Random Acts of Love (Random #5)

by Julia Kent

  “That’s what the honeymoon is for, Mama.”

  “No,” she said with a laugh. “The honeymoon is for going to wineries and fucking like bunnies.”

  I just sighed. My outrage meter was long broken.

  For the next thirty minutes everyone worked in harmony getting favors in place, setting out the tables for the potluck, organizing the cake and just taking great care. Mama couldn’t exactly dance easily, but Calvin had insisted, in his gentle way, that they have a DJ and do a traditional bride and groom dance and the dollar dance.

  Then they planned to hang out and leave at dawn, driving to Niagara Falls and settling in for the honeymoon.

  As I watched people trickle in, carrying casserole dishes and giving Mama hugs and kisses, the reality of it all felt like a kind of oxygen that seeped into the air I breathed, filling me with energy and hope. I was back with my men, and on my terms. We’d come clean with Mama, Uncle Mike, and most of the important people (to me) in Peters, and aside from Mike, everyone had taken it all in stride.

  The reception, though, was a litmus test. I’d be asked over and over by people I hadn’t seen in two years about my rock star boyfriend.

  That whole duplicate part was gonna be fun. With a capital F.

  As I watched more people come in, I searched faces, realizing that many of Mama’s friends had children who were here. Weddings in a tiny town like this attracted everyone; there was almost a blanket invitation. Bring some food and a decent present. Do a dollar dance with the bride. Drink (but drink less if it was a cash bar). Dance until you’re sweaty and laughing and having fun.

  What more could you want from a celebration of two people finding a second chance at love?

  “Hey,” Trevor said, appearing by my side, his eyes warm and appreciative. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?” His arm went around my waist and he turned, facing me, pulling me in for a sweet kiss.

  I spontaneously combusted. The short time we were broken up felt like an eternity, and I’d missed this. The casual interplay in the space between us. The assumption that it was fine to kiss me. That he had access to my body. That he had permission to reach out and embrace me like this.

  That’s what I’d missed.

  Joe came over, a smile on his face as he looked at me with Trevor. No jealousy. Just the joy of being back together.

  “Looks like this party’s getting started,” he said, looking around. I saw Jane and Davey arrive with their little boys, and Jenna gave her a big hug. At that sight, something in me tugged, a tightness that gnawed on my sense of sureness that the life I lived in Boston with the guys was the right one.

  What would it be like to stay in Peters? To be on the road with the band but to make my hometown our home base? Would I be friends with Jane and get to know Jenna? Would Mama be happier and better cared for if I was here? Could I help with Aunt Marlene?

  The thoughts sprinted through my head so fast, but not as fast as people began to pour in. I looked around, Trevor and Joe silent but with me, and realized I was thinking about this like I only had two options. Black or white. Stay or go.

  Like love, my life didn’t have to be binary. I could forge a third way.

  A DJ started up some ’70s classics, the volume low as people greeted each other. I stepped away from Trevor and Joe to go stand with Mama and Calvin. Jenna joined us and we formed a sort of loose receiving line. Most of my time was spent hugging people and avoiding being groped by the same creeps I’d spurned when I lived here.

  Some things never change.

  Joe

  Alex and Josie walked over to us as we watched Darla with her mom. People gave us nervous glances, but as soon as Josie joined us the looks stopped. She was some sort of antidote to mildly suspicious curiosity.

  “People don’t like newcomers here, do they?” I asked Josie.

  She pinched Alex’s butt. He yelped. “My mom sure does.”

  Trevor, Alex and I exchanged looks of mutual horror as Josie cackled. She was an odd, odd woman.

  “You have to remember that people are people. Around here, most of them are from families that have been here for generations. These are good people. Hardworking folks with roots. Darla and I have wings.”

  “And horns,” Alex muttered.

  “Hey!” She whacked him, but was smiling. “Strangers are strangers. If you stayed here, you’d blend in.”

  I frowned. “Stayed here? Why would we do that?”

  She just shrugged.

  I looked over at Darla, talking with some super-old man and his wife. “Has Darla said anything about that? Like she wants to stay?”

  “No. I don’t think she does.”

  “Do you?” Alex asked her, evaluating her. “Because if you do, you know, we could talk about it. We don’t have to live close to my family like we do now.”

  Josie gave a wistful half smile and patted his hand. “No. I love where we live. Besides, you might move. We have to see where you get a job when your residency’s up.”

  “But we could move, if you wanted,” he said, kissing the top of her head, giving me a pointed look.

  Trevor caught my eye. “Should we ask her?” he said out of the side of his mouth.

  “Later.”

  “You boys gonna dance the dollar dance?” Josie’s mom asked, one hand planting on each of our asses. She wore a tasteful light-blue dress and had on less makeup than last night. And her breasts were covered. Thank God for small miracles.

  “The dollar dance?” I asked. Alex looked puzzled, too.

  “You don’t know what the dollar dance is?” Josie asked with a gape. “Don’t they do it in Massachusetts?”

  “I got Cathy’s purse right here,” Josie’s mom said, pulling out a white satin thing with a long strap. She slipped it over her own head and shimmied her hips. “She’ll have a big wad of money in here by the end of the night. Man, what I wouldn’t give to have a big wad of something right between my hips.”

  I tried not to gag.

  “Mom!” Josie said with a long sigh as Alex looked like he’d swallowed a gecko.

  Cathy and Calvin came over and we all exchanged hugs and handshakes. As she had me in her arms, Cathy whispered, “I know you’re the more uptight of you two boys, and let me tell you this. You go on being uptight when it comes to those classes Darla’s taking at Harvard. She’s too smart not to be there.” The press of her lips against my cheek was sweet and motherly. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with a matronly woman who didn’t screech about toxins or obsess about my heart.

  Cathy pulled back and squeezed my shoulders just as Darla looked over at us with a nervous glance. While Josie’s mom outfitted Cathy with her silk purse, I moved closer to Darla.

  “What’s a dollar dance?” I asked Darla.

  “Seriously? You never done a dollar dance before? Haven’t you been to a wedding?”

  Trevor overheard and stepped closer. “I’ve been to lots of weddings. All in Massachusetts. And I’ve never heard of a dollar dance. What is it?”

  Darla pointed to the DJ. “The DJ plays whatever songs Mama already lined up. Then she goes out on the dance floor wearing that white purse. Men line up to dance with her. You slip a dollar—normally more than that—and you dance for half a minute, give her a kiss and a hug and congratulate her, and then you go over to Davey there.” She pointed to a balding guy who—

  “That’s the guy who put the shotgun on us at the rest area, isn’t it? Dewey?” Trevor hissed in Darla’s ear.

  “You two never told me about that!” I hissed back, old jealousy flaring up. I worked to control it.

  “It’s not much to tell. Davey’s my ex. He’s Josie’s ex, too.”

  “So we’re not the only one sharing women,” Trevor joked. Darla looked like she was about to punch him in the throat.

  “Anyhow—he’ll give you a shot of whatever he’s got over there after you dance with Mama.” She smiled at us both. “And that’s a dollar dance.”

  “So you’re
paying a few bucks to kiss the bride and get a shot of liquor,” I said, confused.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Why not just put more money in the wedding gift envelope?”

  “’Cause that’s no fun!”

  I patted my pants and found my wallet. I had a single dollar. “Crap!” I called out. “I only have a buck in cash on me. Does she take debit cards?”

  Darla’s eyes flashed. “You see a credit card processing machine hanging off a belt on Mama’s waist? No, Joe,” she muttered, reaching into her own purse and digging out a twenty dollar bill. “Here. I’ll lend you a twenty for my mama’s wedding dance.”

  “Um,” Trevor said, clearing his throat. He showed us an empty wallet.

  “What the hell?”

  “I have plenty in my account, it’s just...hey, how about a Subway gift card? It has thirty-two dollars remaining on it,” Trevor said.

  “You are not slipping a sub shop gift card into my mama’s wedding dance purse, Trevor Connor!” Darla said in a high flush, handing over another twenty from her own purse to Trevor. As she shook her head and turned to find her mom, something caught Darla’s eye.

  I put my arm around her waist and she froze.

  “What?”

  “Pastor Johns.”

  “Who’s Pastor Johns?”

  “Is it really him?” Trevor asked in a voice of awe. “I thought he was dead.”

  “Who is Pastor Johns?” I insisted.

  “The guy who found Doc Oglethorpe fucking his wife’s high heel in the church storage closet,” Trevor explained, as if he were describing a recipe for potato bacon soup.

  “Pardon? Could we parse that sentence?” I gave him a long look. “There are so many disturbing parts to it that we really need to examine it.”

  “I really don’t want to be beaten by the baby Jesus right now,” Darla whispered.

  I stared dumbly at her, then looked at Trevor. “Add that sentence to be parsed, too.”

  Trevor chuckled lightly and said to Darla, “He’s not judging you.”

  And then the pastor’s eyes clicked over right to her. She looked away and threw her hands over her eyes.

  “Erg!”

  “It’s fine. Remember? We don’t care what they think,” I said, patting her back.

  “And besides,” Trevor added brightly, “if he can forgive old Doc Oglethorpe, who’s shaking hands with him right now and smiling, he can forgive us.”

  “You’re comparing what we three do to a man who fucks shoes in a church closet?” Darla hissed.

  “You did it,” he said, throwing up his hands, “in Boston. And you thought it was perfectly fine.”

  Another story I obviously hadn’t heard.

  “It was my story to tell!”

  And they were off. The dollar dance started and I folded my twenty in my pocket, took a deep breath, and—

  Grabbed Darla and kissed her. As her lips parted I tasted sunshine and mint, sweetness and the lush promise of so much more. She was soft and solid under my palms, the thin cotton of her dress yielding to her curves. Her hair wisped against my forearms and I deepened the kiss, working to stop myself from even thinking about sensation and just being.

  By the time we were done we had a bit of an audience.

  Including Trevor.

  “Hey!” he said to Darla, who looked a bit dazed, her lipstick smeared all over her face like a two year old had used her painted lips for a finger paint project. “Save some for me.”

  But just when I thought Trevor was about to kiss her, he put his arm around her and touched foreheads. They whispered something and he took off for the line in front of Cathy, who was chatting up Doc Oglethorpe, who had managed to be first.

  “What did he say?” I asked her as Josie waved to us from across the room.

  “He said if anyone ever beat me with a baby Jesus, he’d sic Mavis on them.”

  I smiled, turned on one heel, and got in line for my date with destiny.

  It only cost me twenty bucks.

  And the giant chip I’d been carrying on my...heart.

  CHAPTER 13

  Darla

  “You ready?” We pulled up to an estate that looked like a country club in Youngstown. Turned out just to be Joe’s house. A light early-summer breeze made a row of lilac bushes perfume the air, like a half-sincere promise that what we were about to do was just like going to a garden party. Like we’d sip tea and laugh on the lawn while enjoying the sunny day with Joe’s parents.

  Like that would ever happen.

  We’d been in Boston for a week, and now it was time.

  We walked hand-in-hand to the front door, where I stopped, like I was delivering the newspaper or something. As if I didn’t have the right to go in at all.

  He reached for the doorknob like it was nothing and just marched in. Of course he did. It was his home.

  Inside, it felt like a motel. A really nice, updated one. Joe’s first impression of my trailer back in Ohio hit me hard.

  Oh, man.

  No wonder he judged. A mixture of awe and anger began to simmer inside me. People lived like this? Seriously? I’d been to Trevor’s house and while that was very nice, it had nothing on this mansion. The man had a gate to his house, for God’s sake. The only place with a gate in my life back home was the storage center where people rented a space to store their extra crap after someone died or got divorced.

  This was...wow. Three garage doors? And the apartment above it—that’s where Joe said his dad’s business partner lived. The one who his mom was cheating on his dad with. On the long drive from Peters back to Boston, Joe had opened up. Poured his guts out. He became a version of himself we’d always caught in glimpses and pieces.

  I loved every part of him, but this more open man was a joy to be with.

  Except for the pain his mom’s adultery was causing him. I already couldn’t stand the woman, and now I just wanted to throttle her. Instead, I’d stand by Joe and clench my teeth and we’d tell the truth.

  The truth would probably be worse to her than being throttled.

  Trevor was right behind us, breathing in a weird pattern of obvious anxiety. It freaked me out and reassured me. They really were gonna do this.

  Claim me. Openly.

  We walked into a kitchen bigger than my trailer and nicer than the best restaurant back home to find Mrs. Ross sitting at a counter top, chopping vegetables.

  “Joey!” she cried out, jumping up to give him a half hug, keeping her wet hands off his back. She did that air kiss thing. He just gave her a wan smile.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Here. Oh, hi Darla. Nice to see you.” Mr. Ross came right over and shook my hand, then gave Joe a hug. “What’s all this about?”

  “It’s so lovely to see you again, Darla.” Mrs. Ross gave Joe a glare that could peel paint. “Why don’t you find a nice young woman and bring her home like Trevor did at his parents’ dinner party?”

  Did you know that one simple sentence could suck every atom of oxygen out of a room and leave Joe gasping like a fish caught in a net, too stunned to realize there was no hope of ever, ever getting back in the water? Whose only future involved—if they’re lucky—being beheaded quickly and with as little pain possible?

  Huh. Me neither. But Joanne Ross managed it. Right then and there. Funny—in that moment she was just like Mama, catching me unawares when she made it clear she knew I’d been in a threesome. I didn’t think Mrs. Ross actually knew a damn thing about me and Joe and Trevor. She just blurted out whatever gave her a verbal power advantage. But it managed to sting Joe just like Mama stung me, and isn’t that something?

  Parents have this power over our sense of self like no one else in the world.

  “Actually,” Joe said, his arm sliding around my shoulders. It shook so much my teeth nearly rattled, but he did it. By God, he did it. “Actually, Mom, I did.”

  And then he smiled a thousand watt smile at me, a lock of dark hair falling over those hand
some eyebrows framing troubled eyes, and he kissed me on the cheek.

  “You’re dating Darla now?” His mom snorted and looked at me. “What are you? Like a sexual joint they pass around? Share and share alike?”

  “No. She’s my girlfriend. And has been for the past two years.”

  “Except for the part where I broke up with you two weeks ago,” I whispered.

  “Now is not the time,” he said through a clenched jaw.

  I shut my trap.

  Trevor cleared his throat and looked at Joe’s parents. He opened his mouth, even as Joe’s mom gave him a look that triggered every evil queen fairy tale moment I’d ever seen in kid movies, and just then, the doorbell rang.

  “I got it!” shouted a guy who could only be Gene, Joe’s dad’s business partner. He wore bike shorts and a tight shirt, and looked like he was one of those triathlon freaks. If God intended for people to swim ten miles and bike a hundred and run thirty or whatever you did in a triathlon in a single day, he’d have attached oxygen tanks to our tailbones.

  And just then, in walked Trevor’s parents.

  Joe

  “What in the hell are they doing here?” I bellowed, glaring at my mom, who was glaring at Trevor.

  Who was standing there, mouth open, hand in the air as he readied himself to say something. At the sight of his parents a red flush creeped up his face from his chest. It looked like a sinister fog, like something out of a Stephen King novel.

  Except it was his skin.

  “JOEY! RUDE!” Mom shrieked.

  “I’m the rude one? Jesus, Mom, I called you and asked for a private meeting!”

  “You never said private,” she said with a sniff. “You said you wanted to talk. As soon as I realized something was deeply wrong, I called the Connors.” Mom looked at them. “Hi, Doug. Hi, Susan.”

  They ignored her.

  Trevor’s mom raced to him. “What’s going on? Joanne said I needed to get here immediately.”

  “Uh....” Trevor stammered.