by Score, Lucy
I nodded slowly. “A physical relationship with no strings or expectations? And you’ll look back on this summer when you’re eighty-five and wonder whatever happened to that nice trainer you lived with?”
“Exactly!” she said, beaming at me.
I hesitated, and she sensed it. “I appreciate you being so open about it,” I began.
“But?” she pressed.
I hated myself for it. “I just don’t know if I’m ready yet.”
“Because of Rene?” she asked softly.
I set my teeth, annoyed with myself that after an entire year I still hadn’t moved on. “Yeah. I guess it still weighs on my mind.”
Shelby nodded and scooped up another bite. “The offer is there. You think about it.”
I doubted I’d be thinking of much else.
20
Shelby
Breakfast eaten and physical relationship offer made, Jonah guided me out of the diner with a hand on the small of my back. I approved.
“We’re going to take a whole new approach to your training,” he was saying.
I wondered if he knew he retreated into professional mode as a defense mechanism. I guessed that with as attractive as his clients were bound to find him, he had developed the defense early on in his career.
It didn’t bother me that he was using it against me. I’d rattled him. And presented him with an offer that he would most definitely be considering. A researcher was nothing if not patient. And I could be patient for Jonah. He had things to work through. I respected that.
It was a bright summer day. Summertimers, as Bootleg called them, flooded into town, filling rentals, buying out the Pop In, and splashing in the warm waters of the lake.
Jonah explained how we were going to work more on endurance and rest to ease my body into the distances required for the triathlon. It sounded well-thought-out, carefully researched. I approved the method.
“Pardon me,” I said when Mona Lisa McNugget pranced in front of us. We stopped and gave the chicken on a mission the right of way. “Be careful crossing the street,” I warned her.
I felt Jonah stiffen next to me and looked up.
The couple looked familiar. They were older, well-dressed, but unsmiling. There was something about them. Something wounded. Something wrong.
“Morning, Judge,” Jonah said. “Mrs. Kendall.”
The Kendalls. Missing Callie’s long-suffering parents. The dark cloud immediately made sense.
“Good morning,” the judge said, searching for Jonah’s name and coming up dry.
“Hi, I’m Shelby,” I said, offering my hand. “Jonah and the rest of the Bodines have been so welcoming to me in town.”
The judge looked down at my hand and hesitated briefly. It might have been my imagination, but I thought Mrs. Kendall nudged him before he took my hand. He shook like a limp fish. His palm was soft, smooth like it had never been sullied with manual labor. Mrs. Kendall, on the other hand, had a grip that was firm and bone dry. Her hair was cut in a ruthlessly stylish pixie shape. Her lips were painted a neutral pink, and she was wearing a sedate set of pearls over her ice blue sweater.
“Welcome to Bootleg Springs,” she said, her voice quiet yet not soft. “I’m sure you see why my husband and I keep coming back here. It’s a lovely escape.”
“It’s a wonderful town,” I agreed.
Inside, I was running through the last updates on the missing person case. These poor parents had been put through the fiasco of having an imposter come forward pretending to be their daughter. And now they were waiting, along with the rest of West Virginia, to find out if the body in New York was all that was left of their hopes of finding Callie alive.
It was miserably unfair. I felt guilty for my knee-jerk reaction to them.
I tried to focus on the tension radiating between Jonah and the Kendalls. Blood of the prime suspect pumped through his veins. The parents wanted answers, and the Bodines were afraid of what those answers might be.
“You’re the new Bodine, aren’t you?” Mrs. Kendall asked suddenly.
Jonah hesitated for a moment. “Yes. I came to Bootleg last year.”
“Did you and your father spend much time together when he was alive?” Judge Kendall asked, interest burning off the coolness in his gray eyes.
Jonah blinked, shook his head. “He wasn’t in my life, sir.”
Judge Kendall nodded, his expression unreadable. “A sad situation. A child should grow up with their parents.”
Mrs. Kendall slid her hand through her husband’s arm. It felt as if it was a signal more than a sign of affection. “Every child deserves good memories of their parents,” she said. “And every parent deserves a lifetime with their child. Not all of us get what we deserve.”
There was an unavoidable bond that linked the three of them together in the summer sunshine. Two people, now long gone, held the answers to the questions.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jonah said sincerely.
“Thank you,” Judge Kendall said. There was something flat about the man’s eyes. Empty. Or was it cold?
“Well, it was so nice to meet you both,” I said, reaching for Jonah’s hand. “But we have a trail to run, don’t we, Jonah?” I gave his hand a crushing squeeze.
“Uh. Sure. Have a nice day,” Jonah said as I dragged him down the sidewalk.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“If that situation got any more uncomfortable, it would permanently damage our psyches,” I whispered, sparing a glance over my shoulder. Judge Kendall was standing in the same spot watching us. A shiver worked its way up my spine. I tossed a friendly wave in his direction.
“Their daughter went missing over a decade ago from this town. And they have to share their vacations with the family of the prime suspect,” he said, steering me in the direction of his car. “I think some slack has been earned.”
“I get it. It doesn’t make it any less awkward,” I told him.
The uncomfortable vibe was logical on several levels.
Sometimes people who survived a tragedy were marked by it. There was a distinct Before and After in their family history. Some never returned to the before.
Culturally, there were the psychological constructs of classism to be considered. A judge and his well-to-do wife vs. rural West Virginia. There was an automatic divide between the you alls and the y’alls. The existence of privileges and protections that didn’t apply equally.
And of course then came the resulting isolation from a traumatic event that could leave people in their own impenetrable social bubble. No one else could possibly understand how they felt about their daughter’s disappearance. And they were surrounded by people here in Bootleg Springs who felt their own sense of ownership over the case.
Walls were necessary for survival sometimes.
I knew that better than anyone.
I slipped. Back to the stairwell, the blood, the sound of footsteps. The razor’s edge of fear sharper than any blade.
I felt the slow slide of nausea roll through me. But I brought myself back, calmly. I could tiptoe that line. I could remember without suffering. Much.
“Are you okay?” Jonah asked, concerned. “You went pale.”
“I guess I’m a little less steady than I thought.” It was the truth, though not necessarily for the reason he suspected.
He opened the passenger door for me, and I gratefully sat.
“I’m taking you home. We’re going to work out a training plan that fits your health, and then you’re taking a nap.”
“No sex? Ten whole minutes, and you’re still not sure you want to consummate our physical relationship? Sheesh. What’s a girl got to do?” I teased.
“Don’t be a brat. I don’t like seeing you go pale like that. You’re going to have to get used to having someone care.”
Get used to having someone care.
I’d used the physical distance from my family to insulate myself. They’d always worried about me. Adopted
Shelby. Nerdy Shelby. I was more interested in reading books on the weekends than going out with friends and kissing boys. To be fair, the boys weren’t great kissers. And the friendships I had didn’t thrive on conversations about Myers-Briggs personality types that I found fascinating.
I was different, and I fit as best I could by keeping little pieces to myself.
“Maybe it was the fruit?” I mused.
“Your body is detoxing from artificial sweeteners,” he predicted.
He looked over his shoulder before easing onto Bathtub Gin Alley, and then he took my hand. Maybe he wasn’t ready to make a decision yet, but I could tell in which direction he was leaning. Reassured, I let the memories fade and focused on the feel of the sun on my skin through the open car windows.
* * *
Q. How do you handle a dispute with a neighbor?
Nadine Tucker: Step 1. The friendly nudge. “I hope you don’t mind me sayin’, but could y’all do me a favor and not…” Step 2. The gentle warning. “Do you remember how we talked about this or are you touched in the head?” Step 3. “If you do that one more time, I will burn your life to the ground.” Step 4. I’ve never had to activate the nuclear option.
21
Jonah
“This is Build A Shine.” I pointed to the cedar-shingled building on our right. “You can flavor your own moonshine. Want to give it a try?”
My mother pressed a hand delicately to her mouth. She was hangover chic in khaki shorts, a soft polo, and very large sunglasses. “I think I’ll pass on that today.”
I chuckled. “You’re so hungover right now, aren’t you?”
I could feel her glaring through those sunglasses as we continued our stroll. “I’m trying to set a positive example for my son,” she complained.
“Mom, I’m thirty-one.”
“Not yet. Not ’til Saturday. Don’t age yourself faster. It just makes me older,” she reprimanded.
“You haven’t aged a day,” I told her.
“You’re a good boy, Jonah.”
“I learned from the best.”
We wandered up a side street and headed toward Main Street and the park. “This is an adorable town,” she observed. “Even hungover I can appreciate it. Did you know I got a nice little note typed up and slid under my door today?”
I could tell she was gearing up for something.
“They kicking you out already?” I teased.
“No, they just wanted to make sure I knew that my son kissed Shelby Thompson last night.”
“Mom!”
“Jonah!” she teased.
“The inn did not hand-deliver a gossip note to you,” I argued.
She smiled, and I slung my arm over her shoulder.
“Okay, maybe they didn’t deliver a note, but the front desk clerk and the girl who delivered my hangover care pack this morning both made sure to mention it.”
“I don’t know if it even means anything yet,” I said, anticipating the motherly concern. I’d gotten Shelby home, set her up with water and more pain relievers, and tucked her into bed for a nap. It made me feel useful. Being able to do something. To fix something or make it better.
Mom stopped in front of Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee and peered through the window. “I’m just happy that you’re happy. Whatever it is. This town.” She nodded and said a polite hello to the third person who’d greeted her by name on our walk. “Getting to know your siblings, potentially having protected but expectation-free sex with Shelby. I like seeing you happy.”
“You make it sound like I was miserable at home.”
“You were grieving. And forgive me for saying so, but part of me wasn’t sure if you were grieving Rene or the life you thought you’d have with her.”
Was there a difference? Could you love someone and not be attached to how they fit into your life?
“Let’s go hit up Moo-Shine and change the subject,” I suggested, pointing in the direction of the popular ice cream shop.
“Please tell me they don’t put alcohol in their ice cream,” Mom croaked. “I don’t think I can handle any more alcohol in my bloodstream for at least another hour or two.”
“I’m sure you can order a virgin butter pecan,” I teased. “Now, let’s talk about your dating life.”
“Ugh. Don’t even get me started. Have you heard of Tinder?”
“Oh my god, Mom!” I was mildly horrified.
“What I’m looking for is a divorcé with a bunch of grown kids who will give me grandbabies, but all I get are men sending me below-the-belt selfies.”
I made an urgent mental note to steal my mother’s phone and delete the app just in case she was telling the truth and not just trying to get a rise out of me.
“You always wanted a big family,” I said, ignoring the bait.
“Instead I had to settle for my one perfect boy,” she said, tucking her arm around my waist.
It was an old routine, but this was the first time I heard the wistfulness in her tone.
Moo-Shine’s Ice Cream and Cheese shop was a free-standing building tucked into a copse of trees on one end of Main Street. It had the requisite red-and-white striped ice cream shop awning as well as a collection of picnic tables clustered under the pine trees. There were walk-up windows for warm weather orders on the side. Inside, the floors were black and white tile, the tables were round and red, and the ice cream and cheese selection was unbeatable.
“Ooh. Cheese,” my mom cooed, peering into the case.
“We can get some to go,” I promised her. “But first, ice cream.”
We ordered. Chocolate frozen yogurt for me and Blue Moon with sprinkles for her.
The shop was crowded with residents and summertimers, so we headed back outside and snagged a table.
“Hey, Jonah. Hey, Jenny,” EmmaLeigh, pretty and perky, said with a wave as she hustled her four kids through the ice cream shop’s doors.
“How does everyone know my name?” Mom asked. “I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours yet.”
“Give them another twenty-four hours, and they’ll have a complete dossier on your life since birth,” I teased.
“I’m going to grab a water. Do you want one?” she offered, getting up from the table.
“Sure, thanks.”
She went inside, and I gave my full attention to my yogurt.
My phone chimed in my pocket. A text from Shelby.
Shelby: Nap complete.
Me: Feeling better?
Shelby: Still sore, but a lot better than last night. I think this is a mild flare. According to my research, I should be feeling significantly better soon.
I hesitated to respond. I liked that she was discussing her diagnosis with me and wanted her to feel safe enough to continue to do so. But I also didn’t want to move us into intimate territory before we were ready.
Me: Good. Do me a favor?
Shelby: Sure!
Me: Tell your rheumatologist you’re signed up for a triathlon.
And cue the crickets. I waited a minute, noting my mom was holding the front door of the shop open for a man. Jimmy Bob Prosser, hardware store owner and flannel connoisseur.
Me: Stop pouting. Just ask him or her if they have any specific advice on how to proceed with training.
Shelby: Fine.
She included an annoyed emoji.
Me: Jimmy Bob Prosser is putting the moves on my mother.
Shelby: Which Bootleg eligible bachelor is he? Oh no. He’s not the one with the taxidermy hobby, is he?
Me: No. Thank God. JBP owns the hardware store.
Shelby: Oh! He’s very handsome. I approve this match.
Me: He’s also Misty Lynn’s father.
Shelby: We don’t know for sure if that’s a nature or nurture problem. He could still be a nice stepfather for you. What’s their body language saying?
Me: What would body language say?
There was another minute of silence from Shelby while I watched Mom laugh at something Jimmy Bob sa
id to her.
Shelby: Uh-oh. George needs me at his and June’s place. Some kind of emergency. Keep me posted.
Me: You too.
I looked up from my phone to see Jimmy Bob Prosser give my mother a sample of his ice cream cone.
“What the hell?”
“You glaring at anyone in particular?” Gibson scared the hell out of me, and I almost dropped my frozen yogurt.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“You stupid? It’s summer. This is an ice cream shop.”
“Sorry. I’m distracted. Tell me everything you know about Jimmy Bob Prosser,” I said, pointing my spoon in his direction.
Gibson followed my gaze. “Huh. You got a problem with your mom being human?”
I blinked. “No. I wish her a happy and healthy sex life that I hope to never know anything about. I just want to make sure he’s good enough.”
“He took over the hardware store from his parents. His wife, Misty Lynn’s mama, skipped town a few years back to follow her dreams of being a singer or an actress. Some shit like that. Heard she never made it farther than one of those restaurants where the servers sing and dance.”
“Is he the reason Misty Lynn turned out the way she turned out?”
Gibson shrugged. “Some eggs are just hatched rotten.”
My mom threw her head back and laughed at something Jimmy Bob said. She brushed her hand down his arm.
“Uh-oh,” Gibson said. “That’s definitely female interest there.”
“I want her to be happy,” I said, reminding myself it was true. “But is it too much to ask that I get to pick who she’s happy with?”
