16. Ransom
16
RANSOM
T his is hell.
I can’t sit still, knowing Claire is in pain and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it.
Pastor Jones mumbles through his ceremony, but his voice just sounds like a bunch of rocks rolling together. I can’t focus on the words.
I can’t focus on nothing but Claire.
Funny how the town I’ve spent my entire life in changed color the second Claire stepped back in it.
Through the sea of feathered hats and fascinators, I can see the quarter turn of Claire’s face. She keeps her chin up, her eyes straight ahead on her father’s casket. Her bottom lip juts forward, just a bit, but her expression remains hard stone.
She’s the toughest gal I know.
My Claire-Bear .
To others, she might look emotionless. Me? I know what she looks like when she’s grieving. She’s got herself stitched together with pins and prayer, and as soon as she’s somewhere safe, she’s going to shake to pieces .
I want to be beside her. I want to scoop her up in my arms. I want to tell her it’s all going to be okay, but I can’t. I can’t because I’m stuck in the back, and she’s got a James, and I gave up the privilege of taking care of Claire, and now it’s my penance to watch another man do the job for me…and do it badly.
Every time James tries to put his arm on her, Claire pulls away from him.
Guess things aren’t all gravy in paradise.
To top it all off, Jade keeps peeking over her shoulder at me. She’s in one of her moods.
Meaning: she’s angry at her husband and horny for me.
The last thing I needed was my forbidden flame sitting next to my past flame, but ain’t nothing to be done about it now except wait and see if they can keep far enough apart so they don’t combust each other.
I should leave it well alone, but…
I can’t take my eyes off Claire.
I want to hold her hand. I want to rub my thumb over the back of it. I want to tell her it’s all going to be okay.
I want so much, and this longing thumps inside of me like some sick, swollen organ, black and corrupted. If I let it get any bigger, I swear it’s gonna burst and kill me.
Pastor Jones says a few formal words. Then, a few coworkers and partners go up to talk about what a good sort of man Mr. Preacher was.
Finally, the pastor asks if Claire would say a few words.
I can see her stiffen in her chair. Then, slowly, she rises. She drops her purse in James’s lap and steps up to the pulpit.
Everyone is quiet as they wait for Claire to speak.
I can see her choosing her words. When she addresses the crowd, it’s with a clear, sharp voice .
“My father was a cold man,” she says. “Hardheaded. Stubborn. But he believed in me, and he pushed me every day to do better. Be better. Be more. For better or worse, he made me the woman I am today. So. Thank you for the thorns, Daddy.”
She turns and stares at the casket. There’s a hush as she touches her fingers across the top of it. For a second, my heart pounds, and I’m afraid she’s going to open it. But then she quietly walks away and returns to her seat beside James. He offers her a handkerchief, and she uses it to clean her hands.
An old biddy, Mrs. Bridges, sits with her husband in front of me. She whispers too loudly as she leans toward her husband, “Not a tear shed. She knows who did it, I’ll tell you that.”
I nearly launch out of the pew, but Grandmimi fixes me in my spot with a glare that could tame a wild cat. I thread my fingers together and stay put.
There isn’t much more to the ceremony after that. The pastor says his peace, and then the organ kicks up, and everyone stands as they move to carry Mr. Preacher out. I watch as Arris Dagney goes to stand by the coffin, and then so do a few other members from the Benefactors’ Society. I know these men. Have worked around the ranch while these men were milling about. Have heard the things they said about their “friend,” Mr. Preacher—how they gossiped like hens about him losing his marbles in the end. How they picked at the carcass of his reputation like vultures before it’d even gone cold.
It doesn’t seem right that, at the end, there ain’t a single person up there carrying his coffin that had a lick of sympathy for the man—devil though he might’ve been .
I can’t help it. I get to my feet and approach. Their eyes turn to me warily when they see me getting closer.
I clasp my hands together. “Mind if I lend a hand?”
I’m about ten years younger and fifty pounds stronger than any of the men there. They should welcome the help. Instead, they look at me like I’ve lost my damned mind.
Abernathy, a thick-necked man with boots that never have and never will see a lick of dirt on them, looks at me with skeptical eyes. “We’ve got this, boy.”
Boy . As in: South of the Railroad kid. As in: you’re not one of us. As in: you’re lucky we even let you through those church doors, you ho-dunk piece of?—
“Let him,” Claire says suddenly, her voice breaking free.
Her face is placid and expressionless, but she has a command in her voice that no one can ignore. Arris can’t argue with Preacher’s daughter, not today. He doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods at me. “Grab a handle.”
We bury the old man behind the church.
Claire doesn’t shed a tear. Not once. But her bottom lip blows up as though she’s been stung by a bee.
When it’s all said and done, she gets swallowed in the sea of people offering their condolences. Maybe hoping for a Preacher handout. I head back to check in on my grandparents. Turns out, they don’t need a ride back; they’re going to catch an early dinner with their friends. Good for them.
Me? I’m exhausted.
I get into my truck and take off my hat, setting it on the dashboard. I rake my fingers through my hair. I let out a sigh. Deep sigh. It feels good. I’ve got my peace.
…For about three seconds .
Then my passenger-side door opens and shuts. Claire hops in beside me, fixing her dark sunglasses over her face.
“Drive,” she says, like some starlet in a heist movie.
I don’t budge. “What’re you doing here?”
Claire snaps her seatbelt into place. “I can’t go back to the ranch. Not yet. Besides. James is driving me fucking crazy.”
Speak of the bitch, and he’ll appear .
As if summoned, the back door opens. James—the giant he is—has to crouch down in order to climb in the back of my truck.
“Claire.” He snaps on his seat belt. “There you are.”
Claire scowls at me, as though this is all somehow my fault. “Here I am.”
“Here you both are,” I counter. “Now, get out.”
My truck doors open a fourth time. This time, it’s Jade. She blinks when she closes the door behind her and sees the other seats already taken. “Oh!” Jade says. “It’s a party in here, isn’t it? No one saw me, did they? I had to leave before Arris notices. That man truly knows how to spoil a good time.”
“A good time,” James says simply. “You mean the funeral?”
She tilts her head toward James. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
He sticks out his hand. “I’m Claire’s fiancé.”
She shakes it. “Claire’s fiancé. Does it have a name?”
“James.”
Her eyes flicker over him. Scanning him from head to toe. Giving him that look. “And the giant peach, indeed .”
Alright. That’s the last straw. I blow a gasket and smack my hand against the steering wheel.
“Goddammit! The hell is this, a clown car? Everyone out of my truck!”
“Ransom!” the women snap, their voices in horrible, perfect sync. “Drive!”
Cursing, I put the truck into gear and kick dirt.
Claire doesn’t want to go to the Preacher Ranch. Jade doesn’t want to go to the Dagney estate.
Everyone, it seems, is on the run, and somehow, I’ve been designated the getaway driver.
So I take them to the best spot I know.
Maeby’s Tavern is a hole-in-the-wall bar on the south side of the tracks. It’s not long until we’re underneath a loud, neon red sign with the words Maeby’s Tavern scrolled across in loopy, cursive letters.
This was our spot , once upon a time.
The four of us exit the truck. In our funeral suits, we’re all far too overdressed.
“Charming,” James says. But he says it the same way a cat person tries to compliment a coworker’s dog.
I fill him in. “Claire and I used to come here all the time. It was the one place Mr. Preacher wouldn’t think to search for her. Sorta her own personal…”
“Escape,” James finishes.
“Yeah.”
We enter, and I’m hit with the stench of old wood and stale beer. Smells like home. There are booths flanking the windows, a pool table in the back, and a small platform where they sometimes have music. Looks like they’re setting up for tonight, but they’ve got old rock playing on the sound system .
“This place is cute,” Jade says. “How did I never know it exists?”
“Welcome to the south of the tracks,” I tell her.
Her hand touches my arm, grasping it. Which is weird. We’ve got rules. No flirting. No PDA. She’s picked a hell of a time to break those rules.
I can feel Claire’s gray eyes digging holes in the back of my head.
“C’mon.” I tilt my head. “Let’s grab a seat.”
I guide the sheep into a booth. It’s a seat-yourself kind of place. You have to order at the bar, so I find myself playing waiter. I grab a few laminated menus and slap them on the table.
“What do y’all want?” I ask. “Drinks? Food?”
“Definitely drinks.” Claire takes off her jacket and hands it to James. He folds it beside him.
I wish I was sitting next to her. I wish I was folding her jacket.
I find myself getting green with envy over the strangest things.
There’s a pop of a gunshot. I know what the sound is—James doesn’t. Like a viper, he suddenly grabs Claire and shoves her under the table. She yelps as he crouches over her, his head jerking back toward the noise.
“Oh God!” Jade says, lifting her palms as though she’s being held up.
I can’t help it. I chuckle. “ Relax . Ain’t no one in danger. There’s a shooting range out back. Just some jackasses popping off cans.”
James releases Claire from his hold. She touches her hair as she rises back up to her seat.
“A shooting range in a bar,” James says, his voice tight. He snaps the collar on his shirt. “Bloody brilliant idea. ”
“It’s a BB gun,” I say. Even I can hear the defensive edge in my voice. “Nothing but blanks. But. Sure. Real killers out there.”
Jade laughs. She fans herself with her hand. “Whew!” she says, her eyes sparkling. “Exciting! James, are you in the military?”
“Accountant,” he says.
“Claire, he’s protective.” Jade wiggles her eyebrows. “I like that in a man. I can see why you married him.”
“Oh—we’re not married. We’re engaged.”
Jade suddenly reaches forward and touches her fingers over the back of James’s hand. I watch him go still, the way a viper does before it strikes. Unbothered, she taps her finger over the silver ring around his ring finger. “This looks like a married man to me.”
“Yes, well.” Claire flicks her wrist. “He wanted an engagement ring, too.”
James lifts his hand and splays out his fingers to show off the ring to us.
I tilt my head. “Guy with an engagement ring. That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?”
Claire glares at me. “And?”
I can’t stop myself. “So he wears the ring, you wear the pants?”
She touches the back of James’s neck fondly. “It’s romantic.”
Now that we’ve all settled down, the women turn their attention to the laminated menus in front of them. “I’m famished,” Jade says.
But James’s gaze remains on mine.
When Claire isn’t looking, he lowers four of his fingers, leaving the middle one up at me.
Flicking me off. Right at the table .
What?
Did that ? —?
Did that just happen?
He’s rubbing it in my face, and there isn’t jack or shit I can do about it. Then he drops his arm, resting it around Claire’s shoulders. Impotent, quiet anger pounds inside of me like a second heartbeat.
“I can’t read this,” Jade complains. She pushes the menu away. “Just get me a cosmo.”
“And a pitcher for the table,” Claire says.
“Yep.” I need to get out of this booth before I strangle him. I go to the bar and square my forearms on the wood.
My hands are shaking .
Someone smacks me on the back. My buddy—Rafe—stands beside me. “Hey, how’s it going?”
My voice trembles. “I’m so mad I think I’m having a stroke.”
He twists, propping his elbows on the bar. Rafe has golden skin, jet-black hair cut in a clean fade, and a smart tongue. He also wears a single golden stud in his left ear, which started some kind of trend because now a lot of the workhands wear the same single-ear piercing. But that’s just Rafe. He’s got this magnetic energy about him that makes people warm to him. They wanna be him. Wanna be like him. Wanna be with him.
I should know. We grew up together. Got into the sort of innocent trouble boys get into and then never mention again. Now, we work together, drink together, and spend most of our free time complaining about life, money, and women. I watch his dark eyes scan the booth I just came from.
“Is that Claire? And Miss Jade?” He squints. “Who’s the guy?”
“James. Claire’s fiancé.”
Rafe whistles low. “Kinda stiff, isn’t he?”
“ Kinda ? He’s a tin man.”
Rafe clicks his tongue. “Got that lone coyote rizz. You think he’d recognize his mother tongue?”
“Don’t—”
Rafe lets out a couple of loud animal yips.
A couple of barflies give us curious looks. James looks our way, eyebrows furrowed.
Rafe laughs. I can’t help it. I drop my head and chuckle into my arms.
“You dumbass.”
“Takes one to know one, amigo.” Rafe lapses into thought and then asks, “You think they fuck, or do they just assemble like IKEA furniture?”
I don’t want to think about that. I change the topic.
“You didn’t see them. Any of them. Especially Jade, you got that?”
Rafe drags his eyes over me. “I’ve never met a man who’s so incredibly good at getting himself into hot water the way you are.”
I sigh. “Yeah, I’m a regular lobster.”
Finally, Maeby appears. Her story is nothing but a fall from grace. Once a Belleflower Queen, she now owns her own tavern and spends her nights slinging beers. She’s still elegant as all hell if you ask me, but she wears her roughness on her sleeves now. She’s got a chipped tooth, leathery skin, and when she wears a strappy shirt like tonight, you can see hints of deep scars that peek out from around her shoulders.
This is a woman who, literally, took life’s licks and lived to tell the tale.
No one knows why Maeby left her life of Belleflower privilege to slum it with the Sooters down here. Sooters—that’s what they call us. South of the Railroad kids. At this point, I think everyone’s too afraid of Maeby to ask .
Even I wouldn’t dare ask, and she’s practically family to me. When my folks were alive, they spent so much time at this bar it was my school, my afterschool, and my higher education. Maeby, my whip-smart and wiseass professor, helping me with homework between pitchers.
Which is why I know she’s got nothing but love for me, even when she rolls her eyes at me and Rafe. “What do you two want, then?”
Rafe nudges his empty glass forward. I give my order. “A couple baskets of fries, four shots of whiskey, a pitcher of Yellow Canary Pils, and a cosmo.” Even I wince hearing it back. I’m probably the first man to ever order a cosmo here. “Please don’t spit in it.”
Maeby sets four shot glasses on the table. She fills them up, then looks me dead in the eyes as she gathers a glob of spit and drops it into the fourth glass.
“That’s for you,” she says. “For insinuating that I’d do such a thing.”
Without hesitation, Rafe takes the spit-shot and knocks it back. He holds his hands up in prayer.
“Another, please. Heavy on the spit, Miss Maeby.”
She narrows her eyes at him. She fixes our drinks, setting them on a tray. She tells me, “No animals allowed in here. Tie your stud to the post out back, Ransom, or I will.”
Rafe puts his chin on the bar and looks up at her with big moon eyes. “I’d let you tie me to anything you’d like, ma’am.”
He’s got a thing for MILFs.
I fight a grin and jab him with my elbow, a sign to cut it out before Maeby kicks us out on our asses.
We might be grown men, but some friendships never grow up, not really .
“Be good,” Miss Maeby tells me as she hands over the tray.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I take my truck keys out of my pocket and drop them on the bar. Maeby takes them and stashes them by the cashier. That’s our deal. When I’m here to have fun, I leave my keys with Maeby and leave the truck in the parking lot. I’ll come collect it in the morning. I don’t drive with a drop of liquor in me, and Maeby knows that. No exceptions.
I bring the drinks back to the table and hand them out.
“Drinks.” Claire brightens. “Yes.”
I take my spot beside Jade. James tents his fingers around his shot glass. “To Mr. Preacher,” he says.
I tilt my glass. Claire does the same. Her gray eyes meet mine as she puts the rim to her lips.
I don’t know if it’s the whiskey or her stare, but it burns all the way down.
Jade lifts her glass. “Za vashe zdorovie,” she says before knocking her shot back. Her face pinches at the taste, and she shivers as she puts the glass down. “It means to your health in Russian.”
“Are we in Russia now?” I ask.
“I’ve visited,” she says flippantly. “A few times. Very cold.”
Like it’s nothing. I ain’t ever even left Belleflower.
“There’s a Russian superstition,” Jade says suddenly. “It is said that the soul travels.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, only half listening. Mostly staring across the table.
“Three days after death, the soul ascends to paradise,” she continues. “On the ninth day, the soul goes to hell. And then, on the fortieth day, it returns to paradise to be with God. ”
That gets my attention. “So everyone spends forty days in hell?”
James corrects me with, “Thirty-one.”
“No matter how good you are?” I protest.
She smiles at me, a sly grin. “Everyone has something to repent for.”
“Think I might need more than forty days,” I reply.
“Have a lot to repent for?” Claire asks.
My gaze finds Claire. Her gray eyes find mine right back.
“You know it,” I tell her.
“I think She will find ways to forgive you.” Jade slips her hand over the back of my neck and squeezes. I can feel Claire’s eyes.
“God’s a she now?” I ask.
Jade shrugs. “All the powerful creatures are.”
Claire is over this heaven and hell talk. Her gaze is roaming. “I want to play,” she says suddenly.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” James interjects, but Claire’s made up her mind. She stands and takes her pint glass as she heads toward the pool table.
I look at James. Those dark eyebrows are pinched together. “You ever see her play pool?” I ask.
“No.”
“You’re about to see a side of Claire you ain’t maybe experienced yet.”
His mouth turns downward, and I get a kick out of it.
Claire ignores James. She ignores everything as she makes a beeline to the pool table. I watch as she carefully picks out her pool cue and starts to grind chalk on the tip of it.
I can feel the shift in the room. One by one, everyone starts to recognize the Preacher prodigy. Around here, Preachers are something like royalty—something I never much envied Claire for.
I can walk into a room and turn into wallpaper. Claire? She’ll always shine bright.
The gossip flies start to buzz. I hear phrases like?—
“—Preacher’s daughter.”
“—Big-city girl now.”
“—Such a shame.”
Claire turns and examines the green chalkboard behind her. It’s a running scoreboard with the names of the winners etched in white. “Who is Kane?” she asks, immediately zeroing in on the name at the top of the board.
From a round table in the center of the room, a burly man lifts his hand.
She points at him with her cue stick. “You first.”