Scratch the Surface

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s his parents. They don’t know we know each other.”

He was talking in circles and made zero sense. “Who’s Merrell?”

“He’s the newly elected mayor of Barrett Crossing. He gets to take charge in January, I think, but I don’t know the exact date.”

“I don’t––”

“This is a secret, but back when I was a freshman and he was a senior, he paid me to give him blowjobs.”

I could have lived my entire life without ever learning that tidbit of information. “And now he’s the mayor of your town?”

“Yep.”

“And he’s there with you now?”

“He was, but he went home to shower. And this is weird, but Kingman’s was sold. I guess the Bowens were in talks to sell it—the whole stretch of road—for a long time. You and the others coming by the other day, that lit a fire under his ass, and he pulled the trigger on the deal. Crazy, right?”

I wanted to be there with him at the hospital holding his hand, and mostly I wanted to tell Merrell whoever that he could stay home because I would take care of Jeremiah Wolfe. I could feel the panic starting to settle in and—wait. “Lit a fire under whose ass?”

“Merrell’s.”

“I––”

“It’s weird not getting ready to go to work, but I guess I’ll have to get used to it until I find another job. I have to move too.”

I needed a second to process. “Why do you need to find another job?”

“Because the restaurant was sold. Didn’t I say it was? I thought I did.”

“You did.” So Merrell bought Kingman’s. The guy who Jeremiah had given blowjobs to when he was a minor had bought the restaurant and the five miles of road it sat on, which was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a small purchase. “And Merrell doesn’t want to employ you?” Merrell was a hypocrite. Jeremiah was good enough to have sex with but not good enough to work for him. My entire body bristled with a slow-boiling anger.

“No, he does. He wants me, but it’s not right.”

“Why isn’t it right?” I was missing something.

“Because it’s Merrell.”

“I don’t understand.” He was making no sense.

“Merrell Barrett, as in Barrett Crossing, the new mayor, his family owns everything, and now they own Kingman’s too, and I guess they’re gonna build up downtown, which is great for the community, but I refuse to work for him.”

“Are you telling me this Merrell who bought the restaurant and is the mayor-elect, the town is named after his family?”

He made a sound, a murmur of agreement.

“And he used to pay you to have sex with him when the two of you were in high school, and he’s coming back after he showers.”

“Uh-huh.”

I needed to be there now. “Why don’t you want to work for him at the restaurant?”

“They don’t have a spot for me. Except they kinda do, ’cause Mer said I could be general manager, but that’s not fair. My heart wouldn’t be in it, and they need someone who’s gonna do it all the way and not half-ass it, don’t you think?”

It was a rambling explanation, but I followed the bigger picture. I knew where Jeremiah’s heart lay, and it was not at the restaurant, it was at the counseling center. He wanted to help kids for the rest of his life, not be a manager. “I do, yes,” I assured him, glad it was true because I tried to never lie, but the idea of him working for a rich man he had history with, who was obviously very interested in him, was going to give me hives or a nervous breakdown or both. Probably both.

“Yeah, see, that’s what I thought. At first, he wanted me to run the new counseling center and halfway house he’s gonna build. I mean, that’s my dream job, yanno?”

I did know. “Let me understand. Merrell first offered you a job running something he’s going to build?”

“Mmmm, but I can’t yet ’cause I don’t have a master’s degree, and I asked him why me after the first job offer, and then again last night. I don’t get why he’s trying to save me or whatever. I mean, it feels like he’s trying to fix something or atone, but I don’t know for what.”

“I’m certain I have no idea. You can’t think of anything?” I asked, putting him on speaker as I first put on a pair of underwear, and then went to get my suitcase I’d just put away the night before. “Did he hurt you in some way?”

“No, and he paid me. Lots of guys didn’t.”

“Yeah, he’s a real prince,” I retorted, hoping the venom or my simmering anger wasn’t coming through over the line.

“We slept together before he left for college, and then we never talked again, not until he came back. But even when he came back, the extent of us talking was hello or goodbye, or me asking him questions about what he wanted to eat.”