A Classic Blunder

Chapter 1 “I don’t see why ya gotta call ‘em,” Lisa said. She tugged on her hair, dyed a cheap drug-store brand black. She wasn’t quite goth, because no matter how rebellious Lisa had been as a child and later in her teen years, in backwater Tennessee, there were limits to how far off the deep end a person could go before the neighbors, family, church, and school would get involved. No one, Beau thought, no one wanted the school principal up in their business, no matter how much they wanted to be a unique and special snowflake. He sighed. His baby niece wasn’t a baby anymore, but it hurt to look at just how young she was. Sixteen, already a mother, and a runaway. Lisa had always seemed more like a cousin than his niece; Emmaline, his half-sister from his father’s first marriage, was almost twenty years older than Beau. Lisa was only four and a half years younger than her uncle. They’d never been particularly close, but Beau had often put that off on Emmaline not getting on with her step-mom—Beau’s mother, Joanna—than anything else. She was a kid; Christ, they were both still kids, but here he was, staring down at her and her baby son. “Believe you me,” Beau said, “I don’t want to. But you’re a minor, Lisa. And I ain’t got custody over you. So someone needs to know where you are and that you ain’t hurt.” Vin glanced up from his sketchbook. “Also, I’m not especially keen on the idea of being arrested for kidnapping, contributing to the delinquency, and depriving lawful custody.” “What?” Lisa snuggled her son closer, using the baby as a shield between her and Vin. “There are legal consequences to your actions, kiddo, and they affect more than just you,” Vin said. “Also, I think it would be better if you went back to school,” Beau said, ignoring Vin because nothing that he said was untrue, but neither was it helpful. “And I cain’t register you for around here without parental permission and a change of status.” “Uncle Beau,” Lisa said, “I had a baby, I ain’t goin’ back into high school.” Beau raised an eyebrow. “And what did you plan to do for the rest of your life without even a high school diploma? Lisa, honey, I want to help you. But in order to do that, I have to do it proper.” “It’s called being a responsible adult,” Vin said. “And it blows rancid goats.” Lisa choked off a laugh. She put Zach into his playpen; her need for a shield was trumped by the fact that the year-and-a-half-old child was squirmy. And heavy. Zach picked up one of his stuffed animals and proceeded to chew on its ear. “Not helping, Vin,” Beau said. Vin chewed on the end of his Sharpie. “Was I supposed to be? I don’t remember reading that in our contract.” “That’s because we don’t got a contract,” Beau snapped. “A problem that I intend to remedy with all possible speed.” Vin rolled his eyes. “You love me, admit it.” Beau swallowed around an uncomfortable tightness in his throat. He did, God only knew he did, for as much as it cost him, as much as he’d sacrificed, it still didn’t equal the debt on his side of the equation. “I do,” he said. “But this ain’t about us.” “Uncle Beau,” Lisa said, laying a hesitant hand on his arm, “I cain’t go home. I just cain’t. I’m sorry to cause you such trouble, and I don’t want you to be in trouble, but I don’t see how tellin’ everybody where I am is gonna do anything but make s**t worse.” “Lisa, honey,” Beau said. He drew the girl into a hug, smelling the cheap strawberry shampoo she used, her slender shoulders shaking under his arms—she was really upset. “What happened? If I’m gonna go to the mat for you, baby girl, I need to know what I’m fighting for. What did your grampa kick you out for?” Beau’s father, Lisa’s grandfather, had been her guardian for the last year, since her parents had thrown Lisa out for getting pregnant in the first place. A hard man, with stern morals, Gerald Watkins wasn’t the easiest man in the world to love. He was hard and he wasn’t fair. Beau had managed to conceal his own faults from his father long enough to get into college before the s**t hit the fan, but he couldn’t imagine how bad Lisa had been treated. Unmarried and pregnant at fourteen, she would have been a zealot’s favored whipping boy. She sighed. “Jimmy came of age.” “What? Your boyfriend.” “He turned eighteen.” Lisa pushed Beau away and flumped with great emotion into one of the recliners. The chair squeaked a protest and rocked back. “His momma never did like me. When I got pregnant, she wouldn’t sign th’ paper that let Jimmy get married younger. Not that I could, not even if my parents signed it, until I turned sixteen.” “But you are sixteen now.” “Yeah. An’ Jimmy come ‘round to Grampa’s an’ he asked me to marry him.” “And you said no.” Beau sighed. No wonder his father had pitched yet another one of his “you are dead to me” fits. Not marrying the boy after she’d gotten herself pregnant was tantamount to declaring that she was determined to live in sin. Admittedly, if Beau hadn’t come out as gay, it might not have been so bad, but Gerald was already at the end of his tolerance for his wicked young relations. Lisa probed the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “A’ course I said no, Uncle Beau. Weren’t right two years ago an’ ain’t right now. Ain’t like he wouldn’t—Jimmy ain’t stupid.” Beau sat down heavily. “Jimmy’s not the father, is he?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force a headache away by sheer will. “I never said he was,” Lisa said. She looked down at the tips of her over-sized boots. “I tried to tell Momma that, Uncle Beau, I swear I did. She didn’ want to hear it, said I was just making trouble for everyone an’ to shut my mouth up.” She scratched at her arms, her fingernails tearing red lines into her pale skin, dragging over lines and lines of scars. Beau knew she had once been a cutter; she’d been in therapy for it when she was eleven or twelve, and maybe she’d given it up, and maybe she hadn’t. He understood that, wanting the physical pain to hide all the stuff underneath the flesh, all the baggage and emotions and puss and bad stuff that lingered just under your skin. Physical pain was easier to deal with; you could put a Band-Aid on a wound that bled. His stomach turned and clenched. “Who is the father, honey?” He didn’t want to hear the answer to that question—really didn’t. There was no way this was going to be a good thing, no matter who it was; there were a limited number of reasons Emmaline would reject what her daughter had to say. “He’s Scooter’s son,” Lisa said, not looking up. Tears rolled off her chin and into her lap. Beau went cold. “Scooter Davis?” She nodded. “Jesus fuck.” Beau dropped his head into his hands. “Oh my God.” “Does this mean something to you?” Vin asked. “Because he’s not ringing any bells for me.” “Michael Davis owns Bellhammer Trucking and Shipping, where Lisa’s father works as a driver. Scooter is his son. He’s like forty years old.” “Forty-three. And Daddy’s best friend,” Lisa added, sniffling. “Shit.”