Southern Poison by T. Lynn Ocean Read Free Book Online

surveyed the faces around my table. They collectively wore a tortured expression.
    “Thought you used a recipe this time,” Ox said.
    “I did, but I had to substitute for a few things I’m out of. Soy sauce for worcestershire. Regular sugar instead of brown sugar. Pepperoncinis instead of green peppers. Nothing major.”
    Everybody stared at me as though I’d just served them rabbit droppings.
    “Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad. Lindsey?”
    “Maybe you have some tuna or something we can make sandwiches with?” she offered.
    I cut an oversized piece of meat loaf, shoved it into my mouth, and chewed. “It tastes fine to me. Just a little salty, maybe, and a little spicy.” I ate some more. “Bit of a vinegar aftertaste. But it’s not
that
bad. And for your information, Spud, a hog can eat anything without gagging.”
    Ox excused himself from the table and returned minutes later with a plate-load of barbecued chicken breasts. Everyone dug in for the second time and the world was righted on its axis.
    “So, have you decided whether or not I can live with you?” Lindsey asked her father without preamble. Accustomed to teenage crises, Pete smiled and helped himself to a second piece of chicken.
    “I will talk to your mother and see if we can work something out.”
    “Is that a yes or a no?” Lindsey persisted.
    “If she’s agreeable, then yes, of course.”
    I changed the subject before the mood turned heavy. “You’ve got another tattoo thing, like the bracelet on your other arm.”
    “It’s a Derma-Zing design. Tattoos are so, like,
out,”
she said around a bite of bread, in a tone that silently added “you moron.”
    I examined the girl’s forearm and ran my fingers over a bright purple rose with a green, thorny stem. The lines were slightly raised, almost like the text on an embossed business card, but thicker. “Nice detail on the rose. Did you do it?”
    “I guess you could do your own designs but it’s a lot more fun if you do each other’s. Like, my best friend Maria did this one. Last month, all the girls on my tennis team had a pizza party and everybody got the same design on their left shoulder so it would show through our T-back uniform tops. And, like, if you’re tight with a guy, then he would do a design on you. But you wouldn’t do one on him, unless it was hidden, cuz guys don’t get Derma-Zing designs. It would be like wearing mascara or something, you know?”
    “Sure,” I said, not really knowing, but intrigued nonetheless. “And these tattoos—”
    “They’re
designs
, Jerz,” Lindsey cut in with an eye roll.
    “The designs. How long do they last?”
    She shrugged. “Maybe two weeks. After that, they peel off like a sunburn.” She scooted her chair back and produced a bare foot. “See my ankle? That one just came off and you can’t tell anything was there.”
    To prove a point to my ungrateful guests, I made a show of eating a second helping of meat loaf and tried to ignore the gag reflex. “Cool. So maybe I could do another design there for you.”
    “Uh, hello? Totally
not
cool.” She shook her head and returned her attention to the grilled chicken breast on her plate.
    Ox caught my eyes and we instantly knew what the other thought. He would have his hands full, for sure. Not only was Lindsey a hormonal teenager, but she’d virtually grown up on the West Coast. Now that the girl had sprouted breasts and curves, it was like she’d dropped in to visit from another planet.
    Pete offered to take Lindsey out on my boat, Spud agreed to give her poker lessons, everyone thanked Ox for dinner, and Ox delivered a standing toast to me and my new job on the roach coach.
    Before my dinner party disbanded, Lindsey reminded her father to settle things with her mother. He agreed to call Louise the next day.
    “I love you, Dad.”
    He smiled. “Love you, too.”
    Ox stayed to help me with the dishes and we harmoniously worked side by side, enjoying the blues music I’d