17. Helen
Beyond confirming the details of Sunday dinner with Thad, I don’t have any contact with him for the rest of the week. Life goes on as normal at the library, except Shane seems to have disappeared completely. I guess he figured I was a dead end and moved on. Maybe he’ll find Dean sometime in the next couple of days and I won’t have to go through with bringing Thad to dinner with my family. Maybe then Thad will disappear, too, like none of this ever happened, and I can go back to my normal, boring life.
In the meantime, I use the Great and Powerful Google to find out as much information about Thad as I can. Now that I know about Bama Bounty, I find a whole treasure trove of details on the Internet. Apparently during the time of airing, Thad was something of a heartthrob to the show’s small-but-rabid fan base, if the tribute videos on YouTube are any indication. (I may or may not have watched one video, devoted to zooming in on his muscles, more than once. For research purposes.)
The show went off the air about three years ago after some big scandal about Thad leaving the family business to start his own company in the Chicago area. At first I chalk this up to Thad wanting to spread his wings, or maybe getting a little too big for his britches as the Bama heartthrob.
Then I stumble across the thread that changes everything.
It all starts when I find the clip that Thad showed me at the lingerie store. Like some kind of masochist, I want to see the woman, Vera, again to try to piece together anything about his current relationship status. Not because I’m still interested in dating him myself, but because it feels a little weird bringing a guy who may or may not be married to dinner with my parents.
Could I just ask him myself? Sure. But if I have the option of stalking him late at night on the Internet to try and figure it out myself based on obscure clues and potentially meaningless details, that seems like a much better use of time, no?
I watch the clip a few more times, but aside from the uncomfortable feeling I get seeing Vera running her hand over Thad’s chest, the scene itself doesn’t yield too much more information.
The comments section, however, is on fire. All of the comments were made a few years ago now, but there’s a surprising amount of engagement. People really do not like Vera, even though she seems fine, if a little handsy, in the clip itself. According to user MonkeyBrains49, this is the first taste we get of Vera’s true colors, and her intentions are soooo obvious. ILoveDwayneJohnson argues that it’s not unusual for a woman to want to look made up for the camera, but Vera seems a little too fancy, even by Bama Bounty standards, and it’s clear she’s trying to catch someone’s eye. LatherRinseRepeat24 writes simply that she is a slag. (I look that up and realize it is not a nice word.)
And so on and so forth. I realize there has to be more to the story with Vera and go to Reddit, hoping to unearth some more information about why everyone hates Vera so much. Finally, after searching a few years back, I find it. I stare in astonishment. I go back to Google to confirm what I found, and then I find the spread in US Weekly and the pictures to confirm that.
Vera was engaged to Thad during the run of the show, but then she ended up leaving him for his father, Darius, who was still married to one of his (six!) ex-wives at the time. Big scandal ensued. Thad left the show, and his family, to move to Chicago. Bama Bounty struggled on for a final season, but fans felt it didn’t have the same flair without Thad, “the hot brother” (Internet consensus, not necessarily my personal ruling), and the ratings plummeted. Darius and Vera are now married, with two kids (who are Thad’s half-siblings!), and continue to bounty hunt in Alabama with Amadeus and Orpheus, who seem to have sided with their father in the scandal.
Wow. If my past is embarrassingly squeaky clean, Thad’s is wildly messy. No wonder he seems so reluctant to bring up his family and the show.
No wonder he’s so cold and cynical, so determined to believe I’m pretending to be something I’m not. It must be incredibly hard to trust people, when the people you’re meant to trust the most betray you. Not just Vera and his father, but his brothers, too, choosing not to take his side.
Of course, maybe I’m doing the same thing, bringing a bounty hunter into my family to track down my brother. I believed Thad before, when he said it would be the best thing for Dean, but how can I be sure?
The Bama Bounty stuff was a fun distraction, but the fact remains—I have no idea what I’m doing. And I might be about to make a terrible mistake.
On Sunday, Thad picks me up as scheduled in his 1969 Dodge Charger. This was Dean’s dream car for a while, which is the only reason why I recognize it, and why I also happen to know it’s an expensive vintage classic. I imagine most bounty hunters can’t afford to drive something like this around, but maybe he’s still getting royalties from Bama Bounty—which is syndicated on Hulu. (I’ve made it through season two, not that I’ll be mentioning that to him.)
In fact, I don’t know how much of anything I should tell Thad about the Internet sleuthing I did this week. It feels invasive to tell someone I’ve researched his entire history. Not invasive enough to not do it, but just invasive enough to not want to tell him I’ve done it. Then again, since he spent the first several weeks of knowing me pretending to just be a library patron so he could follow me around, I feel like we’re kind of even.
The drive out to Buffalo Grove is a long one, though, so we’ll need to come up with something to say. “Maybe we should go over some stuff about each other? Since we’re supposed to be a couple.”
Thad glances over at me, smirk-smiling. “I’d be surprised if you could tell me something I don’t already know about you.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “You can’t be that good, since you didn’t even realize I used to be a sister until Dean told you.”
There. Elephant in the room. I wasn’t intending to address it, but maybe it’s finally time to clear the air.
Thad’s smirk fades, and now he looks vaguely irritated. “It came up in the background check, but when I saw the name, I thought it was some kind of religious school.”
The Sisters of St. Elizabeth. I can see how he might have made that leap, especially since it didn’t have anything to do with finding Dean, so he probably just skimmed over it.
“Besides,” Thad continues, “you’re not really what I think when I think nun.”
I furrow my brow at him, but he’s staring at the road, and it feels like he’s pointedly not looking at me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He huffs, shaking his head. “Come on. You know what you look like.”
I glance down at myself. I’m wearing a new dress that I bought at the mall after renewing my determination to move away from my shapeless sweaters. It’s not a sexy dress, though—not skintight or low cut or in any way revealing. It’s a pale green wrap dress, the kind of thing you wear home to Sunday dinner with your parents. I’m wearing a coat over it and tights underneath, so absolutely no skin is showing except for my face and hands, but I guess it is significantly more formfitting than what I usually wear. My hair is not in its normal bun, either, but combed and curled—again, for my parents’ benefit, not for Thad’s. Mom always likes us to dress in our Sunday best for Sunday dinner, even when it’s virtual.
Can I help it that this shade of green makes my eyes look especially blue and my hair look especially blonde? Or that, as a natural hourglass, the wrap dress highlights all of my best features? No, I cannot. Nor should I have to. I am a confident woman in my thirties, allowed to feel vivacious and attractive if I so choose.
At one point, I might have fluttered and fretted over Thad’s comment. But now, knowing that he has no romantic interest in me and I have no romantic interest in him, I feel free to be a little bold. “Were the huge sweaters too big of a temptation? I could see how the messy bun might be confusing for your hormones.”
Now he does look at me, wryly amused. “Even a turtleneck doesn’t hide”—he motions to the general vicinity of my body—“that. And combine that with the kind of stuff you were reading aloud at that sex club?—”
“Writing group,” I correct him, flushing.
“—it doesn’t add up to nun. That’s all I’m saying.”
I’m still stuck on him gesturing at my body, his eyes flickering over me. I know I have larger-than-average breasts and a big booty—how could I not know, with a best friend like Matilda?—but I guess I naively believed the sweaters could hide my shape. I’m stuck between panicking about it and feeling curious, despite myself. Just what did he think about all of this, and has that all gone away now that he knows I used to be a sister?
I clear my throat. “My parents don’t know about the romance novel, actually, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t bring that up.”
If Mom is having a hard time wrapping her head around me not wearing wool muumuus anymore, she really won’t like knowing that I’m writing erotic love scenes that are thinly veiled copies of my own fantasies. I’m sure in her mind I don’t have any kind of sexual urges, and any desire I’ve expressed to get married and have a family is purely out of a godly desire for children.
“Ah.” Thad looks like he’s about to glance over again but checks himself. “I can see why your folks might not be too keen. I thought it was pretty good, though. For a book.”
I give him a skeptical look. “You really don’t like to read? Not even those Agatha Christies you were checking out?”
I know it’s possible for some people to genuinely not like reading, but…do I? As a librarian, I’ve always felt like it’s my duty to help people find their thing. Not everyone is a reader like me who will gobble down practically any genre, but everyone has that one thing they would enjoy if they got hold of it. Dean, for example, used to always hate reading until he got into the Percy Jackson books, and then he read them over and over again on a loop. For all I know, he still does—wherever he is now, hiding from the mafia.
Thad shakes his head. “Don’t really see the point. I’ll read the news, or stuff about sports and whatnot. But stories? Happily ever afters? No offense, but I feel like that’s little-kid stuff.”
I roll my eyes. Right—the way that human beings have expressed themselves for centuries, told stories of war and love and imagination and social critique and hope. All kids’ stuff. “You know, they say that reading fiction encourages people to have empathy for others. I can see why that might be a liability, in a line of work like yours.”
Okay, yes, that might be unnecessarily snarky, but he just besmirched books. Books! Some lines should not be crossed.
Thad raises an eyebrow at me, making real eye contact for the first time on this trip. “So I don’t have empathy?”
“Your whole job is putting people in jail.”
“Criminals,” Thad reminds me tersely. “Liars. People who agreed to abide by the terms of their bail. People who don’t care that they’re putting bondsmen and their own families on the line to come up with the money for breaking their bond, all because they’re so selfish they can’t see past their own noses. People who, I’d say, lack quite a bit of empathy.”
There’s no playfulness left in the back-and-forth banter, so I answer in kind, glaring back at him. “You mean people like Dean? My little brother?”
Our eyes hold for a moment before Thad slides his gaze away, shaking his head to himself as he looks out at the road. “You said it. Not me.”