She feeds me real food too, no slight to Cherry. Her endless supply of cheap, processed meat saved me. It was better than having to ball up Wonderbread, squish it down hard, and eat it that way to keep it in my stomach longer. Holly loves cooking, and she makes me full meals, hot, with vegetables.
There’s a lot of reasons I don’t break it off.
“You think you’ll ever leave Byway?” she asks one night.
I shake my head. “I don’t have anywhere else to be. Plus, I’m making fine money. I should be able to get a house in a few years.”
Her eyes are hazy. “What happens then?”
I glance sideways. She’s biting her lower lip. “I don’t know,” I say.
She laughs. “I guess that’s your business.”
“What’s that mean?” I press.
She shrugs, turning dewy lashes up to look at me. “I mean, I don’t expect you to stay with me, Jen. You’re young.”
That’s the first time I think about the future. If I want Miss Holly long term, that’ll be a whole world of trouble when it goes public. It’ll implode my personal life. The salon will be in an uproar. Every church in Byway will be whispering about it. But I’m willing to give it a try.
“I ain’t leaving,” I say.
She gives me a sad smile and doesn’t answer. This is one of those times when I wish I had a father. I need somebody to talk to about all this shit, somebody who can give it to me straight. But I don’t even have a name—Childress is the surname from my maternal side. It’s not like I could track my sperm donor down and sayhi, can we talk? Whoever that man was, he shook me off his shoes like dust.
Up until now, I found ways to ignore that void, but the summer I fall in love with Miss Holly, I think about it a lot.
CHAPTER TWO
JENSEN
AGE NINETEEN
One morning in early July, I take my truck out to see Holly before work. It’s scorching hot. The air conditioner in the truck is broken, but I’m putting off getting it replaced because I need to fix something else that’s rattling. Might as well do it all in one go.
I pull up under the willow and get out, wiping the sweat off my face.
And I stop in my tracks.
There’s a man standing on the porch. He’s got one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette. He’s wearing Sunday kind of clothes, but not the flashy ones. Good and simple dress pants, a starched shirt, open a few buttons and rolled up to the forearms. His tie hangs loose around his neck.
A tingle runs through my body. He’s giving off the strangest aura. If the sun could come out at the same time as a storm rolls through, it would feel just like him.
I walk up the path to the porch. As I get close, I can see he’s no younger than thirty, with a lean, handsome face. Almost an Appalachian Gregory Peck. His hair is colorless brown above hooded eyes with drooping lids. His whole demeanor is lazy, like a dog in the sun. All except for that sharp stare that follows my every move.
“Nice truck,” he says.
The door opens behind him. Were they…doing something inside? My stomach is twisted with jealousy, but I’m relieved to see Holly is fully dressed.
No, I’m being paranoid.
“Hey,” she says nervously. “This is a friend. He’s looking for someone to help him with some odd jobs.”
My shoulders sink. Okay, maybe this is innocent. It’s not unusual that Holly hooks me up with clients. I lean forward, offering my hand. The man’s face breaks into a smile, sweet as honey, and shakes it.
“You’ve got a good strong grip. I like that,” he drawls. “Now, what’s going on with that truck? I hear something rattling on it.”
“Not sure. Once I get a chance to take the whole thing apart, I’m sure I can figure it out.”
The man flicks his cigarette into a potted plant and dusts his hands off. “Let me take a look at it real quick.”
