“Which one, Jess?”
I started, Claire’s question interrupting my aggrieved reflections, and responded without pulling my gaze from the twins. “I’m going to sound like a looneybird when I admit this, but…Duane.”
“Well, I’ll be…” I knew she was fighting a smile.
“I know, right? I’m a crazy person. Obviously I can’t trust myself, what with my flighty impulses. Next week I’ll probably be bat-shit crazy for Cletus.”
“Well, Cletus is adorable. You could do a lot worse.”
“Yes, I could. Maybe I’ll just decide to be infatuated with Cletus.”
I tried to make light of my feelings, but I knew it wasn’t that easy. My emotions for Duane were wrapped in years of knowing him—animosity, begrudging respect, and five days of agitated pining. Our history was complicated enough, multifarious enough, for me to be wary that the feelings could be genuine and lasting.
Claire chuckled, placed her hand over one of mine, and squeezed. “Must be rough, liking the look of him so much when you obviously dislike him so.”
“I don’t dislike him.” I shook my head, searching for the right words to explain what I felt for Duane. “I mean, I did—I did kind of dislike him when we were growing up. He was never nice to me like Beau was. But he talked to me more than Beau did, a lot more. He seemed to go out of his way to argue with me all the time.”
“And now?”
“Now…” I shrugged. “Now I don’t know him anymore, not really. I mean, assuming nothing’s changed since I left for college, I know his favorite ice-cream flavor is rocky road, I know he’s got a scar on his right arm from climbing over Mr. Tanner’s junkyard fence when he was thirteen and that it required a tetanus shot and stitches. I know he drives way too fast and, last I knew, had never lost a race at The Canyon. I know he whistles Darth Vader’s theme song from Star Wars when he washes his car or fixes his car or does anything in rote. I know he takes his coffee black and doesn’t like the taste of carbonated beverages—that kind of stuff.”
“Seems like you know a lot.”
I shrugged again. “Just stupid stuff you pick up when you grow up with someone.”
“How does Beau take his coffee?”
My eyes slid to Claire’s and I frowned at her. “I don’t know, why?”
“Does Beau whistle when he fixes cars?”
I shook my head, lifting my eyebrows in the universal sign of ignorance. “How should I know?”
I could tell she was hiding a grin when she responded, “Are you sure you had a crush on Beau? Or did you maybe like Duane all along, but felt Beau was a safer choice?”
My mouth fell open—not a whole lot, just enough to be gaping—and my eyes narrowed as a small sound of disbelief tumbled from my lips. “What? No…no.” I shook my head again, with more vehemence this time. “No, no, no.”
“Jess, Duane still races cars down at The Canyon and he’s still undefeated—mostly because he takes crazy chances and fear doesn’t seem to register. Over the summer he killed a rattlesnake at the community center.”
“So?”
“So, he walked right over to it, stepped on its head, then reached for it with his bare hands.”
“Then he’s stupid.”
“No. Lord knows he’s no fool. He knew what he was doing, he just doesn’t seem to have a healthy fear of deadly snakes, or of getting killed at the drag races either. Beau is the safer choice. I can understand how you might’ve been drawn to Duane all along, but—”
“No. No. Just no.”
“They’re identical.”
“Looking. They’re identical looking. They’re not identical people.”
“Yeah, but by your own admission, you actually knew Duane growing up. You knew about him, you spent time with him. Yet your crush was on Beau?”
“He was the nice one,” I grumbled.
Claire laughed, rolling her eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe he was the safe one.”
I turned away from her and back to the brothers in question. They were leaning into the hood of a vintage car, their red heads obscured; however, I had an excellent view of their backsides.
I huffed with indignation, not liking Claire’s re-writing of my history (mostly because it made sense). “Listen, Dr. Phil, I don’t know why we’re even talking about this yet. Neither of us have had enough wine for this conversation. Although I could sit in this car and ogle Duane Winston’s fine ass all day from afar, I need to find out why my truck is here and what’s to be done about it.”