by Mandie Tepe
Jimi found out early on that the Cassels were not what she’d expected them to be, however. She had compared Isla’s family to hers often over the years, and they were from two different worlds.
She was born into a family which consisted of her parents—still together for almost three decades—and her sister Daisy. The family had been an embarrassment to her for most of her young life. One thing her parents had that Jimi wanted to emulate if she ever started her own family was their love for each other. Her mama and pops loved one another to distraction. To this day, they could barely keep their hands off each other.
Before she’d started school she thought all families were like hers. She’d only spent time with her cousins and the Vagabond family prior to that. But well before the time she got to middle school, she knew her family was different from the other kids’. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but the other kids treated her as alien as she felt. None of the other girls showed up every day in over-sized rock band t-shirts handed down from cousins and friends. Never once had her own mother tied pretty pink bows in her hair for picture day, or bought her glittery plastic sandals to wear her first day of elementary school.
Middle school was even rougher because those were the years when all she wanted was to fit in. And it was when mean girls learned to be mean girls and Jimi was one of their favorite targets.
She’d learned to keep to herself and didn’t share that her spring breaks and summer vacations were spent camping out at bike rallies. Most of the others took beach vacations, went on ski trips or spent time at their Lake of the Ozarks lake houses. The families who couldn’t afford to buy their own lake houses rented cabins or made reservations at the resorts. They never camped out in public camp areas with a huge group of rowdy bikers that sometimes had the cops called on them when things got too out of control.
As children, Jimi, her sister, and cousins saw way more adult behavior than was appropriate for them to see. It didn’t seem to bother the other kids the way it did Jimi. She loved her family . . . she truly did . . . but she couldn’t help wanting things to be different. Not completely different. Just the wildness turned down several notches.
One day, near the beginning of her seventh grade year, Jimi was sitting in the cafeteria eating a dry peanut butter sandwich. They had run out of jelly and her mama—tired from working the overnight shift at a convenience store on the outskirts of town—had forgotten to pick up more. A body flung itself into the chair across the table, startling her.
“Hey, Jimi!” a squeaky voice chirped. “Mind if I sit here with you? Jason and Lydia are sooo annoying.”
Jimi had blinked in disbelief at beautiful brunette Isla Cassel in her cheerleader uniform smiling at her as she picked up her fork and started poking at the plate of salad on her tray. Immediately Jimi felt her suspicion meter kick in and braced for a fresh pile of humiliation to be heaped on her. To her shock, Isla just continued to babble on about how Jason and Lydia—a seventh grade super couple—just would not stop bickering and trying to drag everyone into their drama. She veered off that subject to ask about the theme Jimi had chosen for a short story assignment and to volunteer her idea for a story about a girl driven to a mental institution by her friends’ constant bickering. Then Isla laughed hysterically, slapping the table. Isla was in the top echelon of middle school popularity and Jimi didn’t know she’d even known Jimi’s name.
When the lunch bell rang, Isla trailed along continuing to chat away as Jimi made her way toward Algebra, calling back, “Bye, Jimi! See ya later!” before heading on down the hallway past the doorway of Jimi’s classroom.
After that, Isla seemed to seek her out, befriending her. She knew Isla to be kinder than most of the girls in her crowd, but she didn’t understand why she was suddenly around all the time. She’d even come to Jimi’s rescue once when she was cornered in the girls’ locker room being ridiculed for wearing a faded too-large Kid Rock shirt of her mother’s—gotten at Sturgis Bike Rally years earlier. Jimi was only wearing it because laundry hadn’t been done in too long due to a broken washing machine.
Before long Jimi couldn’t handle the suspense and decided to speed things along. She’d invite Isla over after school to study. This was a risky proposition because she was opening herself up to more ridicule. As soon as Isla went back to the popular clique and lit the fuse to gossip about Jimi’s home life, all hell could break loose. But at least Jimi wouldn’t have to wait for the other shoe to drop . . . because it would eventually.
Jimi worried that when she opened herself up completely to Isla’s friendship, it would be ripped away and would break her heart. She already wanted Isla for a friend, and she wanted it like she’d never wanted anything. So far Isla was kind and accepting and always seemed happy to spend time with her. Jimi hoped it wasn’t just a mean girl trap. Exposing Isla to Jimi’s family would force the issue and at least she’d know for sure.
Isla’s visit didn’t turn out the way Jimi expected. She came over and never turned up her nose at the rundown doublewide trailer. They did their homework, ate microwave popcorn and watched MTV. When Jimi’s parents came home, Isla didn’t bat an eye at them flirting or her pops grabbing her mama’s behind in the kitchen. Her pop’s stupid borderline-inappropriate jokes brought nothing but giggles from Isla. She even called home and got permission to stay for dinner when Jimi’s mama invited her. Isla sat at the scarred up kitchen table with the family and ate scorched fried pork chops, mac’n’cheese and bland canned beans with a smile while using her best manners. After dinner, she hopped in the family’s beater of a car and Jimi’s mama dropped her at home on her way to her convenience store shift.
The other shoe never did drop. Jimi let her guard down and the two of them were the strangest best friend pair ever at Carrefour Middle School. Then they were the strangest best friend pair at New Hope Fellowship youth group when she began attending church with the Cassels on a regular basis. Then the strangest best friends at Carrefour High School.
Jimi was sometimes included on summer weekend trips to the Cassel’s lake house. The girls had sleepovers at both families’ homes. The only situation the Cassels seemed uneasy about was when Jimi once invited Isla to a nearby bike rally campout. Jimi couldn’t blame them about that, so she didn’t take offense when they said no. A couple of other times, they invited Jimi to stay at their house on rally weekends, and she found it a breath of fresh air not to have to attend all of the rallies.
As she got older, she felt more uncomfortable around the rough and sometimes aggressive younger bikers. She loved her pops, knew her mother was happy with him, but Jimi never wanted a biker of her own.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Jimi turned the corner and strolled down the street on her last stretch toward home. She hadn’t gotten too far past the corner when she heard an engine rumbling up behind her. Her first thought was that it was her cousin’s Harley approaching and, still a bit ticked at him, refused to turn to look. The sound of the rumble slowed and broadened, cluing her in that it came from a larger vehicle than a bike.
A masculine voice called out, “Where you goin’?”
She sighed, not in the mood to deal with a strange man shouting come-ons at her. “Somewhere else,” she answered loudly over the high performance engine noise. She didn’t bother to turn her head.
“Somewhere else from where?” the voice came back as the car kept its pace with hers.
Huffing, she turned to look through the open front window of a hot contusion blue-painted Dodge Charger with wide black stripes stretching over the top. To her surprise, she realized she knew the driver. It was Chance.
Her lips twitched in amusement. “Well, I was going somewhere else from wherever the loser stalking me was going.”
“Ah,” he grinned. “Where are you going now?”
“Home.”
“Did your car break down?” He paused. “Assuming you have a car,” he added.
“No. I decided to walk to work today.”
It was one of those pleasantly surprising September days. The temps had gotten up to almost ninety the day before, but it had stormed overnight and that morning had been almost chilly. The forecast was for highs in the low seventies, so Jimi had taken advantage of it.
She continued, “From home it’s only a block to the corner, three blocks east, then another block south to the church on Patterson.”
“Want a ride the rest of the way?”
Jimi looked to see they were only a half block to the Crosswinds. “No, thanks.”
“Wanna race?” He revved his engine, keeping one eye on his rearview mirror and the other bouncing from the road ahead to her walking the sidewalk beside him.
She didn’t know how he did that, but he did. “Nah, I’ll forfeit. You win.”
She hoisted her tote bag more securely on her shoulder and kept her same pace—flip-flops smacking against her heels. “I like your car,” she complimented him.
“Thanks. I like your dress,” he commented back.
She jerked her gaze toward him to see if he was making fun, but his eyes were sweeping her little flower-printed cotton dress. It was cute—not sexy—with a vintage feel. Rounded neckline, short sleeves, and a fabric waistband above the slightly gathered skirt that hit her at the knee. His compliment seemed sincere.
“Thank you,” she answered.
By then they had made it to the apartment building. She stopped. “I’m going to cut across the lawn. See ya?”
“Sure. See ya,” he answered.
As she took off across the grass under the large elm trees, she heard his engine move away and turn into the drive that led to the parking lot to the side of the building.
It turned out she saw him sooner than expected. He must have parked the car and jogged his way to the building and up the stairs, joining her as she climbed the top section.
“Wow. You’re quick,” she observed.
“Maybe you’re just slow,” he cracked.
At the top of the stairs, they noticed Willy sitting with Roscoe at the end of the hall. The older woman called out, “I left my garbage by your door, Jimi.”
Jimi noticed a knotted half-filled black trash bag there. “I would’ve come for it,” she called back.
“Oh, I didn’t have much this week,” Willy pshawed.
Chance looked down at Jimi. “What’s this about?”
“Oh, nothing. I take her trash out for her the night before trash day. That’s tomorrow.”
He scowled. “I’ll do it. I always take care of it when I’m in town. I’m surprised she has you do it. I arranged for Shad to do it while I was on this last job.”
Obviously Willy had been listening in, because she called out, “I don’t like having that boy around. Jimi offered, so I took her up on it.”
“Well, I’ll take care of it for you now,” he answered.
“For how long? When do you leave next?” Willy asked nosily.
Chance’s door popped open, revealing River. “I was gonna ask the same question later,” he drawled.
“Hey, bro,” Chance greeted on a glance, before turning back to the older woman. “I don’t have any deployment plans coming up. I put in for at least a couple months off.”
Jimi watched delighted expressions cross Willy’s and Roscoe’s faces before directing her attention to the stunningly good-looking man stepping out into the hallway and seeing his cooler version of the same delight cross his.
Chance turned to Jimi. “I’ll get her trash.”
“I don’t mind,” she protested. “I have to take mine down to the dumpster anyway.”
“I got yours too. Just leave it there with hers,” he motioned to the bag outside her door, “and I’ll get ‘em later.”
“Mine’s pretty full,” she warned. “I have a ton of pizza boxes, so I can tak—”
“I—” Chance cut her off.
“Geez,” River broke in disgustedly. He leaned around Chance to look at Jimi, “Just let him do it. He can be like a dog with a bone.”
Jimi kept her mouth shut and Chance settled things with Willy before turning to River.
“What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting up with Mom later.” He noticed River and Jimi studying each other intensely. It made him a little uncomfortable . . . and maybe even a tad jealous. “Oh, sorry. This is my brother—”
“River—right?” she interrupted. “I remember you. You were a year behind me at Carrefour High School.”
“Right. You’re Jimi Alexander. You used to homie around with Isla Cassel. The Odd Couple.”
A glimmer of irritation hit her big brown eyes. “Yeah. And you were in show choir, I believe.”
River snorted. “I was. I think your extracurricular was art club. Won awards for knitting.”
“Weaving. I won awards for weaving and pottery.”
Chance drawled, “I guess you two are acquainted, but why do I feel like you’re insulting each other over your artistic achievements?”
Jimi blushed. “Sorry. It was the Odd Couple comment. I hated everyone calling us that.”
River looked embarrassed too, but he didn’t blush. “Yeah, I’m sorry too. You got me with that show choir thing. Embarrassing.” He paused. “You look good, Jimi. Nice to see you. I didn’t know you lived here.”
“I only moved in a few weeks ago. And it’s good to see you too.” She glanced at Chance. “So you guys are brothers?”
When she looked close she could see it. Chance was tanned and bulked up with ripped muscles. His blonde hair was neither long or short and fell in waves. River, on the other hand, was slim and wiry . . . paler in a way that gave evidence to his lifestyle of sleeping his days away and playing bars and clubs into the night—which she knew through the hometown grapevine was what he did. He was in good shape from lugging band equipment around, but not ripped by any stretch of the imagination. His hair was dark and rock’n’roll shaggy. Her mama had a thing for Aerosmith’s Joe Perry and River’s hair reminded Jimi of Perry’s in earlier days (before the gray streak).
The Loughlin brothers both had an intensity about them. They shared the same soulful green eyes, strong cheekbones and square dimpled chins. River’s nose was a perfect Grecian-shaped one. Chance’s had probably been similar, but it had obviously been broken at least once, causing it to take a slight jog to the left. Jimi thought his was more interesting.
“Guilty,” Chance grinned.
He should have guessed that Jimi had gone to the same high school he had because it was a small town. It would be either the public one or the Catholic school. Or, if she’d lived far enough outside of town, she could have gone to the one way out in the boonies named for the county. He did the math and figured that if she was a year ahead of River she was four years younger than Chance, starting as freshman the year after he’d graduated.
“Wow,” she said. “Small world.”
Chance turned to River, “I didn’t expect to see you this early.”
“I know. Just wanted to hear how your lunch with Dad went before we meet up with Mom.”
“You could have come to lunch with us,” Chance pointed out.
“I didn’t say I wanted to go,” River responded, “but the suspense was killing me.”
“You don’t want to go to dinner with Mom either, bu—”
Jimi broke in, “Oookay . . . this sounds like family drama, so I’m gonna bow out.”
Chance and River both chuckled, and Chance said, “Good idea. Save yourself.”
She grinned and wandered down the hall to chat a few moments with Willy and Roscoe.
“What are you doing home so early, Jimi?” Roscoe asked in concern. “Not feeling poorly I hope.”
“Oh, no. I was on that campout with the youth group all weekend and then had them over last night, so the office manager and ministers shooed me out early for some comp time.”
Willy added, “That’s nice. It’s good to have bosses tha . . .”<
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Jimi zoned out a bit when she heard Chance’s door shut and looked over her shoulder to see the brothers had disappeared inside his place. She was curious about his family drama, but it had been none of her business. Everything she knew about him fascinated her so far, even though she didn’t know much.
“. . . people aren’t so lucky and work for slave drivers.” Willy finished.
“That’s true,” Jimi agreed, zoned back in on the older woman’s words. “I am lucky to work at the church with such great people.”
CHAPTER 4
When Chance walked into the restaurant with River right on time, they were shocked to find their mother was already waiting for them. She was usually at least thirty minutes late, but the brothers were accustomed to that and would take that extra half hour to have a drink, maybe an appetizer, and shoot the breeze.
She stood to dispense cheek kisses and Chance studied her. It had probably been six months since he’d seen her last because she’d been too busy to meet up just before he left on his last deployment a couple of months earlier. Suzanne Patterson Loughlin Smith Collins Smith (yes, she’d had two husbands named Smith—no relation) Reynolds looked good, as usual, because she spent the time, energy and money to keep herself that way. Her face was relatively unlined and expertly made up. Her blonde hair was professionally colored with highlights and lowlights, but her stacked bob was cut a bit shorter than the last time he’d seen her. She wore slim salmon-colored cropped slacks with a paisley sleeveless blouse adorned with fussy drapes and ruffles. When Chance looked more closely however, he could see some strain around her blue eyes.
