Overruled(33)

Honor of your presence . . .

Jenny Monroe . . .

James Dean . . .

June . . .

Wedding . . . wedding . . . wedding . . .

“What in the actual f*ck?”

That gets Jake’s attention. He turns in his chair. “Problem?”

I grasp for understanding, for a theory that makes sense. “Did you do this? Is this a joke?”

He points to himself. “Have you ever known me to make a joke? On purpose?”

He’s right. Pranks aren’t his style.

Brent, on the other hand . . . This is right up his alley.

I spring out of my desk chair and stomp into Brent and Sofia’s office.

“Is this supposed to be f*ckin’ funny?” I accuse, harsh and desperate.

He plucks the card from my fingers. “I don’t know why it would be. Ivory isn’t a particularly funny color.”

And then he reads it. “Whoa.” He glances up to my face warily, then back down to the invitation. And again mutters, “Whoa!”

Sofia stands from her desk. “What? Why are we whoa-ing?”

Brent flashes her the invitation. Comprehension dawns in her eyes.

“Wh— Shit.”

Sweat breaks out on my forehead and my chest squeezes like I’m having a panic attack. I grab the card, and with Brent and Sofia right behind me, trudge back to my office—needing to f*cking yell at someone.

And I know just the someone.

I punch the familiar numbers into the phone. But I’m brought up short by the voice that answers.

“Presley?”

“Hey, Daddy.”

“Why aren’t you in school?” It’s an hour earlier in Mississippi, but she should still be in school.

“We got the day off—teacher trainin’.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“She’s gettin’ ready for work.”

“Put her on the phone.”

There’s a rustle, muffled talking and then my daughter’s back on the line. “Momma says she’s late for work, she’ll call you back.”

I don’t think so.

“Presley,” I hiss, “tell your momma I said to get on the goddamn phone right f*ckin’ now.”

There’s a shocked pause. Then a hushed whisper. “You want me to say that?”

“Say exactly that,” I urge. “You won’t get in trouble.”

With a little too much enthusiasm, she yells, “Momma! Daddy said get on the goddamn phone right f*ckin’ now!”

I can practically hear Jenny stomping to the phone. “Have you lost your mind?” she screeches seconds later. “Tellin’ my daughter to cuss at me? I will cut you!”

“You’ve already cut me!” I unleash. “What the hell am I lookin’ at right now, Jenn?”

Obviously she can’t see what I’m looking at—not my best opener—but it’s hard to be logical when you’ve been kicked in the nuts.

“I don’t know, Stanton, what the hell are you lookin’ at?”

“Well it looks like a f*ckin’ wedding invitation!”

She sucks in a mouthful of shocked air. “Oh my lord.” Then in a growl not directed at me, “Momma!” An inaudible argument ensues with sharp tones and angry pitches. Then she comes back to me. “Stanton?”

My grip on the phone tightens. “I’m here.”

Jenny swallows with a gulp. “That news I was gonna tell you about this weekend? I’m gettin’ married, Stanton.”

It’s like she’s speaking another language—I hear the words but they make no sense.

“Sonofabitch!”

“I was gonna tell you . . .” she rushes out.

“When? When the golden anniversary rolled around?”

She tries to soothe me. “I know you’re angry . . .”

But I’m gone. “I passed angry so far f*ckin’ back it’s scary!” I look over the card again. “Who in the holy hell is James Dean? And what kinda name is James Dean anyway?”

Brent chooses this moment to comment softly. “The same as one of our finest American actors. Rebel Without a Cause, Giant with Elizabeth Taylor . . .”

“Elizabeth Taylor,” Jake pipes up. “She was hot when she was young.”

I ignore the idiot ramblings and focus on what Jenny is saying.