Panty Dropper

by Shawn, Melanie

  I’d been shocked, of course, but I was beginning to think it was mostly at him doing what he was doing in his office. If I’d walked in on him in our home, I’m not sure that I would’ve been surprised at all.

  At first, I’d been angry, obviously. But now I realized that in many ways, he was as trapped in our relationship as I was, too bound by social convention to break out of it. His cheating had been a way to accomplish that.

  When we’d met in college, I think that I was different than most of the girls he was used to dating. We’d had a genuine friendship at first, and there’d been an attraction there. Our relationship was fine while we were in school.

  But after we’d graduated and passed the bar—me on the first try, him on the fourth—I never fit into his world. And once we’d moved into the high-rise condo his parents gifted him when he passed the bar the fourth time around, things changed.

  I was expected to throw dinner parties, host galas, and head committees. That was what all of our society “friends” expected. That was the social world he was a part of.

  That wasn’t me. I was never going to be that woman. Just thinking about the fact that I was supposed to walk down the aisle in two days to marry him made me sick to my stomach. How had I let things get that far when I hadn’t been happy?

  My only excuse was that I don’t think I knew what was really possible. Sure, my mom and Hal had a great relationship. He worshiped her and I believe that, in her way, she really loved him. But in my mind, that was an anomaly, not the norm. It’s not like I’d grown up witnessing healthy relationships.

  Being with Billy had shown me what was possible. And even though I knew I couldn’t be with him, I also knew that I didn’t want to settle for anything less. If I was going to be with someone, I wanted to feel the intimacy I’d felt sitting with Billy in the kitchen, and the fireworks that I’d felt when we’d gone upstairs, and the safety I’d felt waking up in his arms.

  “Cheyenne Comfort, as I live and breathe!”

  Cheyenne and I both turned to find a woman who appeared to be in her late sixties with bleached blonde hair and fire-engine red, acrylic nails that matched her lipstick standing with her mouth wide open.

  She shook her head back and forth and looked at Cheyenne like she’d seen a ghost. “You are the spitting image of your mama.” She reached out and took Cheyenne’s hand. “Do you remember me?”

  Cheyenne’s eyes cut to me and I could swear that I saw an S.O.S in them.

  “Hi,” I stepped up and held out my hand. “I’m Reagan York.”

  The woman gave me a once over before arching one of her perfectly drawn on eyebrows. “I know who you are. You’re the one that was crawling into Billy’s truck.”

  Cheyenne interjected, “I had a little bit too much to drink and Reagan was helping my brother take me home.”

  I appreciated Cheyenne coming to my defense but I didn’t think that it would make much difference. “And you are?” I asked, dropping my hand that apparently was not going to be shaken.

  “I’m Caroline Shaw. I own Pretty in Peach, the original beauty salon on Firefly Island.”

  My brain fired, making connections and putting a face to the name. I’d heard Mrs. Beasley mention Caroline’s name, and Stew had mentioned Pretty in Peach on the trolley tour.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Shaw.” I smiled as sweetly as I possibly could.

  “Miss Shaw,” she corrected before turning her attention back to Cheyenne. “Oh, it is so good to have you back home where you belong. Your mama used to work part-time at the salon, she’d bring you in and you’d sit for hours coloring, and reading your books. You were such a sweet li’l thing.”

  “Oh…” A glimmer of recognition dawned on Cheyenne’s face. “I think I do remember that. Was there a cat there? An orange cat?”

  “Peaches.” Miss Shaw sniffed as she dropped Cheyenne’s hands to make the sign of the cross. “May she rest in peace.”

  The song Great Balls of Fire started playing loudly and Miss Shaw fumbled around in her large bag before pulling out her phone. “Oh, it’s Carol. I better take this. She and Linus have been having issues, you know.”

  Cheyenne and I shared a look. We didn’t know.

  Miss Shaw theater-whispered, “Because she found those little blue pills, which would be fine, but he hasn’t been using them with her, if you know what I mean.”

  There wasn’t a whole lotta room for interpretation with that.

  “You don’t be a stranger now!” Miss Shaw pulled Cheyenne into a bear hug before releasing her and pointing a very long, red fingernail my direction. “And you, young lady, you be careful whose trucks you go climbin’ into.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” It truly was my verbal equivalent of a knee-jerk reaction.

  The red-nailed finger wagged between the two of us. “And don’t you two forget to wear your bras to the funeral. When Earnest Trip passed last month you shoulda seen how many nipples were standing at attention in the First Baptist Church. It was a disgrace.” Miss Shaw paused, staring at both Cheyenne and myself.

  “Yes, ma’am,” we both said in unison.

  Miss Shaw gave us a decisive nod before turning and answering her call as she walked out of the store.

  “That was…” I didn’t really have words.

  “Small town living at its best?” Cheyenne offered.

  “Or something like that,” I chuckled.

  “Aside from interactions like that,” Cheyenne sighed as she flipped through another rack, “I really do love it here in Firefly. It’s so beautiful, my brothers are here, and most of the people are so warm and welcoming. But the small-town shopping experience…”

  “It leaves a little to be desired,” I concluded.

  “Yes. It does.”

  The only dresses we were finding that were appropriately somber were extremely frumpy, meant for women at least twice Cheyenne’s age. It was a depressing scene. And the ones that weren’t in that category seemed to cater to the spring break crowd and looked to be no more than swimsuit cover ups.

  “You know,” I said, “We could always go shopping in my closet. I have plenty of LBDs. One of them might work. Also, I have black pencil skirts and silk button-downs in muted dark shades. They’re not anything special but I think we’re the same size.”

  “Seriously? Oh my god, that would be amazing!” she enthused. “I’m kicking myself for not bringing something with me on the trip. I just wasn’t thinking clearly when I packed.”

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “I think you can be forgiven for that. It’s pretty understandable.”

  “Do you by any chance have anything that’s burgundy?”

  “Um, I think so. Why?”

  “I guess my dad wanted us to wear burgundy. Well, he wanted my brothers to, anyway.”

  I could see how conflicted her feelings were. And how out of the loop she still felt.

  “Yes. We’ll find something.” I assured her. “Was burgundy his favorite color?’

  “No, I don’t think so. Hank said it had something to with a family crest he found on Ancestry dot com.”

  As we headed over to my room at the boarding house, I asked, “So, what are your plans? Are you going to be staying in town after the funeral?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Billy asked me to stay with him, and I took him up on it. I want to get to know my brothers, and I guess that since I’m part owner of the bar, I should familiarize myself with it, as well. So, yeah, I’m gonna be around for a while.”

  “I’m glad,” I said sincerely.

  I’d never had any siblings, but I’d always wanted a little sister. Oddly enough, considering the short time we’d known each other, that’s what Cheyenne felt like.

  “I really appreciate you letting me borrow something. You have to come over and let me make you dinner sometime as a thank you. I make a mean chicken marsala.”

  I smiled and nodded, but inside, all I could think about was that she was living at Billy’s. Which meant we’d b
e eating at the same table where he’d pulled me onto his lap and kissed me like I was the very air he needed to breathe. There was no way that I could go through a meal, with Billy, at that table and not think about our first kiss…and what had happened after that kiss.

  To be honest, I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to not think about those things at the funeral tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 23

  Billy

  I closed my eyes and let the sea spray and sunshine wash over my face. It felt good to be out on the water. It was a tradition to take the boat out the week before spring break, before the town was flooded with tourists. I had to admit this voyage felt different, now that Pop wasn’t with us. There were very few Comfort family traditions but taking the boat out was one of them.

  It was something that he and his brothers had done and the tradition had been passed down to the second generation of Comfort men. We’d invited Cheyenne, but she’d said that she had plans to go shopping with Reagan.

  In the few days since Reagan had snuck out of my house, I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her. I’d thought for sure I’d run into her around town. Everywhere I went, I was certain I’d spot her. Every time the door to the bar opened, I expected to see her walking through it. Neither of those things had happened.

  She was all I could think about. It had been driving me a little bit crazy, but it seemed she was sticking to the terms she’d proposed in my kitchen. I’d been racking my brain trying to think of things I could do to break down some of her walls and convince her to give us a chance, but so far, I hadn’t come up with anything that didn’t seem corny or have a stalker vibe to it.

  Since there was nothing I could do about it out there on the water, I did my best to take this time to zone out. Just not think about anything. Especially not a certain lady lawyer whose body molded to mine like we were two pieces of the same puzzle.

  “We need to talk about the funeral.”

  My older brother’s voice interrupted my short reprieve. Well, hell. I guess the distraction was destined to be short-lived. I sat up, opening my eyes.

  “Didn’t we talk it to death, no pun intended, the other day at your kitchen table? I’m wearing the burgundy tie. Ain’t that enough?” Jimmy said, his feet kicked up and his head reclined.

  Hearing the seriousness in Hank’s tone, I swatted Jimmy behind the head.

  Hank looked at Jimmy and narrowed his eyes, then shifted his gaze to me and said, “Thanks.”

  “Hey, don’t go thanking me too quick. I agree with Jimmy. I just make it a policy to never pass up an opportunity to hit him.”

  Jimmy gave me a jab in the upper arm. “I have the same policy.”

  “This is what I’m talking about.”

  I sat still and resisted the urge to fire back some kind of quip. Amazingly, so did Jimmy. Hank had moved past the state of weary exasperation that was his default when dealing with us and had moved on into full-blown, bite-our-heads-off annoyance. Both of us had enough experience with that level from when we were kids to know that, if we continued to push it, the next step was his neck crack, so it was best to knock our shit off now.

  After letting the silence stretch on long enough for Hank to take two or three good, deep breaths, I spoke again. I made my voice contrite—which wasn’t hard. I knew Hank was bearing the brunt of our dad’s passing far more than Jimmy or me. The last thing he needed was to put up with our nonsense. “Sorry, Hank. What did you want to talk to us about?”

  My older brother studied my face, probably trying to judge my sincerity. Apparently he was satisfied with what he found there because he gave a sharp nod and returned his gaze back out to the open water.

  A moment later, he spoke again. “At the service and especially at the reception afterward, we have to remember that we are representing the Comfort name.”

  He paused and I thought about asking for clarification but decided it was best to let him get there in his own time. I didn’t want to raise his annoyance level back to head-biting territory.

  But truth was, I really wasn’t quite sure what he meant. After all, it’s not like the Comfort name had some sort of sterling reputation around Firefly that we needed to protect. When it came to living up to the Comfort name, the bar was set pretty damn low.

  My hesitancy to address it didn’t matter, it turned out. Trust Jimmy to say what was on everybody’s mind, even if the timing wasn’t perfect. “What the hell are you talking about? Representing the Comfort name—what does that even mean?”

  I glanced over at Hank and saw his shoulders tighten, but when he spoke, his voice was steady and even. “It means that we are one of Firefly’s oldest families, and we have a long-standing reputation here. True, that reputation hasn’t always been spotless. But this is a new day. We are business owners.”

  I hadn’t looked at it that way, but he was right. Hank owned Comfort Construction. Jimmy owned the Firefly Ocean Tours. And I owned, or co-owned, Southern Comfort.

  “Pop is gone now and I’d like his legacy to die with him.” Hank continued. “The Comfort name wasn’t always associated with being a drunk in this town. I remember when Grandpa Comfort and Great Uncle Carl were alive, and back then it stood for loyalty, honesty, and brotherhood. All of the rest, well, I want to see that fade into the background. You two knuckleheads got it?”

  I didn’t remember my grandfather or my great uncle that well, but I did remember the way people acted around them. They treated them with respect.

  “A’right, but I thought the Comfort name was always known for the curse,” Jimmy said as he grabbed another beer from the cooler and popped the top.

  “The curse is bullshit.” Hank said through a clenched jaw.

  We never talked about the curse and one of the reasons was that Hank’s childhood sweetheart, who he’d planned on marrying, broke up with him when he proposed because she’d said that she didn’t want to “tempt fate.” That curse had cost Hank his first love, even if it had been in an entirely different way than Lucille Abernathy had originally meant it.

  “I agree with you, Hank.” I said by way of support. “I think this is the perfect time for a fresh start.”

  He eyed me suspiciously again, and apparently I was able to pass the test a second time.

  “Good,” he said, with a note of finality. “So that means Jimmy, you’ve gotta keep the drinks under control.”

  “What?” Jimmy protested. “You mean we gotta pay for the entire neighborhood to drink at this thing, but I’m not allowed?”

  “You’re allowed. Just keep it reasonable,” I said. “You know how you get when you’re liquored up.”

  Jimmy shrugged, defeated. “Fine. I’ll give you that one.”

  “And you,” Hank said, his voice flat as he turned his attention to me.

  “Don’t worry, boss, I can handle my liquor.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t want to find you in the supply closet off the church foyer about to get your knob slobbed by some waitress or secretary.”

  “Again, you mean,” Jimmy piped up, then dodged away from me instead of taking his rightful lumps, the coward.

  “Right. Again,” Hank said flatly

  I knew that there was no danger of that happening at the funeral or reception, and it wasn’t because I respected the solemnity of the occasion so much, although I did.

  The reason was simple. Reagan.

  Before I met her, I’d been scared I’d lost my mojo. Now it was back but it was focused on one person and one person only. I was still the Panty Dropper. It was just that there was only one set of panties in this world that I was interested in dropping.

  “Billy.”

  I turned my head at the sound of Hank’s voice. “Yeah?”

  Hank stared at me silently.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep it in my pants.”

  And it would stay there unless Reagan was willing to renegotiate her terms. Which I planned on discussing with her sooner rather than later.

  C
HAPTER 24

  Reagan

  I smoothed down the skirt of my favorite black dress. I’d gone back and forth about what to wear today. While I’d always leaned toward the dress that I had on, I also had reservations. It was just a little too form-hugging and sexy to make me feel totally comfortable in it on such a solemn occasion.

  But…that was the problem, because those qualities were exactly the same ones that made me want to wear the dress—or, more specifically, to have Billy see me in the dress.

  Get it together, I admonished myself. The man is burying his father today. I think the way your ass looks in this dress is going to be just about the last thing on his mind.

  At any rate, I’d solved the dilemma by pairing the dress with a conservative charcoal grey cashmere sweater. I felt it struck a good balance between looking good and looking goooood.

  I felt a little out of place as I stepped into the foyer of Firefly First Baptist Church and looked at the crowd of people milling around. There were quite a few of them. James Comfort, who I gathered had definitely had his faults, had clearly been a loved man in this community. Nadia and I were supposed to be there together, but she’d come down with a twenty-four-hour bug, courtesy of her students, and she’d bailed at the last minute.

  So, I was here on my own. I still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me, but I was starting to chalk it up to being a small town thing. There was most likely at least one person paying attention to something I was doing at any given time…I just hoped to avoid ending up back on the town’s Facebook page.

  I walked over to sign the guest book and discovered it was a silver-plated decorative keg with a plaque attached that people were signing. I could only imagine that it would be on display in Southern Comfort in the future as a memorial. I shook my head but had to smile. Cheyenne had mentioned that besides the burgundy attire, James Sr. had made quite a few unorthodox requests for the service and reception. This must’ve been one of them.