by Lucy Score
“This doesn’t leave this room,” I insisted.
“You’re starting to make me nervous, Jonah,” Devlin admitted.
Shelby squeezed my hand. “I got this,” she said. “Okay, it all started when I asked June to take a road trip with me…”
* * *
Ten minutes later, the room was dead silent except for the slurp of Bloody Mary glasses emptying.
“So Callie’s alive?” Scarlett asked finally in an uncharacteristically soft voice.
“As of last year, yes,” Mom said carefully. “And I told Sheriff Tucker all of this after they found you this morning, Shelby.”
“What about the report? The dental records matched?” Leah Mae asked, leaning in.
“We suspect the report was doctored,” June spoke up.
“This is a lot to take in,” Devlin said.
“I’m gonna need like six more Bloody Marys,” Jameson said.
“So Dad didn’t… hurt her.” Scarlett stared down at her plate of forgotten waffles.
“Your father saved her life,” Mom said softly.
“You think it was the judge that did that to her?” Cassidy asked. I could see the cop in her warring with the girl who’d lost a summer friend.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Shelby said. “Callie was adamant about not going home. He’s in a position of power. He had access to Christian’s sealed file. I’m sure he’s got people willing to do dirty work for him. And he loses big if Callie comes strolling back into town telling the truth. He could kiss that federal judgeship goodbye. It’s better for him if she stays dead.”
“The important thing to remember is, everything is circumstantial right now. We have to be patient and let law enforcement do their job,” I insisted, remembering the sheriff’s warning.
“Oh, ’cause they’ve done such a bang-up job so far?” Scarlett snapped. “No offense, Cass. I’m just processing a whole lotta feelings right now.”
“Understood.” Cassidy nodded.
“Sheriff Tucker believes us. This is more than anyone has known about the case since Callie disappeared,” I reminded them. “We’ll nail him for it somehow.”
“And when we do, maybe Callie can come back,” Mom said softly.
“Speaking from a place of not nearly enough vodka for this,” Jayme began, “I’m going to strongly encourage you all to listen to Jonah. Do not interfere with this investigation in any way. If you see Judge Kendall buying sticky buns downtown, you paste a nice-as-fucking-pie smile on your face. Because if any one of you acts up and tips him off, I swear to my red Ferragamos that I will personally destroy your life. This man has gotten away with actual murder—allegedly. And it’s possible he went after Shelby through that boy—allegedly. If one of you fucks up and he stays free, his next alleged victim is on you.” She pointed a sharp, red nail around the room, making eye contact with everyone.
“Yes, ma’am,” we chorused. Jayme was a terrifying woman. I was very glad she was on our side.
“On that note,” I announced, rising from my chair. “I’m taking Shelby home.”
I held my hand out to her and helped her up. I heard her whimper of pain and knew we’d pushed our luck. She was going to bed and not getting up until I said it was okay.
I slipped my arm around her waist, a show of affection to everyone else but a stabilization for her.
She paused. “Oh, Scarlett? We need to talk about some real estate options,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” My sister perked up.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Shelby and I are staying in town, permanently. We’re gonna need a bigger house.”
“Billy Ray needs more space,” Shelby said, beaming up at me.
“And Shelby’s gonna need dedicated office space.”
I knew we were battered and bruised and there were emotional scars that would take a long time to heal. But looking into her eyes right now, I felt our future stretch on in front of us. Her monster was going to jail. And soon, the shadow that had fallen over the Bodines would be lifted forever.
“Let’s go get our puppy,” I told her as she leaned into me.
“Where is he?” she asked.
“Millie Waggle has him and Katherine,” I told her.
The door to the dining room opened, and Sheriff Tucker stepped in alone. He didn’t look happy.
“Sheriff Tucker,” Jayme said, standing up to position herself between my family and the law. “What can we do for you?”
“It’s a good thing you’re here, Jayme,” he said, toying with his hat in his hands. “If you wouldn’t mind accompanying Gibson down to the station with me, I’d be much obliged.”
The only one who didn’t look surprised in the room was Gibson.
“What is this regarding?” Jayme asked, all scary business now.
“Gibson’s wallet was turned into the station this morning by a citizen concerned about the contents,” he said vaguely.
Judging by Gibson’s expression, he knew exactly what the sheriff was referring to.
“What in the hell?” Scarlett burst out. “Did that damn Misty Lynn steal his wallet and then get mad about the condoms he’s not usin’ to protect himself from her herpes flare?”
“I’d rather discuss this at the station,” the sheriff insisted, looking more uncomfortable than a cat under a rocking chair.
“Dad,” Cassidy said, her eyes implored him.
“It’s gonna be fine. It’s just some questions.”
Gibson’s jaw ticked.
“My client and I will meet you at the station, sheriff, as soon as we’re done with our breakfast,” Jayme said, hands on hips, as if daring the man to make a demand.
“Much obliged,” Sheriff Tucker said. “Swing by the station when you have a chance, Cass, and I’ll catch you up about last night.”
He left, and the room stayed completely silent for about ten seconds.
“Well, what in tarnation was that all about?” Scarlett finally demanded.
Everyone started talking at once.
“Let’s get this over with,” Gibson said to Jayme.
He left without saying a word.
“If Misty Lynn turned up dead and they try to pin it on Gibson I am going to burn this town to the ground,” Scarlett said, picking up her drink.
“Scarlett, what have we said about making threats in public?” Devlin asked, patting her thigh under the table.
She sighed heavily. “Not to.”
59
Shelby
I woke to a cacophony of smells. Glorious, greasy smells.
I cracked open an eye and stretched. Billy Ray grumbled in his sleep next to me on Jonah’s bed. Our bed. Jonah had carried me upstairs and, after another shower, tucked me into bed with instructions not to move for at least two hours.
A bleary glance at the clock told me I’d been out for almost four.
My body sang a chorus of aches and pains. I was due for another round of anti-inflammatories washed down with a big glass of wine… or a Mountain Dew.
Fantasizing about a two-liter bottle, I limped down the stairs into a fantasy land.
“Am I hallucinating?” I whispered.
Every flat surface in the living room was covered with takeout containers and junk food.
Jonah sat on the couch eating a fried chicken leg. “Surprise!” he said with his mouth full.
“What is all this?” Onion rings and cheese sticks and an entire tray of dino nuggets crowded the coffee table. There was a six-pack of Mountain Dew in a bucket of ice on the floor. The table I used as a desk now held a greasy bag of fast food burgers. There was an entire apple pie and more fried chicken sitting on the TV stand.
“It’s a pig-in,” Jonah said cheerfully. He crossed to me and gave me a gentle kiss. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I don’t know what to dive into first,” I said, reverently.
He handed me a plate. “You once asked if I ever ate garbage.”
“I didn’t mean an enti
re convenience store and fast food restaurant,” I laughed.
“Every time I finish a big event that I trained hard for, I treat myself with a pig-in.”
“I didn’t think it was possible since you saved my life and all. But I think I love you even more right now than I did before I fell asleep,” I whispered, sniffing the fried chicken.
“Have at it, honey.”
He grabbed the pain meds while I loaded up a plate and fished out a can of soda from the bucket.
“I am so happy right now,” I said, biting the head off a stegosaurus nugget.
“There’s also some regular nuggets and a bunch of sauces in that bag,” Jonah said, pointing with an onion ring to another bag.
“I can’t believe you did this for me,” I said, feeling way too emotional for this to be just about junk food.
“It’s all about balance,” he said, with his mouth full.
“You’re really sexy when you gorge yourself,” I told him.
He grinned at me, half of an onion ring hanging from his lips. I laughed.
“How are you really?” he pressed.
I grabbed a burger, unwrapped it, and took a bite. My eyes rolled heavenward. “I feel like so many weights have been lifted that I might float away,” I confessed.
“I talked to Cassidy,” Jonah said. “Christian was treated at the hospital and taken to a secure mental facility where he’ll be evaluated to see if he’s fit to stand trial.”
“He won’t be,” I guessed.
“He’s not getting out again, Shelby,” Jonah said. “Not even if he stays on his meds. His mother wants to talk to you when you’re up for it. She feels responsible.”
“She’s not,” I said, shoving a few French fries into my burger bun.
“She probably just needs to hear it.”
“What about Gibson? What was all that about this morning?”
“Cassidy was pretty cagey about that. But I managed to drag some info out of her playing the ‘my girlfriend was abducted from your wedding’ card.”
“Mean.”
“Yeah, well. You’re my girlfriend, and Gibs is my brother.”
“So what did Misty Lynn find in his wallet?”
“A picture of Gibs and Callie together.”
The burger stuck in my throat, and I coughed. I took a swig of soda. “Like from before she went missing?”
He nodded.
“What kind of a picture?”
“It was one of those photo booth deals. A strip of pictures. They were making faces.”
“I didn’t know he even knew Callie,” I said, going for another nugget.
“No one did. That’s the problem. He never said a word in all those years, so naturally the cops have some questions.”
“Where is Gibson now? Did they let him go?”
“He was released after a formal interview. Now he’s back to playing hermit. He won’t talk to anyone.”
“No charges, at least. That’s good.”
“For now. We’ll see what happens next. The judge is going to know that Gibs was interviewed. The why is gonna come out.”
“Maybe he’ll stay away? If he did turn Christian loose on me, wouldn’t he want to stay out of Bootleg for a while? Keep his hands clean?”
“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll steer clear,” Jonah said stonily.
“You Bodines and your Bootleg Justice,” I sighed.
“This will end with him in a cage,” he promised. “And it’s all going to be okay.”
“It will be,” I said, reaching for his hand and bringing his bruised knuckles to my lips. “What next?” I asked him.
“We wait for law enforcement to sort the shit out, I guess. Keep our mouths shut. You and I are gonna do some house hunting. You’ll do some job searching and schedule your dissertation defense and an appointment with your rheumatologist to head off the flare that’s probably headed in your direction. And after your brother proposes to June in a few months, I’m gonna start ring shopping for you. We Bodines take turns.”
I gaped at him. “First of all, I meant what are we eating next? Secondly, I forbid you from proposing for the first eighteen months of our relationship. We’re still in the honeymoon period. We need more time to make sure you don’t turn into a jerk.”
“Oh, definitely the pie. There’s whipped cream in the fridge,” he said, ignoring my demand.
He got up and loped into the kitchen. Returning with a spray can, he paused in the doorway and sprayed a dollop into his mouth.
“Jonah, I’ve seen you sweaty and shirtless. I’ve seen you do pull-ups until the veins in your arms tried to explode. I’ve seen you completely naked and wet in the shower. But I have never been more attracted to you than I am right now.”
He grinned. And when he kissed me, it tasted sweet and full of promises.
Billy Ray bayed from upstairs. There was a thump when he threw himself off the bed and stampeded down the stairs, barking accusatorially.
“We’re right here, buddy,” I assured him. He nosed at the food on the table. “You may have one dino nugget. But that’s all I’m willing to share.”
“Hey, how many kids do you think we should have?” Jonah asked, picking up the remote control. “You like kids, right?”
I let out the air that had trapped itself in my lungs. “I like kids,” I said carefully.
“I think it would be cool to have a family here, surrounded by family. They’ll have cousins and aunts and uncles.”
I felt a warm gooey sensation in my stomach.
He settled on the couch and arranged me between his legs so I could lean back against his chest. Outside the birds chirped, and the sun shone. Neighbors poured sweet tea and gossiped. My parents walked their grandpig. Jonah’s mama snuggled up to her boyfriend at the ice cream shop.
And everything felt just about perfect.
“Hey, did I tell you about the bear I saw?”
60
Shelby
I was pedaling my butt off, sweat beading on my arms and dripping from my chin. Jonah was next to me in the darkened studio. It was just the two us. The music thumped off the walls, reverberating in my bones. I could see the last mile ticking down down down.
“Almost there!” He flashed me his heartbreaker grin in the dark. “Keep going!”
My legs were burning. A white-hot fire under the skin had consumed the muscle and was now devouring bone. And I kind of almost sort of didn’t hate it.
“Go, Shelby honey, go!” Jonah crowed as the screen on the far wall clicked over to fifty.
I slumped over the handlebars in relief.
“No, you don’t. Keep moving. Bring the heart rate down slowly,” he said, stepping off his bike. He rested his hand on my neck, his thumb brushing the scar I bore there. A reminder of how close we came to nearly losing it all. A reminder that every day together was precious.
But the past was officially the past. Never to haunt us again. And the future stretched on in front of us like an endless happily ever after.
“How come you get to stop?” I huffed, but I managed to make a wobbly revolution of the pedals while I complained.
He crossed the room and grabbed two fresh sweat towels off the shelving system next to the festive fake Christmas tree and returned to me, still grinning. “Fifty miles, Shelby. Not bad for a little ankylosing spondylitis.”
I took the last of the resistance off the bike and let the momentum carry my legs around and around.
“That century ride isn’t going to know what hit it,” I predicted breathily.
Jonah and I had signed up for a romantic 100-mile bike ride through Canada this coming summer, and we were spending the cold West Virginia winter training in his new gym space.
He changed the music on his phone from hard-driving, celebratory rock to a slow, sweet country ballad. It was adorable how Bootleg Springs had claimed yet another victim.
“How you feeling?” he asked as I took a swig from my water bottle.
“Tired but good,” I said. “I promise.”
He looked… nervous? Excited?
“What’s going on with you?” I asked pointing a finger in the direction of his handsome face.
My flares had been few and far between since meeting Jonah, and when I did get knocked down by one, I had my handsome, pushy boyfriend to pull me back up. I was thriving. We were thriving.
Jonah’s new gym was a bustling gathering place year-round for townsfolk trying to work off a few extra pounds during the holidays, for summertimers trying to maintain lake bodies. To his loyal elder following who mostly just wanted to gossip and watch his back muscles flex.
With my PhD hot off the presses, I’d landed a research professor gig at the nearby Buck State University where I was heading a decade-long study on the opioid crisis in communities. My survey was also being rolled out as a nationwide initiative to identify, among other things, loneliness within communities and potential solutions. And I was working on a book. The story of how Bootleg Springs claimed me as its own.
Billy Ray was now almost full-grown, though he still acted like a puppy. Fortunately our paper towel consumption had finally returned to normal.
Best of all, we finally had a home. We’d saved and searched, weighed our options and overthought. And then on Thanksgiving Day, just last month, crowded around the huge table in Scarlett and Devlin’s new home, the Bodines had handed Jonah a set of house keys.
The keys and deed belonged to the Bodine childhood home, now stripped of old, sad memories. Refreshed and renovated. Ready for a new family. Our family.
“Jonah, I—” I lost my train of thought immediately.
Jonah Bodine, my boyfriend of a year and a half—scratch that, my boyfriend of exactly eighteen months—was on bended knee in front of my bike.
“Shelby Thompson.”
“Jonah Bodine,” I whispered back. My feet froze in the pedal cages.
“It’s been exactly eighteen months since you and I first decided to start this summer fling,” he began. “And as you instructed me, couples shouldn’t even start talking about the future until they’ve survived eighteen months.”
“I do recall imparting that information,” I said, bringing my fingers to my lips. My hand was shaking. My vision was blurring, and I had the distinct suspicion that it wasn’t sweat.
