Stubborn as a Mule Page 16

  “I ordered those up special,” I tell her.

  “You could totally get lucky tonight, you know?” she says thoughtfully as we stand about three feet apart, just sizing each other up.

  “But I won’t,” I reply simply.

  “No, you won’t,” she says with a soft, grateful smile. “Because I’m buzzed, and you’re a gentleman, and tonight isn’t about that for you. You want to show me some of the southern charm my grandmother experienced when she lived here.”

  “Got me,” I tell her, and then hold my hand out. She steps forward and takes it. Takes another two steps and comes toe to toe with me, her eyes shining with feeling over my gesture.

  I lift her hand up and place a kiss on her knuckles. “Hope you like it, Mely.”

  She sighs and her eyes flutter closed briefly before she pins me with a soft gaze filled with happiness. “You are kind of amazing.”

  “Bet you’re glad I defaced your property, aren’t you?”

  She laughs. “Yes, I am. It let me get to know you, and that’s become just as special as me purchasing Mainer House.”

  I wait for a scant second to see if any bitterness is still left over the fact that Mely is now the owner of my family’s history.

  And… there’s nothing.

  Not a single negative feeling.

  Only excitement to share tonight with this woman.

  “Ready to crawl into the sleeping bags with me, so we can stare at the stars and talk all night?” I ask her.

  “Yes,” she says with excitement. “No, wait. I need to pee. In fact, given the beer I had, probably not going to be the only time tonight.”

  God, she’s adorable as she turns expectant eyes to my cabin that sits within a stone’s throw.

  I put my hands on her shoulders and turn her toward the tree line. “Bathroom’s right there.”

  Her head whips so hard to look over her shoulder, I get slapped in the face by her hair. “No way.”

  “Way,” I tell her as I turn from her to dig in the back of my truck cab. I emerge with a flashlight, a roll of toilet paper, and a plastic baggy. I hold them out to her. “Be glad you don’t have to use leaves. It sucks to get poison ivy on your butt.”

  She looks down at them with her nose wrinkled, placing a hand on top of mine and pushing the stuff back toward me. “No thanks. I’ll hold it.”

  “You can’t hold it all night,” I scold her with a serious look, but inside, I’m dying laughing.

  “I can,” she says primly.

  I let out a bark of a laugh and reach out to grab Mely’s hand. Turning to the house, I start walking her that way. “I’ll make an exception this time. But future camping trips, you’re learning to pee in the woods.”

  “I will,” she says gratefully. “Promise.”

  “And just because I’m letting you in to pee doesn’t mean you can stay in there all night,” I tell her sternly. “Pee and get out. We’re camping, okay?”

  “Okay, Lowe,” she says with exasperation. “It’s not like I’m a princess or anything.”

  “You are if you’re camping and refuse to pee in the woods,” I tell her in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Mely jerks her hand away from me. Before I can even stop my stride, she’s marching toward the trees. “I am not a princess.”

  Snickering, I jog after her. When I reach her side, she snatches the implements of the peeing-in-the-woods trade. I think she might just stomp right into the darkness, but she hesitantly asks, “Is there anything dangerous in there?”

  “No, way,” I assure her. “But I’ll come with you.”

  She doesn’t refuse my offer, and I think it’s hilarious that outside of kissing, the next most intimate thing we’ll be doing together is peeing in the woods.

  But that’s alright by me.

  There’s nothing normal about how Mely and I have come together.

  ♦

  “I think I’m done,” Mely says softly, and then yawns.

  She’d just gotten back into the truck after her third trip into nature to pee, this one on her own even though I offered to come with her. She’s gone ahead and proved to me she’s completely game when it comes to camping. This is good because the truck bed is kind of like staying in a hotel in my opinion, so we’ll graduate her to a tent next time.

  “Proud of you,” I murmur as she snuggles in closer to me. This was made possible after the first time we hopped into the truck, Mely grumbled that the separate sleeping bags didn’t allow for cuddling, and she wanted to cuddle.

  I sure as hell wanted that too and wasn’t about to say no. In fact, if she hadn’t of drank more than a beer tonight and wanted to get frisky with me, I wouldn’t have said no to that either. But I don’t mind taking this a bit slow. Mely and I have a slow burn going, but I can tell when it ignites, it’s going to become hotter than an inferno. That kind of connection is special. I can wait a bit more for that, so tonight it’s just about cuddling.

  So, I unzipped the sleeping bags and zipped them back together into one large one, and she’s got her head on my shoulder and her front pressed to my side. It’s gorgeous out tonight, and the stars seem to be within plucking distance. The bullfrogs have gone to bed for the most part, but the crickets are still making a bit of music. The citronella sweetens the air even more and the lanterns lend a romantic glow. I find it soothing. Apparently, Mely does as well as she yawns again.

  Her arm comes across my stomach and I think that she fits against me nicely. Her squeeze tells me something, but her words tell me more. “Thank you for what you did for Morri tonight.”

  “No thanks needed,” I tell her.

  “Well, that’s because you’re Lowe Mancinkus and you’re like the best guy ever,” she says dryly. I laugh in return, loving how she and I just get each other in the humor department. “But seriously… thank you.”

  “Wish I would have knocked some teeth out,” I mutter.

  “That would have been awesome.”

  “Just know that’s not what the South is all about, Mely,” I tell her earnestly. “Someone like Morri may not be understood. May be feared, even. But there are plenty who don’t care, and they are the ones who will quietly have his back. The ones who are ignorant are also usually loud and stupid, so they always seem to be heard. Don’t let it get you too down. I’ve always got your back and Morri’s when he visits.”

  Mely lifts her head to look at me. “How are you even real?”

  My hand comes up to the side of her face, and my thumb strokes her cheek. This is no joke when I tell her, “You make it easy to be this way.”

  She gives a slight shake of her head, like she can’t believe what I’m saying. “No, Lowe… you are just genuinely a good human being. Your family is that way, as a matter of fact.”

  I don’t say anything. I don’t self-deprecate because I know it’s important for Mely for some reason to say these things to me. So, I just look at her.

  “I feel like I’m living a part of my grandmother’s life,” she whispers. “The one where you live in a magical place, surrounded by good people, better food, and there’s a good man waiting there for you who doesn’t seem quite real.”

  “I’m real,” I assure her. “And Mely, I think you’re freaking amazing too. I don’t question what we got, only what we’re going to do with it. And I’m here to tell you, we’re going to do something with it.”

  “Yeah, we are,” she says softly, and then lays her head back down on my shoulder again.

  She’s the first to fall asleep, but I don’t go long after her.

  The Gossip Mill

  at Central Cafe

  by Floyd Wilkie

  “Want a cup of coffee to go?” Muriel asks me as she tops off my mug. I’m almost finished with my breakfast, but she knows I love my coffee.

  “Sure, darlin’,” I tell her as I scoop the last spoonful of grits in my mouth. I’d asked her to add some cheddar cheese to them today because I was in the mood for something a little different.
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br />   Someone comes in the diner door, and I only know this because Muriel’s eyes lift to look over my head. She gives a warm smile and says, “Booths are all full, but there’s some space up here at the counter.”

  When a body plops down next to me, I swivel my head to see Lynette Carnes on the stool to my right.

  “Hey, Floyd,” she says and then turns to Muriel. “Can I get a coffee to go, Muriel?”

  Without waiting for me to even offer a greeting back, she turns to me and says, “You hear about Gill’s teeth?”

  “What?” I ask in confusion. Know who Gill is—a real jackass in my opinion—but no clue what she’s yammering about. Lynette’s nothing but a whirlwind of gossip. Some days, I’m interested. Others, I’m not.

  I definitely don’t care about Gill’s teeth.

  “Apparently, Lowe punched him a few times in the mouth,” Lynette says. Why she ain’t telling this to Kiki Shepard, who is sitting on her other side, is beyond me as they’re about the same age and have the same shallow dispositions.

  “Huh,” is all I say as I pick up my last slice of bacon.

  “Anyway, Gill told his wife, who told Sissy, who told Sarah, that Gill said he was going to sue Lowe for his dental bill,” she says in one breath and then sucks some oxygen back in.

  Gill had it coming to him, and I’m about to tell her that, when she rolls right over me by saying, “Say… you know that tooty-fruity guy who Lowe was defending that night, right? The one who’s friends with that New York bitty who has come to town and is hanging all over Lowe? I mean, please… like she’d ever be able to keep someone like him. I hope she enjoys it because everyone knows that Lowe—”

  “He’s not a tooty-fruity,” I interrupt with a calm voice that gets her to stop her yammering.

  “Excuse me?” she says as she pulls her chin in and looks at me with affront.

  “He’s a nice guy. A human being. Have a little respect.”

  “He dresses up in women’s clothing,” she says with distaste.

  “And wears it well,” I say with a firm nod of my head. “He took me to a drag show a few days ago in Raleigh. He put all those other men to shame in their formal wear.”

  Lynette’s jaw drops in shock. I can see her trying to figure out if I’m kidding or not. I most definitely am not.

  I truly did think we were going to a drag race, but when I went to pick up Morri at Mainer House and he came out with a red sequin gown, makeup so expertly applied and changing the angles of his face so much I couldn’t recognize him, and a blonde wig with flowing curls down to his waist, well, I just had to see what it was all about. I pride myself in learning about new stuff, and let’s just say I got educated that night.

  But Morri was cool. We had an enjoyable time sharing a few drinks and watching other men dressed similarly singing up on a stage. It was entertaining to say the least.

  “Want to know my take?” I ask Lynette as I lean in toward her.

  “What’s that?” she says quietly, as if she’s unsure she wants to know where this conversation is going.

  “I’m going to tell you the same thing I’m telling everyone else in this town,” I tell her slowly. “I think Lowe and Mely—that would be the New York bitty you were talking about—are getting pretty serious with each other.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asks.

  “Because that house has a special connection to them both,” I say with a careless shrug, but my words are calculated to get a rise out of Lynette. She needs to let go of her little Lowe-crush. “Mark my words… those two are falling hard for each other, and I’m betting they’ll be courting, then marrying, then bringing babies into that house.”

  Lynette wrinkles her nose, and I just smile blandly at her.

  Her eyes turn calculating. “Seems Lowe ain’t ready to give up that house after all.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Fortuitous the woman he’s courtin’ owns the house he wants,” she muses. “It could be a way in for him.”

  “On the surface, yes,” I also have to admit.

  “Pap was in here the other day. He said you and he were discussing this very thing,” Muriel adds in as she sets the to-go cups of coffee before me and Muriel. “Talked about he could marry her and then divorce her to get it.”

  “Well, I just made mention in passing that it could potentially be a way to get the Mainer House back—”

  “Don’t you think maybe there’s a chance Lowe’s playing her to get what he wants?” Lynette asks Muriel hopefully.

  “He’s not playing her,” I say staunchly. This I know. “And I was joking when I said that to Pap.”

  “But think about it,” Lynette says as she leans an elbow on the counter, tipping her head closer to Muriel. “It would be a really slick way for Lowe to get what he wants.”

  My immediate desire to deny her accusation sits there like a dead weight in the bottom of my stomach, but damn if I wasn’t thinking the same exact thing. Just a few days ago, that seemed legit. But now, there’s no way Lowe would ever be in this for any gain, and besides… if she comes to any future marriage owning Mainer House, Lowe’s an upstanding guy. She’d leave with that same house if they divorced. That’s just the way he is.

  Lynette pushes two dollars across the counter to Muriel and grabs her cup. Nudging her shoulder against mine as she hops off the stool, Lynette whispers near my ear. “Nice to know I’m not the only one in this town who thinks that way. You should totally talk to Lowe about this again.”

  “I didn’t—” I start to say.

  But Lynette’s already trotting out the door, yelling, “Toodles.”

  “That girl ain’t right in the head,” Muriel murmurs as she watches her walk out the door.

  “She’s a troublemaker is what she is,” I growl in disgust.

  “But still,” Muriel says thoughtfully. “You have to admit that’s a definite way for Lowe to get Mainer House back. Judge Bowe would never let it go to a Yankee.”

  Yes, yes, yes… this is true.

  It’s true people are talking about Lowe’s future when I bet he ain’t even got half as much figured out yet. It’s not like he’s going to elope or anything. And while Morri told me he thought Mely was falling hard for Lowe at the drag show, and I can see the same going on with that boy, it doesn’t mean anyone needs to be talking about marriage and divorce.

  That’s just not how things are done in the slow South.

  CHAPTER 20

  Melinda

  I take a moment to look around the long dining room table that has twelve seats. Only seven are in use. Lowe, Morri, Pap, Gerry, Catherine, Colt, and me. The table is a dark heavy wood that’s scarred by years of use. Catherine and Gerry Mancinkus had five kids plus Pap at most dinners, so a big table was needed.

  I can’t really describe the feelings inside of me when Lowe asked me and Morri to dinner at his parents’ house tonight. In just three weeks, we’ve gone from enemies to friends to probably lovers at some point, and the inclusiveness of this entire family has touched me greatly. It’s one thing to invite into your home the woman who is killing a part of your family’s history, but to welcome in her gay, drag queen bestie takes hospitality to a new realm.

  Right now, conversation is abundant. It’s been that way since Catherine said “grace” at the start of the meal. There was some general chitchat while platter after platter of food was passed around. Tonight, we feasted on fried chicken livers—which I loved but Morri turned green at the thought—rice, fresh tomatoes, corn on the cob, jalapeno cornbread, and a strawberry pie for dessert. I thought I was going to die at the end of the meal and was thankful I’d worn a loose-fitting bohemian dress to dinner so I didn’t have to have my waistband cut into my stomach.

  Lowe leans back in his chair and casually drapes his arm around the back of mine. He doesn’t touch me, but the gesture is possessive. God help me, but I love it. I notice his mom gets all soft-eyed as she notices. Her gaze moves along to her husband, Gerry, who is t
alking to Morri.

  Both Pap and Gerry were in the Marine Corps and they’re both a little gruff around the edges, but Pap has taken a liking to Morri. It seems Gerry has been openly tolerant, genuinely curious, and throughout the meal, the more he’s learned about Morri, the more involved he’s become.

  Catherine stands up from the table and asks, “Anyone want another slice of pie?”

  “I do,” Colt says and my gaze turns to him. He’s Lowe’s younger brother by five years and is the baby of the family at twenty-seven. He’s relatively quiet compared to the others, but he must have an outgoing nature as he bartends at Chesty’s sometimes.

  Everyone else groans out a decline, but Colt is a big, big boy. He’s got Lowe by a few inches and maybe he’s still growing.

  He waits patiently as his mom cuts and serves him another slice. “Thanks, Mama.”

  “My pleasure,” Catherine quips in that sweet, sugary voice that’s so nice to listen to. She picks up the pie dish and turns toward the kitchen.

  “I’ll help you clear the table, Mama,” Lowe says as he pushes up from the table. I just stare at him dumbfounded as he gathers up several empty plates.

  Yes, I grew up in a wealthy environment. We had a full-time housekeeper and a cook, but we also did a lot for ourselves, particularly on the weekends when the staff was off.

  In my entire existence, I don’t think I’ve ever been around a family meal where a man has jumped up to help his mother clear the table. I realize with horror that I’ve lived a stereotyped life of privilege, but also one of perhaps unrealized misogyny in my own household. I have two brothers, but they would never think to help my mom clear the dishes. Granted, we often had help do it, but on those family meals we had without staff being present—and let’s face it, we weren’t helpless people as we did know how to cook and clean up—I think my mother would have had a stroke if my dad or brothers got up to help.

  And all I can think is that’s just plain wrong as I watch Lowe and Catherine grab mostly empty plates, bowls, and platters to carry into the kitchen.