Chapter 3 Clover
CLOVER
Ilaugh, and not a cute, quirky laugh. Honestly, it could probably be classified as the perfect example of a Canadian goose honk.
“Sure, Beck. We are best friends, after all. I’ll just stay at your house,” I snort.
His grip tightens on the wheel, and I see his jaw tick as we pass under the last remaining streetlights on the road leading us out of town.
Oh. He’s serious. I clear my throat and try to lighten the mood. “Really starting to doubt the ‘not gonna murder me’ angle.”
His eyes flick to the rear-view mirror. “You okay back there, Beetlebug?”
A small, stifled yawn comes from behind me.
“Yeah, Daddy. We should have a kitty. A fluffy orange one, just like Purrlock.”
I actually see Beckett smile. What is this sorcery? This child is clearly filled with a powerful magic.
“We will see, kiddo. We are almost home, and it’s time for you to go to bed.”
The tiniest grumble I have ever heard has me covering my mouth not to laugh.
“I bet you don’t have a bedtime, Purrlock. Lucky,” Lennon mumbles.
“Actually,” I chime in, hoping to help diffuse the situation. “It’s his bedtime, too! He gets very grumpy if he’s sleepy.”
I don’t mention that the only times he is sleepy are after he stays up all night, raising hell in the hallways with the zoomies. That wouldn’t help anyone’s case.
“See? Everyone has a bedtime,” Beckett tells her.
“What’s your name, lady?”
“Lennon, you can’t ask it that way,” Beck huffs from beside me. “You have to be more polite.”
“Well, she’s a lady, and I don’t know her name.”
“She’s kinda got you there,” I say. He glares at me, and I put my hands up in surrender.
“You can just ask her what her name is, without calling her lady.”
“Oh,” Lennon says softly. “What’s your name?”
Beck makes an approving sound beside me, so I answer her.
“I’m Clover. Like the flower.” I say over my shoulder. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Are you sleeping over, Clover?” Her little tone changes. It’s the same voice I would use when I was her age if I wanted something.
“Uhh,” I fumble. Beckett picks up the play, though.
“Clover is Aunt Bee’s best friend from when she was your age. I’ve known her my whooole life,” he stretches out the word. “She can’t go to her house right now, so she’s going to stay at our house until Aunt Bee comes back. Is that alright with you, Beetlebug?”
She contemplates this for a minute, and when I look back at her, she’s thoughtfully chewing on her little bottom lip. “Under one commercial,” she states.
“Condition,” Beck corrects.
“Under one conditioner,” she starts again. “Purrlock has to stay the night in my room.”
“Lennon, you can’t just boss someone’s cat around.”
I laugh. “I can’t make any promises. He likes to wander around at night.” I notice her little hand is stuck through the top of the backpack, and my traitor cat is purring, fast asleep while she pets him. “I don’t think that’ll be an issue, though,” I tell her.
We pass the last store within 30 miles, and I quickly ask Beck to stop. He looks at me weirdly, but I remind him that cats don’t use toilets. Brynn has a cat, so I didn’t pack anything extra. He sighs, but pulls over. I hop out, promising to make it quick.
I hurry in, waving apologetically to the owner who was just about to close shop and rush through, getting everything I need for Lennon’s new best friend.
As if by fate, right next to the register is a cute, squishy, stuffed orange cat.
I plop it on top of all of the other stuff and apologize to the owner again for the late run.
When I get back to the truck, Beck puts his finger up to his mouth as a “shh”.
He motions to the backseat with his head, and I see Lennon passed out in her booster seat.
I nod and climb in as quietly as I can, closing my eyes tightly when I shut the door, as if that’s going to make it quieter somehow.
“She’s a pretty hard sleeper, so you don’t have to worry about it too much,” he says lowly.
He turns the radio on, the volume barely audible, but enough to signify he’s done talking for the rest of the ride.
I lean my head against the window and look out, even though there’s nothing to see this far out of town.
The streetlights are gone, and there’s no light pollution like there was where I lived before coming back.
You can’t even see the stars tonight because of all the clouds.
We ride like that for about twenty minutes before he signals. I snap out of my daze and look around. There’s no one on the road around us.
“Letting the trees know you’re turning left?” I ask, wanting to break the silence. He huffs, almost laughing.
Gravel crunches under the tires as we pull onto a side road.
“You live pretty far out here,” I comment. “I know you like your privacy, but damn. You must have quite a commute to work.”
He glances over at me briefly.
“Brynn clearly hasn’t updated you on anything about me, has she? I mean, the kid being the biggest surprise. She loves being an aunt.”
I clear my throat awkwardly, distinctly remembering the night I drunkenly begged Brynn never to tell me about Beckett Hollis’ life again.
“She probably did mention her, and it just made sense you had a kid. Other than that, we don’t really talk about you too often.”
Beck hums in acknowledgment. We hit a dip, followed by a thunk thunk thunk as we drive over a small, low bridge that crosses a pretty big creek.
“I bought Mr. Denton’s ranch a while back,” he tells me.
It brings a giggle out of me.
“You? Mr. All Brains? I thought you’d be a veterinarian. That’s what you were set on for as long as I can remember.”
Beck is silent for a minute as we bounce down the gravel road.
“Things happen sometimes, Clover,” he finally says softly, glancing in the rear view mirror.
It dawns on me. The night I begged Brynn to never tell me another thing about him was the night she told me he was engaged.
I don’t see a ring on his finger, but I do see the moonlight reflecting off the face of a man with tired eyes.
It’s not my place to ask about what happened, so I don’t. I change the subject.
“That’s true. I was supposed to be an animator, but here I am, back in Montana, waiting on last checks from the project I’ve poured years of passion into. Yay, tax evasion,” I deadpan.
“I was surprised you were back. Guess that answers it.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well. Things happen sometimes,” I parrot.
I finally see a speck of light as we get closer to what I’m assuming is his home. My suspicion is confirmed quickly.
It’s large, a gorgeous black home with wood accents, and a giant covered porch with fairy lights strung along the ceiling of it. I want to stare at it forever, mesmerized by how cozy it is, but the rain picked up and it’s coming down quickly.
Beckett leans forward to look up at the dark sky through the windshield.
“Mighty odd for a rain so hard this early in the season,” he comments, scratching his dark beard.
“C’mon, Clover Jane. Let’s get inside.”
“I’ve got Purrlock!” Lennon’s gung-ho voice causes both of us to jump, not realizing she was awake.
“What?” She asks, looking between the two of us. “Well, come on now, we gotta get the stock in.” She’s standing up in the back seat, hood pulled over her head, and my cat backpack strapped to her. She’s clearly picked up on her dad’s lingo.
With that, Beckett nods once and turns a serious expression my way. I hear the truck doors unlock.
“You heard the lady,” he says. With that, they’re both out of the truck and hauling ass across the driveway to get to the porch. I follow.
“You said calling people lady was rude!” a scorned voice calls over the rain.
I think I like this kid.