Beard With Me Read online

  Point was, he was kind to everybody, all the time, no matter how much of a fool you made of yourself, no matter who you were.

  Basically, he was perfect.

  Sigh.

  Ben’s eyebrows pulled together as he crossed to me, his eyes traveling over my person, and his examination made me hotter under the collar.

  “Are you all right? That was quite a fall.” He looked and sounded uncharacteristically irritated as he said this.

  “Y—you saw that?” I asked haltingly, wrestling with both my mortification and my heart, which had suddenly gone squishy.

  “Yeah, I saw it.” He gave me a small smile that seemed to be tempered with concern. “You keep running into doors like that, I'll have to follow you around to catch you. ”

  “Oh. Ha. Hahahaha.” YES PLEASE.

  He lifted his chin toward the cafeteria. “Was that William Winston? Knocking you down and not helping you up?”

  Yikes.

  I shook my head quickly. “It wasn't his fault. I wasn't looking where I was going, and he was just minding his own business, and there I was, flying down the hall, not paying attention. And he offered to help me up, I just—”

  "Scarlet.” Ben lifted his hands, showing me his palms. “You don't need to be defending William to me. I know how he is.”

  I repressed my urge to set Ben straight about defending William—Billy—Winston. I just didn’t want Ben going to Billy’s momma and repeating what he witnessed. Then Mrs. Winston would talk to her son and make him apologize or something. The last thing I needed was Billy’s ire. And besides, he did offer me a hand. I was the one who refused to take it.

  “That looked like quite a fall.” Ben stepped forward, his pretty eyes losing any trace of frustration or resentment; the result caused a warming effect on my stomach.

  Or maybe I was just hungry.

  "Are you okay?" he asked quietly, looking concerned.

  I made a clumsy little snorting sound, waving away his worry. “Oh me? Nah. I’m fine. It would take a lot more than that to hurt my backside. Have you seen how much padding I got back there? That thing is well protected.” Now I snorted conspiratorially, as much as one can snort conspiratorially . . .

  Dear Lord in heaven, why am I such a dork?

  Truth be told, concern made me uncomfortable and I wasn’t thinking about my words or my snort, I just wanted to change the subject. Growing up, folks never seemed to show me overt concern without an ulterior motive, and I'd known Mrs. McClure's son long enough to know he didn't ever have an ulterior motive. Therefore, Scarlet the Grand Dame of Dorkiness, always emerged when he showed concern. Somehow, I’d have to figure out how to subdue the Grand Dame before she reigned supreme.

  Meanwhile, Ben straightened, shoving his hands back in his pockets, his eyes skipping over my shoulder to look down the hall. “I haven’t—I would never—” He shook his head, like he was clearing it of something. Then he laughed lightly. “Scarlet, if you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll let it drop.”

  “I’m fine.” I grinned, dorkily, I’m sure showcasing a mouth full of crooked teeth. His teeth were straight as pine trees planted in a row. How I envied his teeth.

  “Okay then.” Warm smile in place, his gaze once more traveling over my face, he took a small step to the side. “Have you seen my momma? I’m supposed to meet her for lunch.”

  Ah! Of course. Ben often met his mom for lunch on Fridays since he’d graduated. He went to college in Nashville but drove home most weekends to help his parents. From my hiding place in the chorus room I refused to eavesdrop on their conversations, focusing my attention on books or whatnot. But I did hear their shared laughter—her light, musical chuckle and his deep, rolling belly laugh—from time to time. It always put me in such a good mood, and I’d catch myself smiling later when I remembered it.

  Hearing other people laugh at something friendly, something good-natured, was one of my favorite sounds.

  “I honestly don’t know where Mrs. McClure is. The chorus room is closed.” I pointed toward it. “Something about wet paint.”

  “That’s right. She said to meet her in the courtyard.” Ben checked his watch, then glanced at me. “I think I’m late. Where’s your lunch? Isn't it lunchtime?”

  "It's in my bag. I was going to eat in the—well, in my normal spot, but it's not open right now, so I thought I'd eat in the bathroom." I cringed, not meaning to confess so much, yet not terribly surprised I had. There was just something about Ben that made me always tell the truth. I couldn’t imagine lying to such a good, kind face. Or the person behind it.

  "Scarlet, what are you talking about? You can't eat in the bathroom. It's not sanitary." He gave me a funny look, like he was trying to scold me and not laugh at the same time. "Why not eat in the cafeteria?"

  Every muscle in my body tensed at the suggestion, my eyes lowering to the floor, another UOO in my throat. "I'd prefer not." Not only that, but it wasn’t something I wished to discuss, not with beautiful Ben.

  "I'll sit with you, if you like."

  I shook my head, not even his sweet suggestion could lessen the finality of my decision. Plus, Scarlet St. Claire eating lunch in the cafeteria with Ben McClure wouldn’t go unnoticed. I moved my weight to the left, intending to walk around him. "I need to go to the bathroom anyway."

  Ben leaned to the side, blocking my way. "Okay, you don’t want to eat in the cafeteria. How about this, you come with me and have lunch with my momma in the courtyard. Where’s your jacket?"

  "In my backpack, but I'm not allowed in the—"

  "It'll be fine." He slid his hand down my arm and entwined our fingers, sending racing goose bumps up my arm and in my brain.

  ALERT!!!

  We were touching. Oh my dear Lord, we were touching. Now I was sweating again. Something about being touched in a nice way, and apparently by anyone I had a crush on, made my glands activate and act a drama. I guess I knew what that something was, but still. The overreaction was frustrating.

  "Come on, she'd love it.” Ben tugged. “You know you're one of her favorite students.”

  Self-preservation made me drag my feet. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to have lunch with Ben and Mrs. McClure. Rather, going through the cafeteria in order to get to the courtyard was the problem. I didn't want to draw that kind of attention to myself.

  Picture it: me, walking through the Green Valley High cafeteria, holding hands with Ben McClure. Yeah, that wouldn't go unnoticed, even if it didn't mean anything.

  “Wait a minute, wait.”

  "Scarlet, time is running out. If you want to eat, we should go meet my mom. And I'm not letting you eat in the bathroom. So, it's either you and I sit together in the cafeteria, or you come with me to the courtyard."

  "Okay, okay. I'll come with." I gently withdrew my fingers from his, needing him not to touch me so my brain would work. "You, uh, you go on first and I'll walk behind."

  He inspected me, his eyebrows pulled together into a V, making him look both amused and confused. "You don't need to walk behind me, Scarlet. I'm not ashamed to be seen with you."

  "I know that, Ben," I replied softly, my mind and my belly tripping all over themselves at his words.

  Mrs. Winston was sweet to me, Mrs. McClure was too. But Ben's sweetness landed different. It felt like a light touch rather than a squeezing hug.

  Reaching for my hand again, his mouth pulled to the side. I took a step back, evading him, and gripped the straps of my backpack with closed fists. "Go on. I'll follow."

  He studied me again. "Hold up. Are you ashamed to be seen with me?"

  I rushed forward unthinkingly, horrified that he'd even ask the question, and grabbed hold of his arm. "Oh no. Never. I'd never be embarrassed of you. You're just the nicest, most . . .” I licked my lips, knowing I shouldn’t continue that sentence, and added quietly, “I know how lucky I am, that we’re friends." I was. So lucky.

  His fair treatment of me over the last few years meant that other people hadn’
t been quite so harsh, and for that I was eternally grateful. Ben McClure was the reigning golden boy of Green Valley, since his birth. Everyone knew the story. His momma and daddy weren't able to have kids for the first twenty-five years of their marriage. Folks prayed and prayed for them. Then one day, miraculously, she got pregnant after they'd given up trying.

  The entire town celebrated, or so that’s the way the town gossip Karen Smith told it. Mrs. McClure’s baby shower had been a sight, with people buying silver baby rattles and engraved cups and spoons. Everything he wore until he was three had been hand-monogrammed by someone’s grandmother. Everywhere he went, people were happy to see him. Big Ben, they called him when he was little. The name persisted even now that he really was big, and he bore it all with grace and patience.

  He was everyone's favorite. Every teacher, administrator, minister, coach. He was great at everything. He was the best.

  And this favorite child of Green Valley was grinning at me. At me. Scarlet St. Claire, spawn of Satan and his illiterate mistress. (No lie, my momma can’t read).

  Ben reached for my hand where I held on to my backpack strap, fit our fingers together, and coaxed me toward the cafeteria. Again.

  "Well, I’m glad you feel lucky. ’Cause I feel the same way about you." His eyes conducted another sweep of my face, making my stomach warm once more. Or maybe I was just really, really hungry.

  And yet, my steps were still slow and hesitant, the dread almost eclipsing the good feelings in my torso. If we were seen—and we were definitely going to be seen—by any of the Wraiths kids, it would get back to my father. And that would be like putting a target on Ben's back.

  "Ben—"

  "Listen. Just trust me, okay? It'll be fine. So what, high school kids will see us together."

  "But if we're holding hands, it might look like something it isn't, and then people will talk."

  He shrugged, giving me another of his smiles; from where I stood, I couldn’t tell if it was a shy or sly one. "Or, it might look like exactly what it is. So let them talk.” He squeezed my hand. “I'll keep you safe."

  I tried to return his smile but couldn’t. It wasn’t my safety I was worried about.

  Chapter Two

  *Billy*

  “…I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.”

  John Green, Looking for Alaska

  My eyes were on the road, but my mind was occupied with the disaster sitting next to me.

  "Thanks,” he said.

  Without looking over, I breathed in through my nose, stretching my lungs with as much cold air as would fit.

  "Of course," I said, calmly. “Anytime.”

  “Anytime?”

  I shifted in my seat. Lord, give me patience.

  “You don’t even know why I’m thanking you and yet you say, ‘Anytime.’”

  “Whatever, Cletus.”

  He snorted, then winced, testing his lip. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the pad of his index and middle finger come away bloody. He smeared the red with this thumb, tucking his hands under his crossed arms. A second later he placed one hand on each knee.

  “What if I was thanking you for letting me get another dog?”

  “We’re not getting another dog,” I said, again calmly. But also with decisiveness. We were not getting another dog. We could barely afford the vet bills and food for the dog we had.

  “But you said, ‘Anytime.’ Therefore, I’m taking you as a man of your word, and—”

  “Cletus.”

  He snapped his mouth shut and huffed, glancing away from me and out the window. We drove in silence, my old truck jostling us both as we drove over a pothole. This weekend or next, I’d have to check the suspension and shocks. If I can find the time.

  “I suppose you meant, ‘Anytime,’ for something else then. Maybe you meant I could have cake anytime?”

  “Sure, Cletus.”

  He grumbled something akin to, “You’re only letting me have cake anytime ’cause you know I don’t like cake all that much,” then winced again, sucking in a breath. I made the mistake of glancing at him and immediately wished I hadn’t. The color of his nose and the trail of blood dripping down his temple made my insides curdle with breath-snatching worry, rage, and urges I’d never act upon. His left eye was already starting to swell shut.

  Clamping my jaw closed, I glared out the windshield.

  “I suppose you know why I said thanks, so we’ll just leave it at that.” He sniffed, lifting his nose in the air and crossing his arms again. “I’m hungry, what’s for dinner?”

  Lord. Patience. Anytime now. Please.

  Cletus may have been just eleven months younger than me, but I couldn’t imagine a time when I wouldn’t consider him a kid. Maybe when he stopped fighting all the time? Or when he remembered that Friday night was his evening to cook dinner.

  “It’s your night to cook, Cletus. So you tell me.” Calm. Calm. Calm.

  “Well shoot.” He made a tsking noise. “Can we stop by the store?”

  “Nope.”

  He turned to me. “But I didn’t pick anything up.”

  “Yeah. I know that.” Because I just dragged you off Prince King behind the stadium instead of picking you up at the store, which is where you were supposed to be.

  “So what’s the plan here, Billy? You want me to hunt wild boar in the backyard? If we don’t go to the store, then we’ll have no food for dinner.”

  “You got the money?”

  He stiffened. A second later, he swallowed so loud, I heard it. “Not . . . exactly.”

  I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t laugh. Of course. Of course he didn’t have the money. “Who’d you give it to this time?” Calm. So calm. Like a placid lake.

  “Carla.”

  “Carla? Carla who?”

  “Creavers.”

  I found I needed to inhale deeply again to keep the curses from leaving my mouth. As an extra measure, I covered my lips with my hand, keeping the ballooning frustration inside.

  As I debated my options—what to do, what to say that would induce Cletus to do what I wanted, which was to stop acting like a fool—I remembered something Dolly Payton had once said to me at a picnic. She was the CEO of Payton Mills, where I worked, the matriarch of the Payton family, friendly with my mother, looked a bit like Phylicia Rashad, and was the smartest person I knew. She’d called me a natural born leader and gave me this advice,

  When you manage people, figure out what your employees need from you in order for them to be their most successful selves. Some folks need praise, some folks need criticism, some folks need structure. Some folks just need small talk, knowing you care, and that’s it. It’ll be different for each person.

  Basically, when you’re a leader, it’s impossible to treat everyone the same. Each person needed something different from you—as their leader—in order to succeed. Being in charge meant figuring out what that thing was for each individual, and then giving it to them.

  Yelling at Cletus, asking him what the hell he'd been thinking, expressing the extreme nature of my anger and disappointment wouldn't do any good.

  That approach worked with only one of my younger brothers. A sharp word was all it took with twelve-year-old Beau. He wanted blunt honesty. He wanted me to give it to him straight.

  But Duane, the other twin, needed praise. I coldly and pointedly ignored Duane and his mistakes, and then I praised his good decisions.

  Whereas eight-year-old Roscoe just wanted someone to talk to. If I took the time to sit and talk with Roscoe, reason with him, he did great. Problem was, finding the time.

  Point was, the other three could be chastised. They cared about disappointing me. Ashley, who’d just turned fourteen in August, never required any yelling or scolding or praise or talking. She just always did the right thing. Thank God for Ashley.

  But Cletus? Confronting him made him more ornery and likely to do
the wrong thing on purpose later, just to spite me. Trying to reason with him got me nowhere, he seemed to think it was a battle of wits. Praising Cletus only made him suspicious of my intentions. It was almost like he needed to be tricked into behaving.

  So I said nothing, and I ignored the pressure behind my eyes . We drove for a stretch longer, me breathing in through my nose to cool my brain, him sitting perfectly still.

  He must’ve been hurting. In addition to his swelling eye, his lip was busted open in one place that I could see. Getting him inside the house wouldn't be a problem. Momma wasn’t due home with the kids until six, and if we needed more time to patch him up and make him presentable, Ashley could always be counted on to help.

  Then we'd just tell another lie at the dinner table, as usual. Maybe something about falling out of a tree. We hadn't used that excuse in a while.

  "Do you want to know what happened?" My brother’s solemn voice cut through the quiet, distracting me from my plans.

  I sucked in another bracing breath and leaned my elbow on the sill, pinching my bottom lip with my thumb and index finger. "If you want to tell me the story, I'll listen."

  I needed to trim my beard. It had come in fully over the summer, just like Jethro’s had when he turned sixteen. Now the hair around my lips was getting in the way of food and kissing. I’d tried to shave a few times, but that just ended up a mess, with my face all cut up.

  Plus, razors were expensive.

  Cletus uncrossed his arms again, returning his hands to his knees. His fingers drummed out a restless rhythm. "Well now, that's not a forthright answer."

  "Cletus—"

  "You'll listen to what happened if’n I tell it, but you don't wish to know."

  Gripping the peeling leather of my steering wheel, now with both hands, I glanced at the visor above the windshield, where I kept a recent photo of my family tucked against the ceiling. We’d all gone rafting down the Nantahala in August, working as a team, laughing and talking the whole way. Just a normal, happy family.

  That’s what I wanted, that’s what we were working toward. I couldn't see the photo at present, but I knew it was there. A reminder.