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I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Illogical or not, the idea of Liz’s heart inside Paisley was overwhelming.
“When was the last time you ate? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Funny thing about that. The last time I ate anything of substance was when I was in Nashville and decided to travel through two more states to get a handle on my past.
“Too many energy drinks.” I excuse my odd behavior.
“We’re having leftovers for lunch. Homemade fried chicken. Not as bad as it sounds.”
My stomach gurgles. “That actually sounds great.”
We head toward the kitchen. There’s a woman in her mid-to-late twenties already there. She’s pulling out tubs of food from the fridge and a stack of plates from the cabinet. Her long curly brown hair swishes with every graceful movement. She has on medical scrubs and the imprint of wearing a facial mask indents her nose. Trace amounts of makeup are on her face, but what makes her glow is her demeanor.
“How was surgery this morning?” Cris asks.
“Wonderful. Easy. No complications for any patient, which meant I could get back here early and set lunch out.” She walks over to shake my hand.
“Mateo dropped by to mention we had company.”
“Jake Ballentine.”
“The illustrious?” She cocks a questioning chin at her husband.
“One and the same.” Cris tucks her to his side. “Jake, this is my wife, Daveigh.”
“I gathered. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.” Her reply is gracious, as is the spread of food she put out.
We dig into cold fried chicken, warmed biscuits and butter, and sides of corn and coleslaw. The two boys I saw in the vineyard run through the kitchen. Not bothering to sit, they grab drumsticks and beat them in between gnawing the meat away from the bone.
“Jake was the drummer for my band,” Cris tells Mateo.
“Cool.” The kid drops the bone in the trash and wipes the grease off his face with the back of his wrist. “Later.”
The boys dart out the back door. Their energy level is what I remember from summers when I was a kid. And the dismissiveness reminds me of how old I am.
“Don’t pay attention.” Cris assuages my ego. “I’m hardly worth a second glance, either. Do you still play?”
“Only for myself.”
Though still within Brighton’s town limits, my own house has enough land surrounding it so that I didn’t have to listen to neighbors complain. The drums were my passion. My escape from the pressure of running a strip club I didn’t want. Oftentimes, when having a manager enabled me to ignore my responsibilities and fuck off, I’d still practice. Get lost in the beat.
Daveigh stands to clear the plates. “I hope you didn’t mind last night’s dinner, Jake. Since we fight over who gets the extra fried chicken anyway, we double the recipe the night before surgery day. That way, we can still eat together if our schedules match.”
“It’s fine. I appreciate the hospitality.”
It’s obvious why Cris married Daveigh. Their marriage revolves around the other’s needs. She is also everything and all at once nothing like Cris’s first wife.
“Jake’s taking the guest room for a few days.” Cris joins her, filling the dishwasher with the plates she’s rinsed. They are the same height. He pecks her on her nose.
“No problem,” Daveigh says, as if having extra people in her home is normal. “Everyone is family here, so if you’re lost or missing something, don’t hesitate to ask. We’ll find you a toothbrush.”
“I bought one along the way.” Not much else than the clothes on my back and the suit that needs laundering. “I may need a dry cleaner and to know where I can purchase a few pairs of jeans.”
“We can drive into town later and pick up whatever you need.” Cris offers. “How about takeout tonight from The Grill so no one has to cook?”
“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” Daveigh grabs Cris by the collar and pecks the corner of his mouth. “My last patient is at five. I’ll get the baby from the sitter and be back as soon as I can.”
