Hook-Ups and Hang-Ups: A Swamp Bottom Novella Page 4

  "I swear, one of these days you're going to eat the wrong thing and explode like a damn pork bomb."

  I wiped the slobber from the picture and tried to smooth out the wrinkles but stopped short when I saw the image. Dressed in a tux, Pope smiled back at me and stood in a garden with a beautiful girl in a white dress. I froze.

  Examining the photo closer, I noticed that it was obviously old. Pope's face was fuller, his features less chiseled, but he had the same build and looked to be around twenty years old. It was a professional photo, like the kind of picture taken at weddings.

  An expensive wedding—not like the backyard cookout receptions where I came from.

  He had a whole life before you that he won't tell you about.

  My stomach soured at the thought, and the 'what if's' came flooding back full force.

  What if I'd given my heart to a man who wasn't who I thought he was?

  No amount of logic or reason could stop my mind from jumping and then catapulting to conclusions. Like some bizarre case of Bodysnatchers, my hippie bohemian personality had been hijacked and replaced with that of a reality star who constantly tried to catch her boyfriend in a lie. Instead of thinking of fun date ideas, I daydreamed about whether Pope told me the names of his childhood pet and first-grade teacher so I could break into his email account.

  “Oh, hey, Pope! So, I wanted to surprise you with dinner, and I brought Kevin with me because you know he goes with me everywhere." No, that was stupid. "Hey, Pope, how was your day? Mine was good. I wanted to surprise you with dinner, but I noticed that Kevin had wandered off, so I went to find him, and he had this. I was just curious as to what it was." Ugh, too crazy.

  I took a deep breath, shook my hands, and continued pacing. I felt like an MMA fighter preparing to enter the Octagon.

  “You can do this Savvy. Just don't act like a lunatic. Suppress all that inner Dubois crazy and just pack it on down. You're capable of acting like a decent, rational human being. You found a picture—just a piece of paper with an image printed on it—not a body. You have no idea where or when it was taken; there's no reason to jump to conclusions. Casually bring it up and slip it into the conversation. Maybe I should wait till after dinner? But what if he thinks that I sat on it and then waited for an opportunity to catch him in an ‘I gotcha’ moment? Shit, what am I going to do?” I groaned in frustration and buried my hands in my wild hair. “Maybe I should just ignore it and see if he'll just tell me in his own time. No, I can't do that, it’ll drive me nuts. Don’t you think, Kevin? Annnnd now I'm talking to a fucking pig. Oh my God!” I covered my face with my hands, the stress and anxiety becoming too much. “I'm really losing my shit.”

  “Why are you losing your shit?” Pope’s deep voice came from behind me. I spun around, my heart racing like a crackhead on speed.

  Oh, God. Oh God. Oh, God. Oh, God!

  How much had he heard? Shit, did he hear me talking to Kevin like he was a fucking person? I tried not to do that in front of people. It took crazy cat lady to a whole new level.

  We stood in the middle of the living room staring at one another and not saying anything. The cogs in my brain had just seized, and the lights behind my eyes had gone out. Nope, no one was home. I tried desperately to will an explanation to come, but no such luck. Instead, my mouth moved without permission from my temporarily frozen mind.

  “I wasn't snooping,” I blurted out. “I was not snooping. It's just that Kevin was missing and I had to look for him and then I found him in your closet. I thought he'd shit in your shoes, but he didn't, and he had this picture in his mouth. He was slobbering all over it, so I had to wrestle it out of his mouth. Then there was slobber all over it, so I had to wipe it off. I looked at it to see if it was damaged and then I saw this.” I took a breath and wished that the floor would open and swallow me whole.

  After having this conversation in my head and out loud a dozen times, I blurted it out like a fucking psycho. Now Pope would think I was just as insane as the rest of my damn family which was the exact thing I wanted to avoid. I wouldn’t be surprised if he looked for a little mini- Pope voodoo doll in my bag. I’d just raised the psycho girlfriend meter to 'might have a shrine in her closet with a lock of your pubes and nail clippings that she prays to every night.'

  I didn't want to be one of those crazy girlfriends that cyber stalked her boyfriend and searched his apartment while he was gone. That wasn't who I was. I was carefree. I was a 'go with the flow' kind of girl. I didn't spend hours trying to decode my boyfriend’s pin number on his phone so that I could search through his messages, emails, and social media. I was the 'live and let live' type; the girlfriend who was just one of the guys, but for some reason, Pope made me act like a goddamn mental patient.

  “Babe, what are you talking about?” Pope asked, taking a step closer.

  I kept my lips pressed firmly together, not willing to risk blurting out another tirade of nonsense. I shoved the picture at him. A look of concern painted his features as he took the picture without breaking eye contact. He looked down, and his eyebrows shot straight up when he recognized what I’d seen. Panic flashed in his eyes when he looked back up to me.

  “Oh, God, it's not what you think,” he started. I remained silent, still not trusting my mouth to behave. When I didn't say anything, he continued. “This was from high school. It was just a party; like a social thing for this girl I went to school with. It really wasn't a big deal.”

  “Oh,” I said, my voice quiet. “I wasn't sure.”

  “Yeah, nothing to worry about. I don't have some secret wife somewhere. It was just like a prom thing, no big deal.”

  No big deal.

  My anxiety levels and blood pressure were through the roof, but it was no big deal. If it was so inconsequential, why had he kept it?

  “Of course,” I said instead, feigning an ease that I didn't feel. “Like I said, Kevin got into some of your shit, and I was curious.”

  “Right. So, not that I'm not happy to see you, but did we have plans tonight?”

  I put on a smile. “No, we didn't have plans, but I thought I'd surprise you. I made dinner.”

  Pope looked taken aback. “You made dinner for me?”

  “Yeah, I used Babs’ recipe. I had to call her and have her walk me through it, but I think it turned out okay.”

  His answering smile was the mega-watt one. Dimples were full-on display and blue eyes danced with his white teeth shining like a toothpaste commercial. “That’s fantastic; I'm starved.” He placed a kiss on my forehead before moving down the hall to drop off his bag.

  The entire conversation lasted all of five minutes, but I couldn't help but wish I had a rewind button. I wasn't exactly sure what we'd resolved. My nose tingled and my eyes pricked with unshed tears. With a deep breath, I willed the tears away. I wasn't going to turn into a weepy mess.

  Pope said there was nothing to the picture, and he hadn’t given me a reason not to trust him. I had to have faith that in time, Pope would feel comfortable enough to open up to me about his past. We were still in the early stages of our relationship; I couldn't expect him to bare his soul to me without getting to know me first.

  Could I?

  The awkwardness extended to dinner. The gumbo was surprisingly good. The cornbread burnt on the edges, but it remained edible. I was rather impressed that I hadn’t completely fucked up the meal. I searched to find a safe topic to talk about, finding myself drifting into a daydream as Pope recounted one of his calls from his shift. He seemed into the story, but I couldn’t bring myself to feign interest. I cleared the table as soon as we finish eating, desperate to get away from the painful conversation.

  I felt Pope’s arms snake around my waist as I loaded the dishwasher. He nuzzled his nose into my neck and kissed me just below the ear.

  “What's the matter?” he murmured. “You seem tense.”

  “I'm fine,” I said quietly, gathering the silverware from the sink. I was anything but fine. I’d become one of
those women who I hated. One who wouldn't tell her partner what she thought or felt and just expected them to guess.

  “Are you still on the thing about the picture? Because I told you it was nothing.”

  It was the absolute wrong thing to say.

  Turning around slowly, I took a step back from him. “Am I on the picture thing?” I repeated his words deliberately, trying to wrap my brain around what he’d said and how he’d said it. It was as if all my worry and stress was somehow inconsequential just because he said so. Simply because he’d told me it was no big deal meant I was supposed to accept it.

  I don't think so.

  “I told you it was nothing, why can't you just trust me and drop it?”

  That did it. That flipped my bitch switch so fast my head spun.

  “Why can't I just trust you? How about because I don't even know you, Pope. You refuse to tell me about your family or introduce me to your friends. I know nothing about your past except that you always wanted to be a police officer. You've kept me completely shut out when I've done nothing but open all my closets, floorboards, and attics to show you every skeleton I have. What am I supposed to think when I find a picture of my boyfriend, who has avoided telling me anything about his past, with a woman in a wedding dress?”

  Pope scrubbed a hand down his face. “It wasn’t a wedding dress!”

  “That’s not the point!” I winced at the shrill tone of my voice. I hated fighting.

  “Where are you going?” Pope called out, following me into the living room.

  I clipped in Kevin’s leash and got my jacket and messenger bag before turning to face him again. “I’m going home,” I said with a calm that I didn’t feel.

  “So that’s it? You're just going to leave? Don’t you think we should talk this out?”

  I sighed and avoided looking him in the eyes. It was too painful. “No, I don’t. I think if I stay one or both of us will end up saying something we will regret.”

  “Wait, are you breaking up with me?”

  I felt his words like a physical pain. “Of course not. I’m just going home. We can talk in a few days when we’ve both had a chance to cool down.”

  “You seem pretty cool now.”

  This fucker wants to die.

  “Trust me, I’m not,” I growled, bending to scoop Kevin from the couch. Pope trailed me to the front door and leaned in for an awkward hug. I allowed it but quickly maneuvered out of his grasp and down the walkway to my truck.

  I made the mistake of looking back at Pope as he stood in the doorway, his usually expressive face completely blank. A little piece of my heart broke to see him like that. I drove off, cursing the evening for not at all ending as I'd hoped. I felt like I'd taken two steps forward just to end up right back where I started; driving down the highway with just my pig for company.

  Wildflowers.

  Not just one little bundle. No, Pope would never half-ass something like that. I’d counted seven giant mason jars filled to capacity with bouquets of bright wildflowers placed neatly on my desk.

  They weren't roses or lilies; they were a riot of color and chaos. Just like me.

  He'd listened.

  I moved to my desk and picked up the card propped against the makeshift center vase. Even those were perfectly me.

  My hands shook a little as I opened the card, slightly afraid of what was inside.

  Savannah,

  I've thought of a million ways to tell you I'm sorry over the past two days, but none of them seemed sufficient. I've never been what you'd call an open book. It just wasn't the way I was brought up, but of course, you wouldn't know that, because I never told you. I understand now that I hurt you and bruised your trust by withholding that part of me, and I'm sorry. I promise to let you in. It will take time, but we'll get there if you can just be patient with me.

  Quentin

  My heart skipped a beat as I trailed my fingers over the letters of his real name. He'd told me he went by his last name the first time we'd met and that was all I'd ever called him. Seeing his first name scrawled across the bottom of the card did something to my insides.

  I had to give it to him, Quentin Pope knew how to do apologies. How could I say no?

  The front door to the office banged open, and Bam-Bam strolled in. He took one look at my desk and let out a long whistle.

  "Oooo-Eee! Someone messed up bad. What'd the little donut eater do?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Nothing, we had a little fight. It’s no big deal."

  Bam-Bam fell into Addie's empty desk chair with a huff. "I ain't buyin' what you're sellin', little one. When a woman says things like fine, whatever, or no big deal," he said, ticking each one off on his fingers, "you better believe the opposite is true. Now tell your favorite cousin what's really goin' on."

  How was it that my big, backwoods bred, lug of a cousin knew all that, but Pope was clueless?

  I shrugged. "He hasn't exactly been forthcoming with his past."

  "What's that supposed to mean? He's a cop ain't he? Can't be anything too bad. Unless of course, you ain't talkin' 'bout spendin' a night in jail. He steppin' out on you?" He squeezed his hands into fists, making his knuckles crack and his point clear. Cop or not, if Pope did me dirty, Bam-Bam had every intention of doling out his own justice.

  "No, nothing like that.” I rushed to assure him before he started to Hulk out. “He won't talk to me about his family or friends or his childhood. We've been together for months, and he's never even introduced me to anyone in his life. It’s like he's keeping me separate from his real life."

  Bam-Bam squinted at me and leaned so far back in the desk chair I thought it might break in half. Just when I thought he wasn't going to respond, he cleared his throat.

  "Sounds to me like it might not be you that he's hidin'. Not everyone's life growin' up was roses and cupcakes, little one."

  I closed my eyes, realizing of course, that he was right.

  "Chew on that 'fore you go sellin' him up river, yeah?"

  I nodded and gave him a half smile. "When did you get so smart?"

  He shook his head and stood up. "I ain't no scholar. I just know people. Met a lot of different kinds over the years. You never know someone's story until they give it to you. Some of 'em just take a little longer to tell, that's all."

  "Thank you, I needed to hear that."

  "I suppose you did. Glad I could help," he said, coming over to ruffle my hair.

  As he moved to leave, I caught his arm. "Hey, what'd you come in for?"

  He looked confused for a second before cracking a goofy grin. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I broke an anchor. I came here to let Ads know we needed another."

  "You broke an anchor? How the hell did you manage that?"

  He chuckled. "Just pulled too hard, I guess."

  If anyone else had said it, I'd have called bullshit. But I'd seen my cousin rip a tree clean out of the ground because it was in his way. It was a small tree, but he still did it without breaking a sweat. He was like a Hillbilly Hercules.

  "She made me do inventory in the warehouse last week. I'm pretty sure there's one in there. I'll make sure she knows we need to order a new backup."

  "Thanks, 'cuz, you're the best. I don't care what they say about you."

  "Yeah, yeah. Now get back to work. And no more breaking shit. You've reached your quota for the month."

  "You got it, boss," he called over his shoulder with a wave.

  I flipped my phone over in my hand while I stared at the flowers. Bam-Bam was right. I should try to see things from his perspective. I took a picture of the flowers and typed out a quick message.

  Me: Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful. I’m sorry for overreacting.

  Pope: You didn’t overreact. I’m sorry for not being more upfront.

  Me: I guess we both kinda suck at this, huh?

  Pope: We'll figure it out eventually.

  Me: I hope so

  Pope: Listen, my partner is having a BBQ at his
house Monday around 5. Would you want to come?

  Me: Your partner?????

  Pope: Jesus, the fellow officer that I ride around with day in and day out. The person I've told you countless stories about?

  Me: Oh, right. Yeah, I'd love to.

  Pope: Okay. I'll text you the address. I’d come pick you up, but I'll have to leave straight from the precinct.

  Me: That's fine, I can take the truck.

  Pope: Sounds like a plan. I've gotta go; my shift starts soon.

  Me: Okay, have a good night

  Pope: You too, babe

  I sighed—like legitimately sighed out loud like a fucking Disney princess. It was the closest thing to a swoon as you could get. I was going to meet Pope’s friends. He was letting me in.

  What the fuck was I going to wear?

  3

  Duck Number Twenty-Seven

  Adelaide

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Pushing my glasses from the tip of my nose back on my face, I glared at my sister from across the office. “Savannah, I’ve been pretty nice up until now, but enough is enough. Anymore online shopping during company time, and I’m putting a block on your internet access.”

  It had been week since Zep cornered me in the kitchenette, and all I’d gotten from him was radio silence and slammed filing cabinets. We’d barely spoken a handful of words to each other as he breezed in and out of the office in between meetings with clients, outings on the boat—oh yes, and dates with her.

  Josie Gereaux. Bayou real estate guru to the stars. Plastic Princess.

  Bitch.

  I had no right to be mad at him for moving on with his life. I’d treated him like sorority girl’s drunken conquest and skipped out while he slept. My head knew that. However, my stubborn Dubois pride refused to see it that way and maintained he should’ve given us a cooling off period before he manwhored all over the place again.

  Savannah threw her pencil at me, clearing impressive distance between our desks. “I have to find the perfect outfit to wear to this barbecue.”