The Milkman

by Tabatha Kiss

  Kimber sits beside her with a mug of her own. Fully-clothed in her dress from last night and hair down, gently draped over her right shoulder though she takes no effort in hiding the scars on her face.

  I swallow hard.

  “Good morning,” I say, glancing between them.

  “I was just talking to Kimber here,” my mother says. “Sounds like the hoedown was quite the shindig last night.”

  I nod, easing closer. “Yeah, it certainly was.”

  She smiles, looking upward. “Ugh, I remember going to the hoedown all those years ago. In fact, I met Nate’s father at the hoedown of ‘85.”

  Kimber tilts her head. “Oh, that’s sweet.”

  “We went every year up until he started having troubles with his knee.” My mother sighs. “Good memories through and through.” Her eyes sweep toward me again. “Want some coffee?”

  “Sure,” I answer.

  She rises out of her chair and I sit down next to Kimber, silently giving her the best what the fuck gesture I can. She winces and raises her hands in such a way to explain herself but I’m left with nothing but theories as to how this happened.

  Mom plops a mug down in front of me and pours a healthy bit of coffee inside.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Help yourself to some toast.”

  I don’t. “Okay.”

  She scratches my arm. “You’ve got some dirt on you.”

  “Yeah, I must have brushed up against Gertie. She got out again and—”

  “Come with me.” She starts toward the laundry room just off the kitchen. “We’ll get you a clean shirt.”

  “No, it’s okay—”

  “Now, Nathaniel,” she says, not stopping.

  I clear my throat and look at Kimber across the table. “Guess I’m getting a new shirt.”

  Kimber cringes and silently mouths, “I’m sorry.”

  I stand up and follow my mother into the laundry room. I pass through the doorway and she softly closes the door behind us, her polite smile still plastered on her face until the latch clicks in place.

  Mom grabs a dish towel from the basket on the dryer and smacks me in the arm with it.

  “Ow! Hey!” I raise my hands. “What the hell, Mom?”

  “A married woman?” She snaps it on my blocking arm. “I wake up to find a married woman in your bed! You slept with a married woman in my house?!”

  “It’s not what you think!”

  “Oh, yeah?” She hits me again. “Are they divorced?”

  “Ow! No.”

  “Separated?”

  “No, but—”

  “Do they swing?”

  “What? No! Where did you learn this stuff?!”

  “I wasn’t always your mother,” she says.

  I cringe. “Ew. No, Mom—”

  “Nathaniel Timothy Scott Jr.” She whips my leg with the towel. “Explain to me why I found a married woman in your bed.”

  I flinch backward. “Mom, it’s not what it looks like, okay? I’m falling for her.”

  She scowls and lifts the towel over her head to whack me again.

  I raise my hands to block my face. “And I’m staying to be with her!”

  My mother pauses. “What’s that now?”

  I lower my hands an inch. “I love Kimber,” I say. “She’s leaving her husband. I’m staying in Clover to be with her.”

  “You’re staying?” she repeats.

  “Yes.”

  “On the farm?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “You’re gonna help me run it?”

  I drop my hands to my sides. “Yes.”

  She cocks her head, her lips twisting upward in thought. “All right, then,” she says as she tosses the dish rag back into the laundry basket.

  “Oh, so now you’re cool with it?” I ask.

  “I didn’t say that,” she says, pointing at me. “Good help is hard to find. I’ll take what I can get. The rest of it is between you and Jesus.”

  I shrug. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

  The doorbell rings. We look at each other with furrowed brows, she no doubt wondering what on earth I’ve done now.

  Mom turns around, throws on her smile again, and opens the laundry room door. “I’ll get it,” she announces as she passes through the kitchen and down the hallway.

  I go to Kimber at the table. She sits there with a stiff back and a sour, apologetic face. I smile and bend over to kiss her forehead.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” I whisper.

  “Is it?” she asks.

  I nod, meaning it.

  “Nate.”

  I turn toward my mother’s voice and any blissful feeling I have disappears.

  Three police officers stand behind her in the hall, Sheriff Thompson and his epic mustache leading the pack. He steps forward and removes his hat, respectfully nodding at the ladies present in the room.

  “Nathaniel Scott,” he says, “you need to come with us.”

  I stand up tall. “Why?”

  He gestures at Kimber. “Mrs. VanHouten. You, too.”

  I lay a hand on Kimber’s shoulder. “What’s this about?”

  Thompson glances back, too nervous to speak of it in front of my mother. “Just come with us, son.”

  My mother steps forward. “Now, hold on. I let you into my house to talk, not to drag my son away. You tell us what this is about right now.”

  He hesitates, flexing his jaw and looking at his hat in his hands. “Well, you see... Mr. Scott and Mrs. VanHouten have been charged with a crime... and we’re here to arrest them.”

  Kimber turns in her chair. “What crime?”

  He shifts on his toes along with the other officers who refuse to make eye contact with me.

  “Adultery, ma’am,” he says.

  My mother’s jaw drops and she raises a hand to cover her gasp.

  Kimber looks up at me, her face twisted in suspense.

  I snort. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Thirty-Three

  Kimber

  “Adultery,” Sheriff Thompson says again, his eyes barely falling toward me. “You’ve been charged with adultery.”

  He repeats it again, almost as if he can’t believe it himself.

  I look down as embarrassment flushes through my cheeks. Arrested for adultery? By noon, the entire town is going to know about us — if our public display at the hoedown hadn’t clued the masses already.

  I keep my head down, unable to even look these men in the eye, too scared to see their judgmental gazes — or even Madi’s. Christ, what does she think about all of this?

  Nate’s laugh breaks the silence. It starts quiet and low in his gut and grows louder as we all stop and stare at him.

  He stands up taller. “This is a joke, right? Did Jovie Ross put you up to this?”

  Thompson shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, son.”

  “Yes, it is,” Nate argues. “That’s not a crime.”

  “Technically, it’s a Class C misdemeanor in Kansas,” the sheriff explains. “So, yes, it is a crime.”

  Nate scoffs. “Oh, that is bullshit!”

  “Nate,” Madi says, “best you stop talking now.”

  I find my voice. “It’s Curtis,” I say to Nate. “Has to be…”

  He flexes his jaw in anger.

  Thompson takes a step forward, his right hand detaching the handcuffs from his belt. “You both need to come with us now. We can work this out at the station.”

  Nate shifts over a step, planting himself between them and me. “Oh, come on. Handcuffs, really?”

  “Won’t need them if y’all come quietly,” he says.

  “We’re not going anywhere because this charge is bullshit.”

  “Nate,” Madi says.

  The other two officers step closer, their hands hovering over their firearms.

  “Okay, wait...” Nate holds out his hands. “We’ll go. Okay? We’ll go in. Just...” He looks down at me. “Let me take her.”

 
Thompson shakes his head. “No.”

  “Please. She doesn’t...”

  My chest clenches as I finally catch up to his thinking. Getting arrested means going to the police station. It’s not the embarrassment of showing up in handcuffs he’s worried about.

  It’s the car.

  “Nate,” I say, my voice just below a whisper.

  “Let me give her a ride into town,” he says. “You guys can escort us the whole time if you want.”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” Thompson says.

  “Please.”

  “Nate.” I stand up from my chair. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” he says.

  “We’ll go,” I say, my knees trembling. “I’ll be fine.”

  Nate turns to me and rests his hands on my shaking arms. “Are you sure?”

  I try to banish the fear from my eyes but the look in his tells me I’m failing. “I’ll be fine,” I say again, convincing no one.

  Thompson raises his arm and gestures us forward with his fingers. “Let’s go.”

  Nate squeezes my hand. I cling to his side as we move through the kitchen, the officers taking a step back to let us through the doorway.

  We reach the front porch and the two officers split off toward opposite cars in the driveway.

  “Put him in my car,” Thompson says behind us. “Her in the other.”

  Nate whips around. “We ride together.”

  “Now, son—”

  “For Christ’s sake, Sheriff, look at her.”

  Thompson finally turns down and stares at me. I must look pitiful with my fingers clenched to Nate’s shirt, my face smothered with tears already trailing down my cheeks.

  He lets out a breath and nods. “All right, then. My car.”

  Nate maintains his grip on me and we walk off the porch. I move with closed eyes, my arms wrapped around him, letting him guide my feet.

  An officer opens the door for us. Nate’s soft touch inches to my back and I stiffen as I look at the backseat.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers. “Do you trust me?”

  I nod, unable to speak, and lean over to lower myself inside.

  Nate slips in behind me, his hands never leaving me for a second. The door shuts behind him, locking us inside, and he pulls me against him on the seat.

  I bury my face in his shoulder, clenching my eyes closed as the engine turns over.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” he says again, his lips on my forehead.

  His arms tighten around me as I start sobbing.

  Thirty-Four

  Nate

  I’ll kill him.

  Mess with me. Do whatever you want to punish me. I can take it.

  But her?

  My Kimber?

  Watching her fall to pieces in my arms was too fucking far.

  He’s lucky I’m in this cage.

  They separated us the moment we arrived at the Sheriff’s station. I was put in the empty cell block at the back of the building. I’m not sure where she is now.

  It’s been an hour.

  Mom’s gotta be in touch with our attorney by now. Any minute now, I expect him and the Sheriff to come back in here and let me out because, as I said, this is bullshit.

  Adultery? In 2020?

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  The cell block entrance opens. I stop pacing and turn to look, hoping to see the lawyer saunter in with that jovial stride of his but my guts churn the second I make eye contact.

  Curtis VanHouten.

  He pauses in front of the cell and slides his hands into his pants pockets. “Well, this is awkward,” he says, amused.

  I stare at him through the bar. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  He grins. “You know, I’ve never been a real big fan of Kansas, in general. It’s a little old-fashioned and boring for my tastes, but...” he chuckles, “the laws sure are interesting. Turns out, I can throw you in jail for fucking my wife and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  “Prove it,” I say with a shrug.

  He laughs. “They never would have arrested you unless I could. We’re way past that now. If photos of you tumbling out of my bedroom window in nothing but your skivvies aren’t enough, the countless witnesses of the two of your gyrating in public last night outta do it. I’m sure there are one or two body fluids still left to be found somewhere in my house. What do you think? Reasonable doubt’s gotta be on lock in there somewhere.”

  I straighten up. “Look, Curtis, I—”

  “Oh, I’m not done yet,” he says, his voice calm but cold. “You have the right to remain silent and I suggest you use it until I’m finished.”

  I close my mouth.

  He rubs his chin. “Unfortunately, it’s not a throw-away-the-key kind of situation. Thirty days. Maximum. Five-hundred-dollar fine, but—” He waves a hand. “That’s nothing. It teaches nothing. You learn... nothing.”

  “Cut the bullshit, VanHouten,” I say. “What do you want?”

  His brow rises. “Okay.” He clears his throat. “I’d like to take this opportunity to re-open our negotiations.”

  “What negotiations?”

  He stares at me.

  I blink. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Just sign it over to me and I’ll clear this whole thing right up.”

  “You had me arrested because I won’t sell you my farm?”

  “No,” he says. “I had you arrested for fucking my wife. The farm is just leverage.”

  I flex my jaw. “You’re insane.”

  “No, I’m just out of patience. Sign it over today and you’ll walk.”

  “It’s not up to me!”

  “Sure, it is,” he says. “Your mother is a reasonable woman — stubborn as all hell, sure — but reasonable. I’m sure she’d do anything to keep her precious baby boy out of jail and preserve her family’s reputation.”

  I lean into the bars as memories flash in my head.

  Waking up beside Kimber and gazing out across the fields on Sunday morning…

  I get it now.

  I understand what my parents talked about for all those years.

  I’m not about to let Curtis fucking VanHouten take that from me.

  “You’re not getting my farm,” I say. “Negotiations closed.”

  Curtis sighs, defeated. “If that’s how you really feel...”

  “It is.” I nod. “Very much so.”

  “All right...” He shrugs a shoulder and turns away. After two steps, he turns right back to me and snaps his fingers. “Oh, wait. That’s right. You’re in a fucking cage. Negotiations back on.”

  I roll my eyes. “Dude, the Bond villain thing is really lame.”

  “I’m just getting started,” he says.

  “It’s thirty days.” I shrug. “That’s not so bad.”

  “For you, the rugged farmboy, maybe, but… you’re not the only one I put in a cage this morning.”

  My chest clenches. “Let her go.”

  “Sign over the farm and I will.”

  “I’m not saying another word about my farm until she’s free.” I take a step back from the bars and cross my arms. “Your move, VanHouten.”

  He cocks his head. “You’ll agree to sign if I drop the charges against her?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said free. Peony up, agree to give her the divorce, and we’ll talk more.”

  He chuckles. “Did she tell you I wouldn’t?”

  “She might have mentioned your stingy ass at some point, yes.”

  “The thing about prenups…” He rests his shoulder against the bars. “There’s an awful lot of fine print involved. Sure, should we divorce, we split everything. It’s right there in black and white. But if she commits adultery, then…” He smirks. “Well, she’s entitled to nothing. So, really, you did me a huge favor.”

  I shake my head. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

  “I’m surprised Kim skimmed over that little detail. Then a
gain, I didn’t marry her for her brains, but you — of all people — understand what I mean by that, am I right?”

  I say nothing.

  “Sure.” He nods. “Divorce is officially on the table. Now, about that farm…”

  I stand still. “No.”

  “You know, Nate, I admire your courage,” he says. “Don’t think I don’t. It takes guts to admit to wrongdoing and accept responsibility for your actions. It’s just thirty days, right? Do you think it’ll be worth it in the end?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  He hums. “Okay, then. You’ll serve your time…” his lips curl, “and I’ll spend every single day you’re gone making your mother’s life a living hell.”

  I grit my teeth. “You bastard.”

  “How long do you think she’ll last?” he asks. “How many days will it take before she’s begging me to take that farm off her little, old hands?”

  Panic grips my gut. “You’re really underestimating Madison Scott if you think she’ll put up with your bullshit,” I say.

  “Only one way to find out.” He ticks his tongue at me. “But is this really something you want to gamble with? What kind of son would do that to his poor, widowed mum?”

  I hang my head. “Please, leave my mother out of this.”

  “It’s too late for that.” He pushes off the bars and smiles. “I’ll give you until tomorrow morning to think it over. I do want you to spend at least one night in jail, after all. You did fuck my wife.”

  Curtis spins on his heels and walks to the door.

  I squeeze the bars in front of me until my palms sting and my knuckles burn.

  If I give up the farm, I betray my mother. I betray the land my family has spent four generations living off of.

  Every day I don’t give it up, my mother suffers for it. There’s no guarantee Curtis will leave Kimber alone, either. He’s going to try and take everything I have in order to break me down and there’s no one to blame but myself.

  The door ahead of me opens again.

  I look up and my heart skips the moment I see those big, blue eyes.

  “Kimber—”

  She rushes over and thrusts her arms through the bars, wrapping them around my neck.

  I slip mine through to hold her by the waist. “Are you okay?” I ask her.