by Britney King
“She picked a rose.” I look down at the little girl. “And roses have thorns.”
She only cries louder. The entirety of her chubby face turns the color of the blood running from her hand onto my lawn.
Johnny crouches down, meeting her at eye level. He speaks in a calm manner; his voice soothes even me and it’s like I don’t even know who this man is. “Where’s your mommy?”
The little girl points to the cherry laurel shrubs that separate our property from the house next door. Johnny takes her hand in his and inspects the cut. “Ruth, go get a Band-Aid.”
“You go get a Band-Aid.”
He’s about to argue when a woman emerges from the bushes. “Lily!” She’s taking deep strides in our direction, and she’s out of breath. “Oh my God, Lily!”
When the woman reaches us, she drops to her knees. “You can’t go running off like that.”
The little girl’s sobs come in frantic bursts. Then just as quickly as the rain came and went this morning, she stops. She holds her finger up for her mother to see.
“Oh honey,” the mother says. “What have you done?”
“Only destroyed several of my flowerbeds,” I say, and I can tell by the way she looks at me that isn’t the answer she expected.
“Ruth,” Johnny coughs.
“I’m sorry,” the woman says to my brother. “I was on a call and I thought she was playing in her room.”
“Nope,” I say. “Not unless her room looks like my garden.”
The woman pushes up to a standing position and extends her hand. “I’m Alice.” She pats the girl’s head. “And this is Lily. We’re renting the house next door for the summer, and this is not how we planned to meet the neighbors.” She pauses, just long enough to smile. “And we’re both terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”
I am not expecting this response, and I don’t know what to say. No one is this kind on purpose. Except in Jester Falls. When they have something to hide.
“It’s no trouble,” Johnny tells her. “No trouble at all.” He too pulls himself up to a standing position, so we’re all just standing there face to face, unsure of what to say. “You’ll have to forgive my sister for being brash. She doesn’t mean it.”
“Yes, I do.”
Johnny is looking at Alice, and Alice is looking at Lily, and Lily is looking at me.
“You must be one of those women my daddy is always talking about,” the little girl says. Her mother’s eyes widen and her mouth falls open. The little girl sniggers. “The nasty kind.”
Johnny snorts. The girl peers at me with a blank expression. Her mother looks mortified.
I do a double-take. “The what?”
“I’m so sorry,” the woman says before she takes her daughter by her non-bleeding hand and practically drags her across the yard. “Come on. We’d better get this cleaned up.”
When the two of them reach the cherry laurels, the woman stops and looks back.
Johnny offers a wave and his signature grin. “Don’t even think about it. She’s wearing a wedding band,” I say under my breath.
He shrugs. “So? What’s that got to do with me?”
The woman listens as the girl points and then says something in protest. Finally, she turns and calls over her shoulder, “Again, I’m really sorry.”
“You should be,” I shout back. “We have a wedding tonight, and we can’t have some toddler destroying the backdrop.”
Chapter Eleven
Ruth
I’m going to put up a sign. I’ve fully decided. A sign that says keep your kids to yourself, and I’m going to stick it in the yard at the property line. I’ll have it custom made at Willy’s in town, so it looks nice. I have no idea if the girl is even old enough to read, and then I realize I don’t care. If that doesn’t work, I’ll look into getting an electric fence.
The last thing I need running around here is a reminder of what I can’t have.
“Ruth?” I’m spraying blood off the cobblestone when Davis comes ‘round and asks if the house feels hot to me. His face is worse than it was last night, and that is saying a lot. He’s worried in a way that makes him look bone tired and thin. I imagine Johnny laid into him good after what happened with the truck. He blames the Holts, which means he blames Davis for beating up Bobby Holt. By doing so, he put the rest of our lives in danger. I feel for Davis; the guilt is written all over his face. I wonder if he’s okay. But I know better than to ask. “What do you mean hot?” I imagine the house going up in flames.
“Hot,” he says. “As in the air conditioner isn’t working.”
“How would I know? I’m outside.”
He drops his head back and looks up at the sky. “I see that, Ruth. I’m asking if you noticed anything.”
“Yeah. First, my car got shot up, and I nearly died. Then I got trapped in the woods with Ms. America, which I wouldn’t recommend. She’s not the outdoorsy type. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, some kid tore up the garden. And now, I’m cleaning up her mess.”
“Lily, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“We met her this morning. Ashley invited her over.”
“She what?”
“Hypothetically, Ruth. She invited her over hypothetically.”
“It didn’t look very hypothetical when she was pulling up Mama’s hydrangeas.”
“Anyway—the AC. Any idea how long it’s been since it has blown cool air?”
“Probably since 1967.”
He rolls his eyes. It’s kind of pathetic, seeing that one of them is still swollen shut. “Forget it,” he snaps. “I’ll ask Johnny.”
“Davis?”
His back straightens before he pauses and turns. “Yeah?”
“Without air conditioning, we’re going to be in bad shape.”
“I know that, Ruth.” He says it in his usual confident way, but I wonder if he does know. There are caterers to assist and floral deliveries and a ton of things to do to make sure everything unfolds as it should. Davis never handles any of it. This is the happiest day of someone’s life, or at least it’s supposed to be. My job is to make sure it’s not our fault if it isn’t.
“Come on,” Davis waves. He turns off the water at the spigot. “The sidewalk is clean, and we’re going to need an extra hand.”
I don’t believe him. I think what he wants is an intermediary, and just like Mama, and apparently everyone else in this town, I’m a sucker where Davis is concerned, and so I go.
“I hate weddings,” Johnny complains. I can’t say I blame him. The sun is high overhead, and it’s sweltering out. He’s leaning over an air conditioner unit with a wrench in one hand and a YouTube video playing on Davis’s phone in the other. Johnny thinks he can handle everything himself, and at the same time, he’s pissed about having to help. His little brother insinuating he needs a YouTube tutorial is one more nail in the coffin.
Davis should know better. Johnny’s an expert in all things, and he’s about to make the rest of us pay for the fact that we can’t see it.
“They rake in the money though, weddings do,” Davis says. “And God knows we need it.”
I say nothing because this is a conversation I don’t want to have. I already know where everyone stands on the matter. Each time it comes up, an argument ensues, and then no one speaks to each other, except that living in such close quarters and running a business you can’t really help it. The subject is like lighting a stick of dynamite and waiting around for it to explode.
“Where’s Ashley?”
Davis glances at me sideways. “She’s taking a nap.”
“She seems awfully tired all the time for someone who doesn’t seem to do much.”
“Maybe you should try it,” Davis says. “It might make you a bit more pleasant to be around.”
I cut to the chase. “I wish you hadn’t brought her here.”
“You’ve made that quite clear.”
“I have a bad feeling about it.”
“You have a bad feeling about a lot of things, Ruth.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” Johnny agrees, which I have to say stings. He usually stays out of it. I assume he’s bitter about being elbow deep in the AC unit, so I try not to take it personally.
Johnny wipes sweat from his brow. Then he looks from me to Davis. “Ruth is having one of her episodes.”
I ignore him. Episodes are what the men around here call things they don’t want to deal with. “She said she’s a kindergarten teacher…”
Davis grins. “Yeah, so?”
Johnny furrows his brow. Even he looks surprised. This gives me a hint of satisfaction, or at the very least the will to go on. “Is she even old enough?”
“Don’t be catty, Ruth.”
“I think you should ask her to leave. At least until we get this thing sorted out with the Holts. I’m sure you wouldn’t want her to get hurt.”
“Like I would let that happen.”
“They won’t give up, you know. Not until they get their revenge.”
Tires crunching gravel steal my attention and the chance of getting a response.
“Must be Cole,” Johnny says.
“Speaking of Cole—” Davis hands Johnny a Phillips head. He’s looking at me. “Don’t you think you might wanna get a move on, Ruth?”
“I’m good.”
“Your clock’s a-ticking. If you want kids.”
I rip the towel I have thrown over my shoulder and throw it at his face. “Why would I?” I motion from him to Johnny. “I already have two.”
I storm off. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but at the same time, he’s hit a nerve, and some things are instinctual.
Chapter Twelve
Ruth
The sun sinks low in the sky, and it’s turned out to be a gorgeous evening. A cool ocean breeze peppers the air, and it’s clear out. Later, a gaggle of stars will be scattered across the sky. It’s the perfect backdrop for a wedding. The bride and groom say their vows under huge oaks with lights strung across the garden in front of four hundred of their closest friends and family, and it looks like something straight out of Home and Garden magazine. It’s stunning.
It feels like I’m finally doing something right in my life, as though providing exceptional weddings for other people will somehow make up for the fact that I’ll probably never have one of my own.
It’s not that I don’t want to get married. It’s just that I can’t get married to the person that I want.
Ashley and Davis are here, as is Cole. Roy stops by, but thankfully his appearance is short-lived as a call comes in about a group of inebriated teenagers causing trouble down at the beach. Johnny is in attendance too, with a date who isn’t the usual.
She keeps giving Ashley the stink-eye, and I swear she must be the only person in this town, aside from me, who isn’t falling all over themselves in order to get close to her.
Even I have to admit, she looks perfect. I wouldn’t have thought one could find a dress of that caliber on such short notice, here in Jester Falls, but Ashley proved me wrong. Although, I suppose she could wear a paper sack and still look like she stepped out of the Golden Age of Hollywood. It isn’t fair. Everyone wants to know where she got her dress. When Ashley tells them she got it at Anita’s boutique, she and Anita become fast friends, and Anita doesn’t like anyone.
“I take it you don’t like this one either,” Cole says.
“I just don’t understand what he was thinking, bringing her here.”
“Look at her,” he nods. “That’s what he was thinking.”
“I am looking at her.”
“You never like any of his girlfriends, Ruth.”
“Yeah, well, I especially don’t like this one.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much.”
“And why is that?”
He takes a sip of his beer. “Men never want what they already have.”
I think about this for a long moment, and I wonder if Ryan feels that way about his wife. It’s been a long time, and I wonder when is the appropriate time to give up hope?
Most everyone in this town would say it doesn’t matter. He cheated, and cheaters get what they deserve. I’d like to believe that were true, but I’ve seen too much to the contrary.
I search for Ashley Parker in the crowd and finally spot her on the dance floor. “I wouldn’t say he has her. At least not the way he thinks he does.” I motion with my head, and Cole’s eyes follow mine. “Mark my words. That woman is going to hurt him. She’s evil.”
“It’s tempting to see your enemies as evil. But there’s good and bad on every side.”
I take the bottle from his hand and toss it in the trash. “Who knew this stuff made a philosopher out of you?”
He smiles. “How are you doing?”
I know what he’s asking, and it’s a loaded question. “I’m fine.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Never mind.” He turns to face me and then scoffs. “Someone shot up your car and ran you off the road. But you’re fine. Why wouldn’t you be?”
“My brothers think Bobby Holt had something to do with it…”
Cole looks at me sideways. “And you don’t?”
“I don’t know. I think it has something to do with that woman.” I point toward the dance floor. He follows my finger until his eyes land on Ashley.
I study his face as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. When he releases it, he sighs heavily and looks me straight in the eye. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“Bobby Holt’s family is asserting—” He pauses and looks away, toward the beach. “His mother spoke to Gina, at the paper—”
“Your ex-girlfriend?”
“Gina, at the Gazette.”
“Yeah, your ex.”
“Whatever—she said Bobby Holt’s mother wants charges filed against Davis for assaulting her son. She thinks the police are looking at the wrong person in the Jenkins’ investigation.”
“I couldn’t care less what that woman thinks. That entire family is nuts. And anyway, it wasn’t an assault. It was a fight.”
I watch Davis standing at the edge of the dance floor. Half of me feels sorry for him, the other half of me is furious at him for not thinking this through. He never thinks things through.
“Either way,” Cole says. “She’s asserting that your brother is a violent criminal, and she wants it in print.”
“Anything to take the attention off the fact her son is a rapist.”
“Is allegedly a rapist. Maybe.”
“Semantics.”
“That’s not all. She’s threatening to sue your family, Ruth.”
“So let her,” I scoff. The words sound brave as I say them, and yet I can’t deny the sinking feeling inside.
“Gabby Jenkins told the police she never saw her attacker. So, if it was Bobby Holt, she isn’t saying.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It’s common,” he offers, cautiously. He holds his hands up, palms facing me. “Just don’t shoot the messenger, okay?”
“So…what…” I say, changing the subject. “You and Gina… You’re seeing each other again?”
“Not really.” He crosses the porch and grabs another beer from the ice bucket. “Just sometimes here and there.”
He pops the cap and holds the bottle out to me. “Care for one?”
“No.”
I watch his mouth as he takes a long pull off the bottle. It shouldn’t turn me on, considering what he’s just told me. But it really, really does. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good punch in the gut. Whatever it takes to make me feel something.
“Gina called me on account that the story she was writing had something to do with Davis.”
“Right.”
Cole grins. He stares at me for a long second, a strange look on his face. “Are you jealous, Ruth Channing?”
“Fuck off.”
“What am I supposed to do? It’s not like I can wait around forever.”
“No one asked you to.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ruth
The conversation with Cole bothers me enough that I go into full-on hermit mode, retreating to the kitchen. Not that it’s truly possible to hide at an event with hundreds of people, but nevertheless I try.
I’m in the kitchen simultaneously hiding and pretending to search for the extra cake cutter when I hear a commotion outside.
I stretch on my tippy-toes, straining toward the window, trying to see through the crowd. A sick feeling tugs at my gut. I rush out onto the enclosed patio, navigating around guests and caterers, holding trays.
When I reach the door, my pulse quickens. What I see brings up a mixture of panic and despair. Davis has his fist raised in midair. He’s straddling someone, and they are tussling on the ground, shuffling back and forth. Flinging the screen door open, I break out in a full sprint in their direction, all the while my eyes search the crowd for Johnny.
When I reach the two of them, I part the crowd. “Davis!” I shout, but it’s useless. My voice is drowned out by cracking sounds, fists slamming into bone, the kind of sounds I hope to never hear again.
At some point, someone pulls Davis off. Under him, bleeding on the ground, is a kid. Not an actual kid, but a young man. Maybe twenty. Then I realize who he is. Danny Vera. The bride’s brother. He stands and brushes himself off, acting as though he isn’t hurt, but when he steps forward, it is with a limp.
Julia rushes in to fix things, to get everyone’s attention. “It’s time to cut the cake,” she exclaims, and just like that the party resumes. A tinge of embarrassment fills the air, in the way that people want to gloss over what has just occurred, pretending it never happened, all the while salaciously recanting their versions of the story over half-empty champagne flutes.
The band plays a different tune.
Davis stands next to me, rubbing at his bandaged hand. Ashley checks him over, fawning like a mother hen.
