“We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet is the mental institution of the universe.”

---

Duane and Jess had wisely decided to borrow Billy’s truck. The Wraiths wouldn’t think twice about stopping and harassing any of us except Billy.

A few summers ago, I must’ve been seventeen or eighteen, two recruits had been harassing Billy on one of the back roads. The way Drill told the story, Billy sped up around a switchback until he was out of sight, then turned his wheel, blocking the road.

Not seeing him in time, the recruits plowed right into Billy’s 1985 Chevy Silverado. Billy called an ambulance and both fellas ended up in the hospital, but not before he broke both their noses, threatened to kill them if it happened again, and scared the shit out of them by driving away and leaving them in the middle of the road.

The story Billy told the police was completely different. Unsurprisingly, the police believed my brother.

Drill had a dozen or so stories of a similar nature about Billy. All of them started with some dumbasses at the club thinking they could harass my brother, and ended with those same dumbasses in the hospital. His hatred for the motorcycle club was no secret and no joke.

Billy’s truck was absolutely the right choice for picking me up from Shelly’s and taking me home with them.

But, before we all left, pie.

“So . . . you and Shelly, huh?” Jess’s crooked grin was enormous. I could see why my brother liked it so much.

Duane, Jess, and I were in Shelly’s small kitchen, eating pie. Shelly had just left to check on her dogs. They’d continued to bark, but they’d also started to whine.

I shrugged, trying to appear blasé about it and failing. No doubt my grin gave me away.

“Ahh! That is so exciting.” Jess did a little wiggly dance in her seat, shaking her fists back and forth in front of her.

“I can’t believe how different this place looks. The kitchen is brand new.” Duane, meanwhile, was currently opening and closing cabinet doors. He’d finished his pie before the rest of us. “Did you see what she did here? How this whole apparatus is on hinges?”

“When did it happen?” Jess leaned her elbows on the table, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Duane won’t tell me anything.”

“Look how easy it is to find stuff in here. This is genius.” My brother had moved on to the pantry.

“It’s not official or anything yet.” I glanced in the direction where Shelly had disappeared. “Tonight was our first date.”

“Well, I think it’s awesome.”

“Thanks, Jess.” I had to agree with her, I also thought it was awesome.

My twin strolled up to the table. “What I want to know—”

“Good Lord, Duane. There is plenty of time to admire the finer design elements of this fantastic kitchen. But right now I am gossiping with Beau over pie. Give it a rest,” Jess huffed at my brother.

I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing outright, but I couldn’t stop my shoulders from shaking.

Duane planted a kiss on Jessica’s forehead and claimed the seat next to hers. “Alls I was going to say is, I want to know what happened at the diner, with those assholes. Why were they after you?”

Rubbing my beard, I decided it was time to bring Duane into the loop. “Drill came to the shop a few weeks ago, told me Christine St. Claire wanted a meeting.”

Duane looked surprised by this news. “Why’d she want a meeting?”

“I don’t know. I put Drill off as long as I could. They cornered me tonight at Daisy’s.”

“What happened?” Now Jess looked concerned.

I told them the gist of it, how the Wraiths had shown up, how Shelly and I had faked them out, how we got away. Duane was impressed—mostly by Shelly’s driving—and so was Jess. And for that matter, so was I.

“And you have no idea why Razor’s old lady wants to speak with you.” Duane glared at me, the muscle in his temple jumping as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. This was his thinking things over face.

“No. Drill said he couldn’t say.”

“You think it’s a trap? They might be aiming to involve you in their chop shop again.” Jess split her attention between the two of us.

“I don’t think so. Cletus has that thing he’s holding over their heads, so I don’t think it’s about the chop shop.” I leaned to the side as the sound of a door closing down the hallway was followed by a sad bark.

“I wonder what it could be.” Duane moved his glare to the tabletop.

Jess sat up straighter as Shelly appeared, her face lighting up. “How are the dogs?”

“They feel neglected.” Shelly walked to the sink and washed her hands.

“You don’t have to keep them in your room on our account.” Jess twisted in her seat to face Shelly. “We love dogs.”

“I don’t know,” Duane stole a bite of Jess’s pie while she was distracted, “those things sounded dangerous.”

“They’re only dangerous if you’re short.” I pushed out Shelly’s chair as she approached.

Shelly reclaimed her seat next to mine. “They miss me. I’ll take them for a run tomorrow and they’ll be fine.”

“Speaking of missing,” I glanced around the kitchen, “where is Oliver?”

“Who is Oliver?” Duane positioned his fork to take another bite of Jess’s pie.

“Oliver is her parrot.”

“You have a parrot?” Jess smacked Duane’s hand even as she smiled at Shelly, her eyes filling with wonder.

With the way she was looking at Shelly, and if I didn’t already know Jess was ass-over-ankles in love with my brother, I might’ve been jealous.

“Yes. I have a parrot.” Shelly’s shoulders tensed and she glanced at me, like she wished I hadn’t mentioned it.

“What’s wrong?” A furrow of concern appeared between Jess’s eyebrows. “Is there something wrong with your parrot?”

Shelly sighed, hesitating, so I decided to answer for her. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with Oliver. But I’m pretty sure he used to be a sailor.”

Shelly’s eyes cut to mine and narrowed. “He wasn’t a sailor.”

“A pirate?”

“No.” Her lips twitched, but she kept on squinting.

“Oh, I get it. He knows dirty words.” Duane, giving up on stealing Jess’s pie, cut himself a new piece.

“He’s a rescue.” Shelly held the pie dish as Duane scooped out his slice. “His previous owner was a film producer.”

“Cut me a piece, too.” I held my plate out. “And what kind of films did this guy make?”

“Oliver’s owner was a woman and she made, uh,” Shelly scratched the back of her ear, and then said on a rush, “dominatrix films.”

“No shit?” Duane spoke around his bite of pie, looking like he was trying not to choke.

“She was a sadist.”

“Oh no.” Jess’s face contorted with distress. “She didn’t hurt Oliver, did she?”

“No. I don’t think so.” Shelly’s features softened at Jess’s obvious worry. “But she taught him some colorful phrases and left him alone a lot. I’ve been trying to teach him new vocabulary, but I think he’ll always revert to his earlier training.”

“Can I meet him?” Jess asked hopefully. “I have a cat—”

“Sir Edmund Hilary. He keeps trying to murder her,” Duane explained, then shoved another bite of pie in his mouth.

“—but I always wanted a parakeet. Natalie Mason’s mom had two and they used to sit on our fingers. They were so beautiful.”

“Sure.” Shelly nodded, not sounding at all sure, and pushed back from the table. “I put him on the porch when I leave in the morning, so he has more room. He’s through here.”

“This place has a porch?” Duane looked from Shelly to me. “When did that happen?”

“I’ve made improvements.”

She is amazing. Was there anything she couldn’t do?

Jess followed Shelly while my brother and I ate our second helpings of pie.

Once they were out of earshot, Duane tapped on the table. “Hey, you should ask Claire.”

“Ask her what?”

“Ask her about what Christine might want. Claire might have some ideas what her momma wants with you.”

I scratched my chin, debating the merits of this idea.

But before I could respond, we were interrupted by a terrified-sounding shriek that had Duane and me sharing a stare of alarm.

Jumping into action, we both darted for the back of the cabin, tracing the steps Shelly and Jess had taken moments prior. We busted onto the porch just as another shriek filled the air.

Duane pushed past me and charged toward Jess, turning her to him and holding her close. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s fine—”

“That’s how he says hi.” Shelly’s face was scrunched in a grimace. “He screams when I introduce him to new people.”

Oliver let out another blood-curdling screech.

“Holy hell.” Duane backed away from the parrot, now perched on a leather sleeve covering Shelly’s arm.

“Hell. Hell. Hell.” The bird chanted.

“I try not to curse around him because he’ll immediately repeat it.” Shelly looked sadly at Oliver. “You’re a good bird.”

“Good bird. Darin is a good bird,” he echoed dutifully.

“Who is Darin?” Duane’s face scrunched in confusion.

“See?” Shelly turned a hopeful look toward me. “He can change.”

But then Oliver said, “Bend over, fuckface.”

And Shelly’s smile fell.

“Oh my.” Jess and Duane traded a look.

“He has a line about roosters, too,” I warned.

“Roosters?” Jess glanced at me questioningly.

“I think he means c-o-c-k-s.” Duane tried to whisper, but we all heard it.

And apparently, Oliver could spell, because he announced, “Cocks are for closers!”

In the silence that stretched following Oliver’s pronouncement, I shared a quick look with Duane and knew we were both thinking about the same thing, the same night over a year ago, and jokes about roosters. But I couldn’t hold his stare without laughing, so we both looked to the ceiling, rolling our lips between our teeth.

“It’s not funny,” Shelly said, like she was reprimanding herself. Her statement drew my attention back to her. She was also pressing her lips together and looked close to losing it as well. But she also looked guilty, like she was beating herself up for the urge to laugh.

“It’s sorta funny.” Duane gave her a rare smile, then reached over and patted her on the arm.

I stepped forward and rubbed her back, needing to explain why Oliver’s phrase had struck a funny bone with us. “The week before our momma died, we all traded rooster and chicken jokes, just to hear her laugh.”

Duane gave Shelly’s arm a squeeze before letting his hand drop. “Sometimes, things are sad and unfortunate. But finding the funny in a situation can make the sad and unfortunate more bearable.”

---

I didn’t cancel on Hank, but I wanted to.

Instead, I woke up at the same hour criminals went to bed, loaded up on coffee, and dragged my ass up to his place on Bandit Lake for Wednesday fishing.

“You look like shit.” He smiled, and then lifted his chin toward my ride. “Where’s the GTO?”

“You don’t want to know.” I grabbed my fishing gear from the back seat of Cletus’s old beater and walked past Hank, bypassing his McMansion and making a beeline for the dock.

He fell into step beside me. “Late night?”

“Yep.”

I sensed Hank hesitate before asking, “You and Patty?”

Stopping short, I peered at my friend. “What is wrong with you? I know you got a thing for her since the spring. What kind of friend would I be if—”

“Settle your feathers.” He held his hands up. “I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t ask stupid questions.” I continued my march toward the boat, seeing red and spitting nails.

Here I was, making a point to come out fishing after cancelling on Hank last week, wanting to be a good friend. And what does he do? Accuse me of going after the woman he’s interested in. What the hell?

“I—uh—I have something I need to tell you.” Hank leaned in close as we walked, his voice hushed.

“What about?”

“Don’t get mad. Slow down.”

I didn’t slow down; I was ready to get fishing.

I glanced at him again. “What did you do?”

He grimaced. “It’s no big deal.”

“Then why’re you making that face?”

“Because—shit.” Hank tugged on my arm, bringing me to a stop, his attention affixed to some point in front of us.

Confused, I followed his line of sight and my stomach dropped. No more than six feet away stood Christine St. Claire and Drill.

To her credit, the woman’s expression wasn’t smug. She wasn’t smiling. She was just looking at me expectantly, like Let’s cut the shit, shall we?

Releasing a gigantic sigh, I closed my eyes and shook my head. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so pissed off at Hank.

“We’re going to give you two some privacy.” Drill’s rumbly voice had me opening my eyes a slit and peering at Hank.

My friend had the good sense to look guilty. He also had the good sense to refrain from offering excuses for his shitty behavior. He grabbed my fishing gear, giving me a tight, remorseful smile, and moved off with Drill toward the boat.

I watched them walk off, making all sorts of plans for retribution. Perhaps I would consult Cletus on the matter. He was the king of retribution after all.

Razor’s old lady cleared her throat, bringing my attention back to her. “I’ll say what needs saying and then leave you in peace.” Her gaze flickered over me, then she added, “If that’s what you want.”

“Whatever it is, the answer is no.” Channeling my inner Duane, I crossed my arms.

“I’m not here to ask you questions, or favors.”

Yeah, we’ll see. I didn’t trust this woman. Even if my momma hadn’t warned me that she was a bad lady, I saw how she treated her daughter—like Claire was property of Razor Dennings, like the man could do whatever he wanted because she was his blood—and as far as I was concerned, Christine St. Claire was irredeemable.

Christine shoved her hands in her back pockets. She was wearing tight jeans, a blue tank top, and a black leather jacket. I’d never seen her without the leather jacket; it marked her as Razor’s property.

“You’re not making this very easy on me.” She looked out over the lake, a bitter-looking smile on her features.

“Lady, I’m tired. In case you forgot, I was out late last night.”

“About that,” her gaze flickered to mine and then away, “I see now I was wrong, ganging up on you like that. I should’ve known better. That’s why it’s just Drill and me this morning. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“I wasn’t scared. I was irritated.”

“I don’t mean you no harm. I told them boys not to chase you.”

“Okay.”

“You had Duane in the car? He’s always been a great driver.” She gave me a small smile, like she knew Duane, like she knew my brother.

And it was the small smile that set the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing in alarm.

This isn’t right.

I tensed, taking a small step back.

I need to go. I need to get out of here.

My heart kicked up, warning me of imminent danger. Instinctually, I glanced around the woods lining the lake, searching for a threat and finding nothing but early morning stillness, silent trees, and serene grass.

This isn’t right. Something isn’t right.

“Beau—”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” I shook my head, knowing intuitively that I wasn’t going to like whatever she had planned to say.

I’d turned halfway, intent on leaving my fishing gear with Hank and getting the hell out of here when she blurted, “I’m your momma, Beau.”

I stopped.

I stopped because my heart stopped.

My breathing stopped.

Time stopped.

In life, there are three periods of time: before, after, and now. It’s happened very rarely, but there have been a few instances where I’ve experienced the limbo of now with any clarity: When our daddy first put Billy in the hospital and we all thought he was going to die. When Duane fell out of a tree and was knocked unconscious. When Ashley left for college and I knew, I knew she’d never come back. When my momma died.

This moment was now. There was no escaping it. There was no going back to before and I had no desire to live in the after.

“Did you hear me?”

Tangentially, I was aware she’d moved closer. I saw her in my peripheral vision, her hands still stuffed in her back pockets, her eyes on me, her leather jacket still in place, marking her as the property of Razor Dennings.

I breathed.

My heart started.

And time began again.