Southern Storm (Southern 3)

“Did you see anything?” I ask. His front door squeaks open, and I see his wife coming out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Afternoon, Shirley.”

“Afternoon.” She smiles. “Would you like some tea?” she asks. I smile at her and shake my head.

“I was just asking Harold if he saw anything out of the ordinary today?” I ask, and she just looks at me. “Someone threw a brick through Savannah’s windows.”

“We didn’t see anything,” she says. “Maybe if she wasn’t so free with herself, these things wouldn’t happen. She has a child, and it’s not healthy to parade all these men in front of him. Different car in her driveway every other week. It’s no wonder that this happened to her.” My stomach sinks, and I have to walk away before I say something rude. “If you ask me, Jacob should just take her child away and be done with it. She is more and more like her mother.”

“Shirley,” Harold says, and she just shrugs.

“We both know that no men are paraded in front of Ethan,” I say, making both of them look at me. “We also both know that the only people who come over to her house with Ethan there is Jacob and me.” I don’t give them a chance to say anything. “You have a daughter. You wouldn’t want anyone to—”

“We raised our daughter better than that,” Shirley cuts me off. “Now if that is all, I’ll get back to my baking. You have a wonderful day, Mr. Mayor.” She turns and walks back into the house. Harold puts his cigar back into his mouth, and I know this conversation is over. I turn and walk back to Savannah’s house, and the whole time my blood boils. I make it up one step, and the door opens, and she comes out with a small bag in her hand.

“What were you doing over there?” She looks at me and then over at Harold.

“I was asking them if they saw anything,” I say, and she laughs.

“Last week, Shirley accused me of ruining the ozone layer with my truck.” She shakes her head, walking down the steps. “The whole ozone layer is my fault because I have a truck.” She stops in front of me. “Forget about the fact that they have a nineteen seventy Cadillac that sucks more gas than my truck.”

“I didn’t know …” I start to say, my voice low. “How much you put up with.”

She shrugs now, and when I look at her, I see that her shield is up, and her eyes are void of emotion. It’s like she locked it down and only opens it when she’s alone. “It is what it is. There is nothing I can say to change anyone’s mind.”

“But you aren’t that person,” I say, walking to the truck. “You aren’t the person who people think you are.”

She opens the back door to the truck and puts her bag in there. “I’ve never been the person who people think I am. Even before Ethan, I was labeled when I was fucking twelve and I got breasts. People assumed I would be like my mother. Flirt and sleep her way through the town. It didn’t help that I got pregnant and stuck around.” She closes the door now. “I can’t do anything to change anyone’s perception of me, so as long as they are polite to Ethan and he’s treated with kindness, I pick my battles.”

I think of her selflessness. I think about how it would feel to know that you aren’t wanted yet stay nonetheless. I think about the hurt she must feel, and I feel like a huge dick for not seeing it beforehand. “Has anyone ever told you how amazing you are?” I say, walking to her and standing in front of her. “Has anyone ever told you that?” My hand cups her cheek, and my thumb moves back and forth. “That you’re pretty amazing.”

She looks down now, and I can see that she’s embarrassed by this and not used to it. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she says. Her stomach grumbles, and she laughs.

“When was the last time you ate?” I ask, and she shrugs.

“Two days ago,” she mumbles and then turns around to the driver’s side of her truck. “It’ll be fine.”

“Two days ago?” I shout. “Two days ago?” I repeat, and she gets up and into her truck. “You go to my house,” I say through the open window on the passenger side. I reach in my pocket and hand her my key to the house. “I’m going to the diner and pick up food,” I say, and she leans over and grabs the key.

“What if one of your women shows up?” she asks, and I just glare at her.

“I don’t have women, and that was the first time anyone has stepped foot into my house.” She raises her eyebrows. “Not counting you.”