Bonus Epilogue
DELIA
Abram parks his blue Harley in front of the coffee shop, his movements hurried for once. Crabapples.
I’ve told myself that no matter what, I’m doing this today. I have to, even if it’s a bad time. Every morning, he struts in, gets a pastry and coffee, tips generously, and sits at a table in his tight jeans and killer good looks.
It’s agony. I’m supposed to function while he’s sitting there all smoldering manliness and bad boy vibes?
Sometimes he keeps to himself, brooding over his coffee, but others we’re alone in the shop and pass the time away talking while I work.
Nothing of any substance. Lemon poppyseed muffins were the topic one day, and if the urban legend about it making you fail a drug test is true.
Another morning it was the difference between his two motorcycles, and why he rides the sportier one daily.
I’m not normally so chatty, but it’s easy to talk to Abram.
He has this charisma that immediately puts me at ease.
I know he started the daily visits to the coffee shop as a favor to my sister.
It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s like Darcy to send someone to check on me since she can’t.
If she happens into my work too often, our Mom will find out and make me quit.
Even though I’m eighteen now, my parents are still forbidding me to have any contact with my sister, her husband or the Bayou Dogs.
He struts in wearing his normal outfit. Jeans, wallet chain, boots, well fitted tee, and his cut.
With his normal charm erased with a cinched brow, only the patches on the leather vest show any of his normal fun loving personality.
Underneath the embroidered strip that says “Road Captain” is a patch with a cartoon crawfish with the phrase “Suck the head.” It’s an absolutely filthy play on his road name, Mudbug, and the common practice of sucking the juices from the head of boiled crawfish.
Butterflies dance in my stomach as I pull in a breath. “Welcome to Hickory Chickory Dock. Can I take your order?”
His dark eyebrows slant in a frown, and his eyes catch mine. “The usual,” he answers, his voice off.
The bell on the door clinks as the mayor walks out with his breakfast, leaving us alone.
With shaky hands, I reach for the cash, only for him to keep it between his fingers. His eyes scan around the room, then he stands on his toes to look behind the register. “Why are you nervous?” he demands.
Before I can lose the nerve, I choke out, “I’m ready for you to help me.”
His eyebrow quirks over the disposable cup. “What brought this on?”
“Every time I leave to see Darcy, I risk getting caught by my parents again. It’s time.”
“You’re clearing out now,” he tries to insist.
“No, I’m not. I’m waiting until the day of the wedding. If I leave any sooner, Mom will have the whole church out looking for me. It’s not worth ruining their ceremony just to leave three days earlier.”
“Your mother is going to be watching you like a hawk to make sure you don’t sneak off to the wedding,” Abram decides. “What if you can’t get out or she catches you?”
“She’s constantly going through my room, so I made a fake wedding invitation and left it for her to find.
On the fake date, she woke me up at five a.m and told me we were going on an overnight trip to visit friends.
I acted nervously and tried to refuse to go. She’s certain they’re already married.”
“Clever girl,” he says with a smirk. “There’s still a chance she’ll find out the real date from someone in town.”
“I’ve taken care of it.” After years of quiet rebellion, I’m a pro at this. Mom still hasn’t found my stash of non-modest clothes, and she’s clueless about how much time I spend with my sister and her family.
He wipes his mouth with the palm of his hand, then brushes it against the thick beard that needs a trim. “Lock up and leave. They can try to come to Bordelon Farms all they want, but it is impenetrable. We won’t even know they’re at the gates.”
“What about the cops?” I suggest softly, trying to reason with him. “Mom will report me missing even though she knows I ran away.”
He chokes out a laugh, “Believe me, the sheriff isn’t going to dare crash Odin’s wedding.”
“I’m worried about the men of the church, not just the police. It’s still a disruption, and it’s their day. I’m going to pretend everything is as planned. Darcy can find out when she gets back from her honeymoon.”
“Anything can go wrong in the meantime,” Abram insists.
“I’ll be careful.”
“Something happened at home?”
“Things aren’t working out in a way that I like.
It’s time to leave.” It’s not just leaving home that’s so important to me, it’s the Evangelical Christian world.
One I was never asked to join. It’s an expectation.
Frumpy denim skirts and long sleeve blouses, church three days a week.
I’m expected to marry soon, but Dad’s legal troubles have scared off any potential husbands.
No potential helpmate to control my every move and make important decisions without consulting me?
Tragic.
They call what I’m planning on doing backsliding.
That implies I’m returning to past bad habits.
But I was born into this world, and never given a choice.
How is it backsliding if you’ve never had a chance to make other choices?
The way I see it, I’m moving forward instead of what the preacher says I should be.
Marcus strolls in to pick up muffins for the B&B. I drag my eyes from Abram to Marcus, swiftly getting things together. Right before he leaves, two of Parran’s firemen come in.
Abram grows impatient as one customer after another enters the bakery. “When do things slow down?”
“In about two hours.”
“And you’ll still be working alone?” he confirms.
“Till four today.”
“Do not leave here without talking to me again, do you understand?” His voice is firm and commanding.
“Mom will be here at three fifty-five. She picks me up now.”
“What happened to your car?”
“I got caught visiting Darcy, and she sold it as punishment.”
His lips tighten. “I’ll have to go talk to Prez, but when I come back, we’ll get stuff sorted, okay?”
“He won’t tell Darcy, will he?”
“No, he won’t want her worried either. He’s been a little overprotective lately.”
That’s putting it lightly. The man thinks my sister walks on water. Darcy said she got the tiniest of baby bumps, and the man started acting like she was spun glass.
A few hours later, Abram comes back with a man I recognize from visiting Darcy, Folgers.
They sat at one of the tables pretending to eat a leisurely breakfast while they gave me careful instructions on what to do and not do over the next seventy-two hours.
They were so patient with me as we went over things again and again until I could recite each step.
As amazing as they are, they’re also straight up.
“Can you get your birth certificate and Social Security Card?”
“Packing clothes is too big a giveaway. They can be replaced, time before they realize you’re gone can not.”
“Don’t empty your checking account. It’ll be a huge red flag. She’ll move you before we can get you out.”
“You need to make sure you want this because Prez won’t let you go back and forth.”
The last was Folgers, which earned him a deathly glare from Abram.
I heed every warning, take mental notes, and ask questions. The thing that sticks with me the most, though, is that when Abram goes to leave, he turns his hazel eyes to me in warning,“If you chicken out, I’m coming in for you.”
My heart’s beating rapidly in my chest, palms sweating as I race around the room. My stomach churns as I try to remember all the things Abram and Folgers told me to do. Hair tied back, I change from sandals into tennis shoes. The phone Folgers slipped me vibrates in my hand as I power it on.
I risk packing my flannel nightshirt. I need something familiar to me tonight. Mom won’t even notice it gone.
I peek out the bedroom window to see if the coast is clear, but some of Mom’s friends are in the driveway, saying their long goodbyes.
Fudge!
I reach for the burner phone and type a message.
Delia
I’m stuck
Abram
I can see the driveway from where I’m at. Stay put, and I’ll tell you when to leave.
Delia
I’m already late.
Abram
I already updated Darcy. They’ll hold things back if they have to.
Delia
I’m scared.
Abram
I got you
Delia
What if Mom catches me before I leave?
Abram
Then I'll come to get you. Wait five more minutes, then remember not to run. Pull the hoodie down so they can’t see who it is.
It feels different when I leave through my bedroom window this time. I don’t bother taking the time to replace the window screen. She’ll know I’m gone soon enough.
He’s waiting in the same spot as last time, his motorcycle hidden behind the fence of the gas station two doors down.
Abram’s waiting for me, legs spread, the tattoos on his forearms perfectly displayed by his crossed arms. He smiles welcomingly when he sees me, then brushes his hands through his shoulder-length hair, the waves settling into a style too perfect for a hairdresser to accomplish. “What are you wearing?” he asks.
I look down. With a frustrated huff, I admit, “I forgot to put on jeans. It’s okay. I can just hike it up to ride.”
His forehead scrunches into anger, “So anyone can see up your skirt? No.” He’s already reaching into his saddlebags and throws me a pair of men's knit shorts with a drawstring. “Put these on.”
“What is this?”
“Fresh gym clothes.”
“How do I always end up in your clothing?”
“We’re burning daylight.”
“They’re huge,” I argue.
“Put them on, or we don’t go,” he insists. “My bike, my rules. Did you remember everything else?”
I nod in agreement. Taking a steadying breath, I try not to feel guilty for not remembering one of the things they drilled into me.
I slip the shorts under my ankle-length skirt and yank down the outer layer.
I toss the heavy fabric into my bag. Not that I’ll ever wear it again. Ankle-length skirts make me feel yoked.
“Can we please hurry? I still have to change into my bridesmaid dress.”
He hands me a helmet, the one he bought just for when he brings me to see Darcy. Even when I had a car, I couldn’t drive it to visit Darcy. It’s too visible. With gentle fingers, it snaps closed under my chin. “Make sure you hold on, okay?”
“I’ve got it.”
We ride in silence, the wind making conversation impossible. My chest feels tight the entire drive. It’s not until we drive through the gates to Dane’s family’s farm that I can breathe again. I’m free.
He pulls up to the porch and helps me untangle the helmet straps from my glasses. There’s something weird in his expression when he says, “Welcome to the family.”
He thunders down the road between the main house and the foreman’s house to prepare for the ceremony.
And then I turn to walk into the farmhouse, my first steps in my new found freedom.