Truth or Beard

by Penny Reid

  I half rolled my eyes, and tilted my head toward the door to Daisy’s. “Let’s go inside.”

  “Are you avoiding the question?”

  “No. For the record, I was never in love with Tina. I’d just like some pie if we’re going to talk about this,” I drawled, figuring it was time to return her unfailing honesty with my own.

  I was happy to see Jess’s answering smile and nod of agreement.

  On our way in I scanned the diner. The place was packed, especially for a late Sunday afternoon, I didn’t see a free table. I was about to suggest we order our pie to-go when Jess pointed to two newly vacated spots at the counter near the door.

  “We can sit there.”

  Before I could answer, she pulled me to the empty stools. The seats were pretty good, all things considered. I could see the rest of the diner from our position, but the door was to our back. Nevertheless, it was a good place to scope out any booths that might become available.

  “Do you need a menu?” she asked, reaching forward to where the laminated trifold menus were kept.

  “Nah. I know what I want.”

  “Good. Me too.” She smiled, looking at my mouth like she was planning on having it for supper.

  I cleared my throat so I wouldn’t groan. Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to remember what we were discussing in the car. This was a mistake. Images of Jess on the hood of her Mustang filled my vision, the faith in her eyes, the raw want and trust.

  I meant it when I’d said I loved her type of wild and reckless. It was sweet, honest, and generous. She was a good woman, and I didn’t want her holding back or feeling like she needed to. Thus, I needed to settle on a place and soon. A place where we could be alone together, maybe for days, so we could do things right.

  Admittedly, my motivations weren’t entirely honorable; I needed to satisfy the relentless hard-on between my legs, especially when her honest words were playing on repeat between my ears:

  I’m trying to go slow. But, it’s not easy with you.

  I really like you.

  I’m thinking about you all the time.

  I missed you terribly.

  Being with you feels so good.

  I want to be respectful of you, of your wishes.

  “So, you were saying about Tina?” Jess prompted, interrupting the self-inflicted torture.

  I nodded, sucked in a deep breath, and opened my eyes. I found her watching me with so much trust and admiration I almost pinched myself. This was my reality, and one day she was going to walk away.

  “Tina…” I nodded, cleared my throat again.

  She waited for a beat, then prompted once more, “I asked you why you stayed with her for five years if there was no love between you. Why didn’t you move on? Date someone else?”

  What would have been the point? No one else was you.

  I shrugged, stalling, settling on one version of the truth. “Laziness and convenience, I guess. She knew what was up from the start, that I didn’t want anything serious with her or anyone else. Like I’ve said, she wasn’t my girl.”

  Jess’s lips slanted downward on one side and her eyes narrowed as they moved between mine. “So you’ve never been interested in anyone?”

  “I’m interested in you.” The words slipped out, her fearless honesty encouraged my own.

  “Hmm…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Yes. Hmm.”

  “Why hmm?”

  “Hmm because I feel like you’ve cheated yourself out of five years and the possibility of something great. You could have met someone, fallen in love, been loved in return. But it’s like you gave up before you even started.”

  “I didn’t give up. I was biding my time.”

  “For what? For who? Someone you felt suited?”

  “No, not someone. For you.”

  Jess’s expressive eyes widened, then she blinked. “You’ve been biding your time? For me?”

  Maybe I had to work up to her level of brutal honesty, but eventually I got there. And now that I’d said the words, I sure as hell wasn’t taking them back.

  “That’s right. There was no point in dating other people. No one else is you.”

  Her face both fell and brightened at once, like my words made her sad and happy.

  “Oh, Duane…” She sounded heartbroken and elated. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Stay… I wasn’t going to say that. Asking her to stay would be taking her dreams away.

  Instead I shrugged. “You could buy me pie.”

  Jess stood from her stool and stepped between my legs, winding her arms around my neck. She pressed herself to me, giving me a tight hug and whispering into my ear, “You’re a siren who doesn’t sing.”

  I chuckled, returning her embrace, and placed a quick kiss on her neck. I couldn’t quite swallow. My head was mixed up. What I wanted, knew, and needed didn’t align.

  I wanted her to stay.

  I knew she had to go.

  I needed to remember every day was one day closer to the end, otherwise her leaving would be my destruction. Maybe I wasn’t being fair, encouraging her to lose control while I refused to cede control. But self-preservation required it.

  She gave me one more squeeze, then leaned away. Meanwhile, I battled between forced numbness and a painful desire to give in, let go of my survival instinct.

  Jess gave me another adoring smile. “I’ll go get our pie. Be right back.”

  I let her go and she rushed away, though I followed her with my eyes as she walked the length of the counter and disappeared into the kitchen. My attention affixed to the swinging galley door for a long time. I finally managed to swallow around the thick discomfort in my throat, the painful desire to give in replaced with a cold certainty that I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair, not to me and not to her, because then I would ask her to stay.

  “Well, looky who we have here.”

  I stiffened in my seat and turned on my stool slowly—not cursing, though I wanted to. I was in no hurry to see Repo.

  “Repo,” I said, likely sounding as irritated and bored as I was, while my eyes moved over the rest of his companions.

  There were a few younger guys I didn’t recognize, a few I did. One was Kip Sylvester’s son, Isaac, and his presence was a surprise. He was a year or so older than me and last I knew he was still in the army. I gathered seeing him here, in the company of the Order, meant he’d been discharged.

  I had a few tetchy thoughts then—like wondering what his father, the principal, and his mother, the socialite, would think of his involvement with the Order—before my gaze settled on Tina, my ex, near the back of the entourage.

  I had to fight another eye roll because she was giving me one of her looks, all while rubbing up against one of the bikers.

  “Hi, Duane,” she said, flapping her eyelashes.

  “Tina,” I acknowledged, hoping my visible indifference toward her would hide my frustration at seeing her now. I’d been calling her non-stop for the last week. Beau had also been calling, trying to find a time to meet up so the three of us could discuss a plan for copying, then erasing the Iron Order’s computer files.

  But she’d responded with only text messages, telling us both to come see her at the Pink Pony if we wanted to talk. I wanted to go to that strip club again like I wanted kidney stones.

  “Oh, you don’t mind? Do you, son?” Repo walked toward me, lowering his voice as he approached. “Your girl Tina has been keeping lots of our guys real happy.”

  I shrugged. “Why would I mind? She was never my girl. Besides, spreading…happiness is what she does best.”

  Repo chortled, his hand coming down on my shoulder, and he shook his head. “You’re not so bad, Duane.”

  “I’m not so good, either.” I looked meaningfully at his hand still gripping my shoulder.

  Repo’s smile widened and he released me.

  He glanced at his entourage and then lifted his chin toward two booths at the b
ack of the diner. “Pay their tab and ask them to leave, nicely.”

  Knowing Repo, he was intending to occupy the two tables even though they were currently filled.. If Daisy had been here, Repo wouldn’t have been able to pull a move like this. But she wasn’t.

  The crowd of bikers strolled to the booths and I watched with mild curiosity as one of the Order’s members smiled at the occupants, withdrew several bills, and said something I couldn’t hear. Almost immediately the customers shuffled out of their booths.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Repo said as I continued to watch the scene at the back of the restaurant. The customers were now nodding politely to the bikers as they went. “It saves me a trip to your house.”

  My eyes sliced to Repo’s still smiling face and narrowed. “You need to borrow a cup of sugar, old man?”

  Repo’s eyes also narrowed. “I ain’t baking no cakes. We both know why I’m so interested in your ornery company.”

  I examined the older biker for a minute, peripherally aware of the displaced customers as they filed out of the restaurant. They didn’t look upset, but they didn’t look too happy, either.

  “You got three more days, son.” Repo’s typically friendly tone adopted a hard edge. “I’ll be expecting your answer.”

  I thought about giving him my answer right this minute via my middle finger, but movement caught my eye, distracting me. Distraction quickly turned to dread when I spotted Jessica making her way back. She was carrying a tray with four slices of pie and two cups of coffee.

  Repo must’ve noticed my redirected attention because he turned and followed my line of sight. When his eyes connected with Jessica he stood a bit straighter, his grin wavering then falling, like the vision of her was shockingly unexpected.

  Jess was smiling her big smile at me, but I saw the precise moment when her attention snagged on Repo. She blinked, her steps faltered, and the big smile fell from her face, became polite and confused. She made her final approach with hesitant steps, her eyes clearly wary.

  Maybe her reaction had something to do with the fact I was currently grinding my teeth. If my outward expression came anywhere close to the lethal impulses I’d barely restrained, I wasn’t surprised she’d decided to tread with caution.

  Obviously, I didn’t want her anywhere near the Order, nor did I want the Order anywhere near her. Thus, we needed to leave.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Jess glanced between Repo and me, not putting the tray down, like she hadn’t made up her mind whether or not the pie would be safe.

  “Nothing at all, Miss James,” Repo responded, giving her a tight smile and reaching for the tray. His voice was hoarser, softer than usual as he asked, “Can I help you with that?”

  He was acting like a hypnotized loony bird and I didn’t like it. So I stood and walked around the biker, stepping between them and intercepting his reaching hands by taking the tray myself.

  “I’m sorry…” Her gaze flickered to me, then back to the biker, giving him a quizzical smile. “Don’t I know you? You look awfully familiar.”

  “Maybe, around town. But I know your momma real well.” Again, his voice was soft, respectful.

  I tossed a furious look over my shoulder at Repo, not liking the way he was staring at Jess—all soft and revering, like she was some kind of fairy princess—then turned back to her while I set the tray on the counter, blocking her view of the biker. “Hey, can you go back and grab us some takeaway containers? We’ll get this to-go.”

  Her gentle eyes studied me and I saw a question hovering near the surface. In the end though she nodded and walked back to the kitchen, tucking her long, blonde hair behind her ears as she went.

  I waited until she was back in the kitchen before turning back to Repo and lowering my voice to a harsh whisper. “Really? You know her momma ‘real well’? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you say that?”

  Even though we were in a busy diner, and I imagined we were making quite a scene, no one was paying us any heed. I hoped the locals assumed our heated exchange was about my piece-of-shit father. It wasn’t unusual for Winston boys and the Iron Order to clash on the subject from time to time.

  Repo kept his attention fixed to the spot where Jessica had disappeared and ignored my question. “The Sheriff’s daughter, huh?”

  “That isn’t really any of your concern, old man.”

  He turned his black eyes to me and not a trace of good humor remained. He took a step toward me and lowered his voice so only I could hear.

  “That is my concern.”

  “How is Jessica James any of your concern?”

  He appeared to struggle for a moment, then finally said, “Because you’re going to be my mechanic soon—”

  “That’s not decided.”

  He continued like I hadn’t spoken, his glare narrowing. “Do you think you’ll be able to run our shop and still see that girl? Or are you thinking about double-crossing me? You think if you get tight with that family they’ll let Jethro off easy? That ain’t so, son. Because what we got on Jethro is a federal matter, not local.”

  “I don’t run your shop,” I ground out.

  The muscle at his jaw ticked and his black eyes turned as mean as I’d ever seen them. “Three days, son. Three days.”

  “I know how to read a calendar,” I replied through gritted teeth. I needed to grab Jess and get the hell out of here. Because if we didn’t leave soon I was going to sucker punch one of the Order’s most senior members and get my ass kicked by his younger brethren. I was good in a fight, but six against one were suicide odds.

  “And you’re a fool if you think you can run our shop and be getting close with that girl, too. She’s too good for you. Quit being a selfish fuck and leave her alone.”

  “Mind your own goddamn business.”

  “I seen it before. Some of our boys thinking they can be with her kind. It don’t work out. Look at your daddy. Look what he did to your momma. He ruined her. You want that for Jessica James?”

  “I’m not one of the Order.”

  Repo’s stony expression abruptly cracked with a little smile that looked more bitter than amused, and he said, “Not yet.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “The world is a book, and those who don't travel only read one page.”

  ― Augustine of Hippo

  ~Jessica~

  Two days. Monday and Tuesday.

  Two days of impersonal text messages.

  And all I kept thinking was that these were two days I’d never get back. We had limited time together, Duane and I, so two days without his company made me feel like I was being cheated, like he was reneging on his side of the deal.

  Since Sunday, the most intimate of our exchanges had been via text message, as follows:

  Me: Hey Red, want to get together tonight?

  Him: Can’t.

  Me: I miss you.

  Him: You too.

  That had been Tuesday around 4 p.m. Now it was Wednesday just after noon and…nothing.

  Therefore, I decided to force the issue. It was early release day, so I skipped out right after the bell and I made pie.

  As well I bought the ingredients for meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and collards. Enough to feed eight.

  I asked Claire to drive me over to the family’s house that evening, intent on making those boys dinner, but also getting Duane alone so we could set a few things straight. If I was being clingy and overreacting, I needed to know. Because I wanted to see him every day of the thirteen months, five weeks, and three days we had left.

  I wanted to see him every day, talk to him, listen to him laugh and make me laugh. I wanted to kiss him and snuggle against his delectable body. And I wanted to return the favors he’d given me. I wanted to make him feel good and treasured. All the time.

  As we pulled up to the big house, I counted the cars.

  Duane’s sexy machine (the Road Runner) was present, as was Cletus’s Geo Prizm. I was pretty sure the Ford truck was Billy�
�s, which meant the candy red Pontiac vintage muscle car was Beau’s. Four of the boys were at home.

  Claire—who’d been very supportive of my show up and surprise your boyfriend’s family with dinner plan—helped me unload the groceries from her car and set them on the porch. I told her to drive away before I knocked on the door. They wouldn’t be able to turn me away if I were stranded.

  Plus, I was holding a pie. This was a strategic decision. My momma once told me no one turns away a lady bearing pie. If you want to get your foot in the door, bring pie and hold it in front of you. She called this the pie effect.

  Therefore, with a pile of groceries on the big porch behind me and a still warm apple pie in my hands, I knocked on the door to the family’s house.

  The main structure sat on over fifteen acres backing up to the Great Smoky Mountains National Forrest. The house itself had a wide curving staircase, at least seven bedrooms, and beautiful large windows lining the back. It was a big house and had once been very grand. Over the last twenty or so years, the house, and the land surrounding it, had fallen into a state of messy disrepair.

  Winston was their daddy’s name, but their momma came from an old, established Tennessee family with the last name of Oliver, very high-cotton. The house had been called Oliver House until around ten years ago. Her father, Mr. Oliver, had been a politician, a man of business and of considerable money. Bethany Oliver had married beneath her station—or so all my momma’s friends had whispered after Sunday service—by getting hitched to Darrel Winston at the very young age of sixteen.

  They’d had seven kids, he was terrible, and the rest was history.

  The old house had no doorbell, so I waited. Only the butterflies in my stomach keeping me company. When no one answered after a stretch, I knocked again.

  After knocking for the third time with no answer, I worried. I glanced over my shoulder at the line of cars and decided to swat my worry away. Surely one of the brothers was at home. Left with very few options—either walk in uninvited or do a quick survey of the property—I decided to take my pie and go around the back. I figured walking in uninvited would be my last resort.