Tennessee. They’ve yet to catch up with the times and invest in a damned DVD player and don’t even get me started on the DVR Debacle of 2015. I’ve tried and tried to talk them into it, but I always get the same response—the response they give to any modern technology—they’re not letting the FBI into their home.
Yeah, that’s what I’m working with.
According to them, anything made in the last twenty years is bugged, wired, or tracked.
I still suffer from second-hand embarrassment that they believe in all that Area 51 bullshit. Big Brother. Shark Spies. Fake Moon Landing. You name it, they subscribe. My mama keeps tin foil wrapped around the end of their television antenna for better reception and to block satellite spies from coming into their living room.
“Mama,” I plead once more, trying my damndest to work up some legitimate tears, but I’m sad to say, I’m all cried out.
“You’ve made your bed, Sweetie. Now you’re just gonna have to lie in it.” Mama’s voice takes on the no-nonsense tone she uses when dealing with me or my daddy, especially when we’re not living up to Shauna Cassidy’s standards. My mama is an ideal southern women—prim, proper, big hair, close to God.
“Mama?” I ask, hoping she’s still there, but then there’s an audible click as the line goes dead and I feel defeated. She was my one phone call. I can’t believe they really only give you one phone call.
“Did she hang up on you?” My daddy’s expression is serious, but I also see a small twitch under his thick mustache as I hand the phone back to him through the bars. I feel like he’s getting a kick out of seeing me in this situation, knowing I’ve already used my get-out-of-jail-free card one too many times. As he sighs and stuffs his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, the term tough love swirls through the air. It’s unspoken, but it’s there. My chest feels tight as my dad’s head bows and he tucks his chin to his chest, scratching the back of his head with a deep sigh.
Disappointment.
My father, who’s always been proud of me, is disappointed.
Until a few months ago, I was an upstanding member of society. I recycled, voted, and braked for dogs, cats, and squirrels. I went to church on Sundays. My husband was my high school sweetheart. We had a life cut from the pages of Southern Style magazine—a yellow house with white shutters and a fence to match.
Now, here I am, sitting in jail. Again. The only thing keeping me company on this side is a flimsy mattress and an even flimsier blanket folded neatly at the end.
“Can I get you something to eat? Maybe a glass of water?” Sheriff James asks, walking over from a desk in the corner of the room. I know he’s only being nice to me because I’m Butch Cassidy’s daughter.
And before you get to thinking I’m famous, let me stop right there. We’re not the Cassidy’s—Hollywood actors or legendary outlaws. And no, I am not the Sundance Kid.
The next person who calls me that might get shanked, especially with my recent track record.
But my daddy is the bail bondsman, so he and the sheriff are buddies. Sheriff James books ’em. My daddy bonds ‘em. They play for the same team.
“No, thank you,” I huff, with as much menace as I can muster.
“Tempest, now you know that this is—” my daddy starts.
“Hurting you more than it’s hurting me?” I interrupt. “Yeah, I already know.”
And I call bullshit.
Funny thing is that most of my anger is not directed at the man walking out of the jail at this moment, leaving me behind, it’s directed at Asher.
He brought all of this on himself.
I was a perfectly calm individual until I walked into my bedroom and found him and Mindy snuggled up in my thousand count sheets. My bed. My sheets. My husband.
Not that I even want him now. I don’t.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
But I also didn’t want him to have that damn truck.
“I don’t really see what the big deal is, anyway,” I mutter to myself and the three concrete walls. “I mean, who says it’s a sin to drive a truck into a pond?” I pause for my own contemplation as I begin to pace the short length of the bars. “The last I heard, this was still a free country. Seems to me that I should be able to park a