CHAPTER FIVE
MASON
Sipping cold coffee, I’m watching Jeanie flit like a hyper bird around the diner. She’s got a million-watt smile on for everyone else, chatting with them, giving off general vibes of warmth and friendliness. That is, until she gets to my booth and her eyes get all squinty. Her full lips purse into a narrow line.
She’s coming back now with what looks like a still boiling pot of coffee. Her hair is catching the sunlight and flashing a vibrant red, giving her the look of a halo of fire from the pieces falling out around her face.
Putting down a fresh mug on the table before me, she starts pouring.
“Can I give you my order now?” I ask, feeling my stomach rumble again.
She’s looking back at me, a brewing storm in her sea green eyes.
“Do you know what you want?” she asks, quirking a brow in challenge as she places a hand on one softly curving hip.
“Sweetie pie, I always know what I want.” I say, unable to resist the urge to get under her skin.
“And what would that be?” she asks, clearly annoyed.
You… under me…
Crap. Where did that come from?
“Well?” she starts, tapping her foot impatiently.
“The chicken pot pie special… Is it any good?”
She shakes her head. “I’ll never understand what people expect me to say to that. No, it’s terrible. That’s why we’re jam packed today. In fact, everything here is awful, so why don’t you just go find another place to eat?” She’s fuming, turning to walk away.
What in the hell crawled up her heart-shaped ass and died?
“Whoa, hang on. I didn’t mean any offense. I’ll have the special, please,” I say as she looks at me in a challenge.
“Soup or salad?” she grounds out.
I contemplate asking her to explain the options, but I think she might incinerate me with her glare.
“Soup is great, thanks.”
I watch as she stomps off and angrily stabs my order onto the carousel. She’s bracing herself on the counter for a second, taking a deep breath. Another waitress with platinum blonde hair and heavy makeup goes over to Jeanie, placing an arm on her shoulder. The two appear to share a quick word. Jeanie’s nodding, rolling her shoulders, looking like she’s fortifying herself for battle before she turns and walks over to a couple of old timers at the counter, looking like nothing just happened.
Clearly, I’ve aggravated her more than I realized. I’m trying to think back over our interactions but nothing is sticking out to me as particularly egregious. I thought I was pretty clear about not expecting anything unsavory from her, but I’m starting to wonder if my manners need to be polished a little if I’m going to fit in with these small-town folks.
The blonde waitress brings over a bowl of soup, little trails of steam curling off of it. There’s a fluffy homemade biscuit beside it.
“Here ya go, hon,” she says sweetly, though her eyes betray her suspicion.
“I hate to be a bother, but could I trouble you for a spoon?” I ask innocently, since it’s clear my own waitress is abandoning me.
“Oh dear! Yeah, I’ll be right back with that.” She scurries behind the counter. “There you go.”
She’s in her forties, for sure. Her bright pink lipstick, the shortened hem of her dress, and the swing in her step tell me she’s a bit of a flirt.
“Thanks. Looks great, just like the staff,” I say, giving her a dimpled smile.
It works like a charm. “Oh, hush you!” she giggles.
“Sorry, you’ll have to excuse me, but I call ’em like I see ’em. I’m Mason, Mason Beckett.”
She’s beaming now.
“Yes, we all know who you are, Mr. Beckett.”
“I take it news travels fast here.”
“Ya got that right,” she replies. “Ain’t a lot of fancy big city people move to Silver Springs. You can bet news about you is travelling faster than a prairie fire with a tailwind.”
“Well, now you’ve piqued my curiosity, what are people saying?”
She leans closer. “For starters, you’ve done a fine job fixing up that shop. It’s looking bright as a new penny, I hear.”
As we’re chatting, and I’m relaxing in the warmth of her quaint expressions and charm, I have the sense of being watched. I look over and see Jeanie watching us intently, eyes narrowed.
“Jesus!” One of the men at the counter exclaims as she over-pours his coffee cup.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry Mr. Hendersen.” Jeanie scrambles to get a rag out for him.
“Well, Mr. Beckett, sure was nice to meet you, but looks like I’ve got some fires to put out. You take care now,” Maggie says kindly, walking over to the grumbling old man at the counter.
Jeanie is throwing me glares and I get the sense the spilled coffee was somehow my fault too, at least in her mind.
I look down at my soup, hoping to avoid her death stare. It’s some kind of black-eyed pea concoction and is completely, absolutely damn delicious. The biscuit is buttery and hot, melting in my mouth.
I haven’t eaten food like this… well, ever. Sure, I’ve been to Nobu, Gilt, and all the other expensive, hyped-up restaurants in NYC, but none of that has warmed me the way this does. Not that I’m any kind of gourmand, but something about the food and this place is so heartfelt.
I see Jeanie heading over. She isn’t looking any more pleasant. Whatever the issue, whatever the cause for her attitude, I don’t need enemies in this town already.
“Chicken pot pie,” she says, setting the plate down a little hard.
“Thank you. It looks amazing.”
“Anything else?”
“Actually… yeah, I’d like to apologize. I think we got off on the wrong foot and that was probably my fault for not being more tactful.”
“Really? What could possibly give you that idea?”
Hello, shrew, I’m apologizing here!
“Look, I just would like it if we could be friendly, that’s all.”
“Oh, I’m sure you would like that very much, but go bark up another tree, because you’re not getting anywhere with this one, got it?”
Alright, you’ve kept your tongue in check, but this chick is pushing the limits here.
Time to step it up. “Okay, let’s just clear the air here. Obviously, you seem to think I’m trying to orchestrate a way to get you in my bed, but let me tell you, sweetheart, if, and when, I have company there, I prefer the kind that isn’t going to bite. I’m not interested in prickly, hypercritical, surly young women, least of all you.”
Well, now that’s not entirely true…
I know that look. I see it a lot in the courtroom when I cut someone down. I wasn’t looking to hurt her, but the damn woman was starting to drive me crazy with her snapping and suspicion.
She looks like she’s about to say something when someone a few booths away drops a glass. Milkshake and shards go sprawling across the floor. She rushes off to contain the mess and doesn’t come back.
Maggie drops off the check and I have the sense that Jeanie is trying to save face. I glance up and see her watching me as I pass the window, before she quickly looks away.
I probably should have been gentler. I mean, fuck, I came here to get away from feeling like the bad guy. I don’t need this little country mouse preying on my conscience.
*
Back in the shop, I’m doing an oil change for a kind little old lady named Eunice. She’s watching me a little too keenly through the window to the storefront when my cell starts ringing. It’s not the shop phone and not the new cell phone I bought to keep up with my brothers, but my old work phone that for some reason I couldn’t quite bring myself to toss out.
Quickly pushing off the rolling cart from under Eunice’s old Buick, I wipe the grease on my hands off on a shop rag and reach for the drawer where I’ve kept the phone.
Seeing the number raises my alarm. For a minute, I waver on whether to answer. Ultimately, my curiosity wins out.
“This is Mason,” I answer bluntly.
“Beckett! By god, you’re alive. I heard you dropped off the face of the Earth, been trying to call your office the last couple weeks. No one could tell me where you’d gone or how to find you.”
“Well, you did,” I say, grimacing. It’s Bradley ‘Buddy’ Graham, my old college classmate. Whatever he wants, it can’t possibly be good.
“Hey, what can I say? For the right price, anyone will talk… or not talk,” he snickers. This bullshit right here is exactly why he is an old and not current friend.
“Yeah, congratulations, you got me. What do you want?” I snap.
“Jesus, getting out of ‘the life’ doesn’t sound like it’s doing you any good, brother. Look, I need a favor…”
Fuck. Just hang up. Hang up right now, Mason.
The last favor I did Buddy has weighed on my conscience for the past thirteen years.
Back in undergrad, I was something of a gridiron success, nothing like my little brother Cayden, but enough to make me known. In those early glory days, Buddy, Charles, and I were inseparable, never letting each other piss away our livers alone.
Even with my achievements on the field, it was always explicit I would go into the family business. To escape the expectations, the life that had been tracked for me as the eldest Beckett boy of my generation, I went through those first years in a haze of alcohol and easy tail. We put our stamp on that campus, but the cost was significant and enough messes accumulated to the point that something needed to be done.
Of course, with old money like the Graham’s and Beckett’s, there wasn’t any situation that couldn’t be ‘taken care of.’. In fact, despite our antics, the Beckett name still carries some weight in Abbotsleigh’s halls. My dedicated effort to fuck, fight, and drink it away ultimately failed.
However, I did manage to sabotage myself enough to get involuntarily transferred, which is the wealthy version of expulsion. Beckett money smoothed the way for me to finish out my senior year at another Ivy League school and then on to law school. After my fuckery, my father had little trouble guilting me into soulless obedience.
I was finally away from all this, breaking free the way I wish I could have done back then and who should appear to drag my ass back into that pit, but good ol’ Buddy.
“It’s my nephew, Nick again. He’s twenty now, a Trojan. You know how it is…” he punctuates this with a sick laugh. “Anyway, he’s in a little bit of trouble again, but nothing you can’t handle.”
Great, that shithead again. Nick was up for armed robbery his freshman year and I still had nightmares recalling my brutal cross-exam of the prosecution’s primary witness.
“Sorry, I can’t take the case. I’m out of the business.”
“Dude, I need you. If it hadn’t been for you last time, poor kid would have lost his future. Come on, Mason, for old time’s sake…”
Wrong tactic.
I remain firm. “Can’t do it, man.”
Buddy sighs. “I didn’t want it to be like this, brother, but you owe me. Come on, man, just do this solid for me.”
I owe him jack shit, but in Buddy’s twisted mind, of course he would see things that way. Still, I don’t need him causing trouble for me. For a second, I hesitate.
This is your test. You’ve got a fresh start here. You don’t have to be that guy anymore.
“I’ve moved on with my life, I’m not who I used to be,” I tell him. “The answer is no and it’s not changing.”
His tone changes. “What the hell? You think you can just hide in some little hole in the country like a little bitch? You’re a Beckett, you’ll always be a Beckett, so do what Beckett’s do…” He’s going on now and I don’t have time for it.
“Fuck off, Buddy.”
I hang up the phone and enjoy the acute satisfaction for a minute. Fucking Buddy. What is it with the hostility today? Maybe it’s the full moon. Shit, am I becoming superstitious after less than three months in the country?
I shake the thought away as I turn the ringer off and put the phone back in the drawer, hoping to lock away any secrets with it.
In the back of my mind, I know Buddy could cause one hell of a shit storm for me. There is history between us, secrets I don’t want aired to the world, and I’m hoping I didn’t just set a train wreck into motion.