“Disrespectful and cursing out your mother in front of my old friend,” she says, sounding like I just killed Hamburger—her pet cow.
I rub the back of my neck in agitation. Coming here was a mistake. I knew it from the moment I got in my truck. Still, I had no idea how big of a mistake it was. I sure as hell didn’t expect my mother to be here.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.” Mom sniffs at me, which is her code for stick your apology up your ass. I decide to divert my attention elsewhere, to try and at least make myself look like less of an ass. “Morning, Miss Leddie. You’re looking better.” I tip my hat, looking at Meadow’s mother. I’m not lying. She looks much better. Having her daughter back has been good for her.
That makes one of us.
“Morning, Blue. Thank you. My Meddie takes care of me for sure,” she says. I nod, smiling at the nickname most everyone uses. It rhymes with her mother’s, and they tagged it on to Meadow rather early. It’s all I ever heard her referred to. It never fit her—at least in my opinion.
“I’m sorry for my language. I hope you’ll forgive me,” I add. Mom sniffs again, although this one seems a little less hateful.
“All forgiven. Herman used to curse like a sailor—may his soul rot in hell. I was sure Meddie’s first words would get me kicked out of church.”
I hide my smile. Herman, Meadow’s father, left Miss Leddie and Meadow around the time the two of us were in the third grade. When he deserted them, it nearly destroyed both of them. They never heard from him again. Miss Leddie read his obituary in the Dallas paper. Apparently, he’d lived there—that close for years and never thought to see his daughter or wife again. The day Meadow found out she ran all the way to the house and the only person that could get her to calm down was Jansen. She cried for hours. If her father hadn’t been dead, I would have killed him—even if I was just a kid.
“Did they?” I ask, pulling my mind away from the past.
“No, but later on she came really close. Herman hated listening to the assistant pastor at the time—Pastor Bolen. He always said he hated to see the man get up. He complained all the way to church one day. I warned him to hush. He didn’t listen,” she says, clicking her tongue.
“What happened?” I find myself asking.
“Well, sure enough, Pastor Bolen was the one to get up when we got to church. The entire church was quiet. When he got up, Meddie began yelling, “Look Daddy! It’s that damn Pastor Bolen! He’s dry as dust ain’t he, Daddy?”
“Hah! I remember that. I bought the child ice cream. Best laugh I’d had in forever,” Mom says.
“It was embarrassing,” Leddie argues.
I just smile because I don’t remember that day in church, but I do remember ice cream with Meddie. It was the first time I ever met her. I thought she was beautiful. I might have been too young to remember a lot—but damn, I remember that.
“Nonsense. No truer words have probably been spoken before or since in that church, Leddie,” Mom laughs.
“Speaking of Meadow, where is she?” I finally ask. “I thought she was the one who ran the shelter?”
“She’s sick,” Mom responds, studying me.
“Sick?”
“A stomach bug,” Leddie supplies. “Ida Sue and I are letting her rest until Adam gets home.”
“She should go to the doctor,” I grumble, not liking the worry I feel settling inside of me. Damn it, why can’t I get free of her?
I refuse to hear the small voice inside of me that says maybe I don’t want to….
“Nah, she went out with Parker over the weekend, and he was sick this morning, too,” Mom says, not looking up from picking up all the shit the dogs knocked off the counter when she was disturbing their fucking.
“She still going out with Parker?” I ask, hoping I sound bored.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t she? No one else has found his balls and came knocking on her door,” Mom says, her voice deceptively mild.
“Mom, don’t start,” I growl.
“I didn’t name you specifically, but if the shoe fits, Blue Moon Lucas, then you should man up and wear it.”
“There’s no shoe and that makes twice in the space of minutes you’ve used my name that you know I hate. Stop it.”
“What name?” Meadow asks, coming into the shelter.
Immediately the air around me gets thicker—harder to draw into my lungs. The tension around us is always so damn thick. I turn to look at her and shit… she is sick.
She’s pale as a ghost, and there are circles under her eyes.
“You should be in bed.”
Even as I hear my own voice, I’m surprised at how hateful I sound. I never mean to come off that way—well, most of the time I don’t—it’s just something that always happens with Meadow. It’s like a natural, knee-jerk reaction that springs forth. Hell, maybe it’s a defense mechanism.