Текст книги "Truth or Beard"

Автор книги: Penny Reid

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Billy entered the kitchen seconds later, his eyes moving from the bruise high on Jethro’s cheek to the cut on his lip. “Did that happen on the trail?”

“Yeah. I was assaulted by a gang of ninja raccoons.” Jethro took a sip of his coffee.

Billy gave him another long look, then turned to the coffee. But he stopped again when he saw my face and the less-than subtle swelling around my eye.

He lifted an eyebrow, glanced between the two of us, then left the kitchen without his coffee, saying as he went, “Never mind, whatever it is, I don’t want to know. But do let me know when the hotcakes are ready. And there better be a turkey today, because I already made the stuffing, and something or someone is getting stuffed.”

“Getting the turkey was Cletus’s job this year,” I called after him.

No sooner did Billy leave than Beau shuffled in, scratching his balls and yawning. “Do I smell pancakes?”

“Yes.” I nodded, then tilted my head toward Jethro. “You also smell skunk.”

Beau lazily glanced where I indicated, then did a double take when he saw our oldest brother. Beau was suddenly awake. His brow pulling low and the set of his mouth grim as he studied Jethro, perhaps trying to determine whether or not he was going to be sensible or violent. Prior to Jethro’s miraculous reformation, seeing him with a black and blue face was a normal occurrence. But since he’d changed his ways a few years ago, he hadn’t come home with more than a scratch.

“What happened to your face?” Beau finally asked, and not kindly.

“Your twin happened to my face.”

Beau nodded, his features relaxing, then crossed the kitchen to the coffee machine. “Good. Saves me the trouble of doing it myself. So what’s the plan, Duane?”

“We’re waiting for Cletus to get up.”

Beau halted his coffee pouring and glanced between me and Jethro. “I thought we weren’t going to involve him.”

“He already knows. He did the initial installations.”

“Well I’ll be…” Beau shook his head, his eyes losing focus someplace over my shoulder. Then he abruptly snapped his fingers. “That makes sense. Ain’t no way Jethro could have installed those traps. I don’t know why we didn’t figure it out earlier.”

Just then, Cletus walked into the kitchen, obviously still in a temper. “Don’t speak to me until I’ve had my hotcakes. I’m still angry at both y’all.”

Jethro jumped up from his chair, Beau set his coffee cup down on the counter with a loud thunk, and I straightened to attention. All of us were standing like statues staring at Cletus, wanting to speak but knowing better than to disobey his request. It took him a bit to notice our rigid readiness, but when he did, his eyes narrowed and bounced between the three of us.

“All right…I take that back. Y’all are making me nervous. Maybe somebody should tell me what’s going on.”

CHAPTER 24

“Traveling in the company of those we love is home in motion.”

– Leigh Hunt

 

~Duane~

The four of us took our breakfast to the Quonset hut, escaping the house before Billy knew we were leaving. By some silent agreement, Jethro and Beau appointed me as the storyteller—likely because they both had a habit of extreme and unnecessary embellishment.

I explained the situation, provided the timeline, and described what steps we’d taken so far. All the while Cletus ate his pancakes and drank his coffee, nodding at intervals, and frowning at other intervals. For example, when I mentioned I’d enlisted Tina’s help, he scowled.

“Are you finished?” he asked at length, his eyes on my untouched plate.

“With the story or with my food?” My pancakes had gone cold, but I wasn’t hungry.

“Both.”

“Yes. You can have them.” I passed him my plate and rubbed my hand over my face. I was tired and the thought of eating made me nauseous. But it was more than the exhaustion. Everything hurt, and not because of my fist fight with Jethro.

Cletus took three bites, making us all wait in suspense, and then asked, “What I want to know is, why didn’t you come to me in the first place? And also, how do you get these to be so darn fluffy? It’s like eating a blueberry flavored cloud of awesome.”

“We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want to make you an accomplice, just in case we had to follow through,” Beau answered for me.

“I see. Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and concern for my wellbeing,” he said, using his most formal tone. Then added, “But that was really stupid of y’all.”

“So what are we going to do, Cletus?” Jethro got right to the point, giving our brother a charming smile despite his split lip.

“Nothing to do.” Cletus shrugged, sipped his coffee, and then set it down.

Beau and I exchanged looks of despair. If Cletus didn’t have a plan then we were going to have to rely on Tina.

Cletus must’ve seen our expressions and understood what they meant, because he added, “Let me clarify that last statement. There’s nothing to do because it’s already been done. In these cases, federal law requires the installer to inform local law enforcement when traps are suspected of being used for illegal purposes. The police have already been informed about those secret compartments because I informed them years ago, when I first installed the traps.”

Now Beau and I exchanged looks of astonishment. I don’t think either of us were capable of speech at that moment.

However, Jethro narrowed his eyes on Cletus and sounded half insulted. “What do you mean the police already know? Did you rat me out?”

Cletus tsked at Jethro and scrunched his nose like my oldest brother smelled badly. “No. Well…” His eyes moved up and to the right, as though reconsidering his answer. “Not in the way you mean. I informed the police when I installed the traps, because I suspected they’d be used for illegal purposes. Whether or not the police actually know about the traps is a different matter entirely.”

I was too tired for Cletus’s riddles. “Cletus, would you just speak plainly? What did you do? And what does it mean for us? Should we be worried about the Iron Order?”

“I’ll answer your questions in reverse. First, you do not need to worry about the Iron Order. They have no power over you, Jethro, or me, or Beau for that matter. In fact we are in a position to blackmail them, should we so choose.”

“Well, thank heavens.” Beau sat back in his chair and heaved a loud sigh of obvious relief.

“Second, what this means for ‘us’,” Cletus used air quotes around the word us, “is that we should—the four of us—go to the Dragon Biker Bar and meet with Repo, or even Razor himself. One of us will need to explain the situation, i.e. the Winston boys are immune to their threats, so they’ll quit their harassing and stay on their side of the school yard.”

“You want to talk to Razor?” Jethro asked like Cletus was certifiable.

Razor was the Iron Order’s president and one truly dangerous motherfucker.

“No. I did not say that. I said one of ‘us’.” Again, he used air quotes around us, but this time his eyes slid to me and he looked at me with meaning.

“What?” I asked, shaking my head. “You can’t mean me?”

Now all three of them were looking at me, and they were nodding.

“It makes sense,” Beau said encouragingly. I was not encouraged.

“It does,” Jethro agreed. “Razor hates my guts already, because of…well, the past. He doesn’t know Beau, but he can spot a bullshitter a mile away.”

“Are you calling me a bullshitter?” Beau frowned at Jethro.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Jethro admitted smoothly.

“Okay. Just making sure. Carry on.” Beau’s smile was back and he looked quite satisfied, likely because it took one to know one.

“And Cletus…well, no offense, Cletus, but Razor won’t respond well to your style, either.”

“Agreed.” Cletus nodded once and took another bite of my cold pancakes. When he spoke next, he spoke around a full mouth. “It has to be Duane. He’s abrupt, irritable, and those charlatans don’t scare him any. He’s perfect.”

It was my turn to exhale loudly, shaking my head, but not willing to argue the point just yet. We’d have plenty of time to debate this later. Right now I wanted answers. “So, what did you do, Cletus? How did you inform the police without them knowing?”

“You know how I help with those mail sorter machines at the police stations and the central office? I maintain them for three counties. Just one of the many ways I spend my time helping the citizens of Tennessee.”

“Yes. We know,” Jethro answered for all of us.

“Well, funny thing about those machines. Letters get stuck and unstuck all the time. When a machine breaks and needs fixing, I sometimes find letters that are years old.”

Beau and I quickly shared a glance. “Are you telling me that you planted a letter in one of those machines? Down at the station?” he asked.

Cletus shook his head. “No. Of course not. I didn’t plant anything in any of the machines. But I did slip a certified letter in with a stack of old mail, mail found in one of those machines during a service call, and then subsequently placed into storage unopened. I even know the box and shelf number where it’s kept. I believe I even have the receipt for the certified letter upstairs someplace.”

Again, Beau and I were rendered speechless. And this time Jethro was as well. The three of us sat in stunned silence for several seconds, watching Cletus eat my pancakes like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Jethro stirred from our trance first. “Well then, I guess Duane will just explain to Razor that the police have a certified letter in their possession detailing the existence of the traps…?”

“That’s right,” Cletus agreed. “I included pictures of the cars, their VIN numbers, and the traps. As well, I described the sequence for opening the compartments. I have a copy of the documentation in my room…someplace.”

Beau shook his head and barked a laugh. “I can’t believe you, Cletus.”

“Believe me, Beau. But there is one more thing,” Cletus said grimly, moving his eyes to me. “You never answered my original question.”

“Yes, I did. We didn’t tell you because—”

“Not that one.” He waved his hand in the air as though swatting my words away. “The pancakes. How do you get them to be so light? It’s amazing.”

I shook my head at my eccentric older brother and answered honestly because I was so tired. “Egg whites.”

“What?”

I stood and stacked the plates. “It’s egg whites. I keep them separate. Then I whip them ’til they’re stiff, and fold them in at the end. It makes the pancakes super light.”

“Oh…” Also standing, he nodded, as though deep in thought. But then unexpectedly asked, “Why do you look like that, Duane?”

“Like what, Cletus?”

“Like your heart is diseased. I told you, we’re in the clear. No need to worry any longer. And your egg white secret is safe with me.”

“I know.” I nodded, but didn’t respond further because I had nothing to say. I wasn’t going to whine about Jessica. I was going to suck it up and move on…eventually. In about thirty years.

Unfortunately, Beau liked to gossip. “He’s upset because Jessica James just inherited a mountain of money from her aunt and now she’s leaving.”

I glared at my twin, promising retribution at a later date. He gave me a sympathetic look in exchange, which only fueled my ire. I didn’t want pity.

“Miss James is leaving? In the middle of the school year?” Cletus appeared to be genuinely distressed. “But we were just getting to integrals.”

I shrugged. “I don’t rightly know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Jackass James pulled us over, told us both a week ago.” Beau pressed the point while Jethro raised an eyebrow and glanced between the two of us.

“Jessica James…” Jethro said her name thoughtfully, as though trying to recall her image. “Didn’t she wait tables at Daisy’s Nut House? You’ve had a thing for her since I can remember.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Jethro.” I gave him a hard look and set the plates back on the table in front of him. The Iron Order blackmail problem might be close to solved, but I was still feeling very little charity where my oldest brother was concerned.

“Well, is she leaving, or not? Because we have a test next week and I feel pretty good about the material,” Cletus pressed.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and shook my head. “I don’t know. She said she doesn’t have any plans to leave immediately, but she doesn’t have any reason to stay.”

Cletus and Beau’s frowns were severe.

“No reason to stay? What kind of swill is that? What are you—pig liver? What a heartless doxy.”

I huffed, not liking Cletus’s uncharitable assessment, because, if memory served, I was pretty sure “doxy” meant the same thing as floozy. I was also growing impatient and needed this conversation to end.

“Look, she wants me to go with her, okay? She’s not heartless. She’s following her dreams, and I can’t fault her for that. And I can’t hold her back, so I broke things off.”

Beau and Cletus shared a look, then Beau said, “So…what’s the problem? Why don’t you go with her?”

Dumbfounded, I stared at my twin, then my older brother. They were watching me as though expecting me to explain myself when the reasons were perfectly obvious. I looked to Jethro for help, but he was staring at me like he didn’t understand the problem either.

I growled at their thick-headedness and turned away, shaking my head and making for the exit. Cletus stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

“Now, hold on. Beau’s question is valid. We all know how you’ve been pining after Miss James, what’s the problem? Maybe I can fix it.”

I answered through gritted teeth, “The problem, Cletus, is that I’m part owner in the shop, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So, you and Beau think you can keep up with business without me?”

He shrugged again. “Maybe. Maybe not. If I’m honest, I’d say probably not. But then we could always hire a replacement.”

I stared at him, again dumbfounded, and added, “What would I live on, huh? If I went off with her? All my savings is in that shop.”

“We’d buy you out if you want.” This answer came from Beau. “Or you could get a job wherever you and Jess land. Auto mechanics—good ones—aren’t easy to find. Plus, there’s your racing, and there’s always circuits out there, especially if you stay in the south and mid-west for a bit.”

“Or you could stop being such a proud douchebag, let Miss James and her inheritance keep you in style, earn your keep the old-fashioned way.” Jethro grinned as he said this, cocking an eyebrow, then winked at me.

I was tempted to punch him in the face again.

“Sign me up for some of that,” Beau said, also grinning. But then his smile fell and he cleared his throat, looking away when I glared at him.

“The point, my dear brother, is that there’s nothing keeping you here other than your own stubbornness.” Cletus’s tone was instructive and gentle and incredibly irritating.

“What about honor? Huh? Obligation?”

“To whom? Us? Beau and me?” Cletus shook his head. “You think we want to look at your grumpy face for the next twenty years, regretting your decision every day? No thank you, sir. You’re already ornery enough as it is.”

Cletus wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin then placed the used paper towel on top of the plates stacked in front of Jethro.

“You better get started on those dishes,” he said to Jethro. “It’s the least you can do given the trouble you’ve caused. And you,” he turned to me, “you need to call Tina and tell her we got it covered. We can’t have her messing things up or making complications.”

I nodded.

“What about me?” asked Beau, sitting back in his chair, looking mighty relaxed and pleased.

“Well now, Beau. You and I,” Cletus clamped his hand on my twin’s shoulder, “we need to go find ourselves a turkey.”

CHAPTER 25

“A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes.”

– Mark Twain

~Jessica~

Tina brought her new boyfriend to Thanksgiving dinner. He wanted us all to call him Twilight.

This was an odd and difficult adjustment for our family because his real name was Isaac Sylvester and my brother had known him since kindergarten. His father, Kip, was my boss and his mother, Diane, ran the bakery in town and read poetry at the library on Thursday nights. His sister, Jennifer, was the baker of those infamous award-winning banana cakes.

And he wanted us to call him Twilight.

I was too tired and melancholy to truly feel the level of bafflement this request deserved. However, I did notice the initial exchange between my brother and Isaac/Twilight when they arrived with Tina’s momma. It went something like this:

Jackson: “Tina. I didn’t know you were bringing Isaac. Good to see you, man.”

Isaac/Twilight: “It’s Twilight.”

Jackson (looking bemused): “No it ain’t, it’s not even noon yet.”

Isaac/Twilight: “No. My name is Twilight.”

Jackson (still looking bemused): “Say what?”

Isaac/Twilight: “My name. Call me Twilight.”

Jackson: “You mean like that My Little Pony character?”

Tina: “Jackson! I didn’t know you were a My Little Pony fan.”

Jackson (scowling then motioning to Isaac/Twilight): “Jessica was always watching it growing up, and I’m not a fan—not like Twilight Sparkle over here.”

Isaac/Twilight: “The name is Twilight, not Twilight Sparkle.”

Jackson (irritated): “If you want me to call you Twilight, then don’t be surprised if I slip up a few times and call you Pinky Pie.”

A similar conversation ensued when Twilight was brought in to greet my dad, except my dad said, “That’s not a name, son. That’s a time of day.”

It didn’t take long for us to realize that the Isaac Sylvester we used to know wasn’t this Twilight fella. Last I’d heard, Isaac had joined the army and was stationed in Afghanistan; that was six years ago. But now the leather jacket he wore covered with Iron Order patches quickly told us everything we needed to know.

My father’s method of solving the inherent awkwardness was to put a beer in all empty hands and turn on the football game so loud no one could speak. Tina stayed with the men in the family room, basically sitting on Twilight’s lap.

Meanwhile my momma, my daddy’s sister, and I made dinner. It was just as well. Mashing potatoes was a good outlet for my gloomy aggression, and neither my mother nor my aunt expected me to talk much.

I was feeling hollowed out, like Duane had removed some essential part of me and had taken it with him. I had no way of getting it back.

Therefore, Thanksgiving was spent in a distracted haze of sadness and self-doubt. My family attributed the depression to my mother’s death. Several times during the day my momma put her hand on my back and rubbed the space between my shoulders.

Then she’d say, “I know. I know it hurts,” give me a quick hug, and walk away fighting her own tears. I’d watch her go, grimacing to myself, because I wasn’t preoccupied mourning the loss of Louisa. I mean, I mourned her. I was sad she’d died, but she’d spent all my life, especially while I was in college, keeping me at arm’s length.

I guess now I knew why…but not really. Her actions still didn’t make sense to me and I was too exhausted to contemplate Louisa’s decisions. The reality of Louisa’s betrayal—because it was starting to feel like one—was too fresh.

My momma seemed to think I was feeling a great deal more despair about Louisa than I was, and contradicting her assumption felt wrong. It felt heartless, especially in the face of her genuine pain. So I kept my mouth shut and accepted her sympathy, offering my shoulder as a safe place for her to cry.

Meanwhile, the focus of my conscious desolation was of the red-bearded man-troubles variety.

Matters were not helped when Tina sauntered into the kitchen after dinner. I’d offered to do all the dishes. All of them. All. On my own, with no help, because I really just needed to be by myself. I didn’t hear her come in because I was scrubbing the roasting pan and trying not to cry.

“Hey, Jess. Want company?” she asked right before her arm wrapped around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “I am so sorry about your aunt.”

I stiffened, then sighed, relaxing and giving an odd sideways lean into her embrace. I couldn’t hug her without drying off my hands and that just felt like too much effort. She obviously didn’t know the truth yet. I made a mental note to talk to my parents about the plan going forward, how they wanted to proceed, if they wanted people to know I’d been adopted.

“Thanks, Tina.” I acknowledged her sympathy with a head nod. “But no need to keep me company in here. I imagine your boyfriend can’t be feeling too comfortable with Jackson poking fun at his new name.”

Tina leaned against the counter at my side and giggled. “Twilight isn’t my boyfriend. We’ve been hooking up a lot lately, is all. I brought him to ease my momma’s mind. She thinks I’m some kind of biker whore, so I figured bringing a familiar face from the Order would make her feel better.”

I slid my eyes to the side and scrutinized my cousin. “What do you do with the Order anyhow? When you’re there at the Dragon Biker Bar?”

She shrugged. “We play pool. Get drunk. Have fun, fool around. Sometimes I put on a show.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re in danger? I mean, the Order doesn’t have the best reputation.”

She shrugged again and this time when she giggled it sounded nervous. “Well…not in danger exactly. I mean, things can get pretty intense and scary—like some of the guys can be really rough—but I think I like it, most of the time. I really like it when they fight over me, I like that part a lot.”

I nodded thoughtfully. I was trying not to judge. Trying really hard. Because watching two men fight over who would be having sex with me didn’t sound all that appealing. And I didn’t know how to ask the questions I suddenly wanted to ask, but knew would be imprudent, not to mention impolite. What Tina did, and who she did it with, and why in tarnation she did it was none of my business.

I felt her eyes on me; apparently, she misinterpreted my struggle, because she said, “Duane and I aren’t back together.”

I stiffened with surprise and dropped the roasting pan I’d been holding, splashing water on my apron. “What? What did you say?”

“I said, Duane and I aren’t back together. Despite what you may have heard, we aren’t. He came to see me on Friday, at the Pink Pony, and I know how some people like to gossip. I’m sure you heard about it.”

I felt many things at that moment and all of them were of the ugly, jealous variety. I recognized something about myself just then: I wasn’t enlightened or open-minded. Not even a little.

I didn’t want Duane going to the Pink Pony, watching and admiring naked women, and I didn’t want him seeking out Tina. Just the thought of it made me angry. And feeling more and more like a woman scorned—in the Shakespearean sense. And lots of crazy-woman scorned thoughts bounced around my brain making me dizzy. The room tilted and I gripped the edge of the sink.

Maybe Duane didn’t want to leave Green Valley because he didn’t want to leave Tina and all the dancers at the Pink Pony. Maybe I wasn’t enough for him. Maybe he’d been expecting me to conform to some role, where he raced cars and got lap dances on the weekends while I stayed home, knitted him socks, and folded his laundry.

But that wasn’t right. That wasn’t the Duane Winston I knew and fell in love with. That wasn’t even the Duane I grew up with. Reason raised its hand and suggested I doubt my cousin, or doubt her version of events at least.

Reason had a calming effect, and that’s when I realized she was still speaking.

“…so just because he’d been texting and calling me like crazy for the last three weeks didn’t mean I was open to restarting anything between us. Like I said, I’ve moved on and so should he. I told him—”

She stopped talking abruptly, frowning as she pulled her phone from her pocket. Helplessly, I watched as she smirked at the screen of her cell.

“He just can’t stop calling me,” she tsked then showed me the incoming number.

It was Duane’s number. And he was calling her.

I watched her send it to voicemail. I felt her eyes on me, though mine were affixed to the phone. Duane was calling her, he’d left her messages. Now maybe I was being willfully blind, but I could not swallow the notion that Duane cheated with Tina, or with anyone for that matter.

He loved me. He did. I knew it. And no one could convince me otherwise. And he wasn’t a cheater. I knew him. Therefore, with cold conviction, I turned my tired gaze back to Tina.

“You’re lying.”

Her full lips parted, like she was offended, and she stuttered for a bit before managing, “What? You just saw his number flash on my phone. You just saw him call me.”

I shook my head. “I’m not doubting the calls or the messages, Tina. But you’re still lying. This smells like a skunk in a perfume shop. First of all, you come in here on Thanksgiving, the day after I come back from my…Louisa’s funeral, and tell me how Duane has been visiting you at the Pink Pony, waving that phone in my face, wanting to stir shit up. I don’t buy it. You’re trying too hard.”

Tina was giving me her angry bitch face, which was actually pretty scary, but I was too numb to feel fear or intimidation.

After an intense and drawn-out staring contest, Tina rolled her eyes, flipped her hair, and snorted. “Whatever. You believe what you want. But that don’t change the fact—”

“That’s right, nothing you can do or show me will change the fact that I know Duane Winston, and he is a good man. He’s not his father. He’s not a cheater. He wouldn’t do that to me or to anyone. And I know he loves me, I know it. I trust him, and I love him and…” And, now I was crying.

I didn’t know why she was doing this, why she wanted to make me believe that Duane had been running around behind my back, but I didn’t care to know her reasons.

Using still wet hands, I turned from Tina and grabbed a paper towel, using it to wipe my eyes and nose.

I could feel her stare, feel her intense dislike, as she pressed, “I thought you weren’t together. Isn’t that what you told me at dinner a few weeks ago? Or were you lying?”

I shook my head, sniffled, and squared my shoulders as I faced her. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we weren’t together when you and I had dinner. Then we worked things out a few weeks ago.”

“So why are you crying now?” she spat, pursing her lips, her eyes narrowed slits.

Suddenly, I was too tired for this conversation, for her brand of crazy, so I said, “That’s also none of your business.”

I turned away from my cousin and the remainder of the dishes, needing the solace of my dark room and softer tissues.

“Hey! Wait, we’re not done here.”

I turned and walked backward, shaking my head at her nasty audacity. “You are my cousin, Tina. I will always love you, notwithstanding your spitefulness. I will. If you ever need my help, I’ll be there for you. But we’re not friends. I don’t like being lied to, and I don’t like you trying to cast aspersions on Duane’s good character. So, we are done here. I’m finished, and now I’m leaving.”

***

Duane,

I think you’ve broken my heart. I’ve never had my heart broken before, but I’m pretty sure this sick sadness is it. I didn’t sleep after you left. I cried for a long time though. I feel like I kept trying to give myself to you and you kept withholding yourself from me, and now I guess I know why.

I’m not so good at letting go. Once I get an idea in my head I hold on to it with both hands, so you’ll have to pardon my inability to just walk away now without saying my peace. You said a few things on Wednesday night/Thursday morning that weren’t true, so now I want to set the record straight.

I meant it when I said I have no immediate plans to leave Green Valley. I still have the rest of the school year to finish and there’s no one to who can fill in or take my place. I may have the wanderlust, my soul may long to see and live in the world, to explore and have adventures, but that doesn’t make me a flake. That doesn’t mean I don’t take my obligations and promises seriously.

Tina came to Thanksgiving at the house yesterday and told me you’ve been chasing after her for the last three weeks. She showed me text messages that you’d sent and then you called her phone, left her a message while I was standing there with her. Just so you know, I don’t believe her. I know you, Duane. You’re not anything like your father. You’re not a cheater.

I love you and want to be with you all the time, so, yes, I asked you to come with me when the time comes. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. Maybe that’s asking too much. But I want you to belong to me and I want to belong to you.

I wish you would ask me to stay, or help me try to find a compromise. Compromise isn’t dishonorable. Asking me to stay isn’t either. Please ask me to stay.

Love always, -Jess

I read then re-read the seventeenth iteration of my letter.

Presently, it was the day after Thanksgiving. I’d been working on the letter all day, and had discarded the other sixteen because, after getting past the part where I told him how much I loved him, my mind invariably returned to the moment when he’d left the cabin.

He’d left me standing in that sheet, with a dead fire and a cold bed. He’d just walked away from me. So I would become spitting mad. I was still mad now, but I recognized calling him insulting names in the letter—like shit-for-brains—might be counterproductive to the letter’s purpose. I needed him to read it. It was a way for me to monologue and share my thoughts without the unhelpful shit-for-brains comments slipping out.

Plus name calling wasn’t likely to inspire affection and an open heart.

I set the letter back on my desk and rubbed my eyes, reflecting on how complicated life had become over the last month. Likely it was the ghost of J.R.R. Tolkien making me crazy as retribution for the blasphemy of my sexy Gandalf costume.

“Knock-knock.”

I turned from my desk and found Claire poking her head in my bedroom door, her mouth was flattened in sympathy.

“Hey. How are you holding up?”

I sighed, twisting to my desk and quickly flipping the letter over. “Come in and shut the door.”

She did, moving to sit on the edge of my bed nearest my location. I turned fully in my seat to face her.