Authors: Carter Ashby
“Huh?”
Cody laughed. “Games.” He pulled the cards out of his bag, as well as a Scrabble board and a Monopoly game. “Take your pick. I figure you must be bored. We can hang out while you get better. Get to know each other a little.”
“That sounds really nice,” Jordan said with a hesitant smile.
“Good. You get all better, I’ll take you on a date. If you’ll have me.”
His smile widened. “I’ll have you.”
Cody leaned in and kissed him on his scratchy jaw. He lingered, nuzzling gently into Jordan’s neck, aching for more, longing for so much more. And suddenly, he wasn’t numb anymore. Suddenly, all the feelings surfaced at once. Cody left his face buried in Jordan’s neck even as he squeezed his eyes shut and forced back the tears.
“Hey,” Jordan whispered. “You can let go with me. I won’t tell anyone.”
Cody inhaled slowly, determined not to break down a second time this week. “You just smell so good,” he said, trying not to choke on the words.
“So do you. Come on, talk to me.”
Cody sat up and looked deeply into Jordan’s eyes. And then they talked. They spent the rest of the afternoon sharing their stories, learning each other’s challenges with being gay and dealing with friends and family. In between, they touched and kissed and cuddled. Talking to Jordan helped Cody get his feet back on the ground. He’d been off balance, floating around confused. But connecting with this boy who was so much more secure than him truly gave Cody the grounding he needed.
Late in the afternoon, Cody cleaned up the mess from the food and drink they took. He put the games away and helped Jordan up to his bedroom before saying goodbye.
The real victim, as far as Ivy was concerned, was Clara. Maybe it was because she was a woman and therefore related to the woman in the story more than the men. But all poor Clara had ever done was love and serve, and what did she get in return? A bunch of ungrateful men walking all over her and completely disregarding her feelings. In fact, Ivy was so emotionally overextended about the situation that running into Myra was the last straw.
It was Friday morning and Ivy was in town running errands. She decided to drop by the flower shop and save the florist a trip. Mrs. Engle was behind the counter arranging a bouquet when Ivy walked in. “Are those for me?” she asked, exasperation in every syllable.
“As a matter of fact, they are. From…” Mrs. Engle made a show of looking at the card.
“I know who they’re from,” Ivy said with a sigh. “I don’t suppose he wrote anything besides his name this time?”
“To Ivy. From Jake.”
“He’s a real charmer.”
Mrs. Engle gave her a tight smile and handed her her flower arrangement. Ivy was unimpressed as she’d been receiving flowers from Jake all week. No words. Just flowers. What was she supposed to do with that?
When she turned to leave was when she ran into Myra who was on her rounds, gathering more gossip for her blog. Ivy stuck her nose in the air and proceeded to walk past the nosy old lady, but alas, it wasn’t to be.
“Good morning, Ivy,” Myra said, way too cheerfully. “I hear there’s soon to be some important news regarding your future nuptials?”
“You would know better than me, I’m sure,” Ivy answered blandly. “Excuse me.” Once again she tried to leave.
“Ivy, dear, why are you being so rude? It’s very unladylike.”
Ivy spun on Myra. “Unladylike? Unladylike! You’ve spent the last three weeks slandering my name all over the internet making me out to be the whore of Fair Grove, Oklahoma, and you think calling me unladylike is going to make me want to talk to you? God you’re such a bitch, Myra!”
Myra’s jaw dropped and she fell back a step, her hand over her chest. “I have never been spoken to in such a manner. I swear, I don’t know what this generation’s coming to—”
“Oh, shove it up your ass!”
“Um, Ivy,” said Mrs. Engle’s meek voice, “would you mind watching your language in my store?”
“Fuck off, Caroline. You too, Myra.” She started to walk away.
“I hope you know, this is going on my blog.”
She spun back again. “What the hell difference does it make? If I don’t do something worth talking about, you’re just going to make something up, right?”
Myra smirked.
“Seriously, do you not care at all who you hurt? There are innocent people on the sidelines of this thing who just got shit all over because of you.”
For a brief second, Myra’s smirk faltered. “Gossip is a harmless enterprise with a longstanding tradition that goes back—”
“Whispering about how Mabel Hale uses a store-bought pie crust is harmless gossip. Telling a woman that her husband has been in love with someone else for their entire marriage…that’s dirty and mean, Myra.”
Her smirk at last vanished. “I never said that. I only insinuated it. I wasn’t claiming it was true.”
“Well it
was
true. Turns out, Gideon’s been feuding with my father all this time over it.”
Myra’s heels clicked on the floor as she closed the distance between herself and Ivy. “Is Clara all right?”
“No, Clara isn’t all right. Who the hell do you think you are asking that question?”
“Listen, I’ve got no love for Gideon Deathridge. I think he’s a beast. But I never meant to hurt Clara. It was all meant in fun and if it ended up having some truth in it, well, I don’t see how that’s my fault.”
Ivy rolled her eyes and turned toward the door.
“Wait!” Myra met her at the door. “I’d like to talk to her. Clear the air.”
“So talk to her.”
“Perhaps you could arrange a tea? After all, she’s your future mother-in-law.”
“Oh, for God’s…listen, I am far, far away from being engaged to Jake Deathridge. He still hasn’t even asked me on a date.”
Myra’s smirk returned. “We see the signs, dear,” she said, taking a step back.
Ivy wanted to scream.
“So what about that tea? Perhaps at your house, this afternoon?”
“I don’t see why you can’t just go talk to her.”
“I won’t step foot on Gideon Deathridge’s property. Besides, I doubt Clara would take my calls.”
“Then why should I help you? I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this, but I’m on Clara’s side, not yours.”
“You’ll help for two reasons. First, because I want to make things right with Clara, and I think you believe me. Second, because if you don’t, when you do start your wedding plans with Jake Deathridge, I will make up the most outlandish story possible as to why Jake is being forced to marry you. Maybe I’ll say that the Deathridge ranch is bankrupt and he’s marrying you for your money. Or maybe I’ll say you’re knocked up with one of his brother’s babies and he’s trying to salvage your honor. Or maybe—”
“That’s enough. Jesus, how come you couldn’t just ask nicely. Three o’clock.” With that, she left to finish her chores and call Clara.
She didn’t tell Clara about Myra, which made it feel a little like an ambush. But Ivy promised herself that at the first sign of any bad behavior from Myra, she would jump up and carry the old lady out on her shoulder.
Ivy walked into her house to find two cowboys making out on the couch. It was a gentle make-out session, since one of them was healing from some cracked ribs and bruising, but it was enough to make her blush to her ears.
They both looked up when the door slammed. Jordan’s eyes went wide. Cody simply grinned. Ivy let out her breath and laughed. “This what’s been happening during the day while I’m at work?”
Cody nodded while Jordan shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Turner,” Jordan said.
Cody slapped him on the arm and stood. “Relax. She’s gonna be my sister-in-law soon, at least according to the rumor mill. Ain’t that right, Ivy?”
“It most certainly is not.” Ivy dropped her purse next to the door and stormed into the kitchen. “And if one more person says that to me today, I’m going to hurt them. I’m going to hurt them bad.” She slammed a kettle of water onto the stove. “You boys are going to have to do your canoodling someplace else, I’m fixing to have company over for tea.”
“You want us out of the room, or out of the house?” Cody asked.
“Jordan can stay, but one of my guests is your momma, so you might not be in a very sexy mood knowing she’s down here chatting with me.”
The brief glance at Cody revealed a mildly disgusted expression. “Hey, J, you wanna go for a ride?” he said, making his way back to the living room.
They were gone by the time Ivy was setting cookies on a platter on the coffee table. Store bought cookies. Not the best way to make a good first impression on one’s future mother-in-law.
“Damn it!” she shouted at her thoughts. Not a future mother-in-law. Not even close.
She had a half-dozen flower arrangements in her bedroom, so she retrieved a couple of them and set them in the living room. A pitcher of iced tea and a tray of fruit completed the impromptu layout.
Clara arrived five minutes past the arranged time. She wore a smile, but the emotional toll of the past week was apparent on her drawn, pale features. “Come on in,” Ivy said, opening the screen door. She left the main door open to let a breeze blow through. It was August, but unseasonably cool.
“I’m so happy you called,” Clara said. “I’ve been going stir-crazy. There’s not much to do to keep my mind off…everything.”
Ivy perched on the love seat which sat directly across the coffee table from the main sofa. Clara took the middle cushion and accepted a glass of iced tea. “Oohh, Lorna Doones, my favorite,” Clara said, taking a cookie.
Ivy did a mental cheer even as her body sank with relief.
She immediately tensed up again, however, at the sound of tires on gravel.
“Is someone else coming?” Clara asked.
Ivy was spared answering as she rose to open the door. She made it about halfway before Myra swept in, not bothering to knock. “Ivy, dear, what a lovely spread,” she said as she took the chair at the far end of the coffee table. “I don’t suppose modern young women know how to bake a proper cookie these days. So sad. Another lost art.” She took a cookie anyway and turned to Clara. “How are you, dear.”
Ivy plopped down on the love seat, fighting the urge to curse at her second guest. She could make a damn cookie, it was hardly an art. She could make all kinds of cookies. It was unreasonable to expect someone to bake fresh pastries for a tea party arranged only the morning of…
Ivy forced herself to shut down her thoughts. They were fruitless, and besides, the focus had moved away from her inadequacy as a hostess and onto Clara’s tension with Myra.
“I don’t think you really care how I am,” Clara said with uncharacteristic boldness.
“Of course I care. You must believe I never intended to hurt anyone. Well…I never intended to hurt you, at least.”
“But you did, Myra. You go about spewing your poison without a care as to who gets hit by it. It’s shameful, what you do.”
Myra didn’t exactly look penitent, but she did lean back in her chair and sigh. “In this case, perhaps you’re right. In this case, I might have gone too far. Tell me, what is the status of your marriage?”
Ivy’s jaw dropped at the boldness and audacity of the question. But then, this was Myra. Pretty silly to be surprised at anything that came out of Myra’s mouth.
The true shocker was Clara’s answer. “Same as ever,” she said, sipping her tea. “Loveless and unfulfilling.” She turned to Ivy. “I know you and Jake are having fun together, but I don’t recommend the institution.”
Ivy gaped at her, and then turned to gape at Myra who was laughing cheerfully. “I have three experiences with marriage, Clara, and for the most part, you’re right on the money. Ed was a good man. Ed was good. Maybe if he’d lived longer things would have gone bad, but as it is, I have to write that marriage off as a success. The others, though…” she shivered and finished her cookie.
“I’m a rancher’s wife,” Clara said. “There’s lots of work. I like the work, it keeps me from dwelling on the deficiencies. I feel I’ve failed with my boys, but then, how can I demand respect from them when I don’t demand it from my husband. No, I see the failure of my marriage as my own failure. I love my boys, but I’ve done them a great disservice, and I fear I haven’t prepared them properly for how to treat women of their own.”
Ivy would spend time pondering this statement and eventually come to the conclusion that Jake and Cody, at least, were far more emotionally evolved than their father. But for now, her head swung back and forth between Clara and Myra, as though watching an intense tennis match.
“Have you considered moving to town? Taking a job?” Myra asked.
Clara shook her head and chuckled. “That’s ridiculous. A woman my age? I have no money of my own. No job experience.”
“Bullshit,” Myra said, the curse word sounding a bit like out of place on Myra’s refined lips. “You’ve run a ranch for forty years, haven’t you? You can type, do basic accounting, manage calendars, plan events.”
“Well, yes, but that’s hardly a resumé.”
“It’s precisely a resumé. Ethel at the paper is getting married in two weeks. They’re looking for a new office manager right now.”
Clara stared at her for a moment, her cheeks brightening a little. “No,” she said, shaking her head at last. “They’ll want someone younger.”
“They might. But they’ll hire you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I have photo evidence of something Mr. Gladden will definitely not want his wife to see. He owns the newspaper, he’ll make sure you get hired. If you’re interested.”
Clara was silent for another moment. “I…I’d have to think about it.”
“Take the weekend. Have an answer for me on Monday.”
Clara nodded. “It would be a tiresome commute in and out of town every day.”
“So move to town. I’ve had the upstairs of my house closed up for years, it’s just too much for me. Time to time I think about renting it out. You could have it, free of rent for the first month, then we’d negotiate something reasonable after you get a couple paychecks under your belt. What do you say, Clara? It’s only life, but it’s the only life you’ve got. And there’s enough of it left to live it the way you want.”