Page 50 of Petty's Crime

That is, if I knew, which was the real Petty.

Mom’s in her element as he examines page after page of photos, and he shows interest in my childhood, my friends, and the cousins that came to play. He grins and laughs at some of the related antics we got up to.

After he closes the final album, he smooths his hand over the cover before handing it back. His brow is creased as though he’s thoughtful, and he watches as Mom returns the albums to their home in the cupboard.

“What was your childhood like, Clark?” Mom asks.

Clark’s arm is still around my shoulders and I feel his hand clench slightly. I start wondering about the wisdom of Mom asking that question and whether I should deflect her onto something else when he starts to speak.

“My dad died when I was four. He was in the Army and, well, an IED took him out. It was shortly after my sister, Leila, was born.”

Mom’s eyes glisten in sympathy. “That must have been hard.”

Petty shrugs. “I grew up being the man of the house. I always had the memory of my dad as a hero, so I signed up when I was eighteen and followed his footsteps. Then I saw too many good men die for a cause we didn’t really believe in, so I did my time and got out.”

“Your mom and sister still around?” I ask, suddenly curious about the people who made Petty into whoever the fuck he is. I’m still trying to work out if the real man is sitting beside me, or whether the true version is the one I knew in Vegas.

“Mom got hit by a car when I was overseas, a few years into my stint.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Mom looks like she wants to give him a hug herself. “What about your sister? I suppose you were close.”

“Close?” Petty raises and lowers his shoulders again. Then he grins. “She was a pain in my fuckin’ ass. Always pushing boundaries and getting away with things as she was a sweet little girl. She’s doing fine by all accounts, married a good man. But I haven’t seen or had contact with her for a few years now.”

I nudge him. “So what were you like as a big brother?”

His eyes meet mine. “Protective and watching out for her, whether she wanted me to or not. And believe me, there were a good few times she wished I’d stayed out of her business. But I was the man of the house, and my dad had told me I had to watch out for her.” He chuckles softly. “Not an easy job when she tried to run with the wrong crowd, but she’s moved on now, thank God.”

Protective and interfering. Yes, I can imagine that.

“I’m sorry you lost your parents,” Mom says, giving a pointed look toward Dad. “But we’d be happy to adopt you.”

“Mom!” I sit forward sharply, worried that this is a step too far and that they’re taking our pretend relationship far too seriously. I’m also concerned that when I announce Petty and I have broken up that they’ll be devastated at losing him as a potential son-in-law. But there’s a part of me that’s impressed he’s made such an impression on them.

As for the man himself, what does he do? Well, he sits back and barks a hearty laugh.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

Petty

They want to adopt me?Both her words and the serious manner of Martina’s delivery startle stunned laughter out of me.

I like this family of RoseLyn’s. I like them a lot. They’re unpretentious and accepting. I’d given them the Cliff’s notes version of my family history, and left out the bits that wouldn’t impress them quite so much, such as how Leila had become a spoiled brat once my dad was gone. Both Mom and I had doted on her, and she’d ended up getting everything she wanted. Of course, what she wanted didn’t include a big brother who was always watching out for her, interfering, as she put it, in her life. She’d pushed at the boundaries I felt quite right to set, being as I was older. Oh, the fights we’d had, with her always pushing me to the limits. But never once had I forgotten what my daddy had said,boys don’t hit girls.

That she’d turned out okay in the end I’d taken some credit for, though she hadn’t seen it that way. Mom had been the glue that had held the family together, and once she’d gone, Leila and I had only made perfunctory efforts to stay in touch.

“I’m sorry about your mom and your dad,” RoseLyn says softly. When I glance at her, eyes full of compassion are staring into mine.

“Dad died so long ago I barely remember him,” I tell her. At times I think I only recall the promise I made him, and my vow never to break it. “And likewise, Mom went many years back.”

“Still, it must be hard to lose them.”

Petty, the hardened biker, would shrug her concern off, but the man I’ve allowed myself to be in Texas squeezes her hand instead.

Her mom seems to realise the conversation has turned maudlin, so breezily changes the subject. She waves her hand toward the cupboard that now houses the photograph albums she’d so recently put away. “I enjoyed that trip down memory lane.” She reaches forward and touches her daughter’s knee briefly. “But I’m pleased I’ve got the real live version here in front of me. It’s so good to see you, RoseLyn.”

Rufus snorts. “You get those albums out at a drop of a hat, Martina. You showed them to the new pastor a couple of months back.”

Roselyn laughs. “A new pastor wanted to see all the old photos? What made you torture him, Mom?”

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