Blood and Sympathy (7 page)

I decided to reply.

Dear Claire,

Sorry to hear you had
such a bad day. I try not to let things get under my skin, but sometimes it
can't be helped. Your letters sure do help me forget the crap, though. I had your
picture hanging on my wall, and Brogan swiped it. I don't know what the hell he
wanted from me in the first place. Anyway, I'm sorry he took it. It was the
prettiest thing I've had to look at the whole time I've been locked up.

 I can't imagine you
scaring anyone off. I'm sure your dad's only looking out for your best
interests. The boys he scares off don't deserve you, because, if their
intentions were honorable, they wouldn't be easy to get rid of.

You will have to
listen to what your heart's telling you about college. I wish I had some sage
advice to give you, but I don't. Taking a year off might not be a bad idea. You
could save up a little extra money and figure out what you want to study. We
can't always please everyone else. Sometimes we have to do what makes us happy
and hope that it works out for the best down the road. When we try to do what
other people think we ought to do, that's when we wind up unhappy. They say to
honor thy mother and father, but you also have to honor someone more important …
yourself.

Thank you for
explaining what LOL means. I still think I like "lots of luck"
better.

I'm counting down the
days until I'm a free man. Knowing I'll be going home soon is the only thing
that kept me from breaking Brogan's nose for taking your picture off my wall.

I think I'll start a
list of all the things I want to do when I get home to Hensteeth. I'll be sure
to add "ice skating with Claire" to the list. I won't make you do
anything you don't want to do, but trust me when I say, I'd never let anything
happen to you under my watch.

I better get to work
on that music box I promised you. I'm almost done with the one for Mr. Collins'
wife, and yours is next, I promise.

Uncle Jeb comes up on
the first Sunday of every month. You could ask him if you can ride along, but I
have to tell you, as much as I'd like to see you face to face, I'd rather the
first time we meet not be in this hellhole. I'd be embarrassed for you to see
me here. But, telling you no don't seem like something I have the backbone to
do, so if you ask Uncle Jeb, and he says okay, then I'm okay with it, too. I'll
see what I can do about getting you added to the approved visitor list, just in
case.

I hope and pray Brogan
stays as far away from Hensteeth, and me, as he can get. Mrs. Delmonico said it
best when she told me, "
Blood is no reason for sympathy."

You have my mouth
watering for that carrot cake.
J

Getting a tattoo is
another thing for me to put on my list. There's going to be a whole lot of
firsts for me to experience, and I'm looking forward to every last one of them!

Write soon and sweet
dreams, Claire.

Yours truly,

Braden

There were a lot more firsts that I had for the
list, but for now, I'd just keep those to myself. I didn't understand what the
hell she was doing to me. The girl whose black and white yearbook image had
been ripped from my wall, a woman whose letters smelled like cherry pie, the
innocent little girl I used to stare at from my seat at the back of her daddy's
church. Her letters to me were nothing more than simple words--barely
snippets--of a life I wanted to crawl between the lines of. I longed to read
everything that was and wasn't written on the plain white paper she sent to me.

Claire
Copeland

Olivia's a runner. She's got the body of one--long
and lean and not an ounce of fat on her lanky frame. We're built a lot alike,
except that I have plenty of jiggle in my wiggle and a pooch around my bikini
line. Sometimes I go with her when she jogs around the lake. She's training for
a half marathon, and for some idiotic reason, I let her talk me into signing up
to run with her.

"Five. More. Minutes," I groaned, and
pulled the covers up over my head.

"Get your lazy bones up out of that bed right
now. You promised you'd train with me." Olivia huffed and yanked on the
blankets.

I pried open one eye and gave her the nastiest
glare I could muster at four on a Sunday morning. "Can't we go
after
church?"

 "No. Now get up and get dressed."

"Fine." I kicked my feet free from the
tangled sheets and stood, albeit wobbly. She wrinkled her nose and fanned the
air in front of her face. I frowned. "Go away. I'll be down in a
sec."

I quickly dressed in layers and reached for my
running shoes. On the way out the door, I grabbed a bottle of water to
rehydrate from my late night of drinking and smoking.

"First night off curfew and you couldn't wait
to go out partying?" she asked as I climbed into the passenger seat.

"I've got a lot of catching up to do." I
twisted the plastic bottle cap and took a big gulp.

She gave me a sidelong glance. "Just because
Daddy is oblivious to you sneaking out--and breaking the trellis off the side
of the porch--doesn't mean I don't know what you've been up to."

"Good thing I don't have to answer to
you," I muttered, staring into the predawn darkness.

Thankfully, she shut up, and I drained the rest of
my water in peace before lacing up my shoes. Where my wardrobe is a clusterfuck
of chaos, she's all color coordinated, hair pulled neatly into a ponytail,
cutesy little socks peeking out the top of her expensive running shoes. I
stifled a yawn and worked my uncombed strands into a single braid.

She parked in a deserted lot near the boat dock on
the western side of Devil's Fork Lake. Hard to believe that in a few more
months, finding a spot to park wouldn't be that simple. There's a running path
that skirts the entire lake and distance is clearly marked along the
well-maintained trails. We'd do six miles, head home, shower and slip into our
usual back pew at church.

Regret over those last few beers from the night
before hit before we even started our trek around the water's edge. Before
long, we fell into a comfortable pace, with Olivia leading the way. I'm in
reasonably good shape and managed to keep up with her despite of my overindulgence
the night before.

"We'll go down to the caves and turn around.
That's about six miles, more or less," she said.

If it wasn't for the lights that the volunteers
had installed along the route last summer, the trail would have been pitch
black beneath the canopy of bare tree branches that spanned the area.
"This place gives me the heebie jeebies," I told her as we made our
way along the dimly lit trail. "I keep waiting for bigfoot to wander out
of the brush."

She chuckled. "Why do you think I made you
come with me?"

"Figures."

"I mean, let's face it. If something starts
chasing us, you're screwed since I can outrun you."

"Not if I trip your ass first," I
pointed out.

The brisk air was the perfect temperature. At
around mile one, I peeled off my hoodie and tied it around my waist. As we
approached the caves area, Olivia slowed to a walk and waited for me to catch
up.

"Look," she said, pointing toward the
mouth of the cave. "Are those feet sticking out?"

I stopped in my tracks and felt the color drain
from my face, in spite of the flush from jogging. "What? Where?"

She burst into a fit of giggles. "You should
see the look on your face. God you are such a sucker."

"Ha, ha," I said. "Go on, laugh it
up. What would you do if there really was a body there?" I did a fast u-turn
and began jogging in the opposite direction.

"Jeez, Claire. This is Hensteeth. Nothing
like that ever happens around here."

"Famous last words," I muttered.

For the first time in as long as I could remember,
we were close to being on time for church that morning after our run. We took
our place in the back row and waited for Mrs. Rummels to take her seat at the
organ.

"Mark this on the calendar," I
whispered.

Olivia's forehead creased as she eyed me.
"What are you talking about?"

"When was the last time we were in our seat
before Mrs. Blue Hair?"

She elbowed me and bit her lip. "Be nice,
Claire."

When Sunday services were over, Olivia stopped to
talk to our father. I hurried outside, looking for Jeb Sayer. After reading
Braden's last letter, I wanted to ask him something.

"Morning, Jeb," I said, giving him one
of my sugar-sweet smiles.

He quirked an eyebrow at me and nodded.
"Morning, Claire."

"When do you think you'll be visiting Braden
again?" I zipped my coat against the chilly wind blowing across the flat
piece of land between the church and the blacktopped parking lot.

"The first Sunday in April, I reckon. Why do
you ask?"

I stared down at my boots and shifted anxiously
from one foot to the other. "I was just wondering if I might ride along?
Braden said he'd see about getting me put on the visitor's list."

"I see. What's your daddy think about you
going to visit my nephew in juvie?" Jeb pulled on his leather gloves,
studying them like they were the most fascinating piece of clothing he had ever
seen. He lifted his gaze to meet mine.

My shoulders dropped. "I haven't asked. I'm
eighteen, Jeb. I don't have to ask my dad's permission about everything I
do."

"Fair enough. If you really want to go with
me to visit Braden, you're welcome to tag along. It’s a long, boring drive to
make alone, might be right nice to have company." A smile slowly slipped
into place.

"Thanks, Jeb."

"I won't mention it to your daddy, but I
think it might be a good idea if you told him yourself." He tugged his
bright red stocking cap down over his equally red ears.

"I'll tell him."
When we get back
home. Maybe
.

I watched Jeb make his way over to his pickup
while I leaned against Olivia's car and snuck a few quick drags off a cigarette
while I waited for her to be done playing kiss ass with our dad.

"Did I see you talking with Jeb Sayer?"
she asked as she unlocked the driver's side door.

"Yep." I dropped the half-smoked
cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out before I got in the Taurus.

"Why were you talking to him?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

"Well, no," she said quietly.

"Must not have been any of your business,
then." I fastened my seatbelt and leaned against the leather headrest. She
mumbled something under her breath and I closed my eyes against the death glare
I knew she was giving me.

As soon as we got home, I changed into something
comfy and sat down to write a quick note to Braden.  

Dear Braden,

Olivia and I went for
a run around Devil's Fork Lake before church this morning. Then, believe it or
not, we even arrived on time for a change.

Afterward, I asked
your Uncle Jeb if I could ride with him when he comes to visit you in April. I
hope you don't mind. If you'd rather I didn't come, tell me, and I won't. I
won't take it personally, I promise.

That sucks that Brogan
swiped the picture I gave you. Especially since I went to the trouble of
cutting it out of Olivia's yearbook. This is another reason you should let me
come see you. You can meet me in person and see that I'm nothing special.

 Your Uncle Jeb asked
if my dad was okay with me coming to WTJDC. Honestly, I haven't told him and
I'm probably not going to.

College is still a
subject my dad and I skirt around. I don't know what he wants from me, ya know?
Seriously, he needs to let me get through high school, have a little fun over
the summer, and not push me into something I don't feel I'm ready for. The
harder he pushes, the more I'll dig in my heels. He should know that better
than anyone by now.

Do you have a calendar
on your wall that you can mark the days off with a big black X? Don't go
breaking Brogan's nose for taking the photo. We'll take plenty more.

You should start a
bucket list! I think that's a great idea. If "ice skating with
Claire" makes the list, I guess I should be proud. Olivia and I always
joke about some Sasquatch wandering out of the woods around Devil's Fork Lake.
As much as I love the place during the hot, humid days of summer, it kind of
creeps me out after dark.

What song will my
music box play?

I hope you added my
name to the list of visitors because unless you are seriously against me coming
there, I'd really like to meet you.

I like what Mrs.
Delmonico said to you about,
"Blood being no reason for
sympathy."

It would be my honor
to help you out with your list of firsts.

Hope to see you soon.

Sincerely,

Claire

Braden
Sayer

Now that my days here are
numbered, time moves so slowly I begin to wonder every morning if it's not
going backward instead of forward. Johnny Cash knew what the fuck he was
talking about when he said "time keeps draggin' on."

Mr. Collins said his wife
was going to love the music box I made for her. I sat at the workbench and
leaned on my elbows while thumbing through a catalog with all the different
music box songs. Claire's song had to be special, but as little as I knew about
her, choosing something unique was hard.

"Penny for your
thoughts, Braden?" Mr. Collin asked.

"Trying to pick a
song for a friend's music box," I told him. I sighed and pushed the
catalog away.

"Friend?"