“I love it. I’ll always love the first one you gave me too, cracked or not.” She paused. “Mitchell broke it on purpose, you know.”
“He what?” I should have kicked that douchebag’s ass when I had the chance.
“During the last argument we had—the night we broke up. He was pissed when I told him I wasn’t going to Vanderbilt. He walked to my bookcase, grabbed the most important thing on it, and smashed it against the wall. That was the final straw for me.”
“I knew that guy was an asshole. What business of his was it if you decided not to go to med school?” That shell was the most important thing on her bookcase?
“We were going to go together, get an apartment, blah blah, and I changed my mind at the last minute. I kinda didn’t tell him for a month or so either.”
I laughed, imagining that little prick throwing a tantrum, but I sobered up at the next thought. “Did he ever hurt you?” She was quiet a beat too long. “Pearl, goddammit—”
“Once—which he swore was an accident and I—ugh. I was stupid—”
“The fuck you were. You’ve never been stupid a day in your life. Trusting and sweet and too goddamned forgiving, maybe.” Well, there you go. Damnation.
“Don’t think I’m a dumb girl anymore, huh?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face and hung my head. “Jesus Christ I was a dick of a kid. I’d kinda hoped you’d long forgot that.”
“You made up for it.” I heard the soft smile in her voice and took another deep drag to keep from telling her all the ways she could demand I make up for it and keep making up for it as long as she wanted.
“About Friday. Why don’t I pick you up and be your designated driver so you can go wild and celebrate your fill? I’ll get you back home safe.” Fuck if I wouldn’t rather get you back to my bed safe.
“Okay.”
• • • • • • • • • •
Thompson and I shuffled our Friday night supper to Thursday. “Maybe we can stop somewhere after, get in a game of pool?” I asked.
“Let’s not go nuts, man. We’re responsible adults now,” he said, chuckling and sifting through the envelopes and flyers in his hand.
“Hey there, Boyce,” his mom called, walking down to the mailbox at the end of their drive where we stood talking.
Thompson handed her the mail. “Goin’ to supper with Wynn tonight instead of tomorrow night, Mom. That okay?”
“Sure, hon,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Maybe your dad and I will go out too, and I’ll save that fried chicken for tomorrow.”
He slid an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “See, Wynn. This is why I’ll never marry, right here. Because I was both lucky and unlucky enough to have the perfect woman for a mom.”
She shook her head and patted his chest, her lips fighting a smile. “Crazy boy of mine.” Towering a foot over her, Thompson was a skinny twenty-six-year-old ex-addict, ex-con who lived at home and worked for her, but you could hear in her voice that he was still the little boy she’d taught to tie his shoes. “I’ve hardly seen Ruthanne, Boyce. Y’all are sharing the place now that your daddy’s gone, I see.” The twist of her mouth said everything she thought about my father, and probably a bit about my mother as well. “How’s that going?”
“S’all right.” Not. At least our schedules were off enough that we barely crossed paths. She hadn’t even noticed yet that Pearl moved out yesterday. “I’m probably going to be leaving town soon… I haven’t rightly decided where to yet.”
“So Randy said.” She looked up into my eyes.
I hadn’t remarked the years on her until that moment. Her sons’ shenanigans had taken their toll, but she’d never lost the faith and optimism I remembered from my childhood, and the increased smile lines just served to make her look kinder.
“You’ll do well in whatever you decide, Boyce. I see your brother in you.” Seeming to know she’d just knocked the breath out of me, she patted my arm and turned back to her son. “See you later then, Randy. Y’all boys have a good night. You both deserve some fun.”
• • • • • • • • • •
“So Pearl moved out and now you’re taking her on a date?” Thompson chalked his cue and sank two balls.
I watched him line up his next shot and threw back half a Shiner. “Not exactly. Her group is taking her barhopping to celebrate her turning twenty-one. I’m just… tagging along. As her designated driver.”
“Hell, man—twenty-one? Thought Pearl was in your and Rick’s year? She’s barely older’n Amber—and Amber’s still got two or three years left at A&M.” His little sister was the only Thompson kid to go to college. He sank one of my stripes and cussed.
“Pearl moved up a year.” I lined up my shot and sank one ball in the far corner.
“And the folks you’re tagging along with—they’re all grad students? Scientists? Fuck, Wynn. That setup would intimidate the shit outta me, and I’ve been to prison.”
He’d nailed it. Not much unsettled me, but being the soon-to-be-jobless mechanic among a bunch of academics—got that word from Pearl—was fucking intimidating. But she’d never asked me to go out with her—in public—before. Hell if I was saying no.
“Brit swears there’s wedding bells in your future.”