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Chapter Fifteen
Jane
I never had a job at the compound, other than maintaining a vegetable garden. I’d done it so well they promoted me to manager; that’s how I got the privilege of owning a mobile phone that I currently do not have with me.
I’ve occasionally been out shopping and to restaurants before, so I understand basically all the tasks that Tamira asks me to do.
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As I grind beans, take orders, and do a dozen other menial tasks around the shop, I’m reminded of times I went with my female chaperones around the city to do our shopping.
We make all our own clothes and grow most of our food. Some things, like flour, we had to go out and shop for. And sometimes, my aunts would decide to bend the rules and let us stop to eat in a restaurant. We often went to big chain coffee places and I would get those crazy multi-colored drinks. And I could use the WiFi on my phone. I even set up some social media accounts, which were strictly forbidden. Those were the best days of my former life.
I don’t feel particularly rebellious right now, even though I’ve done a dozen things in the last 24 hours of freedom that I know I’m not supposed to do. Dirty talk? Check. Heavy petting? Lord, yes, give me more of that. Being alone with a man? My entire body shivers as I wipe down recently emptied tables at the thought of being alone with Shep tonight. Drinking coffee…wearing jeans…challenging a man? Check, check and check.
The best part was realizing none of it was wrong…or “sinful” as the elders like to call it.
On the compound, I felt safest when our uncles did their nightly rounds of walking the perimeters of the compound with their assault rifles, watching the woods carefully, while the aunts put us to bed with our prayers and accountings of our wrongdoings that day.
Today, free, in the city, holding down a job, under the watch of the most thrillingly dangerous man in my world, I feel safest of all.
Suddenly a voice slashes through the moment.
“Is this how you planned to spend your wedding day while your groom is in his bed, overcome with grief?”
I whirl around and come face to face with Uncle Merle.
“Uncle! What are you doing here?”
“Looking for my niece. Have you seen her? She used to be sweet and now she’s slutting around in a coffee shop.”
I put my hands up to try to get him to calm down and lower his voice.
But it’s too late. Shep has arrived, and he looks like he’s ready to pound Uncle Merle into the terrazzo flooring. Which would be a shame. It’s very pretty.
“I’m taking you home, Hildie Mae,” Merle says, reaching a hand toward my shoulder.
But before he can touch me, Shep has his wrist in a vise grip. “Do not. Touch her,” he says.
It’s the first time I’ve heard deep, red-hot anger come from Shep. It’s the first time I understand how far he would go to protect me. That is the sound of a man who would fight someone to the death.
Despite his wrist being crushed into oblivion, Uncle Merle spits out, “I see I wasn’t wrong. It didn’t take long for you to whore yourself out. Is this your pimp?”
“I suggest you leave and don’t come back. Jane is done with you.”
Shep lets go of Uncle Merle’s wrist.
“How much are you charging for her, son?”
At the sound of the word “son,” I think Shep might flatten Uncle Merle with one flick of his wrist.
The sound that comes out of his mouth is quiet, steady, calm but lethal. “The only person who calls me son is ten times the man you are. So you best leave before I call him over here to whoop your stupid, racist ass. I have a business to run, but he’s retired and doesn’t give a shit what people think. Make your choice. Son.”
Uncle Merle doesn’t say anything for a few moments, but we’ve definitely attracted the attention of the other customers. Some people are filming it on their phones, because of course they are.
Uncle Merle takes out his phone. “I’m calling the family. You don’t want the cousins getting involved, young man.”
Somebody in the room is muttering, “Coffee Shop Carl is calling the police to complain about somebody making coffee while black.”
