Keep It Classy

by Vale, Lani Lynn

  I took my seat next to Easton and spoke so only he could hear.

  “Why are you staring at that man so hard?” I asked.

  “I’ve seen him before,” he muttered.

  Bear Bottom was a small town. If he’d been at any of the places around town, it was likely that we had seen him before. Yet it was possible that we didn’t know him.

  “I have, too,” I admitted. “Might’ve been over the last week.”

  “I’m good with faces,” Easton said. “And I can’t remember where I’ve seen him before.”

  Easton was a goddamn genius. I’d figured that out over the last week of working with him.

  Not only was he smart, but his brain worked on a different wavelength than anybody else’s.

  Where my brain felt like it worked on FM, his was one of those that worked on AM, FM and fucking satellite.

  There were things he saw, clues he’d put together, that I would’ve never even thought to consider.

  Which was why, when he said that he recognized the man in front of us, I knew that the man was different.

  “Run his face,” I suggested. “Can’t hurt.”

  “I will,” Easton said. “I just have to get in front of him. Maybe take a selfie. Which is highly inconsiderate. People are going to look at me weird.”

  I cast him a side-eyed look.

  “That bothers you?”

  He nodded.

  “I don’t like taking pictures period. They’re a pain in the ass. Not to mention I’m asked every half a second by some random woman walking down the road because of all this hot-cop bullshit going around lately. All of a sudden it’s acceptable for random strangers to ask for your picture…or just take it. Whatever. It’s fuckin’ not,” I muttered, losing myself in my adamance that pictures were dumb. “But anyway, if you need me to take a goddamn selfie, I should do it now. The service is about to start.”

  “I’ll do it,” Easton muttered. “I think you’re more fucked up about having your photo taken than I am.”

  Easton had snickered when some random chick had walked up to me outside of the Exxon earlier. She hadn’t been very stealthy about getting her picture. Nor had she made an attempt to hide it once she’d been caught.

  Easton stood up and walked over to where the pew was empty two rows ahead, one row ahead of the random man.

  I started looking around, surprised by the number of people that were filling the room, still trickling in even five minutes late.

  I idly wondered if they were all here because of the wife, or because of the husband.

  I hoped it was because of the wife because it’d be fuckin’ awful if it was only due to the Hooch racing fame that half of these people showed.

  A few I knew were likely executives for racing. They were just too well dressed.

  But there were some that looked genuinely saddened to be there. Those were definitely the ones that were actually friends.

  Easton came back and sat down beside me.

  “Got my picture,” he muttered just as the attendants started closing the doors from behind us. “I’m gonna send this in now, but with the holiday, I have no doubt in my mind that I won’t get any hits—if there are any to be had—until at least two days from now.”

  I nodded once, keeping my eyes forward and continued to scan the room.

  The first eight rows had been blocked off for the family, and they took up almost every single bit of it.

  Hell, some of one of the aunts’ kids even spilled out into a couple of pews behind.

  Though, I wasn’t sure if that was by intent or happenstance.

  “Your girl’s gonna lose it,” Easton muttered.

  My eyes swiveled to Turner’s hunched form so fast that it would’ve been comical had it not been under such a sad circumstance.

  In the front row, Bud was sitting next to the grandmother, talking to her in low tones. Turner’s grandfather was next to her grandmother, and her father was sitting next to him. Then came Turner, all by herself at the end of the row.

  There was about a foot of space on either side of her. Enough room that someone from her family could’ve sat there had they wanted to.

  But Easton was right.

  When Turner turned her head to study the flower arrangement directly next to the pew, I could see the tears already coursing down her face.

  I looked to where Jubilee was standing in the back, her face a sad line as she also watched her friend.

  Our eyes caught, and Jubilee gestured with her chin toward Turner.

  A universal sign of ‘go to her.’

  I didn’t waste a second.

  Standing up, I passed the pews upon pews, and massive spreads of flowers, until I got to her row.

  I was sure that everyone and their brother was very aware of my every move. They were watching because normally one would stop before they got to the family section.

  Yet I didn’t.

  I went to the first pew, then started sitting in the tiny gap between the end of the pew and Turner’s lap. Turner had no choice but to move over or I’d end up in her lap.

  Which she did with only seconds to spare.

  The moment I was down, I lifted my arm and curled it around her shoulders, pulling her into my side.

  She started to cry harder and buried her face into my chest.

  My shirt would be soaked by the end.

  I could just feel it.

  ***

  Turner

  The funeral was awful.

  Just like I thought it would be.

  Unsurprisingly, it was a beautiful service, and I was very impressed with how well it went.

  The slideshow of all the pictures—the ones that I hadn’t had to find, thanks to my best friend being so awesome—was by far the hardest. I hadn’t realized that I could cry any harder at that point, but I proved myself wrong.

  And through it all, Castiel had been a rock at my side.

  He hadn’t complained one single bit, not even when I started soaking his shirt.

  Then, as the service ended, and people started to come up to me, offering their condolences, he was still at my side.

  It was as we were leaving, and Jubilee was asking us what to do with the flowers, that he finally spoke up.

  “The veteran’s hospital and memorial ground isn’t too far from here,” Castiel said. “You could take some of them inside the hospital, to all the patients’ rooms. And if you still have more, you can start taking them to the graves.”

  Jubilee looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. That actually sounded quite lovely.

  “Okay, I’ll have Mr. Downs load them up and take them there,” she said. “We’re going to have to take multiple trips, though. Are there any that you want to take with you?”

  I’d actually taken the time to go through them earlier. Looking at each and every card that there was.

  There was only one that I really wanted to take.

  “Yeah,” I whispered, disengaging from Castiel and walking to a beautiful spray of flowers that had caught my attention from my seat.

  Bending over, I picked up the flowers by the vase and smiled when I saw the card again.

  Not enough, but it’s something. -Castiel.

  I turned to find Castiel staring at me knowingly.

  “How’d you find those in all of the other prettier ones?” he asked me as I walked back to him.

  “They’re understated but beautiful,” I murmured. “And they were right by my chair. I had a lot of time to study the closer ones.”

  Castiel offered me a quick grin, and then looked at something over my shoulder.

  I followed his gaze to see Easton in the back of the room, studying the crowd.

  “You have to go to work?” I asked.

  Castiel nodded, looking reluctant to leave, but I knew he needed to go.

  “Yeah,” he confirmed. “We’ve already been here about an hour longer than sche
duled. We have to pick up lunch and dive back in. Especially since tomorrow we’re short-staffed.”

  I was nodding before he’d finished his explanation.

  Then I was walking toward him, pausing only slightly to set my vase down on the pew Castiel was standing next to, before continuing straight into Castiel’s arms.

  “Thank you for coming,” I breathed. “Once again, you saved the day.”

  He squeezed me tight, then dropped a kiss onto the top of my forehead.

  “I’d say it was a pleasure, but I’d rather not have had to do it at all,” he admitted. “But since I did, you’re welcome. It was my honor.”

  Then he was dropping one more kiss to my forehead, and I took the hint for what it was.

  He had to go.

  After squeezing my hip one more time, he stopped next to Bud, said some low, quiet words, and continued on to the door.

  It wasn’t until Bud was standing at my side and Castiel was walking out of the building that I realized Castiel hadn’t wanted me to be alone.

  “Let’s go home,” he said. “I know Grandma made us food and dropped it off at your RV. I’m starved.”

  We’d opted out of having an after-service memorial. Since Thanksgiving was so soon, we knew that people had places to be and things to do and prepare for, so we’d chosen to have a memorial service for the family about mid-way through December. There we would celebrate my mother’s life, and I’d get to split up my mother’s remains with everyone.

  But today, it was just about us. Dad, Bud, and me.

  But, looking at Dad, I knew that he wouldn’t be coming over.

  “You want to come eat at the RV with me and Bud, Dad?” I asked.

  Dad looked over at me and shook his head.

  “No,” he admitted. “I think I want to be alone tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll come over around noon…but tonight? I just want to…breathe.”

  I knew what he meant entirely.

  I also knew that tomorrow wouldn’t be any better than today.

  Yet I didn’t argue with him.

  Instead, I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight.

  He barely hugged me back.

  Chapter 16

  As a child, I thought I’d see the Bermuda Triangle. Is it just me or are you disappointed you haven’t seen it, too?

  -Text from Turner to Castiel

  Turner

  “Why are you calling me at seven in the morning?” Castiel grumbled, sounding half asleep.

  “I don’t know what else to do,” I said honestly. “I’m making the turkey for my dad and brother today…and I don’t know what to do.”

  Honestly and truly, I was lost. I had no earthly idea what it was that I was supposed to do at this point, and the only other option I had was calling Castiel.

  I’d tried calling Jubilee, but I’d hung up about two seconds into the call knowing that she was likely still asleep and that she had done a lot for me over the last couple of days instead of being at her honeymoon.

  “What do you mean you don’t know what to do?” he asked, sounding slightly more awake. “Do you not know how to cook it?”

  “I have the gist of that, I think.” I paused as I looked at the turkey that was sitting in my kitchen sink. “I don’t know how to do…the first part. The getting it ready for the oven part. It says I’m supposed to stuff the turkey with oranges and apples, but I can’t get the legs apart.”

  “Did you take the plastic thing off the legs?” he asked.

  I poked the nasty looking bird with one finger.

  “Ummm… I don’t see anything plastic,” I murmured, looking around really good. Then paused when I saw what looked like a zip tie at the end of the two thighs. “Does it look like a zip tie?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You should be able to get it off without scissors.”

  I paused in my reach for the scissors—he knew me well—and put the phone onto speaker and set it on the counter next to the turkey.

  Then I started to get the stupid piece of plastic off.

  Needless to say, I should’ve just used the damn scissors. By the time I’d gotten it off, I was sweating and cursing up a storm.

  “I finally got it,” I breathed, wiping my brow with my sleeve. Why was it all of a sudden so damn hot in here? And why the hell had I thought it a good idea to leave my hair down? “What now?”

  “Now you start pulling everything out of the inside of it,” he instructed, sounding like he was moving now. “Reach in there and get it all out.”

  I reached in there, and I felt something slimy, long, and cylindrical.

  I blinked and tugged it all the way out, instantly disgusted.

  Swallowing hard, I said, “There’s something that came out of it that I don’t think should’ve come out of it.” I paused. “I think I need a new turkey. This one is defective.”

  He sounded like he was wheezing.

  “There’s a neck that looks like a long, crooked dick if that’s what you’re looking at.” He was laughing now. That’s why he was wheezing. “It’s not the dick. It’s the neck, I swear to God. You have to get that out. Plus the bag of giblets that are stuck in its ass.”

  “That looks like a dick,” I said quietly, staring at the ‘neck’ in my sink. “Are you sure it’s a neck?”

  There was uncontrollable laughter on the other end of the line.

  “Swear to Christ,” he encouraged me, wind sounding in the background as he spoke. “It’s a neck.”

  I wasn’t sure that made it much better.

  “Now how do I get the giblets out?” I questioned.

  I heard a door slam, and then quiet again.

  I assumed he’d gone outside for something and was now back inside.

  What was he doing going outside so early in the morning? When it was raining cats and dogs? When he didn’t have a front porch?

  But before I could question him, he started explaining how to get the giblets bag out.

  “And what are giblets?” I asked curiously, doing as I was told and flipping the bird over.

  “They’re the organs,” he said. “Some people like to eat those.”

  I gagged. “That sounds disgusting.”

  “To each their own, I guess,” he said, sounding slightly distracted.

  “Do you need to go?” I questioned.

  “No,” he answered immediately. “I was just thinking about the rest that you needed to do to get that bird ready to go.”

  It was once it was all the way done, neck fat trimmed, giblets and neck tossed, bird rinsed and all the extra juices dried off, that it finally hit me.

  I still had to cook this stupid bird.

  I had to make a tasty meal out of a turkey for my family, and I’d never, not once, cooked a turkey before.

  My grandmother had offered to do it, and maybe I should’ve taken her up on that.

  Maybe I should’ve allowed someone else to help.

  But it’d been tradition for eighteen years that the eldest sibling brought the turkey, and all the other siblings brought the side dishes.

  I didn’t want to ruin the tradition.

  Then I started to cry.

  “Castiel, I can’t do this,” I whimpered into the phone.

  I wiped my eyes with my shoulder, one by one, and tried to tell myself to breathe.

  Yet it didn’t work.

  I was a crying mess.

  I’d woken up with a determined expression on my face today, absolutely certain that I would be accomplishing my goals.

  Except, now I wasn’t so certain.

  Hell, I wasn’t even sure that I could get this turkey done before dinner at four.

  I hadn’t realized that there was such a process into getting a turkey from the bag into the oven.

  And shit, I hadn’t even preheated the oven.

  I started to cry harder.

  Then there was a shuffle at my door, and then the door was opened
and Castiel was filling the tiny doorway that led up into my RV.

  Elation skittered through me as I stared at the man that was quickly becoming my hero.

  I ran to him and threw my arms around his midsection.

  And the best part? He wrapped those long, strong arms around me, too. He held me so tight that I instantly knew that everything would be okay.

  My grandmother probably made a backup turkey. And she also made a ham.

  If this stupid turkey was needed, I’d be royally surprised.

  My cries turned to sniffles, and soon thereafter, I was only left with the puffy eye feeling and the knowledge that I loved this man.

  It’d happened fast.

  I’d gone from disliking him immensely from the moment that he gave me a ticket, to knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this man was it for me.

  Castiel was the love of my life.

  He’d been there when no one else had been…and given me things that I’d never known I needed.

  “What’s with all those tears, pretty girl?” he asked. “Let’s go make us a turkey.”

  I reluctantly pulled from his arms, but before I could take more than a step back toward the turkey, he was pulling me to him and slamming his mouth down on my own.

  He pulled back with a grin. “Salty.”

  I snickered, then went up onto my tippy toes and kissed him again.

  Mine was sweeter than his, more of a thank you than a ‘I haven’t seen you in hours’ kind of kiss.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Cas,” I whispered to him.

  He winked down at me and then dropped one last kiss to my upturned lips before pulling me toward the kitchen.

  “Now, here’s what I propose,” he suggested. “I have to be at my parents’ house at noon. We’re going to fry turkeys, four of them, and I don’t think they’ll even notice if you want to slip yours in there, too. That way, you can come with me, be my buffer, get your turkey cooked, and I don’t have to be alone with my parents. Annnnd, I have an excuse to leave, because then I’ll go with you to your family’s at four.”

  I thought about that.

  “I thought that you didn’t talk with your parents?” I said.

  Had I just made that up?

  “I don’t talk to them much,” he agreed. “They’re too far away, and I’m…busy.”