Chapter 9
NINE
The long Southern goodbye was a torturous, unnecessary ritual that everyone had to endure, never mind if it felt like it was one-hundred degrees outside.
Small talk, gossip, and southern polite on repeat until your soul slipped out and baked on the sidewalk.
Jack was there now. Frustrated and hot. A sigh-grunting zombie of a man, going through the motions of trying to leave.
But he couldn't.
He was stuck in a loop. An old loop constructed from tradition and did you hear abouts. Might as well have been a steel cable coated in concrete.
Unbreakable.
Though Jack had still tried.
After putting the lawnmower back into the shed, he'd slipped into his shirt and loaded the several plastic bins Benny had picked out into the truck.
He'd been ready to go right then, but Benny had been lingering in the house. Jack had bet if he hopped into his truck and headed back to his place for a shower, he probably could have come back by and picked Benny up without either him or Ms. Peggy realizing he’d been gone at all.
But then he’d imagined Benny standing at the end of the sidewalk, looking out at the empty street alone, and decided that wasn’t the play.
So, he'd gone back into the house to give Ms. Peggy Stares-A-Lot a nod. The nod that said it’s time to go.
A nod that had done absolutely nothing.
Instead, he'd been an unwilling participant in another half hour of trying to leave.
In the house, Ms. Peggy wondered if Benny had heard about some woman named Deirdre and her recent divorce.
Benny hadn't, so he had, for whatever God-forsaken reason, needed to learn the lore and Ms. Peggy had been more than happy to educate him.
On the front porch Benny had made a comment about his brother Callum which had, in turn, devolved into talk about his ex-girlfriend, some kid named Justus, and an unfortunate haircut.
On the sidewalk—two feet from the truck—Ms. Peggy had commented on the heat.
That seemingly harmless complaint had thrown them all down a rabbit hole where they fell past the seasonal topic of the festival, a mention of Benny's parents participating in the pageant in their youth, a longer mention of Carol, and then they’d splat down onto the topic of the parade.
And then, when escape was finally in sight, Ms. Peggy had actually gotten Benny to roll his window down seconds before Jack had been ready to hit the gas.
“You know, building a parade float from nothing is a lot of work to squeeze into two weeks. I think I have an easier way to make one and make it look good without all the hair-splitting effort. Either of you know Roger Norman? He should be around your age.”
Benny's nod was immediate.
“I went to school with him. He's a good guy. Quiet, but nice. Married...to Zelda Keller, right?”
Ms. Peggy nodded.
“His uncle gave him his boat when he moved up north, but Roger never uses it since he's always working. If he let you borrow it, you could decorate it and pull it on this thing.” She slapped the side of the truck.
“Roger owes me a favor and I can't see me ever personally asking for one from him anyways.”
“You could ask him to do your yard work,” Jack muttered, still hot despite his truck trying its best to cool off. If the window wasn't down, the process would go a lot faster.
Ms. Peggy ignored him.
Benny had already perked up, nearly bouncing in his seat when he responded.
“That would be amazing, Ms. Peggy. Are you sure, though? That's asking a lot of you and not giving much else in return.”
Ms. Peggy waved the concern away.
Then she was staring daggers into Jack.
A sentiment that was starting to become mutual.
“As long as this one here doesn't make me regret it, I'm good.”
Jack didn't justify the jab with a reply. Instead he looked longingly out the windshield while Benny finished up the longest conversation in history.
It wasn't until he had them driving out of the neighborhood that Jack finally felt free.
And finally was able to bitch about it.
“I have to say, I knew this fake-relationship deal would be work, but I didn't realize how much of the deal would have me working.” A bead of sweat rolled down his spine.
It was a drop in the ocean. There was no way he was going to go to the bar later if he didn't swing by the apartment to shower first.
Benny let out a long breath.
“You could have said no, but you didn’t,” he pointed out.
“No one’s forcing you to do any of this either.
So any and all complaining is just you yapping and me feeling sorry for my ears.
Plus, all of what you’re doing is helping you at the end of the day too.
Something we wouldn’t be able to do without Ms. Peggy’s help, by the way.
She just saved us a fortune, not to mention physical labor if we can get Roger to let us borrow his boat. ”
Benny pulled out his phone and started swiping.
“Speaking of, I guess I need to message him and see if he's home.”
Jack shook his head so fast sweat flew.
“Oh no. No way,” he hurried. “No way am I going to another pseudo-stranger's house only to get trapped again. A man can only take so much, Benny. A man can only take so much.”
Benny surprised him with a snort.
“You know, for a bartender in a small town, you don't seem to be a fan of socializing with people in a small town.”
“Says the guy who's currently trending for writing stuff down instead of saying it out loud.”
Jack had meant the comment, but not the bite it came out with.
Benny tensed. He shifted in his seat, his knees angling towards the door.
He was right though.
Benny couldn’t talk to him about being anti-social when the reason for his fame was rooted in the same thing.
Jack wasn’t going to apologize for the snap.
Benny surprised him again by pushing through the moment.
“All I'm saying is a little honey does a lot more than vinegar,” he pointed out. Out of Jack’s periphery he saw him turn his head to look out of the passenger’s side window.
“Grumbling about these people who are, or might consider, helping us doesn't make sense. You wanted my help with good PR for the bar? Then we need to do well at the party, parade, and pageant too. So, unless you have some other secret plan I don’t know about, you have to be willing to listen to me or this won't work.”
The cab of the truck became quiet again.
This time, Jack broke it.
“Fine.” He exhaled deep. “We can go talk to Roger, but only after I swing by my apartment and shower. My shift starts in less than five hours. I’m only telling you that so you know we can’t use those five hours trying to say bye to Workaholic Roger, okay?”
Jack had expected a quick, chirpy response.
Instead, there was a new slowness to Benny’s words.
A calm.
Jack wasn’t sure how to feel about it. But, then again, it wasn’t like he had to completely understand Benny De Carlo. After two weeks, he wouldn’t even have to see him anymore.
The thought slipped in just as Benny responded.
“It’s a deal.”
* * *
Jack lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the west side of town, a far cry from the Robertson Estate, but a nice middle ground where cozy met Jack's favorite, affordable.
It had one claim to fame, though, that not even the richest of Arbor Bay had, and that was the view from the closet-sized balcony.
A sliver of the bay from across the street winked dark blue back at anyone looking.
The trees that surrounded the complex were kind enough to allow it, branches spread just so that Jack could stand in his boxers and enjoy his water view with a beer whenever he felt the need.
The absence of a boat ramp in his sight was an added bonus.
Instead, the only noise that came from the small park between the water and his building were from locals who, if they had felt so inclined, might catch a glimpse of Jack in his boxers with a beer.
No one ever looked though.
Why would they?
Two older men with fishing poles could be seen set up at the water’s edge when Benny was introduced to the view through the balcony’s sliding glass door.
Since they'd parked, the man had gone silent again.
Even after being told to make himself at home while Jack slipped into the bathroom, Benny only nodded to him.
Jack was fine with it.
Then he was irked.
That irk must have been irk-ier than he’d originally realized.
It wasn't until he was stepping out of the shower, no longer covered in sweat, lawn clippings, and the smell of a nosy older woman, that he realized he'd glazed over a few steps by being so quick to rinse off.
“Hey, Benny?”
There was no answer on the other side of the closed door.
He grumbled to the steamed-up mirror and palmed the shelf in the closet where clean towels were supposed to be. They weren’t. His mother would raise Cain if she knew he'd yet to fold and put away all the clothes in the dryer and linens in the basket.
Jack gave the bathroom another once over.
His only option was the clothes he’d just mowed in.
He could smell them from where he stood.
No way was he putting them back on.
“Hey, Benny?” he tried again.
Silence.
Jack grabbed the hand towel—a glorified washcloth if he was being honest—and placed it over the part he was sure would make his friendly little guy atomic cherry red if he’d left it uncovered.
“Let it be known, I tried to warn you,” he yelled out.
The bathroom opened into the living room, splitting the two bedrooms, but Benny wasn't on the couch where he'd left him. Jack peeked into Dixon's empty bedroom before swinging around to his.
What he saw was an equally confusing yet intriguing sight.
Benny, ass up, on the floor, his upper body beneath the bed and his lower wiggling around.
“Uh…” Jack walked across the carpet, eyes narrowing to try and find whatever context he was missing. Nothing appeared. He stopped next to Benny’s feet. “You know, when I said make yourself at home, I don't know if this is what I meant.”
It was like the guy had been electrocuted.