Diane drew herself up straight and tall, removing her hand from my arm. “Are you saying you speak for Jennifer? You know her mind? What she wants?”
“No, ma’am. I most assuredly do not speak for Jennifer’s mind or pretend to know what she wants. But I do speak for her feet. And she can’t presently walk on her feet. Therefore, she’s not coming home today. What happens tomorrow is up to her.”
“What’s wrong with her feet?”
“She walked from your house to ours with no shoes on. Her feet are in bad shape,” Duane volunteered, his tone accusatory.
Diane swallowed stiffly, her mouth in a tense line as she looked between us. I noticed with some frustration that Duane met her glare with a glare. He wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type.
I should have brought Beau.
Duane should have stayed in the car with his winning personality while Beau could have sweet-talked her into packing the bag.
Her shrewd eyes bounced between us and finally landed on me. “If you don’t speak for Jennifer, then why is she any concern of yours?”
Duane opened his mouth to respond, likely with something else charming and delightful, so I cut him off.
“Your daughter came to me for help,” I hedged.
“I want to see her,” she demanded suddenly, crossing her arms.
I sighed.
I was tired. And as much as I wanted to fight with this woman, this wasn’t my fight. It was Jenn’s fight. As she’d proven many times over the last few months, she was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles. I wasn’t used to allowing people to fight their own battles, especially people I loved.
Consequently, I sighed.
“Mrs. Donner-Sylvester, whether you see or do not see Jennifer is not up to me. It’s up to your daughter. So let me tell you what’s going to happen.” I paused, giving her a minute to react or interrupt. She didn’t. Instead she glared at me—half hope, half anger—so I continued. “We’re going to pack a bag for Jenn—just a few things—so she can be comfortable. And we’ll take her phone, so you can call her. How does that sound?”
A quantity of her anger dissipated, leaving mostly hope. She licked her lips, her eyes moving to Duane, then to me.
“I guess that’ll have to do. But I’ll pack her bag.”
“No yellow dresses,” Duane demanded out of the blue, scowling. “And sneakers or sandals, no fancy shoes. Her feet are bruised, so she can’t wear those fancy shoes.”
Diane narrowed her eyes on Duane and I thought for a moment she was going to tell him to go to hell. Instead she nodded tightly and turned, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as she was out of earshot I hit my brother on the shoulder. “Do you think you could dial back the cheerfulness, Duane? I’m getting cavities from all the sweet you’re spreading around.”
He smirked at me, shrugging. “Admit it, you’re going to miss me when I’m gone.”
Despite my tiredness, I returned his smile. “I’m going to miss those blueberry hotcakes.”
“‘Fluffy clouds of awesome.’ Isn’t that what you called them?”
I nodded once, sighing again. I was sighing a lot this morning. Chopping wood for four hours after fighting with the love of your life takes a toll on a person.
Jethro was getting married in a few days.
Duane and Jess were leaving next week.
And Jennifer . . .
“I’m going to give you some advice, Cletus.” Duane hit my shoulder. “It’s something you once said to me.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.” He grinned, big and wide, and that was a sight to see. Duane never grinned, not really, not unless Jessica was in the room.
I braced myself for whatever nugget of excrement he was about to toss at me.
“Everything is temporary, Cletus. This,” he gestured to our surroundings, “this is temporary. Even mountains fall. Nothing lasts forever. You got a chance at happiness, even for a week, a month, a year? You grab it and hold on to it for as long as it lasts. I want you to seize.”
“You want me to seize?” I asked flatly, lifting my eyebrow at his little performance.
“That’s right. You seize that woman, Cletus. You make her yours. And then after,” still grinning, Duane dropped his hand on my shoulder and gave me a little shake, “you give that woman your sausage.”
CHAPTER 28
“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
Jennifer
A gentle hand touched my shoulder, shaking me just slightly. I turned, blinking scratchy eyes at the hand’s owner.
It was Ashley. She gave me a soft smile and pushed my hair away from my forehead in a decidedly maternal gesture.
“I’m here to see about your feet,” she whispered. “You can go back to sleep, I just didn’t want to wake you while I tickled your toes and get kicked in the face.”
She’d turned on the light next to the bed. I rubbed my eyes and searched the dim room for a clock.
“What time is it?”