Page 116 of The Best Kind of Bad

“I see.” Julietta says. “We didn’t handle it well at the time. I don’t mind admitting that.”

Jim scoffs. “I beg to differ. We don’t know for a fact that the Novak girl’s baby belonged to Jerry. We didn’t want our boy getting saddled with baggage like that. No parent would.”

“Baggage?” My hackles go up. “You mean my mother?”

“She was a nice girl.” Julietta says. “But just about every girl in the county was after Jim. He was a popular boy.”

Jim barks a sharp laugh. “And those girls could smell money from a mile away.”

I frown. “Are you calling my mother a gold digger?”

Jim’s brows lower. “Now, calm down, honey. I didn’t say that.”

“No. You implied it.”

It’s obvious to me that Jim taught his son well. They’re a mean, skeptical bunch. Jim thought the worst of my mother. And now his son, Jerry, is thinking the worst of Dusty.

It seems cynicism runs in the family.

Julietta huffs. “See, Jim? This is why you ought to leave the talking to me. Jerry never told you any of this because you’re impossible to talk to.”

Jim crosses his arms. “I am not.”

Julietta looks at me. Her eyes are blue and just a touch rheumy. “We don’t believe in blaming the child for their parent’s sin. It’s always bothered me that your mother might have thought we wouldn’t have accepted that child, because we would have. Jerry and your mother made a mistake. They didn’t go about things the right way, but that baby would have been a Lind through and through. And our boy loved her. I’m not sure he ever got over Naomi. I think he always thought he’d get a second chance.”

Jim clicks his tongue. “But that girl tore out of town like she had the devil after her.”

Yeah. Devils and demons. But not the kind they mean. I can thank them for giving me the final piece of the puzzle. But for the way they treated my mom? If they’re looking for forgiveness, they’re shit out of luck.

“Julietta, it was nice to meet you, ma’am.” I glance at Jim, not bothering to include him. Because he’s about as pleasant as hernia. “If you’ll excuse me, though. I have a bit of business to finish up here for the Henrys.”

That’s a bald-faced lie. I just can’t stand another minute with the family that broke my mother’s heart.

76.

Dusty

We sit on the tailgate of my pickup truck, passing a bottle of bourbon back and forth. I watch her tip the bottle back against her soft lips and grin at her. “I thought you said you didn’t like bourbon.”

She gives me a reluctant smile. “It’s growing on me.”

“By the sip?”

She laughs. “Maybe.”

We sit and listen to the birdsong, clear and pretty, wafting through the breeze. From this spot, we can see the little pond at the base of Bo’s field. It’s adjacent to Marnie’s and pretty as a picture. So is she, wearing a classic black dress that’s way too fancy for the back of my old truck.

“Funerals are hard for me.” She has her face turned towards the sun. Her eyes are shut, letting the warm sunshine melt the melancholy away.

I glance down at the bottle and set it to the side. “Yeah. Me, too.”

She looks at me, letting out a shaky breath. “That was a rough one.”

I nod. “The worst kind.”

“Julietta and Jim Lind came over to talk to me.”

I grimace. “I saw that. Julietta used to teach Sunday school to Runner.”

---