  He leans closer to me. “Shall we have a drinking contest, and see who comes out unscathed? A fifth wouldn’t do it for me, not even close.” I raise my eyes to him and drift over his bulky frame. I surmise he could put away a lot of alcohol and not feel it. “What ’bout you, huh, using alcohol as an escape?”

  “I don’t drink to get drunk! You also know I’m underage.” Under my breath, I mutter, “You didn’t seem to care the other night when you served me.”

  He laughs aloud. “Boy, you give as hard as you get.” His remark lingers in the stale, greasy air between us.

  “I deal with misogynistic men on a daily basis.”

  “And I’m not afraid to sweep the floor after you make a mess.” Mace holds up his glass of tea, taking another pull while his eyes smolder into mine.

  Deloris interrupts by asking if he’ll have his regular. He nods, not taking his eyes off me. I turn and smile at Deloris, still feeling his penetrating gaze on the side of my face. He’s prying deep within me. I’m always in the background with my family, an afterthought. Here he is, calling me Princess with a side of reverence.

  “Sugar?” Deloris asks in a charming, drawn out accent.

  Scanning the many packets of sugar in front of me, I add another to my tea, relaying, “I think I’m all set, thank you. Do you have a menu?”

  She beams in delight back at me. “You ain’t from ’round here, are you now?”

  Mace laughs in a gruff tone. “Deloris, she’s green, as in the greenest you’ll find.” I turn back to Mace, and he’s grinning at me. He raises his eyebrows and leans back in his seat. Clearly, he’s testing me. He’s been testing me since we first met.

  “Darlin’, if you were from here, you’d know our Jed can make anythin’ your little heart desires. From grits to fried green ’maters. Everything’s from scratch, right down to the fried chicken gravy. Let’s start you off proper with a brimming plate of black eyed peas, collard greens, and a side of ham hock.” Mace cracks a smile.

  “Actually, I’d love brioche—” Deloris gives me a blank stare. I wince at my obvious blunder. “If you still serve breakfast, I’m craving French toast with raspberries. A large dollop of whipped cream on top would be perfect. Please tell me you make your whipped cream with real heavy cream?”

  She snaps a wink at me. “You betcha little tush we do.”

  “May I have an extra serving please if that’s no trouble?” Mace raises his brows at my request. Deloris nods her head and disappears. “I wasn’t expecting this authentic of an experience. This is like entering a foreign land.”

  A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. “You’re in the thick of it now.”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that as an insult to the South! This is quite the opposite. Everything is charming and authentic.” I draw my finger over the worn spots of the table. “Thousands of elbows have rubbed here over the years. You can’t buy this experience, you have to live it.”

  He draws his fingers across the worn spots on his side. “No, I get it. You’re talking ’bout stepping down the golden ladder.”

  “Yes, and obviously I need a lot of navigation. Please enlighten me. What are ham hocks and grits?”

  “Enlighten, huh?” The corners of his lips curl. “Ham hock is the meat where the foot attaches to the hog’s leg, and grits are ground corn kernels boiled with milk, sometimes water.”

  I squint at him. “She just offered me a hog’s ankle?” I try not to gag. Mace laughs a low rumble, indicating I’m correct.

  “Raw fish eggs,” he counters.

  “Belgium truffles,” I throw back.

  “Jack Daniels.”

  I toss my hands up, conceding to him. “And grits are similar to oatmeal perhaps more coarse?” He smiles again. I wonder how many of these menu items my mother tried, and what she thought of them.

  “You’re hankerin’ for whipped cream even after eating those Twinkies?”

  I bend forward with a conspiratorial smile. “For the next month, I’m free of my stepmother’s crazy food restrictions. The last time I had real whipped cream was when I was in France. I want to indulge before I head back and be purposeful with my life.” I look down at the small pile of empty sugar packets I’ve shredded.

  My stepmother wants me to become like her. My grandmother wants to marry me off to an asshole. My father only cares that I pass those broker tests and go to Harvard. I exhale, thinking how pleased he is with the possibility of a future son on the way. How can Mace understand the ridiculous demands on my life?

  “And your purpose?” Mace asks.

  “To avoid becoming a trophy wife. Marriage is not on my agenda.” I sigh. Mace looks at me in disbelief. “My whole life has been geared towards running the family firm. Recently, the women in my life are trying to change what my future is supposed to look like. My grandmother now believes my future comes with an ass like Chaz, and Georgina believes in artificially enhanced beauty.”

  “Family business. That’s something we both have in common. My garage is a family business that my daddy ran for years till he couldn’t. Then I had to step up.”

  “You run the garage?”

  “My daddy likes to gamble and was on a bad losing streak. He also happened to be on a bad bender. You can choose to be a gambler or a drunk, but you can’t be both. You can’t be willing to throw down a wager unless you can walk away free and clear. I wasn’t gonna let him lose our main source of income. He got wasted one night, and I had him sign the garage over to me. Problem solved. He can’t gamble what he doesn’t own, and I make sure the bills get paid.”

  I’m not sure what to say. Mace’s tone shifts. “Whipped cream it is.” He plants both arms across the back of the booth as if he owns the place again. He says over his sho
ulder, “Deloris, bring us the whole damn bowl of whipped cream. Princess needs a little more padding if you know what I mean.”

  “Sure thing, Sugar.” She grins.

  Mace moves in closer to me. “You’re gonna be hanging ’round with me for the next month and a little padding is gonna come in handy.”

  According to Violet, he’s involved with a woman named Darla. I challenge him, “Are you saying…?”

  “I am, Princess, so go ahead and enjoy your Twinkies and whipped cream. I love what they promise to do to that fine ass of yours,” Mace says without a smile. His eyes drop to my lips and back up to my eyes as the sexual tension bounces between us.

  I inch forward, saying in a hushed voice, “Georgina ordered me a smaller dress as punishment. That’s why the tight dress tore so easy. She thinks I’m too fat.” His hand stills over my antsy fingers, stopping me from shredding additional packets.

  “That dress ripped ’cause I didn’t stop him fast enough. I thought Pretty Boy was yours. I saw him kiss you on the dance floor.”

  “No, never. I rebuffed his advances. His kiss landed on my cheek—”

  “It took everything in me to keep my distance, and I let you walk away. That’s on me.” The seriousness of his expression dissolves as quickly as it arrived. “Man, I wanted to floor him when he called you ‘baby.’” He grins. “I couldn’t believe my eyes, seeing an ass like him landed you. Now the parts makes sense.”

  “You never explained fully what happened to Pretty Boy.”

  “I’m getting to that. The reason he’s sitting in jail now is ’cause we take care of our own. When he woke up at Sonny’s, he was pissed that he’d gotten the shit kicked outta him. He got outta hand at the bar, demanding to know who beat his ass. We ain’t got nothing but good ole boys in these parts. He’s lucky he ended up in a jail cell. While I’m ’round nobody will touch you again.”

  “Do you think Chaz will press changes against you?”

  “He was too drunk to know who first laid him out anyway. He spent the last two nights crying himself silly. His fancy ass Yankee lawyer can’t practice law down here. Nobody will take his case. He started a fight with Sonny who’s king in these parts. He used to be a boxer back in the day. He’s a Southpaw who took Pretty Boy by surprise when he popped him in the face. Laid him out too.”

  “What’s a Southpaw?”

  He smiles at me. “You’re a Southpaw. You laid into him with a left cross right hook. It’s the natural fighting stance of a leftie. Sonny actually asked who laid the first hook.”

  An unintentional chuckle spurts from my chest. Mace laces his mouth with a smile.

  “It gets better. Judge Parsons made himself scarce by going on a fishing trip early Sunday morning and won’t be back till Thursday. Pretty Boy will have to find someone clear out to Charlotte to take his case. His money and influence don’t mean shit here. As soon as his ass is free and pays the damages he owes, he’ll head on back to the city on Friday. We made sure he got the message, so he’ll never set foot in these parts again.”

  I swallow hard. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for Chaz.

  Mace sits back and stares at me. “Let me ask you this, how come someone like him needs a fancy-assed lawyer to begin with? We’re not talking taxes here.”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure. From the financial end, he just seems fishy to me. He’s a shitty broker who lands unbelievable profits from shady stock trades all the time. Likely, insider trading info that can’t be proven.”

  “You think he’ll get canned for not showing up today?”

  “I don’t know. Summertime is the slow trading season. William gave a group of the department heads a week at the resort. Chaz heads a group of foreign investments.”

  The table jerks and the ice clinks in our glasses when Mace lurches forward. He stabs his finger against the table. “You mean to tell me that fucker has a whole department under him? He can’t even be respectful at his own boss’s wedding with his own boss’s daughter.” Mace pushes away from the table in disgust. The ice clashes again. “This is what you plan to do with your life? Who said you gotta be the moral compass of your family?”

  “Someone has to. There’s more than a business at stake here. The old money families—Rockefeller, Carnegie, Astor, and the like—gave back by preserving land and American history. They supported the arts and more importantly, launched numerous beneficial social programs. Along the way, that type of mass-scale philanthropy has been lost. I plan to revive it. It is a duty for those with wealth to help others with nothing.” I exhale a controlled breath. “Anyway, Chaz happened to start at Aster Holdings after that tsunami hit Japan. Investors are still flooding the market to rebuild the country. He made his career and money off the misfortunes of many others.” My stomach quivers, thinking about how money markets really work. I decimate yet another innocent sugar packet.

  “He won’t bother you after this. There are too many questions he won’t wanna answer.”

  I lift my eyes up to meet his. “He works for William, so I will be dealing with him in the near future. Even though William won’t let me intern at his office until I achieve my broker licenses, he still wants my face seen around Aster Holdings as a personal assistant.” Then it dawns on me, where am I supposed to stay until college? I can’t go back to the apartment, and Lilith won’t have me.

  “A personal assistant?”

  “My summer position is still unclear.”

  “Princess.” He clenches his jaw. “Just stay at your cottage.”

  “It’s not that easy. My life follows one path straight to the top. Any down time is detrimental to my future. I have to pass two insane broker tests this summer. I’ll finish the summer ‘working’ for William. Then go on to Harvard and Harvard Business. I’ll join his brokerage firm once I obtain my master’s and work eighty-plus hour weeks. At some point, I’ll fit in a PhD in economics, finance, or statistics.”

  “I know you’re legal, so you’re free to choose your own path. Whipped cream for a month ain’t gonna cut it for you, Princess. You deserve more than being someone’s gofer.”

  “I can’t stay. That would mean going against their wishes.” I shiver at the possibilities. “What I want is irrelevant, so I don’t allow myself the pleasure to daydream. Fantasy only leads to disappointment.”

  “Then I’ll give you a reason to dream.” Mace challenges, leaning his large frame over the table, resting both arms on top. He holds my hand as his thumbs run over my scabbed knuckles, staring into my eyes with a burning intensity.

  “I learned to take care of myself a long time ago.”

  “And I take care of you while you’re here. You got me, Princess?” He shifts his scuffed knuckles towards me, proving he protected me once before. His knuckles fared far worse than mine did. He didn’t hold back when he was welcoming Chaz to the South.

  “First you treat me like an entitled socialite, and now a vulnerable little girl?” Mace’s loud laugh sets me off. I sway over the table so that the intensity of my voice won’t alarm nearby patrons. “Look, I may be following my father’s plan, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to do good for others. I have plans for nonprofits—” He plants his hand behind my neck and kisses my lips shut. Surprised by his brash move, I’m even more shocked when my lips mold against his, kissing him just as eagerly. A ding from the kitchen sends me rattling back in my seat.

  “Sorry, Snow White, I won’t kiss you again without permission, but I’m saving you here. Thought we should skip all the bullshit and just get to the good parts.”

  “You’re saving me by kissing me?” I scoff at him.

  “Yup, and you kissed me back too, so you’re not as asleep as I thought.” He whips out a tattered deck of cards from his back pocket. “Sometimes you’re dealt a shitty hand of cards in a game.” He flips over five cards in front of me each with a low face value.

  “Is that so?”

  “The key is reading those
’round you and knowing when to walk away. Even if it’s a bluff that gets you the fuck out.” My bottom lip drops at his blunt suggestion. Mace shakes his head. “I’m not gonna apologize for giving my honest opinion. You’re the one stuck in the ‘glass coffin.’” He turns over the ace of hearts and taps the card with his finger. “You’re gonna need this for later.”

  “An ace in the hole?” I flip my hand upward in a stopping motion. “Let me stop you before you make any more wrong assumptions about me. You think your bluntness offends me? You’d be shocked if you set foot on a broker floor during trading hours. Brokers are some of the most vulgar people you’ll ever meet. Chaz is a perfect example. Just because William doesn’t have me call him ‘Daddy,’ doesn’t mean I’m not important to him. Enough with the sugar coating. I am not as delicate as you think I am.” I give him a pointed look.