Page 57 of Right Number, Wrong Man
I hold back a laugh. To a stranger who didn’t grow up around these two men and their rituals, the scene might look cold. But I don’t miss the twinkle of affection in their eyes and the trickle of warmth in their voices. It was the same every time Earl came back from a deployment.
I also don’t miss that Sara Jean’s smiles aren’t as bright as they were before Mike’s death or that Earl looks like he’s aged a decade since the funeral. But despite their grief, they’re trying to honor the memory of their son by living life to the fullest.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” I yell into the kitchen.
“Relax a little, honey. The food is almost ready,” Sara Jean shouts back.
While Colt hangs up his hat next to his dad’s, Earl gestures for me to walk into the dining room and I do. I smile as I look over the colorful plates hung up on the far wall. My gaze catches on my favorite, an oval plate with a scalloped edge and pale pink wildflowers on it. Sara Jean inherited it from her great grandmother, or so I was told.
My eyes prickle when I realize I know the storybehind every plate.
I know which one Earl’s mother gave Sara Jean for their wedding. It’s the one with the turkeys on it. I know which one Sara Jean bought when Colt was born. The one with the blue ribbons.
And I know I’ll never skip another monthly family dinner because my heart is so much lighter around these wonderful people. Itisa little strange to see the table decked for four people instead of five, though.
Earl pulls out a chair for me and when I sit, he pushes it in softly. If I looked up the definition of Southern gentleman in the dictionary, I’d find a picture of Earl Walker. Pity none of that rubbed off on ice king Colt.
“Thank you, Earl.”
“You’re welcome, darlin’.” He takes my glass, shaking up the ice and lemon slices inside before he pours sweet tea from a pitcher. “Want a lil kick in it?”
“You’re driving, right?” I ask, looking at Colt for confirmation.
Colt gives a nod, his stoic silence emphasized by the clattering of pots and plates from the kitchen. Since we arrived, he’s back to being the stuck-up, cold bastard I know. Our friendly conversation in the car feels like it never happened.
I turn to Earl. “Then yes, please! I could use a drink.”
From a wooden bar cart, Earl grabs a bottle of bourbon and generously tops off my sweet tea. Then he pours another two glasses of neat bourbon and offers one to Colt. “One won’t hurt ya.”
Colt takes it and the two men grumble appreciatively at each other. They have so much in common, it’s adorable.
“Are your folks still enjoyin’ Florida?” Earl asks me.
“For sure! They love the sunshine and they made lots of friends in their retirement community. Dad has taken up tai chi and Mom joined a gardening club.”
To show her neighbors how to grow the best weed, is the part I leave out.
Earl is a sweet man, but he’s also strait-laced as hell. I still get shivers remembering his temper when he first found out Mike was doing oxy in high school. Gun waving, he chased him out of the house. My parents let Mike stay in our guest room until he was clean—or claimed to be, at least.
Little did I know it would never last.
“Well, tell Linda and Tommy that we miss ‘em up here but we’re glad to hear they’re happy,” Earl continues. “And how’re you? I hope Colt is takin’ good care of you.”
“What?” I spit.
Colt tosses his bourbon back. Our gazes meet across the rim of his glass and my stomach jumps like I’m on a rollercoaster. He’s never looked at me like this, with such heat.
Earl scoffs and sits down next to Colt, swirling his drink as he speaks. “When you were kids, Sunridge Hollow was safe. Addicts and drug dealers didn’t murder people in cold blood. And now we’ve got a serial killer a stone’s throw away from the state line! Can’t say I’m happy Colt put the brakes on his career, but at least he can protect you while he’s here. Time’s almost up, though.” He claps a hand on Colt’s back.
Colt’s jaw twitches. I tense, too. Hopefully this won’t turn into another argument about the hardship discharge.
The topic has been a sore spot between them since Colt returned to town last Christmas. Sara Jean was the driving force behind getting Colt home for Mike’s sake, fearing his addiction was finally spiraling fully out of control. Even though Earl relented and eventually supported the decision, he made it abundantly clear he would’ve preferred if Colt put his career first.
Watching the two men glare at each other, I anxiously nurse my sweet tea. It’s delicious, ice cold, and the alcohol slightly helps to release the knots in my shoulders.
“I’m okay, Earl,” I speak up, trying to defuse the situation. “I don’t need anyone to protect me. You know I live across from theRetro Reeland I don’t really go out for fun after dark. I’m more of the couch potato type. So there’s no need to?—”
Colt slams his empty glass on the table, staring down his father. “Iamprotectin’ Hailey and I ain’t lettin’ anybody hurt her.” His voice is low and rough, almost a growl.
