3. Southern Gentleman I Am Not
WESLEY
I had knownher for only a day and Celeste Hendricks was the most important person in my life. We might as well be permanently joined at the hip; there was no breaking away even in wind, rain, or burning sun. She had already shown me more consideration and compassion than anyone else, even those stupid shrinks my father made me see for a while. Turns out, all you needed to make me believe in myself were light green eyes and hair like a lion’s mane.
Everything I said seemed to impress her. I could tell by the way she hung on to every story, asking for details and reacting to all the best parts. I might’ve embellished just a tad, but who wouldn’t if someone admired you? Aunt Shirley hadn’t reacted to anything I’d said the night before other than to tell me she’d wallop me with her wooden spoon if I didn’t behave. There was no way Aunt Shirley could catch me if it came down to it, so I couldn’t say her threat really worked.
All I was good at was getting into trouble. That’s what my father always said, with my teachers in agreement, and all the school administrators had finally washed their hands of me at my fifth school in 18 months. One nanny after the other, even the most highly established from international agencies, ran from our penthouse screaming. When money thrown at Atlanta’s finest shrinks didn’t solve my “problem,” my dad threw down the gauntlet and said I would have to go to a strict boarding school in Switzerland called Montmeri since I couldn’t get my act together. The school sounded horrible from reviews I read online, enforcing strict curfews and enough rules to make military boot camp look like summer vacation.
I threw a fit big enough that our housekeeper, an older Puerto Rican woman named Mrs. Aguilar, called the mobile crisis line. Being placed under the microscope made my father reconsider his decision to send me to Montmeri, but I was on my last chance. Even I could tell by the determined set in his jaw. My mother’s aunt was the only family member willing to help, though I had no idea how she was even in contact with my father. She didn’t own a computer or a cell phone and still had an old satellite dish for her dilapidated television set.
River’s Run, Georgia was nothing like my old home. Atlanta was a city always on the move, which was ironic considering how jampacked traffic always was. Everyone there was hustling to be somebody and the atmosphere had a crackle of energy to it. Here, everything took its own sweet time, and people’s family connections meant more than anything else. It was all just…different.
Celeste made different good. There was a hollowness to her that I could already sense, an echo of loss that matched my own. It sounded like her mom’s death really hurt her. Since I didn’t have any memories of my own, the thought of her death didn’t matter. Like picturing the death of a stranger. You might say a kind word out of respect, but there wouldn’t be any real feeling behind it. Celeste’s mother must’ve been something really special, though, for her daughter to hang on to her memory like she was. Mourning the loss of anyone was a foreign concept to me, and in many ways, I envied Celeste for knowing a love like that.
We spent the rest of that afternoon sitting in the tree by the creek and swapping stories. She made it so easy to forget everything with my father. Today was Celeste’s turn to share, although I had to ask questions to get her to open up. She said all of the kids in town were awkward around her since her mother died and she didn’t really hang out with anyone anymore. I offered to throttle anyone who crossed her. Her smile was so soft and sweet. Like she knew she shouldn’t be happy about my threat, but she couldn’t hold the smile in. I found her shyness to be endearing, a kitten too weak and new to walk on its own, and I vowed to protect her for as long as she’d let me.
Lightning bugs were out in full force before she squealed and scrambled out of the tree. “I’m gonna be in so much trouble! I never went in for supper!” Celeste took off down the path without a backward glance.
I shuffled out of the tree after her when I heard her distant cry. “C’mon, Wesley, we can’t miss supper!”
Marla was just getting ready to lock up when we tore back inside. Her lips were pursed so tightly that I couldn’t help but wonder if they would fall off. Falling For You by Colbie Caillat played faintly on the jukebox. Celeste hung her head as she waited for Marla’s reprimand. I stopped just behind her, uncertain how to proceed. I didn’t really care if I upset Marla, but clearly Celeste did, so I guess I would have to.
“I’m so sorry, Marla,” Celeste said quietly with her head down.
“It was my fault,” I insisted. “I didn’t wanna leave the creek and I made her stay, too.”
The look on Marla’s face warned me that she didn’t believe me. Her stern expression darted back and forth between us before she finally released a heavy sigh.
“Look, I’m gonna let this slide once, but that’s all you get.” Marla pointed a finger at us in warning. “Wesley, if you’re gonna be around much this summer, you better learn my rules. Lunch is at 11 before the rush. Supper at six. Y’all are always welcome to come by and get a snack or I’ll pack something up for you. D’you hear me?”
I risked a glance to my left and saw Celeste was still hanging her head.
“Don’t you look at her, Wesley! You’re dealing with me!” Marla snapped. “It ain’t her place to save you.”
I frowned at her, unwilling to yield to someone without any authority over me. “I hear you loud and clear.” Turning on my heel, I stormed out the door, allowing it to slam behind me as I sped down the street. I couldn’t even remember where Aunt Shirley’s house was.
A few minutes later, a large pickup truck pulled up beside me and rolled down the passenger window. The man had a neatly trimmed beard and the same facial features as Celeste.
“Are you Wesley?” the man asked.
I didn’t say anything, though my hands balled into fists at my side. He continued to creep next to me in his rusty red pickup.
“The name’s Doug Hendricks. I reckon you and I need to have a little chat,” he said.
So he was Celeste’s father. That brought me up short.
Mr. Hendricks stopped and unlocked the door so I could climb in. I was still too irritated to look at him, but I knew Celeste would never speak to me again if I disrespected her father. Even in the short time I had known her, I already gathered that her family meant everything to her.
He headed to the outskirts of the main street where River’s Run’s lone traffic light blinked red. There would be next to no traffic at this time of night. This town had a 9 o’clock curfew because everything closed by 8 p.m.
“Listen,” Mr. Hendricks began, “I don’t know you and you don’t have to explain yourself to me. You’re not my kid, so it’s not my place. But I expect certain manners and courtesy for me and my family. That includes my daughter and my wife’s best friend.”
I could feel his stare boring into the side of my face, a look I refused to acknowledge.
“Are we clear?”
Swallowing hard, I let out a deep breath and nodded. All my anger dissipated.
“What was that?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
From my peripheral I saw him nod his approval. “Then we have no hard feelings. We’ll get a fresh start tomorrow. I’m assuming I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Mr. Hendricks pulled up to Aunt Shirley’s house where all the lights were on downstairs. She had probably fallen asleep in front of the tv like she did last night.
Despite pulling up, Mr. Hendricks put the truck in park and turned to face me. His eyes were kind, reminding me of Celeste’s even though they weren’t the same color as hers. “Now I’m sure that things are a lot different here than what you’re used to. It’ll get better if you really give this place a chance. Celeste has her mama’s big heart. She’ll help you so long as you let her.”
I could detect the sorrow in his voice when he spoke of his wife. I felt sorry for him in a way that I never felt for Celeste when she talked about it. Her grief was still fresh. Mr. Hendricks’ sounded like it was embedded in his bones. How would it feel to love someone like that?
How would it feel if someone loved me like that?
I tried to let his words sink in as I nodded. “Yes, sir. I can do that.”
Mr. Hendricks offered me a small smile that was so reminiscent of Celeste’s I couldn’t help but grin back.
“Thank you for driving me home, sir,” I said, climbing out of the truck.
As I rounded the front end, Mr. Hendricks rolled down his window and leaned one elbow out. “There’s good people around here, son, so don’t take so much to heart.”
The moniker he chose instantly rubbed me the wrong way and I felt my hackles rise. In the back of my mind I knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but I hated being called “son.” My own father never called me that, and he was the most condescending person I knew. I didn’t belong to anybody—that much had always been clear—and I refused to allow a stranger to think he could talk down to me because of it.
There was an edge to my voice that I knew Mr. Hendricks didn’t deserve as I ground out, “Don’t call me that! You’re just a shitty old man!”
I dashed into the house, slamming the door loudly behind me. From the corner of my eye I saw Aunt Shirley jump in her armchair in front of the television, blinking rapidly in her sleepy daze. I bolted up the stairs to what had been assigned as my room and threw myself onto the old quilt covering the bed, making sure I stomped loudly on her hardwood floors along the way.
Everything about the room was off, from the lumpy mattress and flattened pillow to the slanted wooden ceiling and solitary window. Even though my father’s penthouse felt more like a showroom than a home, I suddenly missed my king size bed and floor to ceiling windows looking down on the bright city lights below. It was so dark and quiet outside here in River’s Run; I had no idea how anyone was supposed to sleep here.
As my racing heart began to settle and I felt some of the anger ebb out of my system, I flipped onto my back and settled my hands behind my head, glaring up at the rickety ceiling above me. I was nobody’s son, at least not anybody worth mentioning. Although a small part of me knew I owed Mr. Hendricks an apology, it felt good to lash out at someone. One of the therapists had suggested I should get involved in some kind of sport in order to better channel some of my rage, but my father had scoffed at the idea that I had any rage to work out. All the fights I got into at school were the only time I ever felt some of my anger go away. It was always burning just below the surface, like it flowed in my bloodstream.
Celeste was the first real friend I’d ever had. There were lots of kids back in Atlanta who wanted to hang around me because of my father, but I wasn’t close with any of them. All it would take was the right piece of gossip and they’d turn on me in the blink of an eye. I knew they were after power and influence, all the stuff my dad’s money could buy. I couldn’t even say why things were different with Celeste; I just looked in her eyes and knew. Maybe that was how it worked. Maybe friends were something stronger than soulmates, where the connection ran so deep that it defied logic or reason.
Sleep came over me as I mulled over the possibility of that kind of connection with a girl who had pretty green eyes like Celeste Hendricks.