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I turn back as she shakes her head, her blonde waves dancing around her cheeks and her dark lashes fluttering, outlining the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Doubtful. They’re cretins.” She scowls at the ceiling, then starts the whole dotting process over again on her other hand. The usual carefree, cheerful smile hidden behind her veiled worry about her situation. Rightfully so. “Well, with child or not, we’re still going to have fun tonight.” She presses her splayed fingers to her tummy. “No beer for me though.”
“Me either.”
She shows no surprise at that. I’m not enamored with alcohol or pot or many of the other things teenagers seem to find fascinating. Marcy is no saint, clearly, but she pushes me out of my comfort zone and from what all the self-love influencers say, that’s good.
I’m not so sure.
“You ready?” Marcy admires her finished polka dots with a satisfied smile but when I open my mouth to answer, a single hard knock on the door stalls my reply.
My heart ping-pongs around in my chest as my palms turn instantly sweaty.
“Come in.” The words catch in the tightness of my throat.
I know it’s Eli. Who else would it be? But it’s a long way back here from the east barn and I thought I would have seen him walking this way through the window. I figure I missed him while I was listening to Marcy or got lost looking at the bulletin board.
Marcy crinkles up her freckled nose, smirking as the door eases open, every inch of the entry now filled with Eli.
My uncle.
Sort of my father.
Definitely my guardian.
Twenty-seven years my senior.
All of this translates into him being super, majorly, clearly,off limits.
Tell that to my peaking nipples and the ignition of warmth in my lady bits because they are not listening.
His nearly black eyes connect with mine as they’ve done millions of times over the years, but lately, that connection sends fire rushing through my veins and shame billowing into my core.
Most of the boys in high school were lanky and obnoxiously loud and just…well, ick. Most of the grown men in Mumford are greasy and smell of sweat and chewing tobacco. More ick.
Not Eli.
He’s carved from hard wood and cool granite. His scent is freshly cut fields and leather. He’s rough and smooth at the same time, towering over most other men by nearly a foot. His eyes have a darkness that tells of past pain and people in town love to look but I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people that say hello or speak to him at all.
His body is thick with hard muscle that strains against his clothing no matter what he wears. He’s been here on this six hundred acre working farm since his grandfather took him in. And before that my own grandfather had him helping milk the cows as soon as he could toddle on behind. His close-cropped dark hair and beard are uniform and controlled like him.
In town, they call him a monster because of his size. They call him a freak because he’s different. They call him a mouse because he can’t read or write, kind of like “Of Mice and Men”. He doesn’t think I know about that, but in a small town like this everyone knows everything.
Uncle Eli doesn’t fit in but I’ve never seen a human being more confident and indifferent to the opinions or judgments of others.
But, oh Lord, he’s stunning. His jaw is set at right angles and his brow overhangs those ever-watchful eyes. He’s an icon in Mumford. A legend because, like most legends, no one wants to take the time to get to know the human behind the out-of-the-ordinary exterior.
That’s fine with me. I like having Uncle Eli all to myself.
“Hi, Mr. Heartson.” Marcy nips her bottom lip and I shoot her with tiny envious daggers from my eyes. “Thanks for letting Ruby drive me to the party. I’m grounded from my car.”
Marcy’s parents bought her a Mustang GT Shelby for her sixteenth birthday but when they found out she was pregnant by her long standing high-school boyfriend, they pretty much pulled the plug on all her luxuries. They yanked her Amex and Visa Debit card which they funded with five grand a month for ‘necessities’. As well, they canceled all her hair and mani-pedi appointments at La Sol, the closest thing to an upscale spa/salon within ten miles.
Her family owns the local John DeereandFord dealerships. Those two things make her family practically royalty around Mumford. She’s also highly dyslexic and her parents found it oh-so-embarrassing to have a daughter with a learning disability.
Marcy refused tutors but when I came to school in fourth grade and aced every test and assignment with little effort, she latched onto me and I was just happy to have a friend.
She needed me to help her with her schoolwork and I needed her to try to fit in in this new rural Alice in Wonderland I’d been dropped into. But, soon enough, we were chasing boys on the playground and talking on the phone for hours at night.
