Bittersweet Creek (12 page)

Julian

I
magine my surprise the next morning when I ran into Curtis on my way back from the garden.

“Looks like some mighty fine corn you got there,” he said.

I didn't even slow down. If he was tossing out compliments, he wanted something. “Silver Queen did really good this year.”

“Your mama might want some,” he said.

“She got some,” I answered as I paused at the back door to take off my boots. “She's still out there picking beans and getting some tomatoes.”

“Some things I wanted to talk to you about.”

He'd followed me. At least he wasn't trying to go into the house. He knew how I felt about that. I put my buckets of corn just inside the back porch and turned to face him. “What do you want?”

“Well, now. I went over to The Fountain and heard from Bill that you and that Satterfield . . . girl actually got hitched.”

I forced myself to stare him down. “We did, but we're not going to stay that way.”

“That's a shame,” he said as he pulled on his chin. “Seems to me like combining the two old farms might be a good idea.”

I snorted. “Since when?”

He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I know I've been tough on you, boy, but I'm not going to live forever. Maybe I've been thinking about what's going to happen to you and your mama when I'm gone.”

“Last night you wanted to kill me.”

“Oh, I'd had a few nips too many. I got a good night's sleep and decided I needed to have your uncle Charlie draw up those papers that would sign this place over to you. Since you were right about my not being able to see and all.”

Looked like the same jackass, but Curtis was acting like he'd been abducted by aliens. If this kinder, gentler version was what they left behind, I wasn't complaining.

I also wasn't stupid enough to trust him.

“Why don't you bring those papers over to Ben's office next week, and I'll sign them.”

“Ben's office?” Something flashed behind his eyes, but he quickly tamped it down. “He mainly does that stuff with the juvie kids, doesn't he?”

“Yep.”

“All right then. I'll be there Thursday at nine.”

“That ain't next week. He might be busy,” I said.

“Then he can get unbusy. This can't wait another minute.”

Curtis flashed me a smile. If I hadn't already known he was up to something, I would've known then. Still, it was worth a shot, wasn't it?

Romy

“D
id you do all that?” Genie asked as she looked at an array of quart jars full of green beans and tomatoes. Calling her hadn't been enough. She'd decided to stop by a couple of days after our call.

“That I did. Only lost a jar or two.” I'd spent the day before canning and even froze a few packs of butter beans.

At first I'd been scared to death I would blow up the house with the pressure canner, but the instructions were easy to follow. Freezing hadn't been too bad, either. It would've been easier if Daddy hadn't been giving a running commentary to Mercutio on everything I was doing wrong. Now the cat sat in a beam of light on the kitchen floor napping as if he'd been doing all the heavy lifting.

“That's pretty awesome. My mom did some canning, but I never picked it up,” Genie said.

“I followed the instructions,” I said with a shrug.

“Ha! I'd have to have something to can. These crazy shifts keep me too busy to fuss with a garden.” Genie fished around in her bag for all of the reunion paperwork while I fixed us each a cup of coffee.

At the whirring of the Keurig, Daddy rolled in from the living room wanting a cup. Once he got one, he rolled right back out since Genie and I were discussing reunion particulars. She wanted me to search the Internet to see if I could find addresses for a few more people she hadn't been able to find on Facebook.

“We're already past the deadline,” I said.

She winced. “I know, but I want everyone to have a chance to come if they want to. Besides, this will all be over and done in three weeks,” she said with a sigh as she closed her notebook and slid all of her information back into her bag.

“I'm actually beginning to look forward to it,” I said.

“Well, I would hope so! Is Richard going to be there?”

I thought of our last conversation. “Maybe?”

“What about Julian?”

“He didn't pay for a ticket so I can only assume he's not coming.” Not that I had checked specifically for his name or anything.

“Shocker,” Genie said.

“And you're bringing Ben?”

She smiled. “I don't know. I think I will.”

She gathered her things and started for the door, but stopped to tell me one more thing. “You know, this country thing is really suiting you. I wondered if you'd be able to make this work, but here you are working in the garden and canning and”—she nodded toward my arm—“taking care of cows. It's pretty impressive.”

“Thanks,” I said as I walked her to the door. Life had been easier once I'd relearned how to walk in a pasture. Coffee had helped, too. Apparently, one had to be alert to avoid the cow patties of life.

I followed her out on the porch and onto the lawn barefoot. The grass tickled my overly sensitive feet. But those feet were getting tougher, remembering the freedom of wiggling bare toes in the grass.

I waved to Genie as she left.

My hand felt lighter. I hadn't put my ring back on despite what Richard had said. At first, I told myself I didn't want to lose such an expensive piece of jewelry in the garden or get it caught on anything. Now I was beginning to see I didn't want to wear his ring because it might get in the way of other things.

Julian

P
ushing away any thoughts of Romy, I kept my head down and worked hard through the rest of the week including two days changing oil and such for Leroy. Finally, Thursday came, the day to sign the power-of-attorney papers.

I got to Ben's house early. He was all business, but not anywhere near as optimistic as I was. “You sure he's actually gonna show this time?”

We both knew how Curtis liked to string people along.

Ben pointed a long finger at me. “You owe me.”

“I know, I know. We're up to an evening with the Swedish Bikini Team, I believe,” I said.

“Yeah. And a six-pack. And free oil changes for life. You can start with the six-pack.”

I nodded. This was the game we played.

He went back to his desk and started arranging all of the papers in piles. I wanted to be jealous of him because he'd made something of himself. There Ben Little stood in a crisply pressed dress shirt, his dark skin contrasting against the white of the shirt. It might be a new millennium, but folks still asked how we could be friends. Easy: We both knew poor. We both knew bullies and bad fathers—though he'd been lucky enough to escape his. City or country, white or black, those weren't the things that defined us. Knowing what it was like to be overlooked or underestimated—that's what united us.

Besides, I was there when he needed me, and he was there when I needed him. Only he and Hank—of all people—knew my darkest secrets.

“He isn't coming.”

“Ben, he'll be here. He's desperate this time.” I leaned back into the leather chair.
He has to come.

“And I guess he's bringing that asshole who gives a bad name to lawyers everywhere?” Ben raised one eyebrow. I couldn't blame him for disliking Uncle Charlie. He was my uncle and I couldn't stand the sonuvabitch.

“Of course he's bringing Uncle Charlie.”

Ben muttered under his breath and pointed at me again. “Big-time.”

“Next time I change your oil, I'll rotate your tires, too.”

“And find a new hubcap for the town car?” Ben said.

“Yeah, fine.” I wanted to go through car junkyards about like I wanted another hole in my head, but one way I'd been able to pay Ben back was helping him fix up the 1986 Lincoln Town Car that had once been his grandmother's pride and joy. Damn car guzzled gas, but it was stout. Even if it was a Ford.

I figured Ben had a soft spot for the old car because it's the one that his grandmother drove to get him out of Chicago, where his parents had been hip-deep in drugs and gangs and who knew what else. I kept the thing running, and Ben made sure my uncle Charlie didn't pull a fast one.

“There the jackass is,” Ben muttered under his breath.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I spoke for him: “I know. I owe you. Big-time.”

Ben went to get the door, opening it before Uncle Charlie could ring the doorbell. Uncle Charlie and Curtis could've been twins: same shock of thinning gray hair, same craggy nose, same paunch, and same mean expression. Curtis had put on his Sunday best overalls, though, while Uncle Charlie wore a cheap, crumpled suit.

“
Mistah
Little,” Uncle Charlie sneered in an affected Southern drawl.

“
Mister
McElroy,” Ben returned as he gestured to the house's dining room, the room he used as a conference room. “Have a seat, gentlemen. Can I get you any coffee?”

I snorted at how polite Ben was being. He shot me a dirty look.

“No thank you,” Curtis said.

“Let's get down to business then.” Ben leaned out in the hallway to the parlor, where his sometime secretary sat. “Hey, Lydia, I'm going to need a notary on this one.”

Lydia, a sturdy brunette, took a spot along the wall to watch the proceedings.

Uncle Charlie took papers from his attaché case with fat fingers, the exertion causing him to huff. Ben put on his glasses and began reading each paper. Carefully.

Uncle Charlie ran a hand through his hair, and I thought I saw a tremor.

Ben looked up over the rim of his glasses, his eyes burning through Uncle Charlie. “What do you take me for?”

Uncle Charlie opened his mouth to say one of the most hateful words in the English language but stopped short at the look in Ben's eyes.

Ben pointed to the papers. “My client won't be signing these.”

“What?” The word came out before I could stop it.

Ben nodded his chin ever so slightly in the no direction, and my heart sank down to my stomach. I'd known it was too good to be true. Just because Curtis was getting blinder by the day did not mean he was getting any nicer.

Curtis walked right into a table and knocked off a couple of file folders.

“Looks like Mr. McElroy has some trouble seeing,” Ben said quietly. “Maybe you should draw up the papers you said you would.”

“Look, asshole,” Uncle Charlie said. “I ain't gotta do nothing but be white and die.”

Lydia gasped.

Ben took off his glasses and laid them gently on the table. He stood, an impressive six-three. “I think it's time for you to leave.”

“Ain't no ni—”

“Don't.” Ben edged around the table and stood over Uncle Charlie.

Uncle Charlie turned to the side and spit. Tobacco juice just missed Lydia's shoe and the Oriental rug in the foyer.

“Go. Now.” Ben's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He knew Uncle Charlie was baiting him, knew the old man wanted him to throw a punch. Uncle Charlie would happily take a fat lip or a shiner if it meant he could take someone to court.

Uncle Charlie turned to spit again, but I stepped up beside him.

“What you gonna do, boy?”

“Get out,” I said. “Both of you bastards get out. Or I'll
help
you out.”

“Bastards, huh?” Curtis laughed as he sidled up to his brother. “You know a lot more about bastards than you think. Guess you'd better figure out a way to convince the Satterfield girl to take you back. Before this is over, you're going to be selling your clover patch to me.”

I involuntarily leaned forward, but Ben clamped a hand on my shoulder. “I'm not bailing you out, Jay,” he said through clenched teeth.

I lunged forward anyway.

Uncle Charlie flinched. “C'mon, Curtis. I think we're done here.”

Curtis and Uncle Charlie eased out of Ben's house, leaving the door wide-open behind them.

Lydia slammed it shut and disappeared into the parlor. Ben tossed me a wad of fast-food napkins. “Your family. Clean up their mess.”

“Is it too late to find a new family?”

“I don't want to say I told you so, but I told you so. Add entry to the Playboy Mansion to my bill. And Hef's girls are going to rub the tension right out of these shoulders.”

I dropped the stack of napkins over the wet spot and stepped on them. “What the hell's going on, Ben?”

“That son of a bitch drew up papers that would make Curtis
your
power of attorney,” Ben said as he leaned against the doorway and watched me clean. “I can't believe he thought I wouldn't catch that.”

“No, he hoped
I
would be stupid enough not to catch it.” They knew I couldn't read well, especially not the tiny print Uncle Charlie had chosen. “But why?”

Ben shrugged. “He must want something you've got. Something he could sign over to someone else—and he's got to be desperate if he's willing to try something that stupid.”

The only thing I had was my third of the farm, the part Mamaw had willed me. But why in the hell would he want that? I mean, he needed the money, but who would pay for our place? The McElroy farm was only a fraction of the Satterfield spread.

“You need to get away from those people,” Ben said. “Too bad I can't send you down south to live with your grandma.”

“Ain't got a mamaw anymore and if I go any further south I'd have to retake Spanish.”

Ben sighed. “You are one literal son of a bitch, you know that? I'm saying you should've left. You still can if you'll—”

“Leave my mama on her own with
him?
”

Ben came around and sat on the corner of his desk, and I was jealous of him in that moment. Jealous as hell because he'd made something of himself while I was still beholden to Curtis.

“You don't owe her one damn thing.”

I met Ben's gaze, his dark eyes hard and unyielding. He was right except I did owe her for bringing me into this world. And the only way I was getting out of this conversation was to change the subject. “So, what do you know about getting an annulment?”