Bittersweet Creek (4 page)

Julian

T
he last thing I had to do before showering was check on Beatrice. The palomino ambled tentatively around the little paddock I'd made for her, reaching down to snuff the ground for a bite of grass here and there. The wind changed directions, and she sniffed the air then walked toward me, no doubt because she could smell the apple I held in my outstretched hand.

I reached out to pet her long face, and she snorted then rooted around for the apple. She flicked her ears forward as she crunched. For her, this was a good day. No miracle had occurred to bring back her vision, and the same milky film covered her eyes, making her look like the horse of a demigod. I should've had Dr. Winterbourne put her down because she wasn't going to get better from being moon blind, but I wasn't much on killing things. She nuzzled my hand as though she knew what I was thinking, and I reached out to rub her old nose.

“And how are you doing today, Beatrice?”

She nickered, which I took to mean she could really use another apple. Instead I led her to the fresh water I'd put out. She sniffed and snorted then stamped her front feet with a swish of her tail as if to say, “Does this look like an apple to you?”

I rubbed down her neck, picking a few pieces of hay out of her mane. “I'm thinking tomorrow might be a good day to clean you up a bit.”

She drank deeply from the water, ignoring the man who'd brought only one apple. Her ears pricked and she turned her head in the direction of my other three horses in the pasture beyond the paddock. She held her head high and neighed in the direction of the other horses. They, of course, ignored her.

“I'm sorry, old gal, but they're just plain mean to you when I let you in there.” Again, guilt stabbed at me. I should've put her down long ago. I knew the pain that went along with the flareups, and the medicine to help her was expensive enough to break us. But I couldn't bear to get rid of the horse I'd intended as Romy's wedding gift.

She backed away from me, tentatively walking in the direction of the fence that separated her paddock from the larger pasture where the other horses roamed. She called to them from her side of the fence.

“You know, I could shoot that horse between the eyes and put her out of her misery.”

I didn't even turn around. “Don't even think about it, Curtis.”

“Seems to me, we didn't get to finish our chat.”

“I don't have anything else to say to you.”

I turned on my heel and left, but he followed me. “Well, maybe I've got some things to say to you.”

As I walked by the tree, the pit bulls barked with all their might, straining against their chains to get to me. “Well, maybe I don't want to hear what you've got to say.”

He tried to clap a hand on my shoulder but missed. His eyes squinted and blinked against the light. A moon blind horse and a mean-ass old man who was going blind, too. How sad was it that I'd consider putting Curtis down before the horse?

“You might. I've been thinking about how I'm going to have to start turning some things over to you.”

This was a dream—it had to be. If I could get Curtis off my back...

I wheeled around to face him. “What's the catch? Why so ready to make a deal all of a sudden?”

“You might've noticed I can't see for shit. Doc says I'm going blind.”

“I've noticed,” I said.

“He said my eyesight would go quickly. Said I might ought to get some things in order. I'm gonna have to trust you to write the checks one day. Might as well start putting your name on things.”

Yeah, and then you can run up debt in
my
name and I'll be the one who has to pay it off.
“Why don't you put it in Mama's name?”

“That woman wouldn't know her ass from a hole in the ground,” Curtis spat.

My fists clenched, ready to knock the smug grin off his face. But if I could get everything in my name then I wouldn't have to kowtow to him anymore.

“All right, I'll bite. What do you need me to do?”

“I'll get Charlie to draw up some papers, you know, power of attorney and all that. Then we can talk about getting your name put on the bank account along with mine.” Curtis stopped short of Mamaw's front porch. He knew he wasn't welcome in the house I'd fixed up and claimed as my own.

“I'm bringing Ben.”

Curtis cussed under his breath, but he knew I didn't trust Uncle Charlie any farther than I could throw him. And Uncle Charlie was about a biscuit shy of three hundred.

“Do what you need to do,” Curtis muttered before tottering in the direction of the trailer. I noticed the weeds around the trailer were about waist-high.

Feeling generous, I went for the weed eater and got to work on those weeds creeping up around the trailer. I'd been avoiding them on principle, waiting to see if Curtis would ever get off his drunk, lazy ass and mow his own lawn and do his own weed eating. He wouldn't have done that even if he could see. At least he lived in a trailer, and there was the possibility of hauling it somewhere else someday. Hell, I was helping myself by cutting these weeds! Now we'd be able to find the trailer hitch.

Done with that task, I put the weed eater away and absently patted the beagle as I walked through the back door. For the first time in a long while I felt like celebrating. Nothing with Curtis was ever easy, but there was a whisper of hope I might get shed of him.

Romy

W
hile I was waiting on Genie to pick me up, I thumbed through the folder of my mother's notes. She had, of course, arranged them chronologically. The first piece was a yellowed paper she'd typed using a typewriter with an “e” that marked ever so slightly above the other letters. I could almost feel her frustration at not being able to make that “e” straighten up and get in line with the rest. I smiled as I read:

Leave it to my mother to give the farms themselves personality. A car honked outside and I laid the folder down on the scratchy couch and gave Daddy a kiss on the cheek on my way out. He grunted his good-bye, still unhappy I was going but knowing I was old enough to do what I wanted to do.

I slid into the car and did a double take. Gone were the frumpy hand-me-down clothes, frizzy hair, and glasses. The class ugly duckling had morphed into a rather beautiful swan. She'd traded in broken glasses for contacts, and she wore a neatly pressed linen suit that had no business going to a roadside tavern. We did an awkward half hug before I buckled my seat belt. She had to be at least twenty pounds lighter, quite a feat since I kept finding them instead of losing them.

“Genie, you look absolutely stunning!”

“And you, Romy, are looking pretty damn good yourself.”

It took me a minute to realize I must look similarly polished and sleek, thanks to a flat-iron addiction and last year's birthday gift from Richard: a makeover in the Nordstrom cosmetics department. I'd already chipped the pinkie nail on my left hand, but I pulled it underneath my fist with my thumb so she couldn't see it.

“So, how's life been treating you?”

She set out to tell me every detail of everything that had happened since we parted just after graduation, and I half listened and half watched familiar fields and houses blur by in the twilight. Somewhere in the middle of her story, we arrived at The Fountain. It hadn't changed much in the past ten years. The cinder-block building still sat across the road from County Line Methodist, the church the Satterfields had helped found long ago. I walked through the same rickety screen door of what had been an old country store. Old Coke signs still lined the walls. The counter remained, but Bill had put in a pool table to go with the jukebox that never worked. He'd also added some chairs and tables around a stage.

Genie only paused long enough for us to find a table and order a couple of beers. If she noticed how uncomfortable I was to be in another place that reminded me of Julian, she didn't say anything. She also had the grace not to laugh at me when I tried to order an appletini, then a pinot noir, only to be informed my choices were beer, beer, or, perhaps, beer.

Even then I sounded like a pretentious ass when I asked what was on tap and ended up with a bottled Bud Light. That's what I got for trying to be low-brow. Apparently, I'd forgotten how.

At least I didn't mind listening to Genie chatter, because she'd done well for herself as the first person in her family to go to college. Now she worked as an RN at the Jefferson Hospital, but she was convinced she was still missing out on Mr. Right.

“I hear you've met him.”

I almost choked on my beer. “Excuse me?”

“I hear you're going out with Richard Paris.”

“I am. I see news travels fast around here.” I focused on the infamous Beulah Land playing piano onstage. She didn't look a bit older than when I'd left, still a redhead who liked to flaunt her cleavage. Like every other girl in town, I'd always been secretly jealous of Beulah, but we'd never traveled in the same circles. Satterfield children weren't allowed to rebel—not even as teenagers.

Genie waved her hand around the tavern. “Not much to do, you see. Besides, when you drive into town with a car like that then run over your ex-boyfriend, people tend to pay attention.”

Heat blossomed in my cheeks. “Yeah. I'm not used to driving a car that fancy. It's Richard's.”

Genie took a long pull from her neglected and sweating beer. “Jim Price has a pool going that says you ran over Julian on purpose.”

“Price always has a pool going for something,” I said with a shrug.

“He's also got a bet going about whether or not you and Julian will get back together. He's got his money on Paris.”

“That's ridiculous. And none of his business, either! I'm just here for the summer.”
Why in heaven's name would I break up with Richard?
I glanced around the dingy honky-tonk full of self-proclaimed rednecks. Of course, if Richard came back here and stuck around for too long, he might decide to break up with me.

It was Genie's turn to shrug. “Just what I heard. Say, how are things going with the class reunion funds, Treasurer Lady?”

“Everything's collected and we're past the deadline so my job is done.”

“Unless you wanted to help with a few other odds and ends.” Genie batted her eyelashes.

“Oh, no. I'm going to have my hands full.”

“Please, please, please. It'll be like being in Beta Club all over again. You've already collected the money, and I've already done most of the heavy lifting, and—”

“Fine. I'll help.”
What? Where had that come from? Friends. You desperately want to remember what it's like to have friends.

She reached the short distance across the table and squeezed my hand. “I'm so glad to hear that.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “None of the other officers are doing anything. And they live right here!”

I understood only too well how group work went: One person did all the work and the others showed up in time to bask in the glory.

“I have a feeling I'm going to be really busy around the farm, but send me a list of things that need to get done, and I'll see what I can do.”

Genie beamed at me and extended her beer bottle to clink with mine. “It'll be the best reunion Yessum County has ever seen.”

I clinked my bottle against hers and opened my mouth to say her expectations might be a little high, but the cuckoo clock in the corner cut me off.

Beulah led the raucous crowd through the paces of “Dwelling in Beulah Land,” and I felt an eerie merging of past and present. The lyrics rolled off my tongue against my will, my heart warming at the words of the familiar song.

“In ten minutes, we're doing some karaoke, y'all!” Beulah announced before hopping to the floor for her break. Bill nodded to the Gates brothers, and they joined him in the corner to take out a couple of speakers, a microphone, and the other karaoke equipment. Pete rammed a speaker into Greg's back. Greg used a creative litany of curse words, and the two brothers pushed past our table and outside for a fight.

“Ha! You ought to put the Gates brothers on the committee,” I said.

“Can't. They never graduated,” she said.

“I am willing to help each of them earn a GED if it means having someone to cuss creatively while lifting heavy objects.”

But she wasn't listening to me. Instead, she stared at the door, and my heart started to thump insistently even before she spoke.

“Well, well. Look who's decided to show up this evening.”

I sucked in a breath and followed Genie's gaze to the door. Julian wasn't supposed to be here. But there he was, just as I'd somehow known he would be: tall and tanned from working outdoors, full of honestly earned muscles.
And you are remembering him the way you used to see him. You are immune to his charms now,
I chided myself.

He sat down by Ben at the tiny ledge that ran against the far wall. I had to peer around our waitress when she appeared with another round of beers. His eyes met mine, but I looked away quickly.

“Still got the hots for McElroy, huh?”

“No.” My burning cheeks said otherwise.

“Is that you, Julian McElroy? AND Romy Satterfield? It's been forever since the two of you sang. How 'bout you start us off with a little ‘Islands in the Stream'?”

I had never hated Beulah Land before that moment.

My pulse pounded in my ears, and I shook my head no, but Beulah's mouth had curved into a little smile. She liked to stir the shit, as my father would say.

Some traitorous punks in the back started a low chant, “Islands, Is-lands, Is-lands . . .”

I looked at Julian. He'd stood at the sound of his name, but he remained rooted to the spot, his eyes now locked with mine.

Folks stomped their feet in time: “Is-lands, Is-lands, Islands. . .”

Julian looked ready to bolt.
Was he about to run? Again?
I stood and shouted my challenge across the room. “I'll do it.”

“Fine,” he spat as he walked in my direction. I let go of the breath I'd been holding.

The house erupted in cheers, applause, whistles, and catcalls, but I couldn't think of anything but the fact that Julian McElroy had taken a step in my direction for the first time in ten years.