Chapter 1 #2
We spend so much time at each other’s houses, we don’t knock.
Miss Holly’s place is a lot nicer than Cherry’s.
It’s a real house, the walls painted white with cream rugs on wood floors.
There’s a hard and fast rule of no shoes inside and no beer out of the kitchen.
Everything always smells like fresh flowers from the garden out front.
“I think we should cram some last minute jobs,” I say.
Kyle grunts.
There’s a click-click on the floor. I glance up and look away real fast. Miss Holly walks in wearing a skintight dress and towering heels, fluffing her hair, putting in earrings.
I’ve never asked Kyle how old his mom is, but I’ve heard Cherry say she’s forty-four.
I’m not sure if I’m into older women, but I’m into Kyle’s mom—not that I would ever, ever act on it.
“What are you boys doing?” she says, smiling brightly.
“Talking about how to make more money,” I say.
She grabs her purse from the table. “Why? Your grandma not doing well?”
I shake my head. “Cherry’s fine. I just fell short on my goal of four grand.”
Her brows lift ever so slightly. “Goodness, Jen, I didn’t know you’d had a birthday. Well, happy birthday. How short are you?”
“He’s about six-three,” says Kyle, not looking over.
“Shut up, honey,” says Miss Holly. “How much do you need to hit four grand?”
“About four hundred,” I say.
“Well, I got that job out in the backyard on the shed if you want it,” she says. “We had it put in for the gardening tools, but I’d like to renovate it, make it into a tiny house so we can rent it out.”
“I can do that,” I say, interested. “What’s it pay?”
“Probably like a week of work,” she says. “At a rush rate.”
I calculate. That’s almost a thousand dollars. Without thinking, I nod, turning to Kyle. “You want to do that with me and split it?”
Kyle jerks his head. “Sure, whatever.”
Overjoyed, I tell Cherry that night that I’m hitting my goals, albeit a little late.
We toast with a splash of whiskey in the bottom of our coffee mugs.
Then, I go to bed dreaming about finally having the freedom of four wheels.
When I get up, it’s to a text from Kyle saying he isn't going to make it.
He went up to Lexington last night and ended up taking on a construction job that pays double.
I’m pissed, but it’s fine. I won’t have to split with him that way.
I gather my shit and walk down the road to Holly’s house. The door to the shed is open. I go in and start taking measurements. I hear the back door open in the distance. Looking out, I see her standing on the back porch in a white bathrobe.
“I didn’t expect you so early,” she says. “You want some breakfast?”
I’ve spent so much time at her house the last two years, but for some reason, it feels weird today.
“I’m good,” I say. “I ate.”
“How about some coffee?” She cocks her head.
“Okay, that’s fine,” I call. “Just leave it on the porch.”
She gives me a strange look, brows furrowed. Then, she goes inside. For some reason, I feel guilty as I haul the table-saw out of the garage and get it set up. Maybe she was just being nice, like she usually is. After a while, I look on the back porch, and there’s a cup of coffee waiting for me.
I feel pretty bad about it. I think about it that evening and decide I’ll be nice tomorrow. But when tomorrow comes, she doesn’t offer me breakfast or coffee. Her car is gone when I get there, so I just start working on my own.
I break when the sun hits the middle of the sky. I sit in the shed with my back to the wall and open my cooler. Inside is the same meal I’ve been eating for lunch every day since I moved into Cherry’s trailer—bologna sandwich with Miracle Whip on white bread.
The floor creaks. I glance up and freeze.
She’s standing there, looking like a million bucks in a tight shirt, her breasts overflowing like a badly poured beer, and high waisted jeans with flared legs.
She smells like artificial cleanliness, lotion, soap, perfume.
It’s nice, but as someone who sweats all day into the same dirty shirt, it’s jarring.
“How’s it going out here?” she asks.
I swallow my bite of sandwich. “Fine. Making good progress.”
“You can eat inside where it’s cool,” she says, turning on her heel and disappearing.
I think it over and decide I probably should.
When I step through the sliding back doors, she’s standing by the stove.
There’s a pot of sweet tea already bubbling.
I sink down in my usual place at the breakfast bar.
It feels weird to not have Kyle sitting with us.
His presence was akin to fungus on the side of a tree, inert, but it kept things from feeling awkward.
“How’s the shed coming along?” she asks.
“Good. On schedule.”
She crosses her arms. “I appreciate you being willing to do it without Kyle. I really think this new job could be a breakthrough for him. It’s been rough, him not having a daddy to help him get situated in the world. Of course, I know you both got that problem.”
I just nod. She comes closer and leans on the breakfast bar. My whole body prickles. I’m a late bloomer, more focused on getting myself a truck and a steady income than girls, but I know some stuff from talking to Kyle. I’ve got a pretty good idea she’s putting off signals.
I’m just not sure I want to be on the receiving end of them.
My life is carefully balanced, and she feels like she could upset it. I can’t piss off Cherry because she took me in. I can’t fuck up my relationship with Kyle because he’s my best friend.
“You got a girlfriend, Jen?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, ma’am.”
“Why not? You’re pretty. Real handsome.”
It takes me a second to find my words again. “Um…just don’t have time. Work and all.”
She purses her lips. Then, she comes around the breakfast bar, and she’s right up on me, standing between my knees.
Heat pours through my body. Things are happening whether I’m ready or not.
She leans in, and I catch a flash of her big eyes and cherry coke-colored lipstick.
Then, she’s kissing me, her nails gripping the front of my sweaty shirt.
I didn’t get up that morning with the intention of swiping my V-card, but I do anyway, on the floor of Miss Holly’s kitchen, my back against the cupboards.
She’s naked, her clothes strewn around. She’s gorgeous like a movie star.
Her hair smells good, her skin is soft, and she doesn’t mind that I’m not doing a very good job overall.
She just laughs, brushing back my hair, and tells me it’s fine. We can try again later.
I could say no, get up, and leave.
But I don’t, and I don't know why.
We get our clothes on, and I can't make eye contact. Shamefaced, I put my tools away and tell her I have to be somewhere, but I can put some more hours in on the shed tomorrow.
The walk home doesn’t feel nearly as good as the walk I took to get there.
That night, I lie on my back and fight with guilt until the sun comes up. Then, I grab my shit, walk down the road, and knock on the front door, ready to confront Holly. This can never happen again.
She opens the door with two cups of coffee in her hand and nothing on but a little white nightgown.
At first, she tries to pretend this is normal.
We stand in the kitchen, coffee in hand, trying to make small talk.
Finally, she snaps, takes my hand, and pulls me upstairs to her room.
I’ve never been up here. Miss Holly’s house is weirdly nice for a woman with a part-time salon job.
I always assumed she was getting big child support checks or something.
I don’t have time to think about it, because she’s stripping my clothes off, and we’re in her bed. She pushes me to sit against the quilted white headboard and rides me hard.
I feel sort of…used, but not enough to stop.
She pays me what she owes me, even though the shed’s not done.
I break open the Crisco tin for the last time and count everything up.
I did it. I’ve got enough. The next morning, I walk down to the used car lot and pick out a truck.
It sucks that Kyle isn’t here to see me paint the logo of our business on the door.
But he’ll be back, I’m sure of it.
It’s not until the third time I sleep with Miss Holly that I start feeling something that isn’t a kick to the gut. She’s lonely, and she loves to talk afterward. I listen because I’m pretty good at that.
It’s kinda nice.
I’m too young to go out with her, can’t get into bars or clubs, so we start spending a lot of time at her house now that Kyle is staying in Lexington.
I never told Cherry he moved out so she’s not suspicious.
Cherry is a no-shit kind of grandmother.
If she caught us, it would be over for me and Miss Holly.
The fall turns into winter. I work less, but it’s alright because I know it picks up in the spring.
It’s a cold season in Kentucky, and I spend most of it between the sheets in Miss Holly’s bedroom.
She knows all kinds of stuff, and I’m a quick learner.
Roleplay, bondage, a little pain with our pleasure.
I’m hooked on her, to the point I hope Kyle doesn’t come back for a while.
She smokes. I start smoking too, just to taste the same thing she does.
Spring comes, and I’m back to working long days outside, but I try to see her a few times a week. We fuck and drink whiskey on the front porch when it gets warm enough to be naked outside. The shed around back is done, but she never rents it out.
She feeds me real food too, no slight to Cherry. Her endless supply of cheap, processed meat saved me. It was better than having to ball up Wonderbread, squish it down hard, and eat it that way to keep it in my stomach longer. Holly loves cooking, and she makes me full meals, hot, with vegetables.
There’s a lot of reasons I don’t break it off.
“You think you’ll ever leave Byway?” she asks one night.
I shake my head. “I don’t have anywhere else to be. Plus, I’m making fine money. I should be able to get a house in a few years.”
Her eyes are hazy. “What happens then?”
I glance sideways. She’s biting her lower lip. “I don’t know,” I say.
She laughs. “I guess that’s your business.”
“What’s that mean?” I press.
She shrugs, turning dewy lashes up to look at me. “I mean, I don’t expect you to stay with me, Jen. You’re young.”
That’s the first time I think about the future. If I want Miss Holly long term, that’ll be a whole world of trouble when it goes public. It’ll implode my personal life. The salon will be in an uproar. Every church in Byway will be whispering about it. But I’m willing to give it a try.
“I ain’t leaving,” I say.
She gives me a sad smile and doesn’t answer.
This is one of those times when I wish I had a father.
I need somebody to talk to about all this shit, somebody who can give it to me straight.
But I don’t even have a name—Childress is the surname from my maternal side.
It’s not like I could track my sperm donor down and say hi, can we talk?
Whoever that man was, he shook me off his shoes like dust.
Up until now, I found ways to ignore that void, but the summer I fall in love with Miss Holly, I think about it a lot.