Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

K andie

Frowning, I take my phone out of my pocket. The pinging is getting on my nerves.

Pastries are a delicate process. Temperature, time, and ingredients being thrown off by me being distracted can ruin a dozen goodies. Like now, as I'm stopping in the middle of the process to read the family text thread. They're used to it by now, though.

Still, nosey as ever, I read the text.

Krie: Ulysses came by the Camellia and took Thad in. He and his friends are being charged with hacking the Creative Chaos plant. LL is coming in to represent them.

Following that is a flurry of responses from family members in denial or in support of Thad. My heart stops at the Ulysses took Thad to jail part . No heads-up. Nothing after he'd just been with me the entire night before.

Fury wraps me in a warm familiar hug as I finish cleaning the utensils, pans, and various baking items I used so they will be ready for prep tomorrow. Betrayal slices through me, fresh and warm.

Flicking off the light, I walk past the freshly power washed side street, unlocking my bike.

Peddling is familiar. I don't drive illegally unless I have to. I make a quick stop at the state store since this is both a wet and dry county, the most hypocritical shit I have ever heard. It's not like they are stopping anything. Hell, weed is the number one cash crop around here, but they like to pretend it ain't.

Taking a couple sips of my Remy I was out of, I tighten the cap, tucking a bottle of Cooper and Thief in my basket, which I had to replace because ol' no-good ass, dirty ass cop, Ulysses Shelby threw my brand new bottle onto the sidewalk crashing it the other night.

Then after dicking me down, he didn't even come call and check on me or anything. Just left like it meant nothing to him. Maybe it didn't. Maybe he was too busy arresting poor Thaddeus over some bullshit. That kid has been through so much. He only got in trouble that one time after his momma and daddy died. Yes, it was hacking too, but he just didn't want to upset Krie with his grades. The school worked with him. Then, after being so impressed with his technique, the principal even nominated him for a scholarship at the local private university. Ironically, it's named for a company that he's accused of hacking — Creative Chaos. Why would he do that? Makes not a lick of sense. But then again, what kid has any sense at that age?

I take another swig, letting the heady rapture of the liquor coat my throat and shimmy down into my chest in a dance of delight. I turn my bike toward the sheriff's house. Peddling used to be a nuisance, but it's my only legal way to get around other than walking since my license got suspended two years ago. I have deliveries to make and it's only me. I've gotten caught more than a couple times driving with a suspended license, so that keeps me from menacing the streets. My violations have nothing to do with being tipsy. I just started driving before I was legal, is all. That sealed the deal. Youthful offender gives way to career criminal around here.

Judge Truelove said I could get my license back if I went to a twelve-step program that had nothing to do with the original charge. I almost cussed her ass out. No, ma'am. Never doing no bullshit like that again, I'll just wait until my time expires. No need to be sitting around a bunch of people telling them about stuff that doesn't even bother me anymore. I drink because I like it. Period. I don't drink when I'm baking. I do keep a little sip on hand throughout the day, but that's it. That's my business. People can mind their own or come gossip with me when I have the tea. I always stop just shy of tipsy, cap up and put my liquor or wine away. That nice little floating feeling is all I need. I don't bother nobody and if they mess with me; they learn real fast they made a big ass mistake because making cakes isn't the only thing these hands are good for.

When I hit the corner of the street that houses the only Shelby property on this side of the county, my chest squeezes. I hope and dread that he's here. I hate to tear into him while his mom is infirmed, but he owes me answers. You don't just lay with a person all night, then put her first cousin and one of the youngest family members in jail without a text, call, or any type of heads-up. Typical. Like all Shelbys, he thinks he doesn't have to answer to anyone. Well, he's going to have to see me. Big, blond, burly bastard.

I pull up, parking my bike beside the nurse's blue Beetle. Jogging up the steps, I land on the porch lined with ferns and other potted plants. There is a pretty chair swing and rocking chairs along the wraparound porch. The front yard has a picturesque view of the whole neighborhood. Marlene used to dance out here every solstice and equinox but stopped just before she got sober. People thought it was a hoot that the sheriff's wife was a witch and kind of a hippie, but no one dared say anything about it to their faces. All that stopped when Hezekiah died.

"May I help you?" The door is cracked the barest by Susie-Pearl Lawson, her face screwed tight, looking like a constipated weasel.

"Is Ulysses here?" I ask, watching her face sour even more.

"No." She starts moving to close the door in my face. Slapping my hand on the door, I push the big oak barrier open wider.

The minute I do, I notice the smell of burnt garlic. "Ew, what the hell are you cooking?" I demand, looking around the spotless, airy house. At least she's doing a decent job keeping it clean, even if she can't cook for shit.

"I made Ulysses' favorite." Her bird-like face sticks out with pride. "Marlene talked me through it."

"Uh-huh," I muse, heading toward the downstairs primary suite. "Is she up?" I ask over my shoulder.

"Yes." Rolling her eyes, she huffs. "She's not receiving visitors."

"Sure," I say, pushing past her.

To imagine she was supposed to be top of the class and only managed to be a home health aide. I shake my head, grateful that I didn't let people tell me I was dumb because of my dyslexia stop me from pursuing my goals.

"Hey there, sweet lady," I singsong softly, opening the door to see a frail Marlene all but swallowed up by the massive bed.

"Hey Kandie, what you doing over here? Haven't you just got off?" she asks, sitting up a little.

"Yes, ma'am, I needed to talk to him about something," I tell her.

"Finally," she sighs. She looks at my face when I don't say anything. "What then?"

"He arrested Thad and his friends last night," I tell her, sitting on the edge of the bed. "But that ain't nothing for you to worry about. What did you eat today?"

Noticing a bunch of pills and water but no sustenance, I quirk an eyebrow.

"I don't have much of an appetite these days, sweet girl," she says with compassion a person who understands others have lost a lot.

"You need your strength to fight, Ms. Marlene," I urge, a tightness forming in my throat.

"We are long past that point." She tries to reach for me. Leaning over, I cover her hand with mine.

We stay like that for long minutes. My face stings, but I don't feel like I have the right to cry all over her when she's looking at me with a peace that transcends all understanding.

"Ulysses?" My voice sounds like my throat's just been scoured with an acid laden Brillo pad.

"He knows. My son has seen a lot of death. He doesn't talk about it, but he didn't get that scar to mar his handsome face by accident. I was shocked when I saw it." Her words are firm, tinged with sadness and pride. He's seen a lot of death and dealt it too. He's a man forged by the fires of combat, much different than even the man I knew all those years ago.

Nodding, I know he didn't. When he came back, he was sporting that sunburst by his eye and all the ladies were saying how sexy it was. I wanted to slap all of them. Couldn't they see how close he came to dying if someone got that close? Was it a bullet? A bomb, a knife?

"He didn't tell you when it happened?" Watching as she shakes her head, I'm outraged on her behalf. We've had enough people to serve to know that she should have gotten a call — unless he was adamant that they didn't. More reason to be mad at his selfish ass. No wonder he didn't call me about Thad. He didn't have the decency to let his mom know he survived an attack. If he died, she probably wouldn't know anything for a while.

"I'm making you some rice pudding. It's easy to tolerate." Patting her foot, I get up before she can protest and head toward the kitchen. Thankfully, as horrible as she burnt the garlic, Susie-Pearl is already cleaning the kitchen.

"I'm going to show you how to make this rice pudding for Marlene, your patient. Ulysses doesn't need you cooking for him. His mom does." Her face screws up but she doesn't say anything when I get the milk, rice, vanilla, honey, and eggs out and place them on the counter.

"I'm going to show you how to make conge too. It's a rice porridge. It's savory. So if she doesn't want the sweet she can have the savory. Both are easy to tolerate. You can't go wrong with good ol' oatmeal. Just don't add a lot of sugar to either, because it will tear her stomach up," I tell her. "And bring her some of that weed your brother grows behind your pa's house, they say it helps with nausea." Her eyes widen like she doesn't know folks tell me everything in this town.

To her credit, she pays close attention as I get both dishes together. "Do you have any food prep containers?" I ask.

Nodding, she goes over to several glass containers.

"Susie-Pearl." We both look up at the strong baritone calling her name. The woman almost elevates into the ether at the sound of her name on his lips. I wonder what type of fantasy she has playing in her mind while she's been coming here to help out with Marlene. I wonder if she's been reimagining herself, making meals for a hardworking sheriff and giving him a bunch of weasel-faced babies.

I huff out a giggle thinking of ice-blue eyed weasel blonds running around Shelby-Love. It's not more than his ass deserves arresting my cousin.

"Is that bike—oh." He stops, broad shoulders filling the entrance of the kitchen.

"Yeah, oh." Giving him a saccharin smile, I close the lids on the steaming food before spooning the last bit into two containers.

"This is enough for the week. Call me if you have any questions when you make a new batch. I'll look up some more recipes and send them to you."

Cheeks flushed, Susie-Pearl nods with a grudging thanks. It's not her fault, she's a good caretaker. They don't teach them to cook.

Picking up the tray, I head to Marlene's room. "Excuse me." I shoot a mean look at Ulysses' hard as granite face. Moving to the side, he lets me pass without a word, but I can feel his eyes following me as I take the corner to Marlene's room.

"Hey, lady." Tucking my head into the room, I watch as she sits up higher. I swear I can hear a light grumble when I set the tray down on her thin legs. Never a big woman, she's almost half her size now that the cancer has taken its toll on her small frame.

Pulling up a chair, I sit beside her, taking the spoon.

"I don't need you to feed me, Kandie." She scoffs, trying to take it.

"I don't beat up my elders. Don't make me start today, Marlene. You need all your strength to spend the rest of your evening with your son who just came through the door, or do you want to be too tired to hang out with him?"

She grumbles something about bossy bakers, which I ignore as I spoon small mouthfuls to her.

"What are you making?" I nod to the mound of chenille yarn sitting beside her.

"A blanket." She shrugs. "I'm hoping to finish it before —" Another shrug. She doesn't have to finish the sentence. "I promised myself when Hezekiah passed, I wasn't going to leave nothing else undone." Her eyes reach mine and I get the message she's trying to convey. The secret we share. One born out of tragedy and loss. I owe this lady so much. "I'm glad you came to see me, Kandie —"

"We sure appreciate you fixing the pudding," Ulysses cuts in from the door of the bedroom.

The tightness filling my chest over what Marlene was about to say releases like the air from a slit tire. I feel myself visibly deflate as the pressure releases. Thank goodness. Feeling like I have been granted a minute clemency, I stand, taking the empty bowl and tray.

"It was my pleasure. Your mom was one of the few people who believed in me and stood by my side when all that mess happened. She saved me." Leaning over, I brush a kiss on her forehead.

"Come back and check on me," she says, giving me a serious look.

"I promise." I mean it, despite knowing how hard that conversation and what she wants from me is going to be. I scoot by Ulysses.

The kitchen is empty. I guess Susie-Pearl has cleared out. Going home to fantasize about being the sheriff's wife, I bet. Cleaning the dish, I'm just sitting it in the rack when I feel his presence behind me.

"You don't have to do that." Folding the towel neatly, I sit it on the edge of the rack before turning back to him.

"You mean like you didn't have to arrest my cousin without giving me a heads-up?" Crossing my arms over my chest, I suck my teeth, watching his face flood with rage. His jaw clenches tight at my words like how dare I question the big bad ass sheriff. He's lucky I love his mom, or I'd be stabbing his ass with one of his own butcher knives.

"What, so you can tell him how to escape jail? This isn't a misdemeanor. What he and his little crew did is a federal crime punishable by three to five years in prison."

Feeling like he just punched me, I fly from the sink I'm leaning against, rushing fast at him, shoving him hard in the chest. "He's a child," I grit with the wasted strength I used when this motherfucker didn't so much as budge an inch.

All I have is him gripping both my wrists in his high above my head. He walks me back to the sink pressing my arms high back behind me so that I'm bent at a hard, awkward angle and he stares down at me like I'm some type of pesky gnat that he can flick away the moment he chooses to stop indulging me.

"One thing your wild little ass is not going to do is disrespect my mom's house," he grits low.

Shame floods me. Instead of taking the admonishment and apologizing, I counter instead out of spite. "I guess it's okay for you to come busting in my place breaking sh — stuff," I quickly amend not because his ice-blue eyes narrow like he'd take keen pleasure in snatching me up if I so much as utter a bad word in his mom's house but out of respect for Marlene.

"You know what I can't figure out?" His eyes drop half-mast as he looks at me like he's about to tear my world apart.

"What?' I grit the words out.

The look on his face can't be described as anything other than triumphant. "Why you were so tight if you're the town slag?"

If my arms weren't being held and my body pinned tight between him and the sink, I swear on everything I would be trying my best to scratch his eyes out.

"Slut shaming now are we, Sheriff?" Forcing my voice to sound bored, I give an exaggerated flutter of my eyes.

"Nah, I just know a liar when I see one." He shifts and I can feel just how upset he's about it, or rather, excited.

"Ever heard of Kegels? I know it's not in the manual they give y'all jarheads, but I hope you learned something while you were away doing all that killing in the name of your country." Not a flicker of emotion at my taunt.

"Yeah. I did. Like how you don't keep your fucking word," he seethes, all but dropping me.

Raw bitter shame and regret coalesce in me, swirling like an F-5 tornado. The past comes crashing down around me, licking at me. I can just see Marlene's soulful eyes begging me to come back to talk so she can make peace. I said yes, not knowing if I was lying or not. I'm not sure I can. Nobody deserves my story. They only get the truth I decided to give. I gave them everything. My entire family except for my baby sister I'm just getting a real chance to know.

"Why did you take Thad and his friends to jail?" I ask, not wanting to touch the mess he's trying to drag me into with a fifty-foot pole. Not now or ever. I'm not throwing his own betrayal in his face back at him. What's the point? He's only here to see after his mom. He's made no secret about it.

He exhales in exasperation because I won't go back down memory lane with him.

"I don't owe you an explanation. I'm the Sheriff." He spreads his arms wide. "See how that works?" The challenge he throws at me is full of banked anger, I know is only for his mom's sake. He hasn't talked to me the entire time he's been back. I waited. He looked through me instead. He became sheriff and sics his deputies on me every chance he gets.

"Acting sheriff. Unelected, unwanted. One mark against Thad can ruin his life. You know this, you're not dumb, Ulysses." I can't even stand to look at him right now.

"Take care of your mom." Turning, I leave the house, making sure I don't let Marlene's screen door slam. If Ulysses' sorry tail lived here by himself, I would have kicked it open.

I get my bike, taking my Remy out of the basket, taking a much-needed sip. I hadn't planned on staying over here this long. I'm thinking about making me a nice, fat chicken salad sandwich and having some wine before I go to bed tonight when a big hand snatches my bottle out of my grip.

"Woah." I almost fall, reaching for my bottle when I catch myself.

"They are being arraigned tomorrow. It may look good if his family shows up to support him. Sober." Shoving the bottle back in my hand, he shakes his head, eyes a turbulent sea of blue.

I'm so close to telling him his momma trauma ain't my problem.

"Take care of Marlene. I will bring more dishes she can tolerate later in the week."

He looks at me hard, his chest expanding. He takes a step toward me. Stiffening, I don't know what to expect.

He crowds me as I stand straddling my bike, trapped. A heavy hand cups my neck and holds me still. Firm lips taste mine. "Thanks for looking after my mom, wildcat."

Bruised blue meets my eyes, searching. "I hate whiskey on your lips. I want you to taste like you did last night — like me," he growls, stepping away, striding back into the house, leaving me standing in his yard.

I'm scared if I tell him it's cognac he'll smash this bottle too.