I snort out a laugh, almost choking on my water.
“We really need to spend some time going through these and get a better filing system. You have to be organized, Lay.” I glance up from my phone at my brother Dell, and the stack of papers strewn across the kitchen table. I still have five hundred words to write for my practical theory essay, before working thelunch shift at The Palm Club and then rushing back to get ready to meet Chantel and Amber tonight before the party.
My day was organized until Dell showed up two hours early for cutting the grass in search of last year’s equity loan papers for the house. Which is why I’m sitting here with him now, rummaging through paperwork.
“Can’t you just look them up online? I really have a lot of work to do.”
“I could, but you know I like to have original copies. I can pop by after dinner if you have time to look after work,” he says with a shrug, stacking his papers up in a nice, neat pile.
Dell is the epitome of neat and clean-cut. Tall, well dressed, with brown hair and a friendly smile. Not a stitch of ink on him. I don’t think he’s ever even drunk a beer. He’s a good guy. Too good. I worry one day he’ll just snap and follow in my dad’s footsteps—that he’ll end up sneaking around, and hiding things from his wife.
I clear my throat. “I, uh, actually have a date tonight.”
Dell’s brow furrows. “It’s not with the motorcycle guy, is it? Those men are dangerous, Layla.”
“His name is Sean and you don’t even know him.” I stand and wander to the sink, not wanting to get into this with him.
“I don’t need to know him,” Dell answers right away. “Mrs. Fielding said he was wearing an H.O.H. cut.”
“So that makes him a bad person?” I ask, filling a glass with water. I’ll admit, having my glasses beside the sink is a lot handier than the cupboard they were in before Sean moved them.
“If he’s a criminal, yes.” Dell stands and straightens his pants. I take a long drink and turn to face him.
“At least he isn’t afraid to admit who he is,” I spit out. I never noticed how damn ridiculous my family and the people I grew up with were until now. “Dad hid his sins but went tochurch, so that makes what he did okay?” I ask, placing a hand on my hip.
“Shit, not this again. They’re gone, Lay. Can’t we just let their memories rest?”
I scoff, “You can, apparently, but I’ll never forget.”
“So this is a rebellion then? This biker?” He spits the word out like it’s poison. “Dad had some faults so you’re going to date acriminal?”
“Had some faults?He was a bad man, Dell. Heabusedher! And this has nothing to do with Mom and Dad!” I yell, leaving the kitchen. I head to the living room and take my seat on the sofa where my laptop is. “You can go.”
“Come on, something must be going on, Lay. The fact that you’re seeing someone like this, are you okay? I’m just worried about you.”
I look up at him and smile softly, shaking my head. “I like him, Dell, a lot. More than anyone else. And I’m fine. I’m better than fine. Besides, doesn’t your church teach you not to judge someone when you haven’t walked in their shoes?”
“It used to be your church too,” Dell says, folding his arms over his chest as his eyes are drawn out the front window. He shakes his head and swallows. “Speak of the devil,” he mutters, swiping a hand through his hair nervously.
I turn and follow his eyes, and the moment I do I can hear Sean’s Harley. He’s following what looks like my mom’s Lincoln, only it doesn’t have any rust on it and it’s actually running.
I wait for the white Navigator to turn into another driveway, but it doesn’t. As it gets closer and then pulls into my driveway, I realize it’s Boyd driving. How the hell? Sean took it from the garage and I didn’t notice? When?
“Is thatMom’scar?” Dell exclaims as the prospect and Sean park side by side behind Dell’s pickup truck.
“I guess so,” I murmur as Sean walks up to the front door, and Boyd goes to stand at the end of the driveway. Sean moves in easy strides, looking back at Dell’s truck as if he already knows it’s Dell’s. Then I realize he probably does.
I beat him to the door and swing it wide open. Sean stands on my porch, looking over my shoulder.
“How did you? … When did you?” I blurt out.
“Your brother is here?”
I place my hand on his chest. “Yes,” I answer quickly, my touch bringing his eyes back to mine. “How did you take my mom’s car?”
“You have a lock on the garage that’s as effective as the one on your house was,” Sean deadpans. “I towed it to the mechanic a few days ago. Your alternator and battery were shot. Your brakes needed changing too, but it should run just fine for you now. Oh, and the body’s been repainted.”
I look at my mom’s SUV, shiny and new-looking, my eyes stinging with the sweet—and of course, boundary-pushing—gesture.
