He thought for certain the way she opened the door to him she was what he thought she was, a fake gypsy princess slumming in the Colorado mountains on millions of dollars’ worth of land.
Her offering him a sandwich, wearing that cute-as-fuck dress and stomping around in those ridiculous boots that she looked comfortable in, not like she was missing her high heels, he was wondering if he was right.
“Christ,” he bit out, pushed up, went into his trailer and made a bologna and cheese sandwich.
He ate it and went right back out to head to Bubba’s.
He did this hoping Jus wasn’t there.
At the same time denying he hoped she was.
*
Justice
I was in the garage the next morning, staring impatiently at Mr. Coffee as it dribbled brown elixir, when I heard the muted banging.
Deke was there.
I moved into the house, through it and to the front door.
No PJs that morning. I was barely dressed and had had no shower. But I was dressed, awake, and determined not to be a bitch.
I opened the door and looked up.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“Hey,” he greeted back.
“I’m making coffee,” I stated, shifting out of the door to let him in, and he came in while I was still talking. “I’ll bring you a mug when it’s done. Then I’ll hit the shower and get out of here while you get on with things. You want me to come back around noon with food or something?”
He’d stopped inside and was studying me as I spoke.
It took him a couple of beats before he said, “Thanks. No.”
“Sure?” I asked.
“I’m good,” he answered.
“Okeydoke,” I replied, turned and moved back through the house, asking, “How do you take your coffee?”
When he didn’t reply by the time I hit the frame of the door to go into the hall, I stopped and turned back.
He hadn’t moved except to shift in a way that he was facing me.
“Deke,” I prompted.
“Milk, not much, one spoon of sugar.”
I grinned at him, said, “Right,” and took off.
I brought him his coffee while he was hauling some things in from outside.
As I was setting it down on a blanketed cabinet, he spoke.
“Get as much done as I can, Jus.”
My gaze shot to him when he used my name.
“Do my best to get it all,” he continued. “Shouldn’t be a problem, though can’t get the rafters without another man here. Even so, means at night you can fire up the furnace. I tested it earlier. You’re not home by the time I take off, I’ll set it before I go.”
“That would be…that’d be…” Why couldn’t I handle him being a decent human being? “That’d be great, Deke. Thanks,” I finally got out.
“You got one, leave me a key and your number,” he ordered. “I’ll lock up before I go, you’re not back. Call you if there’s anything needs reporting.”
I nodded.
He watched me nod then walked right back out the door, presumably to get more stuff.
I smiled to myself as I went to my bedroom, got one of the extra keys Joni had given me on closing, wrote my number on a Post-it and took them back out to set them by his coffee.
“Have fun insulating,” I called to him as he walked back in with more stuff and I was walking back to my bedroom.
Apparently reaching the end of his ability to be a decent human being, Deke said nothing.
*
I stood in one of the two convenience stores that somehow the small town of Carnal seemed to be able to keep alive and stared, grinning at the cover of Twang magazine.
Lacey was on the front. Just Lacey against a gray background, though standing at her right foot was a male peacock, its tail fanned out behind Lace in full glory.
Her stance was wide. Her short but shapely legs oiled. A tiny dress made entirely of a peacock array of sequins barely covering her petite body. Her hair teased high just at the top, falling stick straight down the back. Her hands on her hips like she was Wonder Woman.
At the bottom, next to her silver-sandal-stiletto, it declared,
Lacey Town
Paints Her Tour Peacock
Oh yeah, I was sure she was, seeing as Peacock, the title to her latest album as well as her current tour, went platinum the day it released, the tour sold out in ten countries.
I yanked the magazine out of its rack and flipped through until I saw the article.
More pictures of Lacey, posed as well as middance move, mouth open, mic curled around her cheek onstage.
Also one of her with her dad, Terrence Town, drummer and half of the decades-long partnership of songwriters of the still-touring (except in its fifth incarnation), multi-platinum R&B group, Heaven’s Gate.
I flipped the page and drew in a sharp breath.