“Holy smokes, is that a—”
“Yes, sir. It is. A 1956 Jaguar.”
“Whoa. That thing’s a beauty. Are you working on it for somebody?”
“Yes. I’m working on it for me.” That was a falsehood. It was a wedding present for Sienna, but he didn’t need to know that. Kip Sylvester had once made an idiot of himself in front of my future sister-in-law. He was beyond star-struck whenever he spotted her.
“For you?” he questioned, like he found this information remarkably surprising.
“Yes.”
The man looked between my automobile and me. He was confused, that was clear. What wasn’t clear was why he was here. I didn’t want to guess.
“Why are you here?” I asked with a hard voice and gave him a hard look. Chitchatting with banal Kip Sylvester was like being interrupted by a pack of diuretic dogs.
“Oh, you know, just . . .” he started, stopped, sighed, smiled and shrugged like he gave up. “I’m here because of Jennifer.”
My eyebrows lifted on their own accord, without my consent. “Jennifer. Your daughter, Jennifer?”
“That’s right. I heard about what happened . . . the other night.”
Schooling my expression into an affable mask of bemusement, I scratched the back of my neck. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
He sighed again. “I was afraid of that. Look, Cletus, you’re a nice boy.”
I’m not. I’m really, really not.
“Thank you, Mr. Sylvester.”
He continued as though I hadn’t spoken, clearly having rehearsed a speech prior to his arrival. “But Diane and I, we have big plans for our daughter. You know she has over one million followers on the Instagram? And lots more on the other social media sites.”
I knew this. Even so, I said, “I did not know it was so many.”
“Well, she does. That little girl carries a lot of star power, and her momma has worked real hard to make her what she is and to keep her reputation spotless. You understand, we can’t be having her acting recklessly, and getting involved where no good can come of it.”
I stood straighter at his implied insult. Now usually I don’t bother getting offended by people as pointless as Kip Sylvester. But, despite being bland as unflavored oats, Kip wasn’t quite pointless anymore. He was Jenn’s daddy. She thought she owed him love and respect, and unfortunately that made him somebody.
I took my time deliberating while he watched me with a tepid smile.
Then he said, “You understand,” and nodded like things were settled. He turned to go.
Before I could catch myself, I asked, “You don’t like Jennifer associating with me?”
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide like my blunt words concerned him. Kip lifted his hands between us, like he might do with an angry dog.
“Now, don’t take offense, but it’s not you we have a problem with, not precisely. It’s her associated with young men in general.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really. She’s been sheltered, doesn’t understand things the way someone her age usually would, and that’s on me, but—”
“What about Drew Runous?”
Kip snapped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked. He blinked several times before asking, “Dr. Runous?”
“Yeah. If memory serves, there was a story going around a while back about Jenn driving out to the ranger station, dropping off some baked goods, and then—”
“Yes. I’m familiar with the story and it’s true. Bless her heart.”
Did he just bless his own daughter’s heart? My blood pressure spiked.
He continued, “But Dr. Runous comes from a quality family. His father is a senator in Texas. It wasn’t an association we’d shy from, if the opportunity had presented itself.”
“And my family isn’t? Quality?” I fought to keep my tone even and my expression benign.
Rationally, I knew what Kip Sylvester thought didn’t matter. It didn’t. As Jennifer’s somebody, if he made trouble for me, I’d make trouble for him. He didn’t know it yet, but he was going to bless my union with his daughter and then he was going to support my wishes in all things, including but not limited to forcing his wife to back off my woman.
So why his opinions made my temples ache wasn’t entirely clear. All I knew was, with every foul sentence he’d uttered, my anger swelled.
Kip shook his head quickly, denying my last question. “Not at all. That’s not at all what I meant. Your momma was an Oliver. Your family is as old as the Paytons and Donners in these parts, on your momma’s side. In fact, I haven’t discouraged Jennifer from your brother Billy. He’s got a good head on his shoulders and has always shown the kind of ambition I’d like in a son-in-law.”
Wow . . .
WOW.
He is more of a narcissistic parasite than I thought.
I nodded and ground my teeth, plastering on a faint smile. I began drafting a mental list of all the pie I’d eaten over the last year, who’d baked it, and whether it had been seasonally appropriate. It was a complicated ranking, because I liked pie, and the only thing keeping Kip Sylvester from my temper.
I was angry. A lot angrier than I should have been.
“Look, Cletus. Here’s the crux of it. We don’t like the idea of Jenn having . . .” he seemed to be struggling for the right words, finally settling on, “casual male friends. If she has a friend in you, then it might give her ideas.” The principal sighed again. He did a lot of sighing. It was irritating.
“Oh. I see. You don’t want her to have ideas,” I said, again before I could catch myself.
“Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly right.” He nodded quickly, smiling. And then, as though realizing what he’d just said, he shook his head vehemently. “Wait, no. That’s not what I meant.”
“Hmm.” I squinted at him, taking perverse delight in how his face was turning an unnatural shade of red. “I don’t know, Principal. I think that’s exactly what you meant. The way I see it, you and Mrs. Sylvester have a lot invested in your daughter not having ideas.”
“Now, Cletus, son. Don’t be putting words in my mouth. That’s not how it is.” He lifted his voice, growing tense.
His anxiety had a cooling effect on my temper. I was still angry, but instead of being hot-headed, the fury I felt had turned frosty.
“Oh, now, Kip, I think we’re both saying the same thing here.” I smiled and shrugged. “You and Mrs. Sylvester need your daughter with her reputation intact, her brain free of the worries that come from independent thought. Makes sense to me.”
His frown deepened. He looked disconcerted.
I reached for a rag to wipe my hands. “If she were to ‘go rogue’ and pursue a relationship with someone who didn’t bolster her image—and therefore the brand you and your wife have so painstakingly created—then that might interfere with your plans and financial well-being. Right?”
“Uh, well . . . right. But—”
I nodded somberly. His features relaxed. Seeing the somber nod usually made people relax.
“Mr. Sylvester. Sir. You don’t need to worry about me.”
He sighed again, a big exhale of relief. “Thank you, Cletus. That’s great to hear—”
“I won’t tarnish her image. Not one bit. Whereas you, on the other hand . . .” I stopped nodding, held his gaze with mine, allowing just a touch of my anger through the wall of self-control.
His eyes widened and I was gratified by the edge of fear in his voice as he asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Just that it wouldn’t look good if it was known that the sweet Banana Cake Queen’s father has been carrying on an affair with his secretary for the last—oh, let’s see—four years?”
I didn’t tell her I was coming. I didn’t even know myself until I cut the engine and discovered I’d arrived at the Donner Bakery parking lot right off the kitchen.
It was still Monday night. I’d just left her father to marinate in my threat. At first, as was typical, he’d denied my accusation. The usual order was: denial, anger, then bargaining. Bargaining was usually my favorite part. Not this time. Something about bargaining for his cooperation left my mouth tasting like sawdust and lemon.
I wanted him to accept that Jennifer’s decisions belonged to her and her alone. Who she associated with, what she wore, what she did wasn’t up to him, or his wife, or their son.
He refused to accept that his daughter was capable of making her own decisions. However, in the end, he conceded to my demands that he not interfere. We’d made terms: he would back off and support my courting his daughter and I wouldn’t filet his life.
I stared at the back of the building, knowing Jennifer was inside. Jennifer’s car was parked closest to the door. My heart did one of its kamikaze leaps against my ribcage.
I’d missed her. I was asphyxiating with how much I’d missed her.
She’s busy. You should let her work . . .
Instead, I set forth.
After the unpleasantness with her daddy, I needed to see that she was well. I decided there was no harm in stopping by for a few minutes. Maybe I would show her The New Yorker article on verbing. Maybe I’d just stare at her and listen to her talk. That sounded nice.