Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Tallula

" I keep my motorcycle stored here. It was my grandparents' place. My father inherited it. Ruined it. I'm restoring it."

I nod, appreciating that. If I squint, I can almost see the Acadian-style home in its former wide front porch glory.

"It's a lot of work, and I might lose it."

"A foreclosure?"

"No, it's bought and paid for. My grandmother came into some cash. My grandfather wanted to take her on a lavish trip. She'd never left Louisiana. She insisted on paying off the mortgage."

"Where are they now?"

"My grandmother passed away only a few years later. My grandfather was never the same. Turned mean. My father seemed to take it as a cue to not commit to anything but wrongdoing. Took advantage of my grandfather's aggrieved state."

"And your mom?"

"She was sick. Passed away when I was pretty young. Lost my father while he was in jail. Had a bad case of pneumonia. The guy was never much for life."

"I'm sorry, Jesse." I cover his hand with mine.

"Everyone says that but don't be. It's not that I'm allergic to pity. It's just what it is I suppose. There are worse problems to have."

From the sound of it, I'm not sure I agree. Then again, my family has its own issues. Ones I'm guessing Jesse wouldn't envy.

"As for losing the house, just a few years ago, I wouldn't have cared. Not a lick. But I've grown to appreciate the man I've become. I reckon I wouldn't have changed had I not had a father who was the kind of person who would pick the flowers off his mother's grave."

My eyes bulge because that is quite a statement.

"True story. I caused my own kind of trouble. Then I had a wake-up call. Got on a better path. Little by little, much like this house, I fixed my life. Now you're back in it and if that's not a reward for a job well done, I don't know what is."

My cheeks warm.

"I'm still trying to right wrongs and part of that is redeeming my family's name."

"Lawson?"

"Break the law son. Yeah. That one." He draws a big breath. "Did your parents ever mention why my father was fired from Swan's Syrups?"

I shake my head, but I've heard rumors.

"They accused him of skimming money from some accounts. I won't pretend that he wouldn't do something like that. The man had a rap sheet as tall as a sassafras tree after its first summer, but I could never work out how he got his hands on the accounts since he was on the factory side of the operation. Sure, he could've masterminded some slick way to take the money, but he wasn't clever like that." Jesse shakes his head as if still trying to puzzle it out.

"I know our families have their differences, but I don't think poorly of you because of anything your father may or may not have done," I say carefully.

He slides his hand out from under mine and plants it on top, lacing his fingers through mine. "A long time ago, I found a bunch of cash in a coffee can. It was about the same amount he was accused of taking from Swan's Syrups." Jesse meets my gaze. "Tallula, I thought I found it. Turned my father in on my eighteenth birthday."

My heart breaks for him and stumbles a bit because was his dad guilty? What does that mean for us?

"It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, but he was already wanted for a bunch of other crimes. I'm not going to underplay it. The man was a bad dude. Still, something about it never sat right. He said the money wasn't his. That his parents must've stashed it a long time ago. I didn't believe him at the time, but the longer I thought about it, had my father suddenly come into a large sum of money, there would've been evidence. First, he would've blown half of it down at Wild Boar's Watering Hole, and at the very least, we would've been able to afford heat and electricity that winter." Jesse opens the door and gets out of the truck.

We wander over to the attached garage behind the brick house.

Shaking his head, he adds, "More than likely, he'd have a bronze statue made of himself. Or his rusty old Trans-Am. He loved that car more than he did anyone in our family." A long sigh escapes as he hefts open the garage door.

I think of Moink and find a soft spot in my heart for Mr. Lawson. When our family life isn't great, we can choose to make things seem better than reality or rebel against it. I know what I picked. I don't blame Jesse or his dad for going in the opposite direction.

A puff of dust billows into the air and the remaining sun, tucking slowly behind the trees at our backs, illuminates the motorcycle in the center of the garage.

"I inherited this house and in so many ways it represents my family—broken. I want to fix that one way or another. If my father was truly guilty, fine. I accept that. But I think there was something else there. That he got caught up in something nefarious or was falsely accused."

Having put together the chronology of events, my grandfather was still in charge of operations at Swan's Syrups, and my father was still working as an attorney before taking over.

"Do you think my grandfather was involved?" I ask, afraid of the answer .

"I don't know what I think other than around that same time I overheard my father talking to someone about the ring ."

"The Bling Ring?"

"No, but that reminded me of—" He picks up a box and rifles through a folder. "Have you heard from your parents about the vandalism over at their place?"

"My father left me a message..." I trail off.

My sister spoke to them and said that when she mentioned the last name Lawson , meaning the deputy on the case, he fumed, criticizing them. There's a real feud between our families.

So far this date isn't exactly what I expected, but it's getting more interesting by the minute. Curiosity draws me in.

A bare lightbulb flickers on overhead. Jesse pulls out a string tie envelope. Inside is a mug shot with him, and another...and a third.

He snorts. "I want to get rid of all this."

"As far as I can tell, there are no remnants of the bad boy except this motorcycle, this leather jacket, and your side grin." He's wearing the jacket now and I tug on the edge and then wiggle a little round rock band pin.

He flashes his smile then, but it's bashful as if before it turned wicked, it belonged to a sweet, innocent boy who was born into a rough family.

"You remember?"

"How could I forget?"

"Maybe you wanted to. "

"Remember how you told me not to talk about my glow down? The same rule applies, Deputy."

He chuckles. "Fair enough."

That little digital heart inside flashes red and grows warm. I think I like this bad boy turned good. I think I like him a lot. A sweet sigh escapes.

Jesse suddenly goes still, his thoughts far away before swooping through the room as he picks up a glass bottle out of a box. It's empty, but the label says Swan's Syrup.

"Tallula, I don't want to bog you down with this, but I think you can help me. I'm so close to being free of the past. But it still has one hook in me."

"I don't know how I can help, but I'll try."

"When you were at your parents' house, I noticed an advertisement for Swan's Syrups that was part of a contest years and years ago."

"Thelma has one hanging in the hall," I say, catching his meaning.

"Exactly. The memory is foggy, but I think my grandmother made one too. It's got to be around here somewhere. No way would I have tossed that out."

We poke around amidst boxes of papers, old magazines and newspapers, paint cans, and numerous tools.

"I still have to finish going through all this. Probably will need to take another load to the dump." He turns in a circle, looking over the remains of his family's life, stuffed into one small garage.

"Do you remember how big it was or what it looked like?" I ask at the same time I spot what looks like the corner of a frame tucked behind an old stop sign .

Jesse taps it with the toe of his boot. "Stole that senior year. Probably should've taken it as a sign to stop what I was doing. Definitely should return it to the town."

"Not that. This." Tilting the stop sign forward, I stare into a familiar face with blonde curls and a mole on her chin rather than her cheek.

Turning to Jesse, I say, "That's my grandmother."

With a gasp, he says, "Painted by my grandmother. What in the name of?—?"

"That's my grandfather beside her and their kids, including my father. Didn't have the jowls yet. What does this mean?" I notice the Swan's Syrups logo in the corner.

Jesse must see it at the same time I do because he hoots with excitement. Then he all but leaps into the air before picking me up off the ground and spinning me in a circle.

"I don't get it," he says, talking into my hair.

"Me neither, but it means something." Together, I think we can figure it out.

Still in his arms, I tip my head back with laughter.

We both cheer and laugh before our eyes meet. I slowly slide down his chest before landing on my feet. Jesse's gaze travels down my face to my lips. He licks his and says, "Getting hungry? I have a picnic planned. This can wait."

"Ready whenever you are."

Jesse backs the motorcycle out of the garage and parks it by the truck. Pulling a couple of bags out of a big cooler he has in the back, he then stashes them in the saddle bag on the bike.

He hops on and over his shoulder, wearing his wicked grin, he asks, "Ready to ride?"

With that little heart icon aglow, I can't help but think the adventure is just beginning.