Y'all quit being so darn sweet. I can't handle it! TY! :)
Chapter Three: Sins & Softness
After service, we always go home and cook a big meal. It's tradition. Ma and Papa probably did that before we were even born. She cooks greasy collard greens and fried chicken and crawfish and peach cobbler. And we eat gator too, 'cause Papa said ain't no point in wasting meat he done caught.
I'm starving and ready to go, but Ma feels it's her duty to introduce us to the dirty folks with the cursing son.
"Esme! Oh my!" Ma pats her belly even though the woman didn't ask her to. "You look even bigger than you did last week."
Esme smiles and rubs her stomach. "One month to go. I sure hope it's a girl."
"I bet it is," Ma says. "Your feet and cheeks are swollen. I would know."
Ma is so embarrassing. I can't believe she just called that woman fat. In church. On a Sunday.
I guess we're just sinning left and right now.
"Oh! Lemme introduce you to my babies." Ma pushes us girls forward. "This is Cotton, AJ, and Jessie."
We smile real sweetly, taking turns shaking Mrs. Masen's hand.
"You're all beautiful girls. This is my husband Carlisle. You didn't get to meet him last week when your folks came by." Esme tugs his arm forward and he grins politely, but doesn't say nothing. He's missing a few teeth too.
"And these are my boys. Introduce yourself, sons."
"I'm Rowdy." He says it with a wink towards me and I turn my head at his sly grin.
His southern drawl is sweet and slow, like maple syrup.
"Manners, Edward," Esme corrects. "His name is Edward Rowdy."
I think I'll just call him Church Curser.
"And I'm Jasper."
Skinny like a stick.
"I'm Emmett Masen and I'm 11 and I like bacon."
I bet you do.
They are just a filthy looking bunch. The first one looks just like his name—loud and obnoxious. The second one has so many teeth pushing over his gums that he needs to share with his papa, and the third is all fat and rolls.
Like a hog. He's a hog impersonating a human.
Papa is nice to Carlisle—who still isn't speaking—but he's staring down the three boys. Ma nudges him.
"Say, we're having a big meal. Why don't y'all come by? I could use a little help in the kitchen."
"You don't have-" Esme tries to explain.
"I insist," Ma says, wrapping her arm around her. "Lemme go tell the Reverend what a good word he preached this morning. I'll be right back."
What the Masens don't know is that she's going to be awhile.
.
.
.
We arrive at our house and the Masens all look around in awe. The first sound Carlisle finally makes is a long-winded whistle.
"This here yours?" He walks around, admiring the long columns that stand tall on the three levels. Our porch stretches all the way around the house, but my favorite spot is the sycamore tree in the back that I hide under just to get away.
"Yessiree," Papa says, grinning all proudly. "Gator season hit real good a few years back. Started my own business catching and selling, and here we are."
GatorSkins, owned and operated by Charlie Swan.
He'd tell anybody that ever listened.
I'm not one of them.
Ma scoops up Jessie before she can scuttle away as Papa opens the door. We don't lock doors around these parts, but I think he might after all his stuff keeps getting messed with.
"Cotton? AJ? Go show the boys around. Little Jessie and Esme and me are going to start supper."
"Right this way, Carlisle," Papa says, but turns to me and whispers in my ear, "You keep an eye on them, Cotton. I don't trust 'em for nothing."
I nod as Papa leads Carlisle down the east wing of the manor. "You ever had a Denmark cigar?"
No one tells Emmett where to go, but he follows the women into the kitchen.
Fatty.
Alice Jo points here and there, rambling about every room in the house. She describes everything—the library, the loft, the music room, the seven bedrooms, and the parlor. Rowdy and JR soak it all in, like they haven't ever seen anything like it.
When we finally reach our bedroom with three beds, Rowdy glances around. "Why y'all all share a room if you have all this space?"
I shrug, not fully understanding his question. "'Cause we're sisters, that's why."
"Not me," Jasper boasts. "If I lived in a mansion like this, I'd have three rooms all to myself."
"Shut up, Jasper. You'd have whatever room I'd tell you," Rowdy answers.
AJ and I glance at each other, wondering if they always bicker like this.
"Wanna go see the sunroom?" I ask, trying to keep the peace. "Ma always keeps snacks in there."
"Do y'all have an attic?" Jasper asks, not even listening to me.
"Yep, it's scary though," Alice Jo warns. He doesn't care and follows her up to the third floor.
"Which bed is yours?" Rowdy runs his finger over the fabric of my comforter. My bed is closest to the window, which I like so I can sleep through all of AJ's snoring.
"That one," I say, nodding towards it. "Why?"
"No reason. It's just that when I imagine you, I want to have somewhere specific in mind."
"Specific for what?" And why would he want to imagine me doing anything? I don't know what he's talking about and it's driving me up the wall.
He walks past me and I swear his dirty finger brushes along my back. "Nothing. Are you gonna show me the sunroom or what?"
He's a bossy one, that Rowdy. Way bossier than AJ. I don't know if I should listen to him or not. He's only a year older, but that don't mean anything.
I sigh as my rain boots make flopping noises on the hardwood floor, heading back downstairs to the first level. We make a left at the bottom of the stairs and go down the hall. The sunroom is my favorite room in the house. It's decorated in pretty flowers, with soft furniture and a dining cupboard with crystal dishes. Ma said it's the room closest to where the sun beams in, and that's how we know God is shining down on us.
I just think it's 'cause of all the windows.
Rowdy plops down in a white wicker chair, rocking back and forth and taking a raspberry biscuit from the table.
He's already staining the chair with his grime.
I sit on the other side and reach for a cracker.
"Why are you wearing rain boots?" he questions. "It ain't even pouring outside."
"They're my favorite. I have all kinds of boots—jellies and wellies and rubber ones. I just like 'em."
He frowns, like he doesn't understand why I've got more than one of anything. "What's your real name?"
"What?" I'm so busy focusing on his grubby fingernails that I don't hear him.
"Your name," he repeats, stuffing his mouth full. "What is it, really?"
He sure is a nosy fella.
"It can't be Cotton," he explains. "Girls don't have names like Cotton."
"They do so!" I argue, folding my arms. "That is my name. AnnaBella Rain Cotton Swan. Ma said the cottons bloomed after I was born. My Ma ain't a liar!"
His dirty hands fold over his dirty stomach as he laughs. "It-It's such a dumb name!"
"I suppose Rowdy is all peaches and cream?"
"Rowdy is my Gramps' name," he explains, his chuckles quieting down. "He died in the war, so if you want to make fun of a Vet, then you go right ahead."
"Oh."
We sit in silence for a few seconds, rocking in our own thoughts as we chew.
I feel him staring, but when I peek, he's gazing out of a window.
Without warning, Rowdy leans over, running a finger over the invisible hairs on my bare arm.
I shiver and glance up at him with wide eyes, wondering why he would do such a thing.
"Cotton?"
"Hmm?"
"I get it now, why that's your name."
I blush and turn away.
He's all words and gazes. Smooth talking and hushed tones.
I don't want to hear it.
I can't get enough.
Rowdy pulls my chin towards him, and I feel like he's looking somewhere deeper than my eyes.
"Don't be ashamed. You can be soft on the outside, but it don't mean you're soft on the inside. You're a tough one, I can tell."
I peer at him in confusion, 'cause I don't think of myself in the same way. "How's that? You don't even know me."
"All cotton seeds start off small and hard," he explains. "And when they finally start growing, they're almost impossible to pull apart."
Rowdy's wrong.
When his hand is touching my skin like this, I can already feel myself unraveling.