“When a thing is funny, search it carefully for a hidden truth.”
― George Bernard Shaw, Back to Methuselah
~Cletus~
“Cletus.” Billy bestowed upon me a single head nod. His typically taciturn eyes were alight with some mischief. I didn’t miss how he slid his arm around Jennifer’s waist and brought her close to his side. I didn’t miss it and I didn’t like it.
What is he up to?
“Billy.” I also noticed how he’d splayed his hand on her hip. I didn’t like that either. Gradually, I brought my eyes back to his, catching the tail end of a smirk. I increased the intensity of my eye squint.
“Why aren’t you playing?” Billy asked, all nice and easy. Smooth even.
I knew my brother well enough to know he was fighting a smile. But he didn’t smile. Billy didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do, a fact I should have remembered before I’d tricked him into a date with Jenn.
Rookie mistake. You should have sent in Beau. I was disappointed with myself.
Jennifer cleared her throat, drawing my attention to her. She was confused, although bewildered might have been a better word. Beneath the bewilderment, she was looking at me with anticipatory hope.
“Hi, Cletus,” she said, her voice soft and friendly and expectant. “How are you?”
I studied her, my eyes darting over her person in a quick assessment. She’d changed. It had only been two days since I’d seen her last, since our surprising picnic at Cooper Road Trail. But she’d taken her homework very seriously. Successfully leaving her house in that dress couldn’t have been easy. I was proud of her and wanted to tell her so.
But I was also irritated with my brother and seeing red because of it.
Even before Billy arrived, Jennifer Sylvester on his arm in her surprising dress and a new hair style, the day had not been an enjoyable one.
Beau had lost his temper, again. Shelly had tried to give him pointers on a tricky engine rebuild. She didn’t seem the least bit flustered by his outburst, which only served to irritate him further. He’d left in a snit.
Then, I’d tried to make taffy. It wasn’t the first time I’d tried to make taffy, and it wouldn’t be the last. I never succeeded, but I was determined.
Next, upon arriving to the jam session, one of my banjo strings had broken. Not the end of the word, certainly. But then, as I was restringing it, another string broke.
And now I’d just overheard my older brother—who was supposed to be permanently embroiled in a sweeping, tragic, and epic love story with Claire McClure—confusing my Jenn and raising her hopes.
My Jenn.
Not Billy’s Jenn.
Mine.
“Jennifer Sylvester,” I said, digging deep and finding the wherewithal to be a gentleman. I gave her a deferential head nod and a taut smile. “How are you this fine evening?”
Her pretty eyes dimmed by degrees even as her smile increased. It looked fake, and that made my own smile slip.
“Fine. Thank you,” she said, her attention dropping to the floor.
She was twisting her fingers. She was nervous.
Dammit, Billy. You had one job. One. Job.
I moved my glare to my brother. “May I have a word?”
“Now?” he asked, looking and sounding almost delighted. Of note, delighted for Billy was imperturbably stoic for everyone else.
“Yes. Now.” I bared my teeth in a grin.
Billy’s eyes moved between mine and I cursed his fastidious grooming. He’d taken extra care with the beard trimmer this afternoon. He also smelled like a profligate, cologne, and unrequited infatuation.
My older brother turned and whispered something into Jennifer’s ear. I stiffened, barely restraining the urge to grab him by his shirt collar and yank him down the hall.
But I didn’t. Instead I made a list of all his most treasured possessions for . . . reasons.
She nodded and sent him a genuine, albeit small smile. Jennifer turned her smile to me but didn’t raise her eyes higher than my neck.
“I’ll go say hi to the sheriff. I think I see him at the donations table with Judge Payton.” Jennifer tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders and set off. I turned my head to watch her go. I wanted to ensure she made it through the crowd without incident.
Then my eyes dropped to her shape, because—in this dress—her shape was on display. The indent of her waist was sharp, and the generous curve of her backside tapered to slim thighs and shapely calves. I couldn’t see her shoulders because she donned the shawl. The interesting black dress she wore had a band of black lace that began at the knee and ended an inch below it.
“Cletus?”
“Hmm?”
Nothing was provocative about the dress . . . and yet, everything was provocative about the dress.
“Cletus.”
“Yeah?”
It reminded me of lingerie, but I couldn’t quite figure out why.
“Cletus, stop staring at my date.”
I slid my eyes to Billy, who’d stepped next to me and stood at my shoulder. He appeared to be amused. I scowled at him, because what he’d just said earned a scowl.
“Come with me.” I tilted my head toward the blues room. The musicians were currently on break. Most of the audience had removed themselves to other places, leaving a sparse collection of stragglers and lonely instruments at the front.
I walked him to the far corner, turned on him, crossed my arms, and demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Billy lifted his left eyebrow at me, his eyes glowing with an unholy light, but otherwise his expression remained irritatingly enigmatic. He was the only one of my siblings I had trouble reading.
“I’m on a date.”
“No. Wrong answer. You’re not on a date.”
The smirk was back.
I ignored it.
“You had one job, Billy. One job.”
“Oh yeah? What was it again?”
I lowered my voice and made sure no one was eavesdropping before continuing. “Help Jennifer. Give her some confidence. Show her a good time.”
He scratched the back of his neck, still smirking. “Last time I checked, before you dragged me over here, we were doing just that.”
“Then why is she so nervous? Why is she doing that twisting thing with her fingers and giving me fake smiles?”
Billy’s smirk morphed into a grin, and he opened his mouth as though he was going to respond, but then stopped himself. His eyes darted between mine and he lowered his chin. He shook his head.
“Cletus,” he started, exhaled a gruff laugh, then returned his eyes to mine, his expression once again unreadable. “Jennifer is a sweet girl. But I’m not interested in Jennifer. And you know that. And that’s why you asked me for help.”
I examined my brother, knowing he was telling the truth, but unable to reconcile the truth with what I’d just witnessed. “Then don’t lead her on, Billy. Don’t call her gorgeous.”
“You don’t think she’s gorgeous?”
“Of course I think she’s gorgeous. I’m not blind, am I?”
“I don’t know, are you?” he asked, a ghost of a smirk behind his eyes.
I grunted and checked my watch. I was missing the bluegrass session. If I didn’t hurry, it would be over and I’d lose my chance to jam. I had the talent show in Nashville with Claire soon and improvising with the group today was important.
“Just promise me you’ll be nice to her.” I held up a warning finger in front of his face. “You be nice. This is a fake date and don’t let her forget it. I can’t help her if she’s mooning after your pedantically manicured beard-line and hipster hair.”
“She’s not mooning after me, Cletus,” he said flatly.
“Let’s keep it that way.” I administered a menacing eyebrow arch, preparing to leave, but then I remembered I needed to speak with Billy about another subject. “By the way, I have the entertainment for Jethro’s bachelor party all lined up.”
Billy’s expression didn’t change. He blinked at me once and made a sound of dissatisfaction in the back of his throat. “I can’t believe I agreed to your plan for the party. Can’t we just go with the original set-up: Beau’s scavenger hunt, drink whiskey, and burn stuff?”
“You’ll thank me later. And I’ll cherish the photos for the rest of our lives.” I turned, calling over my shoulder. “And, after this, no more dates with Jenn. Your call to service is over. I’ll take it from here.”
I didn’t wait to see if he would follow, but I kept my pace at a leisurely stroll. Though I was meandering back to Jennifer, I meandered with purpose. I felt the urge to reassure her. I also felt the urge to set my eyes on her and confirm Billy hadn’t done too much damage with his smooth compliments.
I saw the sheriff standing behind the donations table. A crowd blocked my view of the actual table, but the sheriff was a tall man, easy to spot. As I wove my way through the masses I decided it would be best to drive her home now. Or maybe I could take her to The Front Porch for steak and we could strategize. Billy wouldn’t mind.
But then I stopped short.
Jennifer was there, standing next to the sheriff right where she said she’d be. On her other side was a hovering Jackson James. He was talking at her. And smiling down at her. And standing too close.
Red alert!
My blood pressure spiked and my meander morphed into a power-walk.
“ . . . you should come more often.” Jackson finished his stupid sentence, his eyes lowering to her chest like a cheeseball, then back up to her eyes.
“Jenn,” I said very loudly, sidestepping Jackson and inserting myself between the two of them. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Have you?” she asked, her sweet face tipped back and her impossibly pretty eyes arresting mine.
“Yes. I have,” I said, then promptly forgot what I was going to say next. I sensed a hovering presence behind me so I glanced over my shoulder at Jackson—the hoverer—and frowned impatiently. “Do you mind? Give a man some space.”
“That’s real funny, Cletus,” he said, not sounding amused. “Because I was just—”
“Do you have any—uh—taffy?” I asked Jennifer, not wanting to hear Jackson’s complaining. If he was going to complain, I decided it was best to pretend he was a ghost. Taffy was the first thing to pop into my mind.
“Taffy?” Her dark eyebrows drew together; I wondered if her real hair color would be the same dark shade as her eyebrows. I hoped so.
“Yes. Taffy,” I said gently, and smiled when she smiled and shrugged. “I like to live dangerously.”
She opened her mouth, just about to ask me something and I couldn’t wait to find out what, when Jackson cut in impatiently. “By eating taffy?”
“Yep,” I turned just my head and gave him my profile. “It puts my dental fillings in grave peril.”
Jennifer laughed. I smiled at the sound, allowing myself the luxury of looking into her eyes. She had an appealing laugh. And a great smile.
“Are you ready?” Billy—in all his handsomely smooth, well-maintained glory—sidled up to Jennifer and wrapped his arm around her waist. “We should head out if we’re going to dinner.”
She turned surprised eyes to my brother, then to me, then to Jackson. I sidestepped, cutting off Jenn’s view of the latter and forgave Billy just a little for putting his hands on her. “That’s right. You two kids go get that steak. Have fun.”
I tried to herd them forward. Unfortunately, Billy was a gentleman and took the time to shake hands with Sheriff James and Judge Payton before moving off. Meanwhile, I maintained my defensive position, blocking Jackson from seeing or following them, until Billy’s tall head was out of sight.
“Dammit, Cletus.” Jackson, growing exasperated, shoved me to the side and craned his neck, presumably searching the crowd for Billy and Jennifer. “What is wrong with you?”
“Was I in your way?” I squinted at him and smiled, deciding that leprosy via armadillo infection was definitely in his future.
***
When I awoke on Saturday morning I had a hankering for baked goods. Unless Duane was making his blueberry hotcakes, my breakfast consisted of three hard-boiled eggs, an avocado, a grapefruit, and a half liter of water. I saved my special coffee for after breakfast.
Today I didn’t want eggs. I wanted . . . a muffin. Or whatever.
Though I’d stayed up the previous night until Billy arrived home, he was irritatingly circumspect with details. I swear, getting information out of him sometimes was harder than getting blood out of a turnip.
I showered quickly, intent on making it to Donner’s Bakery for whatever Jenn had cooking, and ask her directly how the date had gone, i.e. did I need to maim Billy? Or had he been a gentleman? Or, even if he’d been a gentleman, did I still need to maim him?
After toweling dry, I wiped the foggy mirror and grabbed my comb. But I halted mid-brush stroke when I caught sight of my reflection.
My hair had grown long, falling over my forehead and ears, reaching the back of my neck. It looked messy—well, messier than usual—and it was past time for a trim. Spur of the moment, I decided I’d stop by the barber on the way to the bakery and have my hair seen to.
While I was pulling on a pair of dress pants and the dark gray shirt Sienna had bought me for my birthday, Beau popped his head in my room.
“Hey, Cletus. I was thinking about—” He’d stopped speaking so suddenly, I looked at him. He was staring at me like I’d grown rooster feathers.
“What?” I glanced at my outfit then back to his face.
“Today isn’t Sunday,” he said, his eyes on my shirt.
“I know that.”
“Then why’re you dressed up?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” Beau walked all the way into my room and stood behind me. We were both reflected in the closet mirror. “Who are you going to see?”
I shrugged. “No one.”
“Is it Shelly?” he asked suddenly, scowling. “Are you two involved?”
My answering frown was immediate, because I’d hadn’t spent much time thinking about Shelly; I needed to add her to my to-do list. “I’m not involved with Shelly. At least, not yet.”
Beau stiffened and he crossed his arms. “What does that mean?”
“It means, eventually, I’ll see to her. She and I are suited.”
His eyes dropped to where I was fastening the dark gray buttons over my black undershirt and he was quiet while I finished up.
I walked around him to my shoes and sat on the bed to pull them on.
“You think you two are suited?” he finally asked.
“Yep.”
“How long have you, uh, felt this way?”
“Since I met her and determined ours would be an ideally placid union. Why?” I lifted an eyebrow at his reflection; he hadn’t moved, nor had his eyes moved. He was staring unseeingly at the mirror.
“Because I . . .” he hesitated, tugging a hand through his hair and turning away from the mirror to face me, “I would have made an effort to be nicer, if I’d known you were interested.”
“Beau, you should be nicer regardless of my feelings on the subject. You’re nice to everybody else. You know what momma used to say: if you don't want someone to get your goat, don't let them know where it's tied.”
His lips formed a flat line and he nodded once. I inspected my brother. He was unhappy, and unhappy was not a normal state of being for Beau.
“Is there something going on with you?” I asked, giving him ample opportunity to share his troubles.
His eyes lifted to mine and he twisted his lips to the side. He stared at me, carefully masking his thoughts and saying nothing for a time. Then he shook his head.
“Nope. Nothing is going on with me.” Beau’s tone was deliberately devoid of telling emotion.
I scrutinized him further.
“Stop it, Cletus.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop trying to peer into my mind.” He cracked a half smile, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I would never do that, Beau. Your mind is a depraved and dissolute place. I would fear for my eternal soul should I manage a glimpse inside.”
He grinned at my teasing and I was pleased to see it. “That’s right.” He turned to the door and called over his shoulder as he left. “And don’t you forget it.”
***
Kevin Arthur liked cutting hair. I reckoned his desire was a good one, considering he was a barber. However, Kevin always wanted to cut more inches off my hair than requested. We argued every time I came into his shop.
I told him my hair needed weight, otherwise it stood straight up and out, and my head—which was larger than average already, likely to accommodate my massive brain—resembled a cantaloupe on a toothpick, with cantaloupes being the least esteemed of all fruit.
He maintained I needed a short cut, with the sides clipped close, and the top longer and thinned. He said the thickness of my hair was responsible for its propensity to misbehave. He said the cut would bring all the girls to my yard.
This was doubtful. First of all, I didn’t want girls in my yard. I didn’t want anyone in my yard. My yard was fine just as it was: self-maintained.
Secondly, I’d never been popular with the women folk. Women, or at least the women I knew, didn’t much enjoy my lack of willingness to deal with bullshit. For that matter, most men I knew didn’t enjoy this about me either.
Bullshit was the adult version of Santa Claus. For reasons I’ll never comprehend, the general population seemed to enjoy wallowing, spouting, and believing in bullshit.
But back to my barber
I left Kevin and two inches of my hair at his shop in Knoxville. We’d argued about the length. He finally acquiesced and quit his badgering. Then he moped. So, against my better judgment, I let him trim and shape my beard. I came to regret this decision. He’d cut it too short and it now had a distinctly manicured appearance.
I was ridiculous. I gave myself five minutes of feeling ridiculous, and then moved on. I had muffins on my mind and it was already past 10:30 AM.
Donner’s Bakery was on the far side of Green Valley and definitely not on my way home. The bakery was attached to the Sky Lake lodge, the only property still in the possession of Don Donner’s family, Jennifer’s great grandfather. Diane Donner-Sylvester had inherited the lodge in a state of disrepair, her father having squandered the family fortune and whittled the Donner hotel empire down to almost nothing.
I had to park some distance from the bakery entrance. Surprisingly, the lot was nearly full. I tried to recall the last time I’d been to the bakery other than late at night, two Mondays ago, and realized it had been several years.
The property looked significantly different since my last daylight visit. What had been run-down and shabby was now as well manicured as my recently trimmed beard.
All the buildings had been freshly painted and the landscaping was top-notch. Both the bakery sign and the lodge sign looked brand new and the parking lot had been repaved. The bakery had a new awning, French-style wrought-iron tables and chairs along the window, and apparently—I realized upon entering—had been completely remodeled on the inside.
As soon as I stepped into the bakery I was assaulted by the smell of heaven. This I recognized, because it had been the same aroma I’d encountered two Mondays ago when Jennifer let me into the back door of the kitchen. I approved of this smell.
I also approved of the concoctions in the display case, each more elaborate than the last. And of course, set to one side in a glass pedestal of honor, sat three whole banana cakes, and one half banana cake. Apparently, some people had a slice of banana cake for breakfast.
That sounded like an excellent idea to me.
As foretold by the plethora of cars in the lot, the bakery was busy. I leaned to one side and scanned the counter. Jennifer wasn’t at the register and she wasn’t taking orders, which made sense. She was probably elsewhere, baking.
I frowned, restlessness pulling my eyes to the hallway that led to the kitchen. I knew Jennifer baked fresh items every Saturday and Sunday. Billy had made it back to the homestead at 11:00 PM the previous night. Assuming he’d dropped her off fifteen minutes before coming home, this meant she’d slept less than four hours.
Concern had me leaving the bakery, walking around the building, and trying the back door to the kitchen. It was unlocked, so I walked in.
What I found shouldn’t have astonished me if I’d stopped to consider readily available evidence, but I was surprised.
There, in the calm center of a frantic activity storm, was Jennifer Sylvester. She wore her yellow dress costume and high heels; her blonde wavy hair was pulled back in a net, and thick, expertly applied makeup covered her features. She was wearing the Smash-Girl apron and she was baking, but she wasn’t the only one.
She had a staff of at least ten. Jennifer was directing traffic and her voice was not soft, or feeble, or anything resembling a woman with no backbone.
I stood stock still for at least three minutes and watched her work, correcting someone to her left, answering a question thrown from her right, all the while filling delicate puffy balls with crème. She was making crème puffs.
“Hey, Cletus.” I turned at the greeting and discovered one of the Tanner twins giving me a wide grin. “What are you doing here?”
“I, uh . . .” I was going to say I was there to see Jennifer, but clearly she was busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.
Blithe Tanner—at least I thought it was Blithe, though it could have been Blair—lifted her eyebrows expectantly. “You need something?”
“Cletus?”
I turned at the sound of Jennifer’s voice. She was walking over to me, wiping her hands on a towel. At the last minute she sucked her thumb into her mouth, her pink tongue darting out to lick crème from the digit.
My throat was suddenly and curiously dry.
“Hey, Jenn. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She gave me a soft smile and shook her head. “You’re not interrupting. I was just finishing up an order for tonight. Banana crème puffs. Do you want to try one?”
Before I could make an excuse—because I was absolutely planning on making an excuse—she grabbed my hand and tugged me over to her workspace. Stopping short, she turned on me, plucked a crème puff from the counter and held it up to my mouth.
“Open up,” she said, her eyes on my mouth.
So I did.
She placed the puff on my tongue, her attention still fixed on my lips. “How is it?”
I didn’t moan, but I wanted to. Instead I finished chewing and said with forced composure, “That might be the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.”
She grinned, looking sublimely happy, and I suddenly wanted to pay her all the compliments, as long as she kept smiling.
But then her mother’s voice bellowed, “Jennifer! Are you finished with the— Oh.” She stopped short, her eyes jumping over me; she looked truly perplexed. “Cletus Winston. What are you doing here?”
I stood straighter and gave Diane Donner-Sylvester a deferential head nod, but I didn’t get a chance to answer her question.
“He’s here because of Billy,” Jennifer lied, untying her apron.
“Oh.” Diane frowned as she looked between the two of us.
“The puffs are all finished, as are the four banana cakes. Blair will arrange them into their boxes. I’ll be right back.” Jennifer tipped her head toward the Tanner twin I’d spoken to moments ago, then reached for my hand and led me out of the kitchen to the back door. She hung up her apron and darted outside.
I studied her momma as we left, the shrewd woman’s confused surprise morphing into confused suspicion.
Once again, Jennifer’s speed was impressive for a short woman in high heels. This time I walked beside her rather than at a distance behind. We were a good fifty feet away from the bakery when she stopped suddenly and spoke.
“It’s good to see you.”
“You too,” I said automatically, and I meant it.
“I like your hair cut,” her eyes moved over me, appraising, and her smile returned just before she wrinkled her nose, “and your beard. I’m not used to seeing it so short, though. It’ll take me a while to get used to it.”
I stroked the shorter length and scowled. “My barber takes too much liberty.”
She chuckled, lifting her hand like she was going to touch my face, but then she snatched it away and lowered her eyes to the ground. “I wanted to thank you.”
“Thank me?” I asked dumbly, half of my wits still back in the kitchen with her fingers placing a banana crème puff in my mouth. I glanced at the fingers in question. Her nail polish was burgundy.
“Yes.” She lifted her chin and ensnared my eyes. “Thanks for pushing Billy into going on that date. I’m going to make him a banana cake to say thanks, as he really went above and beyond.”
“Is that so?” I frowned, and it was not on purpose. It was just a plain-old frown based entirely on what she’d said. “Define above and beyond.”
“Well, funny thing about that. He was a real gentleman, even when Jackson approached me.”
“You mean at the jam session?”
“No. I mean at The Front Porch. Jackson was there, at the restaurant, and he came over to our table while Billy was in the men’s room.”
My frown intensified. All on its own. Without consulting me.
“What?” My question arrived much sharper than I intended.
“Cletus . . .” Jennifer’s eyes were wide with an emotion I couldn’t quite read and she was twisting her fingers.
Meanwhile, my heart was beating erratically. All on its own. Also without consulting me.
“What is it?” I stepped closer and placed a hand on her arm, needing to touch her for reasons I didn’t understand.
“Cletus, Jackson asked me out.”
I stared at her and her words, not grasping her meaning. “What do you mean? Out where?”
She gathered a large breath, her gorgeous eyes searching mine, her expression oddly circumspect, and said on the exhale, “He asked me out on a date.”