Chapter 7 – GLENNA #2
“Put ‘em in water.”
He seems familiar with this whole thing. Jealousy prickles inside me, which is stupid. Jealousy is petty.
“Did you get them at Tansy’s?” I ask while I head for the kitchen and try to shove down the grouchy, icky feeling. Tansy’s is the only florist in town, and this is too nice for a grocery store bouquet.
“Yup.”
I open a cabinet. Do I even have a vase? I have a glass lemonade pitcher. It’s on the top shelf ‘cause I never use it. I set down the bouquet and vault up onto the counter with my good arm.
“Whoa.” Cash is suddenly right there, hands skimming my sides, like he’s spotting me.
I rise on my knees and reach for the pitcher.
“I could’ve gotten that for you.”
I grab the pitcher and turn, lowering myself back to sitting. “So could I.”
He’s still smiling. I don’t think he’s stopped since I opened the door.
“Are you gonna back up so I can get down?” I ask.
“Nah.” He takes the pitcher from my hand and reaches over to fill it in the sink. He’s standing flush with the counter between my dangling legs. “Do you like ‘em?” he asks as he unties the bow and unwraps the burlap.
“They’re pretty.”
“You frowned when I gave them to you.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He laughs at me and plops them in the water, fluffing them out until they look like a picture.
“You looked like I handed you a turd.”
“I said they were nice.”
He exhales, still smiling, and slides the pitcher to the corner of the counter by the fridge. Then he rests his hands on either side of my knees, leaning forward.
He’s in my space. My heart ker-thumps. Tingles dance across my skin.
He gazes deeply into my eyes, and then he chuckles once, like he’s figured something out.
“I don’t buy women flowers.”
I blink.
“I buy my mom flowers for her birthday and Mother’s Day and shit. But I don’t bring women flowers.”
“You brought me flowers.” My blood whooshes in my veins. I don’t know what’s happening here.
“Yeah. You.” He’s still looking at me. I feel pinned like a butterfly in a collection.
“I don’t care whether or not you buy women flowers.” I go to push him back so I can hop down, but my hands pause and rest on his pecs of their own accord. He’s really solid.
“Yeah, but I care that you know I bought them for you . I wanted to make you smile, Glenna Dobbs.” He covers my hands with his. They’re rough and tanned, and the nails are trimmed to the quick. “And instead I made you frown.”
“They’re nice flowers.” I glance over. They really are beautiful. They look like the meadows on the north face of Stonecut Mountain.
But now Cash is frowning. His brow’s furrowed like he’s thinking hard.
“Glenna, I know I gave you a hard time for—well—for a long time. But if that’s why you think you don’t deserve flowers and shit, well—I’m sorry, okay?” He’s totally serious.
“Are you saying, like, you think you gave me self-esteem issues?” I wriggle my hands out from under his. “Seriously?”
I shove him back and jump down from the counter. He wisely backs up.
“I mean—”
I don’t let him finish. “You are so full of yourself. Can you even hear what you’re saying? Cash, I can assure you, you have had exactly zero impact on my life except for some minor inconveniences and a firm belief that money can’t buy sense, tact, or common decency.”
I stalk toward the door. He doesn’t say a word. I grab my purse. “I’m assuming your folks know I’m coming?”
He grunts a yes. I’d back out now if they didn’t.
As it is, I’m dressed, I’ve fretted about this all day, and now I’m pissed enough to make it through the evening.
Make nice with the Walls, hope they use their clout to get people to ease off of Dad and me, and then call an end to this dumb experiment.
Cash Wall did not give me low self-esteem.
I don’t have low self-esteem.
I stomp down four flights of stairs, don’t wait for Cash to open the passenger door, and hoist myself into the cab before I realize two things at once.
Yeah, I do.
And Granger’s in the cab.
* * *
It’s impossible to stay upset around a bloodhound that’s happy to see you, and Granger is stoked. As soon as I’m in the cab, he’s climbing on me. Cash orders him down, but Granger’s too excited. He noses my armpit and snoofles my face, licking my chin with his sandy tongue.
Then he accidentally head-bumps my sling, and I yelp, startled more than hurt. Cash barks, “Down, Granger.” His tone brooks no nonsense, and Granger immediately plops into the footwell. He’s a big boy, though, so his head is still propped on my knees. His tail thumps somewhere under the glovebox.
“Do you want me to put him in the back seat?” Cash asks.
I shake my head and scratch behind his super soft, floppy ears. He has the best ears of any dog I’ve ever seen, lighter brown toward his head and darker toward the tip. And his face is so wrinkly and droopy. He looks so tragic, and he’s so hyperactive.
“What’s that?” Cash asks as he bumps down from the sidewalk and accelerates as he turns onto Main.
“What’s what?”
“That smile. You smiled.”
Yeah, I guess I did. “Granger,” I say as an explanation.
Cash chuckles. “Flowers make you frown, but my slobbery mutt makes you smile?”
“I guess so.”
Cash grins. “If you roll down the window, he’ll stick his head out, and his ears’ll blow in the wind. He loves it.”
I push the button. Granger rises, pokes his long snout out of the cab, and howls for joy as his ears take flight. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I stroke his back, and his tail thwaps the armrest, and all the messy, bad feelings from the past little bit go flying out the window, too.
I look over to Cash, and he happens to be smiling, and so am I, so we smile at each other.
My belly goes flump. I face forward.
Cash fiddles with the radio.
I’m not looking at him, but I am aware of him. He’s wearing cologne again, but a different kind than Friday night. It’s light. Woodsy. Nice.
In my periphery, his hand flexes on the steering wheel. He’s wearing jeans and a standard blue button-down shirt. He’s not wearing his trendy dress shoes this time. He’s got on tan carpenter boots.
His hair is combed neatly, except for the neck curls, and there’s obviously some product keeping everything in place.
Even if you put the whole bullying thing aside, Cash is not my type. I go for long-haired guys in band T-shirts and skinny jeans. I like dye jobs and piercings and tattoos. Combat boots. Gauges. Full beards.
But I’ve only ever dated one guy. So I guess my “type” is kind of theoretical.
And superficial.
And if I want to be really, really honest with myself—which I don’t—that’s not the only style that gets me hot.
I like how Cash opens my door.
I like that he obviously dressed up for me like I dressed up for him. Or dinner. Whatever.
I like that every so often, Granger pulls his head in and clambers across my lap to nuzzle Cash. Cash absentmindedly gives him scritches, and when he’s had enough, Granger goes back to letting his face flap in the breeze. They’re old partners.
We drive past the big Stonecut Farms sign too soon.
Cash tenses, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
I’m nervous, too. I’m clammy, and my gunshot wound is itching.
We wind up the drive along the pastures with the freshly painted white fences and the red octagonal barn.
The old farmhouse is downhill. Dina’s grandparents lived there before they passed.
Grandma Wall used to let us cadge Klondike bars from her spare freezer in the basement when Dina and I were out running wild.
I’ve heard Kellum lives there now with his wife Shay and their daughter Mia.
That was a scandal when that whole business came out.
Secret baby. Good old boys circling the wagons to protect one of their own.
It seems to have ended well, but it makes me sad to think that little girl missed out on having a daddy for so long.
I’d give anything for more time with my mom, I know that.
Higher up the hill is Van Price’s fancy mansion.
He lived most of the time in the city, and he was killed in a home invasion almost a year ago.
His place is empty now. Next to the Walls’ houses, his is modern and out of character.
I wonder who’s going to buy it. I can’t imagine the Walls letting anyone but family live on their bucolic, perfect ranch, but it’s an expensive piece of real estate to leave vacant.
I’ll never get used to how rich the Walls are. They act so down-to-earth, but they breed horses that cost more than houses.
Cash parks in front of the garage beside an enormous Harley. He comes around to open my door, and I take a second to check the mirror on the visor. I’m flushed, but respectable.
My stomach is aching. I haven’t really spoken to Mr. and Mrs. Wall in years, and truth be told, I was never really comfortable in their house.
It’s like a ski lodge. It’s built to seem homey—lots of logs and huge windows and flower beds with a flagpole out front.
But it’s clear they’ve got lots of help.
It’s impeccably clean—no clutter, no dust, no streaks, not a damp spot on the bathroom towels—and except for Mrs. Wall’s garden, the landscaping is amusement park perfect.
I could never relax unless we were in Dina’s room or playing outside. I felt so out of place.
I’m kind of curious, too, though. I’m not twelve anymore. I spent a lot of time here as a kid. Is the house as imposing as I remember, or was I just easily intimidated?
Cash helps me down from the truck, then keeps hold of my hand. I let him. It’s part of the show, right?
And also, it eases my stomach a smidge.
Granger leaps down behind me.
Cash leads me around the side of the house, lets Granger into the fenced yard with the pool and gazebo, and lets himself in the back door without knocking. I feel weird about it, but there’s no reason. It’s his parents’ house. I only knock at Dad’s so I don’t startle him into a heart attack.