by Lexi Whitlow
What?
“Second, I’m going out on a limb here, but you’ve had a lot to say. You’ve both been through some stressful stuff this evening. Justin hasn’t had a chance to say what he thinks. This affects him as much as it affects you. You talked about men controlling your life, treating you like a hostage. He’s the one stuck in this camper while you’re working. That’s not far off from being a hostage. I think it would be good to let Justin weigh in.”
What?
Jeb addresses Justin directly. “Son, I know you don’t know me, so I’m just going to ask you to weigh your options. Your Mom is upset and that’s understandable. She’s been through a lot. Probably more than either you or I know. You guys can keep running, or you can come stay at my farm, in your own house, for as long as you want. It’s on the water. It’s really nice. The food’s good. There aren’t many kids close by, but when you start school, you’ll have plenty of kids your own age to hang with. There are horses, and boats, miles of woods to play in, and swimming. I grew up there, and I can tell you from personal experience, there is no better place on this planet to be a kid.”
Justin hangs on every word Jeb says. It’s like Jeb’s got him in some kind of trance.
“Horses?” Justin asks, his voice small, frail.
Jeb nods. “Twenty-some on the property. If you want to learn to ride, I can arrange it.”
Justin’s brow furrows. “How much will it cost?”
Jeb shakes his head. “Your mom’s going to work for me and my mother, taking care of my daughter. The cottage you’d live in, it comes with the job. She’s already got the job. The only question is whether ya’ll take the house or stay in the camper.” Jeb smiles at Justin. “I guess you could park the camper at the farm and live in it there. That would keep your Mom out of trouble with the cops, but it seems kind of foolish to live in a camper if you have a house you can live in.”
I am so screwed.
Justin turns to me, his eyes deep set, questioning. “You’ve been there?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“And it’s like he says?”
I nod. “Better,” I say, reluctantly.
Justin sits patiently through this whole encounter with his chin resting on his hands, which are lying flat on the table, as if he’s trying to shrink into the laminate.
“You don’t like it,” Justin says. “Why?”
How do I tell him? Should I tell him? I’m afraid. I’m so afraid of getting tangled up in something I can’t untangle from. It nearly cost us our lives to get away from Joe.
“Honestly, baby,” I say. “I’m scared of being dependent on any one. I’m scared of getting us into something that turns bad, that we can’t get out of. We had to run. I had some money before. But what if things go bad again? It can happen when you get mixed up with people. We might not make it out again.”
I feel tears welling up, stinging my eyes. My throat seizes.
“I love you more than anything in the world,” I say, hardly able to get the words out. “If I fuck up again and we’re trapped, I don’t know that I could live with myself if you got hurt again.”
“I think I can help you with that,” Jeb says, reaching into his back pocket. “I was gonna buy a boat today, but it fell through.” He retrieves his wallet, opening it, pulling a stack of bills from inside. “Come to the farm. Try it out. If things go bad and you feel like you need to go, you can.” He lays a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills on the table between me and Justin. “That’s four thousand dollars,” he says. “Put it away, just in case. It’s like insurance against bad things happening or anyone trying to hold you hostage. If you never need it, it’s a good start on a college fund.”
Is he for real?
Justin looks at the money, then at me. “Joe never did that,” he says.
No, he never did. Joe took the rent money, the grocery money, the money for the electric bill, and he got pissed when there was nothing left to take.
I sweep the bills off the table top, shoving them into my hip pocket. “Let me and Justin talk about it,” I say. “If we decide to go, I’ll give you your money back.”
“If you decide to go,” Jeb says, “It’ll be a damn tragedy, but I want you to keep the money, so you never have to face a decision like this again.”
One Month Later
The table’s set, the house smells like seafood and summertime. It’s hot outside but almost cool inside with every ceiling fan in the place spinning double-fast.
Justin’s outside. He spent all day swimming like a little fish, playing with Manuel’s twin sons in the shallows, ducking under the boats, goofing around the oyster baskets out in the river.
I walk to the front door, peering out into the wide, green, acres-wide lawn between this house and Blanc-Bleu. Manuel’s family, Stu and Ally, and a handful of kids including my own, are playing volleyball under the canopy of centuries-old oak trees, draped in Spanish moss.
“Supper’s on!” I call, causing heads to turn.
Jeb, who was just about to serve, puts the ball down, calling everyone to the house.
He’s shirtless, dressed only in cut-off jeans shorts, glistening with sweat. I could watch him all day, but that would be inappropriate.
He and Stu both manage to find their shirts by the time we sit down at the table to enjoy Rose’s Low Country boil. There’s sweet, Silver Queen corn, crab, clams, mussels, andouille sausage, shrimp, and – of course – oysters. We have rice on the side and tomato and cucumber salad with honey and vinegar dressing.
The table is crowded with people and the bounty of our meal. Emma’s a little too young for the shellfish, but I’ve pureed some tomatoes, andouille sausage, rice, and sweet corn for her to enjoy while the rest of us feast on the season’s best seafood. She’s cooing and giggling while I feed her between my own bites of succulent Low Country boil.
It’s amazing that Jeb can gather this many people for a meal. He regrets not being able to accommodate more.
“This is why we had to pair the supper list down,” he says, emerging from the kitchen with a platter in hand, a beaming smile brightening his face. “The last oysters of the season,” he says. “I’ve had them in cold storage for a month.”
He plops the tray in the middle of the table. It contains a pile of raw oysters on the half-shell. Everyone at the table ooh’s and ah’s.
“You’ve been holding out on us!” Stu chimes, grabbing a deep-cupped shell filled with gray mollusk, slurping it down unceremoniously.
The rest of the table follows suit.
I look at the oysters. They’re slimy and gross.
Jeb turns to me, his expression determined. “I know you’ve never eaten them raw.”
I shake my head. I’ve had them steamed and fried. They’re good. But raw… I just can’t. They look like giant goobers. They smell like fish poop.
“Try one,” he asks. “My very own Sweet Maidens. I swear, one will convert you.”
How can I possibly say ‘no’? Everyone here loves them.
“They’re good, Mom!” Justin says, giggling. “Like honey nut butter salt water taffy.”
Even my own son has gone over to the slimy side.
Jeb hands me a shell, teasing me. “C’mon tough girl,” he says. “Show me that Hoosier bravery.”
I take the shell in hand, wishing for hot sauce like the tourist’s demand. There’s none of that available here.
I press the hard shell to my lips, then tip it up, preparing to wretch. The oyster slides onto my tongue like slick, viscous syrup.
It’s salty, then surprisingly sweet, with a taste of lemony grass and undiluted sunshine. It floats on my palate, a nutty warmth seeping in. As it goes down, I detect a hint of spicy heat, followed by a briny explosion of red wine.
Unexpected!
The pleasant effect appears on my face. Jeb offers another, which I seize on with less trepidation.
“My friends, we have another convert to the Sweet Maiden,” he says, fe
eding me another oyster.
“There goes next season’s profits!” Rose chimes, laughing at me. “She’s hooked like an addict. Jeb’ll be bringin’ in baskets full just to keep her sated.”
Jeb leans near, pressing another full shell in my direction, speaking softly so only I can hear. “They say oysters are the greatest aphrodisiac in the world. You should eat more.” He grins slyly at me. “I wish you’d eat them all.”
I bite my lip at his teasing. I should be outraged, but I’m not.
Jeb’s world isn’t my world, but it’s a good world. Justin and I are starting to find our way in it. Rose is kind and grandmotherly to Justin. She’s become a friend to me. Stu and Ally are fixtures, as are Manuel and his big family. Emma loves me, even though it’s only been a month. We’ve found our rhythm. I don’t need to try to be her mother, I just need to be here every day with a soothing voice and a warm, loving embrace that lets her know she’s safe and loved – and she is.
And Jeb… What to think about him? I blush to admit I think too much about him.
When he made us this offer of a place to stay, I thought the worst. I assumed he’d be like every other man on the planet and try to take advantage, but he hasn’t. He’s gotten Justin enrolled in riding classes, and he takes him out on the water to show him how to work oysters. He let Justin drive the John Deer mower while Jeb stood behind him, making sure he was safe the whole time. He took Justin out onto the St. Helena shoals to watch a sunset and the dolphins run.
But in all this time he’s never once pressed his case with me, even though I’ve wished several times he would.
The truth is that Jeb Ballentine is just about everything any women would ever want. He’s beautiful to look at, a hard-working provider, a good man who does what’s right, and he’s good to those who depend upon him. You only need to glance around this dinner table tonight to see that.
“To the founder of the feast,” Stu says, raising his glass, his cheeks pink with good whisky. “May you reap ten-fold what you sow.”
Everyone around the table claps and cheers, but I see Jeb go quiet. He tries to behave nonchalant about it, but a few minutes after Stu’s toast, he excuses himself, walking outside into the dark of the back yard.
Ally’s good with babies. She’s had plenty of experience with younger siblings, nieces and nephews.
“Watch her for a while,” I ask. “If she get’s fussy, sing to her. It doesn’t matter what. She just calms when you sing.”
I follow Jeb out, finding him sitting under the big oak tree fifty feet from the porch, staring off into the darkness, listening to treefrogs sing and bullfrogs croak. The sound of this place at night is like a jungle.
“Hey,” I say. “You okay? You bolted out of there in a hurry. Everything alright?”
I settle down in front of him on the wet grass.
He nods silently. I can tell by his expression he’s upset.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “This isn’t you. Something’s wrong.”
Jeb swallows hard. “You would be the one to follow me out here,” he says. “It’s just what Stu said; ‘may you reap ten-fold what you sow.’ God, I hope he doesn’t mean that. I hope those are just words.”
Jeb’s eyes go liquid, brimming with tears. His hands tremble even though he’s making fists, clasping them hard.
“I think he meant it in a good way,” I say. “You’re a good man, a good friend, a good son, a good father to Emma, a good employer to Manny, to me.”
He shakes his head. “None of that matters,” he says “if I reap what I’ve sown. I’ve done some terrible things.”
What’s he even talking about?
“I killed people when I was in Afghanistan. I killed a lot of people, did a lot of bad things.”
I stay quiet. He never talks about this.
“There was a boy, about Justin’s age. Just a little kid. I saw him die. I couldn’t save him.” His voice cracks, his broad shoulders heave. “As long as I live I’ll never forget that day. I dream about it all the time. That was the day I got my partner killed.”
I sit with Jeb in the dark while he recalls a long, painful list of his wartime transgressions. At times, as he speaks, it’s as if he’s still there. Nothing he says surprises me. Nothing except his expressions of guilt. He carries the weight of what he was ordered to do, owning it as if the decisions to invade foreign countries and wage war on the people were his and his alone.
I’ve had an idea for a while now there’s more to the brooding, occasionally swaggering, often focused-to-the-point-of-distraction, Jeb Ballentine, than meets the eye. That’s just the surface. Scratch a little of the veneer away and there’s a man with complicated layers.
He does nice things for the people in his life because he’s trying to make recompense for what he perceives are unforgivable misdeeds carried out when he was a soldier.
“My father always said I was a hopeless coward, constantly trying to prove something,” he says, wiping his nose, rubbing his eyes with his t-shirt. “He was right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have unloaded all of that on you.”
“Your father was wrong. And you can unload on me anytime you need to,” I say softly, offering a wry smile. “It’s good to see my knight in shining armor has a few rusty hinges. It makes you more human. It’s reassuring to know you’re just as flawed as the rest of us. You’re just better at covering it up.”
Jeb huffs out a pitiful laugh. “Knight in shining armor, huh?” he asks. “That’s funny. I wish it was true.”
“It is true,” I say. “Look at me. I’m living the dream with my own place, a couple good jobs, some money in the bank, and my kid is happy. That’s all because of you.”
Jeb shakes his head. “No, Maddie. That’s because of you.” He levels a gaze at me, his green eyes still vibrant even in the darkness. “You’re smart. You would’ve figured things out. All I did was speed things up a little. You’re a survivor.”
It’s pointless trying to convince Jeb Ballentine to take credit for anything. The only thing he’ll claim credit for is his Sweet Maiden oysters, and he even spreads the credit for the company’s success around to his employees and crew.
“Do you have any idea how easy you are to talk to?” Jeb asks out of the blue; his tone going low and gentle. “I’m not a talker, but somehow, you get me to talk about shit no one’s ever gotten out of me.”
“That’s all my professional training as a certified bartender,” I quip. “And the three glasses of whiskey you’ve had since finishing supper.”
“Is that what it is?” he asks cautiously. “Damn. And here I was thinking maybe we were getting to be friends.”
“Maybe that too,” I concede with equal caution, unsure of where he’s going with this line of conversation.
Jeb nods, thinking, letting a silence spread between us. Out in the yard and in the woods beyond, insects chirp and amphibians call out at volume.
“Back in April, I asked you out and you said ‘no’,” Jeb says, finally interrupting the night sounds. “If I asked you the same question again, would the answer be the same, given everything you know, the good and the bad?”
I can’t see this ‘bad’ he speaks of.
“It wouldn’t be the same,” I say quietly, feeling the hair at the back of my neck stand up with my rising anxiety. “But after all you know about me now, I’ve wondered a thousand times if you’d still ask the same question.”
“I’m still asking,” Jeb whispers, leaning in toward me, reaching up to take my chin in his fingers, encouraging me to meet his approach. His lips touch mine. They’re warm and soft. His scruffy chin is sharp against my skin. He parts my lips cautiously, carefully, tasting like whiskey and dark cherries, breathing me into his lungs. His scent, caught high in my nostrils, is of salt and sunshine and hard work. He smells of the ocean, and masculinity, and something else that’s unique – just Jeb. His scent is intoxicating.
I feel him smile inside our kiss, and that makes me smile. No on
e’s kissed me like this in a very long time. Maybe no one ever did before now.
“We have to go back inside,” Jeb whispers into my hair, his breath hot on my ear while stroking my jaw with the back of his fingers. “I’d like you to think about this, and about doing it again. Honestly Maddie, since you came into my world, there’s not anything else I want. I can’t see past you. Being near you every day and not being able to reach out and touch you, kiss you, is like living in a world without sunshine. The sun just rose for me with this kiss. I don’t want to go back into the dark again.”
Chapter 10
Jeb
She’s small against my body, light as a feather. I lift her easily, pulling her on top without breaking our connection. We rock together, our bodies moving in time like small waves rolling on the water, lapping the sides of my boat. She feels perfect, wrapped around me; her heat electric, wet, searing my skin. Her lips taste like apple cider and spice, sweet with tart, making me drunk on her kisses. Oh God, this is too good… don’t let this ever stop…
My eyes open on pale, early morning light. Cool, air-conditioned air blows on my skin, chilling me. It was a dream; a far better dream than I’m used to waking up to.
I roll on my side, pulling a pillow close, tucking it under my shoulder. The clock on my phone, charging on the night stand, reads five-fifty. I can snooze just a little longer. I close my eyes, trying to conjure the dream again and how Maddie felt, her body wrapped around me. I’m hard from the dream, and hard from just thinking about her. I’ve been mostly hard since our kiss last night, since realizing she feels at least a little of what I feel, since I know she might give me a chance.
Downstairs, making the day’s first coffee, Mama appears. She’s not usually up this early. Most days I have a half-hour or forty minutes to myself before Mama’s up and Maddie get’s here to see to Emma’s breakfast.
“Good morning,” I say, pouring Mama a cup before pouring my own.
She takes it, settling at the kitchen table, still dressed in her pajamas and a favorite t-shirt, barefooted, her hair a bit wild from sleep.
“Good morning,” she says, sipping. “Did you sleep well?”
