I blinked at him, confused. “Pardon?”
I was sitting at the edge of the clear water stream, pristine enough to drink. Multicolored pebbles dotted the shallow riverbed. I’d taken off my shoes and dipped my toes in, and actually enjoyed the cold. Cletus stood off to one side, leaning against a tree.
“The truth can be like people,” he repeated.
“How so?”
“Sometimes,” the side of his mouth tugged upward with a humorless smile, “it’s real ugly.”
I sighed, knowing he was right. The truth about his half-brother was ugly.
“Take your father for instance.” Cletus’s tone was meticulously conversational, but I detected an undercurrent of frenzied resolve.
I stiffened my spine and squinted, suspicious of his intentions. I wasn’t quite ready to talk about my father. “What about him?”
“He’s real ugly.”
My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. The man is ugly,” Cletus proclaimed with a grumpy single head nod. “And I’m not just talking about his exterior.”
“Cletus Byron Winston, you are being rude.” I might have my own less than glowing thoughts about my father, but he was my father.
He opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut and did a double take, his eyes narrowing on me. “First of all, how do you know my middle name?”
“Your momma used to use it when you were naughty, when you boys would help her shelve books in the library. ‘Cletus Byron! Stop stuffing Astrophysics Monthly down your pants!’”
Cletus grinned. Then he chuckled. His eyes lost some of their zealous focus as he pushed away from the tree and strolled closer. “Oh yeah. She did, didn’t she?”
“I felt sorry for Billy, though.” I scooched to one side as he sat down. “His name always confused everyone, like your momma was trying to talk to Shakespeare’s ghost. ‘William Shakespeare, would you please stop Beauford from pulling down his pants in front of the girls?’”
Cletus laughed harder, leaning backward and holding his stomach. “I remember that. How old was Beau?”
“He was ten. He was trying to show us his new Tarzan underwear. I don’t think he meant any harm.”
“He sure did love that underwear.” Cletus nodded and he scratched his beard. “I’m going to have to find him some Tarzan underwear in adult size.”
“So you can torture him about it?”
He pretended to be shocked by my accusation. “Certainly not. I don’t torture my siblings.”
“Yeah, right.” I gave him my side-eye. “You forget, I’m a people watcher. I know you sell embarrassing pictures of them on stock photo sites. Jethro was griping about it after church over the summer. If it’s not torture, what do you call it then?”
He lifted his chin proudly. “I offer invaluable character building opportunities. I help them reach their true potential through suffering.”
“Oh, please.” This made me snort-laugh and I pushed his shoulder with my fingertips.
And he laughed too, which was fun. It was nice to laugh with someone in real life instead of via a letter sent once a month. And it was more than nice to laugh with Cletus.
I liked the sound of his laugh with its rumbly and artless sound. When he smiled or laughed in earnest, his dark lashes had the effect of making his eyes appear brighter and his grin lit up his whole face.
The first time I’d heard him laugh he’d been helping his momma at the library. I’d been fourteen and I think he’d been around twenty at the time, maybe a little older. His mother—who was always kind to everyone—had said something funny, and the sound of his rejoining laughter caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected him to do it. I’d never seen him be anything other than stern, angry, or stoic prior to that point.
Lively eyes that captivated me with their cleverness, pretty lashes, and a mouth full of straight white teeth framed by an exceedingly pleasing mouth. I’d started noticing him everywhere after that and I’d listened for his laugh, though—after watching him for a while—I decided it was best to keep my distance.
Nevertheless, his smiles, true happy smiles, were rare. Before blackmailing him, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d heard his laughter.
“What are you thinking about?” My hair had fallen across my face again. He tucked it behind my ear, his fingers and eyes lingering on my neck.
“Just that, uh . . .” I searched for an appropriate story to tell, an alternate truth to, Well, Cletus, since you asked, I was just thinking about how epically tremendous your smile is and how nice your fingers feel on my skin.
Unable to meet his steady gaze, I shifted my attention to the stream and cursed myself for being a terrible liar. Actually, allow me to clarify that: I’m great at lying to myself. I’m super crummy at lying to others.