“But we insist, every morning, on showing only the rose that blooms, and keep the thorny stem that hurts us and makes us bleed hidden within.”
― Paulo Coelho, Adultery
~Jennifer~
Cletus and I spent a long twenty minutes in complete silence.
We left the auto shop in my car, but he drove. He drove north on the Parkway for about fifteen minutes. The autumn colors streaked by in a blur of yellows, oranges, and stubborn greens against a crisp blue sky. Less often, I’d spot a sourwood with leaves that appeared purple.
They weren’t purple; they were burgundy. But few people took the time to really look, so the leaves were called violet and that was that.
Eventually, he took an unmarked turnoff and another five minutes passed. At first, I was quiet because he was quiet, and the events of the late afternoon deserved contemplation. But after contemplating and finding all my conclusions reached nonsensical dead-ends, I broke the silence.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
His eyes cut to mine, then moved back to the road. He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “There’s this spot up here I want to investigate.”
“Oh. What kind of spot?”
“A stream. Jethro told me about it. It’s a short hike, but since you’re in sneakers I thought we’d check it out.”
“Sounds good.” Despite feeling excited, I arranged my features into a mask of polite interest. My brother and I used to go hiking when we were kids, but I hadn’t been hiking in years.
“Afterward I’ll take you home,” he said, though it sounded like he was talking to himself.
“How will you get home?” I asked just as the small paved road became a gravel one.
“I have my ways,” he said.
Cletus’s middle name wasn’t “Evasive”, but it should have been
Another few hundred feet and Cletus pulled us to one side and parked.
“Do you have any room over there? Can you climb out this side?” He eyeballed the foliage pressed against my window.
“Yeah, I can climb out the driver’s side.”
I made quick work of it, glad I was in my sneakers and jeans so I didn’t have to worry about inadvertently flashing him.
Once we were both out of the car and he’d locked it, Cletus pointed to a trailhead some thirty feet away. “It’s just there. I’ll go in first. Jethro said the ground can be uneven.”
“I see it. That’s fine.”
I walked alongside him, turning once to look back at my car and our hands bumped. I jerked mine away instinctively, earning me a frowning side-eye from Cletus.
“Are you sure you want to come along? I can come back later on my own.”
“No. I want to come. I like to hike.”
“Really? You go hiking often? It wasn’t on your list.”
“I haven’t gone in a while, but Isaac and I used to go all the time.” I tucked several strands of hair behind my ear; the bundle had been coming lose from my ponytail all day but I’d been too busy to pull out the hairband and twist it back up.
“That sounds like a good memory.”
“It is. We used to go every weekend for a few years. We’d do geocaching, where you use the GPS and write your name down on a list, or swap a trinket.” I nodded distractedly, a sudden melancholy squeezing my chest. Isaac had returned, but he hadn’t returned to me.
“When did you stop? When he left for the army?”
“No. Before that. My feet grew too big for hiking boots and my momma never replaced them.”
Cletus nodded but said nothing, frowning absentmindedly.
I should buy some hiking boots.
I wanted to, but my cash reserves were running low after my last shopping spree. I hesitated asking my momma for money. Things were strained between us recently and she’d taken to giving me the silent treatment most of the time.
Or you could, you know, demand that she pay you for working eighty-hour weeks.
My pen pal’s advice, about formalizing my employment with the bakery, was making more and more sense. I was seriously growing to resent having to ask for money I’d technically earned.
What twenty-two-year-old had to ask their mother for money? Yet worked full-time . . .
At the entrance to the trailhead, Cletus turned in first. It was too narrow to walk side by side. Jethro had been right, the ground was uneven and the path wasn’t well marked. But Cletus seemed to know how to read the way. I followed and relied on tree trunks to keep my balance as the ground shifted.
We were about fifty feet along the trail when I took a moment to appreciate the beauty around me. Light was different in the forest, beneath the canopy. And the autumn foliage created a different light than the summer forest. It was both dimmer and brighter, which made no sense. Dimmer due to the absence of indirect sunlight; but brighter because the sun’s rays were diffused by the golden colors of fall.
Perhaps softer was the right word.
The light of the surrounding forest was softer. I felt as though the air itself was alive and I was displacing its vibrancy as I moved. A collection of faint sounds, both near and far, heightened this impression: the crunch of leaves beneath our shoes, a conversation between two sparrows, the percussion of a woodpecker, the low rustle of wind through trees, and eventually, the gentle rushing of an unseen water source.
“Did you go on a date with Jackson?” Cletus asked suddenly, his voice sounded carefully light.
I studied his back, his big shoulders. My eyes followed the line of his back. He had a nice back.
“No. I . . . I put him off. I still haven’t made up my mind.”
“What’s holding you back? Is it still your concern about baking with a partner?”
The side of my mouth lifted. “Yes, to be honest. That’s definitely part of it and that part concerns me. And by the way, you never sent me Claire’s information.”
“Ah, yes. Well you’ll see her Saturday. You can talk to her then.”
“Saturday?”
“Yep. When you come to the talent show and watch me play the banjo.”
I thought I detected a hint of vulnerability in his tone, but when he remained quiet I decided it must’ve been my imagination.
“Um, I’d really like to go, but I don’t think my father will allow it.” I attempted to disguise my sadness with pragmatism. I didn’t want to admit that I’d been considering sneaking out my window for the occasion.
. . . but I shouldn’t have to sneak out my window. I should be able to go where I wanted, when I wanted. A tower of resentment was building around my heart; every day I felt myself growing less and less concerned about what would make my parents happy.
Cletus was quiet for a bit before asking, “What if Billy came? What if y’all had another fake date?”
“Then my father would be thrilled,” I answered flatly.
“Why does your father like him so much? Watch your step. The path looks wider past here.” Cletus turned and grabbed my hand, helping me down a steep drop, then tangled our fingers together. “Don’t misunderstand me, I think Billy is the best sort. But I know I’m biased because he’s my brother and he’s always been a steady source of support. I’d like to understand your father’s preoccupation with him, though. You know,” his eyes darted to mine, then away, “so I can help you find someone similar. For the husband search. That’s why.”
“My father has been bringing Billy up since I was little.” I tried my best to sound normal, because Cletus kept possession of my hand, presumably because the ground was now loose rocks instead of firm dirt. “I mean, he was the star quarterback in high school. When he turned down that football scholarship to UT and disappeared for a few months, I think he shocked everyone. My father was so disappointed.”
“He had his reasons.” Cletus’s voice was defensive, but also distant with a memory.
“I’m sure he did. More recently, my father has been impressed with how Billy basically started at the bottom of Payton Mills and has worked himself up to South East Region Vice President.”
Cletus frowned. “Is that his title?”
“My father thinks so. And he’s certain Billy wants to run for state senate. Both my parents like the idea of having a son-in-law in politics. I think that’s why they like Jackson so much. I know he has plans to run for office.”
“Jackson would make a great politician.”
“I thought you didn’t like Jackson?”
“I don’t. Saying someone would make a great politician is like saying someone would make a great serial killer. It’s not a compliment.”
I tried not to laugh, but a frustrated chuckle escaped anyway. “What about your grandfather? Your grandfather Oliver was in politics, right? I think my grandfather Donner and your grandfather Oliver were friends.”
“Right.” Cletus chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes on the rocky trail, but also hazy with thought. “Is that what you want? A husband in politics?”
I shrugged. “I don’t care what he does, as long as he’s nice to me and wants a houseful of children.”
“Why do you like kids so much?” He switched his hold on my hand, pressing our palms more completely together as he unnecessarily helped me jump a gap in the trail.
“Are you kidding? Kids are the best. Kids are free of prejudice, and they want to have fun all the time. They want to play all the time. And they’re like sponges with knowledge. Eager to learn. How many adults do you know who are eager to learn?”
“Not many,” he admitted on a mumble.
“And babies. I love babies. I love cuddling them and holding them and just everything.”
“I like babies, too.” Cletus gave me an artless smile and we were quiet for a moment after, likely both thinking about the wondrousness of babies.
I decided nothing was better than babies. Except for maybe Cletus holding a baby.
I grinned at this thought, of seeing Cletus with a baby, kissing its belly and making it giggle, but then quickly suppressed the smile. Cletus was now frowning and had brought us to a stop.
Two lines of concentration appeared between his eyebrows and he released my fingers, his throat working to swallow. “Are you sure about babies?” His voice was pitched oddly, gruff and soft at the same time. “What if you had a chance to go to college instead? Become a—oh I don’t know—a chemist?”
I smirked at this idea, of me going to college, at twenty-two, and working in a lab, and placed my hands on my hips. “No. I don’t think I’d like that. Working in a lab is the same thing as working in a sterile kitchen, and I do that already. I don’t want to be a chemist.”
“What do you want to be?”
“A mother,” I said simply, because it was true. That’s what I wanted first and foremost. “And a really excellent wife and partner. And homemaker. I want to have a family to take care of, to love and fuss over and think about. That’s what I want. I know it’s not progressive, or flashy, and I know people don’t place much importance on that stuff anymore, just like people don’t put much importance on humility and kindness, forgiveness and compassion. But those things are important to me. I know people will look down their noses at me for being just a mom, but I’m used to being marginalized for what I do and what I look like. And I think being a great mother is the most difficult and most important job in the world. So people can just take their judgmental crap and—” I swallowed, stopping myself. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and my voice had lifted considerably. I was surprised by both my soapbox speech and the vehemence of feeling behind it.
After I stopped yelling I was surprised by how quiet the forest sounded in comparison to my tirade. The sparrows had ceased conversing, likely put out by my hollering.
“They can just what?” Cletus prompted, amused curiosity making his eyes bright, though he was trying to hide the amusement.
“They can help themselves to a piece of castor oil cake,” I grumbled, squinting at uneven path.
He laughed at that. So I laughed, shaking my head. I liked laughing with Cletus.
“I guess you feel pretty passionate about this, huh?”
“I do.” I lifted my chin.
Cletus stared thoughtfully at my upturned face for a moment before saying, “Do you realize how talented you are? Do you have any idea?”
“Thank you for saying so.” I pressed my lips together, administering the response I always recited when someone complimented me.
“I don’t think you do know.” He shook his head, his gaze scrutinizing. “It’s not just your baking. The way you handled that kitchen when I stopped by, all those people asking questions at the same time. You were the calm center of the storm. You were impressive. You are impressive.”
I gave him a half smile, swallowing a knot in my throat and endeavoring to suppress my absurd blush. I didn’t know what to say. Compliments in general made me uncomfortable, but compliments about something other than my baking prowess left me feeling like a long-tailed cat on a porch full of rocking chairs.
My father frequently reminded me that pride was a sin. Meanwhile, my mother told me people were jealous of me, what I looked like, of my social media celebrity. I didn’t believe my mother. I didn’t think anyone was jealous of me. That was just nonsense.
Cletus’s eyes narrowed on me, his scrutiny becoming a piercing thing. “You don’t believe me.”
“It’s not that. It’s . . .” I struggled, “I don’t wish to be boastful or prideful.”
Cletus sneered. “You are the opposite of boastful, and your humbleness verges on infuriating.”
“Gee, thanks.” I rolled my eyes.
“Look, all I’m saying is that if a person is great at something, she shouldn’t have to pretend she's not, and she shouldn’t have to downplay her hard work. There's nothing wrong with humility or modesty, Jenn. But—for heaven's sake—take credit for being a badass.”
I pressed my lips together, but this time it was an attempt to hide my smile. “Okay, thank you.”
“Do you accept that you are a badass?”
“Fine. Yes.”
“Then say it.”
“Cletus—”
“Say, ‘Cletus, you are ceaselessly correct in all things, especially about the fact that I’m a badass.’”
“I will not,” I laughed, shaking my head.
“Hmm . . .” He wasn’t smiling. In fact he appeared to be irritated. Abruptly, he asked, “If your daddy likes Billy so much, why doesn’t he date him?”
I struggled again, trying to keep up with the rapid subject change, but quickly managed, “I think he would if he could, but he can’t. He’s married. And my father is a strict monogamist.” I kept my voice light, hoping to see another of Cletus’s smiles.
He didn’t smile. In fact, he frowned, deeper and more severe than before, his eyes focused someplace over my head as he unceremoniously announced, “My father had three families.”
I stiffened and felt my eyes widen; but I caught my mouth before it fell open. “Pardon me?”
His eyes cut back to mine briefly, then fell to the rocks at our feet. “He had three families that I know of. My momma was his only legal wife. Darrell married Drew’s sister while he was still married to my mother. Her name was Christine.” His eyes flickered over me again before he added, “They didn’t have any children before she died.”
A moment passed while I absorbed this information. I felt lost in the conversation, not knowing why or how we’d come to the subject, or why he was sharing it with me.
Finally, I offered lamely, “I . . . I had no idea.”
“Not many people do. In fact,” he studied me again for a long moment, his expression growing contemplative, “none of my family knows about the other one, Darrell’s third family.”
“How did you find out?” Wind stirred and lifted my troublesome lock of hair, flinging it across my eyes; I pushed it out of the way.
Cletus tilted his head back and forth, as though considering how best to respond. “It’s complicated. But basically, I found him—my half-sibling—accidentally when I got tested and typed for the national bone marrow registry. I was a match, but it was a mistake.” He shook his head, looking frustrated, and swallowed some thickness in his throat. “Darrell’s son lived in Texas.”
“Texas?”
“That’s right. Texas. My momma always told us that, way back, our father’s people were Native Americans. We’re Yuchi, a small Native American tribe native to this these lands.” He gestured to the area around us. “Most were killed by Cherokee in a dispute orchestrated by a corrupt white fur trader, very few survived. That’s its own strange story for another time. Anyway, those who survived were either absorbed into the nearby Cherokee tribe or sent to be slaves on plantations. My direct ancestor married a French trader and, there you go.”
“How about that.” I wanted to hear the entire history, about the corrupt fur trader, but decided that conversation could wait given the giant information missile he’d just detonated.
“Anyway. Darrell’s other woman, the woman he married—not legally, but even so—her name is Susan. She’s half-Cherokee, somehow involved with the Cherokee casinos. That’s how they met. At a casino. She didn’t know about us. She didn’t know we existed. She had no idea Darrell was already married with seven kids. So when I showed up, asking about her son and his ancestry, I gave her a shock.”
“This is crazy.”
“I thought, when I first found about my half-brother—about our match—that we were related through some distant Yuchi ancestor, since most with lineage to Yuchi are part of the Cherokee Nation.” He huffed a laugh. “Ironically, our ancestor was much more recent.”
I stared at Cletus for a beat, absorbing this information. “Why haven’t you told your brothers and Ashley? Don’t you think they’d want to know?”
Cletus’s eyes drifted to some spot over my shoulder and dimmed, grew distant. “He died.”
My hands flew to my mouth. “Oh my God.”
“He died of cancer about five years ago. Our brother died when he was twenty-four. I never met him. His momma remarried after Darrell left them without a word some twenty-five years ago. She had three more sons, by a good man. None of them were a match.”
“Oh, Cletus.” Unthinkingly, I reached for him, wrapped myself around his body, and pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t reply, his arms unresponsive by his sides. But I didn’t care. The man needed a hug. I’m a firm believer that if a person needs a hug, you give that person a hug. So many times I’ve been in a situation where I needed a hug, and instead had to settle for a good cry on a pillow at the end of the day.
And I knew I’d made the right decision when he repeated on a whisper, “I was a match.”
I buried my face against his chest, squeezing him as hard as I could until he finally lifted his arms and wrapped them around my shoulders. We stood together, embracing, while the sparrows lifted their voices once again. The sounds of the nearby stream filled our ears.
Cletus was warm. The light was soft. And absurdly, the cadence of the water made me think of tears.
***
If I’d had any lingering doubts, they were now permanently dispelled. Darrell Winston was a reprehensible human being.
I couldn’t imagine what Cletus felt, how angry he must’ve been with his father. Nor could I comprehend how Susan felt, finding out two years too late that her son had a bone marrow match, and that match was a half-brother.
“The truth can be like people that way,” Cletus said, lifting an eyebrow at me.
I blinked at him, confused. “Pardon?”
I was sitting at the edge of the clear water stream, pristine enough to drink. Multicolored pebbles dotted the shallow riverbed. I’d taken off my shoes and dipped my toes in, and actually enjoyed the cold. Cletus stood off to one side, leaning against a tree.
“The truth can be like people,” he repeated.
“How so?”
“Sometimes,” the side of his mouth tugged upward with a humorless smile, “it’s real ugly.”
I sighed, knowing he was right. The truth about his half-brother was ugly.
“Take your father for instance.” Cletus’s tone was meticulously conversational, but I detected an undercurrent of frenzied resolve.
I stiffened my spine and squinted, suspicious of his intentions. I wasn’t quite ready to talk about my father. “What about him?”
“He’s real ugly.”
My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. The man is ugly,” Cletus proclaimed with a grumpy single head nod. “And I’m not just talking about his exterior.”
“Cletus Byron Winston, you are being rude.” I might have my own less than glowing thoughts about my father, but he was my father.
He opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut and did a double take, his eyes narrowing on me. “First of all, how do you know my middle name?”
“Your momma used to use it when you were naughty, when you boys would help her shelve books in the library. ‘Cletus Byron! Stop stuffing Astrophysics Monthly down your pants!’”
Cletus grinned. Then he chuckled. His eyes lost some of their zealous focus as he pushed away from the tree and strolled closer. “Oh yeah. She did, didn’t she?”
“I felt sorry for Billy, though.” I scooched to one side as he sat down. “His name always confused everyone, like your momma was trying to talk to Shakespeare’s ghost. ‘William Shakespeare, would you please stop Beauford from pulling down his pants in front of the girls?’”
Cletus laughed harder, leaning backward and holding his stomach. “I remember that. How old was Beau?”
“He was ten. He was trying to show us his new Tarzan underwear. I don’t think he meant any harm.”
“He sure did love that underwear.” Cletus nodded and he scratched his beard. “I’m going to have to find him some Tarzan underwear in adult size.”
“So you can torture him about it?”
He pretended to be shocked by my accusation. “Certainly not. I don’t torture my siblings.”
“Yeah, right.” I gave him my side-eye. “You forget, I’m a people watcher. I know you sell embarrassing pictures of them on stock photo sites. Jethro was griping about it after church over the summer. If it’s not torture, what do you call it then?”
He lifted his chin proudly. “I offer invaluable character building opportunities. I help them reach their true potential through suffering.”
“Oh, please.” This made me snort-laugh and I pushed his shoulder with my fingertips.
And he laughed too, which was fun. It was nice to laugh with someone in real life instead of via a letter sent once a month. And it was more than nice to laugh with Cletus.
I liked the sound of his laugh with its rumbly and artless sound. When he smiled or laughed in earnest, his dark lashes had the effect of making his eyes appear brighter and his grin lit up his whole face.
The first time I’d heard him laugh he’d been helping his momma at the library. I’d been fourteen and I think he’d been around twenty at the time, maybe a little older. His mother—who was always kind to everyone—had said something funny, and the sound of his rejoining laughter caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected him to do it. I’d never seen him be anything other than stern, angry, or stoic prior to that point.
Lively eyes that captivated me with their cleverness, pretty lashes, and a mouth full of straight white teeth framed by an exceedingly pleasing mouth. I’d started noticing him everywhere after that and I’d listened for his laugh, though—after watching him for a while—I decided it was best to keep my distance.
Nevertheless, his smiles, true happy smiles, were rare. Before blackmailing him, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d heard his laughter.
“What are you thinking about?” My hair had fallen across my face again. He tucked it behind my ear, his fingers and eyes lingering on my neck.
“Just that, uh . . .” I searched for an appropriate story to tell, an alternate truth to, Well, Cletus, since you asked, I was just thinking about how epically tremendous your smile is and how nice your fingers feel on my skin.
Unable to meet his steady gaze, I shifted my attention to the stream and cursed myself for being a terrible liar. Actually, allow me to clarify that: I’m great at lying to myself. I’m super crummy at lying to others.
His hand dropped. Another silence followed; this one was weightier, and I couldn’t figure out why. All I knew was I could feel his eyes on me and they felt heavy.
But then, out of nowhere, Cletus said, “I guess we’re going to have to practice.”
“Pardon me?”
“Practice kissing. Like what you did with Billy.”
I reeled back as my head whipped to the side, our eyes colliding. I couldn’t believe my ears. “You think . . . you want me to practice kissing with Billy?”
“No. No. Absolutely not.” Again, Cletus’s gaze flickered over me. “I mean you and me. I’ll help you practice.”
The heart flip returned, but this time it was more forceful than before. And it brought some friends—the tummy cartwheel, the throat cinch, and the chest ache.
What. The. Hell . . .?
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I rasped, forced to clear my throat, astonishment making my lungs burn.
“Why?” He shrugged, like it was no big deal.
Meanwhile, my hands were sweating. I was sweating everywhere. Even my feet in the cold stream were sweating.
“Because . . . because . . . because—” I glanced at the canopy above us, then the other side of the riverbed, the dirt next to me, the tree trunk to my left. Basically, I looked everywhere but at Cletus. “Because I’m blackmailing you and it doesn’t feel right. Like, I’m forcing you to kiss me.”
“But you’d practice with Billy?”
“Yes. He’d be doing it to help, not because of something I’m holding over his head.” I felt the urge to place some distance between us, so I stood and grabbed my shoes. I perched myself on a large rock and pulled on my socks.
“What if I promised I wasn’t doing it because of the blackmail?” Cletus tried to catch my eye so I lowered my chin to my chest as he added, “I want to help.”
I shook my head, unable to speak. I didn’t want to kiss Cletus.
Sometimes Cletus was open with me. But sometimes he was distant. I never knew from one moment to the next what mood he’d be in, just like I never knew what color his eyes would be.
I didn’t want to kiss him and then spend time with him after, pretending like everything was fine. I didn’t want to kiss him and then be invisible to him again when our deal was at an end. Because I would remember. I already felt too much.
So, no. I didn’t want to kiss Cletus.
Not if it didn’t mean something to him.
Because it would mean something to me.
The ache in my chest became a burning thing, I pressed my fingers against my sternum and rubbed.
“Here are the facts.” Cletus paused, his tone rational and reasonable. “You need practice. Yes, at first you got my attention because of the video. I freely admit that. But we’ve become something else. We’re friends, right?”
“I hope so,” I admitted as I stood from the rock and faced the trail, not yet brave enough to meet his gaze when the subject was whether or not he would teach me how to kiss.
“Then let me help you, as a friend. I can teach you how, give you confidence in your technique. I know what I’m doing. I’m basically a kissing professional.”
“I have no doubt you know what you’re doing,” I said without turning around and a little stab of jealousy prickled behind my eyes, making my brain hot.
How many women has he kissed?
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. I could feel his eyes on me and it did nothing to ease the riot of emotions and longing assaulting my heart, making it difficult to breathe and think.
“How about we do it once, no big deal. If you—”
“Cletus!” I faced him suddenly. He sounded so practical, so academic about the whole thing. Like kissing me would be as forgettable as eating a tuna sandwich. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Fine.” He lifted his hands as though he surrendered. “Don’t talk about it. Just think about it.”
I exhaled an agitated breath and turned away. “Fine, I’ll think about it.”
In my peripheral vision I saw him nod once, like the matter was settled.
I felt slightly sick. Because the truth was, given the strength of my reaction to his suggestion, I probably wouldn’t think about anything other than kissing Cletus Winston for the foreseeable future.