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Authors: Louise Shaffer
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away at college. She came into Daddy's bar and sang with Denny and the boys the way you used to. I think she did it because she missed you.”
It was funny the way someone could say something that would get you in the gut, and they'd never know it. Or did he? For a brief moment she flashed back to the pudgy nine-year-old Wiener, who always seemed to be watching her. The present-day Wiener moved to her sofa and sat on it, sprawling out his long denim-clad legs like he was at home.
“Do you ever wear anything but jeans?” she asked.
“It's a habit I got into up north. Hanging on to my redneck cred.”
“Did you like it up there?”
“I got a good education, good training, it was nice to get away from home. Yeah, I liked it.”
“Why the hell did you come back?”
He was about to answer her but something flickered in his eyes and he changed his mind. “Why did you?” he asked. “You went away to college. I remember when you left.”
“To Jackson State. I had a scholarship—everything covered,” she said, and then could have kicked herself. Mentioning the scholarship was beyond pathetic. “Ma got sick, so I had to come back to take care of her. But it was okay. She said I'd never make it at college, and she was probably right,”
“I'm sorry, Laurel.” He really was. She could tell.
“Hey, I wouldn't want to break a fine old family tradition of screwing up.” There had been a lot more to it all than that, but she'd never told anyone—not even Denny—about it. Still, if Wiener were to ask her the right questions, right now, this minute, maybe she would. She waited, but he didn't. Which, she told herself, was just as well.
“Your turn,” she said. “Why did you come back?”
He paused again, but this time he decided to say it. “Well, there's this girl.”
There was a tiny pang of regret somewhere in her stomach and a much bigger pang of relief.
“You came back home for some girl you knew in high school?”
“Earlier than that.”
Laurel ran through a list of the girls his age who had stayed in town, looking for one spectacular enough to make him return to Charles Valley. She came up empty. “She must be a knockout.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “She's beautiful, and she's very smart. . . .”
The litany was starting to piss her off. “Does she have a name?”
“Laurel.”
“Yes?”
“No. Her name is Laurel Selene McCready.”
He hadn't said that. And if he had said it, it didn't mean what she thought it meant. And if it did mean what she thought it meant, if she ignored it, it would go away. She got up and headed for the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. “I've only got sweet tea in the fridge, but I can make up some without sugar if you'd like.”
He wasn't going to let her dodge it. He was going to say
You have to deal with this
. She knew it. What he said was, “Thanks, but I should probably get back to my car.” He was going to let her dodge it. He
was
still a child.
“Right,” she heard herself say. “You need to get your rest. You have to get up early tomorrow, and . . .” He nodded and stood up, unfolding long limbs with an athlete's grace; where had he learned to move like that? “I'll get the car keys,” she finished lamely.
After a silent drive that felt awkward as hell to Laurel although it didn't seem to bother Perry—the little creep—they finally pulled into the Sportsman's Grill parking lot. Perry took her packages out of his car and put them in her front seat.
“Are you really going to take these back?” he asked.
“Probably.”
He started to say something and stopped.
“Thank you for the help,” she said.
“Sure.”
Before he could get into his own car, she peeled out. She could feel him watching her.
Chapter Eleven
W HEN LAUREL GOT HOME, she carried the pile of presents into her bedroom, where she closed the door over the protests of the dogs and spread her loot out on her bed. And thought about gifts. And
It was funny the way someone could say something that would get you in the gut, and they'd never know it. Or did he? For a brief moment she flashed back to the pudgy nine-year-old Wiener, who always seemed to be watching her. The present-day Wiener moved to her sofa and sat on it, sprawling out his long denim-clad legs like he was at home.
“Do you ever wear anything but jeans?” she asked.
“It's a habit I got into up north. Hanging on to my redneck cred.”
“Did you like it up there?”
“I got a good education, good training, it was nice to get away from home. Yeah, I liked it.”
“Why the hell did you come back?”
He was about to answer her but something flickered in his eyes and he changed his mind. “Why did you?” he asked. “You went away to college. I remember when you left.”
“To Jackson State. I had a scholarship—everything covered,” she said, and then could have kicked herself. Mentioning the scholarship was beyond pathetic. “Ma got sick, so I had to come back to take care of her. But it was okay. She said I'd never make it at college, and she was probably right,”
“I'm sorry, Laurel.” He really was. She could tell.
“Hey, I wouldn't want to break a fine old family tradition of screwing up.” There had been a lot more to it all than that, but she'd never told anyone—not even Denny—about it. Still, if Wiener were to ask her the right questions, right now, this minute, maybe she would. She waited, but he didn't. Which, she told herself, was just as well.
“Your turn,” she said. “Why did you come back?”
He paused again, but this time he decided to say it. “Well, there's this girl.”
There was a tiny pang of regret somewhere in her stomach and a much bigger pang of relief.
“You came back home for some girl you knew in high school?”
“Earlier than that.”
Laurel ran through a list of the girls his age who had stayed in town, looking for one spectacular enough to make him return to Charles Valley. She came up empty. “She must be a knockout.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “She's beautiful, and she's very smart. . . .”
The litany was starting to piss her off. “Does she have a name?”
“Laurel.”
“Yes?”
“No. Her name is Laurel Selene McCready.”
He hadn't said that. And if he had said it, it didn't mean what she thought it meant. And if it did mean what she thought it meant, if she ignored it, it would go away. She got up and headed for the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. “I've only got sweet tea in the fridge, but I can make up some without sugar if you'd like.”
He wasn't going to let her dodge it. He was going to say
You have to deal with this
. She knew it. What he said was, “Thanks, but I should probably get back to my car.” He was going to let her dodge it. He
was
still a child.
“Right,” she heard herself say. “You need to get your rest. You have to get up early tomorrow, and . . .” He nodded and stood up, unfolding long limbs with an athlete's grace; where had he learned to move like that? “I'll get the car keys,” she finished lamely.
After a silent drive that felt awkward as hell to Laurel although it didn't seem to bother Perry—the little creep—they finally pulled into the Sportsman's Grill parking lot. Perry took her packages out of his car and put them in her front seat.
“Are you really going to take these back?” he asked.
“Probably.”
He started to say something and stopped.
“Thank you for the help,” she said.
“Sure.”
Before he could get into his own car, she peeled out. She could feel him watching her.
Chapter Eleven
W HEN LAUREL GOT HOME, she carried the pile of presents into her bedroom, where she closed the door over the protests of the dogs and spread her loot out on her bed. And thought about gifts. And
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