Grits ‘n’ Gravy
Dipping my nose into the maple-syrup-infused steam that rose off my plate, I inhaled. A corner of the ice-cream-sized scoop of butter pooled into liquid that cascaded down the stack of my cakes.
“I didn’t have you pegged as a pancake kind of girl,” Jackson said.
“You hardly know me.”
He grinned while he poured gravy over his grits. Leaning into the Formica tabletop at the IHOP, he whispered, “I plan to.”
Jackson was dangerous to be around. My head and stomach crackled and snapped. The more I was around him, the more enamored I became, which was not good. I had to remind myself I was sleeping with Stone—although we didn’t do the boyfriend-girlfriend thing, we both liked the under-the-radar secret encounters.
Jackson had convinced me to have dinner, or rather breakfast, with him. At first I’d hesitated and said, “I have a lot of reading before finals. I don’t have time.” But he had an arsenal of persuasive arguments, and being a sizzling hot bad boy didn’t help my resolve.
Standing in front of my bed, he’d tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Rachael, I owe you an explanation.” He leaned into my neck and whispered, “I’m not leaving until I give you one. Besides, you need to eat. An hour of your time? Tops.”
I caved.
The attraction I felt for Jackson sparked emotional confusion. I made a pact with myself that after tonight there would be no physical or emotional strings. After we ate I’d hear his story, purely a cleansing of the past, before I headed back to campus to study. This was going to be the last contact I had with him.
I put a forkful of ooey goodness into my mouth and tilted my wristwatch. I’d been with him for twenty minutes, and I hadn’t heard one word that resembled an explanation. Scooting back in the booth, I rested my back against the wall and stretched out my legs. Having downed the last of an A&W root beer, I moved on to pulverizing the crushed ice. Jackson was meticulous about cutting his ham steak into edible pieces, ate his wheat toast dry, and drank iceless water with a lemon slice. When he finished, he pushed his plate aside and stretched an arm across the back of the booth. With his free hand, he snatched my plastic cup and put it next to his dirty plates.
“Hey, I wasn’t finished with that.”
“Ice crunching distracts me.”
Lacing my fingers together, I said, “I wouldn’t want to fluster you from the apology you have.”
“I said I was going to give you an explanation over dinner.” He glanced sideways. “If you want an apology, I suggest we go somewhere more private.”
“Jackson Kimball, stop trying to seduce me. Why are you here?”
Balling up a paper napkin, he toyed with it in his palm. “Every time we’ve met, it’s been under less-than-ideal circumstances.”
I scoffed.
Locking his chocolate brownie gaze on mine, he searched for something I didn’t know if I could give. His stare made me uncomfortable. Did he think that our having dinner together would convince me that his dabbling in illegal ventures was okay? I’d be a liar to say I didn’t like him, but knowing he bent the law to suit his whims scared me. Instead of saying anything, I picked at a chipped nail.
Jackson ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t make it easy on a guy, do you?” He sipped his water. Leaning into the table, he slid his hand on mine. His thumb moved in circles on top of my wrist. “I’m sorry you became involved, but I’m not sorry that I met you.”
I pulled my hand out from under his. “Because of your scheme…” My voice cracked.
“Rachael, I had no idea that he was capable—would act like such an animal.”
The waitress came and cleared the plates. She lingered as she wiped the crumbs. “Anything else.”
“Just the bill,” Jackson said.
“Who did you pay to destroy the evidence?”
“What?”
“A good source told me that there was a fire at the police storage facility. Your case file and all the pertinent files went up in smoke. Neat and tidy, the charges have been dropped.”
Jackson locked his eyes on mine. “I didn’t pay anyone off. Good things happen to good people.”
The waitress came back with the check, and Jackson handed her two bills. “I’ll get the change.”
“No need,” he said.
She stuttered, “Thanks, y’all.”
Standing, Jackson held a palm out to mine. I motioned to push past. Gripping my hand, he tugged my arm close to his and led me out of the IHOP.
He opened the passenger door of his black Ford pickup, and I slid in. No words were spoken between us. A simmering mad oozed inside me. Did he really think I’d forgive him? Say I understood his motivation for the scheme that led to a psycho redneck attempting to squelch the last breath from me? Coming to dinner with Bubba Jackson sealed the closure. This was it. Our time knowing each other on earth was over.
The truck idled outside the dorm. I placed my hand on the door handle and wrapped my fingers around the slim metal lever. Turning toward Jackson, I said, “Thanks for the pancakes. It’s been interesting knowing you.”
“Raz,” he said.
Oh no, not a chance. I’d heard his vague account of events, and it was pitiful. Pushing down on the door level, I heard a click. I yanked the thing, but it didn’t budge. Jackson draped an arm over the steering wheel, and the other held the door lock button on the center console.
“That’s childish.”
“Do you really want to go? Leave things between us unsettled?”
“What’s unsettled? You made everything crystal clear. You screwed hard-working artists out of commissions, and you grew an underground pot industry into a business model that was pure profit.”
“That’s not fair.”
I held a hand up to shush him. “Your herbal entrepreneurial pursuits are your business, and I wouldn’t care except that you aligned yourself with a thug who’s now off scot-free. The memories I have of him are seared into my head, and as much as I will myself to erase it, that night at the McGees’ will haunt me until my last breath.” A fat tear pricked, and blinking only produced more. “Your ex-partner has a sick vendetta against me and has been sending me subtle reminder clues, all thanks to my encounter with your business.”
Jackson lifted his hand off the lock and swept the back of it against my neck. Guiding me close, his other arm pretzeled me against him. “Rachael, I’m sorry.” As he held me, I drank in the smell of his hair. Before I had a chance to protest, his lips were on top of mine. His kisses muddled my brain, and I scolded myself, a little, for kissing him back. I had an unspoken thing with Stone, and on a subconscious level I knew this moment was probably a game changer.
I pulled back, and he released me. “I’ll have a talk with Billy Ray. I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I said as I unlatched the door handle. Walking away, I held my shoulders unnaturally stiff and posed my head as though there were a puppet string attached to my crown. Behind my back, the purr of the truck engine quieted as Bubba drove away.
The night that had closed upon campus was dark and still. Moving toward the warm glow of the lighted lobby, I wrestled a mixed bag of feelings. With the silent swiftness of a big cat closing in on prey, a hand pounced over my mouth and, using the element of surprise, dragged me down a side path. My oxygen intake was trapped between a sob in my throat and a hand over my mouth.
NOTE TO SELF
Jackson Kimball’s words guaranteeing my safety don’t fool me. There’s danger out there, and he’s part of it.