by S. E. Hall
And another.
Sawyer: Remember- I KNOW NOTHING. He should be pulling in any minute. DELETE this message. NOW.
“Jefferson?” My voice is shaking. “W, what’s going on?”
“Ah, allow me.” I jolt and definitely hurt my neck, snapping my head to the right so hard and fast I hear a pop…toward an eerily calm and composed Mr. Kendrick, approaching us in a leisurely stride. Swear to God, the man’s like a ghost, continually appearing out of nowhere to scare the shit out of me.
A very worried looking Mrs. Kendrick follows behind the said, scary apparition, at a safe distance. Don’t blame her a bit.
“Laney, please tell your son he has some explaining to do.” Dane Kendrick is daunting, especially when he uses that voice, to say the least—I might bolt again. Gotta be more than one dumpster at this place.
“He heard you, Honey. He’s standing right in front of you, and you’re talking out loud,” she rolls her eyes.
“Dad, I-”
“Oh good, the whole family came down! And look, you caught her!” Doug the salesman poorly times his chipper interruption. “So, Mr. Kendrick, have we decided on the Tahoe for you and Acadia for the little lady?” he asks Jefferson while rubbing his hands together, itching for a sale.
“Yes.”
“No.”
Both “Mr. Kendricks” answer at the same time, amidst their heated stare-down.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t had the pleasure. I’m Doug Lumsden.” He extends his hand to Dane, who shakes it, eyes still boring into his son’s.
“Dane Kendrick, nice to meet you.” Not that you could in any way buy he actually thinks so from his tone. “You caught her? What’s that mean, Mr. Lumsden?”
The portly man is all too eager to start blathering the play-by-play of Jefferson chasing me around the parking lot between his snorting, short of air, hee-hawing. And Dane, uh, Mr. Kendrick…if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch.
“Laney, sounds as if your son has been wreaking havoc on the innocent townspeople. What should be done about that?”
“Well I don’t know, dear. I seem to have misplaced my pillory and or whipping post, so I’m fresh out of ideas.”
God, I love her. That dry wit of hers is always at the ready, and hilarious…but I know now is not the time to laugh.
“Mr. Lumsden, could we please have a few minutes alone?” Laney asks politely as he’s already backing away, with a pale, traumatized expression.
“All right, now that we’re alone, JT, honey-”
“Stop.” Mr. Kendrick interrupts his wife. “Laney, take the boy wherever you want, to say whatever you want. Bellamy, you’re coming with me, young lady.”
What?
“What?” Jefferson’s bark is ruthlessly possessive. And welcomed…I’m so petrified at the thought of being alone with an angry Mr. Kendrick my legs are shaking. “Dad, enough! You’re not Bellamy’s parent and no way are you gonna reprimand her for something that was my idea. No disrespect, sir, but,” he steps forward, lifting his chin and puffing out his chest, “she’s not leaving my sight.”
Damn. I feel lightheaded, swaying a bit. Partly because I’m sincerely worried for Jefferson’s safety, but mainly, a solid ninety-eight percent, because it’s the sexiest, most romantic, gallant and swoon worthy thing I’ve ever witnessed firsthand. And it was for me.
A lightness, visible ease, moves over Mr. Kendrick’s otherwise blank slate of ice expression…and a smug smile emerges. With it comes a palpable levity, taking my deep, relieved breath for me.
“Very impressive, Son, but you can put a muzzle on that machoism. Who said anything about reprimanding her? I know exactly whose doing all this is. If Bellamy got past security and the pass code to our safety deposit box, I have far bigger problems than your impulsiveness,” he laughs humorlessly. “Bellamy and I are going to test drive this, Acadia, was it? Since her father doesn’t seem to be here, I’m sure he’d appreciate my making sure the vehicle is sound.”
Oh my God, my parents! I haven’t even told them about Jefferson; how the hell am I going to explain a new apartment and car? I mean, just the apartment…I’m not getting a new car. Surely my parents have enough faith in me that they’ll believe me when I vow I haven’t become a prostitute, right?
“You look as if you just realized your parents don’t know about your recent, big life changes,” Mr. Kendrick touches my elbow and gives me a “look” unnervingly similar to that of the one my own father would pin me with if given the chance. “You gather yourself, I’ll drive. Shall we?”
I nod and robotically follow his lead, glancing over my shoulder at Jefferson.
“Dad!” he yells.
“Laney, your son needs something. I’m busy,” he calls back. When we’re well away from them, Mr. Kendrick speaks to me. “Which one is it?”
“Sir?”
“The car you’re considering, which one is it?”
“Mr. Kendrick, I-”
“Don’t worry, we’re going to talk, while we drive. Now I’ll ask again, which car, Bellamy?”
I point with a trembling finger. “That one.”
“It’s purple,” he groans. Poor Mr. Kendrick appears to be color-blind. Should I tell him it’s actually a very deep burgundy and the sun’s glare is misleading?
I decide that’s a hard no, and say nothing.
“Your car, your headache,” he grumbles. “Better hope you don’t have a lead foot. That color will stick out to cops.”
“I understand, sir.” No harm in respectfully agreeing on a moot point, since again, I’m not getting the car.
Honestly, I’m still wondering how everyone misread my “run around the parking lot, weaving and bobbing between rows of cars, while screaming my refusal” as anything less than…refusal.
“Good. Let’s see how she runs, shall we?”
“I…um…” look around, “don’t see anyone to help us.”
He chuckles. “Watch this,” he says self-assuredly before raising his hand in the air for only a split second, when sure enough, good ol’ Doug appears out of thin air. I suppress a giggle, thinking back to mine and Jefferson’s dispute on “lurkers” and how Doug more than qualifies.
“Mr. Kendrick, how can I help?”
“We’d like to take this one out for a test drive.”
“Excellent! Let me go grab the keys and tell my manager I’m leaving.”
“Where ya going?” Mr. Kendrick instantly asks in thinly cloaked authority.
“W, with you,” Doug sounds as confused as he looks. “We have to ride along on test drives, sir.”
“I understand, and respect your position, but that’s not happening. How am I to have the private discussion I intend to with Bellamy if you’re in the car?”
“Well, uh,” poor Doug, he’s visibly sweating.
“Relax, Mr. Lumsden. It’s far from my intention to get you in any sort of trouble with your boss. Can you please take me to him?”
“Yes,” he replies glumly, turning to lead the way.
“Just a moment,” Mr. Kendrick stops him and looks at me, a certain, charming amusement I recognize well in his eyes. “Bellamy, when I return, I’d very much like to find you standing in this same spot, not bolting across the lot or hiding behind trash cans. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble with my head dipped, cheeks flushed by embarrassment.
“Fabulous. I’ll be right back.”
As I stand there, not moving a muscle, a thought hits me and I snicker aloud. I wouldn’t feel guilty taking the car if I legitimately won it in a bet…and I’d bet all day, every day, that Mr. Dane Kendrick comes back with the keys and no tag-along for our drive.
Twenty-Seven
Bellamy
SHOULD’VE INSISTED WE make that bet.
I’m currently riding down the road, in the Acadia, Jefferson’s father driving…only the two of us.
Nooo…not intimidating at all.
&n
bsp; “Bellamy,” he says without taking his eyes off the road. “I’ll start by saying, take a breath. Then keep taking them. No sense in passing out from oxygen deprivation. I’m not the least bit upset with you.”
I nod, sucking in air, sounding a lot like Darth Vader.
“Can you answer my questions without fainting?” He lightly chuckles.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you like this car? Which, by the way, runs very well and is of ideal size. Not too big, so you can park safely, and not too small, so there’s room for anything you’d need to haul.” He takes a right on Hammond, moving into the left turning lane for Bzoza Avenue.
I know exactly where he’s heading, but not why.
“Yes, it’s a great car, not much to dislike. But…” I inject stern finality in my next words, despite my chaotic nerves, “I don’t want it.”
“And why is that?” He heads down School Street.
My drawn-out exhale is much more complex than my answer. “Because…” I pause, weighing the risk between candid honesty and possibly offending him, deciding to go all-in with the former. “I’ve witnessed a lot first-hand, and heard many of the stories, so I know grand gestures like this aren’t unusual for your family. But for everyone else’s? They are. Highly. Frankly, it’s so bizarre and unconventional, it’s an almost scary type of overwhelming.”
With one last turn, we’re at the college softball field where Brynn plays and Mrs. Kendrick coaches.
“May I ask why we’re here?” I don’t play ball. This isn’t a “me” spot…not that he’d know what was.
“Because, you’re a lot like my Brynny, and this is where we go to have our talks. Plus, I can’t gauge your honesty, or what you’re not saying, while I’m driving.” He gives me an encouraging, albeit small, smile. “Let’s sit on the bleachers; fresh air always helps clear the mind.”
Hands-down the weirdest day of my life.
Once we’re seated on the opposite-of-comfortable, hot metal bleachers, he resumes the lead on our conversation. “If I asked you why you seem to be quite fond of my son, would you be comfortable answering me?” He stares out at the field, elbows on his knees with his hands joined, hanging loosely between them. A relaxed pose of which I wouldn’t have thought him inclined.
“I suppose.” I blush. “Somewhat.”
He laughs heartily. “Of course. I don’t want to hear any more than the somewhat.”
“Jefferson is…”
“Wait, and I apologize for interrupting, but you call him Jefferson?” When he looks at me, his widened eyes glimmer with intrigued mirth. “And he lets you?”
“He doesn’t let me do anything.” I instantly grimace at hearing the unintentional snark in my voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“Best thing I’ve heard all day.” He slaps his knee. “Please, do go on.” He props his elbow on the same knee and chin in hand, then a grin that I interpret as humored fascination pulls at the corners of his mouth.
“Where were we? Oh yeah. Yes, I call him Jefferson. And he tells me he likes it.”
“Why?” he blurts out. “Do you do it, not why does he like it.”
“Easy, Mr. Kendrick,” I snicker, wagging a finger at him. “You’re pushing the somewhat boundary. But I’ll give you this one.”
“Much obliged.” He grins wider and my comfort level rises.
It’s easy to see why the Kendrick kids are so confident, kind and well-adjusted. Their parents are open, down to Earth, and understanding…even their father, once you get past the scary facade and recognize it for what it really is—protective, unconditional love.
I have to go visit my own parents soon, suddenly missing them more than ever.
“Bellamy?”
“Sorry.” I focus back in on the present. “I call your son Jefferson because it’s his name, a beautiful one. And…because it’s something that’s only mine, ours. The way his eyes light up when I say it doesn’t hurt either.” I can’t believe I tacked on that last part.
“Hmm.” He rubs his jaw. “What else; why do you like him?”
“Mr. Kendrick,” I angle my body toward him. “With all due respect, sir, if I started listing everything about your son that excites, fascinates, lures and endears me to him, we’d be here all day. And while I could sing his praises all day and never run out of words, it’s hot, and these bleachers leave much to be desired in the way of comfort. So please, just ask me what you really want to know.”
“Okay,” he clears his throat and looks me square in the eyes. “Did you know Jefferson came from money when you started this thing?”
A snorting laugh escapes on its own. “First of all, I didn’t start ‘this thing.’ You’ve met your son; you know who started it, relentlessly. Not that I’m complaining. And I’ve been best friends with your daughter for a while now, so yes, I kinda figured. I didn’t meet Jefferson until well into my friendship with Brynn, but of course I knew. I don’t care, though. Money has never, literally, made my world go round. And, you’re not gonna start calling him Jefferson, are you? I told you; that’s our thing.”
“No, I’m not.” A small smile peeks out, then vanishes just as quickly. “And your new apartment, did you try and refuse that too, like the car?” His left brow arches in inquiry.
“Yep.” I bob my head. “Adamantly. Pretty much had no choice though, since he evicted me from the one I was in.”
His laugh is an animated, head-thrown-back, guttural release. “Is that what the lil’ shit told you?” He wipes under his eyes. “He doesn’t have that authority, nor did he have my approval. He was bluffing, Bellamy.”
I pop both shoulders; too late to do anything about it now. “It worked. He’s a damn good bluffer.”
“Gets that from me.” He winks, the irony not lost on me.
“That all you wanted to ask?” I lift a brow of my own; not angry about being investigated on my possible motives, none to hide, but not about to roll-over and pretend it didn’t hurt my feelings just a little either.
“Yes.” He stands, offering me a helpful hand. “Thank you, Bellamy, for indulging me, and for being completely honest.”
“You never have to thank me for being honest, and you’re welcome for the rest.”
We get back in the car, and it’s a long, strained five minutes before he breaks the silence we’ve returned to. “So, Brynn tells me you take a pretty full load at school.”
“I suppose, but I can handle it.”
“And you work?”
“Yes. I waitress part-time at The Pit Stop.”
“When do you find time to have the ‘college experience,’ such as parties?”
He’s slipping, about as subtle as a punch in the face. Must be the heat from our long chat throwing him off his game.
“The reason Brynn and I make such a good pair is because our goals and priorities are aligned. As is our party attendance record, or lack thereof. But you already knew that.” I shoot him a side glance, boasting a proud smile.
“You caught me,” he chuckles. “Did you want me to pull over so you can drive back?”
“No thank you. No sense sticking your finger in the icing if you can’t afford to buy the whole cake.”
“That’s one I’ve never heard before. A Bellamy original?” he asks…as he pulls over to the side of the road and gets out of the car.
He walks to my window and points from me to the driver’s seat with a deliberate stare that eliminates any room for argument.
With a huff, I get out and walk around, plopping down and adjusting the seat and mirrors without a word. I drive in silence until I can’t take it another second. “Yes, it was a Bellamy original, but obviously not a good one if the meaning wasn’t clear.”
“Bellamy, I’m sure you’re aware by now, but let me remind you. I’m married to the wittiest, most dry-humored smart-ass ever born. I know exactly what you meant.”
“Then why am I driving?”
“Because, it’s your car.”<
br />
“No, no way. Wait, why? What? Never mind, doesn’t matter, no,” I rattle off mindlessly.
“Breathe and drive, I’m not a fan of wrecking. And yes, yes way, because I like you. You’re a very impressive young lady. My wife and daughters like you. And my son? My son marched into the bank, unconcerned with consulting me or the fact I’d find out before he had time to exit. He stood up to me, in a tone he knows I’d never normally tolerate, to look out for you. He worked an entire calendar year, while also going to school, as a grunt-work intern with not a dime of pay to earn that Navigator. The one he’s so willing to give up, for you. I don’t want to insult your parents or step on their toes, and I’m more than happy to call them if you’d like, but you’re getting this car. End of conversation.”
Jefferson can read my expression, whatever the hell it looks like (I don’t even know anymore) the second we pull into the dealership, and comes rushing to my door before we’re even in park.
He jerks the door open, squatting down to my eye-level and rubs my thigh. “Baby, what’s that look? Are you okay?”
“She’s fine,” his dad assures him offhandedly while climbing out.
“Dane Kendrick, what’d you do? That poor girl is speechless and pale as a ghost. Your son is a grown man and cares about her very much. I swear, Caveman, if you screwed this up-”
“Woman,” he cuts off his highly agitated wife with a kiss unsuitable for public. When satisfied, he takes her hand and looks back at me and Jefferson. “Son, your mother and I are going home. Go sign whatever it takes to get your girl, who’s lovely by the way, her car.”
No other words are spoken, by anyone, and his parents leave. Jefferson finally picks his jaw up off the ground, and with a gentle hand, pushes mine back in place too.
“You’re gonna have to tell me that story one of these days,” he laughs, helping me out of the car.
I think I move my head up and down in agreement, too dazed to be sure.
He wraps his arm around my waist, placing a kiss on my temple. “Come on baby, let’s go get our new rides.”
