Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Phillip generously poured from the expensive bottle of Shiraz , into my Solo cup and clinked his cup against mine. “To us,” he said, his eyes shining. “To our marriage.”
“To us,” I agreed, taking a sip of the wine, which I had to admit, despite being a cheapskate who never bought anything outside a grocery store, tasted like heaven. I took another sip, letting it slide smoothly down my throat, trying to ignore the pangs of sadness and anger doing battle in my gut.
After Burt’s masterful—and badass—punch, we’d all watched as Sloan had slowly risen up from the ground, cradling her jaw with her hand, and given the best rendition of a dignified walk back to her vehicle that she could muster. To her credit, she’d managed not to limp or even look back at us and had gotten in her car and driven away without another word. I had to give it to her; I knew Sloan, and it must have been hard as hell not to swing back, not to try and gain the upper hand.
Had she really wanted to wish me well? No, not likely. More likely, she wanted to ruin my evening and realized she was outmatched a little too late. Well, whatever. Let her be. Hopefully, she’d gotten the message and wouldn’t be back to cause more trouble. Deep down in my belly, though, I worried she would.
But now, the moment wasn’t about her. It was about my wedding reception. Nothing, not even Sloan, was going to take me away from this beautiful moment my wonderful friends had planned for Phillip and I. I took another long sip and savored the rich taste of the wine, letting my body sway a little to the warbling, dulcet tones of T. Rex’s “Debora,” another favorite song from my childhood, an a capella almost-love song that my parents danced to in the kitchen when I was a kid.
As if on cue, my mother appeared. “Who let you DJ?” I asked her. I was glad to see she was holding a can of Coca-Cola, and even gladder to see a box of Nicorette peeking out from the pocket of her jean jacket.
“Hey, my music’s killer!” Mama protested, laughing. “Are you having fun?”
“I am,” I said, scanning over the scene. The bonfire had died down a little, but my friends’ energy had not. Almost everyone was dancing, and the scene, to an outsider, would have looked ridiculous: Phillip, Benny, Lee, and Roberta in a sort of conga line, dancing around the fire like demented spirits, hollering and giggling, Roberta’s brother Jorge watching and snapping pictures on his phone. Phillip was a picture in his all-black ensemble, a head taller than all of them, his black hair flashing in the firelight. He was adorably drunk; he’d had three Solo cups of wine to my one so far. Beth was hooping again, having finally acquiesced to everyone’s requests, just a few paces from the dancing fools. The LED lights in her hoop were pulsing bright red and pink, and I could only assume those were happy colors. I smiled, thinking how awesome it had been of the Bloomer Demons to ask her on tour. Jason and Ollie rose from the lawn chairs they’d been sitting in and joined in the fray. To my surprise, Jason pulled out a solid rendition of a moonwalk, and Ollie was screaming at him to stop, that he was embarrassing. I grinned. They’d arrived just after Sloan’s dramatic entrance, much to Phillip’s and my surprise. We’d had no idea that they’d planned to drive down to help us celebrate.
Jamie and Clara were over on the porch, and though neither he nor Roberta had said, I was pretty sure he was guarding her, though he was taking great care to not make it obvious. At some point in the last two weeks, Jamie had put a miniature pool table right on the front porch, and he was currently squaring up, getting ready to make his first shot. Clara was leaned up against the porch railing, a full bottle of Pbr in her hand, staring off into the distance. Jamie kept sneaking glances at Roberta, who was dancing with Phillip and Benny, and I could tell he wanted to drag her off into the bushes, since his own bedroom was currently occupied. My heart soared with elation for Burt. Between her brother coming home and finally getting the moves from Jamie, I knew her happiness must be dialed up to eleven.
“You just enjoy it,” Mama said, clinking her can to mine. My little Solo cup had been toasted so much I was surprised it wasn’t bent by now. “Don’t worry about…the other. Her.”
“Oh, I’m not worried.” But I frowned. I was disturbed by what I’d learned, and I definitely planned to find out just what the hell she was playing at. How had she known I’d gotten married and where we’d be after? Why had she shown up bearing well wishes only to turn around and spit on my cake?
I looked down at my motorcycle boots, streaked with mud from prancing around in the dirt, dancing and celebrating, and looked back over to the bonfire where Phillip and my friends were having fun. I might just have some idea of how Sloan always knew where to be, and it sure as hell wasn’t clairvoyance. I turned up my wine, guzzling the rest of its contents, threw the cup into the metal trash can, and walked over to the porch.
Our reception was more important, that was true. And I’d come back to it in short order.
But I had to take care of this business first. Right now.
As I marched up the steps, I could feel Phillip watching me. I gestured at him, a little 10-4 salute, and he gestured back at me with an understanding smile. He knew what I had to do. If you need me, I’ll come. His voice flowed seamlessly into my head, and I blew him a kiss.
Jamie put down the pool cue and looked at me in surprise as I bounded up the steps. “Now darlin’, you just enjoy your reception?—"
“I am enjoying it,” I said, looking down at the little gift bag. “But I’ll enjoy it a hell of a lot more after I clear the air.”
“I hear that,” he said with a grin, and reached for his beer. Jamie was always reaching for his beer and it made me giggle. “Can you believe Roberta clocked her like that? I was like, ‘damn’!”
“So I saw,” I said with a grin, cuffing him on the shoulder. “You treat Burt right, you hear me?” And with that, I turned to Clara, who stood there in the corner, still as stone.
“It was you, wasn’t it.” It was more of a statement than a question. She looked at me warily, as if considering my words.
“It was me who what?” She held the pool cue between her hands as though she might lash out and strike me with it, but I wasn’t worried. She didn’t need a weapon; Clara was bigger than me both in stature and height, to say nothing of her muscular, athletic build, and could break me in half easily. Her purple hair was pulled back in a tight bun, giving her face a further pinched, angry sort of look. But I knew she wouldn’t do anything to me, not here in front of everyone. Not with Phillip, one person who actually was stronger than her, waiting in the wings.
Phillip aside, I wasn’t scared of Clara, though. Not now, not ever. Having heard Benny’s story, I felt like I knew her, understood her a little better, even if I still didn’t like her. And boy, I did not like her. So much for what I’d thought was a silent agreement between us earlier to bury the hatchet. No, Clara was a snake. I couldn’t trust her any more than she trusted me.
I felt a familiar buzzing in my fingers. “It was you who told Sloan where we’d be. Where we were getting married and where the reception was. I think you might’ve even brought her to Phillip’s show,” I said in a low, calm tone. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Clara shrugged moodily, then gave a small, frustrated sigh and fixed a steely glare on me. She ran one hand through her purple hair, upsetting her bun. “So? I didn’t know she was planning anything sinister. She just said she wanted to see you get married.”
“Right,” I said. That didn’t seem bloody likely. The old Sloan might’ve been hurt by being excluded from my wedding, but now that I knew all the details of how she’d been carrying on for years, I wasn’t sure about that. “I didn’t know you two even knew each other, but it makes sense. You make a good pair.” If I’d been a betting woman, I’d wager that Benny was wrong, that Clara hadn’t gotten clean at all. Pills, he’d said, that she’d started taking after their relationship went sour.
It always seemed to lead back to drugs in these parts, and drugs always led back to the same dastardly group of people.
If Clara got the insult, she didn’t let on. “I mean, you two are best friends. It seems reasonable to me that she’d be there for things.” Clara’s tone was sullen, defiant. “Unless of course you’re the type of person who loses friends quickly—or rather, throws them away.”
“Only the ones worth throwing,” I spat back, and went inside the trailer, slamming the screen door behind me. “Benny and I have that in common.” I turned to look at her through the screen. “You and I are not finished, Clara. Not by a long shot.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but I didn’t hear her reply. My legs buckled beneath me and I fell to the porch floor, my vision suddenly going black.