Justified (26 page)

Book Club Discussion Guide

1. In the opening scene, Fawn Blaylock feels as though she's not good enough. For her parents, for the town, for herself. Not even for God. Why do you think she feels like that? Can you relate? If so, what do you think prompted those feelings?

2. Throughout the book, Fawn's personal beliefs are mirrored through the actions of townsfolk like Sophie Snodgrass. How might Sophie's actions help or hinder Fawn's view of herself? Do you ever allow the opinions of others to influence your self-esteem? How?

3. Ruthie Turner is Fawn's “unlikely” friend. How do the two of them draw closer to each other? What do they have in common at the beginning of the book? At the end? What faults must they overlook in each other?

4. Ruthie teases Fawn with her made-up
Who cares?
hand sign. How does this gentle reminder help Fawn chill out? When might this attitude cause more harm than good? Explain.

5. Early in the story, Tyler Cruz decides to woo Fawn back. What prompts this change of heart? Do you think any part of Tyler's decision is sincere?

6. During the scenes when Fawn is at church, some of the members (even her own mother, at first) treat her coldly because of her unplanned pregnancy. Why do you think those women behaved that way? How might their actions have made Fawn feel? Would such a judgmental attitude ever be acceptable? Explain.

7. Fawn can't seem to let go of Tyler even though he is emotionally and physically abusive. How do you explain her actions? Consider Fawn and her mother and their approach to handling abusive partners. In what ways do the two women differ? How does each of them grow and overcome?

8. In the first chapters, JohnScott Pickett views Fawn as spoiled, insecure, and self-protective. Do you think he is justified in his opinion? What has Fawn done to deserve those labels? How does she finally earn his respect?

9. Snakes are a recurring theme in
Justified
. Why do you think the author chose such a repulsive creature? What parallels can you see between the snakes and the story line and/or characters? Are there biblical parallels?

10. Fawn compares herself to Velma Pickett and feels that she falls short, even though Velma is a nonbeliever. Explain why Fawn might feel this way. In the beginning of the story, what positive traits does Velma possess that Fawn doesn't? How might Velma have attained these characteristics without the influence of the church and the Scriptures?

11. JohnScott spends many hours “cleaning up” Fawn's house in an effort to repel the snakes. How do his actions mimic Fawn's previous and current lifestyle? How does Fawn attempt to clean her upside-down life? What things does she do that help? Hurt?

12. Fawn and her mother, Susan, both got pregnant before they married. How might that similarity have drawn them closer together? Did it? What else had to happen before they could heal their relationship? What do you think will become of Fawn and Susan now?

13. Fawn and JohnScott struggle to maintain purity in their relationship. What factors make it more difficult for them? How is their struggle true to real life? What is different? How did their emotional baggage factor in?

14. Clyde Felton educates Fawn about the dangers of diamondback rattlesnakes. In what other ways does Clyde teach Fawn valuable lessons, either directly or indirectly? What other characters are affected by Clyde? Do you think the ex-convict even realizes the influence he has on those people? Why or why not?

15. Neil Blaylock never really apologizes to Fawn. Why might he refuse to admit his faults? Do you think he is sorry for his actions over the past years? Do you think he'll ever be able to verbalize his regrets? Explain.

16. When Fawn's baby is born, Fawn is bewildered by the maternal bond she feels. Why do you think that catches her by surprise? In what ways does she nurture that bond? What do you think Fawn and Nathan's relationship will look like in the years to come? What kind of issues might they struggle with? Why?

17. Toward the end of the book, JohnScott admits he's a pouter. Why might he behave in such an uncharacteristic and immature fashion? Why does he wait so long to apologize? What finally prompts him to come to Fawn? When have you ever acted in an uncharacteristic way? What helped you deal with it?

18. When Tyler steals the baby, his mental imbalance causes him to become dangerously overwhelmed and desperate. To a much lesser degree, we all have these feelings at times. What causes feelings of desperation? How can you combat them?

19. Just after the wreck, Fawn is frantic to get to her baby but feels helpless. In what times of life have you felt the same way? What have you learned from those experiences?

20. Tyler gradually becomes irrational. What do you think caused that? How long has this character flaw been growing? Will he ever be able to heal? What do you think will be his role in Fawn's life now?

21. At the end of Fawn's story, she finally “sees” God on the Caprock. What do you think she actually saw? Why couldn't she see or feel Him before that? When have you had trouble finding God? What helped Him come into focus?

22. In the last chapter, Fawn states that she doesn't care if she has less than she grew up with. What had to happen for her to finally realize this? What difficulties lie ahead of her? Do you think it's realistic for her to make such a drastic turnaround? Explain.

A Sneak Peek at Book Three:

JILTED

Varina Denman

Chapter One

My daughter always called me a glass-half-empty kind of person, but she was wrong. Not only was my glass half empty, but a tiny crack shot diagonally from a chip on the rim, and something bread-like hovered in the murky liquid.

But I was planning to toss that glass and get a brand-new one.

Today I sat in my hatchback on the side of Highway 84, smoldering in the afternoon sunshine. When I had left town, I had been driving like a mountain boomer scurrying across hot sand, but I soon settled into a reasonable speed, and now, twenty minutes later, I eased to a stop and shoved the car in park.

I did this a lot.

Sometimes I drove all the way to the lake and stared at the rippling water, but most times, like today, I stopped here. Now I reached across the seat and cranked down the window on the passenger side, allowing a breeze in. Ninety-four degrees in September, but it could have been worse. Last week, we were still in triple digits.

As a truck sped past, my car rocked gently, and I almost ducked. It was only Old Man Guthrie. His index finger made a slow salute in greeting, and I did nothing in response. My typical hello. Clyde Felton called me distant, but really I was just tired. Tired of waving. Tired of pretending. Tired of trying.

I focused my gaze on the cotton fields and hoped no other people would drive by. If they did, one of them might eventually pull over to check on me, and I would have to explain why I was sitting in my car on the side of the highway, staring at the wind turbines. I smiled. Old Man Guthrie never stopped, so maybe he understood.

Those wind turbines, marching across the Caprock like evenly spaced tin soldiers, stretched for miles and miles into the distance. And they settled my nerves like a dose of Valium. Not that I'd had any Valium in the last ten years, but one doesn't quickly forget.

Depression almost killed me.

Twice.

But I got over it. I beat the demon both times and lived to tell the tale, but even after that, it threatened to rear its ugly head.
The nerve.
I had beaten it, trampled it, killed it dead, but depression still haunted me like a villain hiding just beyond the glow of streetlights. Waiting.

So I took to fighting it with a spotlight. They say an ounce of prevention is worth more, so whenever I felt the beast slithering through my heart, I would do a mental escape to protect my happy thoughts. And believe me, I wasn't the type of person to have any extra happy thoughts to lose.

This was one of those days.

I inhaled ninety-four-degree oxygen until my chest couldn't expand any more, then I released it back into the hatchback as the muscles in my neck relaxed. Sure, I was a weirdo, but at least I got out of my house now. I bought my own groceries, smiled at people, and went to Panther football games. I even ate dinner with my daughter and her preacher husband once a week. I was beating the demon. I was.

I squinted at the nearest windmill, watching its slow-motion arms slice the sun as it cast moving shadows over the hood of the car. The cool grayness slipped along my skin, then sailed to the far side of the highway where it slid across the pavement before looping back to slap me again.

Round and round and round. This was my temporary escape from life. From the beast. From people. From my hometown. I snickered. I never got very far from Trapp. As much as I hated the place, I didn't want to leave it behind.

Flashing lights caught my eye from way down the road, and I leaned forward, resting my arms against the steering wheel and my chin on my wrists. The West Texas landscape lay so flat that I could watch the police car approach from miles away. It seemed to crawl along at a snail's pace before finally coming close enough I could hear the squealing siren. A highway patrolman. He barely slowed before turning on the lake road.

I rested my head on the back of the seat and smiled at the predictability. This happened every so often. A group of fishermen would hole up in a cabin, get drunk, then turn stupid. Last year a couple of them actually started firing shots into the water, thinking they would shoot the fish since they weren't biting.

Yes, Trapp was predictable. Quaint. Simple.

Narrow-minded.

Clearly my daughter was right. I was—and always would be—a glass-half-empty kind of girl, but plenty of other residents viewed the place as heaven on earth. They seemed energized by the same gossip that kept me shut inside myself, locked away along with my heart. But at times, when I stared at the windmills, I wondered if I could be happy again—truly happy, not just faking it—and deep inside, I felt a teensy glimmer of hope.

The moan of another siren swelled on the breeze, and I located a police car in my rearview mirror. No, it was two. And through the front windshield, I saw what looked like a fire truck approaching from Snyder, silently making its way closer. This was
not
predictable.

A lone highway patrolman was to be expected, along with the game warden, but not four emergency vehicles. And now it looked as though an ambulance was following the fire truck. I turned in the seat as the police cars sped past, and I covered my ears to block the screeching wails.

As I started the ignition, curiosity niggled my brain, but I didn't follow the emergency vehicles. Instead, I did a U-turn and headed back to town. I was scheduled to work at the diner, and it wouldn't do for me to be late. I needed the income. Besides, the news of whatever was happening at the lake would probably beat me back to town.

 

Chapter Two

Clyde Felton peered up and down Main Street, then settled his gaze on Dixie's Diner. He could see Lynda in there behind the counter, frowning at an order slip. Maybe he wouldn't go in after all. He leaned against his old sedan and stared down at his work boots. Why did he even wear boots? His job certainly didn't call for them, but somehow he felt better in them. More confident.

A hot gust of wind brought sand to his eyes and the familiar stench of the feedlot to his nose. More than once, he'd heard strangers gripe about the odor when they'd stop on their way through town, but it didn't bother Clyde. He'd smelled worse. But the stench of human waste in the stifling air of a cell block hardly compared to the outdoorsy scent of too many cows in too small a space.

Trapp, Texas, with its foul smells, run-down buildings, and unsurprising people … was home. And that's where his good memories lay. Memories before prison. Memories of freedom and happiness and friends.

Lynda in particular.

In a strange way, she formed the missing link connecting his past to the future, and he was drawn to her. Had been since he got back to town. Drawn to her in a way he hadn't been drawn to a woman in a long, long time—even though she never looked at him as anything more than a friend. Or worse, a brother.

He shoved away from the car, took two long strides, and pushed open the door of the diner, ducking slightly as he entered.

She had moved into the kitchen now, and when she looked at him through the pass-through window, he thought she might have rolled her eyes slightly. But that was just Lynda.

“Hey, Lyn.” He sat on a stool at the counter and reached over to get a menu. Instead of opening it, he tapped it against the Formica. “I'll take pork chops, I guess.”

“With carrots and corn bread. I know.” Then she really did roll her eyes, but she also smiled.

Every time he came in, he ordered the same thing, and every time, she razzed him about it. He cut his gaze toward her before dropping his eyes to the menu now open on the bar in front of him. Her hair was pulled back, same as always, and some of it was falling down, same as always. She had sweat on her forehead and circles under her eyes, but in spite of it, she looked just fine.

Undoubtedly she looked fine to a lot of men in town. Sometimes Clyde noticed them watching. They would talk to her, try to get her attention, but she wouldn't have it. She hardly seemed to notice and certainly didn't care.

The left side of her mouth curled when she came around the corner. “Dixie gave you an extra chop. I think she has a crush.”

Clyde grunted. “Sure she does.” The owner of the diner was at least twenty-five years older than Clyde and happily married with a passel of grandchildren.

Lynda leaned her elbows on the counter opposite him. “How are things at the Dairy Queen?”

“Same.”

“Burned anything lately?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

It was his turn to speak. Taking turns was the way it was done, but he scooped a forkful of carrots into his mouth to avoid it.

Why did she make him so nervous? He knew her better than he knew anyone else in town—anyone left, at least—yet she made him tongue-tied, and today was even worse because he had something to say.

He chuckled to himself. The nightmare of prison life didn't compare to the terror he felt about asking Lynda Turner to go out with him. Or maybe not
go out
. That sounded all formal and stuffy. Official. And Clyde didn't really do formal and stuffy.

He blurted her name before he could change his mind. “Lynda?”

“Clyde?” Her voice overlapped his. “You hear anything about an arrest out at the lake this afternoon? Or maybe an accident?”

Clyde's insides collapsed into a wad of tin foil, but the sparkle in her eyes made him curious. “No …” He sliced his corn bread with his fork. “What does the rumor mill say?”

“Nothing yet, but I saw a cop headed out that way.”

Clyde watched her carefully as she wiped the counter with a dish towel. Then she rubbed the same spot again. “You've been to the windmills,” he said.

She folded the towel and shrugged. “It helps.”

Right then, Clyde thanked God for the chunk of pork chop he was able to shove in his mouth, masking his smile. If Lynda had noticed, she would have thought he was making fun of her, and he never would have been able to explain that he simply found her very, very … cute.

Nobody thought of Lynda as
cute
.

Beautiful? Yes.

Sexy? Probably.

Nice or sweet or thoughtful or kind? Not hardly.

The woman rarely smiled. She couldn't keep a friend. Even her family got impatient with her mood swings. But beneath those sharpened porcupine quills was hidden the soft fur of a bunny. A cottontail, not a jackrabbit.

A teenaged waitress slapped a paper on the counter next to Clyde's elbow, and Lynda picked it up and glanced at the order. “Be right back.”

For ten minutes, he watched her cook while he finished his lunch. In another ten minutes, he would be back at the Dairy Queen, cooking for someone else. It was funny all they had in common.

He sucked on a piece of crushed ice, then chomped it between his teeth. Ten minutes. He had sworn to himself he would ask her.
Today.
And now he only had ten minutes left. Five, really, because he had to allow time to get in his car, coax it into starting, drive eight blocks to the DQ, get his apron on and hands washed. Now he wished he had walked. It might have been faster.

Lynda stood just on the other side of the pass-through window, side by side with Dixie.

Clyde took one last swig of his iced tea before lifting himself off the stool. “Hey, Lyn.” He tried for an offhanded tone of voice. “You need a ride to the game tomorrow night? I can pick you up.”

“Naw, that's all right.” Lynda waved her hand. “I'll be with Velma.”

She kept her gaze focused on the grill in front of her as she flipped steaks, but Dixie looked at him and winked.

What had he been thinking? Of course she would go to the game with her sister. Hadn't she done that every Friday night for the past two seasons?

The cowbell over the door clanked near his ear as he ducked his way out to the street. The breeze still blew from the direction of the feedlot, but he wasn't one to complain. After more than twenty years of waiting, his life had finally become peaceful, and he knew he should leave well enough alone. He had everything he needed.

Everything he deserved.

Clyde started his car, telling himself to forget about Lynda, but he glanced once more in the diner window, hoping she would look at him after all.