Truth or Beard

“Look, she wants me to go with her, okay? She’s not heartless. She’s following her dreams, and I can’t fault her for that. And I can’t hold her back, so I broke things off.”

Beau and Cletus shared a look, then Beau said, “So…what’s the problem? Why don’t you go with her?”

Dumbfounded, I stared at my twin, then my older brother. They were watching me as though expecting me to explain myself when the reasons were perfectly obvious. I looked to Jethro for help, but he was staring at me like he didn’t understand the problem either.

I growled at their thick-headedness and turned away, shaking my head and making for the exit. Cletus stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

“Now, hold on. Beau’s question is valid. We all know how you’ve been pining after Miss James, what’s the problem? Maybe I can fix it.”

I answered through gritted teeth, “The problem, Cletus, is that I’m part owner in the shop, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So, you and Beau think you can keep up with business without me?”

He shrugged again. “Maybe. Maybe not. If I’m honest, I’d say probably not. But then we could always hire a replacement.”

I stared at him, again dumbfounded, and added, “What would I live on, huh? If I went off with her? All my savings is in that shop.”

“We’d buy you out if you want.” This answer came from Beau. “Or you could get a job wherever you and Jess land. Auto mechanics—good ones—aren’t easy to find. Plus, there’s your racing, and there’s always circuits out there, especially if you stay in the south and mid-west for a bit.”

“Or you could stop being such a proud douchebag, let Miss James and her inheritance keep you in style, earn your keep the old-fashioned way.” Jethro grinned as he said this, cocking an eyebrow, then winked at me.

I was tempted to punch him in the face again.

“Sign me up for some of that,” Beau said, also grinning. But then his smile fell and he cleared his throat, looking away when I glared at him.

“The point, my dear brother, is that there’s nothing keeping you here other than your own stubbornness.” Cletus’s tone was instructive and gentle and incredibly irritating.

“What about honor? Huh? Obligation?”

“To whom? Us? Beau and me?” Cletus shook his head. “You think we want to look at your grumpy face for the next twenty years, regretting your decision every day? No thank you, sir. You’re already ornery enough as it is.”

Cletus wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin then placed the used paper towel on top of the plates stacked in front of Jethro.

“You better get started on those dishes,” he said to Jethro. “It’s the least you can do given the trouble you’ve caused. And you,” he turned to me, “you need to call Tina and tell her we got it covered. We can’t have her messing things up or making complications.”

I nodded.

“What about me?” asked Beau, sitting back in his chair, looking mighty relaxed and pleased.

“Well now, Beau. You and I,” Cletus clamped his hand on my twin’s shoulder, “we need to go find ourselves a turkey.”

CHAPTER 25

“A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes.”

? Mark Twain

~Jessica~

Tina brought her new boyfriend to Thanksgiving dinner. He wanted us all to call him Twilight.

This was an odd and difficult adjustment for our family because his real name was Isaac Sylvester and my brother had known him since kindergarten. His father, Kip, was my boss and his mother, Diane, ran the bakery in town and read poetry at the library on Thursday nights. His sister, Jennifer, was the baker of those infamous award-winning banana cakes.

And he wanted us to call him Twilight.

I was too tired and melancholy to truly feel the level of bafflement this request deserved. However, I did notice the initial exchange between my brother and Isaac/Twilight when they arrived with Tina’s momma. It went something like this:

Jackson: “Tina. I didn’t know you were bringing Isaac. Good to see you, man.”

Isaac/Twilight: “It’s Twilight.”

Jackson (looking bemused): “No it ain’t, it’s not even noon yet.”

Isaac/Twilight: “No. My name is Twilight.”

Jackson (still looking bemused): “Say what?”

Isaac/Twilight: “My name. Call me Twilight.”

Jackson: “You mean like that My Little Pony character?”

Tina: “Jackson! I didn’t know you were a My Little Pony fan.”

Jackson (scowling then motioning to Isaac/Twilight): “Jessica was always watching it growing up, and I’m not a fan—not like Twilight Sparkle over here.”

Isaac/Twilight: “The name is Twilight, not Twilight Sparkle.”

Jackson (irritated): “If you want me to call you Twilight, then don’t be surprised if I slip up a few times and call you Pinky Pie.”

A similar conversation ensued when Twilight was brought in to greet my dad, except my dad said, “That’s not a name, son. That’s a time of day.”

It didn’t take long for us to realize that the Isaac Sylvester we used to know wasn’t this Twilight fella. Last I’d heard, Isaac had joined the army and was stationed in Afghanistan; that was six years ago. But now the leather jacket he wore covered with Iron Order patches quickly told us everything we needed to know.

My father’s method of solving the inherent awkwardness was to put a beer in all empty hands and turn on the football game so loud no one could speak. Tina stayed with the men in the family room, basically sitting on Twilight’s lap.

Meanwhile my momma, my daddy’s sister, and I made dinner. It was just as well. Mashing potatoes was a good outlet for my gloomy aggression, and neither my mother nor my aunt expected me to talk much.

I was feeling hollowed out, like Duane had removed some essential part of me and had taken it with him. I had no way of getting it back.

Therefore, Thanksgiving was spent in a distracted haze of sadness and self-doubt. My family attributed the depression to my mother’s death. Several times during the day my momma put her hand on my back and rubbed the space between my shoulders.

Then she’d say, “I know. I know it hurts,” give me a quick hug, and walk away fighting her own tears. I’d watch her go, grimacing to myself, because I wasn’t preoccupied mourning the loss of Louisa. I mean, I mourned her. I was sad she’d died, but she’d spent all my life, especially while I was in college, keeping me at arm’s length.

I guess now I knew why…but not really. Her actions still didn’t make sense to me and I was too exhausted to contemplate Louisa’s decisions. The reality of Louisa’s betrayal—because it was starting to feel like one—was too fresh.

My momma seemed to think I was feeling a great deal more despair about Louisa than I was, and contradicting her assumption felt wrong. It felt heartless, especially in the face of her genuine pain. So I kept my mouth shut and accepted her sympathy, offering my shoulder as a safe place for her to cry.

Meanwhile, the focus of my conscious desolation was of the red-bearded man-troubles variety.

Matters were not helped when Tina sauntered into the kitchen after dinner. I’d offered to do all the dishes. All of them. All. On my own, with no help, because I really just needed to be by myself. I didn’t hear her come in because I was scrubbing the roasting pan and trying not to cry.

“Hey, Jess. Want company?” she asked right before her arm wrapped around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “I am so sorry about your aunt.”

I stiffened, then sighed, relaxing and giving an odd sideways lean into her embrace. I couldn’t hug her without drying off my hands and that just felt like too much effort. She obviously didn’t know the truth yet. I made a mental note to talk to my parents about the plan going forward, how they wanted to proceed, if they wanted people to know I’d been adopted.

“Thanks, Tina.” I acknowledged her sympathy with a head nod. “But no need to keep me company in here. I imagine your boyfriend can’t be feeling too comfortable with Jackson poking fun at his new name.”

Tina leaned against the counter at my side and giggled. “Twilight isn’t my boyfriend. We’ve been hooking up a lot lately, is all. I brought him to ease my momma’s mind. She thinks I’m some kind of biker whore, so I figured bringing a familiar face from the Order would make her feel better.”

I slid my eyes to the side and scrutinized my cousin. “What do you do with the Order anyhow? When you’re there at the Dragon Biker Bar?”

She shrugged. “We play pool. Get drunk. Have fun, fool around. Sometimes I put on a show.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re in danger? I mean, the Order doesn’t have the best reputation.”

She shrugged again and this time when she giggled it sounded nervous. “Well…not in danger exactly. I mean, things can get pretty intense and scary—like some of the guys can be really rough—but I think I like it, most of the time. I really like it when they fight over me, I like that part a lot.”