“No, Rebecca. Let Matt do it,” Jake said, grinning at Dad. “This is how Aaron likes it—put ‘em to the test, see who’s still standing when he’s done toying with them.”
That remark prompted a rough bark of laughter from Dad, who slapped the table with glee. “Now see? Here’s a man who’s learned his lesson. Have a seat, Jake. You paid enough for it,” he said, patting the seat next to him, then looked up at Matt again. “You weren’t planning to take all night to get that whiskey, were you, Parrish?”
“No, sir,” he said.
At least, Rebecca thought, as Matt casually strolled away after asking if anyone else wanted anything, the worst was over. Dad and Matt had met.
But then she saw Bud and Candace standing near the stage with Tom chatting it up.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Man, unlike any other thing organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments . . .
JOHN STEINBECK
Matt was also thinking the worst was over, and really didn’t think Aaron Lear was going to pose any problem for him. The man honestly looked too sick to be anything but a pain in the ass, which was obviously what he had set out to be.
He got the whiskey, ran into Gilbert wearing a T-shirt with a tuxedo drawn on it, black jeans, and high tops. He was with Angie, who had chosen a vintage thrift-store dress to accent her boots and black lipstick. She had jet black hair, too, with tints of blue and red. But Matt could honestly say she looked a whole lot better than the guy she had come with—he looked as if he had just stepped out of a coffin.
“This deal is so tight!” Angie exclaimed. “We’re going to get a drink,” she added, and said to her date, “Free bar.”
“Awesome,” he said, and the two of them sauntered off.
Matt looked at Gilbert. “Speech ready?”
“Yeah, and dude, he’s got the whole thing on three-by-fives in his coat pocket!”
Now that was unbelievable. “Have a drink, then, Gilbert,” Matt said. “You’ve earned it.” Gilbert chucked Matt on the shoulder and followed Angie and her beau.
By the time Matt got back to the table with the drinks, Rebecca was missing. He wasn’t surprised—she had an awful lot going on this evening. With a smile, he handed the whiskey to Aaron Lear, a beer to Jake, and a glass of soda to Robin, who caught his eye, rolled hers, and took a long, fortifying sip.
Mr. Lear leaned back; wet his lips with the whiskey. “Not bad. Thought it would be standard bar crap.” He put the glass down, looked at Matt. “So, Parrish, what are your intentions?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Dad!” Robin exclaimed. “Why do you do that?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Robbie,” he said, feigning innocence. “When a man comes sniffing around my daughters’ skirts, I like to know what he’s after, that’s all. And Matt here, he doesn’t mind answering a few questions, do you Matt?”
“Not at all. I have nothing to hide,” Matt said, looking him square in the eye.
“Is that right?” Mr. Lear said with a definite smirk.
“That’s right. I don’t mind telling you up front that I’m after her money. Every last red cent.”
Robin choked so hard on her soda that Jake had to slap her on the back—but not before flashing Matt a look of pity, as if he expected to see him eaten alive. Mr. Lear just laughed, flashed a crooked little smile, sipped his whiskey, and said, “You know what, Parrish? I think I’m gonna like you. I know I’m gonna like you a hell of a lot better than that asshole,” he said motioning with his head toward the stage.
Matt, Robin, and Jake all turned to see who he was talking about.
“Oh, God,” Robin muttered.
“Who is it?” Matt asked.
“Bud Reynolds. Rebecca’s ex,” Mr. Lear said. “You’ve heard him on the radio, haven’t you? Come on down to Reynolds Chevrolet, yada yada yada.”
Yeah, he’d heard him, all right, and had thought, long before he knew Rebecca, that the man’s voice grated. While the blonde on his arm was predictably pretty, Reynolds sure didn’t look like the big, strapping, handsome man Matt had expected, the sort of man worthy of Rebecca’s attentions. No, Bud Reynolds was the opposite of that. His barrel chest slid to belly flab. And he had a thick face with a ruddy complexion that suggested either he drank too much or the exertion of walking to the stage had almost done him in.
“How she stayed married to that ass for so long is a mystery,” Robin said.
“Why she ever married him is a mystery,” Mr. Lear said. “I’ll tell you the truth, Matt.” He paused to down the last of his whiskey and shove the glass back across the table to him, “That worries me about Becky. She’s pretty, but she’s not the sharpest tack on the board when it comes to men.”
“Come on, Aaron, that’s not fair,” Jake said instantly. “She was fifteen when she met Bud, nineteen or maybe even younger when she married him—”
But Mr. Lear cut him off with a biting, “So?”