Southern Seduction (46 page)

That got their attention. “But some of the pranks take more than one person to pull off,” a guy who I think was named Seth argued weakly.

“I’ll figure it out. Just give me my clue.” One Last Night was a little less freestyle than other prank nights, having the pranks mapped out in scavenger hunt form by whoever had been deemed organizer, or the brains of the operation. With this group, there was no telling what they came up with.

Man, I really was anti-social. Maybe there was something wrong with me.

Oh well. A leopard can’t change its spots.

Hannah shrugged and handed me a piece of printer paper, probably deciding if she just gave me the clue she’d be done dealing with me until the end of the night when photographic proof was presented, a winner determined.

“Okay, everyone,” Lindsey announced. “You officially have four hours to complete as many pranks as possible. You’ll find clues to your next prank at each location. Remember that there must be photographic evidence in order for a prank to count towards your total. May the best group...” Her eyes shifted nervously in my direction before adding, “Or Zoey...win! GO!”

Unfolding my paper at my own leisure, everyone else’s shrieks of excitement echoing in the background, I started reading in order to find out my first job.

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

I stand unless I’m dead.

And I go moo.

Laugh Lines.

Jesus Christ. I could not believe I was participating in an event organized by the genius who wrote that literary masterpiece.

The poem clearly indicated the intended action, so the last line must be a clue for location. Since there were eleventy-billion cows in Winslow, I must have been commissioned to tip Mr. Laughlin’s cow.

That was as good a place to start as any.

Luckily, Mr. Laughlin’s farm was close, and I was in shape. Well, relatively. I couldn’t run a marathon, but I didn’t have a smoker’s lungs.

Paying no attention to the rest of the group, I took off running around the pharmacy and hooked a right, the soles of my boots slapping a rhythm on the pavement.

It kind of sounded like Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’”, which ironically did a hell of a job at motivating me to keep jogging.

I could just imagine all the housewives cranking it up in their earbuds as their feet slapped the conveyor of their treadmills.

I didn’t think I really needed to run as far as timing went, but I was eager to get started. I figured the hardest part of turning over a new leaf was the very beginning.

Realistically, I knew that participating in a few stupid pranks wasn’t going to change me or anything, but I just felt like I needed to let loose for a night. Have fun one last time...for the first time.

Miller

Ten minutes after coming in the front door from work, I was showered, changed, and on my way up the squeaky, wooden stairs of our farmhouse to check on my dad.

He had just recently suffered from a minor heart attack, fortunately not serious but still enough to knock him off of his normal routine, and had been laying relatively low these last few days, letting me help out with the cattle and any other really physical responsibilities. I knew he’d be back at it in no time though, an active guy at heart, and he liked it that way.

As long as he was alive, and not a couple of days out of the hospital, he would be working his farm and doing his duties. That’s what gave me the freedom to do things differently for a little while, working at the Sheriff’s department instead of farming full time. Eventually, I would need to take a more active role, just so that I could learn all the ins and outs of his business plan. But for the most part, he had been teaching me my whole life, one granule of information at a time.

I pushed open the door slowly, giving a gentle knock just to give him some warning.

“Hey, Pops,” I called out before he came into view, stretched out on the bed over the covers in a pair of sweats, his sock feet crossed. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, boy,” he answered gruffly, emotional at being in a situation where I had to ask him about his state of being. He was all man, and he hated any weakness. It wasn’t that he believed people weren’t allowed flaws, or that they shouldn’t show them, he just didn’t like to be the guy who was crippled by them. His parenting was old fashioned, too, so he didn’t like that his son was stepping up for him. Rob Laughlin was an outstanding father, knowledgeable and an expert guide to life. He liked to be there for me, not the other way around.

But family leans on one another, even when it called for a reversal of roles. I really hoped I’d be able to honor him one day by being just like him and following his excellent example.

“Want me to heat up some dinner for us?” I offered, leaning my shoulder into the jamb of the door and crossing my legs at the ankle. “Mrs. Jakowski dropped off some of her cornflake crumb chicken and broccoli casserole.”

The town knew that when you put two busy men together in the same house, and then physically impaired one, they were probably going to need some help with feeding themselves. Luckily, Mrs. Jakowski could actually cook, something that wasn’t always a given when people dropped off their charity.

“Sure,” he responded, his head turned to the window instead of focusing on me.

He seemed to be deep in thought, and I couldn’t help but ask him why.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Did you know I used to be a different man, Miller?” he asked seriously, his eyes moving effortlessly from the window to mine, locking on and holding them forcefully.

I wasn’t sure what he meant. For as long as I’d been alive, my dad had been my dad. Strong, dependable, hardworking, and somewhat quiet. He only spoke when he had something to say that was worth listening to.

I knew this would be no different, despite my initial confusion.

I didn’t answer him, at least not verbally, but I suppose my face was all the response he needed.

“For the last twenty-five years, I haven’t worried about anybody other than you and me. Before that, I had friends. I had a best friend.” He took a minute to breathe, letting his eyes drop infinitesimally before reflecting to himself, “The best.” His eyes came back to mine as he continued, “But when your mom died, instead of leaning on him like he wanted, I cut him out.” The fingers of each of his hands weaved their way between each other, the tips of his thumbs tapping each other in quiet contemplation. “Your mom would have been so ashamed of me,” he murmured, his chin hanging low enough that it almost rested on the bulk of his chest.

He had never been this open with me. Not in any moment during the twenty-five years I had been alive. Sure, he showed me affection, but that was where his transparency stopped. So, I just listened. That was all I could do.

Of course, I wanted to tell him that there was no way my mom would have been ashamed of him.

But I didn’t know that.

I had never known her. And he wouldn’t want my unsubstantiated condolences.

“I’m not really sure why I did it, other than just not being able to face the future I planned with your mother, without her.”

“You were there for me,” I argued, hoping to reassure him that he hadn’t completely shut out the memory of my mother.

“When it came to you, I did what I had to. And you made it impossible not to enjoy it.”

He shrugged helplessly, strangely reminiscent of a child. I wanted to go to him, envelop him in physical comfort, but the idea was too foreign. Maybe one day, if this new version of him hung around, we would get there. But not yet.

“What’s brought this on, Pops? Why is this bothering you now?” I asked, even though I had a pretty good idea that I already knew the answer.

“It’s always bothered me,” he corrected. “But it’s amazing how many important parts of your life you just don’t see until you’re confronted with the end of it,” he clarified earnestly. All these years, he’d been struggling with this.

He’d done a good job of concealing it.

“You thought you were moving on, but you really just lost everything and everyone,” I extrapolated, lifting my weight off of my shoulder, moving into the room, and settling onto the far side of the bed, my legs situated over the side, my back facing my old man.

He grunted his assertion, and I gave the only advice I had to give.

“It’s never too late to start a new friendship or resurrect an old one. Reach out. All he can do is turn you away, and well, then you won’t be any worse off than you are right now, right?”

Funny thing was, I had learned this lesson from him.

“You’re just like your mom, Miller. You do her name proud.”

I turned to face him, meeting his emotion-filled eyes with a shimmery set of my own. “I appreciate that. But she isn’t the one who raised me,” I said with purpose, a tiny, heartfelt smirk turning my face into a younger image of his.

Everyone always said we had the same smile.

Shock overwhelmed his features, but I didn’t stick around to keep him under the gun.

“I’ll go heat up dinner. See you down there,” I murmured as I lifted my weight off of the bed, a burn engaging in my thighs as my muscles worked.

My boots whispered across the carpet, carrying me to the door of the bedroom easily and with haste. Pausing briefly, my body still on its exit path, I called back to him, “Love you, Pops,” before finding the doorknob with my palm, pulling it toward myself, and heading downstairs to heat up some food.

I was gone before I heard him say it back, but I could feel it. I could feel it every day, and I knew I would until the day I died. Rob Laughlin may have regrets, but when it came to him, I didn’t have a single one.

With the way my schedule went these days, I never got out to feed the cows until after dinner with dad. In fact, as I also fed them super early in the mornings, it was becoming the normal for them to eat in dark. They had shifted to my schedule and were getting used to eating all meals without the aid of natural light. And heading into the summer, days were long, so that was really saying something about how stretched out my schedule had become.

I parked my Kawasaki Mule in the aisle of the barn, opened the latch to the feed room, and then stepped inside.

Time to get down to business.

The initial shock of the fifty pound feed bag settling onto my shoulder was the worst of it, and then my body acclimated, adjusting in all the right ways to make it easier to carry.

I made my way back over to my farm utility vehicle, letting the bag and the pellets inside slip and slide, moving and conforming to find their way off of my shoulder, before popping it with a hit of force at the end so that it landed neatly in the bed. Returning to the feed room, I grabbed a second bag, as it took a lot to keep our hungry girls happy, and then rinsed and repeated until the two bags formed a neat stack on top of one another.

I flipped out the light to the aisle, and then settled myself onto the bench seat of the Mule. I had my right hand outstretched to the ignition, milliseconds away from starting her up when something in the distance caught my attention.

The moon was out, but my angle in the barn made it hard to properly distinguish anything. Lifting myself back off of the seat, the ignition untouched, I quietly padded my way to the front of the barn, leaning on the open doors, crossing my arms over my chest, and resting the heal of my boot on the end of the concrete pad in order to get a better look.

My eyes squinted unconsciously, trying to make out the dark figure headed my way.

It was a person. Definitely a person.

Focusing harder, willing my eyes to cooperate, I finally caught a glimpse of a long, slim limb being flung over the top rung of my fence, a cute wavy chunk of hair cutting through the shadows and giving off a reflection in the sliver of moonlight.

Clearly, I was witnessing a girl, climbing my fence with purpose and making her way onto my property.

I watched the way she held herself, comfortable and, the staunch opposite all at the same time.

A young, female trespasser.

Interesting. Not exactly a regular occurrence.