39. Welcome to Climax. Please come again
Chapter 39
Welcome to Climax. Please come again
LETTIE
G iddy excitement ain’t got nothin’ on me.
I’m pleased as punch and higher than a kite to be strolling hand in hand with the love of my life through the Climax Lemon-Infused Tea Festival. Go ahead and take a moment to digest that before I point out the acronym. I’ll wait.
Yep. We’re at the annual CLIT Fest in a town named Climax.
Can’t make this shit up.
Especially since the town is partially run by Evangelical Christians like Mama. I suspect the nonbelievers on the town council—mainly Erin Lacox, Mindy Root, and Hannah Gamble—are trolling their religious counterparts with this name. How they managed to pull the wool over their eyes like this is damn impressive.
I mean . . . come on . Lemon-infused tea? That’s a stupid phrase to begin with. You don’t infuse tea. You just throw a lemon wedge or eighteen in the pitcher. Bam . Done.
And why a festival to celebrate such a mundane thing?
That being said, it’s a vast improvement from the Annual Nature And Livestock Festival. Spoiler: It had nothing to do with nature nor livestock. The festival focus was chosen specifically for the acronym possibilities.
The ANAL Fest committee was chaired by local heathens—Toni Benton, Tracey Uhl Gee, and Susan Dara.
They might have gotten away with it if they hadn’t made the mistake of adding a kickoff parade.
The first float slipped past the prude crew without issue. Designed by renowned Climax pranksters—Robin Warnick, Rachel Kendall, and Michelle Duncan—the float was essentially two giant peaches. The ladies played fast and loose by adding a papier-maché farmer nestled between the peaches, holding a giant eggplant.
Yes , it was positioned provocatively.
The kiss of death for ANAL Fest was when the second float came gliding down Main Street. And I do mean gliding . Tiesha Roberts, Karolyn Kilpatrick, and Nasiha Kücük were responsible for this monstrosity. As an ode to the livestock portion of the festival , they created a scene resembling a mountainside farm with animals scattered about. But the mountains were obviously hairy butt cheeks, dimples and all. And there was a little cave in the middle with dark moss around it.
But it didn’t end there. Sadly.
The laaast straw was the reflecting pond at the base of the mountain. To get the shimmer of the water just right, they filled it with over seven thousand pounds of lube. Naturally, it melted in the Georgia sun and destroyed the whole float, coating everything. Including the float tires.
Damn thing careened right into Brittney Jacobson’s flower shop. Incidentally, Reina Pierce came up with the brilliant idea to convert the spot into a piston testing facility, given it was coated with lube for years to come.
Needless to say, ANAL didn’t last long in Climax. But the CLIT prevailed.
Tomer pulses his hand around mine, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “You sure you didn’t plan this trip to coincide with the CLIT Festival, sugar bear?”
“The timin’ was a happy coinkydink, my love. Although, I ain’t mad ’bout it.”
Being in Climax has brought out my twang in full force. No stopping this train. It makes Tomer’s smile nice and bright, though. So I make no effort to suppress it.
“Sure, sure. Likely story, my little kinky one.”
I tsk at him. “Pshaw, Mr. Dungeon Master.”
As for the timing of this trip, he knows damn well it wasn’t my doing. For starters, my growing belly was posing a challenge. If Mama saw me any bigger than this, she’d fly off the handle before I got so much as a hello out of my mouth. To accomplish what I came here to do, I need to not be visibly pregnant. Once I’ve confronted her about everything else, I’ll drop that bomb on her.
Besides, she prompted the trip with the text she sent last week.
Slipping my phone out of my bra—because the fashion industry is gatekeeping pockets on sundresses—I swipe my thumb over the screen and hold it in front of Tomer’s face. “This is why, and ya know that, smart-ass.”
Mama:
Would you like to explain why a rather hostile woman from Florida named Peggy paid me a visit at church today? We need to talk. Call me as soon as you see this.
Of course, I didn’t call her. Gross . I texted her back instead, like a proper lady of my generation.
Me:
You’re right. We do need to talk. I’m booking a trip home. I’ll let you know when we’re coming.
Boss Dad’s former assistant left Redleg in a flashy way—by defending the man she’s long considered her son. And I love that about her. Love that for him too.
Yes , I have the job permanently. After enjoying the stress-free time away from Redleg so much, Peggy officially retired. I’ll miss her, but not having to put a kink club on job applications is a nice consolation to losing her.
Tomer rises on his toes, straining to scan the masses. “Speaking of Mrs. Holt, where is she?”
“She’ll be in the tent.”
He swivels his head. “Which one?”
“The judging tent.” I tip my chin, pointing to the largest one at the end of the row. “She’s the head judge, naturally.”
“What does she judge?” he asks.
“Better question. What doesn’t she judge?” I grumble under my breath before answering truthfully. “The lemon-infused tea.”
He shakes his head. “This town is wild.”
As if summoned, a wild bunch of gals approach, waving overzealously at me and squealing.
Taking the lead, as per tradition, Stacy Sanza coos, “Lettie? Oh, my goodness gracious. Fancy seein’ you here.”
“Well, as I live and breathe,” Cathy Jackson drawls, scanning me from head to toe. “You’re as pretty as a peach today.”
Erica Hacker rounds out the trio. “Seems Florida’s been good to you. Who’s your friend?” She pumps her brows, letting her gaze lick up Tomer’s frame.
She’s shameless.
Cupping his bicep and keeping him close, I stake ownership. “This is my boyfriend, Tomer.” I face him, gesturing to the gals and making introductions.
Stacy bats her long lashes, holding her hand out with the palm to the ground, encouraging him to kiss it. “Charmed.”
Good Lord.
He ignores the unspoken request, turning her hand to shake it. “Nice to meet you.”
Cathy asks, “What brings y’all to the festival?”
“Big fan of the CLIT,” Tomer quips, monotone and flat.
I love this man.
Erica looks scandalized while Stacy and Cathy giggle into their hands.
I answer their question with a demure gloat. “We’re visitin’ town so he can meet Mama to ask for my hand in marriage.”
Lie . But it’s funny to watch them squirm.
Tomer doesn’t need permission. Certainly not from my lyin’ grandmother.
After some pleasant chit-chat, we say goodbye and continue toward the tent.
Ever the protector, Tomer continuously sweeps his gaze around the crowd, searching for danger. His Redleg pals are scattered around us as well, keeping a low profile. Jonesy crawled up on the roof of an exhibit hall for a bird’s eye view. Weird but effective, I suppose. He’s using binoculars to scan the crowd since he doesn’t have his rifle and scope assembled, but it’s in a case, strapped to his back.
Before we get to the tent, we pass a group of kids, roughhousing and rolling in the dirt. Tomer yanks me back as two women come charging in to break up the squabble. One after another, they yank the boys off the ground, snatching them by their ears, hair, or britches, whichever’s in grabbing range.
Once they’ve separated them, I recognize the ladies instantly. “Jennifer and Jessica? The famous Jones sisters?”
Jessica reacts first, finger-combing her hair and attempting to act classy. It’s a bit hard to pull off with cheese sauce in her hair and her shirt is ripped from the fight she ended. Jennifer approaches next, not even bothering to act sober or put together. She looks like she’s had quite a day at the festival. Perhaps she and her kids should head on home.
After the customary introductions are made, we make our excuses and mosey onward.
When we enter the tent, Mama sits on the raised stage. Queen Judgy McJudgerson is on her throne, looking down on everyone while being the center of attention. The embodiment of her personality.
At the CLIT festival. Oh, sweet irony.
I wag my finger in her direction. “There she is.”
“Will she be coming down from there?” Tomer asks.
“No, babe. We need to go up there and do a dance to get her attention.” I roll my eyes, embracing my bratty side.
He pinches my ass. Hard. “Brat.”
With my butt still stinging, I lead him to the side of the stage and wave to get Mama’s attention. Her face brightens, hints of genuine joy at seeing me intermingle with her polished facade.
Rising gracefully, she exits the stage. Her gait is less smooth than it was when I saw her last. Age must be catching up with her.
Her frame is stiff when she spreads her arms to offer an embrace. Stuffing my resentment to the side, I hug her back.
She isn’t all bad. My childhood was good when you take the forced religion, purity culture, and plastic charade out of the picture. I was loved and loved her in return.
No one is perfect.
Show me a parent who’s never made mistakes. I dare you. But I won’t hold my breath while waiting.
She’s my mother. And she matters to me.
If she didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.
Releasing me from the hug, she studies my face carefully. “Good to see you, Lettie bear. You look well.”
“I’m wonderful, thanks.”
In the next second, she lowers her brow and whispers, “Don’t ya have a sweater or somethin’ to cover up with?”
Ignoring that.
It’s September and hot as balls.
Forcing a swallow, I grab Tomer’s arm, dragging him closer so he’s by my side. “Mama, I’d like you to meet Tomer Stillman.”
“Lovely to meet you, young man,” she chirps, injecting contrived joy into her tone.
“Mrs. Holt.” He tips his head as he shakes her hand gently.
Awkward tension simmers around us, adding to the mugginess of the south Georgia weather.
I wonder how long until she asks what happened to James—the man I was madly in love with the last time I saw her.
“Well,” she starts, glancing between us. “Will y’all be comin’ to supper tonight or tomorrow? How many place settings should I add?”
Impatience, thy name is Violet Anastasia Holt.
“When’s the next round of judgin’? If you have a few minutes, I’d rather talk now.”
She pats her hair down, nervously looking around. “Violet, this is not the time nor place to have an important discussion.” She glances up at Tomer, disdain floating behind her narrowed eyes. “This is a private, family matter.”
Poof goes my plan to play it cool.
“It sure is. And Tomer’s gonna be family real soon.”
She slants her head to the side, lowering her chin, and whispers, “Beg your pardon?”
“We’re gettin’ married,” I blurt out, going completely off script. “We also live together.”
Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mama. Living in sin.
Side note: he still hasn’t officially proposed. But that fact changes nothing.
Mama blinks thirty-seven times in rapid succession. “Perhaps we should find a quiet place to speak since you seem to be hellbent on makin’ a spectacle of this family.”
I flash a fake smile as bright and plastic as hers. “Lead the way.”
Stiffening her spine and tilting her chin northward, she inhales briskly, then strides confidently to the side of the tent.
Once she’s out of earshot, Tomer grumbles, “Lettie, what the hell was that?”
“It was me being me.” I shake my head and start trailing Mama, keeping hold of his hand. “You act like we’ve never met.”
His chuckle soothes my frayed nerves.
Before we exit the tent, we’re ambushed by Richard and Nichole McGrail.
“Lettie, you’re positively glowin’,” she gushes.
I make introductions. Again.
While they’re shaking hands, I add, “Richard and Nichole were Prom King and Queen my senior year.”
She tries to play it off, flouncing her hand at me. “ Oh, stop . Don’t embarrass us.”
Tomer feigns being impressed before casually tossing, “That explains the crowns.”
After we say our goodbyes, I tell Tomer, “Never trust him to fix your car. He’s a horrible mechanic. Allie Bliss took her car to his shop once. From that day on, every time she turned off the ignition, it backfired. Twice.” I click my tongue. “Saddest part is she only took it in for an oil change.”
Laughing quietly, Tomer places his hand on the small of my back, reaching in front of us to pull back the tent’s thick fabric. We slip outside via the same path as Mama, who is now half a football field away from us. Lawd , she’s hauling herself through the crowd faster than a hot knife through butter.
As we scurry along, Tomer teases, “Will you be dropping the caterpillar news in much the same way? Or telling her I’m the man formerly known as James?”
I cock a brow and give him duck lips. “Bold of you to assume I have a plan.”
“Just trying to be prepared. Guess I’ll watch the show and see how it goes.”
“You’ll find out when I do, babe. And not a second before,” I admit.
Mama’s planted herself on an empty bench under a shade tree. She pulls out her fan, snapping it in a flourish and waving it under her chin. It’ll be a struggle for me to avoid telling her she’d be cooler if she lost the suit jacket. This is an outdoor festival, and she’s dressed like she needs to appear before Judge Wendy Simek—the toughest judge in town. She’s been known to give speeders a night in the slammer if they don’t appear remorseful.
Tomer squeezes my hand before releasing it to gesture to the open spot on the bench beside Mama. “Why don’t you talk to her first, sugar? I can wait a few feet away. Okay?”
I nod and pucker my lips at him for a kiss. He doesn’t deny me. I’m more than half-tempted to slip him the tongue just to piss off Prudence Prudson.
Miraculously, I resist. I’m so self-disciplined.
She’s the first to speak. “Violet, why did you send that brash woman to accost me?”
Off to a great start, tripping out of the gate.
“Mama, I didn’t know she was coming. In fact, I never told her anything about you. No clue why she was here.” After rolling my eyes, I add, “And she’s an old woman. I doubt she accosted you.”
She places her flattened hand on her chest. “She ambushed me in the church parking lot.”
“With what? Water balloons? Pie to the face?”
“Very funny, young lady. I was mortified.”
“I’d like to say I feel bad for you, but I don’t. Imagine how mortified I was when I learned you weren’t my real mother. And that my birth father was very much alive.”
Her eyes flit above us, where the wind whistles through the leaves and moss hanging on the tree. “Who told you?”
Of all the things to say, that’s how she responds.
“Before he died, Papa told me he was my grandfather and that my mother died after childbirth.”
I force air into my lungs before the grief makes it hard to breathe.
“ Dammit, Lionel, ” she utters under her breath. Making a fist, she presses it into her thigh. “Should have known. Is that why you went to Florida? To find your sperm donor?”
I’m not a violent woman, but I’m itching to smack her for saying that. “He wouldn’t have been merely a sperm donor if you’d had the decency to tell him I existed.” My voice breaks. “He could’ve been my daddy.”
“You had parents, Violet. Don’t carry on like you were an orphan. We saw to your every need. You wanted for nothin’.” Through her anger, sadness cuts through. “Why did you need to go find him?”
“I didn’t move to Florida to find my father. I had no idea he was still alive until a few months ago.”
Confusion deepens the wrinkles that surround her mouth and eyes. “Then why?”
“I needed a fresh start. Away from you, the church, and Papa’s memory hiding around every corner.” I raise my chin. “I wanted to make it on my own.”
She purses her lips like she doesn’t believe me. “If you didn’t know about Alan, why did you end up in his hometown?”
His name. She knows it and probably knew who he was this whole time. And where he was located, to boot. Unbelievable.
“I went there because I wanted to recapture the happiness of the vacation we had down there when I was a kid.” Blinking, I stave off the brewing tears. “Something inside me told me to go there. I can’t explain why.”
Perhaps I have my father’s trusty gut instinct, after all.
For the first time, her mask fades, revealing the woman inside.
Warmly, she asks, “Do you know why we went there? Why that trip?”
I shake my head no.
“Through the years, I had a friend at the Army base keep an eye on your real father for me. When I learned he would be down there on an extended leave, I brought you to Florida with the intention of introducing you. I was gonna come clean.”
She was so close to righting this wrong.
Tears spill over, running down my cheeks. “Why didn’t you?”
Wringing her hands in her lap, she lowers her head. The air of sadness surrounding her burns through my armor, letting mercy slip inside.
“Violet, I couldn’t do it.” Her eyes water, and she squints to keep from crying. “One afternoon, I told Lionel I was going to the store and left you two at the condo. Then I drove to your father’s house.” Her eyes flutter open, and she looks off in the distance. “And I saw him washing his truck in his driveway. Waving to neighbors and listening to music. Seemed like a nice enough man, even if I was sour at him for deflowering Abby.”
I roll my eyes at her phrase, quickly shaking it off when she pins her sorrowful gaze on me.
She takes my hands. “Baby, I couldn’t do it. No matter how long I sat there, I couldn’t force myself out of the car. I couldn’t walk up to him, introduce myself, and confess what I’d done. I couldn’t risk . . .”
Regret clogs her throat, halting her confession.
Never seen her this broken up. In public, no less. However, our backs are to the festival goers. But still.
Her audible sob surprises me, and I itch to comfort her. Moving close, I pat her back soothingly.
Eventually, I prod her to finish, “Couldn’t risk what, Mama?”
After taking a steadying breath, she admits, “Him taking you from me. I’d already buried my only daughter. Losing you would have been too much. I wouldn’t have survived it.”
Oh, my heart. Damn bleeding thing.
“Mama,” I start, unsure of the right words. I come up with nothing, so my sentence dies in my throat.
“Lettie, I never meant to hurt you. Or Alan.”
I suspect I know the answer to this next question, but I ask it anyway. “Why did you do it?”
“Abby was my whole world. But I made a lot of mistakes while raising her. When she left us, I was . . . a broken woman.” She exhales, shaky and jagged. “We had you, though. A little version of her. Innocent and pure. Radiant as the sunshine. Untainted by all the mistakes that drove Abby to become an unwed mother without the means to support herself.”
“Why didn’t she tell my father? He’d have helped support her.”
“She tried, Lettie.” Reaching into her pocketbook, she pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at her nose. “He was on a top secret mission or some such fiddle-faddle. Military runaround. All we knew is he would be deployed for up to eighteen months.”
“And when he got back?”
“We’d moved by then. Left Columbus.” She presses her lips into a thin, white line. “I told Lionel I wanted to move away from the memory of our daughter. Needed a fresh start in a small town. And I found one with a good church and far enough away that Alan wouldn’t find us or come looking for Abby.”
This is news to me.
Her words trigger another question to leap to the forefront of my mind. “Why didn’t Papa tell me about my father? If he came clean about being my grandfather, it makes no sense for him to withhold the rest.”
After glancing behind us to ensure no one is watching, she breaks down. We’re talking tears. Loads of them. Sobbing into her hand. Blowing her nose.
The works.
Is this an act for sympathy, or is she genuinely this upset? I’ll probably never know.
All the same, I comfort her with a warm embrace.
When she finally gathers her composure, she explains what caused the dam to break. “I sinned, Violet.”
Should’ve known.
“How, Mama?”
“I lied to your father. I told him I’d reached out to the Army and learned Alan was killed in action. And he believed me. From that point on, he was more agreeable to go along with the plan to keep everything quiet. I convinced him there was no good reason to ever tell you about your birth parents because it would only cause you pain.” She shakes her head, wiping her eyes with her hankie. “Father, forgive me.”
“Father? What about your granddaughter? Perhaps you should be askin’ for my forgiveness.” Crossing my arms, I scooch away from her. My rage returns to a rolling boil. “And after you’re done, I’m haulin’ Alan over here, and you can apologize to him too.”
She flinches, darting her gaze around to look for him. “He’s here? Oh dear.”
Oh dear?
Fuck this.
“Mama, listen. I’ve got to pee, so I’ll make this quick.”
Her head rears back, and her mouth curls down with disgust. “Manners, young lady.”
Ignoring her jab, I dump everything I came here to say, rambling it out in one fell swoop. “Mama, I can only imagine how hard it was to lose your daughter. And I’m very sorry for your loss. However, grief doesn’t excuse your actions. Once you’re ready to apologize for all your lies, I’ll listen. If you’re genuine with your words, I’ll forgive you. Until then, I’ll be living my life. I hope you’ll come around before the wedding or the birth of your first grandchild.” I make a popping sound, smacking my lips. “Correction. Your first great -grandchild. That’ll be in about six months. I love you. Thank you for raising me. But I can’t continue pretending to have a relationship with someone who hurt me as much as you did. Especially since you’re only sorry you got caught.” I shrug. “If you’re sorry at all, that is.”
I press to my feet, holding out my hand for Tomer. I hear his footsteps approach, and he envelopes my hand a second later. Mama looks at me with the wide-eyed shock of a kid who dropped the ice cream off their cone.
“Violet,” she starts, her voice quivering. “You’re pregnant?”
I don’t see outrage or righteousness reflecting at me. Only shock.
“Yes. I’m thrilled about it. I’m in love and happy. I wish you all the best. For now, this is where we say goodbye.”
When we walk away, I don’t look back.
And I don’t cry.
That’ll happen later.
Instead, I hold my head high and look forward to the rest of my life. No more secrets and no more lies.
Maybe she’ll come around, or maybe she won’t. I can’t control that, so there’s no sense in worrying about it.
Same as Tomer’s therapist told him not to do, I won’t be cheating on my future with my past. I’m emerging from the cocoon of trauma as a new me. Free from heartache.
With Tomer beside me and Redleg watching our backs, we stroll off into the sun. All the shadows fall behind us.
Where they belong.