Fairest

by Beth Bishop

  “There’s a party tonight, Friday night, and Saturday night,” he said as he watched me shove my socks into the top drawer of the light maple chest. “Would you consider going to one with me? You know, to make it official in front of everybody.”

  “Why? So you can rub it in Whit’s face?” I banged the drawer shut and turned to face him.

  He smiled. “Yeah, a little, but I want to show my friends that I care about you, and I’m not ashamed of it.”

  I tilted my head in consideration. “You won’t drink?”

  He held up his hand. “I won’t.”

  “One party,” I said and frowned when he clapped and rubbed his palms together. “Choose wisely.”

  “Friday night,” he said. “That gives us tonight and Thursday night to ourselves.”

  This night, Wednesday, I finally got through to my daddy. I spent the first several minutes of our conversation boo-hooing like a baby while he told me about the heart attack and the surgery. Because of his not-so-great health and his cigar smoking, he wasn’t recovering as fast as the doctors hoped he would; however, they thought he should be able to fly home in another week, which meant that I would completely miss seeing him. This depressed me, as I had been looking forward to spending some time with him.

  My daddy said that, even though the doctors warned that upsetting him might slow his recovery, Linc’s father explained to him what happened to me. If he could’ve yelled at me, he would’ve. Since he couldn’t, I mentally supplied the tone for him as he chastised me for giving him half-truths about what I planned to do with my break.

  “Baby, I don’t know what I would do if I lost you,” he said in a weak, gravelly voice.

  “I feel the same way, Daddy,” I sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

  Mister Moore also mentioned to him the possibility that Lizette might have been involved with what happened to me in New Orleans. He called her, and she seemed appropriately concerned about his health. When she asked if the New Orleans police had contacted him, he lied and told her no. They had, in fact, and it was looking like she was probably involved in the attacks on me.

  My daddy and I spent the next few minutes crying over that, and then he said the doctors were making him hang up, because he needed to rest and de-stress. Before he did, I told him I planned to start a youth center in New Orleans for orphans, which absolutely delighted him. He said he would have his lawyers contact Mister Moore, who was apparently my lawyer now, to see about getting the funding underway and the ball rolling. It was a really good and positive way to end our conversation. I think I told him I loved him about 1,000,000 times.

  After I got off the phone with my daddy, Linc and I went into the kitchen to wait on dinner. While we were in there talking, his mother—I assumed—came into the kitchen. Hair disheveled and mascara smudged under her bottom eyelids, she wore a black silk, ankle-length robe. Rings dotted her fingers, and she looked as young as Lizette. She rubbed a hand over Linc’s hair and kissed the top of his head. Over it, she noticed me.

  “Who’s your friend, Linc?” she asked in a faint, French accent.

  He looked worried. “Mother, this is Skye Daniels. Skye,” he turned to me, “this is my mother, Genevieve.”

  She came around Linc and held out a hand to me. I took it, and we shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Moore,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed something for today.” I indicated the outfit.

  She sat on the barstool next to me. “Not at all. You must be the sweet Georgia peach my Linc has fallen for.”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Am I sweet, Linc?” I cast him a sideways glance and leaned back a bit, so that he and his mother could see each other.

  “Yes, you are. Too sweet, sometimes,” he said.

  “You don’t seem to be the damsel in distress my son made you out to be,” Mrs. Moore said to me.

  “I shouldn’t think so. I was handling things quite well until we accidentally killed that assassin guy.”

  Mrs. Moore’s eyebrows darted up at that, and I regretted having mentioned it. If I wanted to date Linc, really wanted to date him, I needed to make a decent impression on at least one of his parents. His father probably assumed I was classless and nothing but trouble—rich trouble at that. I didn’t see how any relationship between us could work, and it really had no chance if both his parents were against it.

  I slumped forward and rested my forehead against the top of the bar. I kept my eyes closed, but I felt a hand rub up and down my back.

  “Oh, chérie,” she said in a soothing tone. “Your life has been a hard one, no?”

  “Others have had worse.” I rolled my head so that when I opened my eyes, we looked at each other. “I grew up poor and mostly on my own. Did Linc tell you that I’m basically a social outcast at school?”

  She smiled at me briefly and nodded. She glanced at Linc over my back and then looked back down at me. “He has talked to me about you many times.” Then, it was my turn to lift my eyebrows. “You feel like you don’t fit in with anyone, and I’m sure my son has only worsened the situation for you.”

  “Until a few nights ago, yes,” I agreed.

  Down by my knees, I felt Linc reach for my hand. I let him take it and hold it in his lap.

  “Boys, even men, can be childish when they fall for girls.” She looked over the bar. “Étienne, fix me a drink.”

  “Mother,” Linc said quietly.

  “I just want a drink, my dear. I’ll behave while your girlfriend is here.”

  “Will you have dinner with us?” I asked, sitting up and rubbing my forehead.

  “If you like,” she said. Then, she leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “I hardly know you, but I can see why my son loves you. I’ll just go freshen up.”

  She took the drink Étienne offered her and waltzed out of the kitchen. “Ten minutes,” Étienne said.

  Linc nodded to him and, still holding my hand, stood and led me over to the kitchen table. “She really likes you,” he said, sounding surprised. “She’s also sober, which is…unusual and a real vote in your favor.”

  “I don’t know what to say around your parents,” I admitted. “I feel like such a hick.”

  Étienne snorted, and when Linc looked at him, he waved a hand. “No, please. Share,” Linc insisted.

  “You,” the chef said, pointing a spoon at me. His accent was thick. “Anyone not blind or deaf can see you were raised well. Maybe not high society girl, but good, honest.” He looked at Linc. “Much, much better than all the others.” He turned back to the stove.

  I gaped at Linc. “All the others?”

  “I’ve brought two other girls home to meet my parents, and my friends of course.”

  “She’s better,” Étienne called to us. “Don’t run her away.”

  “No,” Linc said. “I don’t plan on it.” He scooted his chair close enough so that he could kiss me, and he did.

  “I still don’t think your father approves,” I said quietly to Linc.

  “Well, you’d have to ask him to be sure, but I don’t think he is as against us as a couple as you think. Maybe some of this overreaction on your part is Whit’s fault.”

  “He told me your parents were even more stuck up than his, and that they would never approve of us.”

  “Psha,” Linc’s mother said as she re-entered the kitchen.

  She wore a light pink, linen pant set. Her hair was brushed back into a neat tail. She had earrings, and her makeup was freshened. She looked like she could be Linc’s older sister.

  “Chérie, Whitney told you that, because he didn’t want you to think you had a chance with my son.” She took the seat beside Linc and across from me. Étienne set down glasses of Coke for Linc and me. “He’s right that Benjamin is stuck up, but he wouldn’t deny his only son his heart�
�s desire.” She petted Linc’s face again as Étienne set plates before us.

  “Oh, Chicken Kiev?” I asked excitedly.

  “Oui,” Étienne said. “Sharp eye.”

  I shrugged. “I cook. I’m nowhere near a chef, but I’ve tried a few fancy things. Besides, chicken is cheaper than beef if you mess it up.” I put my hand over my mouth. “Sorry. I seem to have misplaced my filter.” Yet, no one seemed offended or upset. If anything, they seemed entertained by me.

  “I would have assumed you spent more time practicing with shrimp,” Linc said.

  “I did that too when my daddy brought it home. Shrimp and grits was always a crowd pleaser, but we always had chicken and ground beef from the restaurant. Lizette,” I paused for a moment, “she doesn’t cook, but I always thought that when my daddy was home, he should have a home-cooked meal.” I looked around the table and then back at my plate. “I’m gonna shut up and eat, now.” I did, and they let me.

  After dinner, Linc and I sat on the sofa and watched TV. Around ten, his father came by to explain some papers I needed to sign for the police in New Orleans and the house for the orphans. We moved to sit at the game table in the living room. I read the documents, and Mister Moore carefully explained them before I signed. My daddy had approved the release of some of my trust fund money, as well as some of his own money, to go toward purchasing, renovating, and staffing a large house in the French Quarter.

  “When I get old enough, I want to run it,” I said to him as I signed a check.

  “Skye, you’re old enough, now. It’s charitable, and you will own it. Rather, your corporation will. It isn’t child labor, and it is an excellent tax write-off, not that you care about that aspect of it,” Mister Moore said.

  “Mister Moore, I’m really sorry I got you dragged into all this. If you’d rather not deal with it, feel free to pass it off to someone else.”

  “Nonsense.” He waved his hand through the air. “It’s a nice break from criminal law. I’ve learned quite a bit about small corporations and charities, and I enjoy just about anything that keeps my mind occupied.” He looked at me carefully. “You are a very sweet girl—quite different than Linc’s usual taste. Besides, I spoke with McKinley Hastings about you.”

  “What?” Linc asked.

  “Knowing he would do a full background check on her and her family before letting his son date her, I spoke with Mac.”

  “He did a background check on me?” My eyes narrowed.

  Mister Moore intertwined his fingers and set them on the table. “Yes, Skye. It’s something we all tend to do when someone from outside our circle becomes a love interest. It seems that your father should’ve done something similar with your stepmother.”

  “Excuse you,” I said and stood. “Very rude things and curse words, Mister Moore.”

  I stormed away from the table to the guest room before I could actually say any of the rude things and curse words. I took out my volume of Poe and turned to “The Pit and the Pendulum.” I read for a while, letting the story fill my thoughts and blank out the angry, offended ones.

  I almost finished the tale when Linc came in the room. He didn’t speak or try to draw my attention. Instead, he stretched out next to me and rubbed his hand up my shin, over my knee, and along my thigh, back-and-forth, until I finished the story. I closed the book and looked down at him.

  “I didn’t know about the background check,” he said. “I didn’t know families like ours did things like that.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t figure. You looked almost as surprised as I felt.”

  “I just,” he paused and left his hand resting atop my kneecap, “I trust you. I know you’re not some money grubbing skank, because if you were, you would spend all your time trying to get to know and date all the rich guys.”

  “Makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?” He nodded. “You’d think your dad would believe you.” I looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “Maybe when they get the place in New Orleans ready, I’ll just move there and live in the place.”

  Linc started and sat up before he said, “What about you and me? What about school?”

  “I said ‘maybe’,” I reminded him. “It’s just a thought.” I shifted over and plopped my volume of Poe on the bedside table. “I don’t fit in anywhere, anymore. Sometimes, I miss being a poor girl from the Savannah swamps. I at least had friends.”

  “I’m your friend,” Linc reminded me and opened his arms for me. I leaned over and accepted the hug he offered.

  “I don’t feel safe, anymore.”

  “Not even with me?” he asked, worry marking his features.

  I rubbed my thumb over the crease between his brows. “You are the exception.”

  “My mother likes you very much, and I think my father is coming around.”

  “Linc.” I traced my finger over a large black dot on the comforter. “They are going to arrest my stepmother, tomorrow.” My lip quivered. “It wasn’t like we ever fought or anything. I just…I trusted her. I don’t understand.”

  “I know. Father will figure it out.”

  This time, when he lay down and opened his arms, I turned my back to him and let him snuggle against me. He was warm and caring—altogether unexpected.

  I thought about the interactions between the two of us over the past two years. Linc and I met my freshman year. One of the boys on the soccer team pointed me out, and shortly after that, the mooing, clucking, and placing of orders started. It wasn’t so bad until I started tutoring Whit, and it reached its worst when Whit showed interest in me outside the library. Still, I could see how all the heckling and name-calling were childish ways of showing romantic interest, especially when that person didn’t want everyone else to know he was romantically interested.

  I thought back over the party, too. After Whit left me to speak with his parents, Linc was very nice to me, even going as far as to defend me in front of the girls hating on me. He was almost a gentleman to me.

  Now that we weren’t around his friends, he was sweet. He was kind, considerate, and sensitive. I sighed deeply.

  “Tell me what’s got you worried,” he said, nuzzling his nose into the back of my hair.

  “I’m worried that when we get around your friends, you’re going to revert to being a jerk.”

  “Not going to happen,” he said. “Your hair is so soft.”

  “That’s because I don’t fuss with it like all those other girls do. Linc?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you a virgin?”

  “No. I’ve done it twice. Once with each of the girls who met my parents.”

  “Did you tell them that you loved them, too?”

  “No,” he said. “I didn’t. They knew I didn’t.”

  “Then, why?”

  “Because we wanted to. Look, Skye. You don’t have to worry about that right now. I’m not going to pressure you.”

  “I’m not worried about that. I just…I’m just trying to understand.”

  “Well, it was about exploring, trying something new, and satisfying some urges—you know, that kind of thing. Although, I did trust both of them, and they trusted me. When it didn’t work out, there were no hard feelings. Mary Beth was my first.”

  I shifted away so I could roll over and look at him. “I thought she dated Whit.”

  “She broke up with me when he asked her out.” When my jaw dropped, he shrugged one shoulder. “Seemed like my dating scene was on repeat until you came along.”

  “Yeah, I’m just afraid you’re going to realize that the feelings you have for me are because you’ve finally bested him,” I admitted.

  “He told you that I liked you long before he even met you,” Linc reminded me. “I beat him at soccer and just about everything else.”

  My brows drew up in questi
on. “So, add girls to the list, too?”

  “Insecurity is really unattractive, Skye. When are you going to get it through your thick skull? I’m crazy about you. I have been ever since I first saw you walk out of Woodmark dorm in your knee-length skirt and a white blouse that just showed your bra. You stepped out from under the front awning, and the sun lit up your hair. You looked like a princess.”

  “You noticed what I was wearing?” He nodded, and I smiled. “I think you’re cute, too.”

  “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings so many times, and I’m so glad you can forgive me for it.”

  “Yeah, well. I’m sorry I thought you were a soulless, insensitive idiot.”

  He laughed, wrapped his arm around my waist, and pulled me against him. When we kissed, I lazily ran my fingers through his hair and twirled it around my finger. For another while, I was able to lose myself in kissing a boy I found cute and that, maybe, I loved…just a little.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I wasn’t expecting cops at my door at nine in the morning, but that’s what I got on Thursday. They wanted to look around the house, saying they had a search warrant and everything. I was betting that if they got a search warrant for the house, it meant they had no other leads on Skye.

  When I asked the nature of the search, head detective Gimble said they thought Winston was involved in some nasty business. He looked sincere, and I decided that for some reason, they must think Winston had something to do with Skye, although no one had mentioned her. When I asked after her, Gimble said her whereabouts were unknown.

  I acted appropriately concerned and said, “She’s supposed to be in Savannah, already. You need to find my stepdaughter instead of rummaging around my house for Winston’s papers or whatever.”

  Then, I started crying and went to sit in the parlor. Gimble sat beside me, brought me a tissue, and attempted to console me while the other cops milled about my house.

  Not long before the search moved upstairs, Colby arrived. I introduced him to Detective Gimble, and after fixing me a drink, Colby led him into the kitchen to talk about the matter at hand. It was a nice touch that Colby claimed he wanted to move the conversation away from me in order to spare me any nasty details.