Chapter Seventeen

“It’s been too long since I treated you, little cousin.” JohnScott picked me up after work one afternoon in late October. “Let’s go to the Dairy Queen and get a chili dog.”

I settled into his pickup, glad to be off my feet. “If you wanted to treat me, you’d buy me ice cream.”

“But you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

“Minor detail.”

In the past few weeks, JohnScott had taken the hint and avoided mentioning God, and I thought our relationship might get back to normal if only he would give up the Debate Club. He still considered Dodd Cunningham the best thing since Internet access, even though I insisted the infatuation wouldn’t last.

As we approached the Dairy Queen, I groaned. “Tell me you didn’t.” The parking lot held only two cars. Dodd’s El Camino and Fawn’s Mustang.

“Aw, come on.” He shut off the engine directly in front of the broad dining-room windows and raised a hand in greeting as four heads turned in our direction. “Humor me.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me in the first place?”

“You’d have said no.”

“For good reason.”

He opened the driver’s door. “Honestly, I had no idea Fawn and Emily would be here, but you have to admit, they’re getting better.”

“Well, that makes it all okay, doesn’t it?” My cousin was a twit.

“Fawn isn’t going to stop me from getting a chili dog, but you can stay out here if you want.” He shut the door, then grinned at me through the window.

I contemplated staying in the truck to prove he couldn’t push me around, but since he parked right by the windows, I’d look foolish. He had planned this strategically.

I caught up to him at the front door of the restaurant. “I hate you.”

“Cheese?”

“Onions, too, and a chocolate shake. You owe me.”

JohnScott scrunched his face. “I probably owe you fries, too.”

He ordered at the counter, and then I followed him to a booth where Dodd and Grady sat with Fawn and Emily. After JohnScott greeted them, we took an adjacent table, but he pulled his chair toward Emily when she asked him about a lesson he had assigned in history class.

The game of musical chairs continued as Grady moved to the seat across from me and plopped his cardboard container of onion rings on the table. “Hey there, Ruthie-the-checker-girl. I’m surprised you’re not at work.”

“I got off early.”

“Of course.” He stuffed an onion ring in his mouth, chewed twice, then spoke. “You work at the store most days?”

“Evenings and weekends.”

“Doesn’t leave much free time.”

“I manage.”

We reached the natural end of the conversation, and an awkward silence followed. Awkward for me, at least. Grady didn’t appear uncomfortable at all. He kept munching onion rings—which smelled so good my stomach growled—while I focused on the menu behind him.

His silence finally drove me to small talk. “So how do you like West Texas?”

“I never knew land could be so flat. And barren.”

“It’s not barren.” I frowned.

“Mesquite trees and cactus don’t count.”

“Of course they do.”

“It’s your home.” His eyes were kind. “I miss the trees back in Fort Worth. We had a huge live oak with a tree swing. Pretty relaxing.”

“What’s relaxing?” Dodd joined us, turning a chair around to straddle it. His arm brushed mine, and I shifted away from him as a tingle shot to my ear.

“Our tree swing back home.”

“I liked the porch swing better.” Dodd’s eyes watched me.

Touching a crumb on the table, I rubbed it between my finger and thumb before flicking it to the floor. “Well, we may not have tree swings in Trapp, but we sure enough have porch swings.”

“You’ve got one at your house, don’t you?” Dodd seemed different tonight. Something about the way he talked.

I nodded and glanced at the next table, where Emily and JohnScott flipped through a history textbook. JohnScott said something about page fifty-four while Emily nodded, but she seemed distracted by Dodd or Grady—I couldn’t tell which.

Fawn squinted at Emily, which gave me the impression she was none too happy to have the teenager forcing her way into Fawn’s time with the Cunninghams. I smiled in a feeble attempt to make the best of a bad situation, but Fawn didn’t return the sentiment, only shifted her eyes to gaze at me with a bored expression until I looked away, embarrassed.

A few minutes later, she slid from the booth and stepped to the counter for a drink refill, which spurred Emily to abandon her assignment and scurry to the counter with her own waxed paper cup. As Emily passed our table, she poked my shoulder. “Hi, Ruthie.”

She glanced at the preacher as she skittered away, hovering next to Fawn and peeking back. Curiosity compelled me to watch and see if she would keep making eyes at Dodd.

Grady mumbled without moving his lips, “Act like it isn’t happening. That’s what we do.”

“What are you talking about?”

He put his hand over his mouth. “Emily …”

Dodd rolled his eyes. “Grady, a little discretion goes a long way.”

I snickered in spite of myself, forcing my eyes away from the teenage girl.

“Like I said …” Grady raised his voice, ignoring Dodd’s scolding. “There aren’t many trees in West Texas that could support a tree swing.”

“Except the dead tree behind the shoebox,” reminded Dodd.

“True.”

I lifted a hand. “What do you mean? What shoebox?”

“You’ve seen our house,” Grady said. “It’s as small as a shoebox, right? The dead tree is probably bigger than the house.” He looked at Dodd. “You think it ever could have supported a swing?”

“Depends on the swing, I suppose.”

The brothers continued their banter for a few moments, but when I didn’t join in, Dodd leaned on his elbows. “Hey, some of the folks from the church are meeting at the Blaylocks’ house after the carnival on Saturday. Would you like to come?”

I blinked.

Disbelief pressed against my eardrums, making me slightly dizzy as Fawn spun to face us, but Dodd and Grady continued to search my eyes, anticipating an answer.

“No.” I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

Dodd shrugged but didn’t look away. “JohnScott might go. You could ride with him.”

I knew what was different about the preacher. Usually his eyes bounced around the room, landing on me occasionally but looking at other people, too, especially JohnScott. He had always looked back and forth between us. Tonight he kept watching me … like he did when nobody was around. Like he did at the school office. Like at the car wash. Suddenly I remembered bumping into him and the feel of his arm around me.

Fawn closed the distance between the counter and our table. “Ruthie said she can’t make it. Don’t hound the poor girl.” She reclaimed her seat at the booth just as a waitress set JohnScott’s order on the table in front of me.

I considered accepting Dodd’s invitation simply to rattle Fawn’s cage, but I would only be torturing myself. Picking up my portion of the food, I gripped the milkshake so tightly, it squeezed out around the straw, and I glared at my imbecile cousin. “Time to go, JohnScott.”

He must have sensed my determination, because he didn’t argue. “I guess we’ll take our grub back to Ruthie’s place.”

“Oh, come on, stay awhile,” chimed Grady.

Dodd protested as well, but I was already pushing through the glass door, and the electronic bleeping mechanism drowned out his words.

JohnScott hurried to follow me, and when he opened the driver’s door, he lowered his head and gave me a reprimanding look. “Was it that bad?”

I plopped my chili dog on the seat next to me. “Absolutely.”

“Why?” His door moaned, and I wanted to do the same.

“Dodd asked me to a party at Fawn’s house.”

“No way.” He laughed out loud. “He asked you out?”

“Not like that, you idiot. He invited me to some church thing, but Fawn told him I couldn’t come.”

He frowned.

“Well, not in so many words, but she got her point across.” I studied the dining room, where Fawn now laughed animatedly. “I’m not part of the Debate Club, you know.”

He started the truck and revved it, but then dropped his hands to his lap. “Ruthie, I don’t know what’s up with Fawn, but the Cunninghams are important to me.”

My empty stomach reacted to the scents filling the truck, and I felt sick. “The Cunninghams or the church or God?”

“I don’t know yet.” He ground the truck into gear but left his foot on the brake. “But even if Fawn’s a jerk, I don’t think you should be afraid of her.”

“I’m not afraid of Fawn Blaylock,” I clarified. “Or her parents, for that matter. Or the other Christians.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

My hands trembled. “What am I afraid of?” I spit the words across the truck. “I’m afraid of good manners and fake smiles and friendly words. I’m afraid of people who don’t know me but might believe any lie they hear. I’m afraid of the day they’ll turn on me, because that day will come, JohnScott, and they’ll make life in this stupid town even worse. Why can’t you see that?”

“You mean the Cunninghams?” he asked quietly.

My temper boiled over. “Of course I mean the Cunninghams.”

He raised his hands in exasperation, then floored the truck in reverse.

As we pulled away, I glanced into the restaurant to glare at JohnScott’s important people.

And Dodd’s eyes bored into mine.