Liz Talley - Sweet Southern Nights

“Huh,” Fancy said, her eyes narrowing. “Well, none of my business anyway.”

Which was code for “I’ll rake you over the coals later, Jakey.” His mother didn’t like being out of the loop. Her job was to manage the lives of her children, leaning heavily at times, backing off at others. She danced the Mom dance rather well.

“That’s right,” Jake said, giving her the nod. The one that said, “Don’t bother. I won’t give up my secrets.”

Fancy just smiled. “I’ll see you later, Jakey.”

Jake sighed and melted out the door, back into the chaos of the rummage sale. The buzz of conversation had elevated to a dull roar in the acoustically challenged community hall. Jake ducked around a gaggle of women arguing over which purse would be the right size for the LSU home opener that weekend and ran right into his brother John.

“Here, hold her,” his brother said, shoving Jake’s five-month-old niece into his arms. Lindsay cooed and gave him a toothless, drooly grin. “I gotta pi...uh, go to the bathroom.”

“Wait—” Jake said, tucking the receipt tape under his arm and shifting the baby to his left arm.

Lindsay smacked him in the face with a wet hand, and John disappeared behind the women, heading toward the lobby and the restrooms located there. The baby hit him again.

“Hey, Linds. Don’t go abusing your ol’ uncle Jake,” he said, smiling at the baby who had blond wisps sticking out all over her head and blue-green eyes that crinkled when she laughed at him. “Oh, you think that’s funny?”

He tickled her little round belly, making her squeal.

“Well, if that don’t melt an old woman’s heart,” someone said to his right. He turned to find Carla Stanton standing there.

“Mrs. Stanton. How you doin’ this fine morning?” he asked, trying to avoid Lindsay’s fingers creeping into his mouth.

“Pretty good. Still getting over a headache. My blood pressure was out of whack,” she said, her eyes not on him but instead riveted to the baby he held. “That’s John’s baby, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake said, juggling the baby, who stared at Carla with wide eyes before squealing again as if she had something to say to the older woman.

Carla was John’s late wife’s mother, who had given John and Shelby a lot of grief when they’d first gotten together last fall. Bitter with pain over the death of her only child, she’d held on tight to the idea John couldn’t...wouldn’t be happy if her daughter couldn’t be happy. Hadn’t mattered that Rebecca was dead. But Shelby, Jake’s vivacious, generous new sister-in-law, had taken the high road, insisting they name their daughter in remembrance of the woman who John had loved and lost. Lindsay Rebecca Beauchamp was radiantly untouched by the pettiness of adults and turned all her adorableness on the older woman who’d nearly ruined her mother’s life.

Carla watched the baby, a small smile on her lips. “She’s a pretty baby.”

“Yeah, she is. Takes after her uncle Jake, of course,” Jake said, making a face at Lindsay. “Don’t you?”

The baby smacked him again and laughed. Carla’s smile grew.

“Here, you want to hold her?” he asked, shoving Lindsay at the woman. Her hands came up to hold the little girl, likely out of self-preservation.

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t—” she started just as he withdrew his hands from around his niece.

The baby stared at Carla for a few seconds before babbling something.

“Oh, really?” the older woman said to the baby, smiling and nodding her head. “I didn’t know.”

Jake scanned the room and saw Shelby watching them. She caught his eye and smiled, a sort of secret knowing in her eyes.

“I’m gonna hand off this tape to Matt and I’ll be right back. You got her?” he asked.

“Of course I have Lindsay Rebecca. We’re already old friends, and I certainly know how to take care of a sweet baby girl,” Carla said, catching the hand the baby lifted to smack her and giving it a kiss.

So she knew the baby’s name? Huh.

Jake hustled over to his brother, who had started beckoning him frantically. A line had formed and he looked harried. Jake tossed him the roll of tape, which he deftly caught. Matt was the athlete of the family. Though both Jake and John had been fairly proficient, Matt had been the star, netting a scholarship to play at Tulane. He might have gone pro as a tight end if he hadn’t blown out one of his knees.

“Thanks,” Matt called.

“No problem,” Jake said, turning back so he could take his niece from Carla. But John had already arrived and stood in conversation with his former mother-in-law. So Jake turned, intending to hunt Eva down, but Fancy appeared at his side like a specter from long ago.

Woo woo woo woooo. Woo, woo, woo, woooo . The Twilight Zone theme song played in his mind.

“So what’s going on with you and Eva? That was weird back there,” his mother said.

“Jesus, Mom, you couldn’t wait until—” he glanced down at the watch that wasn’t on his arm, since he didn’t like to wear a watch like most guys “—seven minutes had passed? They should use you down at the police department. I’ll talk to Uncle Sam about putting you on the force.”

She pinched him under the arm, the way she used to years ago in the second pew to the right of the pulpit.

“Ow.” He twisted away.

“Don’t forget I’m your mother. And that when you call on Jesus it better be for something important and not in vain, Jacob Edward.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled with only 10 percent sarcasm. “But I’m pretty sure Jesus understands. He had a mother, too.”

That made Fancy smile. His mother could be awfully bloodthirsty for a preacher’s wife. “Even so, you know that your behavior—”

“Doesn’t reflect on you or Dad. I’m my own person,” he said, knowing he probably sounded like a petulant child. What was it about mothers that did that to a guy?

He knew what people around town said about him—that rascal Jake’s the family rebel. He drinks, whores and avoids church. Real degenerate. He didn’t mind that version of himself. No, because that version prevented people seeing through him to the pitiful coward beneath the bullshit.

He couldn’t pretend to be the tortured hero, because he hadn’t been a hero on that lonely stretch of highway, in the twisted wreckage beneath that huge harvest moon. He’d lain in his friends’ blood, crying like a baby. He hadn’t been able to help Clint...hadn’t been able to save Angela. In fact, his weak attempts to tug Clint from where he lay had done more damage than good.

Jake Beauchamp...coward.

So he covered it up with being a degenerate. He knew he was the perfect head case for a shrink, but he didn’t care enough to change. Because changing meant he’d have to remember, have to dig the knife beneath the skin to clear all the gunk. Change meant hurting again.

“I know who you are, honey, and neither your father nor I have tried to change you. Your behavior, however, is never off the table.”

He nodded because she was right. Neither of his parents rode his case like they could.

His mother patted him. “Just remember you’re in your father’s house.”

“God?”

“No, Dan’s. Well, you know what I mean. Now, what’s going on between you and Eva? Because I gotta tell you, Jake, I think she’s really going to need some support in these upcoming months.”

A thread of alarm cinched his heart. “Why? What’s wrong with Eva? Is she sick?”

“Of course not. She’s healthy as a horse, but that’s exactly my point—you don’t know what’s going on in her life, and that’s abnormal.”

“Wait, what’s going on in—” Jake left off the rest because the good town doctor, Jamison French, had stopped right in front of them.