“You!” Grunt. “Piece of!” Grunt. “What’s got you, Fausti?” Heavy panting. “Can’t stand the fact that some bastard has his dick in your wife to be? Just because you’re too much of a coward to marry her.”
Out of all the words he could’ve called me, coward was one of the worst. He knew that too.
Mitch tired out before me. He grabbed my shirt in both fists and yanked, and I allowed him to bring us to the ground. Once down, swings and blows commenced, all the while we rolled around like a bunch of pigs in mud. After a while, we both settled on our backs, an arm away, our chests rising and falling with the pace of our hearts. Our breaths came in pants.
The sun felt like fire on my face, the humidity clinging like warm rain. Taking a deep breath, I smelled the sweet tang of grass, muddled in with the metallic taste of blood.
“If you can’t respect her, you’ll not speak of her,” I said.
“You disrespectedher.” I knew he meant Violet.
“No, I disrespected you. You disrespected her all on your own.”
He lifted his hands and they came down with a slap against his chest. “You got me there.”
“You don’t have to like her, but you will respect her. If you can’t, we’re done.”
“You breaking up with me, Buddy?” He tried to grin but winced.
I turned and gave him a look.
“Message received,” he sighed.
We rested there until both of our chests rose and fell with the natural order of things. Mitch picked a long blade of grass, putting it to the side of his mouth.
“Just for the record,” he said, his voice low. “I like her just fine. Scarlett, I mean. I always have. It’s you I got the problem with.”
“Message received.”
“I got a problemwith your dumb assbecauseyou have your Scarlett and you’re messing up. What the fuck do I have, Fausti? Think on that. And to be quite honest, hell is no fun unless you have a partner. So if you want to hang with me,fine. Have at it. I’m all screwed up. You will be too.”
He stood, blocking some of the brightness, making the rays break into long streaks around him.
“That wasn’t so hard to say.”
He threw the blade of grass at me, and in the glare of the sun, it flitted down, landing on my torn shirt. He gave me a hand up. Then he patted me on the back.
“Good talk.” He turned toward his truck, calling for Penny to follow.
“Hold up,” I said, stopping him. “You owe me one.”
“For what?”
“For being a disrespectful punk.”
“Yeah, all right. I concede. I owe you one, Fausti. I owe the ENTIRE EFFING world one!”
I met Janet/Jane on the porch. Her fingers squeezed the railing, eyeing me like she had the urge to take care of me. I didn’t rise to meet her. Instead, I stood on the grass looking up at her.
“Janet—Jane—”
“You need ice, Brando.”
She turned to go, but I stopped her by calling her name again.
“Yeah?” Her eyes were wide, shimmering in the summer’s sun.
She had big expressive eyes, plump lips, and a figure that defined hourglass. Cherries and some sweet perfume lingered after her in clouds. She was here, her work aligned with mine. She wouldn't drag me to fancy events filled with foreign languages that I couldn't understand or wear thousand-dollar, custom-made dresses. Men wouldn't lust after her because she could bend over and touch her ankles with her forehead.
