Page 20

CHAPTER

NINE

CLARA JUNE

When Rawley shows up after school, I’m genuinely surprised.

Not only did I figure I’d have to fight him tooth and nail, but I also wasn’t even sure I’d make him go through with it.

I mean, yes, he should have to pay me back.

But my hope was that the threat of working (teens, you know, it doesn’t take much) and giving me his paycheck would be enough to make him cough up his thoughts.

Now he’s here, and I wonder if he’ll ever tell me the reason why he doesn’t want to go to college, or at the very least, leave that door open.

Chrissy bumps her hip into mine, making the two cups of coffee on my tray drip over the edges of the old porcelain mugs. “Your boy is here,” she says.

I nod. “I know, thanks Chrissy.” I deliver the decaf coffee (what’s the point?) to two old cowboys in the corner, one of them a dairy farmer with a booth at the market selling buttermilk, and the other a grain harvester.

Though I am a Bluebell import, working at Goode’s often makes me feel like a lifer, because I get to know people so much when they sit down to eat.

Rawley, his shoulder slumped, dark hair down, shrouding his face, drags himself toward me. I’d been so surprised he showed up that I hadn’t taken in his outfit—until now.

I grab him by the forearm and tug him back toward the register, where the hostess sits reading her Star Magazine. Apparently, Katy Perry is now an astronaut, and it’s got her focus.

“What are you wearing?” I whisper-hiss, yanking up the hem of his pink hoodie to discover— “you don’t even have a shirt on under this?” I drop the sweatshirt. “This is my hoodie!”

He shrugs. “I don’t have any clean clothes.” Then he just stands there, in cowboy boots and swim trunks, staring at me.

“Did you consider putting clothes in the washing machine? You know that big white metal box that you put soap into? It does all the work, you just have to open the lid and turn the dial.” I wipe sweat from my top lip with the back of my hand, and glance back at the double doors when the bell rings.

“I’ll be right with you,” the hostess greets, folding her tabloid up in a private huff.

“Yeah. About that. I tried. But I couldn’t find detergent.” His face twists into a concerned rumple, like there’s bad news he is hesitant to deliver.

He leans forward, and sniffs. “You smell like dishes.”

I ignore his comment, despite the fact that, yes, I do smell like dishes because someone replaced my soap with Dawn.

“We are not out of detergent. It’s under the sink in the laundry room,” I tell him, running down the list of items I grabbed from the Eat O Rama last week in my mind. Definitely got laundry detergent.

He winces, and shoves his hands in the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie. “I tried your nice soap, you know, the lavender stuff.”

My mind veers back to the tube of body wash, refilled with dish soap.

“I think the soap was too thick because now the machine doesn’t run.”

There’s an aggressive tap on my shoulder. “Clara June, I put two more in your section. They’re ready to order. Burnin’ holes in the back of your head as we speak,” the hostess tells me as she plunks back down in her padded seat, returning to her gossip.

I look at Rawley, and I don’t even think I’ve yet processed the fact that on top of hospital bills and my car repairs, that the washing machine now needs… something. I take a deep breath in, making Rawley whisper, “Oh God.”

“No,” I say after slowly exhaling. “I’m not going to spin out. Not here. Go grab a seat at the bar top, and wait for me, got it?”

He searches my eyes, then slowly says, “Okay.”

“I only have a few minutes on my break, but look, Rawley, we need to talk about this. I know we should’ve talked sooner, and I’m sorry. With Tanner’s injury?—”

Rawley is a good kid, despite lying about the tutor and breaking my washing machine, and the stink bomb he lit in Mrs. Salinger’s backyard two years ago—he’s a good kid. So I’m not very surprised that he opens with an apology.

“I know, mom. I know you’ve been crazy busy with Tanner and the car and all these shifts. And I am sorry for lying to you. But I did try to tell you that I didn’t want to do the tutoring.” He tucks hair behind his ears, and his blue eyes seem so bright against my bright pink breast cancer hoodie.

“You know I only want you to take the SATs in the event you change your mind, right? I understand that you do not feel college is your path, and I respect that. I won’t make you go if you don’t want to.

But you can’t know with certainty that you won’t ever want to attend.

And you may need that test under your belt for it.

” I roll my lips together, talking slowly and calmly amidst the chaos of the after school rush.

Backpacks are tossed onto the ground beneath booths, teenagers laugh, shooting paper straw wrappers across tables, and tired farmers shuffle through the chaos to their usual tables. Still, I keep my focus on Rawley.

“Mom, I understand what you’re saying. I just…

I know what I want to do. Like, I know know.

And I don’t believe I’m ever going to change my mind.

And part of the reason I didn’t want to be tutored to take the SAT is because it costs a lot, and I’d rather take part in the apprenticeship program at Wrench Kings.

” His lips snap together when he’s done, and he watches me, waiting, wondering.

I’ve seen Rawley fix his bike, and his brother’s bike, and he once took apart the coffee pot and put it back together to get the clock to work.

He’s great at fixing things, all things considered, and he’s always loved old cars.

Hell, I think he loves the old car his dad left behind more than he loves playing music, or his Playstation.

Without money, though, fixing it up and restoring it proves challenging.

I consider what he’s saying, really trying to think it through in the short time frame I have, because that is mom life.

Make crucial choices in the blink of an eye, and hope for the best.

I roll my lips together. “You are good at fixing things.”

He nods. “I love trying to see how things go together, and making them work again.”

I arch a brow. “Except the washing machine.”

He winces a little, then leans in all conspiratorially. “That was actually Archie, but I was trying to be the cool older brother and take responsibility.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “So Archie replaced my body wash with Dawn dish soap.”

Rawley slaps his forehead. “Fu—shit, I’m sorry. I told him not to but I was trying to find Tanner’s muscle relaxers and Archie kept slamming his stuffed dog into the side of the machine and I was just?—”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, guilt washing over me in breath-stealing waves.

He’s a kid. He shouldn’t have so much responsibility at home.

It’s not fair. I reach out and take his hand, which earns me an eyeroll because even though Rawley is a good boy, he’s still a teen and I am, quite obviously, an embarrassment.

“Mom,” he huffs, trying to drag his hand out from under mine and successfully does.

“Sorry,” I smile and put my hand in my lap. “I just want you to know that I appreciate your help, and you looking out for your brothers.” Then I can’t help but ask— “Why didn’t you wanna check out Wrench Kings when I picked up my car?”

He shrugs, then fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie. “I dunno. I don’t know anything about the program or being a mechanic, it would just be… awkward.”

I realize that Rawley really wants this. For him to be nervous, apprehensive and avoidant— he was like this when he first liked Jo Jo, before she became his girlfriend. Same with his band— Sure, Jan . He was so nervous, but now, they play at coffee shops and sometimes even at the farmer’s market.

He wants this, and it’s not like Rawley to change his mind. In fact, I believe he’ll marry Jo Jo one day, and he’ll be a ninety year old man still in Sure, Jan .

“Okay, so what’s the Wrench Kings apprenticeship all about?” I glance at my watch after asking, and hate that I don’t have time to hear the answer. “Shit, it’s after school rush, Rawl. I gotta get back to it. Lorna is out, and I’m covering my section and hers.”

He hooks a thumb toward the kitchen. “Want me to go wash dishes?”

I shake my head. “No, not today. We’re gonna talk about this apprenticeship, we will. And you still owe me for the tutor.”

He nods, “I know.”

“But for now, if you could grab Archie from the after school program and get home.” Two days a week, Doris gets dialysis and can’t help with Archie.

Today is one of those days. “Tanner texted an hour ago saying he’s all good.

All you have to do is make sure Archie takes a bath.

” I glance at my watch. “I don’t have time to put in an order, but there’s a pizza in the freezer, okay? ”

He nods and I send him on his way, reminding him not to touch the washing machine until I can look at it. Not to let Archie try to fix it either. And just as I’m returning to a table of high school students—all of whom ordered chicken strips and soda—I see him .

Dressed in worn and fitted blue jeans and long-sleeved white button up, a weathered Cattleman on his head, Dean McAllister stands by the door, rocking on his heels, eyes scattered about. I stand there, my order pad hanging from one hand, a large cup of Pepsi in the other, and watch him.

He twists at the waist, surveying the tables and portion of the restaurant behind him, and I can’t help but stare at the way his chest flexes against his shirt, bubbling up with strength.

“Hey, Tanner’s mom, can I have my soda?”

I set the cup down, tuck my pad in my pocket, and find myself gravitating toward Dean, and when he spots me, I smile. And he smiles back.

With just two feet between us, I nervously wipe my hands on the end of my apron then offer one to him. “Coach Dean, nice to see you again.”