Page 37 of Riding the Line
He rubs a hand over his head, and I can’t stop my eyes from flicking to his stretched triceps, following the shift of muscle as discreetly as I can.
‘But I usually pick up my grandmother from church on a Sunday, then go to hers for lunch before opening the bar and wondered if you – you obviously don’t have to – but maybe you might want to join? Might help to keep your mind off things.’ Duke flashes me a soft smile, dark eyes searching mine. ‘You do owe me a small moment for the speed dating still. But only if you want to.’
The rational part of me says I should go home. I’m likely running on a high despite how well I think I slept in Duke’s embrace, and the exhaustion will hit me later. Yet, I also know if I go home, I’ll end up sitting in my room, playing last night over and over in my head. So, would it really hurt to spend longer with Duke?
The person who wouldn’t think twice about changing his plans to drive over an hour to come to pick me up without knowing the reason, talk me to sleep to help keep any nightmares at bay, and then cook me a huge breakfast the next morning.
The person who would do anything for me, it seems.
Smiling silly, I settle my cutlery down and flash my grin at Duke, immediately receiving a heart-warming, beaming smile back – the kind that sparks in his eyes too. ‘I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my day.’
18
Duke
‘Gram, you can’t put that word down!’ I sputter with disbelief as I watch my eighty-year-old grandmother place her Scrabble tiles to spell outdicking.Cherry chokes on the sweet tea she’s sipping.
‘Why not?’ My grandmother furrows her brow, then tuts at me. Her dark-grey curls hang in a loose bun while her gold-rimmed glasses sit perched on the end of her nose. ‘Don’t you try cheating now, Junior. Just because you’re losing, and I’ve bagged myself forty-five points with a triple word score.’
‘Yeah,Junior,’ Cherry adds on with animated, glistening eyes now she’s recovered from almost choking to death. I guess her using my grandmother’s nickname for me – the main way Gram was able to distinguish who out of me and my grandfather she was telling off – is payback for all the years I’ve been calling CherryBaby Hensley. ‘Don’t be a sore loser.’
I press my tongue to my cheek as I fiddle with the crossdangling from the chain around my neck – the one my grandmother got me years ago and I always don whenever I pick her up from church. Being ganged up on by Cherry and my grandmother was not what I had planned for today. ‘I’m just not sure that’s really an appropriate word for Scrabble.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’ My grandmother exudes too much innocence as she picks her new tiles out of the bag. A painting of Jesus sits on the faded floral wall behind her. ‘Isn’t that what you kids get up to these days? A good dicking?’
‘Gram, I swear to God.’ I wipe a hand over my face.
Cherry cowers behind her glass of sweet tea, covering her mouth as she tries to stifle her laugh. Even if I am completely mortified at the number of times my grandmother has said the worddicking, it’s worth it to see Cherry smile so much after everything that’s happened to her in the last twenty-four hours. Plus, the adorable little skip she did when I dropped her home to change before we came over to my grandmother’s was enough evidence that I’m keeping her mind out of the shadows for now. Though, I’m not sure how many more skin-crawling minutes of my grandmother misusing all kinds of rude words I can take.
Gram waves me off before organising her new letters on her rack. ‘That’s what Waylon always says when the fair is town – full of damn kids having a good dicking about.’
‘Ah.’ Cherry rolls her lips, barely managing to contain her grin. ‘I think agood dickinganddicking aboutare slightly different things, Mary.’
And if this wasn’t torture before, hearing that from Cherry’s lips has now made it ten times worse. I pull at the neck of my T-shirt, its tightness suddenly imposing.
‘Well,’ Gram just shakes her head, ‘whatever they mean, I hope you’re doing both, Cherry. I sure did when I was your age.’ She nudges Cherry with her elbow.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I throw my head back against the armchair and groan. Here I thought this would be a calm day for Cherry, but now my grandmother’s telling her she should be sleeping around. I don’t need her being encouraged anymore to finish off that second half of her bucket list.
‘Don’t be such a prude, Junior – and mind your language. You won’t make me any grandbabies that way.’ She shoots me a look, wrinkles deepening around her frown, while I pray for the ground to swallow me up. ‘It’s your turn, Cherry.’
Cherry’s still biting her lip when she glances at me. Hesitantly, she runs her slender fingers along her tiles, red nails clicking against them as her eyes dart around the board. Her tongue slides along her bottom lip when she finally releases it from the grip of her teeth, and then she picks up three tiles and props them on the board. It takes me a second to pull my attention from her and realise she’s spelled out the wordcock, using thekfrom my grandmother’s previous word.
‘You’re a bad influence,’ I remark, raising a brow at Cherry.
She widens her eyes with feigned innocence, even going so far as to press a hand to her chest with bewilderment. ‘It’s what you call a male chicken, isn’t it? Now who’sgot their head in the gutter, hey?’ Cherry jests. ‘This is a family game,Junior.’
There’s a flash of challenge in her eyes, one that makes me grateful my grandmother’s here, otherwise I’m not sure I’d be able to stop myself from trying to shut Cherry up with my mouth. Whatever happened last night left my self-control when it comes to Cherry as frayed as the rips in her jeans.
Once we’ve finished our game of Scrabble – and my grandmother inevitably wins – we help put together some lunch and eat outside on the back deck, buttery sunlight warming us the whole time. Conversation flows easily, reminding me of all the Thanksgivings and Christmases we’ve spent with the Hensleys – how they’d always invite us as an extension of their own family. Though, today Cherry’s on a mission when it comes to discovering everything she can about my childhood, as opposed to making polite small talk like usual.
Like she got a taste of the true me last night and needs more.
Knowing how naturally Cherry can slot into this part of my life has my heart prancing. I have to rub a hand over my sternum to try to calm it. I know that every day I get with her, helping with this goddamn bucket list, is just borrowed time before she leaves. But even if it’s only a month and a half, I’ll do what I can to give her the joy and safety she had snatched away from her last night. I’ll weather whatever storm comes her way, no matter how thunderous, if it means keeping her dry and warm.Safe.
We settle ourselves back inside on the couch withglasses of sweet tea once we’ve finished clearing up lunch. The quiet hum of the radio filters through the room, while golden rays of sunshine cut across the space, sparkling against Cherry’s hair. The memory of her hair, so soft and satin-like beneath my lips, has my fingers itching for another feel.
‘Oh, Junior,’ my grandmother suddenly pipes up. ‘Put that nice one on from the other day, won’t you?’
