Cheri on Top by Susan Donovan Read Free Book Online Page B

What is it?”
    “He … he almost kissed me.”
    Candy was silent for a moment, then said, “Cherise, I’ve been telling you since second grade that it’s nice you’re always so sweet to Tater Wayne, but he misinterprets your good nature. He thinks you’re hitting on him.”
    Cherise giggled. “I’m talking about J.J.”
    “Out at Paw Paw Lake? You mean, he almost gave you a ‘hello’ kiss on the cheek?”
    “Uh, not exactly.”
    Candy whistled low and long. “Details, please.”
    “I was in the process of slapping him for being such a dickhead, you know, not saying a single freakin’ word to me while Turner was nothing but a gentleman.”
    “How’s Turner doing? He’s always been a good guy.”
    “Actually, he seems very sad, even though it’s been years since his wife died.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that.”
    “He asked about you.”
    “Really? That was nice of him. Tell him I say ‘hey.’ But we were talking about you—what did you mean by ‘slap’? A real slap? You were trying to slap J.J.?”
    “Yes, but he grabbed my wrist and yanked me up against him and stared at me like some kind of sex-crazed, wild—”
    “ Cheri? Are you in there?”
    The bathroom doorknob jiggled back and forth. This was followed by a series of quick little knocks on the door. “Everything all right, sweetie? Can I get you anything? I bought you some sanitary pads. They’re on the second shelf of the linen closet, behind the Dippity-Do.”
    “I’ll be out in a second, Aunt Viv.”
    Candy began laughing into the phone. “Better hang up before you get grounded! And save some of that Dippity-Do for me!”
    “Oh, my God,” Cherise whispered. “I don’t care if I’m sleeping on a bed of leaves out at the lake. I gotta get out of here and get a cell phone.”
    “Maybe with your first check you can buy yourself one of those pay-as-you-go phones.”
    “I plan on it. I’ll get you one, too.”
    “That’d be great! We haven’t had cell phones since—”
    “Cheri?”
    “I better go.”
    “Hold up,” Candy said. “J.J. was staring at you like he wanted to kiss you? Are you sure?”
    Cherise laughed. “Of course I’m sure. He just grabbed me and—”
    “Cheri? Did you find the pads?”
    “I really gotta go. I miss you.”
    “Miss you more. Call me tomorrow. This shit is so good I don’t even miss having cable.”
    *   *   *

    Purnell pushed up from the rocking chair and stumbled through his living room to the front door, kicking over his bottle of gin in the process. He watched the remaining liquid soak into the carpet.
    It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
    The pounding on the door continued. He could pretend to be asleep, he supposed, but what was the point? The prick had a key. The prick was his landlord. The prick owned Purnell’s home. The prick owned his soul.
    Purnell yanked his suspenders onto his shoulders as he answered the door. “Fuck you,” he said by way of greeting. Then he staggered back to the rocker and took a minute to catch his breath. When he looked up, the prick stood over him, disgust in his eyes and glee in his smirk.
    Wim Wimbley had one hell of a smirk.
    “Just love what you’ve done with the place, Lawson.” Wim nudged the gin bottle with the toe of his polished loafer. “It’s got a nice Late Stage Alcoholic vibe to it.”
    Purnell ignored him. He hooked his fingers into his suspender straps and rocked back and forth, the hate roiling in him. Sometimes he had to laugh at how he’d misjudged this young man. The senior Wimbley had been a soulless bastard his entire life—back in school, all the time he was Cataloochee County sheriff, and later when he started buying and selling every acre of land he could get his hands on this side of Tennessee. Even after Wimbley had gone and knocked up his third wife—becoming a daddy at fifty—Purnell used to tell himself that his nightmare would be over once the old bastard was dead. What a pitiful