AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Dallas. You know, on the bus, I actually felt free. Like this giant weight had been lifted off of me. Then I realized I had nowhere to go. I ended up sleeping on the streets for four months until I landed a hotel job. My boss felt bad for me, so she let me stay in an out-of-order room until I could get a roommate. I reached out to her after it all blew up in my face, but she wouldn’t even take my call. Everyone treated me like I was a monster.”
“I thought about you when I heard what happened. Thought about trying to get your number from your mom. I know that we …” He set the macaroni back on the floor. “I just wanted you to know that somebody was thinking about you. That somebody cared. I cared, Kent.”
Whoever was in charge of the universe—God, Goddess, the stars, or fate—must have felt like they owed me one. Before I could make an even bigger fool of myself, Becca’s monotone voice beckoned over the intercom, telling Gray he had a call on line one.
He was gone by the time I made it to the front. At the end of the night, I left my smock and nametag (Matthew Jr. because, apparently, this was a family business) in the locker at the end of the room. Becca assured me I’d be next in line for one with a door, but if I wanted one that locked, I’d be waiting for a while. I reminded her I had no intention—or need—to wait for a lockable locker. She then informed me, “That’s what they all say,” which frightened me more than any other words ever had.
REASON FIVE
These people are crazy, but you keep me sane.
Iwoketothesound of a shriek. Jumping out of my bed, I reached for the nearest item I could use as a weapon. I ran down the stairs, holding an oscillating tower fan above my head, screaming like a madman. When I entered the living room, the most unwelcome of intruders greeted me.
The denim debutantes.
It was a title Gray and I came up with for my mother’s circle of friends. A group of five women dressed head to toe in all denim. They could cut a man to shreds with their words, and then build him right back up, leaving him in a perpetual state of emotional whiplash. A catastrophe in a coffee cup, each and every one of them.
Elmyra Foote sat on the sofa, nursing her catastrophic coffee. Dottie Pruitt sat stoically in the armchair, fanning herself with a lace hand fan. Myrna Thorpe was standing with a book in her hand, thumbing through pictures. She was showing them to Bernice Holden, who looked absolutely enthralled. My mother was entering the room, carrying a silver tray that held three steaming coffee cups. The ladies’ attention turned to me as I held onto my fan for dear life.
“Well, Kent, honey, what on earth are you doing at home?” Elmyra asked. She set her coffee cup on the table in front of her and pulled a small pink day planner from her purse. Her fingers thumbed through pages scrawled with notes written in dark pink ink. After an unnecessarily long wait, she pointed her pink press-on nail at the page and nodded. “Darlin’, aren’t you supposed to be at work today? I have you down as working the morning shift.”
“I switched with Christian.” I scowled at her. “And how the hell do you even know that?”
She smiled at me as she tucked the notebook back into her purse. “It’s my job to know these things, honey.”
“You work part-time at a dress shop,” my mother pointed out.
“I’m a woman of the people.”
Before Elmyra could continue reasoning away her ridiculous stalking routine, Dottie made her way over, speed-walking toward me with her arms held open. I closed my eyes, preparing for the oncoming storm. Of all the members of the denim debs, she’d been my favorite. She’d had a flair for fashion that I lived for in my younger years. While the others stuck to denim skirts and modest blouses, she always seemed to push those boundaries. She made her own outfits, and be they long, flowing one-piece gowns or ruffled tops with colorful bell-shaped skirts, they complimented her brown skin and full figure fabulously.
Elmyra had weight-shamed her at church once, asking her if she wanted to come to the altar so the congregation could lay hands on her to rid her of the demon responsible for her “morbid obesity.” Dottie had retorted,“We can certainly do that, hon, and while we’re at it, we can ask the Lord to deliver your daughter from her crack cocaine dependency.”Elmyra never crossed her again.
Mom had once said that before her husband skipped town with a carhop, she was the textbook definition of a submissive wife. Staring at her now, an absolute force to be reckoned with, I couldn’t imagine her submitting to anyone.
“Kent! Oh my goodness, let me get a look at you.” She stared me up and down, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “Oh, sweetie, you’ve grown into such a handsome young man.”
“I’m thirty-eight. I don’t know if ‘young’ is how I’d describe myself.”
“Nonsense. I’m seventy-three, and I don’t feel a day over twenty. Well, except for the days my arthritis is kicking up, then I feel a bit closer to thirty, but still.” She took my hand and squeezed. “I’m really sorry I haven’t had a chance to come visit sooner. I wanted to give you a bit of space to regroup.”
“It’s only been a couple of weeks. Don’t sweat it, Dottie,” I said, pulling her in for another hug.
Bernice approached, holding out a strawberry bonbon. At church, she would always have one waiting for Gray and me.“Our little secret,”she would say.“Don’t tell your mommas I ruined your appetites.”
Myrna Thorpe was the last to greet me, and when she did, her eyes were damp. “It sure is good to see you again, baby. I was hoping we’d get a chance to chat when I saw you at the pharmacy, but you ran out right after you got your prescription.” When she pulled away, she gave me a soft smile. “I was torn up over not getting to tell you goodbye when you were a kid. I always hoped I’d get the chance to tell you just how sorry I was about the way everything unfolded.”
In the days following the events at the lake, Myrna had been a shoulder for me to lean on. After Trevor outed me to my parents, my father wouldn’t even look at me. Mom still loved me—I knew that—but the way she cowered down to my dad, barely speaking more than a handful of words to me for fear of his reaction, had almost hurt worse than every punch. Every kick. Every burnt-out matchstick.
Myrna had been there, though.
She saw the ache in my bones. The hurt in my heart when Gray refused to even look at me. She’d gone above and beyond the call of any teacher, often pulling me from the classroom and letting me break beside her without shame.
I smiled and pulled her in for another hug, only breaking contact when Mom approached with a cup of coffee.
There was a bizarre centerpiece on the coffee table. I pointed at it and raised an eyebrow at my mother. “Is that a picture of Leah Grant-Carter? Why is there a framed picture of a morning TV talk show host?”
Elmyra stepped forward, tapping a circular pin on her blouse that read:Leah Grant-Carter Unofficial Fan Club — West Clark Division.
