Sultry with a Twist

by Macy Beckett

  “Mmm-hmm.” Bea nodded and ambled back to his desk, pausing to brush the dust off a stuffed trout mounted on the wall before taking his seat. “Been too long, Mae-June. Way too long.”

  “Just June.” She sank into a burgundy leather chair opposite Bea and tucked her fingers beneath her skirt. Though it was nearly a hundred degrees outside, her hands felt like blocks of ice. “I didn’t know about the warrant until today, or I’d’ve come sooner.”

  Bea didn’t make eye contact. Instead, he focused on stuffing his pipe with dried brown shreds. After lighting the tobacco and taking several quick puffs, he sat back and gave her a hard glare. “Shouldn’t take legal action to get you back in town, Mae-June. Nine years is an awful long time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You look just like your mama.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  He nodded, still unsmiling. “Hope that’s where the similarities end.”

  June stared at the leather clutch in her lap while her cheeks burned. This was one of the many reasons she’d left Sultry Springs—the relentless judgment, the weight of three hundred watchful Baptist eyes just waiting for her to turn out like her heathen mother. None of them understood how much she missed her parents. Sure, her folks might’ve forgotten to cook dinner most nights, and maybe they laughed a little too loud, but they were always there for her. Every tee-ball game, every soccer tournament. Did they show up singing and dancing, with a box of wine in tow? Yeah, but she remembered feeling loved. And after their car wreck, June couldn’t jaywalk without someone tattling to Grammy, as if the smallest morsel of freedom might trigger a genetic predisposition to bat-shit—oops, sugar—crazy and send her to an infamous premature death too.

  She checked her watch, even more eager to return to the glorious anonymity of Austin. “I’ve got a long drive back. Can we take care of this warrant?”

  Judge Bea exhaled a cloud of sweet smoke and reached into his desk drawer. He pulled out a thin stack of papers bound with a rubber band and handed it to her. “All right, then. If you wanna get down to it, I’m offerin’ you a deal to avoid jail time.”

  “Jail time?” She snapped off the rubber band and flipped through page after page of legalese. It was like trying to read Latin. “But for what? You and I both know how harmless—”

  “Don’t you sass me, Mae-June.” Bea pointed his ballpoint pen at her like a pistol. “You committed a crime and never accounted for it. Don’t make me call a grand jury for this.”

  Her stomach dipped into her lap like an internal yo-yo. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to refuse Esteban’s attorney.

  “You wanna get a lawyer? Take this to trial?” It was like he’d read her thoughts. He gave a casual shrug. “Fine. But I’ll have to detain you till we set a date. Could take weeks.”

  “No. Please, let’s talk about the deal.” She didn’t know why the judge was being so harsh, but he had her over a barrel, and he knew it.

  Bea reclined in his chair and kicked his feet up onto the corner of his desk, puffing leisurely on his pipe. “Here’s the deal: you stay in Sultry County for one month of community service. I’ll release you into Pru’s custody.”

  June bolted forward, clutching her chair’s armrests as her handbag toppled to the floor with a thud. “One month? That’s impossible!”

  “Don’t interrupt. Like I said, you’ll live with Pru and pay off your debt to society. In four weeks you can leave with a clean record.”

  “But my bar!”

  Bea raised one bushy brow while June lowered both of hers. He scrutinized her through a thick haze of smoke, probably judging her for following in Mama and Daddy’s sinful footsteps. Damn it, she wasn’t a drunk, and she sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to defend her career. As the seconds ticked by, she waited for Bea to condemn her life choices, but he never did. She let out a breath, thanking him inwardly. If only Gram could’ve shown the same restraint instead of forcing June’s hand with an ultimatum—Quit peddlin’ booze or don’t bother comin’ home!

  “If you agree to the deal, I’ll fax the TABC right now and tell ’em to put your license through. You open in six weeks, right? I’m sure your partner can hold down the fort for a while.”

  Living with Grammy for one month versus several weeks in jail and no liquor license. It was a tough call.

  “But I haven’t talked to Gram in ages. We’re not exactly on good terms. What if she doesn’t want—”

  “She already agreed.” Bea’s lips curled into a sly smile, and he seemed a bit too pleased with himself, the way he used to look after polishing off the last slice of pecan pie after supper. Then she understood the real purpose behind that bench warrant. What a sneaky, underhanded old coot.

  “This has nothing to do with trespassing or lewd conduct, does it? You just want me to fix things with Grammy.” Son of a biscuit-eater. She should’ve known. “Is this even legal?”

  “You bet it is. And don’t think for one second, Mae-June, that I won’t throw you in jail if you get ornery. I love you like my own grandbaby, and I’m not gonna let you ruin things with the only kin you got left.”

  “It’s none of your business.” She folded her arms, feeling like a helpless child again.

  He tapped his pipe against an armadillo-shaped ashtray and pushed to standing. “As for community service, you have two choices: the Holy Baptism by Hellfire Church—though they won’t let criminals work with the children—or Helping Hands. They do home repairs for the less fortunate ’round here. Bring me your time sheet every Monday morning, so I can see you’re on track.”

  “Can’t I just take a few days to tie up loose ends in Austin?” There were so many things on her to-do list, it dizzied her mind. Esteban would flip—she’d promised him an effortless silent partnership. To dump the entire workload on him now was unthinkable.

  “No, ma’am. Once you sign this deal, you’re not to leave Sultry County. Take it or leave it. And be quick makin’ up your mind or I’ll be late for my supper.” He handed a pen across the desk. “Trust me. This is your best option.”

  She tugged the signature page from the bottom of the stack and took Bea’s pen while frantically searching her mind for a way out of this mess. Nothing came. Damn it, he was right. If she didn’t agree to his ridiculous deal, he’d bind her in so much red tape it would take months to wriggle free. It wasn’t fair, but what choice did she have? The sooner she started serving her sentence, the sooner it would end. She pressed ink to paper and signed away a month of her life.

  ***

  Very little had changed in the nine years since June graduated high school and left Sultry County. While driving back from the courthouse, she noticed Main Street still boasted more Christian-themed shops than any normal town could possibly support. Of course, Sultry Springs, population 973 righteous souls, wasn’t a normal town. Wood signs contrasted against faded brick facades, clamoring for the attention of saints and sinners alike, all with one common business principle: in God we trust. All others pay cash.

  Kingdom Comb, the old beauty parlor, had changed names to Blessed Bangs, and Bible Thumpers, the Christian bookstore, proclaimed itself Under New Management!, which probably meant Billy Tucker had finally inherited the place from his dad.

  After leaving the bustling metropolis of downtown, June noticed the family restaurant where she’d once waited tables was now a McDonald’s, and a few Dollar General stores had popped up like mushrooms along the ten-mile stretch of country road leading to Grammy’s house.

  At home, the majestic pecan tree in Gram’s front yard might’ve grown a foot or two, but it was hard to tell. Confederate gray paint still peeled in curlicues off the ancient, two-story farmhouse, and five whitewashed rockers and a front porch swing still welcomed guests to come and sit a spell. Waist-high, leafy green soybean plants covered twenty acres to the left of the home, and Gram’s garden—ripe with tall cornstalks, bean-wrapped poles, tomatoes, squash, and watermelons—spanned half an acre to t
he right. June didn’t have to stroll into the backyard to know a swing set and a huge metallic gas tank rusted together among the tall weeds where Gram’s property met the Gallagher land. Just beyond the overgrowth, she’d surely find Luke’s childhood home rotting away, neglected since the day his mother left him with Pru and skipped town with his little sister. It had taken several years before June understood why he never wanted to play in the abandoned house.

  She carried her luggage to Gram’s front porch, grateful she hadn’t had time to drop it off at Luquos before leaving Austin, and then paused on the top step with Lucky’s kitty-carrier in her lap. A breeze stirred, and the familiar high, metallic tinkle of wind chimes sang out from above.

  “Now, don’t be scared,” she whispered, reaching one finger inside the crate to scratch beneath Lucky’s chin. “My gram’s harmless, mostly. You’ll see.”

  Lucky purred and tipped his head to the side. He didn’t give two figs about Gram, and June wondered who she was trying to convince. Heaving a sigh, she set the carrier down and marched to the door with her shoulders firmly squared. Before she lost her nerve, she punched the doorbell and held her breath.

  Almost instantly, the front door swung open and Grammy Pru glowered from inside, wearing a long floral cotton dress and a scowl. Other grandmothers offered soft hugs and gathered little ones onto their plump laps for story time. Other grandmothers smiled gently below rosy cheeks. They spoiled and cuddled, bragged and loved, smelled of cookies and hair spray. Then there was Pru: six solid feet of bony elbows and sharp knees, the edges of her face death-gripped into a bun so tight it made June massage pinpricks of sympathy pain along her own scalp. Armed with a prayer on her lips and a wooden spoon in her hand, Grammy ruled with an iron fist that would make Samson cower in fear.

  Luke had once said, “Before Freddy Krueger goes to sleep at night, he checks his closet for your grandma.” All the kids in class had laughed, and though June’s face had flushed hot with embarrassment, she hadn’t tried to deny it. But Luke wasn’t laughing a few years later when he came to live with the object of Freddy Krueger’s nightmares.

  After nine years, Gram looked even stronger, as if she’d told Father Time to quit lollygagging and get the hell out of her kitchen. She stepped onto the porch and grabbed June’s suitcase before she could object.

  “That’s heavy, Gram. Let me get it.”

  But Grammy just grunted and carried the luggage into the foyer while June followed with Lucky’s crate, her laptop bag, and a box of assorted junk from her condo.

  Once they were inside, Gram placed a hand on her hip and took a long, silent look at June. Even though it went against every instinct, June raised her chin and locked eyes with her grandmother, issuing a silent statement: I’m a grown woman now, and you don’t intimidate me. Much. She tried to concentrate on the warm, tangy scent of roasting chicken and vegetables wafting from the kitchen, instead of on Gram’s cool, blue eyes.

  Gram nodded approvingly and gestured toward the stairs. “Your room’s ready. I ’spect you remember the way”—then added a dig—“even after all this time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I got supper to finish.” Gram turned and stalked away, and June relaxed her shoulders. Whew. No griping, no rehashing their last argument. And that was fine by June. She’d had all the emotional upheaval she could handle today.

  It didn’t take long for June to haul all her worldly possessions upstairs, since she didn’t possess much. Hard to believe she’d owned a condo—a private space all to herself—just twelve hours earlier. It felt like a lifetime ago. She tossed her suitcase onto the lumpy single bed and turned to the nicked pine dresser, scanning rows of cross-country trophies that had tarnished to a lackluster gray. Gram hadn’t touched a thing—the room felt like a time capsule. A single photograph remained taped to the dresser’s mirror, the last picture of June and her parents taken just shy of her seventh birthday. Her mama and daddy had laughed and sandwiched her into a hug. It was her favorite. Odd, she didn’t remember leaving it behind.

  She walked to the window and opened the mini-blinds to let in some light. The bare, dingy-white walls of her old bedroom seemed to close in like one of those carnival funhouses, though there was nothing fun about this house. Not now, anyway.

  Back when Luke still lived here, back before everything fell apart, things had been different. The sounds of laughter and clomping sneakers used to echo in the now silent home. She bit her lip and glanced into the hall. Would his room look the same—a black-draped double bed, wood floor littered with engine parts and CDs, and Army posters covering the walls? Or had Gram burned everything Luke owned after he’d stormed out? If she were a betting woman, which Grammy never would have allowed, she’d put her money on the latter. She slipped off her leather pumps and tiptoed down the hall to the last door, then opened it slowly and peeked inside.

  The air smelled like leather and something she couldn’t place, maybe aftershave or cologne, which seemed odd, since Luke hadn’t occupied this room in almost a decade. The same black comforter concealed his mattress, and aside from the pine desk in the corner, the room was empty. Every single recruiting poster had been removed; every trace of the old Luke was gone.

  She padded to the desk, wincing when she stepped on a creaky floorboard, and quietly slid open the largest file drawer. Luke smiled at her from inside a simple black lacquer frame. He had his arm around a stunning young woman with tanned skin and cropped blonde hair. Was this his wife? She didn’t look German. The photo seemed recent based on what she’d seen of Luke earlier that afternoon. The tips of his hair brushed his shirt collar, and they were reddish brown at the ends, the way his hair always looked at the end of summer. His slightly crooked nose gave his face a masculine ruggedness and saved him from being too beautiful, as he’d been in high school. Not that it had stopped every girl in the county from falling head-over-Keds in love with him—herself included. But he was somehow even more attractive now. All grown up. And up. He must’ve sprouted three inches since graduation.

  She closed her eyes and remembered the way his sweaty T-shirt had clung to the hard contours of his chest and flat belly at the clerk’s office. And good God, those dusty jeans, worn paper thin, practically plastered against his long, muscular legs. She’d enjoyed ogling him so much she didn’t notice his eyes right away. But that’s when she knew. His eyes were the same—a warm green, the exact shade of lichen in the sunlight. She’d never seen another pair like his. But she wouldn’t give him a second chance to kick a hole in her chest, not after what happened last time. Gorgeous or not, Luke Gallagher was off limits.

  She set the frame on Luke’s desk and pulled out the only other item in the drawer, a Converse All-Stars shoebox. When June pulled off the lid, she couldn’t help smiling at what she found inside.

  “Look at you,” she whispered, lifting a GI Joe action figure from the box. It was Snake Eyes, Luke’s favorite character, and he’d only let her play with it twice: once when he’d accidentally nudged her out of a tree and sprained her wrist, and again when she’d taken the blame for something-or-other he’d done.

  She pushed her fingers through the box, identifying all Luke’s favorite action heroes and Matchbox cars. Every single one had been a gift from her. He’d saved them all. An unexpected warmth blossomed within her chest, and she shoved the shoebox back into the drawer before the warmth had a chance to grow. Off limits. She stood and took a quick peek in the closet, which was empty, except for a few oversized cardboard boxes stacked neatly at one end and marked “Gallagher” in black marker. Of course Gram hadn’t burned anything—she was hard, but not heartless.

  It was time for June to put Luke out of her mind and do something she’d been avoiding for hours—call Esteban. Returning to her bedroom, she took a deep breath and flipped open her archaic, pay-as-you-go cell phone. One feeble bar flickered to life and then faded out.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  She jogged down the st
airs and into the kitchen, where Grammy was leaning into the oven to remove a sheet of fresh biscuits. June couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a home-cooked meal, and her mouth watered. Gram shook the biscuits into a wicker basket and covered them with a clean dish towel.

  She cleared her throat to get Gram’s attention. “I don’t get cell coverage here. May I use your phone?”

  “Long distance?” Pru’s mouth pressed into a hard line.

  “To Austin.”

  “Make it quick.”

  June was about to ask if Gram had Internet access, but stopped herself. She already knew the answer. She dialed Esteban’s mobile line, but it went to voice mail. “Hey, it’s me,” she said. “I’m still in Sultry Springs, long story. I need you to call me at this number right away. It’s important.”

  After hanging up, June washed her hands in the kitchen sink. “Can I help?”

  “You can set the table. Four places.”

  Judge Bea was probably coming over, maybe with one of his fishing buddies. June opened the maple cabinet and pulled out four sets of dishes and salad bowls and began placing them atop the red and white checkered tablecloth. She tried to think of a tactful way to ask about Luke that wouldn’t reveal she’d been snooping in his bedroom.

  “I, uh…I saw Luke today,” she said softly. “At the courthouse.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Gram stirred a pot of butter beans and added a pinch of black pepper. “Probably for a building permit.”

  “How long’s he been back?”

  “Goin’ on five years.”

  June dropped a fork, and it clanked against the beige linoleum floor. Her voice rose an octave. “Five years?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Does he, um”—June folded a napkin in half and creased it with her thumb—“live here again? With you?”

  Gram didn’t say a word for a full minute. The sounds of bubbling beans and sizzling chicken filled the small kitchen. Then she turned around and pulled off her apron. “Not anymore, ’cept for a night or two, if I need help. But he stayed here awhile to get back on his feet.”