by Penny Reid
“I have Quinn’s phone number. I can ask.” Drew pulled out his cell and turned away from our semicircle to place the call.
“You know what I mean,” Roscoe grumbled, rolling his eyes.
While Jethro and Billy took turns teasing Roscoe, Duane and I shared a look at our youngest brother’s expense.
“He’s such a dummy.” Duane kept his voice low, so only I could hear. “Remember that one time, he must’ve been in second grade, when we made him think we knew the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?”
I chuckled. “And then Billy made us dress up as Donatello and Rafael.”
“Yeah.” My twin bit his bottom lip, his stare losing focus, a small smile playing over his features.
Glancing at his profile, at the nostalgic glint to his eyes, I asked myself if I really wanted to tell him the truth about Christine. Would he look back at our childhood and think of it as tainted? Would these memories lose meaning for him?
“Why’re you staring at me?” His eyes slid to the side, his brow wrinkling.
“Uh,” I shook my head. “I need to talk to you.”
“Go on then, talk.”
I glanced around the chapel. There were only a few of us left. Billy had pulled out his keys and Sienna had come over to claim Jethro. Drew had finished his call with Quinn and gave me a thumbs up just as Ashley caught up with him. He put his arm around my sister’s shoulders and they walked toward the exit.
“You brought Roscoe?” I asked Duane.
“Yeah.”
“Hey Drew,” I called, causing the big man to turn.
“Quinn said yes. They’ll be there.”
“Oh, good. Say, do you mind taking Roscoe home?”
“Sure.” Drew motioned Roscoe over, and our brother happily obliged, taking his spot on Ashley’s other side and wrapping his arm around her waist.
Feeling a set of eyes on me, I turned and found Billy watching us. He shook his head firmly, but his gaze was sympathetic.
“I have to.” I shrugged, because what else could I do?
Duane looked between me and Billy. “Have to what?”
“Just a minute.” I peered around my twin toward the door.
Jethro and Sienna as well as Drew, Ash, and Roscoe left the chapel, leaving just me, Duane, and Billy.
“What’s going on?”
I turned back to Duane, heat crawling up my neck, splinters in my chest, and struggled for a way to start.
“Are you trying to freak me out? ’Cause it’s working.”
“Beau has something you need to know and it will suck. But it’s true.” Billy came to stand next to me.
Duane shifted restlessly, crossing his arms. “What is it? Are you sick?”
“No. I’m not sick.”
“Then just say it.”
I sucked in as large a breath as I could manage, bracing myself. “You know how the Wraiths chased Shelly and me a few weeks back?”
“Yeah. They were after Cletus last Friday, too.”
Billy and I looked at each other.
“They were?” Billy’s tone was sharp. “What for?”
“I think he punched Isaac Sylvester and broke his nose in the Piggly Wiggly.”
“Oh.” Billy frowned thoughtfully. “He probably deserved it.”
I didn’t bring up that Billy thought all Wraiths members deserved broken noses.
I was tempted.
But I didn’t.
“Here’s the thing. What happened with me weeks ago has nothing to do with Cletus and Isaac Sylvester. It was ’cause Christine St. Claire wanted a meeting.”
Duane nodded. “I remember.”
“She ambushed me Wednesday morning at Hank’s place.” Now my place . . .
“Before y’all went fishing?” Duane guessed.
“Yeah. And she told me . . .”
“Yeah?” Duane’s brow wrinkled.
Billy stepped forward. “She told him that—”
“No. Billy.” I gave my older brother a severe scowl. “This is my refrigerator. I need to do it. You can’t be doing everything for all of us. Don’t keep shouldering all the burdens. Otherwise, we’ll never learn how.”
Billy jerked back an inch, staring at me like I’d surprised him. But he also snapped his mouth shut.
Turning my glare back to Duane, I decided I just needed to say it. I just needed to rip off the Band-Aid and say it.
“Christine St. Claire is our biological mother. She and Darrell had an affair. Momma—our real momma—adopted us. Billy knows where the paperwork is and he’s known about this for a while. And that’s it.”
Duane blinked at me, more like a confused fluttering of eyelids, his mouth agape. “What?”
I didn’t respond. He’d heard every word out of my mouth, he just needed a minute—or a lifetime—to come to terms.
My twin backed up a step, his knees hitting the bench behind him. He sat down, his eyes unfocused, his face dropping to his hands.
I exhaled a breath that felt like fire releasing from my lungs. Waiting. Watching Duane suffer through this sucked. I tried to swallow. I couldn’t.
“Who else knows?” Duane didn’t look up as he asked the question.
Billy looked to me, as though requesting permission, and I nodded.
He took a seat next to Duane and set about answering this and related questions. Listening to and looking at my twin now was like hearing and seeing myself from weeks ago. I knew what he was going through. I’d been where he was.
Maybe I wasn’t finished dealing with the fallout. Maybe I’d never be finished.
Yet I didn’t feel as stricken. As raw and empty. And that was because of Shelly. I’d stumbled through the darkest part, but I hadn’t been alone. My burden had been shared with and ultimately lightened by the woman I loved.
33
“I shall take the heart. For brains do not make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the world.”
― L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
* * *
*Beau*
Unsurprisingly, Duane was in a daze.
But the one point that seemed to make him feel better—or rather, allowed him to focus—was Claire McClure being our half-sister.
Billy drove his truck back to the house, leaving us only after assurances by Duane that he wasn’t going off the deep end. Then, on the ride home, my twin and I discussed a plan for breaking the news to Claire.
“I’m glad you told me before the wedding. With Jess and I leaving Thursday, this might be our only chance to speak to Claire, both of us, in person.” He was rubbing his forehead like it hurt. “But I wish you’d told me earlier.”
Clearing my throat, I readjusted my hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t know why she told me.”
“Who?”
“Christine St. Claire.”
“Oh.” Duane glanced out the window. “She probably wants something.”
“She didn’t want me to tell you.”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “Then she definitely wants something.”
I nodded at that.
“Does it matter?” Duane asked. “Does it matter what she wants?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m leaving on Thursday. You’re going to be on your own. We’re both in agreement: she told you the truth because she wants something from you. So my point is, what does it matter what she wants?”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“No.” Duane’s response was immediate. “And you shouldn’t be either.”
We drove in silence for a while. Or rather, the interior of the car was silent, but I was pretty sure we were both dealing with noise in our heads.
Duane pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and started typing.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m texting Jess. Telling her to meet me.”
“Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?”
“Home is fine.”
I understood his desire to see her.
I u
nderstood needing a safe place to rest your head, and your worries.
And I especially understood how the soft arms of a woman, especially the woman you loved, made everything better.
As though reading my thoughts, Duane said, “I like Shelly.”
“Me too.”
“I think she’s good for you.”
I gave my brother the side-eye. “What do you mean?”
“She’s an interesting sort. She’s . . . tough. But she’s not.”
Shifting in my seat, I turned the GTO into our driveway. “There’s nothing simple about her, that’s for sure.”
Duane was quiet until we parked. But as soon as I cut the engine, he twisted to face me.
“We didn’t really lose anything, did we? Even though it seems like we did, we didn’t lose a thing.”
I knew what he meant, and so I offered him a small smile. “We gained a psychopath for a biological mother. Thinking we can’t overlook that.”
Duane chuckled and then closed his eyes, his face falling back into his hands much like he’d done in the chapel. “You’re right.”
“About what?”
“We need to find out what she wants,” he lifted his head, his eyes turning hard, “Before I go, you and I need to confront her.”
“You don’t need to—”
“I do. You’re going to be in Green Valley without me. I won’t be here, watching out for you, stopping folks from taking advantage. She needs to see she can’t fuck with you, even if I’m not around.”
I gave my brother a wry grin. “You watched out for me?”
“Hell yes, I did. And I always will.”
I shook my head at his stubbornness. Duane’s fervent assertion made me grin despite the situation, but I wouldn’t contradict him. In his own way, I guess he did look out for me.
“So what do we do?” I gathered a deep breath. “Should I call Drill? Ask for a meeting?”
“Yeah. Then we’ll tell her where she can shove her manipulations.”
“I’m guessing it’s someplace without sunlight?”
Duane smirked, but then said, “This is so fucked up.”
“It’s not so bad.” I shrugged.
I wanted to say, At least Razor isn’t our daddy. But I didn’t think Duane would appreciate the words or the sentiment.
“And now we have Claire.” He lifted his head and stared out the windshield.
“That’s right.” I waited until he looked at me to add, “And now she has us.”
* * *
Shelly, Quinn, Janie, and Desmond arrived at the reception about half an hour after it started. I immediately intercepted them. As soon as I spotted her hovering by the entrance, I realized I’d been pining for Shelly’s company since leaving her Friday afternoon.
I wondered if I’d carry an ache for her everywhere I went for the rest of our lives. It wouldn’t be so bad, I reckoned, as long as she was always there to ease it.
If any of my brothers, or my sister, were surprised to see us together, they made no note of it.
Except Roscoe.
He’d pulled me to the side and told me I was right; Shelly Sullivan was probably the most beautiful woman in the world . . . over the age of thirty.
I’d rolled my eyes and said a silent prayer for the poor soul who ended up with his stupid ass. She was going to need it.
Over dinner, I filled Shelly in on what had happened with Duane. She in turn brought me up to speed on how the visit with her brother was going. After I left for the rehearsal, she’d gone to her therapy appointment with Dr. West. When she got home, Quinn was passed out on the couch with Desmond, leaving Janie and Shelly to talk.
“She said I’m ‘decidedly different’ than I was before.”
“Oh? How were you before?”
“She said I was a jerk.”
I breathed a startled laugh. “She said that?”
“Yes. She’s very honest. She’s always been very honest. Her honesty has been an inspiration for me.”
“Do you think you were a jerk?”
“Yes. But not because I wanted to be a jerk. I tried to explain to her what it’s like, to be a marionette at the whims of irrational fear, being brainwashed by your own brain.”
“What’d she say?”
“She said she understood that. She told me she guessed that I have OCD, she’s glad I’m in therapy, and getting better. But that I was still a jerk,” Shelly gave me a whisper of a smile, “and now I’m not.”
After dinner, Shelly kept her word and danced with me. We danced to “Uptown Funk,” “Don’t Stop Believing,” and “Shut Up and Dance” without talking. But when the band played “My Girl,” I leaned close to her ear and said, “I’m going to ask you a question, just ’cause I’m curious.”
“Okay. Ask me anything.”
“Why don’t you tell your brother the truth? Why not tell him about your diagnosis? Why not explain the logistics of your fear? How you can’t touch others, but that there’s a Duct Tape solution.”
“Duct Tape solution?”
“You know, a way to get around fixing something until you have time to fix it, a workaround. If he knew you needed him to initiate touch first, then I’m sure he’d be giving you hugs all the time.”
“I don’t want him to do that.” She shook her head, visibly frustrated. “It’s my problem. I’ve already asked too much of my family. You heard my brother, they’ve twisted themselves into enough knots. I can’t have them changing their healthy behavior to accommodate my unhealthy behavior.”
“Playing devil’s advocate here, but you do it with me, don’t you? I’m always the one touching you first, aren’t I?”
She considered me for a moment. “Are you upset by that?”
“Not at all, especially since I know your situation. I know your diagnosis, I know I’m a priority to you, and I know you’re working on your refrigerator.”
Shelly gave me an almost smile, her gaze searching mine. “I guess, to answer your question, things are different with us. I’ve spent a lifetime lying to my family. Trying to avoid disappointing them, trying to explain away my actions with lies, or at least conceal them. But I’ve never lied to you. I’ve tried really hard to be honest from the beginning.”
“Sometimes brutally honest.”
“Yes. Lying is wrong. I’ve stopped lying. I can’t do it at all anymore, because it’s a slippery slope for me. White lies become big lies and I don’t want to live like that. But I was also honest with you—sometimes oversharing—because I liked you so much. You needed to know the truth so you could decide.”
“Decide if I wanted to be with you?”
“More specifically, decide if I am capable of giving you what you need.” Shelly’s smile was tinged with sadness. “I’ll be fighting against my OCD for the rest of my life. I don’t know if I’ll have children, but—”
“You want kids?”
“Yes. Absolutely. But should I?”
I considered the question while she watched me, a new intensity behind her eyes. “This seems like a question for us to discuss with Dr. West.”
Her sad smile returned. “Is that okay with you? That, if you stay with me, these questions about our future are always going to involve my therapist?”
“Honestly, yes.” I nodded heartily. “I like Dr. West. It’s like having a—a—a relationship coach. Or a good mechanic on staff, keeping our engines cool and well oiled.”
Shelly’s smile became less sad. “I’m really glad you feel that way, because I will probably be in therapy forever.”
“I’m proud of you for making it a priority.” I kissed her lips, just barely, just a tease.
As I leaned away, she shook her head at me. “Let’s talk about something else. Yesterday was . . . intense. Let’s talk about something fun.”
I grinned. “Oh. I know, let’s talk about how you’re in love with me.”
She stumbled, stepping on my foot, clearly not expecting my new choice of subject.
“So you were planning on saving the news? Doing something special?”
Shelly breathed out through her nose and glanced beyond my shoulder. “Yes.”
“Tell me all about it.”
“I already started working on it.”
“On what?”
Her eyes came back to mine. “Don’t you want to be surprised?”
“No, thank you.”
She slid her teeth to the side, inspecting me. “Fine. I’m casting you a replica of your car, with us inside, with a hood that opens, connected to a speaker, with a circuit that trips when you open the hood.”
“To a speaker?”
“Yes. It sings Whitney Houston’s version of “I Will Always Love You.” But starts at the part where the drum beats and then she belts out the chorus.”
“You mean that Dolly Parton song?”
Shelly looked almost offended. “No. Not Dolly Parton, Whitney Houston. From The Bodyguard? You know, BAM, And I-I-e-e-I-I-e-e-I-I will a-a-al-l-l-lways love y-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-u!”
Listening and watching her as she sang had me pressing my mouth into a tight line, because Shelly had a terrible singing voice. Really terrible. Like, it was a good thing her dogs weren’t close by, because they’d think she was howling.
But the sentiment made an impact nonetheless.
She got a few looks. We both did. But she ignored them like she didn’t even see people staring at her. And if it didn’t bother her, then it didn’t bother me.
When she stopped, she looked at me, unembarrassed and clearly interested in my thoughts. “Should I still do it?”
“Yes. Definitely. But only if you sing the song.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. Oh, yes. I want your voice singing to me every time I lift your hood.”
She smiled, but then her brow drew together, like something had just occurred to her. “That was an innuendo.”
“Correct.”
Shelly grinned. “It was a good one.”
“Thank you. I’m full of them.”
“Or full of it.”
“Oh!” Burn.
“See what I did there?” She looked proud of herself, her smile growing.
Laughing, I shook my head at her. She wasn’t laughing, but she was grinning widely when I felt a tap on my arm. Quinn stood at my side, his hands in his pockets. And for the first time since meeting him, he was looking at me with a smile.