by S. E. Hall
I haven’t gotten a single nibble the whole time I’ve been daydreaming, so I reel in, seeing I’ve been picked clean. When I reach down to grab another worm, the cup is gone. So is the humming.
“Whitley?” I lay down my pole, walking around to search for her. “Whitley?”
“Over here!” I hear her call from my right.
Pushing aside the tall grass and snipping off two flowers, I tromp over to find her crawling around on her hands and knees, dirt flying up around her.
“What are you doing?” I ask, dumbfounded yet amazed at what I’ve stumbled upon.
“Digging you some more worms, of course.” She turns her head to answer me, pushing the hair out of her face and leaving a smear of mud across her forehead. “I’ve got eleven,” she says proudly, offering the cup to me.
I take the cup and trade her the two flowers with a big smile. I look down—she really did find a whole pile of worms. That’s true fishing dedication.
“Evan,” she snickers as she smells the flowers, “I think these may be weeds.”
“Even if they are, you pretty ‘em up by holding ‘em.”
I gotta say—women look real nice in dresses, bikinis, or of course less, but when a little blonde is on her hands and knees, her tank top gaping down in the front, perky ass up in the air, her face smeared with mud, AND she’s holding out a cup of worms she dug for you… This is the stuff country boys dream about. I’m so turned on right now, I want nothing more than to scoop her up and kiss the lips off her, but I just can’t. It might ruin everything, and I can’t lose another great friend because I misread things. One thing I’ve learned the gut-wrenching way—I’d rather keep the friend forever than have a month of two of “more.”
I offer my hand to help her up. “This is a good look on you, Whit. You may have to trade in those pretty nails and fancy clothes for some cutoffs and boots.”
“I have a pair of boots,” she says proudly, “and cutoffs. But I like my nails. Even though there’s dirt trapped under them right now.” Her nose wrinkles just a smidge.
I can’t resist playing with her just a little. “Well then, next outing, you’re wearing them. You owe me since you dressed me like a preppy clown.”
“Deal,” she squeezes my hand, still holding hers for some reason, “and I won’t do that again, I promise. I didn’t know a gathering at Dane’s house would be so informal. For what it’s worth, I thought you looked very nice.”
“I looked like Tyler.”
Why did I just say that? Here I am, deciding to stay on the friend path with this girl, and then I go spouting off shit that makes me sound jealous.
“About that,” she starts, dropping my hand and wrapping her arms around herself protectively. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t feel anything for Tyler, really. We were just talking and I drank too much. I know it’s not a good excuse, but I just have a lot on my mind. Thanks for taking care of me, though,” she lifts her head slightly from its bowed position and smiles apologetically, “and I’m sorry.”
“Let’s talk about that.” I take her hand again, leading her through the brush and back to the clear spot where our poles rest. I sit down on the bank, pulling on her hand for her to so the same. “I know you’re worried about your parents’ stuff, but you said some other stuff, too.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re worried about being able to afford school, having to leave.”
“Oh!” she gasps and draws her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “I don’t want to leave Southern; I like it there.”
“You need to call your parents, Whit. Ask them about it so you can stop worrying. Either way, it’ll be fine. It may not even be a problem, and if it is, you could get student loans, a job; you’d have options. But you just need to make the call and figure it out, clear your mind.”
She falls backs in the grass, laughing, her blond hair splaying out around her.
“What’s so funny?”
“You,” she answers simply. “You make everything so easy. That makes perfect sense and I’ve been driving myself crazy for nothing. From now on,” she sits up again, tapping the end of my nose with her finger, just as I’ve done hers, “I’m just gonna run everything through the Evan Think Tank before I get all worked up.”
“Brilliant plan,” I agree with a wink.
It’s dark when we finally leave, and that’s only because Whitley can no longer see to dig more worms. I never brought up any of the other stuff she had said the night before—about me loving Laney, or her taking care of me… The line is dangerously close to blurry and doesn’t need any help.
When we pull up to the house, it’s immediately obvious Sawyer has company. I glance at Whitley, guessing she’s going to be upset about it, but she just smiles brightly at me. I walk around and open her door for her, then unload all the gear, stalling for time, apprehensive of what we may be walking into; with Sawyer, you never really know.
Okay, so maybe not the worst possible case scenario, but damn close. Sawyer is currently hosting Amber, Nikki, Sasha, Tyler…and Portia. Awkward to have both “his girls” here? Not half as awkward as the fact that all the girls are half-dressed. Looks like Sawyer finally got some takers on his Strip Poker idea. And because he is completely naked, I’m thinking he should pick a game he’s better at.
“Want me to make them leave?” I whisper to Whitley, who’s grabbing my shirt and ducking her head behind my back.
“N-no, it’s all right. It’s Spring Break and all, and I’m not their mother.”
“Oh, hey!” Sawyer finally notices us standing on the outskirts, and all the other heads turn to us. “Where y’all been? You want dealt in?”
“Fishing.” I reach behind myself with one hand and find Whitley’s, heading for the hallway. “We’re beat. Gonna take showers and go to bed. Don’t mind us, though. Carry on.”
“Wait, Evan!” Nikki runs up, pink bra-clad breasts bouncing. “Come play with us. I’ve been waiting all day for you to get back.”
“Really?” Whitley’s sneer is hilarious, but I say nothing, curious as hell what she’s going to say next. “He’s tired, and we have to take a shower. Run along,” she “shooes” Nikki with her hand, “Evan’s too good for that.”
Alrighty then. I follow Whitley’s lead and turn, letting her pull me down the hall, leaving a gape-mouthed Nikki standing alone, staring after us I’m sure. Whitley’s mumbling something about STDs, desperate, and I think lopsided as she drags me along, finally letting go of my hand at my door.
“Are you gonna go back out there, Evan?” she asks, fighting desperately not to tug her lower lip between her teeth and not meeting my eyes.
“Nah, I think I’ll clean up and go to bed. All that fresh air, I’ll sleep great. You?”
“Me too,” her face lights up and she nods, “night.”
“Night, Whit.” And before I can help it, my lips are on her hair, kissing the top of her head.
Last time I checked, I was still a red-blooded American male, and part of me is dying to go out there and look at naked chicks, but I remain in my bed, staring at the ceiling. The light knock at my door better not be any of them, ‘cause I’m trying real hard to stay put here and be the man my mama raised. When I open the door, the visitor is indeed pleasant—dressed, for one thing, and looking subtle, classy…and sweet as sugar in a light pink pajama shorts set, hair damp from her shower.
“Were you asleep?” she asks nervously, her eyes locked on my bare chest.
I like that she’s looking; just another mixed up feeling that I’ll have to talk myself out of later. And dammit, I all of kinds of like the timid way she slowly lifts her gaze to mine, silently asking if her looking was okay, if I’m going to invite her in.
“No,” I scoff. No way could anyone sleep with the racket coming from the living room.
The silence now is palpable, she’s waiting for me to step back and open the door wider, to ask her in. I’m waiting for her to convince me that m
y doubts are okay and she wants to explore “us” anyway, see how it goes, and that she’s positive it won’t hurt her.
Neither happens, and eventually our locked gaze, blue on blue, becomes awkward.
She pulls her hands from behind her back, one holding a bag of cookies, the other a DVD. “Wanna watch a movie?”
“Yeah,” I smile, moving back and opening the door wider, “sounds great.”
I pull a t-shirt over my head quickly and fiddle with the TV and DVD player, getting things ready as Whitley grabs extra pillows out of the closet and situates them on the bed just right. I flip the lights back off and tentatively climb back in the bed, making sure to leave space in between our bodies. There’s an uncomfortable stiffness to the air as we lay in the bed waiting for the movie to start, broken only when Whitley aims the open bag at me.
“Eat a cookie and relax, Evan.”
It doesn’t take very long into the movie for me to lose control. What is this girly shit?! I give it another ten minutes, and then I can’t hold my tongue any longer. “Whitley,” I turn my head to her, the lights of the TV flickering over her profile, “what the hell is this movie called?”
“Moulin Rouge. Don’t you love it?” her voice is breathy and wistful.
“This isn’t even a movie, it’s a musical.”
“I know, aren’t the songs wonderful?” She still hasn’t looked at me, unable to break her attention from the catastrophe playing on the screen.
“No,” I grumble, “it’s driving me crazy, woman. One more song with guys dancing around and it’s going off.”
“Evan Allen.” She pauses the movie and finally looks my way, giving me a quick poke in the ribs. “Broaden your horizons a little! This movie is artistic and wonderful.”
“This movie is noisy crap.”
“Fine,” she crosses her arms, “what do you want to watch?”
“Die Hard.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she rolls her big blue eyes at me, “I don’t have Die Hard. I have…” She climbs over me and walks to the armoire, mumbling something about men not appreciating musical genius.
Maybe I’m spending too much time with Sawyer, or maybe the Laney haze really has lifted, because I have zoned in, while in almost complete darkness, and am positive she is not wearing panties under those shorts.
“How about Shawshank Redemption?” She turns back to me, and I jerk my eyes up to hers, praying I haven’t been caught, but her smirk tells me that prayer was wasted. “That’s a good compromise. Will that work?”
“Perfect,” I clear my throat, “that’s my favorite movie.”
“I like it too.” Her warm smile is glowing even in the darkened room.
“You sure about that? There’s no fairy dudes in nightclothes jumping around singing.”
I duck just in time to dodge the movie case aimed at my head.
“Evan,” I hear a voice through a fog and feel my body being shaken, “Evan, wake up.”
“Mhm?” I open my eyes, slow to realize where I am. In bed. And Whitley’s snuggled up beside me. “What is it?”
“Your phone is going crazy,” she says. Her voice is sleepy and raspy, her legs tangled with mine…and it’s morning, so my body already has a head start on what my mind is registering. “I think you should check it; seems important.”
I roll over, grabbing my phone off the nightstand, and see that I have five missed calls from my parents, all just minutes apart. Whatever it is, it can’t be good, and my palms sweat as I push the button to call them back.
“Evan?”
“Hey, Dad, you called? What’s going on?”
“Ah, son,” he groans, “got some bad news.”
I sit up, my stomach clenching, throat tightening. “What is it? Is Mom okay?”
“Your mom’s fine. It’s Dale. He’s gone, son.”
“Gone?” I croak out, feeling Whitley’s small, warm hand move to my shoulder. “What’s that mean, gone? What happened?”
“Angie found him out in the field. Looks like he had a heart attack. He passed, Evan. He’s gone.”
Dale Jones is, was, I guess, my best friend Parker’s dad, and a helluva man. Parker, Laney and I were closer than close growing up, practically raised on the Jones’ farm. Dale gave us each a calf every year as our own to raise there. We fished every pond a hundred times. We had cow patty fights. Dale taught us all how to drive a tractor. Parker and I put up hay every year and Dale always paid us in crisp, brand new hundred dollar bills. I know I’m crying, and Whitley can see it, but I don’t care. I’m fucking sad. I loved Dale like a second father, an uncle, a mentor…and this sucks.
“How’s Angie?” I manage.
Parker’s mom will be all alone now. There’s no way she can run that farm by herself and Parker’s off at school, a great ball player.
“Not good, but your mama’s been tending to her. Parker got home last night and funeral’s day after tomorrow.”
“I’m on my way, probably be late tonight.”
“Sounds fine, just be careful driving, boy. And Evan?”
“Yeah?”
“Find Laney, let her know. Jeff can’t reach her and doesn’t need to be worrying. He’s pretty tore up, him and Dale so close and all. Those two,” he laughs passively, “one fishing tournament, they forgot to put the damn plug in the boat. Sank the damn thing right there at takeoff.” He sighs sadly. “Anyway, get her home.”
“I will, Dad, see you soon.”
I hang up and say nothing, my head hanging as the tears keep coming. I can’t look up. I don’t want her to see me like this, crying like a little girl, but I know it’s okay when I feel the small, comforting hand on the back of my neck. And when that same hand pulls me to her shoulder, the other arm wrapping completely around me, I sob shamelessly into her shirt, her shoulder, baring my soul.
I’m Evan Allen, and I cry when someone I love dies.
Butterfly kisses on my hair and wet cheek, accompanied with the occasional “I’ve got you” or “let it out” in the voice of an unjudging, compassionate angel tell me that soul is accepted.
It feels so good to lay my head in her lap and close my eyes, remembering all the good times I had with Dale, as she strokes my hair.
Chapter 15
We’ve Been Robbed
~Laney~
Evan: I need 2 talk 2 U ASAP. Please call me back.
He’d called three times right before sending the text, and I just hit ignore, not wanting anything to ruin our time here in Hawaii, even though I knew it had to be something if he’s calling at all, let alone at this strange hour. I also knew he’d send a text right behind it if it was important, and I was kinda hoping I could just read it without Dane waking up.
“Who is it?” Dane asks against my neck from where he’s snuggled behind me. “They obviously need something.”
“It’s Evan, says it’s urgent.”
“Call him back,” he gets up now, moving to the bathroom, “sounds important.”
This week in Hawaii has been so good for us. No schedules, no friends, no exes, no drama, no insecurities. I hope it’s revamped “us” and we can stay this way once we’re back, us against the world around us.
“Laney, hey,” Evan answers, not jovially.
“Hey, Ev, what’s up?”
“I’ve got some bad news, real bad. Are you sitting down? Is Dane there with you?”
“Yes and yes. Evan, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” Dane is right beside me now, his arms curled around me, his lips resting on my shoulder.
“Dale had a heart attack, Laney.”
“Dale Jones? Well, is he gonna be okay?” Dane squeezes me tighter, placing kisses on my hair.
“No, Laney, he’s not. He died. Angie found him out in the field, he’d been working. Dad just called, he said your dad couldn’t reach you. He’s pretty upset.”
“Of course he is,” I choke on the tears gushing out of me instantly, “that’s his best friend. Why can’t he reach me?”
I look at my phone and see no calls from my dad, and he definitely didn’t text. “He didn’t call, Lord knows what he’s dialing in his state. Anyway,” I gulp down the sorrow making it difficult to talk, “how’s Angie? Parker? Have you talked to him?”
My hand is shaking so hard I can barely hold the phone, and I can’t see, and I may throw up. Why??? Dale Jones never met a stranger. His wife was his queen, his son his prince. He worked hard every day, he drove the Sunday school bus for the church, he gave all the teenagers summer jobs… He let me keep calves and baby sheep on his farm, for crying out loud. I jump up and run to the bathroom, losing all my dinner from the night before.
Dale was like my uncle, he and Angie loved me like their own. They rounded out my lack of adult family when my mother was gone and in some way, made me feel whole. The world will be less of a place without such a fine man in it, and I feel sorry for all of us that inhabit it, because we’ve been robbed of Dale Jones. I slowly gather myself and get up from the floor to clean up, my stomach now completely empty. I brush my teeth and splash my face with water, then pull my hair back. I’ll call Evan back later, having just dropped the phone and ran. I’ll call my dad later too. Right now, I’m just gonna sit back down on the floor and be.
“Come on, baby.” Dane bends down and scoops me up I don’t know how much later. “You’re gonna wait in bed while I run you a hot bath. I got us almost packed; we fly out soon.” He carries me to the bed and tucks me in with a kiss to the forehead. “Be right back.”
“I need to call my dad, and Evan. I don’t know when the funeral is,” I moan, rolling over and sinking into the pillow, my body racking with sobs again.
