Chapter 13
Justin
B anging the heel of my hand on the steering wheel, I ask myself for the hundredth time why I couldn’t have said no. I could have. I should have. I didn’t.
Jack Dunn took me home. He’d picked me up early in the morning so Dad would have my truck if he needed it.
I should have said good night. Instead, when he said Janet, Ricky’s mom, made chili and would like to have me over for dinner, the word yes came out of my mouth.
I wasn’t exactly sure where it came from.
I recognized my own voice, but damn. I’d just spent the entire day with the Dunns.
A shower and relaxing at home would be the usual end to my day.
There is probably even a baseball game on.
If the Cardinals are playing, Dad and I could sit and yell at the umpires all night.
Instead, I gave my mom a thirty-second explanation on why I was eating with Ricky, ran upstairs and stripped out of my sweaty clothes, took a fast shower, and here I am, driving back to the Dunns’ farm with wet hair, fresh clothes, and feeling like a teenager, not a thirty-two-year-old man.
I slow my truck as I’m rounding a bend. In the stream of my headlights, I see the overgrown brush. The white petals of wild daisies catch my eye. For a moment in time, I consider stopping, picking a bouquet for Devan.
As soon as the thought comes, I dismiss it. Looking up at the growing dark sky, I shake my head. “Therapy. Intervention. Shit, I need something.”
The response to my own statement comes to me.
“I’m talking to myself,” I say aloud. “It’s official.
I’m losing it.” I slam on the brakes and pull off to the side of the road.
The Dunn farm is only two miles away. On these dark roads, I could be there in less than five minutes.
Glancing to my right, I see my phone in its holder. Picking it up, I type out a text.
“SORRY, RICKY. THERE’S SHIT TO DO HERE. TELL YOUR MOM THANKS. I’LL TAKE A RAIN CHECK.”
I scrunch my nose. Rain check
Who the fuck says rain check?
Backspacing over the last sentence, I try again.
“…MAYBE ANOTHER TIME.”
Do I want another time?
Is that too forward?
Will Ricky think it’s weird?
Back space again. The cursor sits after the word ‘thanks.’ Yeah, that will do. I don’t need any more explanation than that.
“Fuck,” I growl as I throw my head back.
Swallowing, I remind myself I’ve eaten hundreds of meals at the Dunns’ house. Ricky has eaten hundreds at my house. Never once in the past have I been a pussy about it.
Pussy.
My breathing quickens.
Oh, dear Jesus, don’t go there.
At least my self-talk is no longer audible.
Without sending the text, I throw the truck into drive.
Gravel pelts the bottom of my truck as I head toward the Dunns’ farm.
Nothing has changed as I pass the big white barn.
The lane is dark with only the illumination of my headlights until I turn and make my way toward the garages.
The old house is lit up. Parking my truck next to Devan’s car, I see that it’s still filled with shit.
The trailer probably is too. No time to unpack since they made it home.
My palms are sweaty as I push my hands into my jean pockets. A floodlight comes on as I walk toward the house. By the time I knock, my mouth is dry.
Janet Dunn calls from inside. “Justin, come on in. Family doesn’t knock.” She’s placing bowls on the table filled with chili toppings. There’s cheese, sour cream, onions, and crackers. Ricky’s mom—Devan’s mom—smiles at me. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Um, Jack said…” I shrug. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“What can I get you to drink? Everyone is upstairs cleaning up. It sounds like you had a busy day. I’m so glad you could help. Jack thinks he can carry a couch, but he can’t. You probably saved him from traction.” She laughs.
“Iced tea,” I say, rocking back on my heels and looking around. The large kitchen is the same as it was before I knew BK’s identity, and yet it feels totally different.
“We have some craft beer from that new brewery in Bloomington,” Ricky says as he enters the kitchen. His dark blond hair is wet, and he’s pulling a clean shirt over his bare chest.
My thought isn’t about the beer, but that, hopefully, my showering won’t be seen as odd. It isn’t like I’m trying to impress…it’s a shower. Ricky showered too.
Devan comes down the back staircase, typing on her phone with a big smile. It’s when she looks up that her smile momentarily disappears. “Oh, Justin. I thought you couldn’t make it.”
“Devan,” Janet says, “where are your shorts?”
Devan lifts the hem of the sweatshirt, revealing sexy, soft short-shorts.
“Most of my clothes are still packed,” she says. “I found these in my dresser.”
“We have company…”
“I don’t mind,” I say.
Ricky’s sister.
Little Devan Dunn.
The internal monologue isn’t working.
Devan smiles my direction and turns to her mom. “See, no complaints.”
And then I remember that Devan said she thought I couldn’t be here. Did someone tell her that? I turn to Janet. “If you weren’t planning on me…”
“Nonsense. We have plenty. I was counting on you.” Before I can respond, she calls loudly for Jack.
Once he’s with us, everyone fills their bowl and takes seats around the table.
Before sitting, Ricky goes out to the garage refrigerator and comes back in with a large growler.
I’m seated across from Janet, Devan is at her side, and Jack and Ricky are at each end.
Ricky pours dark beer into glasses for me, Jack, and himself.
“Hey,” Devan says, “I’m old enough to drink.”
Old enough.
What does that mean?
I try to do math, to remember exactly how much younger she is than us. She just graduated college. That makes her twenty-two. I think. I’m thirty-two. I’ve never felt old before now. As I’m trying to figure out the dilemma, Devan and Ricky are sparring.
“Seriously?” Ricky asks his sister. “This is beer.”
“I know that. I drink beer.”
He looks to his mom who nods, before reaching for another glass. “Mom? Do you want some too? I don’t want to leave you out.”
“I’ll pass,” she says with a smile. “Everyone help yourselves to any toppings. Jack also has his special hot sauce if my chili isn’t hot enough for you.”
In the past, I’ve made the mistake of trying Jack’s hot sauce. It’s a homemade concoction from peppers the Dunns grow in their garden, and it’s deadly—like straight from Hell. Seriously, Jack should sell it to the government. One bottle could take out an entire cartel.
Ricky shakes a few drops of hot sauce in his bowl and hands the bottle to me.
Instead of adding the fiery liquid, I put the bottle on the table and dip my spoon into the red soup.
While the chili is hot, as in temperature, evidenced by my melting cheese—the flavoring is perfect. “Very good,” I murmur. “Plenty hot.”
Devan hides her smile as she too leaves the bottle of hellfire untouched.
I suddenly wonder if consuming Jack’s recipes would be necessary—a hazing of sorts—to enter the Dunn family.
Would I do it?
Wait. No, I’m not thinking of that.
Despite my inner turmoil, the conversation around the table stays mostly lighthearted as Devan and Ricky recount the day’s activities.
My bowl is almost empty when Ricky’s story registers.
“…couldn’t find Justin. And he was in Devan’s bedroom .” He accents the word. “Door was shut.”
Coughing, I choke on the chili as my eyes meet Devan’s. Sitting taller, she shakes her head. “Jeez.” She looks at her mom. “We had the windows open, and with the front door also open, other doors kept slamming.”
Ricky laughs as he points his spoon at me. “Man, you should see your face. I was just razzing. Seriously, thanks for the help today.”
“Speaking of help,” Janet says, “Justin, before you leave, could you help Rick get a desk from that trailer up to Devan’s new office?”
“Devan has an office?” Ricky asks.
“I never use that craft room.”
“Why does she get an office? I do the books for the farm.”
“And you use the office on the first floor to do that.”
“But that’s Dad’s office.”
As Janet and Ricky go back and forth, I steal a glance across the table.
Devan’s hair is still damp, making it appear darker than before.
It’s piled on her head with cute bouncy curls around her ears.
Her face is freshly washed and without makeup.
And while I can’t currently see them, I have absolutely no complaints about the length of her shorts.
While Devan’s trying not to look up, she’s stunningly beautiful in a real and genuine way.
I’ve never been a big admirer of made-up women. In my mind, the amount of makeup worn has a negative correlation to their beauty. It’s not that those women on TikTok and Instagram are unattractive. I simply find natural much more appealing.
“May I get you some more chili?” Janet asks.
“I’m good,” I reply.
“Oh, surely you worked up more of an appetite than that.”
“I did,” Devan says, walking to the stove. Bending forward, she takes a second helping.
A smile curls my lips. I’m loving the shorts.
It’s also because of Devan’s appetite. Today for lunch, she ate all her chicken nuggets and the entire large order of fries with mayo—gross.
Now, she’s getting herself a second helping of chili.
I can’t help thinking about times when I’ve taken a girl out on a date and she barely picks at a salad, as if eating in front of a guy is a crime.
Truth is, I would like more chili.
“I think I will have seconds,” I say, pushing back the chair. “I can get it myself.”
Devan sets her bowl on the table and reaches for mine.
As our gazes meet, it’s one of those surreal moments. “Really,” I say. “I’m capable.”
“I’m sure you are,” she says, taking my bowl from my grasp.
“I’m up already.” She carries my bowl to the stove, the hem of the sweatshirt covering all but an inch of her shorts—not that I’m looking.
When she brings the filled bowl back, I catch the scent of flowers.
It’s not overpowering, simply the perfect, sweet aroma.
After dinner, Ricky, Jack, and I go out to the trailer as Janet and Devan clean up the kitchen.
Of course, the desk Mrs. Dunn wants us to carry upstairs isn’t packed near the opening to the trailer.
Getting to the massive piece of furniture takes time, removing totes, boxes, and other furniture.
We pile everything in the garage until we reach the desk.
Getting the couch down the stairs in Muncie was a piece of cake compared to getting this long desk upstairs with turning corners.
We start using the back stairs, but the narrow stairwell makes it impossible.
The front staircase is open and works better.
Then there is the negotiating around corners.
By the time we succeed, my fresh shirt is damp from perspiration.
Back in the kitchen, I say good night. For a moment, I consider asking Devan to come out to the car with me.
Instead, I stuff my hands back in my pockets and head toward my truck.