Page 11 of Moonshine Kiss
Yanking on a pair of running shorts and a sports bra, I decided to jog over to Gibson’s. Being a criminal justice major, I was starting to realize that there was something to be said for keeping my body in shape. I didn’t want to be wheezing asthmatically after a perp…or a neighbor if I got my wish and got hired on here in Bootleg.
I was tugging a tank top over my bra on the way downstairs when I ran into my mom.
“Cassidy Ann Tucker, what in the hell happened to your face?”
My mother paused her descent in her blue-checkered pajama top. My dad wore the bottoms. While I made a show of pretending to barf over the grossness of it, I’d always secretly hoped that someday Bowie and I would be sharing a pair of pajamas.
Mom’s hand was cool on my cheek, but her green eyes flashed. Someone had messed with her little, almost-adult girl and she didn’t like it.
I may not be the adult I wanted to be, but I could lie better than my teenage self.
“Juney and I were walking home last night, and damn if I didn’t run face-first into a tree branch hanging out over the sidewalk. Does it look bad?”
Just because I was a better liar than I used to be didn’t mean my mom was dumber than she used to be. “I already heard about Bowie and that summertimer,” she said, flicking my nose smartly.
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” I asked, exasperated. Nothing got by my mother. She may still look like the beauty queen she’d been as a teenager—Miss Olamette County 1980—but motherhood had honed her instincts to a needle point. Her hair was more blonde and less dirty than my own. She kept in shape with power walking and old Jane Fonda videos. She was the apple of my father’s eye and the heartbeat of our little family. She’d rip anyone who threatened any of us a brand-new asshole before church on Sunday.
“Maybe I wanted to make you squirm a bit. You’ll help me with your father later?”
No one crossed Nadine Tucker. Since I was busted, I was automatically pressed into service to aide my mother’s revenge plot on my father. Those were the fun kinds of family games we played.
“I guess,” I sighed.
“So?” Mom looked at me expectantly.
“So what?”
“What does this mean?” she asked, poking my bruise. “With Bowie?”
“I honestly don’t know, Mom. But I’m going to go get some answers now.”
My mom looked like she wanted to tell me something and then changed her mind.
“What?” I demanded as we plodded down the stairs together.
“Be careful okay?” she said, studying me as she pulled the coffee supplies out of the kitchen cabinet.
“Mom, it’s Bowie. What’s there to be careful about?”
My mother’s look spelled it out for me. There was no fooling her here either. But she was nice enough not to humiliate me by voicing the fact that I’d been in love with the man my entire life.
“Will you be back for breakfast?” she called after me as I headed toward the back door.
“I guess it depends.”
* * *
I hated running.I’d much rather work up a sweat in a boxing class or pedaling like demons were chasing me on a bike. But running the six blocks to Gibson Bodine’s apartment would give me a chance to shake out the jitters and get in a workout.
What if he told me he loved me?
What if he thought he was looking out for a friend?
What if I puked on his shoes and he never talked to me again?
The blocks blurred as my thoughts swirled. I almost tripped over Mona Lisa McNugget, the little free-range chick that had adopted Bootleg Springs proper as her backyard. I vaulted over the chicken, calling a quick apology over my shoulder and soldiered on.
Gibson was renting a two-bedroom shit hole over a retail space that changed hands every six months or so. It was currently a dingy card and knick-knacks store that was only patronized by summertimers.
