Strays

Chapter 15

Wren wrapped his jacket tightly around himself and wandered in the general direction that Lindley had given him on his tour of the town. He had resolved that if he couldn't find the bonfire by wandering in that general direction, he could still tell Lindley that he had tried. Unfortunately, the fire lit up the sky right in the middle of an empty parcel of land that looked like it had hay strewn about it.

One of Dean's friends spotted Wren walking over and shouted across the fire pit at Dean. Wren got an anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach—he wasn't used to being the odd one out. Even when moving into town, Cassie had tagged along for the first couple days out of curiosity, and now he always had Wyatt and his family to make him feel like he had some sort of allies.

"Hey, you made it," Dean called getting up to greet Wren with a clap on the back. From the smell of it, Wren had quite a bit of catching up to do.

"Hey, man," Wren greeted, before gesturing around to the field. "I thought Lindley said your fire pit was in a corn field." Wren looked around at the very flat ground around him, the distinguishing characteristic of which was its lack of distinguishing characteristics.

"You really are a city boy," Dean laughed, his southern drawl more pronounced with his intoxication. "Harvest season ended in November, so we burn 'er down after."

Wren smiled uneasily. "I see."

"Let me introduce you around!" Wren nodded from his place under Dean's tree branch of an arm as he pointed to the group of young adults around the fire. Most of the qualifiers hearkened back to high school accomplishments or what part of town their family owned. "That's Nate, he was the kicker on our high school football team." "There's Stacy, homecoming queen and valedictorian." "Jed's daddy owns the gas station in town, so if you ever have car trouble, there's your guy."

Wren was shocked by how these superlatives actually stuck in his head. He might not remember the name of the burly redhead with the DIY sleeveless shirt, but he wasn't soon to forget that he held the town record for quickest gallon milk chug. "He spewed it clear five feet—I swear. Coulda power washed my car the way he sent that milk back up."

Wren was relieved when Nate called him over, patting a repurposed stump beside him.

"Beer?" he offered, and when Wren thanked him, he clapped his hands together and the heir to the local feed store tossed him a silver bullet. He handed it to Wren, who cracked it open and took an appreciative sip. Nate shot a line of dark colored spit into an empty can with impressive accuracy. Only after this did Wren notice his bulging lower lip from where his dip sat.

"Dean's a good guy," Nate told him unsolicited. His eyes didn't leave the fire, and Wren realized how much warmer he was now and took his hands out of his pockets. "He's shinier 'n polished brass, but he's good people. Lindley asked him to look out for you, so you won't get no trouble from anyone."

Rather than argue that he could look out for himself, Wren asked, "Is there even trouble to get in around here?"

"The devil don't live where the sinners are," was his response. "They don't need him there."

Wren had to force himself not to laugh, but also stowed that line away to repeat to his friends later when he recounted this evening. Nate spat another line of dark liquid.

"So where'd Wyatt find you?"

"Our dads used to be friends," Wren answered clearing his throat. Speaking made it a little easier to hide his smile.

"Mm," was all Nate said for a moment. Wren took a large sip from his beer, and nearly choked when he heard, "Fist, huh?" Wren swallowed and willed himself not to cough.

"What makes you say that?" Wren watched him carefully out of the corner of his eyes.

"My kid sister Daisy ran off with some yankee lowlife to the city," Nate answered. "Pop went to Wyatt, 'n Wyatt said, 'You call up my friend up in the city,' and 'fore you could get the sheriff out of bed, Daisy's back home like nothin' ever happened." Wren's eyes clouded, and he tried to recall who that could have been. He shook his head, figuring he wouldn't remember. It wasn't exactly the kind of business that would involve him unless they needed more numbers.

Nate snapped him out of his recollections by saying, "You ever need anything, you gimme a call."

"Actually," Wren thought out loud, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His face close to Nate so as to not be overheard, he asked, "What can you tell me about this Mike guy?"

Nate leaned back, not thrilled over how his gratitude was being collected on. He worked over his chaw for a moment before spitting and coming to a conclusion in his mind. "Normally, I don't gossip 'bout Miss Lindley. She's practically a sister to Dean, 'n plus it feels too mean. But seeing as the whole town knows, I don't see a harm." He shrugs and unpacks his lip, swirling his mouth with a sip of beer that he promptly spits out.

"Most people's either dumb or mean, but Mike's a double dose of both. He and Miss Laura Lynn have been together for—what, three?—years now. Mike couldn't keep a job in prison, and he doesn't like havin' too much free time. When he loses a job, you'll probably see Miss Lindley wearing long sleeves and makeup around town, understand?" He dipped his head and made heavy eye contact with Wren.

"What—you mean he hits her?" Wren asked incredulously, almost dropping his beer.

"Mm." Nate took a long drink from his beer, before saying. "He licks her somethin' fierce. But she's tougher 'n she looks 'n believe it or not, he's not the worst ov'em. The devil you know 'n all that." Nate saw Wren about to ask another question, but he cut him off. "You fixin' to ask anything else, you go on an' ask Miss Lindley."

Wren swallowed his anger in a mouthful of beer and nodded. He and Nate sat in tense silence for what felt like an hour until they got up to watch a game of dizzy bat take shape.

"Can only play between harvest and planting, or you lose the cans 'n Mayor Herschell will tan your hide for dulling his tractor blades." Nate must not have taken too much offense to Wren's line of questioning, as he comfortably took the place beside him to watch the game.

Wren for his part could barely register what was going on around him for wondering on Lindley. Should he confront her? Confront Mike? He could easily have the Fist take care of Mike. Sure he had left, but you can't really leave.

As the words formed in his mind, he realized it was true. No matter what, he would still be part of the Fist. If he called needing them, they would come. If they called needing him, he would come. How could he have all the ability so readily at his fingertips to take care of Mike and not exercise it because he had quit a few weeks ago? The hard part of quitting the Fist wouldn't be getting them to let him go—no one would stop him. The hard part would be himself letting go. The realization settled in his stomach like bile. He clapped a hand on Nate's back.

"Good talking to you, man. I'll see you around." Nate nodded at him, and just as he thought he would get a clean escape, every person Dean had introduced him to in passing waved and issued their good-byes. To his chagrin, Wren fully appreciated what it meant for Lindley to introduce him to Dean and set this all up. The thought made him crush the beer can in his fist and chuck it into the pile that was forming at the edge of the group.

He would do something about Mike, but it was a matter of what and when.

As Wren was walking down Main Street, too heated to feel cold, his phone vibrated. Word on the street is you made an appearance at the firepit.

He grinned to himself as he responded.