A/N: This one's a little longer than the others but is still relatively short...for me anyway. :)

VIII: Now

“It will take more than just a breeze
to make me fall over
fall over
fall overboard, overboard
fall overboard just so you
you can catch me.”
-“Overboard” by Ingrid Michaelson

The night of Keplar’s Grove’s “Friends in Low Places” Night soon fell on me like a one ton dead and rotting steer and was as welcome to me as the smell of that particular steer.

At dusk, as promised, I found myself walking into a big red barn swarming with excited and chatty townsfolk. The event, like every year, was held in the barn owned by Burt Shellman because, of all the barns in Keplar’s, Burtie’s was the best, mostly because it wasn’t over sixty years old like all the other barns in town, but just a baby at only twenty-five or so. It was almost brand new when I was in high school and had been the pride and joy of Shellman’s farm since its raising.

Because Bennet worked a few of his middle school summers at Shellman’s farm, he and Burtie got pretty close and from then on he was allowed to wander the farm at any moment he liked, from dusk ‘til dawn. Bennet made it a habit to sleep out in Burtie’s fields with the grass and the wind, like the “wild Australian Aborigines” he used to tell me. (That kid read way too much.) I remembered there were a few nights we’d sneak out of the house to sleep in Shellman’s field, under the stars, and there were countless times we took advantage of the secluded, parentless loft of the barn, when those hot and bothered nights were almost suffocating. We lost our virginities in that barn.

There were a lot of memories tied to Shellman’s barn and fields, which was usually why I had a hard time going to these get-togethers.

Keplar’s “Friends in Low Places” Night was hardly my favorite town event. It was just an excuse for everybody to get together, drink beer, dance and grope each other. It was a way for the town to remind me I was still there, just as I had been for the last 32 years. Not much had changed from the year before, much like the year before that. I was still Natalie Podge, waitress at Della’s Grub since the age of thirteen and resident of 1320 Bunkerwood Lane. Stuck in a hole. Stuck in a rut. For some reason, “Friends in Low Places” Night had its way of rubbing it in my face every year, so every year I hated it more.

But did I keep going? Of course I did. Because lifelong residents of Keplar’s (in other words, the entire population of Keplar’s) never missed a town event unless you were fool enough to have some of Randy Kix’s atomic chili and had what Della called the “front and back-fires.” That was the only way the town would allow an absence. Even death didn’t excuse you, I swear.

So I went, dreading it even more than usual. I had unfortunately caved that afternoon and promised Della I’d come, even after my little hissy fit with the ladies of the church council. I figured they wouldn’t leave me alone until I went, so I did, still not planning to have any contact with Bennet if I could help it.

It was the first time since Bennet blew back into town that everybody was together in one spot. Everybody, of course, knew he was there, which was bad enough, but with them all in one room along with me and Bennet, I knew I was an inch away from gulping some of Randy’s chili just to escape them. The comments would be more forceful, the suggestive looks brutal and, mixed with beer, the loud shouts of “Hey Bennet, why doncha dance with little miss Natty like old times?” would have me wishing for death.

I was able to sidestep most of the people who wanted to talk about Bennet, who at the moment had yet to arrive, and those who were really stubborn I was able to give a short answer before quickly changing the subject. The only one who got through my defenses was little Mabel Jenkins and only because she was my kindergarten teacher and you just can’t mistreat your kindergarten teacher. She felt it was necessary to bring up the famous story about Bennet’s and my first day of school.

“I remember how scared you two were,” she said in her wavery old woman voice. She had to be nearing 90 by now, “You were so scared and you only knew each other, so you came into the classroom holdin’ hands and refused to be parted from each other for the whole day. It was so darlin’.”

Ugh. Thanks for that. Luckily, most of the other townsfolk were already a bit tipsy, so I was able to either avoid them or easily got them to follow my subject-changing lead.

It had been about an hour into the party and Bennet had still not come. People were getting antsy, I could feel it, and it made me sicker. I was trying to think of an excuse to leave early, but I had to keep reminding myself I had given Melba a ride to the party and she wouldn’t want to leave until all the excitement was over. Seeing I was one of the few younger folk in Keplar’s and capable of driving without running my car into things like mailboxes and cattle, I was the only dependable driver in town it seemed, so I couldn’t even leave Melba with someone else. I scowled. It was really annoying being the only responsible one.

Just as I was realizing I was stuck, Bennet came in, wearing his famous grin and setting his red hair ablaze in the barn’s light. Everybody went nuts, screaming and cheering and rushing over to him like he was some Hollywood celebrity. I stayed where I stood, near the beer bucket and on the opposite side of the barn. I was not going to join in, I was not going to pay attention to him, I was not going to care. He was just another idiot I had grown up with. No one special. I didn’t care.

The shirt he was wearing was really nice. Button up, blue and white plaid with a very fashionable collar and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows to show his strong arms. He had dark blue jeans on that also looked really nice, made his legs look really long. His legs were always long, but the jeans seemed to make them longer. Instead of cowboy boots like everybody else, he had some black work boots on. Something other than cowboy boots, I could almost laugh in relief. Sometimes I was so tired of seeing everybody in that damn town wear cowboy boots, especially to the events.

The smile he wore as he greeted people was a genuine one, the one he used to make when he laughed really hard or was in an especially good mood. I had seen a lot of that smile over the years. It was a good smile.

But I didn’t care.

I popped the top off a beer and downed half of it in one go. I didn’t care. As he moved through the crowd heading right at me I didn’t care. I took another swig. He didn’t exist to me anymore. If he said anything, I’d say a tiny “Hi” and move on. That was the plan.

Another gulp and my beer was gone.

I turned and grabbed another, snapping off the top. I threw my head back to let the frothy drink slide down my throat. When my head went back down I found him right in front of me, grinning at me, arms crossed on his chest.

“You’re lookin’ very nice tonight,” he said in his cocky voice.

“Hi,” I said and walked away, just like I planned. It wasn’t as smooth as it had been in my head, but I didn’t care, so it wasn’t a big deal. I wouldn’t have even looked back to see his reaction if that weird noise hadn’t happened behind me and right by Bennet, forcing my eyes to look him over. I had to look, it was a reflex. I didn’t care otherwise.

He seemed a bit surprised by my brush off. But I didn’t care.

Before I had made it across the barn, my beer was gone and Randy Kix was shoving another in my hand. I raised it in the air in his honor and downed another half of it in a gulp.

I made sure to keep moving around, mingling, far from Bennet. Not like I was avoiding him, because I didn’t care, so it wouldn’t matter to avoid him or not, I just wanted to make sure there was no awkwardness in either party. Plus, I felt I should talk to everybody, to be polite, and everybody I talked to just happened to be across the barn from Bennet. I couldn’t help it, that’s just how it was.

“Oh,” sighed Della, drunk as a skunk and grinning like a fool, “I wish Stanley was here, he loves these dances.”

“When’s he comin’ back?” I asked, gulping my beer and trying not to let my eyes watch Bennet.

“A few days,” hiccupped Della, “a few days…then I hafta be a good girl.”

“Good luck with that,” I said and Della erupted in giggles.

The town band, The Flaming Spurs (I wish I were joking), soon arrived and gave the jukebox a break. Nobody danced until the band came, it was some sort of unspoken tradition, so when they began setting up, people cheered and readied themselves to scoot their boots. Most were now in a good state of drunkenness and itching to dance like crazy, so they shouted impatiently for the band to get going. Finally, all instruments were plugged in and tuned, the microphone was up and Stevie, the lead singer, began the song.

About then a guy named Tommy Sidler came up to me. I had seen him a couple of times during the night, talking to people here and there, but didn’t really pay attention. Tommy had had a crush on me in high school when I was still skinny, cute and desirable and tried to get me when Bennet disappeared but was never successful. My broken heart was not a flighty one.

He was one of those who, after graduation, would disappear for a few years, hit rough times, come back to town for a while, then go out in the world again to give it another shot. He had moved in and out of Keplar’s about seven times since graduation, every time with a new excuse; his mama was sick and needed him, he had a business opportunity in a city near Kaysville, he got bored with the business opportunity and wanted to come back for some R&R, he got bored of R&R and wanted to find adventure in the city life.

He was the most indecisive person on the planet, but at least he got himself out of town a few times. I just didn’t understand why he kept coming back. I swear Keplar’s has some sort of pull on a person, like an invisible bungee cord strapped to your back that will let you out for a little bit, but inevitably snaps you back in. In Tommy’s case, his cord must’ve been stretched out pretty bad.

Every time Tommy was back in town and I’d see him around he’d flirt with me, just like he did in high school. Della reckoned he still harbored some hopes for the two of us being an item. This was pretty stupid of him if true, because I was pretty sure I’d kill Tommy if we ever went out. The man could barely make a decision between bacon or no bacon on his sandwich whenever he came into the diner. He’d sit there going back and forth and back and forth for decades. I finally had to yell at him, telling him he wanted the bacon, and he, shakily, would agree with me.

Idiot.

The funny thing is, back in high school Tommy was just as annoying, but Bennet still got mighty protective of me when Tommy would shoot me looks or suggestive smiles. Bennet hated him and always threatened to beat his face in if he bothered me. He would deny being jealous, saying he figured Tommy was bugging me, and so he threatened the state of Tommy’s face “purely to maintain your pleasant state of mind, baby.” Some of the things that kid said … anyway, I always found the whole Bennet vs. Tommy situation funny. Like I would ever leave Bennet for a dumbass like Tommy Sidler! But Tommy still managed to ruffle Bennet’s feathers a little, not too much - Bennet was too cool to get too upset - but I could tell it bothered him a lot more than he let on.

I wondered what Bennet would think of Tommy now.

But then I remembered I didn’t care.

Tommy asked me to dance with him. Usually I would try to come up with excuse not to, so I wouldn’t lead him on or something. He may have been an idiot, but Tommy was still a nice guy, so I always tried to spare his feeling the best I could. “My feet hurt,” “I have to stay with Melba to make sure she’s alright,” and “I don’t like this song” were all used in the past to lightly turn him down. I never had a problem coming up with a new one - I’ve always been good at quick lying - so refusing Tommy shouldn’t have been a problem. I thought for a minute and looked up, catching Bennet’s eye from across the room. He was talking to Miles and Bernie, but looking at me and Tommy. His expression was a little hard to read, but I thought I could see a bit of annoyance in it.

“Sure, Tommy,” I said, finishing my beer and setting the bottle down, “let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”

I think Tommy almost swallowed his tongue in shock, seeing as he was probably prepared for me to politely refuse him. He recovered quickly though and grabbed my hand, almost crushing it, and yanked me on the dance floor. We got in line with the other dancers - the Flaming Spurs were famous for line dance songs (famous in Keplar’s anyway) - and began to move.

I happened to catch Bennet again; he was still watching me and Tommy. I thought I felt myself trip and so grabbed onto Tommy so I wouldn’t fall. He put an arm around my shoulders and steadied me. I hugged his arm to thank him. Looking up, I saw Bennet was talking to Miles and Bernie again. How could a conversation with Miles and Bernie be so interesting that he would be talking with them for so long?

But I didn’t care.

The beer I had chugged lashed up and hit me pretty hard in the middle of the song so I found myself jumping and dancing with a lot more gusto than usual. It was good though, I needed a good loosening up, I figured. So I laughed and clapped, Tommy caught me the few times I stumbled over my feet, and I thanked him every time with a squeeze on the arm. I think I even kissed his cheek once, but I can’t remember.

By the end of the song, Bennet had broken away from Miles and Bernie and was closer to the line of dancers. He was now talking to some of the guys we knew in high school who had stuck around town. Billy Beck, Taylor Nells and Brad Hickock were old buddies of Bennet’s, usually the fools he would tip cows with when I wasn’t in the mood.

They were the ones who kept trying to figure out what was in Stanley’s famously mysterious cellar all through middle school and up until Bennet’s disappearance (losing their ring leader also made them lose interest in some of their mindless obsessions, I guess.) They made such a big deal about that stupid cellar I think it was their fault there were so many urban legends about it around town. It couldn’t be filled with boxes or roots or other crops, oh no, it had to have dead bodies, treasure, secret government weapons or a secret passageway to some crazy tunnel leading to an entire underground city inhabited by pod people.

Idiots.

I could never speak highly of those three guys, but with them around, Bennet was able to get his mischievous urges out and so didn’t bother me to participate with him as much. So I guess I owed them thanks for that much.

Bennet’s eyes kept wandering to the dancers, me especially. I didn’t know what his problem was; it was like he thought he was my watch dog or something. The bastard had some nerve to figure that, I remembering thinking. I threw an arm around Tommy’s neck, telling myself I felt a bit dizzy. Bennet’s eyes flicked upward and with a slight shake of his head, he turned back to the three idiots.

I remember declaring I was thirsty as the next song started up. I was going to break away from Tommy to get another beer, but he was suddenly off and back with a cold one aimed at me. It happened so fast, my tipsy head couldn’t follow it. He took off the cap for me and I swallowed with speed, thirsty beyond belief. I cleared the bottle within seconds and Tommy gave a whooping cheer.

“That’s my kind of woman!” he said, laughing, taking the bottle from me and pulling me into a dance.

This one wasn’t a line dance; it was some Alan Jackson song I didn’t know the name of. The Flaming Spurs didn’t write their own songs, they just murdered famous ones. I love Stevie, he’s a nice guy, great cook and family man, but he’s no Alan Jackson, and I don’t even like Alan Jackson.

For some reason though, at the moment, I cheered for the song. Alan Jackson sounded great. Tommy laughed again and pulled me closer to him, his hand on my hip while the other held up my hand. We spun around at speeds that shouldn’t be legal for a person in such a drunken state. I didn’t care about my head spinning though, at the time it was pretty damn funny. I clung onto Tommy so I wouldn’t fall and I laughed a lot. At one point, Tommy spun me out and held me at arm’s length. My dizzy eyes stumbled onto Bennet. He was closer to the dancers, I thought, but it could’ve been my fuzzy vision fooling me.

I wondered why he wasn’t dancing. He always liked dancing when we were younger. Maybe he had gotten stodgy about it in the last sixteen years. But it didn’t matter to me, I reminded myself, because I was dancing with Tommy and we were having a time.

When the song ended, the Flaming Spurs took pity on us breathless, out-of-shape drunkards and played a slow song. I immediately collapsed onto Tommy and he wrapped his arms around me. We turned in slow circles with the music. Somebody turned the lights down so it was a dim bluish color in the barn. I watched the other couples next to us, panting and hanging on their partners as much as I was. I smiled. We were all such fools. Della grinned at me while she danced with Bernie and I winked at her. I hoped Stanley wouldn’t find out about her dancing with Bernie, it probably wouldn’t end well. I giggled at the idea of Bernie and Stanley fighting over Della, like she was Helen of Troy or something.

My dizziness faded a bit and I soon felt winded and kind of sleepy. I moved my arms up around Tommy’s neck, more to make sure I didn’t crumple to the floor in a snoring heap. I rested my cheek on his shoulder, feeling the warm blood draining out of it and the sweat on my forehead drying. Tommy’s arms tightened around my waist and I felt his head rest against mine.

Stevie crooned softly, singing about young love and the power of the heart, while strumming his guitar lightly. It was very relaxing, very nice, and sleep was coming dangerously closer to me.

My fluttering eyes caught Bennet again. The three idiots had disappeared and Bennet was now alone, still watching the dancers. Even in the dim light and through my cloudy vision, our eyes caught. He had the same expression he had before when our eyes first met, but now it wasn’t so hard to read. He definitely looked a little ticked.

I couldn’t think of why. If he wanted to dance there were plenty of single women ready and willing to dance, especially with the great Bennet Malene. I was surprised he hadn’t offered to dance with a few of the ladies; it seemed only polite to do so. And Bennet was such a natural flirt I thought he would’ve danced with at least some of the older ladies by then, he always had a great time flirting with them. He had a great talent for making them giggle and blush and, yet, there he was, standing with his arms crossed, looking annoyed. What a jerk.

But I didn’t care.

While I turned my eyes away from his, I snuggled closer to Tommy, tightening my arms around his neck. I was still dizzy and a bit fuzzy in the head, so when he started kissing my neck I didn’t really register it until I heard a shuffle of hurried shoes and Tommy suddenly stopped dancing.

Looking up just as Tommy was pulling his face out of my neck, I saw Bennet suddenly standing behind Tommy, grinning widely.

“Mind if I cut in, Tommy?” he said, looking as if he were never annoyed. He was bright and pleasant, genuinely friendly, “For old time’s sake?”

Tommy, whose dislike for Bennet was on the same line as Bennet’s dislike for him, grimaced a little at the idea.

“The song’s not even done yet,” I blurted, “that’s pretty rude of you.”

“I know,” Bennet said, making a guilty face, “my manners really are shot, but I can’t help it, I’ve been itchin’ to dance for awhile and I figure I gotta start with you, Natty.”

“Oh do you?” I grunted, my head was pounding all of a sudden, and I was pissed about it.

“Come on, please?” Bennet said, smiling at both Tommy and me, using his best weapon: that stupid “charismatic” smile of his, “Don’t make me beg, Tommy. You know what that can do to a guy’s ego.”

Tommy relented, a little too easily I thought, and I soon found myself being traded off, pushed from one male chest to the next. It wasn’t long before Tommy was snatched up by Rayanne Browsner, another former Grove High classmate and, within a minute, he seemed to have forgotten all about me. Rayanne may have had bigger boobs and a skinnier waist, but he was in love with me all throughout high school and a little after, I thought. I felt a bit betrayed. I guess his broken heart was flightier than mine.

I looked up at Bennet and he grinned at me, “Enjoyin’ yourself?”

I scowled at him. “Hi,” I looked away. I was going to try to stick to my plan.

Bennet laughed, it was annoying, but did I care? Nope.

He put his arm around my waist and I soon swiped it away, almost losing my balance, but getting it back without having to grab onto him.

“Leave room for God, Malene,” I growled.

He laughed again, “I haven’t heard that since the 7th grade dance. Remember Ms. Marcie kept gettin’ on our asses for bein’ too close?”

“Nope,” I lied, not looking at him, “Hey Della, how are you?” I shouted at her, even though she was across the room. She didn’t hear me and I felt my ears burn.

“You’re doin’ a great job at this ignorin’ business by the way,” he said in that cocky tone of his, “I’ve never felt so shunned in my life.”

I growled again and would’ve pushed away from him and stormed off, but I didn’t trust my jelly legs. I now regretted drinking so many beers, especially since I hadn’t eaten since noon, it really wasn’t a good idea, I realized, and I wished I could’ve taken it back. Had I known I would’ve been held hostage by Bennet during the worst phase of the drunkenness I would’ve thought twice about the beer Tommy got me or the shit load I had before. But I was stuck and he knew it. I hated him for it, too.

“So when are you gonna stop lookin’ at me with such burnin’ hatred, Natty?” he said, “It’s got to be tirin’ for you; you should consider your personal health the next time you shoot me one of those death looks.”

“Shut the hell up,” I said, pushing his persistent hand away from my waist again, “I have every right to shoot you nasty looks and I don’t plan to stop until you leave again. When will that be, by the way?” I finally looked at him, trying to ignore the very pleasant smell of him, “Soon, I hope.”

He kept his grin, “You really know how to stab at a guy, Natty. Damn, you go right for the jugular.”

“Only yours,” I trilled, giving him a mocking smile and turning my head from him again.

He shrugged. “So, this event is new, ‘Friends in Low Places’.”

“Not really,” I grunted, still not looking at him, “it’s been going on for the last ten years or so…but I guess you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

He took my stab with stride, “No, I guess I wouldn’t. Garth Brooks wasn’t even popular when I left, so it makes sense I’m new to this certain event.”

“Bravo Sherlock,” I groaned, “for puttin’ that puzzle together.”

“It’s fun though,” he said, ignoring my nastiness now, “a lot better than the ‘Kick Up Yer Boots Night,’ don’t have too many good memories about that one.”

My nose scrunched up, “Oh God, we stopped doin’ those ages ago, and for good reason.”

He grinned, “Wait, did you just say somethin’ that wasn’t meant to kick me in the balls?”

I straightened my nose and narrowed my eyes, “I’d choose your words carefully, Malene, my knee has perfect aim of your balls.”

I saw him tighten his thighs together and I knew, even though he was giving his grin, my threat had been well received.

“So Natty, how are you?” he asked.

I was in no mood to answer him, “Hey Melba, you wanna go soon?”

Melba was hobbling past us, dancing with Billy Beck (who looked less than pleased he had to dance with the old woman, but nobody, by rule, disappointed Melba, so there he was.)

Melba’s face shrunk up, “Are you kiddin’? I’m havin’ a ball!”

I felt a flash of anger for sweet little Melba. I heard Bennet make a grunting noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, which just made me madder.

“Besides,” Melba giggled and leaned into us, whispering very loudly, “you two’ve got some catchin’ up to do, doncha?” she winked and nudged my elbow with hers.

“That we do, Melba,” grinned Bennet, enjoying the scene a little too much, “but after Natty and I have done our ‘catchin’ up’ I better get a dance from you.”

Melba flushed and giggled like a teenager. “You bet your buns, Bennet Malene.”

Billy, who was a good foot and a half taller than the tiny Melba, gave Bennet a look over her head like he was insane to want to trot around the floor with her, but Bennet ignored him. He winked at Melba, promising her the first dance once he was done with me. She giggled and rushed Billy around the floor, like that would speed up the time until she got to dance with Bennet.

A few more of the ladies danced past us, most of them older, some middle-aged, and they all got promises from Bennet for dances. He was up to seven impending dances with the ladies by the time the song ended, and I felt my eyes rolling.

So now he was suddenly all about dancing.

“Well,” I said, pulling away from him a little, testing out my legs. They seemed a bit stronger and my head wasn’t spinning as much, “you got a lotta dances to do, so you better hop to it,” I turned away from him, releasing him and slipping from his grip.

“Natty,” he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back, “come on, I wanted to talk to you a little.”

“Then you shouldn’t’ve promised so many ladies you’d dance with them, because this event’s gonna be over soon and you’ve got barely enough time to dance with half those ladies you promised. And I seem to remember you saying Bennet Malene always keeps his promises, that was your motto, so I shouldn’t waste anymore of your time. I’d hate to be the reason your motto was for shit,” my last line was biting.

For the first time since he cut in, he didn’t grin. He didn’t frown either; he just held his mouth in a straight line. His green eyes watched me and almost grabbed me like fish hooks, but I didn’t let them get to me. I wasn’t going to be affected. I felt for those ladies, I wanted him to dance with them. I knew what it felt like for the great Bennet Malene to break a promise, and I would hate to have those nice ladies feel that sharp pain. They didn’t deserve the disappointment.

“Let go,” I yanked on my arm to free it from him, but he had a strong grasp. Strong hands, strong fingers, strong arms, strong chest, strong body.

But I didn’t care!

“Natty, just a few minutes,” he said, motioning his head to the barn door, like he expected me to go with him outside. To what? Have a heart to heart? Please, even I was smarter than that.

“No, you’ve got a duty to all those ladies,” I said, spreading a grin on my face before turning, “Hey Melba! He’s all yours!”

The old biddy was across the floor and at Bennet’s side before he could voice a thing. She was grinning up at him excitedly, her wrinkly face even more so with her smile. He smiled back, then looked at me. With a slight grunt, he let go of my wrist and took a hold of Melba.

Without a word, I was out of there, walking quickly and pushing through the crowd more interested in watching Bennet romancing little old Melba than my emotional state. Some of the younger gals saw it – Bennet’s dance with Melba, not my emotional state - as sweet and charming.

“That Bennet Malene,” they said, “he’s such a sweetheart!”

Those who remembered him from when he was still a resident of Keplar’s grinned, saying, “He hasn’t changed a bit, such a good kid.”

My heart and stomach wrenching, I hurried through the crowd, ignoring some of the looks I was getting from some people, and headed for the door. I made it out of the crowd, rushed past Tommy and Rayanne making out in the corner, and stepped into the dark coolness of the night. I went to the left and slammed my back against the barn wall, leaning my head back, closing my eyes.

I wasn’t going to cry like my eyes wanted to, because it would mean I cared, and I wasn’t supposed to be caring. I blamed my emotions on the beer, though I think I sobered up pretty quick in the last few minutes, but that hardly mattered. It was the beer, or maybe my period was coming up, that could explain it: crazy hormones, not my past haunting me, hormones.

That Bennet Malene…He’s such a sweetheart.

I pushed their voices from my head. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about Bennet being a sweetheart, because it made my stomach twist more. He wasn’t a sweetheart, why didn’t they realize that? Why didn’t they remember what he did? Did they block that part out of their heads? Did they decide to just forget how he just vanished without so much as a note? How he went missing for sixteen years without a word, then, out of nowhere, just shows up, like nothing had happened? Was I the only one who found this wrong? Was I the only one pissed about it? I didn’t understand.

I heard clapping from inside the barn, along with some whistles and cheers. I peeked in and saw Bennet holding Melba in a slight dip, while the crowd laughed and cheered them on. Melba was laughing hysterically, and Bennet was winking at her, using his shameless flirting skills to their limits.

They were cheering him, smiling at him, welcoming him back without so much as asking for an explanation from him.

I turned back and stared off into Shellman’s fields, tried to let the smell of grass and pond water and manure clear my head. I saw the silhouettes of the trees lining the stream on the edge of his property and I felt a shiver. I looked away from those trees and decided to look at something safer, the bright white moon. I pushed so much against my tears my eyes hurt and by the time the song ended, they were blurry and sore. I peeked in again and saw Bennet kiss Melba’s hand and give a playful bow, which she blushed and giggled at, before the next old woman snatched Bennet up and the band started the night’s theme, “I Got Friends in Low Places” by Garth Brooks.

Now was my chance for escape.

I charged into the barn with my mission clear. My entire focus was on Melba and I wasn’t going to stop for anything or anyone (not that anyone tried to stop me; they were busy either dancing or watching Bennet swing Betty Lou Fresne around.) I found Melba in the circle around Bennet and Betty Lou, fanning herself and getting over her fit of giggles. Thankfully, she appeared tired. I went in with nothing but success on my mind.

“Melba, do ya mind if we hit the road?” I said, trying to look really beat, though I didn’t have to pretend too much, “It’s almost over anyway and I’ve got an early shift at the diner tomorrow.”

I hoped Melba would forget the diner was closed on Sundays.

She looked a little disappointed, but Melba was hardly a woman to purposefully trouble someone, “Oh sure Sugar, I’m pretty tuckered anyway, that Bennet Malene sure knows how ta show a girl a good time, though I’m sure I don’t gotta tell ya that.”

“Uh huh,” I grunted, trying to ignore her insinuation. I grabbed her hand and began to navigate her through the crowd of people.

Another loud sound – or, if I’m to be completely truthful, it was reflexes – made me look back and behind me, in his direction. I saw Bennet, twirling Betty Lou, but looking at me. He looked like he was tempted to leave Betty Lou spinning and run after me, like he was still itching to “talk to me a little.” Damning the loud noise (aka the stupid reflexes) I turned away and kept walking.

Melba and I said our goodbyes without stopping and soon we were tucked into my car and heading down the dusty gravel roads toward Water Lane, Melba’s street.

I had never been so glad to escape a “Friends in Low Places” Night in my life.

Melba jabbered the entire way from the barn to her house. Some of it involved the conversations she had with various folks at the event, some of it was about her dance with Billy Beck, (which she knew he didn’t want to participate in but cornered him anyway, playing her little old lady card because she knew she could. She was such a little siren, that Melba.) But her rant went mostly to “that Bennet Malene” and how funny he was and charming and sweet and handsome and perfect. She wanted to know what he had been up to, thinking the whole thing as “mysterious” and “interestin’.” Then she wanted to know if he and I had a chance to talk, if anything had happened, if anything was going to happen, and she asked it all as if it didn’t shove a knife into my heart.

I didn’t answer her; I just yawned and rubbed my eyes, apologizing for being out of it. I blamed it on exhaustion and she understood. She patted my knee with a smile, saying, “I understand being tuckered, that Bennet Malene is one hell of a dancer.”

We pulled up in front of her house and we said our good byes, but not before she told me to make sure I talked to “that Bennet Malene” and find out where he had been hiding the last sixteen years.

I had never been so happy to see Melba walk away as I did that night.

God bless her, but she could be such a pain in the ass.