Vice

by L. M. Pruitt

  “Honey, if I’d grown up the way you did and been on the receiving end of the same amount of bullshit, it would have taken a lot more than somebody dying to get me to throw my life in to a tailspin and put down roots here.” She reached across the table, laying her hand on my arm and squeezing once. Sitting back, she said, “Now, if I’m going to start doling out relationship advice, I think I deserve at least a hint or three about the no doubt mind blowing sex the two of you have to be having.”

  LATER THAT NIGHT, I squinted as the light flashed on in the bathroom, rolling to my back and using the flat of my hand to block the worst of the glare. “Abraham?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Go back to sleep.”

  The numbers on the bedside clock were blurry but still readable. “It’s almost four.”

  “Had a little trouble getting people to close their tabs and get the hell out and then when they did I was stuck cleaning up the mess.” He paused in the threshold between the bedroom and the bathroom, the light from the latter throwing him in shadow. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “It’s fine.” I struggled to a sitting position, shoving my hair out of my face. “What’s wrong?”

  “It was a long night, Jeannie.” He stripped over his clothes, tossing them in the direction of the hamper before killing the light and padding across the room to the bed. Climbing in on the opposite side, he stretched out on his back and sighed. “Let’s just go to sleep, okay?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have come in slamming doors and throwing on lights.” I would have been more than happy to go back to sleep and ignore the fight that was brewing under the surface but something told me he was upset about more than a bad night at work. Turning to face him, I said, “You can either tell me what’s wrong or we can have a good, old-fashioned shouting match and we’ll both look like shit in the morning when we take the kids to school.”

  “One of the guys we went to high school with, you may not remember him, Julian Pomeroy, he came in to the bar tonight.”

  I waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, I lifted my brows and widened my eyes. “And?”

  “He got engaged last week. And I got an invitation to Elliot Greenway’s co-ed baby shower in the mail yesterday.” He sat up, the filmy curtains thick enough to block the light, keeping everything in half darkness. “I thought I was happy with the family we have. I thought it was enough. But it’s not.”

  “Oh.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded curiously flat. “Well.” I started to slide out of the bed, freezing when he grabbed my arm. “Abraham, I like to think I’m a relatively mature adult but I’m not mature enough to sleep in the same bed with you after you’ve told me you want to break up.”

  “That I want to....” He trailed off, staring at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Why would you think... Jeannie, I don’t want to break up with you.” He shifted, reaching behind him and opening the drawer of his bedside table, pulling out something and all but tossing it in my lap. “I want to marry you, damnit, and I was trying to wait and be patient but I can’t.”

  “What?” I croaked out the single word, staring at the small black box in my lap as if it was a rattlesnake. “What?”

  “I’m not speaking fucking French, Jeannie.” Picking up the box, he fumbled it open one handed, the ring throwing off a dull glint. “I want to marry you and share this family with you and maybe add a few more members to it.”

  “I think I’m going to pass out.” That had to be the reason why my stomach was pitching and the room was starting to spin. I flopped backward on the mattress, staring at the ceiling and willing everything to stay in place. “Why on earth would you want to marry me?”

  “You want a goddamn list?” He dropped the box on my stomach and started ticking off points on his fingers. “You’re brilliant, you’re beautiful, you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me in my entire life.” He dragged one hand through his hair and huffed out a breath. “Okay, I may have consolidated a few points there because if I were to actually list all the reasons why you’re amazing and I want to marry you, we’d be here all night and half of tomorrow.”

  “Abraham, I grew up in a trailer with subpar plumbing.”

  “And I grew up in a plantation house with subpar parents.”

  “One of my parents drank herself to death and the other is God knows where and my sister shot her husband and hung herself not even three months ago.”

  “My great-great-great granddaddy was a bootlegger and his daddy was a Klan member.” Abraham snorted. “And don’t even get me started on my mother’s side of the family.”

  “I’m not the kind of person who gets married.” Mostly because I’d never even considered the possibility that somebody would want to marry me. Now that there was somebody, I didn’t know what the hell to do. “Abraham, it’s been a month.”

  “When you know, you know, and I swear, some part of me has known my entire life that you were the one.” He stretched out next to me, propping his chin in the palm of his head, starting down at me. “Maybe you can just try it on for a little while, see how it feels? Who knows, maybe it won’t be nearly as terrifying as you seem to think.”

  “Abraham....” I sighed, knowing it was a stupid idea—because once it was on my hand, there was no way Abraham was letting me take it off without a fight—and knowing I was going to give in anyway. Abraham liked to joke that I had him wrapped around his finger and while it might have been the case he wasn’t the only one who had difficulty saying ‘no’. “Fine. But I haven’t agreed to anything. I’m just trying it on.”

  “That’s all I’m asking right now.” He waited while I eased the ring out of the box and slid it on my finger. “How’s it feel?”

  “Heavy.” Both physically—I wasn’t an expert on diamonds but this one looked and felt like a whopper—and emotionally. I set the box on my bedside table and sighed. “Weird. Unsettling.”

  “But not bad.” He rolled to his back, tugging me over until I curled against his side, one leg slung over his. “Right?”

  “Not bad.” I ran my thumb over the band, wondering idly when the nausea and dizziness had passed. “Not bad at all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Somehow, I managed to keep the ring hidden for the next two days. It required a little planning and maneuvering and bribery on the part of the kids to keep the entire thing a secret but I made it happen. It wasn’t until Friday night, when I’d let Beth talk me in to a few drinks too many, that I let my guard down, resting my left hand on the table as if I didn’t have upward of two grand hanging out on my fourth finger.

  “Holy Mary, Mother of God, is that what I think it is and if it is, when the hell did this happen?” Beth grabbed my hand and yanked it across the table, nearly pulling my arm out of my socket in her haste to examine the ring. She shoved it under Dana’s nose, practically squealing. “You see this? You see this?”

  “Not to be crude but I’m pretty sure they can see it all the way down in Atlanta. Maybe even Savannah.” Dana took a minute sip of her drink—she only ever drank one and she stretched it out over the course of nearly two hours until by the end she was drinking melted down ice cubes more than an actual gin and tonic. “Abraham always did have good taste.”

  “Why do you think I waited for her?” Abraham set a fresh drink in front of me, kissing the tip of my nose even as he tossed a wink at the other two. “You keep throwing them back like that and I’m going to have to pour you in to bed tonight.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. Doubt it’ll be the last.” I scowled when Dana snickered and Beth let out a hooting laugh. “That’s not what I meant. Not everything is a sexual innuendo.”

  “Which in my opinion is a crying shame.” Beth’s laugh trailed off, her face going suspiciously blank. “Don’t look now but I’m almost certain trouble just walked through the door.”

  I turned aro
und, my drink forgotten when I spotted Lynn standing just inside the door. “Wait. The cheerleading squad is supposed to be having a sleepover at her house. If she’s here, whose the adult in charge?”

  Before any of them could answer, Lynn spotted us, marching across the dance floor and straight to the booth, her bright red face twisted in an ugly sneer. “I should have known I’d find you here.”

  “Since I’m almost certain this is where I told you I would be, I would hope you would have remembered.” I slid out of the booth, planting my feet wide and crossing my arms. “What’s this about, Lynn?”

  “It’s about your slut of a niece and—.”

  “You’re gonna want to stop right there and take a few steps back, both metaphorically and literally.” I swallowed, determined for my voice to be even when I spoke again and not shaking with barely restrained anger. “First, I don’t take very kindly to anyone talking about my family that way, especially when it’s a so-called adult talking about a child. Second, because I don’t take kindly to that sort of talk, you standing so close I can see those few eyebrow hairs you missed when you were tweezing means you’re entirely too close for comfort.”

  “Well, maybe if she didn’t act like a little tramp—.” Lynn broke off when I took a step forward, our noses practically touching. There was something suspiciously like glee in her eyes when she hissed out, “You wouldn’t dare hit me. You do and all those little brats you’re taking care of will be shipped off to foster homes before you can post bail from the charges you can bet your ass I’ll file.”

  “Which would standup for all of five minutes when there’s an entire bar of witnesses who would be more than happy to talk about how you came in here itching for a fight.” Beth eased between us, pulling me back a few steps, waiting until Abraham wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me in place, before letting my arm go. Turning back to Lynn, she said, “Now, maybe you can remember to act like an adult and not like a teenager and try and explain what the hell is going on.”

  “Ms. Trailer Trash’s niece has been sending texts to Robert Brady for the last two weeks, knowing damn good and well Dominique is expecting him to ask her to Homecoming.” Lynn clenched her fists, her eyes bulging out of her too red face. “He had the nerve to show up at my house tonight with flowers for her, asking her if she would do him the ‘honor’ of going to the dance with him.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, haven’t you?” I stared at her, understanding what she was telling me and yet entirely certain she had to have made up at least part of it in some sort of fever dream. “It’s the stress of being a single parent in this town. I get it, I do, but that’s no reason for you to attack a teenager this way.”

  “Your niece is a good for nothing slut trying to pull the wool over the eyes of everyone in this town, just the way you did, but I’m not stupid like the rest of these people.” Lynn flung her arm in a wide arch, encompassing the majority of the room who were watching as if the entire scene was a Broadway play. “She’s trash, the same as you, and I won’t have her around me or my daughter. I won’t let her drag my Dominique down and you can bet your ass I’m going to speak with Robert Brady’s parents and let them know what kind of girl she is so he doesn’t make the same mistake Abraham is making.”

  “If you think for one minute I’m making some kind of mistake, then I’m going to have to side with Jeannie and conclude you’ve lost your mind.” Abraham paused, stroking my arm with one hand and laughing. “Actually, I’m going to side with her regardless but especially against you. God doesn’t like ugly, Lynn, and if anyone ever needed proof of that, all they’d have to do is look at your life.”

  “And you don’t need to concern yourself with Robert.” A woman I vaguely recognized from Friday night football, who always sat directly behind the football team on the very first row, stood, a man who had to be her husband rising with her. Crossing her arms, she stared down Lynn with all the ferocity of a mama lion and said, “I knew Loretta Jackson and while I haven’t met her, I know of Jeannie Jackson. I know exactly the kind of people they are and the kind of girl Tammy Jackson is and I don’t have a problem saying I’d much rather my son associate with someone like the Jacksons than with someone like you.”

  “The Jacksons might have been poor but they were good, hardworking people, and decent on top of it.” Her husband, a great, big bear of a man with a rumble of a voice to match, nodded at me before continuing. “Tammy is smart and polite and exactly the sort of young lady we’d like to see our son spend more time with and that’s that.”

  “Why, Tammy comes and helps pull weeds and tend my garden every weekend.” A tiny slip of a woman I recognized as our neighbor at the end of the street who was eighty years old if she was a day banged her cane on the floor and pointed a gnarled, bony finger at Lynn. “Not like your girl, who won’t even help me out to my car with my groceries.”

  One by one, people around the room chimed in with stories about Tammy. And Loretta. And, to my shock, me. I hadn’t thought I’d contributed anything to the town other than money since I’d moved back but apparently I hadn’t been paying attention. Otherwise I would have remembered my offer to help old Mrs. Barlett with the yearbook staff and the few afterschool sessions I’d done with the Literary Club and the few hours I’d pitched in at the steakhouse when they were short in the kitchen. I hadn’t thought anything of any of it but everybody else had.

  When the clamor died down, Abraham raised his voice, pitching it so there was no way anybody missed a word he said, “You came out here wanting to start a fight, Lynn, and that’s fine. That’s your right. But I think it’s safe to say if you pick a fight with Jeannie Jackson, you’re picking a fight with everybody in Cotton Creek.”

  The room broke out in hoots and applause, overshadowing whatever Lynn tried to stammer out in response. After a few minutes of sputtering, she simply shrieked and spun on her heel, pushing through the crowd and stalking out of the bar. I stumbled backward to the booth, collapsing on the seat and dropping my head between my knees.

  “Hey, hey, hey—take a deep breath.” Beth and Dana’s faces appeared on either side of my legs even as one of them pressed a cold, wet napkin to the nape of my neck. Dana patted my shin and said, “The first time standing up to Lynn is always the hardest. After that it gets easier. She’s still scary as hell but it’s easier.”

  “She’s scary the way a Chihuahua is scary—a whole lotta bark but very little bite when it comes down to it.” Beth stuck a glass of water with a straw under my nose, waiting patiently until I took a long sip. “I took the liberty of calling Ben and telling him to go get Carol and Tammy. She can stay with us tonight or he can take her home if she wants.”

  “Thanks.” I straightened slowly, sending up a silent prayer of thanks when my stomach didn’t turn over in protest. Brushing the hair out of my face, I looked up at Abraham. “You defended me. In front of everybody.”

  “I was just one voice in the crowd.” He took my hand, pulling me to my feet, wrapping an arm around my face when I swayed unsteadily. “You still look a little pale.”

  “You defended me in front of everybody.” I couldn’t wrap my mind around that simple fact and at the same time it was as if every lightbulb in the world had suddenly gone off in my brain. “You love me. Like for real.”

  One corner of his mouth crooked up. “Pretty damn sure I’ve been telling you that for the last month.”

  “Yeah, but—.” I broke off, laughing and shaking my head. “In front of everybody.”

  “You seem to be stuck on that part.” He took my chin in one hand, pressing his thumb against my lip. “Let me see if I can push you out of your rut.”

  “Wait, I have to say something and I have to say it before you kiss me and I go stupid because that’s what tends to happen when you kiss me and... Jesus, I’m rambling.” I laughed again, giddy, and not from the tequila. “I need you to push me first, though.”

  “Okay.” His eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

 
; “Tell me again. The thing you’ve been telling me for the last month.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” I squealed when he scooped me up and spun us in a quick, fast circle. “Do that again and I’m going to throw up all over you.”

  “No, you aren’t, because that would ruin the moment and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that happen, not with something this big.” He set me back on my feet, brushing my hair back from my face and grinning down at me. “Can I kiss you now?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Harsh.”

  “Since you’re on a roll, you should ask me the other thing again.” I poked him with my left ring finger to make sure he got the point. “Right now.”

  “Since I’m on a roll....” He trailed off, taking a deep breath and swallowing hard before clearing his throat. “Jeannie Jackson, I’ve loved a lot of things in my life—tequila, waffles, dirty sex—but I’ve never loved any of them the way I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you and all the kids we either randomly find or inherit or make.”

  “And as much as I love tequila and tacos and orgasms, I don’t love them nearly as much as I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” This time I was prepared when he picked me up and spun me around, the applause from the bar drowning out my laugh. When he set me on my feet, I said, “You can kiss me now.”

  “Damn straight.” He crushed his mouth against mine and for a few heady seconds the world disappeared and it was just me and him. When he finally let me come up for air, he murmured, “I do have one confession to make.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “I actually don’t care for Don Julio.” He brushed his lips over mine. “I’m really more of a Patron guy.”