You'd Be Mine(42)

He grows quiet, and I feel my cheeks heat, and I realize how damaged I must sound. Bitter and ungrateful and angry. It’s a carefully hidden part of me. One reserved for Kacey and Jason.

“You’re right,” he says in a low voice.

My throat catches, and I risk a glance up at him.

He’s determined. “They didn’t live for you. You’re right.”

“That’s it?”

He shrugs. “Do you need more? Because if you do, I’m hardly the one to talk about unhealthy hang-ups.”

“No, I guess I don’t. So we’re in a park.”

Jefferson glances around, his lips pulling into a smile. “We are. I’m not real familiar with Ohio. You?”

“Definitely not. I didn’t even know they had beaches until last night.”

He sits up straighter, placing his hands on his knees and half rising. “I have an idea.” He holds out a hand, and I grasp on to it. Tugging me along, he pulls us across a busy street and onto the sidewalk entrance to what appears to be a jewelry store. There’s a sign that reads, MINE TOURS INSIDE.

I raise a skeptical brow at the storefront. “How is there a mine in this place?”

“No idea,” Jefferson says. “But I think we have to check it out. I’ve never been to a cave inside a store.”

We walk in, and it’s exactly as advertised: your typical jewelry store. Behind the glittering counter sits a harried young woman who looks up at us from the glass display case.

“We’re here for the mine tour,” Jefferson says as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

She points a thumb to the back of the store, where the wall has been painted in a janky-looking mural that must be the “cave” entrance. There’s a cardboard cutout of an old-timey miner who I’m pretty sure is just a knockoff of Yosemite Sam, holding a pickax in front of the doorway. The little word bubble over his head reads, MOTHER (OR FATHER) LODE $5, LITTLE NIPPERS $2.50.

I snicker. “Wait, you have to pay for this?”

“I take offense at ‘Little Nipper,’” Jefferson says under his breath, and I can’t stop giggling.

“I don’t have cash,” I whisper.

“What the hell kind of country star are you?” he whispers back, pulling out his wallet.

“The kind who uses debit, apparently.”

Jefferson walks over to the clerk. “Do we pay you for the tour here?”

“Seriously?” she asks, and Jefferson’s blinding smile falters.

“Uh, yes?”

“Are you students?” she asks.

“Well, we aren’t Mother and Father Lodes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Little Nippers are under ten,” she says.

It’s incredible to see how the mask of Clay washes over Jefferson’s face. He’s taller somehow and charismatic. Gone is the uncertain teenage boy. “Tell me, Denise,” he says, glancing down at her name badge. “Is this tour worth five dollars apiece? Is there even a tour guide?”

“Not really,” she admits. “It’s little more than a light show.”

Jefferson pauses, considering. Then, “Is it romantic?” he stage-whispers, “We’re on our first date.”

Two can turn on the charm. I take a stab at putting on my stage persona. “If this is a first date, why are you being so dang cheap?”

Jefferson straightens. “Fair point. What the lady wants, the lady gets. Two Mother Lode tickets, please.”

He slides her a twenty, and she goes to give us cash back, but he’s already leading me toward the “entrance.” “Keep the change, Denise.”

He hurries me inside, and it’s basically a tunnel of what looks like black papier-maché inlaid with tiny twinkle lights. The floors have glow-in-the-dark strips of tape that we follow around a bend. It’s cooler in here, and there is a recording playing through the speakers that sounds like drips echoing off a cave floor.

“A-plus for ambiance,” I muse.

“Watch out for stalagmites,” Jefferson whispers. “In fact, you should probably take my hand.”

I snort in the dark. “Don’t you mean stalactites?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I never graduated high school,” he says.

“They didn’t make you take the GED?” I ask.

Silence.

“I just rolled my eyes at you, but you didn’t see it,” he says. “Of course I got my GED. But seriously, who actually knows the difference between stalactites and stalagmites?”

“Fair point.”

“I was just trying to be smooth, Mathers. Way to mess up my game.”

I snicker louder.

We round the corner—and by the, I mean the only corner, because I can already see the glowing red exit light on the wall—and enter into a small room that, to their credit, does sort of resemble a cavern. Twinkle lights are fashioned in broad swirls that look almost like phosphorescence has been painted on the walls. Blue lights accent glittery seams, and the ground is uneven and feels legitimately close to a real cave floor. In the center is a display case of different gems and a key showing us where to find them in their “natural” state, scattered around the cavern’s crevices.

“Let’s split up and make a game out of this,” he says. “Whoever finds the most gems wins.”