Chapter 7 Depending on One Another

Realizing that Fred wasn't going to share with her the travesties of the cheerleading practice, Peyton decided to take a drive back to Lucas's old neighborhood with Laura's folder. Pulling on a lightweight jacket, she poked her head into the den where Lucas was sitting with Ashton, reading with him from Where the Red Fern Grows. Peyton cringed at the book; she knew how it ended and she could only imagine what Ashton's reaction might be; he was the most sensitive of her kids. "I have to go drop something off for Ryan's friend. She left her school work here," Peyton said as she dangled her car keys in the air.

"Do me a favor and take the Lexus. It's supposed to rain anytime now. And be careful." Peyton rolled her eyes but smiled a little as she resolved herself to driving the green SUV instead of her beloved old black convertible. She nodded, looking at the beautiful picture in front of her. Lucas was now in a pair of old sweat pants and a t-shirt, his blond hair tousled from a bit of roughhousing with his two boys, and his wire-rimmed glasses looking as cute as ever. She still remembered the day he'd been told he needed glasses. He had been very stubborn about the entire deal and even suggested that the doctor might be wrong. After a long discussion with Peyton about glasses not necessarily indicating his getting on in years and quite a bit of heckling from his brother and sister-in-law, Lucas caved and begun to wear the spectacles when reading. The wire frames slid down the bridge of his nose just slightly as he sat with his son, reading from the book. Ashton, looking very tired, was snuggled in his dad's lap on the sofa while Lucas held the book in front of them both.

"Anything else?" Lucas asked with mock-impatience. "We're reading here."

"No," Peyton said with a grin. "I'm leaving. Be back soon."

"I love you!" Lucas called after her.

"Me, you," she called over her shoulder before continuing out of the house. She was still grinning as she pulled in front of Laura's house on Chestnut Street. There were lights on in the house, and it was barely eight o'clock, so Peyton didn't think twice about ringing the doorbell. The door was answered by a woman in her early thirties, possibly even younger than Peyton herself, dressed in a hideous housedress and hunched over so far that she appeared to be the height of a small child.

"Hi," Peyton said with a bit of uncertainty. "I'm Peyton Scott. I'm Ryan's mom. Laura left her folder at the house this afternoon, and Ry was afraid she might need it."

"That was very nice of you," the woman said meekly. "Although, Laura wasn't supposed to go anywhere after school."

"Oh—" Peyton said in surprise. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize. I don't think they had any homework, being the first day—"

"That's not the point. Young girls don't need to be out gallivanting."

"I would hardly call our kitchen out gallivanting," Peyton said with a wry smile. "But if those are your rules, I hope we can still arrange something for another time. She and Ryan seem to get along so well—"

"No offence, Mrs. Scott—"

"Peyton—"

"Peyton. We raise our daughter to certain standards." This caused Peyton to raise her eyebrows a bit, but she continued to listen without interruption. "My h-husband and I d-don't feel that it's proper for a young girl to be playing with young boys. You understand."

"Sure," Peyton lied. "I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe you'll change your mind. It's difficult being new to the neighborhood. And around here, in a small town where everyone has lived here their entire lives, it's not easy making friends. Laura's always welcome in our home."

"She has her own home," a gruff voice stated from behind Peyton. The blond jumped, turning to see a tall, dark haired man in a red flannel and denim jeans walking up the porch steps behind her. In the attention she had been paying to the slightly crazy woman in front of her, Peyton had failed to hear a truck pull into the drive.

"Tom—" The woman began in a tremulous voice, but stopped as soon as the man glared.

"Who are you?" He barked at Peyton, causing her to step back a bit, to the side of the door. She stood firm after that, angered by his rudeness.

"Peyton Scott," she answered with a firm, regal tone. She was a pillar of this town, damn it. These new people obviously didn't realize with whom they were dealing. She didn't have to take this kind of attitude from anyone... besides occasionally Dan and Deb... and every once in a while Royal and May. But besides those four, no one in town dared speak to her in a condescending tone.

"One of those Scott people," he snarled. Maybe they did know with whom they were dealing. "Think you own the whole damn town."

"You must not have been here long," Peyton said icily, "we do."

"I've been here long enough to be tired of dealing with your kind. Now, if you'll just get your pretty little—"

"I'd watch how you finish that sentence," a familiar voice warned from the yard. Peyton turned to see Jake standing there, his cell phone in one hand and the golden retriever's leash in the other. "Come on Peyton." He moved closer to the porch and offered his hand, waiting for the startled blond to snap out of her trance and walk toward him. After Peyton was safely behind him, Jake turned back to the man and glared coldly. "You're new in town, so you may not realize this. But you mess with this woman or one related to her, and you're in a world of trouble."

"Just keep your woman off my property," the man returned with a snarl.

"I'm not his woman," Peyton cried in protest. She was quickly quieted by a slight squeeze of Jake's hand. She grumbled to herself, but compliantly got in the passenger side of her own car while he allowed his ball of golden fluff to shed all over the back of her SUV.

"What was that?" She demanded as soon as they were on the road.

"What were you doing?" Jake demanded. He pulled into his driveway and opened the door, letting the dog out and waiting for Peyton to follow suite. She did, but not without a cold glare. The house was quaint, much smaller than either of the Scott abodes but slightly larger than Karen's little home. While it had originally been simple and very bachelor like, Brooke had spent a lot of time transforming the house into a beautiful home. The flower boxes leading up to the front door were always full and colorful, the porch furniture covered in rich fabrics that complemented the yellow house and blue trimmings.

"Hi Sweetie," Brooke said as she rushed into the room and threw herself in Jake's arms. She pulled back slightly when she noticed her old friend. "Peyton!"

"Hey Brooke."

"What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing," Jake said sarcastically. "Peyton just decided to have an argument with a strange man who was more than likely toting a gun."

"What?"

"Jake's overreacting," Peyton argued, not liking the way this conversation seemed to be moving.

"Peyton, you don't know that guy. I've seen him a few times since he's moved in. And they're definitely not from around here."

"Do you know how snobbish that sounds?"

"But it's true," Jake countered. "He's not the most polite guy I've ever met and he obviously doesn't want you around. What were you doing there? Where's Lucas?"

"Sweetie, give Peyton a minute to breathe. Everyone's fine. No need to get upset." Brooke was using her flirty voice, one that instantly pulled attention away from a grateful Peyton. She was about to excuse herself when the kitchen door slammed open and a streak of blue flew past them and pounded up the stairs. Brooke looked curiously after the blur that was Jenny and pointed up the stairs.

"Was that?"

"That was Jenny," Jake said with a sigh. "I'll go see—"

"Let me go," Peyton offered with a sigh of relief. By the time the night was over, Jake's mind would probably not be focused on telling Lucas about the earlier incident. Not that he would be angry, but he would be overprotective – and that was sometimes worse. "Brooke, can you call and let Lucas know where I am?"

"Sure thing," the brunette said with a relieved smile toward her best friend. She knew she should be doing all of these parenting things, but it just didn't come naturally to her.

The title of this chapter comes from this quote:

"Independence"... Is middle-class blasphemy. We are all dependent on one another, every soul of us on earth. G.B. Shaw, Pygmalion