by Penny Reid
“I’m not mad.”
“Listen—”
“I’m working, and I’m busy.”
Shut down.
“Okay. Fine. Talk to you later then.” A rush of heat gathered around my neck, racing over my cheeks to the top of my head.
Nevertheless, I turned and walked away. I didn’t subscribe to the Roscoe Winston school of thought of playing games. I teased and flirted, but I wasn’t a game player. And neither was Shelly. So that meant she was pissed.
If she needed time, I’d give her time.
If she needed space, I’d give her space.
And that’s when I was certain I didn’t want to just end up with my car. I wanted her. I’d give her anything and everything she needed. She didn’t even need to ask.
So, this is what it feels like to be wrecked.
I almost felt sorry for Cletus.
* * *
The good news was, I didn’t use the wrong motor oil or forget to check the torque spec. My work day was free of mistakes.
The bad news was, Shelly’s ice wall had returned, and it was just as impenetrable as I remembered.
I dropped the wrench I’d been using and it made a loud clatter against the cement floor, startling me. I glanced up, my eyes connecting with Shelly’s. We were the only two left in the shop.
I was running behind on my work, way behind. Dolly Payton had come in with a huge oil leak and most of my afternoon had been spent calling around auto parts stores before they closed for the night, looking for a replacement tank. There was no patching hers. Since it was my night to close, I still had the rest of my regular load to finish as well.
I didn’t know why Shelly was still there, but I had my suspicions. I was pretty sure she’d finished her load over an hour ago. Now she was standing at one of the Master Lock toolboxes. It looked like she was cleaning the tools, reorganizing them, and putting them away.
I wanted to call her on it, tell her to stop. Because why the hell was she cleaning them when she was still pissed at me?
She looked from me to the wrench, and then back again, but made no comment. Shaking my head at myself, I gave her a taut smile and bent to retrieve it, hating the way I ached when I thought about her, and how the pain sliced new and fresh every time our eyes met.
And that’s when I heard the hum of approaching motorcycles.
I stood quickly and jogged to the front of the garage just in time to see two bikes coming around the bend of the main road. Cursing under my breath, I pulled my fingers through my hair, having no idea what to do next.
I wasn’t ready for this.
After Christine’s declaration, I’d left Hank’s place on Bandit Lake last Wednesday morning without saying another word to the woman. I’d wanted to call her a liar. But looking at her—the red of her hair, the blue of her eyes, the shape of her mouth—the word liar stuck in my throat.
So I’d left.
“Should we take my Buick?” Shelly was by my side and she’d slipped her hand into mine. “It’s not as fast as your GTO, but it’s brown, so I can hide it better.”
I glanced at her, at the stern set to her mouth, the ready tension in her shoulders, and I had a moment of absolute clarity.
I am falling in love with this woman.
But the clarity was engulfed in a cloud of dust and gravel, kicked up by motorcycle tires.
My stomach lurched as I stepped back, drawing Shelly behind me. “You should go.”
“Come with me.”
I turned to her. “They know I’m here.”
“Please, please come with me.” She gripped my arms, like she was going to forcibly pull me to her car. “Don’t stay here. I can out-drive them. Let me take care of you. Let me do something for you.”
“I’m in no danger from them. I already spoke with them last Wednesday morning. They were waiting for me at Hank’s.”
“They were waiting for you last Wednesday? After we outran them the night before?” Shelly’s features contorted with confusion. “Then why are they here?”
“To finish the conversation, I suppose.”
“About?”
I shook my head. “I can’t tell you that.”
She flinched, like my words—my apparent lack of trust—were a blow.
I didn’t get a chance to explain or soften my statement because the engines cut behind me, drawing Shelly’s eyes over my shoulder. “It’s that woman. And the dumb one, Drill.”
I smirked at the venom in her tone as well as the calculating look in her eye.
“Will you go? Please?”
Her gaze landed back on mine, held for a beat, then she turned away and walked farther into the garage without a word. I watched her go as far as the Master Lock toolbox she’d been working on sorting through, and then gathered a bracing breath and faced the newcomers.
“We weren’t finished talking last week.” Christine pulled off her gloves, tilting her head to the side, her long, red hair falling over her shoulder.
“I’m not sure what there is to say.” I crossed my arms because I needed to. Even better would have been Shelly’s arms around me, hugging me from behind.
But that’s not ever going to happen.
Drill dismounted, but loitered by his bike, like he wanted to give us privacy.
“Don’t you have any questions for your momma?” Christine asked softly, coming to stand directly in front of me.
Her question made me flinch, but I knew she saw it.
A small smile curved her mouth, one that looked foreign on her features. “I am so proud of you.”
I didn’t know what to say, what she wanted from me. Worse, I didn’t know what I wanted from her, or why her being proud of me made any difference. But it did. And that felt like a betrayal of Bethany, of my family.
I wasn’t prepared for this. I hadn’t given this shit-hurricane any thought. I’d ignored it. I didn’t know what to do.
This woman is my mother. And a stranger. And an enemy. Did I want to know her? If you’d asked me yesterday, the answer would have been a resounding no.
But today . . .
“You needed time to come to terms, I get that. I do.” She shuffled a half step closer. “But what I wanted to say was, I love you. I love you so much, Beau.”
I was so damn tired of my chest hurting. Trying to regulate my breathing through my nose helped marginally. But every word out of her mouth only served to confuse me more. I could have a mother again. If I had kids, they would have a grandmother.
In this storm, Christine’s was a voice I couldn’t trust, but the only one I could hear. Why now? Why tell me this now? And why not Duane?
“I’ve always loved you. That’s why I gave you up. That’s why I let that woman raise you. But it tore me up inside, every day, to be without you. I couldn’t stand you not knowing anymore. It clawed at me. It’s been such a struggle, so hard on your momma.”
I couldn’t read her, what was sincere, what was bullshit. I was too close. She was too close. And she looked like me, she looked like Duane. Now that I was paying attention, her mannerisms reminded me of my twin and I trusted him more than anyone.
“What do you want from me?” I hadn’t meant to ask the question, but there it was.
She reached up and cupped my face. I both shrank from and leaned into the contact.
“I want my son by me. It’s time. It’s time you learned about your real family. I’m your real momma.”
I’d barely registered what she’d said, the warm smile on her face, when Shelly’s voice—cold as ice—sliced through the moment.
“You need to leave.”
A split second later, Shelly was there. She’d stepped between us—between Christine and me—and pressed her back to my front, grabbing behind her for a fistful of my coveralls.
“And who the hell are you?” Christine looked from Shelly to me.
“Leave.” Shelly took a menacing step forward, releasing the fabric of my sleeve. “Go, leave now.”
Christine’s eyes narrowed into slits as they moved over her. “I am here to speak to my son—”
“Beau is not your son.”
“Want to see one of them DNA tests?” Christine spat, then to me, her eyes pleading, she said, “We’re family, ain’t we?”
I couldn’t keep up.
Shelly was there.
Shelly knows.
I looked between the two women, uncertain how to act or what to say.
Meanwhile, Shelly inserted herself in Christine’s line of sight, her voice dripping with contempt. “You might’ve provided the maturation chamber in which he survived prior to drawing oxygen from Earth’s atmosphere, and you might’ve donated the original genetic material from whence his cells multiplied, but you are not his family. You are an interloper, an imposter, and an intruder.”
Christine’s eyes flashed and she pushed her face forward while shoving at Shelly’s chest. “Listen here, bitch—”
Oh hell no.
Acting on instinct, I stepped forward. “Hey now,” I blocked Shelly with my body and placed a hand on Christine’s shoulder to push her back. “Don’t speak to her that way.”
Suddenly, Drill was there, standing next to Christine, looking from me to Shelly as though assessing who posed more of a threat.
“But you’ll let her talk to your momma like that?”
“Yes.” I didn’t think before I spoke.
Christine seemed to be fighting her shock, and also fighting to hide something else, maybe rage, maybe disappointment. “Beau—”
“Leave.” I pointed to her motorcycle. “I didn’t ask you here.”
All the softness, like a poorly drawn mask, a pitiful pretense, fell from her features, leaving them twisted and hard.
And angry.
“We are not finished here,” she promised, “not by a long shot. You owe me, boy!”
Shelly stepped around me and moved like she was going to charge the older woman. I caught her around the shoulders at the last moment, holding her back.
Not to be deterred, she hollered at Christine, “If you ever come near him again, I will remove your trapezius muscles with long nose vise-grip pliers!”
“I’d like to see you try,” Christine taunted even as she backed away.
Shelly growled, struggling against my hold, so I gathered her against my chest and wrapped my arms around her body.
“She isn’t worth it, Shell,” I murmured unthinkingly, and the words felt right.
Unable to break from my grip, Shelly yelled at Christine’s departing form, “I will solder your eyelids with a TIG welder and it will be REALLY PAINFUL.”
“You need to get your woman under control.” Christine tossed her hair as she straddled her bike, sending Shelly a look bursting with loathing and spite, and maybe a little fear. “Man up. Your daddy wouldn’t hesitate. He would know what to do.”
25
“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
* * *
*Beau*
“I would just like to point out, every one of that woman’s sentences contained an even number of words.” Shelly’s hands opened and closed on the steering wheel, like she was trying to get a better grip.
This was the first complete thought she’d spoken since threatening Christine St. Claire’s eyelids with a TIG welder, and she made it sound like the woman could not have committed a more outrageous offense than speaking exclusively in even-worded sentences.
I cleared my throat and nodded. “Noted.”
Never mind that Christine’s parting words advocated that I beat Shelly.
No. Never mind that. Because if I thought about that, then the rage would swell within me all over again.
As soon as they’d left, Shelly locked up the shop in a frenzy, pulled me to her car, and we took off. I was also in a frenzy of a kind, wanting to tear something apart, ruin and wreck and destroy. I couldn’t fathom that I’d talked myself into giving that woman the benefit of the doubt. What the hell was wrong with me?
Duane’s words from weeks ago echoed between my ears: Don’t set yourself on fire trying to keep others warm.
It was a hard lesson to learn, but I knew with a stunning conviction that I’d just learned it.
Shelly drove past the turnoff for her road, taking us on a long, roundabout way to her place. I realized belatedly that she was making sure we weren’t being followed.
The sound of her barking dogs welcomed us as soon as we exited her car, and they burst forth as usual as soon as she opened the door.
The one named Laika began licking my hand in earnest and most of my wrath melted away. I crouched low, dodging her doggy kisses, and rubbed the back of her ears. She looked at me like I was her human, and that’s honestly all it took.
“I am in love with this dog.”
Shelly was petting and patting Ivan’s head, watching me with Laika. “Can you grab the leashes?”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Shelly disappeared for a bit and my mind zeroed in on the mundane process of leashing the dogs, focusing solely on that singular activity. And after I was finished, my mind blanked. I stared at the trunk of a white oak tree and thought about absolutely nothing.
When she returned, she held out her hand for their leads. Instead, I took her fingers in mine and we set off.
The sun had just set. I took a moment to admire the reds, oranges, yellows, and purples of the surrounding forest in the fading light. The witching hour, where the Earth was lit with the afterglow of sunset. The song of the summer cicadas was gone, their symphony replaced with the sounds of crickets at dusk, celebrating the coming night.
When had autumn arrived so completely? And where had I been? Asleep? When had I become inoculated to the beauty of my surroundings? When had I started taking my blessings for granted?
“Last week, Bethany Winston was my mother.”
Shelly’s hand squeezed mine. “She is still your mother.”
I nodded at that, deciding it was exactly the right thing for her to say, and we kept on walking.
* * *
I woke up in darkness and didn’t know where I was.
It took me several seconds to realize I was still at Shelly’s and I’d fallen asleep in her bed. Reaching forward and blinking against the night, I saw her side was empty.
We’d taken the dogs on a long walk, neither of us feeling inclined to fill the silence, which suited my mood just fine. Back at her cabin—I’d officially upgraded the place from shack to cabin—I set the table and fed the dogs while she put the finishing touches on dinner.
While we ate, she talked about art school. I told her about the first car I’d fixed up—a 1978 Lincoln Continental—and then we did the dishes together. She put on an old record of Johnny Mercer’s greatest hits for background music.
When the first notes of “Skylark” came on, I dried my hands, and pulled her away from the cabinet and into my arms.
She tilted her head back, giving me a look of consternation. “I do not know how to dance.”
“No matter, I know how.” I kissed her nose and took the lead. “Pretend you’re a noodle.”
Shelly arched an eyebrow. “A noodle?”
“Spaghetti, the already cooked kind.” I slid my cheek against hers and we glided around the small space. I was careful to take short, swaying steps until she relaxed. Then I spun her out, reeled her back, and dipped her.
And that made her laugh.
Something in my bones reset at the sound of her laugh, something fundamental. Maybe the notion that joy was still possible, and that I could provide it despite who my parents were. Despite that I’d come from bad.
After “Skylark,” we slow danced to “Fools Rush In,” and “Come Rain or Come Shine.” But when “Jeepers Creepers” came on, Shelly made a face. Peering up at me, she wrinkled her nose in distaste, and that made me laugh.
&n
bsp; “I guess I should get going.” I used my index and middle finger to gently push several strands of her long hair away from her forehead.
“Why?”
I searched her features. She was honestly curious. I’d just opened my mouth to say something about being tired, and it getting late, and needing to work tomorrow, when she cut me off with a quick kiss.
“Stay.” She kissed me again, just as quickly. “I won’t make any attempts to seduce you. Tonight.”
My mouth dropped open and I blinked once. “Excuse me?”
“You are excused, but not to leave.”
I crossed my arms. “You’re planning on seducing me?”
“Not tonight,” she confirmed, and then added, “maybe next week.”
Laughing incredulously, I shook my head at her. “This subject comes up a lot with you.”
“Because I spend a lot of time thinking about it. And so do you. Also, I’m clean and have an IUD to prevent pregnancy. Are you clean?”
Pregnancy?
“Clean?”
“Are you?”
“Clean? Yes. Yes, I am. I’m clean.” I continued shaking my head, now completely bewildered. “You are unbelievable.”
“No, I’m not, I’m honest. That makes me very believable.”
“I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Read me a book, but brush your teeth first. I have extra toothbrushes under the sink. When’s the last time you had a dental checkup?” Not waiting for my answer, Shelly turned and scurried out of the living room.
I got the impression she expected me to follow her. I also got the impression she was nervous, which was what had propelled her scurrying.
That’s basically how I ended up in her bed, teeth brushed, and asleep. I’d been reading Great Expectations aloud while she snuggled against me. When she took over, I’d fallen asleep to the soft cadence of her voice.
And now I was alone in her bed. I couldn’t find a clock—nor did I know what I’d done with my phone—so I had no idea what time it was. Stretching as I stood, I navigated to the bathroom and, because I was already there and it might’ve been closer to morning than night, I brushed my teeth.