Unfortunately, the judge didn’t know she wanted to sell it to me yet.
Claire was also a good friend of Jethro’s, but had recently moved to Nashville to accept a teaching position, but that was only part of the reason. The real reason she left town was to avoid my brother Billy. That story is too long to tell and too depressing.
“Yeah, Claire offered her house. But I don’t like the idea of leaving the homestead completely. After all, it is my home. Momma left it to me. And I want our kids to live there from birth.”
“You planning on having some kids next week?”
Jethro’s eyes cut away and he shifted on his feet, a pleased and guilty looking smile mounting itself on his face.
And I knew.
“Wait a minute . . .”
Jethro pressed a finger to his lips. “Shhh—”
“Sienna is pregnant!”
“Hush!” Jethro clamped his obnoxious hand over my mouth, pairing the action with a stern look. “Shut your mouth.”
“Erfrenmafma,” I said. It was nonsense, of course. His hand covering my mouth meant I could speak.
He squinted a silent warning and dropped his hand. “What was that?”
“It’s about time you impregnated that woman.”
“Cletus. We’ve only been engaged two months.”
“I know. I’ve been counting. Well . . .” I rubbed my hands together; this was great news. This was the best news. “When do we start on the carriage house? Tonight? We’ll add a nursery. Yellow is a nice color. Maybe this’ll get Drew and Ashley moving. I’ll be the godfather, of course. Cletus is a nice name.”
Now he did roll his eyes, but he also smiled. I gave him a free pass on the eye-roll because he’d just created a Winston progeny. “You’re so anxious for babies, why don’t you go make some of your own?”
My good humor deflated. Not a complete annihilation of my happiness, just a slight tempering.
“Oh, I’ll never have kids,” I responded; but before he could think too hard or too long about what I’d said, I added with a meaningful grin, “But that don’t mean I can’t spoil yours.”
CHAPTER 3
“If he be Mr. Hyde," he had thought, "I shall be Mr. Seek.”
― Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Jennifer
“I have some great news.”
My mother’s announcement startled me. She had this habit of suddenly appearing and making a loud proclamation. I wasn’t a loud person, and her hollering usually caught me off guard.
“What is it, peanut?” My father glanced up from his newspaper, a tolerant smile on his features. He was very indulgent of my mother ever since the lodge started turning a sizeable profit.
My grandmother said he was an enabler, and it was a good thing my momma wasn’t an alcoholic because he would’ve been pouring her drinks.
“I just got off the phone with Jacqueline Freeman.” My momma glanced between my father and me.
We were sitting at the kitchen table. It was an early Sunday morning and I’d just sat down after spending the last four hours making goodies for the bakery. Sunday was a busy day because of the church crowd.
When we continued to regard her blankly, she huffed, shaking her head at us. “Jacqueline Freeman? You know, the talent agent? In New York?”
“Oh.” My father jumped in his seat. “That’s right, I remember you talking about her last month. How exciting. This is certain to bring in a lot of revenue for the business. It’s about time I upgraded the boat.”
I scrunched my face, not quite following the conversation. “Why would you be talking to a talent agent?”
“Jennifer, don’t make that face. It’ll give you premature wrinkles.”
I rolled my eyes. This earned me a stern look from both my parents.
“Jennifer Anne Sylvester,” my mother began, scowling, “you know I don’t like it when you are disrespectful.”
“Listen to your mother, Jennifer,” my father added unnecessarily.
“Sorry,” I offered wearily, an instinctive spike of guilt blooming in my chest. I shook my head. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”
I was tired. I hadn’t been sleeping well since recording the incident at the police station earlier in the week. I didn’t know what to do, and I had no one to talk to about it.
My momma didn’t realize I’d already gone to the station and recorded the testimonial, so she wasn’t asking for the video. All the charges against Razor had been dropped. Apparently, he’d been arrested for a misdemeanor drug charge, nothing too serious, but enough to place him in jail for a few months.
Without the missing evidence, they were unable to hold him in custody.
The decision to turn in Cletus should have been cut and dry. He’d taken the evidence, I’d recorded it, so I should have contacted the sheriff and showed him the video immediately. But I didn’t. Every time I thought about making the call, I thought of an excuse: too tired, too busy, too comfortable under my covers.
I didn’t want to think about the real reason I hadn’t turned him in, because the real reason made me a terrible person.