Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Rhett
“Why did he do it, Dad?” Rylan waylaid me the second Deuce and Silas left the house.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “He’s caught up in the same bullshit everyone else in this town is caught up in.”
Rylan looks both heartbroken and pissed off that Papaw would leak private pictures of Mary London.
I moved away to get away from the class warfare I grew up with, but now that we’re back, I have to tell my son the truth.
He’s old enough to see what’s going on. Old enough to choose to live differently.
“He’s just as bad as Mr. Winthrop. Perpetuating stereotypes that keep us all locked into beliefs that don’t serve us.”
Rylan nods, more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “So what do we do now? Silas said we need to make a grand gesture. A big show of winning her back.”
I jingle my keys between us. “I go find her and I apologize. Repeatedly. Hope to God she doesn’t kick me to the curb.”
His eyebrows furrow. “You love her, right?”
“Yes.” The answer comes easy this time. “Now put your shoes on. You’re coming with me.”
Rylan scrambles to pull on the boots that were haphazardly left right inside the front door where everyone would trip on them.
“Okay, but I think Silas is right. You need more than an apology. You need something big and showy. This is Mary London, you know. She likes shiny objects and pretty things.”
I stare at the top of my son’s head while he wrestles with his boots.
When did he get to be so smart? “This is more than a onetime gesture of goodwill. She’s probably feeling betrayed and embarrassed.
I need to talk to her and clear everything up.
Then we need to squash the rumor mill and restore her pristine reputation. ”
Rylan straightens, looking stricken. “How the heck do we do that?”
He’s not wrong in feeling a bit like a fish out of water. The Prices aren’t known for pristine reputations, so what the hell would we know about restoring one?
I swipe a hand through the air. “No. See, this is the thinking that got us all in this mess. I refuse to believe that we don’t know how to treat someone with common decency because of our last name.
I don’t care who we are or what we’ve done in life, we can choose to do better.
So today, we’re choosing to do our very best. We’re going to find Mary London and treat her the way she deserves to be treated. Are you with me?”
“Hell yeah.” Rylan’s face lights up.
We rush out of the house and to my truck.
I even leave a little bit of tread on the driveway in my rush to find Mary London.
We head for her condo, but she doesn’t answer, even after pounding on the door and calling her name.
Then we go to Golden Halo. Rylan does some spying, but says she’s not there, not even in the back.
I’m about ready to just start patrolling the streets, hoping we find her randomly when I spot a commotion in the pavilion in the middle of the Square.
I turn off the engine and climb out, motioning for Rylan to come with me.
We have to push through the dense crowd to find a display of sorts. It’s Papaw, his head and hands stuck in a wooden pillory. Like a medieval prisoner about to get cabbage and tomatoes thrown at his face.
“Jesus,” I mutter, hand coming up to rub my aching neck. Pretty sure that relic was up in Papaw’s attic. I distinctly remember playing with it when I was a kid.
Papaw lifts his head, his stringy hair in his eyes. He lights up when he sees us. “Rhett! Rylan!”
Rylan looks at me, his eyes wide. I shrug and step forward, reading the sign next to Papaw. There are spelling choices that could have used autocorrect. I’m not sure if I’m impressed with his ingenuity or just embarrassed.
In my kwest attempt to rune the Winthrop good name, I have rooned my own. Please forgive me, Mary London. You are a good woman. The town is welcum to throw veggies as my punishment.
Silas surprises me by stepping to the front of the crowd holding a basket of carrots.
Betsy is right behind him with a basket of yams. They move through the crowd, handing them out.
Silas shoots me a wink like he knew this was going to be happening.
And maybe he did. The guy seems to have the pulse on everything in Heaven.
“This is unheard of, Gunnar,” Birdie says loudly, directing attention to her, even as people snatch up their vegetables.
“I have to make ’mends!” Papaw hollers back, trying to push hair out of his eyes. He’s unsuccessful of course, because he locked himself in a pillory. I sure hope he thought to bring the key to unlock the damn thing.
“Can I take five yams?” Mr. Barrett asks. He throws his cane aside just to have the hands available to grab more veggies from Betsy’s basket.
“Should we have cooked these first? They feel pretty hard.” Darby Kate asks a very good question, one the town just ignores in their frenzy to take part in a public humiliation.
“Let me get our quarterback. Can you wait a half hour?” Oake Eddington, the local university football coach, shouts from the back.
“I’m calling Janie,” Birdie says. “She’ll take pictures for the newspaper.”
I roll my eyes. Dear God in Heaven, what the hell is happening here? Before the vegetables fly, I step closer.
“Papaw,” I say quietly. “What are you doing?”
He cranes his neck to look up at me. His back has to be killing him all hunched over like that. “I already talked to Mary London. I told her I did it. She has no reason to be mad at you.”
A carrot hits me square in the back before falling to my feet. It doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t feel good either. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
Papaw smiles, showing off his missing teeth. “Wha’s a little food fight among friends, eh? It’s all worth it so you know I love you. I’s wrong to hurt you.”
I reach up and touch his hand, accepting his apology. “Better duck. Those yams might hurt.”
He yips like he’s a cowboy riding a wild bronco.
I step back, grab Rylan, and move out of the way, watching the veggies start to fly.
Papaw yips and howls and looks like he might be enjoying the chaos.
We stay, mostly to make sure Papaw doesn’t get seriously hurt.
You never know the kind of frenzy that can whip up when a group of people get together.
Except that ends up being the wrong move because once the vegetables have all been thrown, the town turns toward me. Rylan must feel it because he takes a step backward. Birdie leads the pack, hands on her wide hips.
“Well? You gonna go get your girl?”
I nod, then take off running, Rylan by my side.
Most of the pack follows us. Those who can run, at least. Mr. Barrett shakes his cane at us and Birdie decides slapping Papaw on the ass while he can’t defend himself is the better use of her time.
I leave them to it and gun the engine of my truck out of town.
Rylan’s holding on to the inside handle of the truck. “Where are we going to find her?”
I had an epiphany when Papaw told me he loved me.
“I don’t know if we’ll find her, but we have to make a stop first.”
Rylan cranks his neck around, still holding on for dear life. “I think some people are following us.”
I roll my eyes and keep focused on the road. “Damn town…”
When I pull up to Clayton Winthrop’s front gate, the only home in Heaven to have a gate to keep the riffraff out, I remember the code from when I came here with Mary London. I press the right buttons and the gates start to open for me. I’m sure he’ll change the code after he realizes I know it.
The grand wrought iron gates swing open and I roll up the driveway like I belong here.
Because I do. I love the same woman Clayton loves.
It would serve us well to have a good relationship.
For Mary London’s sake. I park at the bottom of the stairs to the front door.
Cars screech to a halt at the end of the driveway.
Townsfolk pop their heads out the windows of their vehicles, but don’t trespass.
This town is absolutely feral for gossip, but they respect property lines due to high shotgun ownership numbers.
“Come on, Rylan. Let’s smooth things over.”
I notice he pats his hair and brushes some dirt from the yams off his shirt as we climb the stairs to this impressive house.
I ring the doorbell, the chimes echoing throughout the house behind the grand wooden door.
It opens a few moments later with an ominous click.
Mary London’s father is dressed in dress pants, a button-up shirt, and another damn sweater on top.
It amazes me that people dress up that much just to stay home.
Clayton Winthrop does not look happy to see me on his doorstep.
“You,” he spits out. His gaze immediately takes in the shiner I’m sporting and I could swear his mouth tips up into a gloating smile before he schools it back into a frown.
I dip my head. “Yes, me. Rhett Price and my son, Rylan.”
“Hello, Mr. Winthrop,” Rylan says, making me proud with his manners.
Clayton gives him a once-over, then focuses back on me. “How dare you show up here after what you did to my daughter. Get off my property.”
“That’s the thing, sir. I didn’t do that to your daughter. You and your petty feud with my grandfather were the cause of all that. I love your daughter. The last thing I want is for anything to hurt her. That’s why I’m asking you to let us in so we can have a civil conversation.”
His eyes narrowed, and I could see him wrestling with himself. I’d been standing there when he told Mary London he’d do better. She’d confirmed that we were dating. Any man who truly cares about his daughter would let me in to talk.
The door swings open a little wider and Clayton steps back. “Come in.”
A cheer goes up from the crowd down at the end of the driveway. Clayton’s gaze snaps to the crowd before he shakes his head and mutters under his breath.