Cute, but not his type, and that was without even knowing who the hell she was.
As Caleb turned away to see what else was happening in the strip club, Daryl nudged him. “Would you believe that’s Bobby’s little sister?”
“Fuck off. That’s Hilary? Damn. Last time I saw her she was wearing braces and Bobby’s old football jerseys.”
“She grew up while you were gone. Hell, you should see my own sister. She’s Miss Melly Homemaker now. She’s even talking about popping kiddo number three.”
“Damn, she’s got kids?” Last time Caleb had seen Melanie, she was in her last year of high school. “Is your sister still with what’s-his-name? That dude whose dad owns that big ass company in the area. Some kind of bio-medical research lab.”
“Andrew? Yup. He’s now a CEO with the company. Making good dough, too. My sister is living in that new swanky subdivision just outside of Bitten Point.”
“Your sister is a yuppie housewife?” Caleb snickered. “Never thought I’d see that day.” Not given how much of a tomboy Melanie had been growing up.
“Yeah, my mom is so proud. Apparently, owning a house with a dishwasher and more than one bathroom is an indication she’s made it.” Daryl rolled his eyes. “Apparently, having an in-house toilet and outhouse one just isn’t the same.”
Yet another smile stretched his lips. Daryl was a bayou man at heart. He’d never get caught dead in a suit or living a cookie-cutter life.
“I see you’ve managed to evade getting hitched. Whatever happened to Stacy what’s-her-name that you were dating?”
A shudder shook his friend. “Stacy was over like a month after you left. She started talking marriage and babies, and I started talking leaving civilization behind and living off the land…” Daryl shrugged as he grinned. “As it turns out, she wasn’t wanting the same things in life I was.”
Caleb chuckled and shook his head. Nice to see his best friend hadn’t changed. He had to admit he’d wondered what Daryl would do when he showed up at his mom’s front door right after dinner—a dinner consisting of a droolingly delicious homemade clam chowder with Ma’s special cornbread for dipping.
Caleb had no sooner tucked away two platefuls than someone rang the doorbell.
“Since when do we have a fucking doorbell?” Caleb exclaimed.
“Language,” his ma chided in the midst of clearing the table.
“We have a doorbell because I spent thirty bucks to get one. Just because we live by the swamp doesn’t mean we can’t have amenities,” Constantine informed him.
A doorbell, shutters, and new laminate flooring in every room. What had happened to the charming shack he’d grown up in? Caleb could no longer see the marks of his past—they’d painted over some of his best penwork!
As Princess took off for the front door, barking and bristling like a rabid squirrel, Caleb followed after, not out of any interest in who was at the door, but more a wonder if the tiny dog would rip whoever dared come to the house into shreds.
She was certainly freaking out enough to make Caleb think she was perhaps part hound of Hell.
Opening the door, he had no trouble recognizing who stood there. Daryl.
Awkward.
Ma and Constantine weren’t the only ones Caleb had more or less abandoned without a word. How had his best friend taken his abrupt departure?
Daryl took a hard look at him and said, “You know you’re a dickhead, right?”
“Biggest dick around,” Caleb retorted.
To which Daryl smirked. “Not according to the ladies.” And that was that. His Latino friend sauntered in and hugged his mother.
Now some people might wonder at Melanie and Daryl’s very non Hispanic names. Simple. Their mother was convinced that in order to succeed in the world, they needed a proper name. A very English name. Although, as Daryl once confided to Caleb, the name wasn’t what slammed doors in his face, but his tanned skin, tattoos, and attitude. Raised on the wrong side of the bayou, it didn’t matter what they wore or how they spoke, people judged. But guess what? Caleb didn’t give a fuck and neither did his best friend.
Apparently, Daryl had not been a stranger to his home in Caleb’s absence. Perhaps that was why his mother told him—after a dessert of homemade peach-flavored ice cream—that they should go out and enjoy themselves.
Whatever the reason for her wanting to get rid of him, Caleb took it, not eager to get into a conversation with his ma that would prod him about things he’d prefer to bury. See, the thing was, despite the need for secrecy, he wasn’t sure he could lie to his mother anymore.
But what about Daryl? He’d probably have questions, too, so Caleb warned him. “I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about the last few years.”
“I’m not a fucking idiot. It’s obvious something serious went down. Why else would you have fucked off in the middle of the night without a word hardly to anyone?”