I let his comment go. I’ve stood up for myself, and I’m going to keep doing it. I won’t be the little mouse anymore. When we leave my driveway, he reaches across and places his hand on my thigh. I smile and squeeze his hand.
“What time should I pick you up?” he asks, parking in front of the shop.
“We close at four.” I look to see if my aunts are watching from behind the counter and notice workmen doing something with our door.
“When I spoke to your aunt this morning, I broached the subject of a security upgrade. Being the reasonable woman she is, she agreed with my assessment.”
I turn back to him and narrow my eyes. “You’re a crafty one, aren’t you?”
“Oh, Miss Aldridge.” His smile has smug written all over it. “You have no idea how crafty I can be.”
I’m startled by a tap on the window.
“Bobby,” I squeal and launch out of the car. “How are you?”
His beefy arms wrap around me and squeeze me way too tight. He’s always had trouble knowing his own strength. “Dai, Dai.”
“Better let up there a bit, or you’ll crush her.”
“Roy.” Bobby releases me. His face glows as he looks up at Roy.
Right, Roy would know Bobby, Mr. Stanwyck’s brother, since he’s a client of Roy’s company. I still can’t get over Mr. Stanwyck and Roy and Bobby knowing each other.
Roy pats him on the shoulder. “Good to see you.”
“Yes. Yes.” Bobby grabs my hand and leads me past the workmen and right up to the counter.
My chest constricts. There sits a small, white-wrapped box with a plastic daisy on top.
“Foun’ it,” Bobby says.
I smile, though I want to scream. One has to stay calm around Bobby. Years ago, I saw him stand and shriek like a wounded animal while at the post office. An employee having an altercation with an irate customer realized too late he was there. All the locals know of his condition; I’m not exactly sure what you’d call it other than brain damage. He had a horseback-riding accident before I was born. He was once a partner in business with his brother. Now he’s a grown man with the mind of a five-year-old.
He’s still pointing at the odious package, and I know he wants me to open it. He’s known me my whole life and has seen the yearly gift before.
“Where did you find it?”
“They did.” Aunt Mae indicates the workmen. “It was up on the stoop roof. Like someone had tossed it there by mistake when trying to throw it at the door.”
Roy is rolling it over in his hand. I can see the wrapping paper is wet in places, and it does look like it’s been sitting there a while.
“Anything on the cameras?” I know what the answer will be. We’ve never seen anything on the security cameras before. Suddenly, Roy’s insistence of new equipment doesn’t seem overprotective anymore.
“I can have my techs give them a look.” He looks to my aunts. “If you don’t mind.”
Mae and Stella nod at the same time.
Bobby’s huffing. Something he does when excited.
I ready myself for the inevitable. “Do you want me to open it?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Should I call his brother?” Roy places the gift on the counter.
Is he trying to make the situation worse? “No need.” I grit my teeth and smile. “Let’s see what this is.”
I give the daisy to Bobby, who immediately tucks it behind his ear, smiling like he won the lottery. The white paper all but falls away at my touch to reveal a small red jewelry box with Cartier written in gold letters.
I meet Roy’s eyes. “Should I open it? Fingerprints, maybe?”
“Go ahead. We can quickly discount your prints.”
Bobby’s shifting his weight likes he’s trying to tip over a canoe. It’s what he does when he isn’t happy. As I go to open it, his anxiety, fear—I don’t know which—intensifies.
“No, no, NO.” He grabs the box, throwing it against the wall. “Sol, sol.” And marches around the room and points at Roy.
Bobby communicates in one-syllable words. I know he’s had therapy through the years, but it’s all he can manage. At least he understands when others speak in more than one syllable. Which is something, I guess, but right now it’s damn confusing to know what he’s trying to tell us, other than he’s not happy about something.
My aunts move in tandem around the counter, but Roy cuts them off. “He can get physical,” he warns. “Bobby, let’s go out back and help the installers. I bet they’ll let you use the drill.”
He’s not placated and grabs the gift paper, tearing it to shreds. I’ve never seen him like this. While his attention is diverted, I grab the Cartier box, which slid under the coffee cabinet. I’m afraid he’ll try and destroy it if I don’t rescue it.
Roy stands in front of him with his hands out to the side, looking like he’s going to tackle him at any moment. The techs are in the doorway, ready to assist.
Maybe because he’s cornered by Roy? Or maybe he’s upset at not being able to make himself understood. Whatever the case, one moment he’s stomping and the next, he sinks to the floor, rocking himself.
“I’ll call Travis.” Aunt Mae goes to the wall phone and dials.
Travis is Bobby’s caregiver. I hope he gets here soon, because I don’t know what to do. Should I sit with Bobby? Should I try and talk with him, or leave him?
“I’ve seen him like this a few times. It’s best to let him be.” Roy stretches his neck. “You got a Coke?”
“Yeah, in the back.” I trot past the counter and into the back room. Grab one from the back of the fridge where it’s coldest. “Here.” I hand it to him.
“Bobby.” Roy twists the top so it’s almost off and lightly places his hand on the man’s shoulder, holding the Coke in front of his face. “It’s your favorite.”
Bobby doesn’t look up, but takes the Coke and drinks half of it.
“I think we’re good now.” Roy’s standing to the side of Bobby. “Go ahead.” He nods to the box. “Let’s see what it is.”
I turn the box in my hand. It’s old. Faded at the edges, and the gold script rubbed off in places. The hinge is stiff. Inside rests a square emerald the size of my knuckle, encircled with baguette diamonds that catch the light.
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Mae makes the sign of the cross on her chest even though she’s not Catholic.
Bobby’s rocking back and forth, but, thankfully, isn’t verbalizing anything.
Not knowing what else to do, I set the opened box on the counter.
The bell above the door rings and we all whirl around, or, in my aunts’ case, look up. Can today get any stranger? Yes, I guess it can, because Mr. Stanwyck is standing in the doorway with a facial expression that would terrify a serial killer.
“Bobby, it’s time to go home.”
“No, no.” He huffs and points toward the ring.
I don’t know why I want to hide it. It’s not like I’ve done anything wrong.
Mr. Stanwyck glares at the ring. I swear I can hear his teeth grind.
Roy goes to Bobby. “Come on.” He helps him up, and, amazingly, Bobby shuffles along beside him. “I’ll help get him out to the car.”
Mr. Stanwyck rouses. His gaze shifts from the ring to me. He’s never been friendly, but right now I think he’d strangle me if he could.
Bobby starts to wail his protest at leaving.
“No need.” Mr. Stanwyck raises his voice above Bobby’s. “You said your piece last night.” He turns and grabs his brother’s arm, dragging him out of Mangler; all the while, Bobby continues to wail.
Roy stands in the doorway, watching. “He’s gotten him in the car.”
“I hope he’s alright.” I sag against the counter, and my aunts flock around me. “What set him off?”
“It’s hard to say.” Roy picks up the box, inspecting the ring. “Maybe he was expecting a toy?”
“Is it real?”
“I’ll get it checke
d out.”
“Daisy.” Mae clears her throat. “If you want to go home, we’ll understand. There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”
Right. Like I want to sit at home and obsess. I think not. “I need to keep busy.”
“Ladies.” Roy nods to my aunts, and I walk out to the car with him.
“You talked to Mr. Stanwyck last night?”
“I did. Given what you told me, I thought it best to inform him of our relationship. He agreed we should void our contract.”
“Won’t that hurt your company?”
“No.”
“He hates me, blames me for Charlie’s death.”
“Have you ever thought he hates the situation?” He slightly shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts. “You don’t have to be afraid.” He slides his free hand around my neck, and draws me into his chest.
“I’m not. I want answers.” I’m determined to be strong and capable and take this new development in stride and not let it disrupt all the positive things in my life. “So, you still want me to come over…to christen the house?”
“We’ll have dinner.” He nods his head toward the store. I look back, and my aunts are both at the window. “We need to take this slow.”
Mr. Lethal wants to take things slow. Isn’t that supposed to be my position? “Okay,” I respond, “wouldn’t want to rush into anything you aren’t ready for.”
His look is quick and amused. “Go on, I’ll be here at four.”
“You alright, dear?” Aunt Stella’s pouring coffee into her favorite mug when I go back inside. The one bought at Williamsburg when she chaperoned my seventh-grade field trip.
“I thought it wasn’t going to happen this year.”
“We all hoped.” Mae sits behind the counter, pretending to review today’s delivery invoices. “If anyone can solve this, it’a be Roy. He’s a good man. Reminds me of my Reggie, the way he looks at you.”
A high compliment, ’cause there was no better man than Reggie. “We’re dating.” I declare, thinking they need to know.
“We figured.” Stella puts some cream in her coffee. “On the phone this morning, we asked him over to dinner next Tuesday. Thought it would be a good time to have a talk with him about his intentions.”
“We’re dating.” I take a sip to calm down. “His intentions are for us to get to know each other.”
“Right.” Stella takes a sip of coffee. “Roy’s a man, my Daisy, not a boy.”
Okay, I’m not sure what she means. Whatever it is, my aunts are both smiling like lunatics. Seriously, I can’t take anymore weirdness today.
“Are the deliveries ready to go?”
They’re still smiling like they know a secret I don’t.
“Stop it.”
“Here.” Mae hands me the sheets. “We loaded everything in the van this morning.”
“Oh.” Stella hands me a tumbler of coffee. “And Buzzy fixed the AC.”
I don’t think I could get by another day without air conditioning. “We owe him a pecan pie. I know he’s stacked up with work at the garage.”
“On it.” Stella shoos me toward the door. “Now go on.”
Three hours into my deliveries, when I’m loading up some vintage sheets for repair, I get a text from Roy.
Miss You.
I hit back. U 2.
I hear the ping of his reply when I get in the van.
A riding accident.
Random, I text back. IGU.
I’m almost ready to spell it out for him when I receive.
Bobby.
I know where he’s going with this.
His next text. Non-negotiable.
Bobby wasn’t wearing a helmet, which I do, or a safety vest, again something I do, but telling Roy this is going to be impossible, especially via text.
We’ll discuss later.
I picture him shaking his head at the phone, giving it a death glare.
No discussion needed.
Correct, ’cause I’m going to keep riding.
I’ll give you something to ride. Now stop texting me. Some of us have work to do. See you in 2 hours.
Mr. Lethal has a sense of humor mixed with a lot of control issues. Imagine that.
My last three deliveries are of the long-winded variety. Also, they know I have a sweet tooth and take Southern hospitality to heart. So I’ve had three homemade donuts, one slice of cobbler, and way too many glasses of sweet tea by the time I pull into the back parking lot of Mangler. My hangover is a bad memory, and I’m humming like an electrical line with all the sugar running through my system.
When I pull behind Mangler, Vincent has managed to hog two parking spots with his minuscule sports car. I’m half tempted to shift into first gear and nudge him out of the way. I don’t. Instead, I park partially in the grass and hustle up the steps and through the back door. I scope out the front, see no sign of Mr. Lethal, and walk toward the bathroom, fully intending to freshen up a bit before he arrives.
“Oh God.” I slap my hand over my eyes when I rush by the sorting room.
Vincent is wearing the male version of Daisy Duke shorts except, instead of denim, the fabric is a white, clingy material. Satin, I think. Along with a long tail jacket made out of the same material, and a top hat. He’s shimmying around like a go-go dancer until Aunt Stella smacks his thigh as she tries to fit the coat.
“What do you think?”
I peek through my fingers, wishing I could turn around and go back outside. “Why?”
“For the party.” He dutifully turns for Stella so she can pin a seam. “You know, the one I told you about.”
I’d forgotten about his invite from Jason.
“Why are you dressed…” I wave my hand around his ensemble. “Like that?”
Stella takes the pins out of her mouth and stabs them into the cushion. “It’s his homage to Studio 54. He’s pretending to be a busboy.”
“Is this why you insisted we watch Roller Boogie?” His shorts are an exact copy of what Linda Blair wore in the movie, elastic waistband and all.
Vincent wiggles out of the jacket. Now all he’s wearing are the shorts and hat as he twirls around the room, stopping when he hears the front door open.
I’m too late in blocking him, and he’s already skirted by me and is welcoming Roy, who looks like a sex god in an expensive suit.
Vincent lifts his top hat. “Mr. Blackwood, so nice to see you again.”
Roy’s only reaction is an amused grin. Does he ever get frazzled? I have a flashback from last night; I’m part horrified and part proud at how I cracked the controlled demeanor of Mr. Lethal.
Stella comes in with her handbag on her arm. “Welcome to the asylum.” She smiles at Roy and sashays out the front door, leaving us to close up.
“Mmm, I do love a man who works out.” Vincent dramatically ogles Roy.
I love Vincent, but he can be a bit much.
“You're welcome,” Roy replies and gives Vincent’s outfit the once-over. “Grocery shopping?”
“Safeway would be so lucky.”
“Go on, busboy.” I point to the back room. “Get changed. I need to close up.”
Vincent pretends to pout, but obliges.
“Halloween costume?”
I shake my head. “Some party.” I don’t mention Jason will be there, but maybe I don’t need to because I see a flash of recognition. Or maybe I’m projecting my guilt at not telling him. What’s wrong with me? I don’t have to tell him everything.
“Bye, bitches,” Vincent yells, closing the back door.
“Hang on a minute.” I run to the back, grab my purse, and meet Roy at the front door.
“Ready?” He holds the door for me.
It’s the first time I’ve locked up with the new security system. “Do I need to do anything different?”
His eyes narrow for a moment, and he nods and takes me to the back, where a small panel is attached to the back door wall. “I’ll install the app on your phone,
but for now, press the green button to arm it.” He does so, and the light flashes. “You have a minute or so to leave.” He takes my hand and walks so fast I have to jog behind him. “Close and lock the door. That’s it.” He points to the new floodlights above where the box was found. “Cameras in the lights. They're all around the perimeter.”
“And the code?”
He opens the car door and waits. “The techs said there was quite a debate about the security password. Eventually, your aunts settled on Twinkie.”
Twinkies put in the freezer for about twenty minutes were our favorite snack when I was a kid. I giggle and slide into the seat.
He closes the door, and I can make out mumbling as he walks around the vehicle. Probably about how even our security codes have to do with sugar.
“You’re bad for me.” Roy slips into the car and takes my chin in his hand. “I haven’t been able to focus on work today.”
His lips are gentle when they meet mine, but after dancing around in front of him and spending the whole day thinking about last night and him naked in my bathroom and the way his eyes blaze when he looks at me with lust—me!—I almost squeal and grab his tie and wrap it around my hand and pull him hard against my lips. His hand cups my face as he kisses me with passion and longing until I’m not sure I remember my own name.
He leans back in his seat. Calm and in control, with his eyebrow cocked. “Eager, Miss Aldridge?”
I blow out a breath. “You have no idea.”
He laughs and puts the car in gear. “I highly doubt that.”
“You missed the turn,” I say as he drives past the road to my home. “I need to change.”
“I have everything you need.”
I find myself squirming in my seat. I’m sure Roy does, in more ways than one. “Did you learn anything about the ring?”
“Nothing yet.” He turns onto Atoka Road. “My people are working on it.”
“My people,” I repeat, thinking he sounds like Charlton Heston in The Ten Commandments.
“You’re in high spirits. And I was worried the gift might have upset you.”
Which reminds me of something. “My razor. I want it back.”
“Oh, you noticed, did you?”
Secrets In Our Scars Page 11