3 A Brewski for the Old Man by Phyllis Smallman Read Free Book Online Page B

the way it is and Clay wanting to make several more fortunes. The two aren’t compatible.” Some days I didn’t think we were either.
    “Have you told Clay what Ray John did to you?”
    “Shit, no.”
    “Maybe you should.”
    “No.”
    “Why?”
    Now there was a question. The big one.
    “Tell him,” Styles urged.
    “He doesn’t need to know.”
    “You can’t charge Ray John and not tell Clay. That’s why you aren’t charging Leenders, isn’t it?”
    Clay knew most of the baggage I carried around but just when he thought he’d heard it all, and he’d come to terms with it, there’s one more secret to tell, one more ghost to exorcize, one more confession. How much could I tell him before he’d heard enough? My life before him, my ragtag upbringing, was chaotic and nothing like his clean, well-organized, controlled life. I was embarrassed by my past, ashamed of my family and of my own mistakes. There was already enough stuff driving us apart, leaving our relationship teetering on the edge of oblivion, without adding to the pile. How much more shit would it take to push it over? I didn’t want him to walk out on me, didn’t want to lose him, never mind that if he left so would my investment and even my home. But most of all I didn’t want to lose Clay.
    “This is about Rena and Lacey, not Clay and me.”
    “Isn’t it?” He leaned towards me, elbows planted on knees and said, “I know how hard you want to fit in, to be part of his world.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Oh, you mean to tell me the differences between you don’t matter? You’re the one always pointing them out.”
    “Well, Clay comes from an old Florida family while I come from an old trailer park. My former mother-in-law so charmingly calls me trash. She has a lot of descriptive adjectives to go along with that but it gives me indigestion to think about them.”
    “Do you really think it matters to Clay?”
    “It matters to me.”
    “Why?”
    “Clay is part of the establishment. I wait on them, wait on the social register, with a tray in my hand. It matters.” Styles added, “Not to mention he’s a lot older than you.” “Only about twelve years older.” I was guessing at the number because he kept all his documents well away from my greedy little eyes. Even the filing drawers in his den were locked, I know ’cause I’d tried them all, so you see our relationship had a few cracks in the wall of love.
    “Not the best arrangement, is it?” Styles asked.
    “Why don’t we talk about you for a while?”
    “Because I’m trying to make you see sense.” I threw the pen I’d been twirling between my fingers at the desk. It hit the wooden surface and then bounced off onto the floor. “Oh, is that what you’re doing?” “You have to stop Leenders.”
    “Ray John has caused me enough trouble. I won’t let him ruin the one good thing in my life.” “How good is it if you’re hiding things?”
    I’d had enough. “I should have shot the son of a bitch at thirteen when I had the chance.” “I thought you were sixteen.”
    “That’s what my mother told the sheriff.”
    “Why?” He seemed really curious about this, as though he really couldn’t see what difference my age might make.
    “She thought the cops might take me away or something if I was really young.”
    “Oh, yes,” he said with a nod, “I remember your family’s feelings about us.”
    “The point is, if I’d shot Ray John back then it would be all over by now, and it would have saved others a lot of pain.” I pushed away from the desk. “I couldn’t sleep last night wondering how many other kids he has done this to. I always thought it was only me, don’t know why, but I did. It wasn’t just me, was it?”
    Styles leaned sideways to pick up the pen. “I’m pretty sure there will be a lot more out there.” He set the pen down carefully on the desk. “I’ll starting looking for them.”
    “Can you find them?” I leaned forward