she knows! Everybody fucking knows!”
“Watch your language.”
Marydale’s heart raced in her chest.
“She’s the DA. They’ve got Aaron Holten’s name on the courtroom and on every bench on the square.”
“There are two benches on the square.”
“Yeah. The Aaron Holten Memorial Bench and the Other Aaron Holten Memorial Bench. I can’t believe they haven’t made a bronze cast of him doing the Heisman.”
“You shouldn’t talk about him that way. He was a good man.”
“I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about my life. She knows!”
Marydale’s truck skidded to a stop in the gravel outside the Pull-n-Pay. She leaped out of the cab and banged through the gate and into Aldean’s shed.
“She doesn’t know!” Marydale cried.
Aldean was kneeling on the concrete floor, an acetylene torch in one hand and a piece of scrap metal held in a pair of tongs in the other. He thumbed the gas, and the torch fizzled out. He pushed the welder’s hood away from his face.
“What?”
“Kristen Brock. She doesn’t know about Aaron Holten. She doesn’t know about me.”
Outside the autumn sun was right overhead, and the little shed held the heat and the smell of paint thinners and gas.
“You asked her to live with you, and you didn’t tell her?” Aldean stood up and set his torch down on the workbench. “She’s the DA. Mary, what were you thinking?”
Marydale sat down on an empty metal drum. It tipped precariously. “I thought somebody’d probably told her.”
“And you didn’t check?”
“No. I didn’t,” Marydale said glumly. It had just felt so nice to be Marydale-the-waitress, not Marydale-the-felon, Marydale-the-pervert. “But they didn’t tell her, did they? Because of my mother, bless her damn heart. ” Marydale leaned her head back against the wall. “I’m such a fucking idiot. I knew she didn’t know. How could I not know? She would never live with me if she knew. She would never talk to me if she knew.”
Aldean ambled over and stood beside her. “Aaron was an asshole. If she knew that…”
“It doesn’t make it okay.”
“Only it kind of does.”
Marydale kicked the heels of her boots against the metal drum.
“Careful of those.” Aldean pointed toward the metal pieces on the floor near her feet. “They’re hot. I’m working on the reflux for the still.”
“It looks like a muffler fucking a drainpipe,” Marydale grumbled.
Aldean lit a cigarette, insensitive to the faded warnings on the acetylene tank.
“So she doesn’t know. You served your time. You paid your debt to society, right?”
Marydale hesitated. “I kissed her.”
Aldean took the cigarette out of his mouth. “I knew I’d lose this one!” He slapped her shoulder.
“She said no.”
“Don’t they all say no to you?” Aldean affected a soprano. “Oh, Marydale, I can’t. What would Jesus do? Well, okay, maybe just this once.” He blew out a stream of cigarette smoke. “Damn, girl, I lost a lot of tail to that we’re-just-girlfriends-who-really-love-each-other routine back in the day.”
Marydale couldn’t bring herself to laugh.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Aldean said.
“She said no, but she was cool about it. If she finds out…”
“You got to just get in there before she does, do what you girls do, and get out. Then you can tell her. Maybe she likes it a little rough,” Aldean suggested. “Maybe she watched that Netflix show, and now she wants to feel what it’s like to do it with a criminal.”
Usually Marydale would give Aldean a friendly punch. Now she just stared at the ground. A few shards of shattered windshield glass had made their way into the shed, and now they reflected the light from the door. She slid off the drum, picked one, and held it up to her eye so the shed fractured into a dozen visions of itself.
“I want more than that.”
“I know,” Aldean said quietly.
Marydale thought about how many hours she’d spent in the junkyard with
“Watch your language.”
Marydale’s heart raced in her chest.
“She’s the DA. They’ve got Aaron Holten’s name on the courtroom and on every bench on the square.”
“There are two benches on the square.”
“Yeah. The Aaron Holten Memorial Bench and the Other Aaron Holten Memorial Bench. I can’t believe they haven’t made a bronze cast of him doing the Heisman.”
“You shouldn’t talk about him that way. He was a good man.”
“I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about my life. She knows!”
Marydale’s truck skidded to a stop in the gravel outside the Pull-n-Pay. She leaped out of the cab and banged through the gate and into Aldean’s shed.
“She doesn’t know!” Marydale cried.
Aldean was kneeling on the concrete floor, an acetylene torch in one hand and a piece of scrap metal held in a pair of tongs in the other. He thumbed the gas, and the torch fizzled out. He pushed the welder’s hood away from his face.
“What?”
“Kristen Brock. She doesn’t know about Aaron Holten. She doesn’t know about me.”
Outside the autumn sun was right overhead, and the little shed held the heat and the smell of paint thinners and gas.
“You asked her to live with you, and you didn’t tell her?” Aldean stood up and set his torch down on the workbench. “She’s the DA. Mary, what were you thinking?”
Marydale sat down on an empty metal drum. It tipped precariously. “I thought somebody’d probably told her.”
“And you didn’t check?”
“No. I didn’t,” Marydale said glumly. It had just felt so nice to be Marydale-the-waitress, not Marydale-the-felon, Marydale-the-pervert. “But they didn’t tell her, did they? Because of my mother, bless her damn heart. ” Marydale leaned her head back against the wall. “I’m such a fucking idiot. I knew she didn’t know. How could I not know? She would never live with me if she knew. She would never talk to me if she knew.”
Aldean ambled over and stood beside her. “Aaron was an asshole. If she knew that…”
“It doesn’t make it okay.”
“Only it kind of does.”
Marydale kicked the heels of her boots against the metal drum.
“Careful of those.” Aldean pointed toward the metal pieces on the floor near her feet. “They’re hot. I’m working on the reflux for the still.”
“It looks like a muffler fucking a drainpipe,” Marydale grumbled.
Aldean lit a cigarette, insensitive to the faded warnings on the acetylene tank.
“So she doesn’t know. You served your time. You paid your debt to society, right?”
Marydale hesitated. “I kissed her.”
Aldean took the cigarette out of his mouth. “I knew I’d lose this one!” He slapped her shoulder.
“She said no.”
“Don’t they all say no to you?” Aldean affected a soprano. “Oh, Marydale, I can’t. What would Jesus do? Well, okay, maybe just this once.” He blew out a stream of cigarette smoke. “Damn, girl, I lost a lot of tail to that we’re-just-girlfriends-who-really-love-each-other routine back in the day.”
Marydale couldn’t bring herself to laugh.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Aldean said.
“She said no, but she was cool about it. If she finds out…”
“You got to just get in there before she does, do what you girls do, and get out. Then you can tell her. Maybe she likes it a little rough,” Aldean suggested. “Maybe she watched that Netflix show, and now she wants to feel what it’s like to do it with a criminal.”
Usually Marydale would give Aldean a friendly punch. Now she just stared at the ground. A few shards of shattered windshield glass had made their way into the shed, and now they reflected the light from the door. She slid off the drum, picked one, and held it up to her eye so the shed fractured into a dozen visions of itself.
“I want more than that.”
“I know,” Aldean said quietly.
Marydale thought about how many hours she’d spent in the junkyard with
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