by Noir, Roxie
Levi, the eldest, is brown-haired and brown-eyed, has an impressive beard, and lives in a cabin he built himself up on a mountain. He’s the chief arborist for our part of the Cumberland National Forest, a vegetarian, a slow talker but a quick thinker, and knows more about lichen than I do about anything.
Eli’s younger by two years. He’s an argumentative asshole who’s vexed me since we were in the same kindergarten class. Enough about him.
Daniel’s only a year younger than Eli. He’s got light brown hair, crystal-blue eyes, and a six-year-old daughter named Rusty with a woman who, when she bothers to show up in her daughter’s life, is at best a shrieking hell-banshee and at worst, a drain on society. He’s the master brewer at Loveless Brewing, which he owns with Seth.
Seth, the fourth, has dark hair and gray-green eyes, and he’s unsuitable because he’s never going to settle down. At least, he’s too charming and too flirtatious for the Sprucevale gossip machine to approve of him. He’s likely to show you a fantastic time and then never call again, which got him labeled ungentlemanly — and worse — but he doesn’t seem to mind. He runs the business side of the brewery he owns with Daniel.
The youngest, Caleb, has dark hair and blue eyes, and last I heard he was in grad school up in Charlottesville getting his doctorate in some kind of theoretical mathematics. If I remember correctly, he’s spending his summer break hiking some long-haul trail out west.
“Levi’s wrestling bears or climbing trees or whatever he does up there. Daniel’s making beer and ferrying Rusty to ballet class. Seth’s doing the paperwork and trying to stay out of trouble. Caleb’s in California, hiking part of the Pacific Crest Trail before he starts working on his dissertation this fall.”
“And your mom’s still teaching at the college?”
“Still teaching,” he confirms. “Still trying to figure out if the universe is getting bigger or smaller.”
There’s another long pause. I take a deep breath. I relax a little, even though the air in here is still humming.
Maybe the past can be behind us. Maybe Eli and I can peacefully co-exist as adults.
But then he glances over at me again, smiling that half-smile he’s always had, only now it’s handsome and it hits me in that soft spot right below my sternum.
Something’s coming and I’m not gonna like it.
“So, what did you say to that guy?” he asks.
I slouch against the passenger seat, face in the wind again, ankles still crossed. The nice thing about the giant Bronco is that Eli’s about ten feet away from me, so it’s not too hard to avoid looking at him.
I sigh.
“He was a dick,” I say, resigned.
Eli laughs.
“If that’s what you said, I’m not surprised he bailed.”
“He bailed because I wouldn’t sleep with him.”
“My cooking didn’t get you in the mood?” Eli asks.
A quick tightness knots in my stomach. I look over and he’s half-smiling, watching the road.
“It wasn’t that good,” I say.
“I was voted the panty-droppingest chef west of the Mississippi two years running,” he says.
There’s that knot again, along with the fervent wish that I had a harder time believing it.
“Too bad we’re east of the Mississippi.”
“I must have had less competition in Sonoma,” he says with a smirk that says I know full well I didn’t.
“I imagine it’s against the editorial standards of the Journal-Bulletin to print the word panty, so I doubt you’ll get that particular honor while you’re here.”
“Too bad, because meanwhile I’m ruining dates left and right.”
“You’re giving yourself entirely too much credit.”
“You don’t believe in the power of a good meal?”
I turn my head and look at Eli, his face glowing in the reflection of the dashboard lights, blue and green shining off his dark wild hair. My stomach flutters. I cross my ankles a little tighter.
I wonder why he’s so interested in how my date went wrong. I wonder how we haven’t managed to strangle each other yet, though we came close in the kitchen.
“He snapped at the waitress,” I finally say. “There’s no meal powerful enough to make up for that.”
Eli just whistles low.
“Bad, right?”
“I’d hate to be the man trying to impress you,” he says, shaking his head.
“You approve of snapping at the waitstaff?”
Eli brakes, turns, his headlights washing across the sign that reads Pine Estates Mobile Home Park. I swallow the rising tension in my throat.
“Hell no,” he says. “But all the same, the man was in a bad position.”
“He snapped at the waitress like he was trying to train a dog, then ditched his date, and he was the one in a bad position?”
Eli slows, turns right down a row of mobile homes, chuckles again. Heat’s creeping up my neck, my body rigid.
Don’t let him get to you. Don’t.
“I’m not excusing him,” he says. “Just saying I don’t envy him.”
I crack a knuckle. Don’t let him get to you.
“The position of taking me out on a date?”
“The position of thinking there’s anything he could do that would impress you enough to have sex with him.”
He points at a trailer on the outside of the loop, with a car in the parking spot, two potted flowers on the tiny front porch, Christmas lights neatly strung around the top, and no rust spots.
“Even I know that’s a hopeless cause,” he goes on. “That’s you?”
“That’s me, and you don’t know a thing about me,” I said as he slows to a stop.
“I know you still live in the nicest trailer in Pine Estates,” he says.
Every muscle in my body tenses, the defensive anger whooshing through me like a flame as I open my mouth, ready to light him on fire.
“And I know anyone trying to buy their way into your good graces is likely to be disappointed,” he goes on before I can say anything.
“Oh,” I say, caught off guard, my anger deflated.
He didn’t say it.
Eli props one elbow against the window, leans his chin on it, and grins.
I don’t hate the grin, though I do hate the way my stomach feels like it’s sliding around inside my body when he aims it at me.
“Have a good night, Violet,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
I pull at the door release. Nothing.
“You gotta —"
I tug on it and the door jerks open.
“Right,” he says.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him.
“Told you it wouldn’t be so bad.”
I hop out and heave the door shut without responding, because anything I say will lead to us arguing in a truck, in a trailer park at almost one in the morning, and that’s how an episode of Cops starts.
My heart is still beating a little too fast as I mount the aluminum steps of my mobile home and unlock the door. I can still feel Eli’s eyes on me, even though I don’t look back.
It’s not until I close the door behind myself and lock it that I hear the guttural sound of his engine revving, the slow crunch of his tires on the gravel as he leaves.
He didn’t say it.
Of course he didn’t. You’re adults.
You know he still thinks it, though. Deep down, you know that.
I put my shoes on the rack next to the front door, slide my slippers onto my feet, and head into the kitchen where I pour myself a glass of water.
I drink and the years slide away until I can practically hear him.
I know where you live.
Trailer trash.
He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to say it. I heard it so much in middle school — sometimes the full moniker, sometimes T. T. for short, if the teachers were around — that it’s practically engraved into my soul.
In
the years since then, I’ve been valedictorian of Sprucevale High. I got a full ride to college. I took care of my mom and still graduated Summa Cum Laude before finding a good job in a town that doesn’t have too many of those.
All that, and I still live in Pine Estates.
All that, and I’m certain Eli Loveless still thinks I’m trailer trash. I’ve got a knot in my chest. I’ve had the stupidest day and I just want to cry, the pressure behind my eyes demanding release, but I don’t.
I wash out the glass, put it in the drying rack, wipe down the counter, and go to bed.
Chapter Four
Eli
Just as I make the turn, the Bronco slips into neutral.
“What’ll you give me?” the small voice asks from the backseat.
I grit my teeth together, silencing a string of muttered curse words, grab the gear shift, and hit the brakes. The Bronco jolts to a stop, half on the road and half on the gravel driveway of Loveless Brewing. It’s got a tiny hill that’s five degrees at most, but I’ll be damned if my car doesn’t do this every single time.
I really, really need to get second gear checked out. I’ve been putting it off for two months now, but sooner or later I’m going to have to take the Bronco in.
“What do you want?” I ask as I muscle the gear shift into first, then hold it there as I ease off the clutch and onto the gas. Lucky for me, my brothers’ brewery is just past the edge of town right off Highway 39, so there are no other cars in sight.
“Wedding cake,” she says, like she’s been thinking about it.
The Bronco growls, the engine making a guttural clanking sound that doesn’t thrill me. I give it a little more gas.
“I don’t have any wedding cake,” I say.
I give it a little more gas and the Bronco practically leaps forward, shooting up the tiny hill and into the parking lot, gravel crunching beneath the tires.
“I mean after a wedding,” Rusty says, sounding exasperated in that way that only kids can.
I don’t answer her right away, just park next to Daniel’s old blue Subaru wagon. Since it’s three on a Monday afternoon, there aren’t too many other cars here — Daniel’s, Seth’s Mustang, Levi’s Forest Service truck, a beat-up Ford F250 that looks familiar, and a gleaming, brand-new white extended cab Ram that doesn’t.
I turn the car off, remove my seatbelt, and turn around to look Rusty in the face. The kid is sitting in her booster seat like it’s a judge’s bench, both her hands on the padded bar in front of her.
“Just to be clear,” I say. “You want a piece of wedding cake after the first wedding at my new job.”
For the first time since these negotiations began, Rusty looks uncertain, like she thinks I might be trying to get one over on her. I’m not. I just want to make sure that our terms are absolutely clear, because the kid drives a hard bargain.
“Dad said you were going to a lot of weddings at your new job,” she says, her fingers intertwining in front of her. “You can get wedding cake, right?”
“Of course I can get wedding cake,” I tell her, even though I’m not exactly certain, given my new job doesn’t start until tomorrow.
“Okay. That’s what I want.”
I nod once, all business.
“Deal. I’ll come around to unbuckle you and we’ll shake on it.”
I hop out of the driver’s side and head around to the back door, only to find Rusty looking at me quizzically, the expression making her look almost exactly like her dad.
I fight back a grin, because I don’t want to put our bargain in jeopardy by making her think I’m laughing at her. Six-year-old egos can be delicate.
“All right,” I say, holding out my right hand. The Bronco is so big that, in her booster seat, Rusty’s nearly eye-level with me. “I’ll get you a piece of wedding cake on Saturday, and you don’t tell your dad about the words you heard me say.”
She looks from my hand to my face, her big eyes wide, her golden-brown curls wild around her face. The curls are from her mom, but the rest of her is pure Loveless.
Including the negotiations. She may look just like her dad, but she somehow got my personality.
“An edge piece,” she says, still not taking my hand. “With a lot of frosting.”
I narrow my eyes at her like I’m thinking.
“And a frosting rose. I want a frosting rose and I won’t tell my dad.”
I withdraw my hand, cross my arms over my chest. Rusty looks nervous, one dangling foot kicking in the air.
“Not all wedding cakes have frosting flowers,” I tell her. “You’re gonna have to take your chances on that one, kiddo.”
A tiny frown crosses her face, but then she nods.
“Okay,” she says.
We shake on it, and the deal’s official: I steal her a sugar bomb from work, and she doesn’t tell my brother Daniel what I said when my damn car stalled out five times in a row going up the hill by the old Whitman place.
As soon as I lift her down, she’s off like a shot, running for the front door of Loveless Brewing, her wild hair bouncing and waving. I watched until she disappears through the front door, then heave the car door shut.
“Eli,” another voice calls. “Come give me a hand.”
I turn to find my brother Levi standing behind his truck, watching me.
“She’s fine, Seth and Daniel are in there,” he says. “Take one of these in, will you?”
I walk over to Levi’s dark green Forest Service truck. He’s bent over the back, pulling a box out, the tailgate down. He looks like he’s just come from work, still wearing the gray-green Forest Service overalls that say Levi Loveless over one breast pocket, and his work boots. He drags a cardboard box from the bed and handed it to me.
It’s surprisingly heavy. I tilt it one way and then the other, getting a better grip on it, while Levi watches me skeptically.
“You got that?”
“What’s in here?” I ask, securing it with an arm underneath. It feels like the bottom of the thing is about to fall out, and it smells like gin. I know he’s got a still somewhere out near his cabin, hidden in the forest, and I half-wonder if he’s bringing bootleg hooch to the brewery.
“Juniper berries,” he says, grabbing an identical box from his truck. He balances it on the side while he pushes the tailgate up, then lifts it onto his shoulder.
“From where?” I ask.
“From Juniperus virginiana,” he says with the same flourish he always uses when he gives the Latin name for something.
He gives the Latin name surprisingly often.
I don’t respond, I just wait. Levi is accustomed to telling you what he wants you to know in his own sweet time.
“Commonly known as Eastern Red Cedar,” he goes on. “Daniel and Seth asked if I could find some juniper berries. They’re making an IPA.”
With his other arm, he gestures toward the door that Rusty disappeared through, the movement surprisingly graceful and courteous, especially for someone who looks like birds could nest in his beard if he isn’t careful.
Levi and I probably look alike. We’re brothers, after all. He’s the oldest and I’m two years younger, but unless he shaves his beard and cuts his hair or I cease my personal upkeep for a few months and start wearing a top knot, we aren’t going to find out how much alike.
Half the time he’s wearing the exact same thing he has on right now: dark green Forest Service coveralls, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and thick work boots. He lives way up in the Cumberland National Forest, in a cabin he built himself, and works as the forest’s Chief Arborist.
I hoist the box of juniper berries onto my shoulder, and we head through the front door of the brewery. Inside it smells sweet and bready, the scent of half-finished beer flooding my senses. Levi leads us wordlessly to the walk-in cold storage, takes my box, and carefully stacks it atop his.
“Hope that’s enough,” he says, eyeing them. “If they need more they can pick the things themselves.”
“Anything else in the truck?” I ask, brushing my hands off, though I’m sure they’ll smell like cedar for the next few days regardless.
“That’s all for —”
“ — strongly advise that you take this offer now because there won’t be another,” a voice says suddenly, echoing from somewhere outside the cold storage room where we’re standing.
The voice is too loud to be polite, and sounds as if it belonged to a man unaccustomed to being told no.
It’s also very, very familiar.
Levi gives me a glance and walks past, heading for the door and seeing what all the commotion was about. I follow on his heels.
“We’ll take our chances,” comes Daniel’s voice, calm and laconic as ever. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“You’re going to regret this,” the other voice goes on. “Do you know —”
“Get out.”
That’s Seth, his voice flat and hard, an edge to it that instantly makes me nervous. Levi and I exchange glances as we walk quickly out of the cold storage, between two huge steel tanks, and skirt a puddle of something on the concrete floor.
“ — I could crush you like —"
“Out!” Seth shouts.
Levi and I break into a jog, tanks and nozzles and hoses all hissing away above us in the vast brewery. He rounds a corner and I’m one second behind.
Then I nearly run into his back, skidding to a stop.
Seth is nose-to-nose with Walter Eighton, the biggest landowner in Burnley County. Rather, he’s nose-to-forehead, given that Seth towers over almost anyone who isn’t related to him.
“I suggest you do as he says,” Levi tells him, walking forward slowly, his arms crossed over his chest.
Walter just snorts, still looking up at Seth. He’s wearing a suit that looks expensive but poorly tailored, nice fabric that doesn’t fit him quite right, like he doesn’t even have the patience to get something fitted.
“You don’t scare me,” he says. “None of you inbred rednecks are gonna—”
“You pompous shit sack—"
Daniel steps neatly between them before Seth can get any further with his insult, holding his hands out. Behind him Seth’s jaw flexes, his eyes flashing. Levi unfurls his arms and eases to his younger brother’s side, ready to catch him before he can do any real damage.