“Wesley Lincoln! You won’t be needin’ that garbage at Georgia College a the Redeemer.” Mrs. Lincoln stood in the driveway, trying to tear the Star Wars poster out of Link’s hand. “In fact, at Georgia Redeemer you won’t be needin’ any a that mess from your room.”
Link yanked harder on the poster, frustrated. The Beater was mostly packed, but he was supposed to have been on the road an hour ago. Ridley knew better than anyone that standing in the driveway arguing over his action figures one by one with his mother was Link’s idea of Hell. “Aww, come on, Mom. That’s my stuff. And I gotta get outta here. You want to make me late for all that good college orientin’?”
Mrs. Lincoln responded by yanking the poster up and out of Link’s reach until it tore.
“Ma!”
Ridley chose that moment for her entrance. “Mrs. Lincoln. How lovely you look! I mean, the way your housecoat matches your curlers.” Try as she might, Ridley could never manage not to irritate Link’s mom. It was pretty much her specialty. That, and getting Mrs. Lincoln to turn a particular shade of red previously reserved only for old beets and sunburned pigs.
Link looked so relieved to see her that Rid thought he was going to break down and kiss her right then and there.
But then she looked at his mother and thought again.
Mrs. Lincoln seethed. “Is that sass? Do you think I want advice on how to cover my own God-given body from a shameless half-dressed harlot like you?”
Rid momentarily considered her thigh-high boots and her halter dress—more than a few bandages shy of a true bandage dress—and waggled one long red nail. “Now, now. No harlot shaming. Haven’t you heard? There’s a Democrat in the White House, ma’am.”
Mrs. Lincoln gasped.
Ridley smiled. Her mood was improving. It felt good to mix it up with the Mortals. Flex the old chainsaw mouth.
Being good Ridley was so dull that sometimes she was tempted to make new friends just so she could lose them later.
“Lay off, Rid.” Link turned to his mom, taking the poster out of her hand. “Rid’s here to say good-bye. You might cut her some slack, seein’ as she’s not comin’ to Georgia Redeemer with me. Especially seein’ as you wrote all those letters to the Board to make sure.”
Mrs. Lincoln forced a smile onto her face. “No, she certainly is not. She would burst into flames if she set one foot on a good Christian campus, and don’t you forget it.”
“Jesus loves everyone, Mom.”
Mrs. Lincoln scowled at Ridley. “That right there is the one child Jesus forgot.”
Link tried to keep a straight face. Nothing made his mom madder than a smile or a sass during a beatdown. “I don’t know about that. They gotta call it Redeemer for a reason.”
“I promise you, she’s not it. Do not so much as dial her number.” Mrs. Lincoln was almost turning purple.
“That’s not really your business,” Link said sulkily.
“Oh, you can bet your sweet corncakes it is. As far as I’m concerned, I’m the CEO a your business, Wesley Lincoln.”
“I’m just here to see you off,” Ridley said, sweet as pie.
First things first.
Ridley was here to get her boyfriend back, and she intended to get the job done.
Link held out his hand to her. She looked at it. “A handshake? What do you want me to do with that?”
“Sayin’ good-bye, I guess. Like you said.” He reached for her hand with a smile and a wink. “See ya around, Rid. Been nice knowin’ you.”
Ridley took his hand. Mrs. Lincoln’s eyes narrowed. Ridley yanked Link toward her, grabbing his face with both hands. She tilted his head and kissed him so hard that his toes curled and his face turned bright red.
Almost as red as his mother’s.
It was the kind of kiss that had made Sirens famous, the kind of kiss that stung worse than a whole army of wasps—the kind that made you forget your own name and your destiny. The kind that could make a sailor steer his ship straight into the rocks.
Until he would be the one wearing the bandages, Rid thought, with more than a little satisfaction. Or at least, pride in workmanship. She didn’t have a tongue long trained by years of cherry lollipops for nothing.
Then, as quickly as Ridley had caught him, she threw him back, breathless and stammering. When she pulled away, Link looked like he was going to pass out.
“Bye, then,” Rid said sweetly.
Link stumbled toward his car. His mother came after him with two open arms, then let them drop, disgusted.
“Well, Wesley Lincoln, are you happy now? What kind a mother could kiss her own son after a sordid display like that?” Mrs. Lincoln snapped. “You’d better go in the house and wash your mouth out or I’ll never be able to kiss you again.”
“Aww now, wouldn’t that be a shame,” Ridley purred.
Five minutes later, Rid stood on the sidewalk and watched as the Beater drove away. The Who—she thought it was “Teenage Wasteland”—drifted through the air in its wake, almost like the sound track to the end of the movie that had been Link’s crappy life in Gatlin.
Mrs. Lincoln sniffed, blotting her eyes with her handkerchief.
Ridley clapped her on the back. “Well, Mamma. I guess I should be off, too.” She ducked to Mrs. Lincoln’s cheek and kissed it loudly, leaving behind a red smear. “You don’t mind if I call you that, do you, Mrs. L? Seein’ as we’re bound to be family, any day now.” She leaned toward the woman who hated her more than all the banned books in the Gatlin County Library combined. “You know he’s saving for a ring, don’t you?”