Jefferson

I get into the cab and give the driver directions while glaring at my phone and dialing again. This is the nineteenth call I’ve tried to make to Bay, and it’s the nineteenth that has gone right to voicemail as if she’s ignoring my calls.

I am bone wary, so freaking tired I feel like I haven’t slept in two days which is true, but I feel good about what I’ve accomplished and I dare that asshole father of mine to even try to pull a fast one on grandma again.

I thought for sure they’d come to break the news to me that she’d passed on, but I am grateful that didn’t happen. She was just feeling poorly, and that prompted my father to try and place her in an assisted care facility.

My grandma lives with a long-time friend named Billy who has been her mate for the last eight years since grandpa passed away. They both live on a little farm style plot of land and raise chickens and goats and enjoy the peace of being away from my pompous family.

I love my grams and I am happy that she’s okay, and now that I had her lawyers issue a restraining order against my parents, I feel as if I have at least another five years to look forward to yearly visits and peace.

With that squared away, it is most definitely time for me to fix things with Bay and that is not possible if the fool woman is not answering her phone.

“Fuck!” I yell when I get another voicemail.

I try again and choke when I almost mistake the voice for the automated one again.

“You rang?”

“Brady, what the hell! You keep forwarding my calls to your inbox!” I yell, my fatigue sorely taxing what little patience I have.

“Oh, sorry, I kept tripping and hitting my head on the reality of things,” Bay drones, making my teeth clench because she never speaks to me this way.

She usually hides in the closet at work and treats me to her normal voice, something I have come to appreciate. This Bay sounds automated, distant, and emotionless and I don’t like it one bit.

“Babe–”

“Huh, now you acknowledge me?”

I swallow, knowing where she’s coming from because I felt like ten shades of shit after she left my place with her face so emotionless and downright sad. I wanted to call her and explain but I caught an immediate flight out an hour later, and I’ve been so busy that I haven’t checked my phone until I got off the plane back here.

“Don’t. Let’s be real here, I am really glad your grandma is okay, no thanks to you telling me since…well, you never called. Oh, and by the way! I got to have my whole family talking about my eyes leaking because apparently my dumb ass likes you and I felt something when you just ignored me and left me here without a word. Another thing. Thank you so much for not telling your family you were dating me, I felt real proud of our relationship when your mama sniffed at me in the grocery store yesterday and told me not to pant after you, to wait for my booty call.”

“Shit. Bay–”

“Don’t worry. Ky alibied me when she pressed charges, and I only punched her once in the face. And the vagina. Kim was the one who threw hot sauce in her eyes.”

I close my eyes, scrubbing at my hair and restrain the urge to laugh and groan because I know my mom, she won’t rest until something happens to Bayou, and the sheriff will have to get footage.

Shit.

“Babe, I am sorry, okay. I should have handled that all differently, I know, but I wasn’t in a good place, and I really didn’t want you to meet my family–”

“Yeah, that was clear Jones, real fucking obvious by the way you wouldn’t open the door fully and almost shit yourself when they saw me.”

“Because I don’t want those assholes to insult you!” I yell guiltily, knowing that a part of that stems from the habit she has of putting on that dead voice in mixed company.

Christ, I really am an asshole.

“I love you, Brady. Please just come over tonight and we can talk about this,” I plead, swallowing when she snorts.

“What’s the point, Jones? You didn’t want to introduce me to your family because I’m just a dead-voiced hick with no class. Which is bullshit. I let you hang out with my family. And I don’t even judge the duds like that sister of yours who, incidentally, screwed the whole baseball team in school.”

Like I give a shit.

“Bay–”

“Don’t call me again. Let’s just leave things right here where we can be civil in mixed company, and I still have the power to call Kim off. She bought power tools yesterday.”

I wince, wanting to say so much more when I hear a distinct click and know she’s hung up. I call her again and again after the cab drops me off at home and all through the night until she turns her phone off altogether. Shit.

 

*****

 

Bay

“Bayou Brady! Just the lass this poor old man needs to see.”

I look up from my computer screen and groan when daddy sidles in, his smile making me shiver because it’s the same one he used the day he wheedled me into pretending to give Jones a Brady favor and helping to set Kim up with Sully.

The favor never existed because I honestly did not have it in me to owe Jones a favor at that time, but the point still stands, daddy wants something and he only uses that sweet, wheedling smile when he’s going to use my guilt against me.

“No,” I say, keeping my voice and eyes level when he sits down in Kim’s usual seat and lifts his boots to the corner of the desk.

He’s relaxed and cheerful which means that he’s about to screw someone over and the chances of it being me are very, very high.

“But lamb, your old da needs a favor and your sisters are being a might difficult,” he whines.

I close my eyes and count to ten for patience before schooling my face and watching his eyes sparkle.

“That could be because every time you strut in here asking for help one of us ends up hitched or pregnant. Not happening old man. Go try your luck with Kim, she’s gullible now that she’s knocked up.”

He rubs his head and pouts, and I almost grin when I notice a lump forming at his temple.

“Can’t lamb, she threw her stapler at me and threatened to tell your ma about me involvement with Mellie at Jack’s wedding,” he complains.

“Oh, come on, are you telling me mama still doesn’t know?”

“Not a clue and thank God or I’d have to move in with Jimbo and Luanne, God help a man. They don’t understand that toilet brushes exist, lamb. It’s barbaric what’s going on in that bathroom. Your ma bitches and complains but my throne is always sparkling.”

I shiver, pulling a face briefly and nod, completely agreeing based on the time Kim made me go into the bathroom and I almost lost a lung gagging. Imagine a bucket of crap, liquid and solid combined, and now imagine what a toilet bowl would look like if someone detonated a bomb inside said bucket.

That’s just the imagery. I haven’t even gotten started on what that place smells like, or the fact that Luanne has a thing for Trolls and those smiling faces are plastered all over their bathroom.

“Daddy, what do you want?” I ask tiredly just cutting to the chase to save myself an hour of redirects before he cons me into something.

This way I have the full picture up front, and I won’t be in danger of finding any surprises later.

“Well, lamb, your ma is sickly, and she promised Luanne that she’d go out and help her manage the builders when they arrive tomorrow to start construction.”

“I, but I thought that wasn’t for at least a few months. They haven’t even got the full blueprints yet,” I say, knowing that Jones hadn’t yet completed the mammoth planning stages.

That’s without the permits they’d require and the materials and–

“Jefferson got the plans to Cord just last week lamb, and Cord called in a favor with the councilman who rushed the permits, and so Ky is sending a team over tomorrow to start clearing the section where they want to put the foundation.”

“Okay, so what does that have to do with me, Daddy? I don’t care about Luanne and Jimbo’s house, and honestly, I am so not the girl you want on a building site,” I say, acknowledging my weakness for nail guns.

Daddy has owned one in his whole life and he hides it because I once shot mama in the ass with it by accident. Mostly.

“Well, like I was saying, Bay, my sweet lass, ma is under the weather with a cold and Luanne is threatening to come over and nurse her if she doesn’t show up tomorrow, and your poor ma is just not up to lifting her shotgun.”

Like hell. I saw mama threaten a deputy just hours after having her appendix removed. That woman could lift her gun if she only had one arm.

“No. I am not going, I have work to do. Tell Luanne she can kiss my ass.”

“And there I was with all that money to buy me a fishing boat for your ma as a surprise for her but instead I used it to pay the lawyer you had to hire because you’d been caught breaking into the cemetery again and the footage, why lamb, what I had to do to get old Marvin to lose the footage they had on you,” he says softly, making me wince because it’s true.

Hence my lack of grave destroying activity in the last few months. Look, I didn’t know they put up cameras, okay! What do they think they’ll get on the footage, corpses?

And besides–

“Dammit. Daddy. You know Jones will be there if this is his project.”

“Well, that’s true lamb, but you said you were over the lad and so I just assumed that you wouldn’t be afraid to go over there just to help me out. Your da needs help, Bay. Your poor ma is so sickly, and you know how she gets when she’s not feeling well. Why she threw an ornament at me,” he whines, rubbing his head.

“I thought that was from Kim’s stapler,” I say, narrowing my eyes suspiciously when he sputters and clears his throat.

“Her aim was as accurate as your ma’s.”

I know he’s playing me, goddammit but I have no way to say no since in fact I had daddy hire me a lawyer and bribe the security guy down at the cemetery to lose the footage. I would be sitting in prison right now serving a few months for vandalism if not for daddy.

Fuck my life.

“Dammit, fine, but if something bad happens you’re to blame,” I warn him, sighing when he comes over to kiss my cheek and skips out like the idiot he is.

Family. God. Why me?

I haven’t talked to Jones in like a week after I cracked and answered my phone. In my defense, I really just wanted to rail at him and I think I really would have if I didn’t have to get off the phone before I started crying.

I got my period, okay. I’m not made of stone and my hormones were killing me.

That said, I really, really miss him, and I don’t know how to feel about that since I want to hit him. With Little Elmer. A lot. And then kiss him. And make love. And eat something while he argues that Martin is better than Smith. No way was Martin Lawrence better than Will Smith in Bad Boys. Hell no. Smith is just…dreamy.

With all that mush in my head I know seeing Jones isn’t a good idea, okay. So why am I excited?

“What did daddy want?” Dee asks, leaning into my door with a smile and a face that is green as usual.

Poor baby, she’s really taking this morning sickness stuff hard.

“What does daddy always want? He came to screw me over and manipulate me,” I snort, rechecking the order I sent through to a new florist in the hopes that I get the flowers on time.

And well, because the old one pressed charges for the dick I spray painted on her car. The message was clear and I am happy to say, no footage, so I’m in the clear.

However, Jack is not happy since I had to source another florist who charges more. Like I care, at least I won’t go to prison for beating the old one to death for getting lippy.

She laughs, strumming her fingers on the doorframe and rolls her eyes.

“You okay?”

“Don’t I look okay to you?” I ask snarkily, curling my lip when she sighs and tries to give me a look filled with understanding.

“Has Jefferson called again?”

“Five times a day.”

“Have you answered?”

“Nope.”

“Bay.”

“What? We said all we needed to say. He admitted that he’s an ass and I told him he hurt my feelings just like you and Jack said I should,” I huff, my patience wearing thin.

What else could I say when really, all I did most of Tuesday night was cry and then Wednesday, and really, it’s hard to pretend you’re not home when most of the family knows how to pick locks.

I finally had enough when Kim snuck onto the porch and called the cops. Well, how was I supposed to know that Dee’s ex, Zac, would take the call out?

After Kim bit him and squished his nuts at Jack’s wedding it was a given that he’d arrest her. I went down to the police station, okay, and told them to release her. She was only in lockup for like thirty minutes while I applied makeup to cover up my puffy eyes.

Besides, it serves her right for trying to snoop when it’s obvious I didn’t want to have company.

“Bayou, listen to me, honey. I know this has been hard for you. I know that letting people in isn’t easy and that you feel vulnerable, but I also know that Jefferson makes you happy. The guy messed up and did something stupid, but it was a mistake. He didn’t cheat. He didn’t treat you badly. He just pulled away a little,” she says softly, making me frown and purse my lips.

“Yeah? And what about the whole family thing?”

“Bay, you hate his family. I heard you talking to Skeeter and Flea about having manure delivered to their house four times a week for the next month.”

“And?”

“And that right there tells me that you still love Jefferson.”

“Do not.”

“Do too, you big asshole! Only a woman in love would ignore a guy standing outside her house with Foreigner booming from his car stereo and still pay her family to have horse shit dropped at his parents’ house for hurting him.”

Okay, well, if she puts it that way.

“Still.”

“Still nothing! Stop being a big emotionless baby and go talk to the man. Jesus, at least stop having manure delivered to his house,” she yells before stomping off in a tizzy.

I slump down in my seat and concede the point, deciding that I’ve gone a little too far. Crap, I better call Flea and have him halt the dead raccoon in Jones’s truck.

I do that, listening to Flea complain mightily about the effort it took to find a dead raccoon anywhere near Luanne’s place and chuckle when he confesses that he stole it out of her freezer.

Never eating at the Brogan’s place again. Ever. Maybe. Depends on how she seasons the raccoon.

By that night I feel better, as in I took down the photo I had of Jones and replaced the eyes I cut out and stopped throwing darts at it. We’ll see how tomorrow goes. Little Elmer is still a possibility.