Beard With Me Page 11

I didn’t have to pretend to be greedy now. My mouth went dry and all pretense immediately fell away. Five thousand dollars?

  I could disappear. I could go somewhere else, live a different life. I could pretend I was older, get a job, just . . . disappear. Five thousand dollars.

  “Yeah, I see you like that. Good. Find that rat, Scarlet. Folks in town trust you, they think you’re sweet. If anyone can do it, you can.” He was suddenly walking toward me.

  I’d been so preoccupied by the dollar amount, I hadn’t realized he’d already picked out the knife he’d be using. Shaking myself, I blinked, the task at hand coming sharply into focus. Razor took one last drag from the cigarette, the spark of life behind his eyes telling me I’d made him happy, and then flicked it to the ground.

  “Uh, where? Where do you want to cut?” I asked, swallowing the last word. Oh God. Here it comes. Here it comes.

  “Your back.” His eyes dropped. “I’m not finished there yet.”

  I nodded and turned, lifting the shirt high to my shoulders so that my entire back was exposed, the air in my lungs a dead weight. I felt myself sway a little, dizzy, but quickly gathered a deep breath and grit my teeth. I couldn’t faint. I couldn’t. If I did, it’d be ten times worse.

  Pull yourself together. Build a wall. One brick at a time. Don’t let anything in. Don’t let him in. Get through this. Just get through it.

  “Thank you,” I heard him say, his tone reverent, almost kind. “You’re a good girl, Scarlet. You’re daddy’s good girl.”

  I closed my eyes. I built a wall, one brick at a time, and nothing got in. Not a thing.

  I felt nothing.

  I didn’t stay after.

  I found Repo in the office closest to the back stairs on the main level and—as my father instructed—told him to give me the money I’d earned. He did, from that same wad of cash he’d taken out earlier.

  I don’t know what his thoughts or feelings were handing over the money, since I didn’t look at him and he didn’t speak, but I got the sense he wanted to say something. I didn’t care to listen, so once the bills were in my fist, I walked out, forgetting about my plan to eat breakfast. I wasn’t hungry anyway.

  Five thousand dollars.

  My father always cleaned me off and put a big bandage over the spot after, taking as much care with the wound as he did with inflicting it. So I didn’t have to worry about bleeding through my shirt anytime soon. But I’d have to change the dressing tonight, before I went to bed. I didn’t have any oversized Band-Aids, disinfectant, and such at the camp, so I decided to stop by the store on the way.

  The walk was long, but it was downhill. My back hurt, every step irritating the spot. The cold helped. Also, to my everlasting shame, I couldn’t stop imagining myself boarding a bus with five thousand dollars in my pocket.

  I know who did it. I could leave all this behind. I could just disappear. But that would mean turning in Carla . . .

  I had no idea how long I walked—an angel on one shoulder, a devil on the other—but I was just about to take my exit off the Parkway when I heard the first car of the morning coming up behind me. Careful to step off the asphalt and into the gravel, I kept walking. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, folks just drove on past. Every once in a blue moon, someone would pull to the side, ask me if I needed help. I wasn’t in a mood for talking, so I hoped this car would be the former.

  But no. I heard the car decelerate.

  Head down. Ignore. If the driver didn’t take the hint, I’d be more than happy to run into the forest until they left. Yeah, I’d probably bleed all over my shirt, and that would hurt like hell, but the shirt was black so I didn’t have to worry about a stain showing through. No big deal.

  The front of the truck came into view and the car slowed to keep pace with me. Once the driver’s side window began rolling down, I took a deep breath and prepared to run.

  But then a familiar voice said, “Scarlet?”

  I glanced over and my surprise stopped me in my tracks. “Ben?”

  He gave me a big smile. “I thought that was you. How are you? What’re you doing out here?”

  “Oh, I, uh . . .” I rubbed my forehead, shaking my head, forcing a laugh. I looked a mess—dirty hair, clothes, and such. I didn’t care. However, if this had been almost any other day, I would’ve been embarrassed for Ben to see me like this. I was still numb. That was good, otherwise I was going to cry.

  Inhaling deeply, I managed a small smile. “I’m good. Just, you know, walking.”

  “On the Parkway?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ben looked at me like I was funny. “Well, do you want a ride?”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “I was on my way to the store. Would you mind giving me a ride?”

  “Sure.” He seemed puzzled—likely because I was nowhere near the store—but he didn’t hesitate to hop out of his truck and circle around the front, opening the passenger side door. “I’ll drive you.”

  “Thank you,” I said robotically and climbed up to the seat. Once he shut the door, I settled on the edge of the bench, sitting as far forward as I could.

  He walked around the truck bed this time to the driver’s side. Once he was back in, he glanced at me, did a double take, and frowned.

  If he says something about my dirty hair, I will punch him in the face.

  “Scarlet, you should wear a seatbelt.”

  “Oh. Yes.” And that’s when I realized what I’d been doing, perched on the edge so my back wouldn’t touch the cushion behind me.

  Gritting my teeth against the pain, I skootched backward and reached for the seatbelt, holding my breath while I twisted to buckle it.

  “There.” He grinned at me, obviously not even noticing I looked so out of sorts. Good. He put the car in drive. “I’m glad I happened by.”

  “Me too,” I said, but I knew it lacked feeling. Nothing much to do about that.

  I felt his eyes on me again, intermittently as he drove. “Is something wrong?”

  Keeping my eyes forward, I said, “Oh, I hurt my back a little. That’s all.”

  He was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “Are you upset with me about something?”

  I shook my head. “No. Just tired.”

  “Yeah. I feel that. I drove back from Nashville on Friday and I still haven’t recovered.” He chuckled.

  When I didn’t echo his laugh, I heard him clear his throat. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No.” I forced myself to meet his gaze and smile widely. “Of course not. I’m tired. That’s it. I promise.”

  He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded, concentrating on the road again.

  “Really, Ben. It’s not you.”

  He nodded again, not looking at me, but when he spoke again his voice sounded strained, “Hey, so, aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  I glanced out the window on my side, bracing my elbow on the sill so my back wouldn’t jostle against the seat as much while he drove. “I’m out sick today.”

  We drove in silence for a bit, him with his thoughts, me with mine. Honestly, I didn’t have many thoughts other than the list of things I was getting from the store.

  Then, as soon as the grocery sign was in sight, he asked, “Are you sure you’re not upset with me about something?”

  “It’s honestly just my—uh—I’m tired. It’ll be better tomorrow, but I’ll probably stay home anyway. There’s the Piggly Wiggly. You don’t have to take me to the front.”

  Ben was quiet as he pulled into the lot, placing his car in park. I turned to unfasten my seatbelt, again holding my breath, and he covered my hands, stopping me.

  I looked at him.

  He was smiling. Why is he smiling? It looked . . . shy.

  “Well, if you’re not going to school tomorrow, can I take you out for breakfast? Or how about lunch?”

  I required several seconds to understand his words, and when I did, I could only repeat them, “Out for breakfast?”

  “Yeah.
How about Daisy’s? I always get a milkshake for breakfast if I go there. Have you ever done that?”

  In a daze, I shook my head. “I haven’t done that.”

  “Then it’s settled. Where should I pick you up?”

  “The Corner Shoppe.” The words were out of my mouth without me even thinking them.

  His smile spread, looking pleased. “All right then. I’ll pick you up at ten, Corner Shoppe. And we’ll have milkshakes.”

  Not waiting for me to respond, Ben opened his door, jumped out, and walked around the front toward mine. He handed me down, still smiling, and then gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, like he couldn’t help himself.

  “You’re not allowed to change your mind and you’re not allowed to be late,” he said, walking away with a spring in his step.

  I watched him leave the parking lot and make a right onto the main street. I watched his car until it disappeared. And then I stood there for a while longer, still numb.

  Chapter Eight

  *Billy*

  “She tries to wear her pain on the inside. She always has. It’s the trademark of the oldest sibling, I think.”

  Laura Miller, My Butterfly

  “I hoped you’d be here, and here you are!” Samantha clapped her hands together, a giant grin on her face.

  “Hey, Sam.” I rocked backward on my heels, unable to hide my confusion. “What’re you doing here?”

  She pushed past me. “Well, I know y’all don’t have football practice this week, so I thought maybe you’d be at the mill, working. But then I thought you might be here, so I drove over and—presto abracadabra voila!—here you are.”

  I turned as she spoke, shutting the door behind me and following her into the family room, wishing she’d called first.

  “Here I am. Just trying to get some studying done.”

  “Studying?” She scrunched her face, spinning in a circle and looking around as she took off her jacket. She was wearing a tank top, revealing her tanned arms, neck and chest. Sam’s maternal grandparents were originally from Iraq and she’d inherited her mother’s dark brown hair and olive-toned skin as well as her father’s green-blue eyes. It was a striking combination. “Who else is here? Is your momma here?”

  “No.” I meandered further into the room. “Just me.”

  I didn’t get three steps inside before she wrapped her arms around my neck and fastened her mouth to mine. She kissed me, her hands moving down my shirt, lifting the edge of it.

  I caught her fingers before they made contact with my stomach. “Whoa, now.” Tearing my mouth away, I set her back. “Sam, wait a minute.”

  “I don’t want to wait anymore.” She came at me again.

  I held my hands up, sidestepping. “Now isn’t a good time. I have a test tomorrow.”

  She made a pouty face, placing her hands on her hips. “In trig? Ugh! Carrie told me that too. Who gives a big test on a half day? Right before Thanksgiving.”

  I shrugged tiredly, turning for the dining room where I had my stuff all spread out. “If you want to sit for a while or have something to drink before you go, help yourself. I think Roscoe made lemonade.”

  Samantha came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my torso, forcing me to walk with her plastered to my back. “I miss you, Billy. Promise me we’ll have some time this weekend for fun stuff. I don’t know how much longer I can wait.”

  I peeled her off and pulled out a chair for her at the table. “Sit here. You want something to drink?”

  She plopped into it, giving me a dark look. “No, I don’t want something to drink.” Then she straightened, smiling. “I could give you a blow job while you study.”

  I paused halfway to my seat, my mouth falling open and along with it a laugh tumbled out. “Uh, that’s awfully nice of you but—”

  “Then you could return the favor.”

  As I sat, I frowned at her. She was wagging her eyebrows, leaning forward.

  “Sam. I really do have to study. This test is important.”

  “Okay.” She leaned back. Pouting, sighing dramatically, she rolled her eyes. “I guess learning stuff is ‘important.’”

  She put the word important in air quotes and it made me smile. She could be funny when she wanted to be. “So, what are your plans for Thanksgiving?”

  Samantha’s attention had dropped to the tabletop. She was using her thumb to scrape at something. “If I asked you for your letterman jacket, would you give it to me?”

  Lifting an eyebrow at the unexpected question, I sat back in my chair, resting my elbows on the armrests. “You want my jacket?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Is that something people still do?”

  “We could make it popular again. I’ll give you my jacket!”

  I chuckled, my eyes moving over her tiny body. “And I’d what? Use it as a scarf?”

  She smiled, laughing too. But then her smile fell. She looked sad.

  “Billy.”

  “Sam.”

  Lifting her gaze over my head, she asked, “If we aren’t going to have sex, then why’re we together?”

  My mouth curved just slightly. “We like each other?”

  “Like? Blah!” She made a wincing face and shook her head. “Sorry, no. I don’t like anyone enough to date them but not have sex with them ever again. I put up with that from Ben McClure for a year and those are months of my life I can’t ever get back. Besides, sexless fun is what friends are for.”

  That made me laugh, and I shook my head, turning my attention back to my trig book.

  “Billy.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you want my body?”

  “Always.” I scanned the practice test questions, happy to find they all looked easy enough.

  “That didn’t sound convincing.”

  “What?”

  “Billy.” A hint of pleading entered her voice. “We don’t have much time. Your momma will be home by six, right?”

  Setting my teeth, I glanced up again. “Sorry. I got a lot on my mind. And I need to—”

  “—study for the test. I know.” Her gaze softened. “I guess I know you do. I mean, I know you do. You have lots going on . . .”

  We looked at each other for a stretch, and her cagey expression gave me the sense she was wanting to tell me something but wasn’t so sure how I’d react.

  So I prompted, “You got something to tell me?”

  “I feel like you don’t have time for me.”

  When I didn’t respond, because I didn’t know what to say and because she was kinda right, she stood suddenly, her hands coming to her face. “Just forget I said anything.”

  “Sam—”

  “No. It’s fine.” She darted out of the dining room.

  I stood, followed her, caught her hand and tugged until she turned to face me. “Wait. It’s not fine.”

  “No. It is fine.” Her arms came around my neck and she kissed me real fast, once on the lips. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Everything is fine. I can wait until you’re not so busy. I just miss you. I even miss your scruffy beard. . .” She tilted her head to the side and pressed herself against me, her movements both agitated and desperate. “And also your body, okay? I miss your body. A lot.”

  I gave her a small smile, waiting for some flicker of similar desperation in me, but all I felt was warm affection and exhaustion. “I miss yours too.”

  She made a face, her eyes searching mine. “Billy. I want you to promise me something.”

  “Anything.”

  “As soon as you’re tired of me—”

  “Sam—”

  “No. Listen, okay. As soon as you’re not thinking about me every day; as soon as I’m not your first thought in the morning; I want you to break up with me.”

  I reared back and I blinked at her, stunned.

  “’Cause that’s how I feel about you,” she continued, looking nervous. “I think about you all the time. I can’t concentrate on anything, because I just want to be with you
. . . all the time.” She bit her lip, her eyes growing big, and then she blurted, “I love you.”

  We stared at each other. She’d never said those words before.

  Damn.

  I didn’t like to think myself a coward, but right then, in that moment, faced with a good, kind woman offering me her heart, I didn’t know if I had the strength to admit the truth to her.

  Turns out, I didn’t have to.

  Her arms fell from my neck, and she stepped back, her eyes sad. So sad. “You don’t feel the same.”

  “Sam.” I couldn’t catch my breath, but I did try to catch her hand again. She moved out of my reach.

  A laugh escaped her, and she clamped her hand over her mouth, water pooling in her eyes.

  I breathed out remorse for not feeling enough. “I really—”

  “Like me. You really like me.”

  “I do.”

  “As a friend,” she said, a tear trailing down her cheek.

  I grimaced, that wasn’t true. I was attracted to her, and I liked the stuff we’d done, and being with her was fun. But I went days without thinking about her. And when I did think about her, it was more like a task I needed to cross off a list.

  I had so much on my mind, she didn’t fill my thoughts and heart. Maybe I didn’t have the space to spare. Maybe my family would always have the lion’s share of my attention and focus. Whatever. It didn’t matter. My reasons didn’t matter. I didn’t want Sam like she wanted me, not like she deserved. And now I knew it, and she did too.

  In the next moment, she’d straightened her spine and lifted her chin, sniffling and swiping away tears, her eyes darting everywhere but at me. “Well. Okay then. I guess we’re breaking up.”

  Damn. “What can I do?”

  She shook her head, laughing again. “Nothing.” Her laughter continued for a few more seconds, and then it tapered to silence.

  Looking at me, a determined glint in her eye, she walked right up to me, grabbed my face, and kissed me. I let her, and I kissed her back, but I didn’t touch her anywhere else. I didn’t hold her.

  When she was finished, she pulled away with a smile that needled my chest. “Billy Winston, you’re one of the good ones. You take my breath away. You’ve stolen my heart.” Her voice cracked, her smile wobbled. “I hope one day you find someone who steals yours.”