Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rhett
“Sadie says everyone goes.” Rylan’s borrowing my hair gel, pushing his unruly hair this way and that in the mirror as I shave.
I can’t really give him crap for getting all gussied up for a girl when I’m doing the same thing.
Not that I’d ever admit it. Mary London doesn’t seem to mind me all scruffy and dirty from working, but church calls for something a step above.
I’d hate for her to be embarrassed to be seen talking to me.
No sooner do I swipe away the shaving cream from my face than Rylan’s dragging me out the door.
The whole drive over he rattles off stuff about these new friends of his he’s made while I wonder how special this girl must be to get my boy out of bed early on a Sunday, comb his hair, and show up on time to something.
I think it’s time I met this Sadie. Rylan’s not gonna like that, but then again, what teen boy likes active parenting?
Rylan dodges my plans by leaving my side and making a beeline for a pretty blonde in the back row of the church.
There’s a whole row of teens sitting with her and she scoots over just enough to give him room to sit.
The organ at the front of the church starts playing, so I take off my cowboy hat and look for an empty seat for myself.
“Rhett!”
The whispered hiss has my head lifting to the fifth row from the front.
Mary London’s gorgeous face is split in a smile.
She’s waving me over and pointing to the empty spot next to her.
I keep my head down and make my way over, sitting down right as the whole congregation stands up to sing.
I clear my throat and in my head order myself to try harder to fit in.
Problem is, I don’t have a lot of experience here.
I don’t know when to stand or sit, and I sure as hell don’t know the words to these songs.
Mary London’s perfume is getting me all hot and bothered, her voice like an angel singing in my ear. Pretty sure I’m not churching like one is supposed to. Lusting after your boss lady ain’t the way through those pearly gates, I’m sure of it.
We all sit as one after three songs. I try to focus on what the preacher’s saying.
I’m just getting into his topic of redemption when I notice the same older gentleman is looking over his shoulder at me from a few rows up.
The judgmental frown is enough to have me shifting in my seat.
Why do I feel like I just stole something and the town sheriff has a pretty good idea I did it?
Mary London finally puts a hand on my arm, right over my one and only tattoo, while gazing peacefully up at the preacher.
She probably means to make me settle, but it does the opposite.
Next thing I know, we’re standing to sing again and the whole service has passed me by.
“Silas, you remember Rhett Price?” Mary London is shifting backward so I can shake hands with her brother and his girlfriend. Silas’s smile is exactly like Mary London’s, except I can see the tension behind it. He’s not real sure about me hovering around his sister.
Silas and Betsy greet the older couple in front of us who’ve turned around to gab. I take the moment to lean into Mary London and whisper in her ear.
“Who’s the gentleman in the blue suit headed our way?”
The man’s gaze is locked with mine as he dodges people, the frown severe enough to have me not noticing the expensive suit or the flashy watch peeking out from beneath the sleeve.
Mary London huffs softly with a roll of her eyes. “That’s my daddy. Ignore him.”
Oh well, fuck. There’s no chance of ignoring him. Especially with him coming to a stop right beside us, the weight of his glare like a clap of biblical thunder. I knew he looked familiar when I saw him last week. Historically, Mr. Winthrop has hated the Prices like it was a second job for him.
It started when he clashed with Papaw. Mr. Winthrop threatened to sue him after Papaw worked on his car and the damn thing broke down again right after.
Said Papaw stole something out of his glove box too.
I remember being a young boy when the sheriff swung by the house to ask some questions.
Even back then I knew my grandfather was a pariah in town.
But stealing from one of the Richie Rich community leaders?
That was a new low. If it was true. Never did find out if Papaw did it.
But boy, did Mr. Winthrop go out of his way to hate on our family after that.
Even the kids at school treated me differently from that day forward.
The Price reputation was set in stone in Heaven.
“Mary London,” Mr. Winthrop murmurs, kissing his daughter on the cheek. “You look like a breath of fresh air, darlin’.”
I don’t miss the way she stiffens. The sharp edge her smile takes on.
“Daddy,” she says softly.
The man’s gaze immediately swings to me.
He inhales deep and straightens his spine, looking down his nose at me, even though we’re the same height.
Nothing about him has changed. Sure, he’s aged in the way his hair is thinner on top of his head, the lines on his face have deepened, and the skin on the back of his hands shows sun damage.
But his handshake when he puts his hand out toward me and I grip it back, is anything but frail.
He squeezes my hand like he has something to prove.
It’s only a second or two, but that’s all I need to see this playing out clearly.
Mary London will introduce me. Mr. Winthrop will cause a scene right here in church, listing out all the ways in which my family is not welcome here, nor good enough for his daughter.
Mary London’s precious bar will be threatened with a mar on its reputation from a Price being involved.
There’s only one way this ends: with me slinking away and leaving Mary London to continue with her spotless reputation.
Back to the other side of the railroad tracks, Price.
“Daddy, this is Rhett Price. Rhett, this is my father, Clayton Winthrop.” Mary London, attune to the tension, but having no idea the sordid history, chirps out an introduction. “Rhett is—”
“Just leaving.” I cut her off, feeling terrible about it, but knowing that’s better than the alternative. I can’t let her inform her father of my business ties to her. She has enough problems on her hands as it is.
I give Mr. Winthrop a curt head nod, and scoot around him, shoving my hat back on and getting the hell out of the church. I don’t stop until I’m in my truck, breathing heavy and gripping the steering wheel like I could crush it in my hands, wishing it was Mr. Winthrop’s neck instead.
The man was patronizing, putting on an act of doting on his daughter when I know straight from her mouth that he’s been mostly absent her whole life.
That bullshit doesn’t sit right with me.
My family may be fraught with alcoholics and deadbeats, but we say what we mean and mean what we say.
If we’re family, we look out for each other.
Always. We might not have fancy watches and sit in the front pews of church, but we don’t put on acts just to make ourselves look better in the community.
What you see is what you get with a Price.
I see people streaming out of the church, but I haven’t seen Mary London or her father yet. I’d prefer to get out of here without seeing either.
Me: Hey, Ry. I’m in the truck. You hanging out with friends or coming home with me?
It takes a few minutes before my son answers.
Rylan: Going to get lunch with friends. Be back later.
Me: Keep me informed where you’re going. Have fun. Love you.
I’m just pulling into my driveway when my phone pings.
I pull it out of my pocket, thinking it might be Rylan with a change in plans.
I really do need to get him a car, but I was hoping to get my business established here in Heaven before my savings account took the hit.
My leg jerks, jamming on the brake and bringing my truck to a dead stop as I see the name on the screen.
Mary London: I’m sorry for my father’s behavior.
My hand grips the phone so tight, I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. She isn’t the one who should be apologizing. I cut her off and left abruptly. It’s just like her to want to smooth over the uncomfortable social situation.
Me: I’m the one who’s sorry for leaving so abruptly. Besides, you can’t apologize for him. You’re not responsible for another adult’s behavior.
Mary London: I’m still sorry.
Why does her apology just about kill me? She’s not the one who should be apologizing. Her father and my papaw are the ones who started this bullshit. Yet somehow, Mary London and I are stuck in the middle of it.
I slam every door as I get out and head into the house, pissed off and not at all sure if moving back to Heaven was the right move.
Monday comes bright and early, mostly because I didn’t sleep well last night.
Too many doubts and insecurities rearing their ugly heads.
Doesn’t help that Rylan got home late and was back to having major attitude with me.
I planned to stop and get coffee for Mary London, but ended up late and had to skip the extra stop.
She’s already inside her boutique straightening racks of clothing when I make it into the Square.
She gives me a warm smile and unlocks the door to let me in.
“Good morning! Did you sleep well?”
I grunt as I pass her, wishing she didn’t look so damn lovely and unflustered in a breezy sky-blue dress that crosses at her breasts and falls to a pretty ruffle above her knees.
She’s wearing some sort of wedge shoe that makes her look taller than she really is.
They also make her calves look like something an artist would use as inspiration for a new sculpture.
Bracelets clink together as she locks the door behind me and pats me on the back.
“Are we grumpy today, ’Lanta?”