Beard Science (Winston Brothers Book 3) (18 page)

With that, Cletus steered us out of the office and left his brother to stew.

“But we insist, every morning, on showing only the rose that blooms, and keep the thorny stem that hurts us and makes us bleed hidden within.”

― Paulo Coelho,
Adultery

~Jennifer~

Cletus and I
spent a long twenty minutes in complete silence.

We left the auto shop in my car, but he drove. He drove north on the Parkway for about fifteen minutes. The autumn colors streaked by in a blur of yellows, oranges, and stubborn greens against a crisp blue sky. Less often, I’d spot a sourwood with leaves that appeared purple.

They weren’t purple; they were burgundy. But few people took the time to really look, so the leaves were called violet and that was that.

Eventually, he took an unmarked turnoff and another five minutes passed. At first, I was quiet because he was quiet, and the events of the late afternoon deserved contemplation. But after contemplating and finding all my conclusions reached nonsensical dead-ends, I broke the silence.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

His eyes cut to mine, then moved back to the road. He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “There’s this spot up here I want to investigate.”

“Oh. What kind of spot?”

“A stream. Jethro told me about it. It’s a short hike, but since you’re in sneakers I thought we’d check it out.”

“Sounds good.” Despite feeling excited, I arranged my features into a mask of polite interest. My brother and I used to go hiking when we were kids, but I hadn’t been hiking in years.

“Afterward I’ll take you home,” he said, though it sounded like he was talking to himself.

“How will you get home?” I asked just as the small paved road became a gravel one.

“I have my ways,” he said.

Cletus’s middle name wasn’t “Evasive”, but it should have been.

Another few hundred feet and Cletus pulled us to one side and parked.

“Do you have any room over there? Can you climb out this side?” He eyeballed the foliage pressed against my window.

“Yeah, I can climb out the driver’s side.”

I made quick work of it, glad I was in my sneakers and jeans so I didn’t have to worry about inadvertently flashing him.

Once we were both out of the car and he’d locked it, Cletus pointed to a trailhead some thirty feet away. “It’s just there. I’ll go in first. Jethro said the ground can be uneven.”

“I see it. That’s fine.”

I walked alongside him, turning once to look back at my car and our hands bumped. I jerked mine away instinctively, earning me a frowning side-eye from Cletus.

“Are you sure you want to come along? I can come back later on my own.”

“No. I want to come. I like to hike.”

“Really? You go hiking often? It wasn’t on your list.”

“I haven’t gone in a while, but Isaac and I used to go all the time.” I tucked several strands of hair behind my ear; the bundle had been coming lose from my ponytail all day but I’d been too busy to pull out the hairband and twist it back up.

“That sounds like a good memory.”

“It is. We used to go every weekend for a few years. We’d do geocaching, where you use the GPS and write your name down on a list, or swap a trinket.” I nodded distractedly, a sudden melancholy squeezing my chest. Isaac had returned, but he hadn’t returned to me.

“When did you stop? When he left for the army?”

“No. Before that. My feet grew too big for hiking boots and my momma never replaced them.”

Cletus nodded but said nothing, frowning absentmindedly.

I should buy some hiking boots.

I wanted to, but my cash reserves were running low after my last shopping spree. I hesitated asking my momma for money. Things were strained between us recently and she’d taken to giving me the silent treatment most of the time.

Or you could, you know, demand that she pay you for working eighty-hour weeks
.

My pen pal’s advice, about formalizing my employment with the bakery, was making more and more sense. I was seriously growing to resent having to ask for money I’d technically earned.

What twenty-two-year-old had to ask their mother for money? Yet worked full-time . . .

At the entrance to the trailhead, Cletus turned in first. It was too narrow to walk side by side. Jethro had been right, the ground was uneven and the path wasn’t well marked. But Cletus seemed to know how to read the way. I followed and relied on tree trunks to keep my balance as the ground shifted.

We were about fifty feet along the trail when I took a moment to appreciate the beauty around me. Light was different in the forest, beneath the canopy. And the autumn foliage created a different light than the summer forest. It was both dimmer and brighter, which made no sense. Dimmer due to the absence of indirect sunlight; but brighter because the sun’s rays were diffused by the golden colors of fall.

Perhaps
softer
was the right word.

The light of the surrounding forest was softer. I felt as though the air itself was alive and I was displacing its vibrancy as I moved. A collection of faint sounds, both near and far, heightened this impression: the crunch of leaves beneath our shoes, a conversation between two sparrows, the percussion of a woodpecker, the low rustle of wind through trees, and eventually, the gentle rushing of an unseen water source.

“Did you go on a date with Jackson?” Cletus asked suddenly, his voice sounded carefully light.

I studied his back, his big shoulders. My eyes followed the line of his back. He had a nice back.

“No. I . . . I put him off. I still haven’t made up my mind.”

“What’s holding you back? Is it still your concern about baking with a partner?”

The side of my mouth lifted. “Yes, to be honest. That’s definitely part of it and that part concerns me. And by the way, you never sent me Claire’s information.”

“Ah, yes. Well you’ll see her Saturday. You can talk to her then.”

“Saturday?”

“Yep. When you come to the talent show and watch me play the banjo.”

I thought I detected a hint of vulnerability in his tone, but when he remained quiet I decided it must’ve been my imagination.

“Um, I’d really like to go, but I don’t think my father will allow it.” I attempted to disguise my sadness with pragmatism. I didn’t want to admit that I’d been considering sneaking out my window for the occasion.

. . .
but I shouldn’t have to sneak out my window
. I should be able to go where I wanted, when I wanted. A tower of resentment was building around my heart; every day I felt myself growing less and less concerned about what would make my parents happy.

Cletus was quiet for a bit before asking, “What if Billy came? What if y’all had another fake date?”

“Then my father would be thrilled,” I answered flatly.

“Why does your father like him so much? Watch your step. The path looks wider past here.” Cletus turned and grabbed my hand, helping me down a steep drop, then tangled our fingers together. “Don’t misunderstand me, I think Billy is the best sort. But I know I’m biased because he’s my brother and he’s always been a steady source of support. I’d like to understand your father’s preoccupation with him, though. You know,” his eyes darted to mine, then away, “so I can help you find someone similar. For the husband search. That’s why.”

“My father has been bringing Billy up since I was little.” I tried my best to sound normal, because Cletus kept possession of my hand, presumably because the ground was now loose rocks instead of firm dirt. “I mean, he was the star quarterback in high school. When he turned down that football scholarship to UT and disappeared for a few months, I think he shocked everyone. My father was so disappointed.”

“He had his reasons.” Cletus’s voice was defensive, but also distant with a memory.

“I’m sure he did. More recently, my father has been impressed with how Billy basically started at the bottom of Payton Mills and has worked himself up to South East Region Vice President.”

Cletus frowned. “Is that his title?”

“My father thinks so. And he’s certain Billy wants to run for state senate. Both my parents like the idea of having a son-in-law in politics. I think that’s why they like Jackson so much. I know he has plans to run for office.”

“Jackson would make a great politician.”

“I thought you didn’t like Jackson?”

“I don’t. Saying someone would make a great politician is like saying someone would make a great serial killer. It’s not a compliment.”

I tried not to laugh, but a frustrated chuckle escaped anyway. “What about your grandfather? Your grandfather Oliver was in politics, right? I think my grandfather Donner and your grandfather Oliver were friends.”

“Right.” Cletus chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes on the rocky trail, but also hazy with thought. “Is that what you want? A husband in politics?”

I shrugged. “I don’t care what he does, as long as he’s nice to me and wants a houseful of children.”

“Why do you like kids so much?” He switched his hold on my hand, pressing our palms more completely together as he unnecessarily helped me jump a gap in the trail.

“Are you kidding? Kids are the best. Kids are free of prejudice, and they want to have fun all the time. They want to play all the time. And they’re like sponges with knowledge. Eager to learn. How many adults do you know who are eager to learn?”

“Not many,” he admitted on a mumble.

“And babies. I love babies. I love cuddling them and holding them and just everything.”

“I like babies, too.” Cletus gave me an artless smile and we were quiet for a moment after, likely both thinking about the wondrousness of babies.

I decided nothing was better than babies.
Except for maybe Cletus holding a baby.

I grinned at this thought, of seeing Cletus with a baby, kissing its belly and making it giggle, but then quickly suppressed the smile. Cletus was now frowning and had brought us to a stop.

Two lines of concentration appeared between his eyebrows and he released my fingers, his throat working to swallow. “Are you sure about babies?” His voice was pitched oddly, gruff and soft at the same time. “What if you had a chance to go to college instead? Become a—oh I don’t know—a chemist?”

I smirked at this idea, of me going to college, at twenty-two, and working in a lab, and placed my hands on my hips. “No. I don’t think I’d like that. Working in a lab is the same thing as working in a sterile kitchen, and I do that already. I don’t want to be a chemist.”

“What do you want to be?”

“A mother,” I said simply, because it was true. That’s what I wanted first and foremost. “And a really excellent wife and partner. And homemaker. I want to have a family to take care of, to love and fuss over and think about. That’s what I want. I know it’s not progressive, or flashy, and I know people don’t place much importance on that stuff anymore, just like people don’t put much importance on humility and kindness, forgiveness and compassion. But those things are important to me. I know people will look down their noses at me for being
just
a mom, but I’m used to being marginalized for what I do and what I look like. And I think being a great mother is the most difficult and most important job in the world. So people can just take their judgmental crap and—” I swallowed, stopping myself. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and my voice had lifted considerably. I was surprised by both my soapbox speech and the vehemence of feeling behind it.

After I stopped yelling I was surprised by how quiet the forest sounded in comparison to my tirade. The sparrows had ceased conversing, likely put out by my hollering.

“They can just what?” Cletus prompted, amused curiosity making his eyes bright, though he was trying to hide the amusement.

“They can help themselves to a piece of castor oil cake,” I grumbled, squinting at uneven path.

He laughed at that. So I laughed, shaking my head. I liked laughing with Cletus.

“I guess you feel pretty passionate about this, huh?”

“I do.” I lifted my chin.

Cletus stared thoughtfully at my upturned face for a moment before saying, “Do you realize how talented you are? Do you have any idea?”

“Thank you for saying so.” I pressed my lips together, administering the response I always recited when someone complimented me.

“I don’t think you do know.” He shook his head, his gaze scrutinizing. “It’s not just your baking. The way you handled that kitchen when I stopped by, all those people asking questions at the same time. You were the calm center of the storm. You were impressive. You
are
impressive.”

I gave him a half smile, swallowing a knot in my throat and endeavoring to suppress my absurd blush. I didn’t know what to say. Compliments in general made me uncomfortable, but compliments about something other than my baking prowess left me feeling like a long-tailed cat on a porch full of rocking chairs.

My father frequently reminded me that pride was a sin. Meanwhile, my mother told me people were jealous of me, what I looked like, of my social media celebrity. I didn’t believe my mother. I didn’t think anyone was jealous of me. That was just nonsense.