People were odd. They said things they didn’t mean and did things that bore no relationship to what they said. I found them unpredictable, and therefore uncomfortable.
Numbers, on the other hand, made sense. They were reliable. They obeyed the rules and behaved in a predictable manner. As an example, I could do complex mathematical equations in my head, but I couldn’t fathom why my sister and Bowie had failed to engage in a romantic relationship for years, when it had been clear to everyone they had feelings for each other.
Numbers made sense. People did not.
Yet I lived in a world where people existed, and I found that it pleased the people I cared about if I spent time interacting with them. Which sometimes meant joining my sister for a girls’ night at the Lookout on a Thursday.
I prepared my dinner, dividing the meal precisely into two portions. One I placed on a plate, while the other went into the refrigerator for tomorrow. Although I generally only cooked for one person—myself—I had a collection of cooking for two cookbooks on a shelf in my kitchen. Cooking twice what I needed increased my kitchen efficiency, allowing me to prepare half the number of meals I would otherwise need.
“Hey, Juney.” Jonah came downstairs, running a towel over his wet hair. “That smells good.”
I stiffened. Did he mean he wanted to share? Or was he simply commenting on the pleasant aroma of my meal?
“It’s likely the combination of basil and garlic that produces the scent you’re enjoying,” I said. Cassidy would say it would be polite to offer him some. “Would you like a portion?”
“Oh, thanks, but no,” he said. “I’m doing intermittent fasting, so I’m not eating again until tomorrow.”
“Good. I made the second portion for myself to eat tomorrow, so that works out for both of us.”
He smiled in a way that made me wonder if he was amused or irritated with me. It was hard for me to tell. “Guess so. Do you have plans tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Um, what are they?”
“Girls’ night at the Lookout.”
“Sounds fun,” he said. “I have to be up early in the morning, so I’m staying in. Feel free to call me if you need a ride or anything, though.”
“The chance of me overindulging in alcohol is approximately one percent,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll be able to drive myself. But thank you for the offer.”
He smiled again. “No problem.”
Jonah was my first ever roommate. I’d gone from living with my parents and sister to living alone. I’d even lived alone in college. I didn’t like sharing my space. Another person meant someone moving things from their rightful places, making messes, and worst of all, failing to understand the importance of football on Sundays.
But Jonah was a pleasant roommate. He was unobtrusive, clean, and cooked his own meals. And he never, ever tried to dictate the television schedule when there were games on. We’d even watched the Superbowl together, although at the time I’d still been mourning my fantasy football league loss.
Jonah went off to do whatever it was Jonah did. I had my dinner, then settled onto the couch with a book. Cassidy, Scarlett, and Leah Mae were no doubt using this time to prepare for the upcoming evening. Women seemed to feel a night out necessitated a lengthy routine of makeup application, the use of various hair products and heated appliances, and a great deal of indecision when it came to clothing choices.
Wardrobe decisions were simple calculations. You took the occasion, time of day, expected attendees, and venue, and accounted for the season and current weather conditions.
Occasion: spontaneous girls’ night
Time of day: weeknight evening
Expected attendees: Cassidy, Scarlett, Leah Mae, and various other Bootleg Springs residents
Venue: The Lookout
Season and current weather conditions: early February, cold and dry
Outcome: sweater, jeans, thick socks, boots
It had taken me no more than a few seconds to reach the appropriate conclusion. As for the rest of the primping routine, I saw no need to augment my appearance with cosmetics or spend a great deal of time and effort on my hair. It wasn’t as if I was going to the Lookout to attract a mate.
Neither were the other women in my life, of course. They were all firmly ensconced in committed relationships. Which made their desire to spend so much time on their appearance even more perplexing. Who were they dressing up for, now that they were no longer single?
I didn’t understand people.
At seven fifty-five, I got up and put on my boots and coat. I lived a short drive from the Lookout, and if past behavior served as an accurate predictor of future outcomes—and I knew that it did—the other girls would arrive between five and fifteen minutes after the agreed upon time. In other words, I was not in a rush.
To my surprise, when I arrived at the Lookout at eight-oh-two, Cassidy’s car was in the parking lot.
I opened the door to the bar, steeling myself for the assault on my senses. The Lookout was loud, music and voices spilling out into the cold night. Warm air engulfed me when I stepped inside—about two degrees above what I found comfortable.
Pausing, I gave myself a few seconds to find equilibrium in this new environment. It required tuning things out, erecting a barrier between my brain and the sensory input that beat at me. When I felt suitably insulated, I joined my sister and her friends at their table.
“Juney!” Cassidy said with a smile. “I’m so glad you came out with us!”
I smiled and gave her a stiff hug.
Cassidy and I looked quite a bit alike—both with dark blond hair and green eyes. The same upturned, lightly freckled noses. But our appearance was where the similarities ended. Our personalities were remarkably dissimilar, despite our shared genetics.
Of course, when it came to personality, I was remarkably dissimilar to everyone in Bootleg Springs, familial relations included.
However, our differences hadn’t inhibited our personal relationship. I’d always maintained a positive rapport with Cassidy. I felt a great deal of affection for my sister. We weren’t like other siblings. We’d rarely bickered or argued, even as children. We looked out for each other, each in our own way, and I appreciated that.
“I like your sweater,” Leah Mae said, pointing at my clothing choice.
“Thank you. The weather is cold, so a sweater seemed prudent.”
“And it’s cute, too,” she said.
I gave her a small nod. Leah Mae was pleasant. Considered beautiful in the traditional way, she was tall and thin with long blond hair and noticeable gap between her two front teeth. She’d been a model and on a reality TV show, but now she was back in Bootleg Springs and dating Jameson Bodine. They appeared well-suited for each other, and happy in their relationship. That was good. Jameson was my favorite of the Bodine men. He didn’t talk a lot, which made spending time with him comfortable.
I’d once heard someone say they thought Jameson and I should date. I didn’t have much desire to date anyone, but I’d been particularly surprised by the suggestion. I’d be the first to admit, I didn’t understand human relationships. But it seemed to me, from what I did know, that a functioning relationship required a certain degree of communication. Putting two people together who didn’t talk very much seemed like a recipe for failure.
Scarlett had also chosen a sweater for her evening attire. Hers hung off one shoulder, leaving her bra strap visible. I didn’t know if that was a conscious choice, or if her sweater didn’t fit right. Scarlett was petite and I suspected she often found clothing too large for her small frame.
She grabbed her sweater at the neck, pulling it in and out, as if to create a breeze beneath it. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hot. I might be ditching mine.”
“You wearing anything but your bra underneath?” Cassidy asked.
Scarlett held her sweater out and peered in, as if she’d forgotten what she was wearing. “Well, yeah. I’m not going to strip, silly.�
�
“Why not?” Cassidy asked. “Might be fun.”
“What’s got you so frisky tonight?” Scarlett asked.
Cassidy shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just in a good mood. Want to have some fun.”
“Baby, fun is my middle name,” Scarlett said. “Let’s get you nice and liquored up so you can go home and have wild, drunken sex with Bowie.”
I drew my eyebrows in. “Intoxication carries a high probability of nausea and vomiting. I fail to see how that’s conducive to engaging in sexual intercourse, especially of the wild variety.”
Cassidy patted my shoulder. “You have a point, there, June Bug. But getting a little tipsy is fun sometimes.”
That didn’t precisely address my point, but it didn’t matter. I took a seat on one of the empty stools and set my handbag on the table.
The band started a new song and a few couples moved in front of the tiny stage to dance. It was the oddest thing. The beat was too slow for much movement. They stood together, swaying back and forth, hardly moving their feet. I didn’t grasp the appeal of any sort of dancing, but I’d always found slow-dancing particularly inexplicable.
Gibson Bodine strummed his guitar and sang into the microphone while his bandmates, Hung and Corbin, played along. They were an eclectic-looking mix of men. Gibson was tall and bearded, his expression usually some variation of a scowl. Hung was a gray-haired Asian man, and Corbin looked like he still belonged in high school, with smooth dark skin and thick hair.
Cassidy brought me a drink and I sipped it quietly. The girls talked about the men—and cats—in their lives, which didn’t leave me much to add to the conversation. But I didn’t mind too much. After a while, I pulled a book out of my handbag and laid it out on the table to read.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” Cassidy asked, drawing my attention away from my book.
Bowie Bodine put his arms around her. “I missed you.”
“It’s girls’ night,” she said, but there wasn’t any conviction behind her words. Even I could tell she was glad to see him.
Which I found odd, considering they lived together. They were in the middle of a renovation, turning their duplex into a single residence. Bowie had likely seen Cassidy less than two hours ago. I didn’t understand how that was long enough to miss a person, but I let the question drift from my mind.
To the surprise of everyone but me, Jameson and Devlin weren’t far behind Bowie. Scarlett laughed and gave Devlin a playful smack on the chest for crashing girls’ night—but then grabbed him by the front of his shirt and gave him a rather inappropriate kiss. Leah Mae didn’t even pretend she wasn’t happy to see Jameson, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him.
I found myself smiling as I watched my sister and her friends—our friends. I liked seeing them happy. It reminded me of the way I felt around my parents. They were happy, so I was happy for them.
“Hey Juney.” Jameson took a seat across from me. “Good book?”
“It’s an analytical look at the history of statistics in American professional sports.”
“Sounds right up your alley,” he said.
“Can I get you another drink?” Bowie asked me. “I’m buying.”
I gestured to my half-finished bourbon. “No thank you. I already calculated the ratio of time to bourbon consumption to ensure I’m in the proper frame of mind to drive myself home.”
He smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t want to mess with math.”
Drinks were passed around and my sister and friends all engaged in lively conversation. I watched, feeling detached. It wasn’t their fault. They’d always done their best to include me. It wasn’t even the fact that they were all coupled-off, and I was the lone single person at our table. I usually felt this sort of social detachment. It was as if I was a scientist in a lab, observing, but apart.
The vast majority of the time, this state of affairs didn’t bother me in the least. It was just the way things were.
But tonight, the separateness I felt did bother me. I wasn’t certain as to why.
Finally, I decided I could slip out without eliciting any unnecessary attention. Instead of heading for the solace of home, I found myself driving in the other direction—toward my parents’ house.
My mother and father still lived in the same house where Cassidy and I had grown up. It hadn’t changed much since I’d moved out. A little more worn, perhaps, although they kept it in pristine condition. And it still smelled the same—a mixture of cinnamon and vanilla that always reminded me of the cookies my mom loved to bake.
I went in without knocking, like I always did, and found my dad dozing on the couch. The TV was on, casting flickers of light across the dim room.
Dad’s crossed arms rose and fell as he breathed, his white mustache twitching. I clicked the door closed and he startled, his deep intake of breath vibrating in his throat like a loud snore.
“Oh, June Bug,” he said with a smile. “You caught me napping.”
“Did you have a particularly tiring day?” I asked as I sat on the couch next to him. “You should be careful not to overexert yourself.”
“I’m all right. What brings you here tonight?”
I looked away, the light of the muted TV drawing my gaze. I wasn’t sure how to answer his question. I could have gone straight home. Home was comfortable. I liked it there. Had Cassidy not asked me to meet them at the Lookout, I’d have been perfectly content to spend my evening at home.
However, I had gone to the Lookout, and something about that had left me feeling unsettled in ways I didn’t know how to articulate.
“Cassidy’s having a girls’ night, so I was at the Lookout. The men appeared to be unsatisfied with their significant others spending the evening without their company.”
“So the men crashed your girls’ night, and it turned into a double date?”
“Triple. Leah Mae and Jameson were also there.”
“Ah yes, of course they were.” He paused and appraised me through slightly narrowed eyes. “You feeling a little bit left out?”
“No,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie, exactly. “They took care to make sure I was included.”
Dad smiled. He had the kindest, gentlest smile. “I’m sure they did. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t feel a bit on the outside.”
“I suppose I did. But it’s all right. Considering I was the lone single female in the group, it’s not surprising.”
He picked up the remote. “Should we see if there’s a game on?”
This was why I’d come. Dad understood me. I settled back into the couch and folded my hands in my lap. “Yes, I think we should.”
Dad patted me on the knee and turned the channel.
3
George
The sun filtered through the trees as I sped down the highway. It was cold out there, and I’d felt the tires slip on slick ice in a few shady places. Had to be careful. I’d only passed two, maybe three cars along the highway. This town I was headed to—Bootleg Springs—was in the middle of nowhere. My sister Shelby had said it was remote, but I was starting to wonder if I’d missed it.
Shelby had been in Bootleg Springs since last November. I wasn’t sure what she was doing out there. My younger sister always had something cooking. Truth was, I hadn’t seen Shelby a lot over the last ten years. We’d kept in touch through texts and Skype calls, and spent a few holidays with our parents down in Charlotte. And I’d taken the whole family on a cruise a few years ago, during the off-season.
But it wasn’t just a Thompson sibling reunion that had me headed into the mountains of West Virginia. Apparently this place was known for their hot springs. Some people even said they had healing properties. When I’d chatted with Shelby a few days ago, she’d suggested I come out and stay a while. She’d said the town was nice, and at this point, I’d do just about anything if it would help rehab my knee. It wasn’t like I had anything else going on.
There were perks to being unemployed.
Th
e highway curved, leading into a longer straight stretch. A car came toward me, headed in the opposite direction—a gorgeous black Dodge Charger. Bad ass car. I cracked the window to listen to the engine while it passed. I could just hear the faint rumble of that throaty purr. Nothing like a hot muscle car with an owner who knew how to make her sing.
But before I could admire the hum of the Charger’s engine, a deer darted across the road, right in front of the other car.
The Charger swerved, narrowly missing the animal. Its tires must have hit an icy patch, and the car spun in a tight circle, veering off the road. I clenched my steering wheel as I watched it happen, as if in slow motion, powerless to help. The driver tried to correct, but the car slammed into a tree with a loud crunch.
I pumped my brakes, careful of the ice, and pulled across the empty highway. As soon as I was safely stopped on the side of the road, I flew out of the car and ran over to see if the driver was okay.
The driver’s side door was pinned against the trunk of the tree. I went to the passenger’s side and yanked the door open.
Bending down, I leaned against the heavy metal door, and peered inside. “Are you okay?”
The driver looked dazed. He was dressed in a black knit hat and thick coat, his jaw covered with dark facial hair. He had a hand to his forehead, but I didn’t see blood. Seemed like a good sign.
“What the fuck,” he muttered.
“You okay, man? Need help getting out of there?”
He looked at me and blinked a few times, like he was trying to figure out what had just happened. One hand still gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.
After prying his hand open and flexing his fingers a few times, he nodded. I reached in and helped him across the seat, then made sure he was stable on his feet before I let go of his thick forearm.
He put his hand on the car, probably to steady himself. “Holy shit. I didn’t hit her, did I?”
“The deer?” I asked. “No, she ran off.”
He nodded, still visibly dazed.
“Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so. Hit my head, but that’s nothing.”
Bourbon Bliss: Bootleg Springs Book Four Page 2