Chapter Text
There was a specific melody that played when the temperature was just hot enough. Echoing between the messy blades of bermudagrass and making the black beetles and fire ants dance in unison. It was hot enough to make the air quiver low to the ground, bend under the sunlight, shake right above the asphalt.
Today, it was so hot, her father made her crack the windows of the shop open all the way. The heat was thick, heavy in her lungs, clad to the back of her neck like an unwavering chain. Customers strode into the shop, sweat glittering on their upper lips, plastic cups in hand, picking up an assortment of whims. Cigarettes, chewing gum, several cases of PBR, sometimes even milk and a loaf of bread.
Bunch of secular folk, her father would mutter after the tell-tale exit bells chimed through the shop. Alicent would always nod in his favor and make sure to straighten the gold cross hanging around her neck.
Today, father was making her man the register. When their shop first opened, he never let her up front. Gwayne would always help father take care of the stock in the back, while Mama ran the register up front. Alicent would stay in the office, watching the reruns on the TV, or coloring in the worksheets she'd gotten from Sunday school.
You colored so nicely, Alicent! And inside the lines, too. That's my girl, Mama would say. They'd hang it up on the refrigerator until it was time for a new drawing, or when Mama said there's too many of these, Ally. One more drawing of Jesus up there and he might just resurrect in the damn fridge. Father didn't like that joke.
That was their routine for as long as she could remember. It was like that until it wasn't.
"Ally."
"Sir?"
"Stay up front for me. I'm going to the back to make a call."
Alicent nodded. She smoothed her palms along her clothing, a collared yellow dress with short-sleeves that puffed right above her elbows and a hem that fell just below her knees. Strands of her auburn curls were pulled back while she let the rest fall loose over her shoulders, and a silk, white bow was fitted around the strands to keep everything in place.
Her father muttered something, pushing open the door and disappearing in the back. The only noises now were the small shuffles of a toothless old woman studying the different kinds of lottery tickets they had to the far right, and the loud whirring of a plastic fan blowing hot air around their store. The woman, hair dyed an untoned shade of blonde and dressed in an immodest fit of a spaghetti tank top, too-short shorts, and flip flops, slid over to the counter where Alicent waited.
"Hey, sweetheart, do y'all carry PowerPlay?"
Alicent nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"And how much is it?"
"It'll be two dollars per ticket."
The woman nodded, reaching her hand down into her pocket. Her was breath potent with liquors as hard as the plaque on her two or three lone teeth. Alicent had become all too familiar with the smell the more she handled the register. People would enter the shop right before they flipped the 'CLOSED' sign, eyes bloodshot and wide whilst stumbling towards the refrigerated alcohols. Father hated drunkards, hated the way they'd flaunt their inebriated sins without remorse, then clean their slates between the pews on Sunday morning.
The sounds of coins rattled until she unearthed a handful of quarters, dimes, and crumpled dollar bills, spilling them on the countertop. She tossed her ID on the countertop as well.
"Lemme get twenty of 'em, please."
Alicent gave her weak smile. "Yes, ma'am."
Her father emerged from the back, his brow scruffy and furrowed. He pinched at the bridge of his nose and leaned against the counter. "Ally, I gotta— hey, Ms. Strong, how are you?"
"I'm good, Mr. Hightower, how are you?"
"I'd be better if the AC was working in here. It's been out for two days now and my shop's damn near melting. I was telling Ally here that I need to run down to the HVAC store, see if I can't get a compressor and fix it myself."
"Now let me tell you what. The AC box in my trailer went out last year, right? And I got COPD and the air is too damn thick out in them woods. So I call my nephew, and he's been doing air conditioner for a long time. His name's Harwin and he lives in Las Vegas now, and he's married with some pretty babies. And Lord, they're such cute lil' bab—" Alicent stopped listening just about there. She instead was staring down at her hands, fingertips flinching.
She didn't like the texture of these dollars. They were slightly damp, almost covered in a gritty film as she smoothed them out between her fingers. The coins were partially covered in something sticky and tar-colored. It made the saliva bubble in the bottom of her throat and her left eye twitch just a bit. And she knew that Ms. Strong wouldn't be the last one to bring in coins like this, wouldn't be the last one to spit all over the counter as she spoke, or the last one to shimmy back into the woods and find repose in their scarcity.
She sighed. It was simple here, simple for her. Alicent knew which end of her neighborhood the sun would set on last and she knew which end of Dagger Lake to avoid because water moccasins hid under the rocks.
(And Gwayne had always loved to lift up those rocks and scream bloody murder while Alicent was just a few feet away. After she once tripped and skint her knee running away, it was the very last time she visited that lake with him.)
The stillness within the simplicity held her down, drew her close when the knots threatened to tumble out of her mouth. But lately, it sat in the center of her belly, twisting at all times of the day and wringing her nerves in the night. It felt like her home was unraveling into the bare frames of a house, the once-vibrant stained glasses fading into something translucent. It was restless. It ached.
She'd already been accepted to several universities, every one to her father's content. University of Texas, Vanderbilt, Charleston Southern, and Auburn. She didn't tell her father the extra application she'd sent out to the school up north. She had only opted to meet the mail lady at the box everyday instead and eliminate the possibility of her father giving her that look that shrunk her down ten sizes, made her feel like she'd implode under the weight of his stare. One day, the mail lady handed her a large envelope with a wink. In the confines of her room, she had pulled out a piece of thick, white cardstock with embossed letters that almost glowed red.
Dear Alicent,
Congratulations! We are delighted to offer you admission into Princeton University! Included in this acceptance letter is an invitation for you and your parents.
(Her stomach had curled, lingered on the last word a little longer. Parents.)
Her father had never liked them, the schools up north. They'd once received a paper advertisement from another prestigious university in the mail— Yale or Brown, she couldn't remember— and he'd picked it up, pinching it by the edge like it was dusted with poison.
Ain't nothing good up there, you hear? She'd hid the letter from Princeton under mattress and hoped the page would hold the weight of her heart while she slept.
"Ally, I'll be back in thirty. Hold the shop down, don't let Ms. Strong buy us out now." Otto gave Ms. Strong a smile before exiting the shop.
"You got a penny, baby?"
Alicent slid one of the tar-like pennies back to her, and Ms. Strong stepped to the side, grumbling and scratching at the lottery ticket, letting the plastic particles dust across the countertop. The bells jingled again as she watched the shop's door swing open, and Alicent straightened herself out once more.
This time, a girl walked in. It couldn't have been more than a second that Alicent caught her gaze before the girl disappeared into the aisles. And Alicent couldn't help the furrow that formed on her brow as she watched the top of the girl's bright head navigate through the corners of the store. She'd not seen this girl before, let alone in the shop; she couldn't have been a visitor, the way her blue-jeans and holey white shirt were smudged in motor oil. The dark brown leather of her cowboy boots was faded and littered in scratches, creasing around the toe, aging with every step.
Alicent watched as the girl stared thoughtfully at the fridges full of alcohols, before approaching the counter, stepping diligently past Ms. Strong.
Alicent swallowed now, her eyes now focusing with an alarming clarity. Her hair was beyond sun bleached, nearly white and gleaming under the sunlight pouring into the shop, contrasting with the buttery tan that had formed on the outers of her arms, cheeks, and nose. She smelled like the inside of a repair shop, like chemicals trying to mask themselves as perfume. Timid beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, almost hidden by the loose strands of short, platinum hair that fell over her eyes— those eyes, Alicent had never seen someone's eyes be so full of blue.
"Hey. Y'all got Coppenhagen?" The words curled off her tongue warm and low with a sticky sweetness.
Good Lord, what kind of voice is that on a girl like you?
Alicent stared for a moment more, her mouth slightly agape before the words caught up. She cleared her throat, ignoring the burn in her cheeks or the crackle of her own voice as she nodded. "Uh, yes, uh—" Alicent turned, looking at the rows of dip on the wall. "Which kind?"
"That red one. Yeah, that."
Alicent reached up and grabbed it; she always felt wrong selling dip to people, especially the young folks, watching their gums start to dissolve and their teeth start turn an old shade of parchment yellow. And when Alicent turned back towards the girl, her wandering eyes couldn't help but trace the edges of her lips. They were so pink and ruddy, briefly pulled in between her pearly teeth in thought. Alicent felt her stomach twist in a mixture of guilt and reprimand. She's got too pretty a mouth to be using stuff like this.
The girl caught Alicent's wandering eyes before giving a small grin.
"S'not for me, if that's what you're wondering."
"That's— good. 'Cause my daddy says stuff like this... it'll rot your teeth out."
The girl slid a ten-dollar bill onto the counter, watching Alicent tap at the buttons on the register, picking at the oil underneath her nails. She gave a small huff. "Oh, it will. My uncle's got a big 'ole hole in his gums. Probably won't have a jaw in a couple of years."
The register popped open and Alicent gathered the change, nodding because she felt like she needed to let this girl know she was listening, was storing away every moment of their interaction.
"Me personally," the girl reached up, calloused fingertips grazing against Alicent's palm as she gathered the quarters and dimes, sliding the change and the can into her jean pocket. "I 'least prefer to rot my teeth with something sweet."
And then the girl gave a lopsided grin and nod, turning on her heel and exiting the shop.
Alicent let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, watching the girl disappear into the blinding sunshine. It was only when Ms. Strong huffed out a losing curse that drew Alicent out of her gaze at the shop's door.
xxx
Sunday morning rolled around. The shop was always closed on Sundays.
Alicent sat between Gwayne and her father in church. Their heads were both bowed in prayer, her father's brow knitted tightly while Gwayne always seemed to have a sort of quiet conformity plastered on his own.
She had stopped closing her eyes a while ago, instead opted to stare at the space between her closed-toe flats, or at the tithing envelopes nestled on the back of the pews. The sinking in her chest simply didn't allow her to close her eyes anymore, speak to Him anymore without the echo of betrayal one step behind her prayers. The pastor's sermons often bounced off of her ears and the choir's hymns no longer brought her warmth and reassurance.
Her heart always wrenched something fierce when she came here. The ceiling of the church had risen miles above her head and the treated wooden cross stationed at the front of the chapel had grown twenty sizes larger, now towering over the fellowship during every service.
It had all stagnated on the day they laid her mother in a mahogany box and let the grassy field behind the church swallow her. Hate is a strong word, babygirl. We don't say that, Mama would say. But God knows that Alicent couldn't find another word to describe it; she hated passing by that graveyard when they pulled out of the church's gravel parking lot, she hated how her father didn't say Mama's name anymore, pretended she'd gone with the wind overnight and to utter her name was damning the rest of the day, and she hated how she began to resent Him.
Alicent pulled her eyes up from the ground, swallowing the knot in her throat and looking at the wooden cross. She didn't know if it was reprimand or ridicule, but it all poked at her the same. She tried and closed her eyes once more, bowing her head down and tried to absorb the pastor's words.
—and I know there is so much going on in this world. But God's got you. He's got you in the palm of His hand today, now, and forever.
xxx
Father had been in and out of the shop all day today, arguing with the man who fixed the air conditioner. Alicent could hear his impatience growing more present.
("A thousand dollars?" He scoffed. "With all due respect, sir, are you tryna' juke me?")
She'd been delegated to the cash register again while Gwayne was in the back, doing the shop's order for the week. It sometimes rubbed at her the wrong way, more often than usual, how Father never let her do more than man the cash register. Whenever he was counting the night's till, putting quarters and nickels and pennies into their designated leather pouches, he didn't even bother to look her way. He once gave Alicent a look that bordered on genuine confusion when she'd asked to help count and waved her away, told her I got it. Gone' wait out in the car.
And Gwayne always gave her that look when he could. I'm sorry. I wish I could fix him.
But Father was always rougher, more brutish in his actions and words with Gwayne. After Mama, it'd only gotten worse; he'd take something fragile and bend it backwards, make sure it twisted just enough to watch the emotions flicker in Gwayne's eyes. But Gwayne always held his chin high and swallowed his own words until they dissolved in his stomach. It was easier, had always been easier that way.
Sometimes Alicent wished— selfishly, against her better judgement— that Father was callous with her. That he would offer her something more than that same stoic, yet belittling gaze. And she didn't know if it was protection or if it was a misjudgment of her capabilities, but she damn sure was more than capable; she had to be. When she held her pillow close to her chest for weeks afterwards, body shaking through the quiet retching, trying to reckon with the why her, she realized she'd quietly began to encase herself in stone. Some days, she didn't know if she wanted her father to chip away at her like Gwayne or continue his feigned ignorance of the deepening cracks behind her own eyes.
She chewed at the inside of her cheek, her palms lightly damp as she smoothed them against her dress. Today she'd opted for a white sundress, one that puckered at the sleeves and fell just above her ankles, while the gold cross pendant hanging off of the matching chain seemed to glow against her skin, sparkle underneath the heat of the sun. She thought her dress would be thin enough to weather the heat, but the sweat trailing down the small of her back said otherwise.
The silvery chimes of the doorbells then rang out in the shop, and Alicent fully expected to see Ms. Strong again (this would have been the second time today, because the first time she'd forgotten her ID and let out a curse vulgar enough to make Alicent flinch.) Instead, it was her— that girl again.
Alicent felt something in the pit of her chest immediately flutter, nearly sprout wings and unearth itself through her clumsy mouth as she laid eyes on the blonde-haired girl again. This time, the girl didn't bother turning the corners of the aisles, simply moseying to the countertop with an easy glimmer in her eyes.
The corner of Alicent's lips twitched into a shy, polite smile. "Hey, again."
She wasn't smudged in oil today but instead looked like the embodiment of freshness. Her washed-out jeans were scuffed and fraying at the leg cuffs, held up on her hips by a simple black leather belt. She wore sleeveless tank top today, revealing the striations of toned muscle that flexed as she leaned against the countertop. Her hair, silvery and bright, still fell gently over her eyes, not enough to hide that cool blue that radiated from them. Alicent wanted to be envious but she honest to God found herself nearly mesmerized, dumbfounded at the girl's composure before her.
"Hey, yourself." —that voice... God, it could melt right through metal, Alicent was sure of it— "I gotta get some more today."
"Same one?"
The girl nodded, leaning a little bit closer as she eyed the other tins and cigarettes while Alicent grabbed the correct one.
"He, uh... he goes through a lot of 'em. The old place I used to go stopped selling it and he about threw a fit, so I had to find it elsewhere. And y'all were right down the road, so... works out pretty well."
Alicent tapped on the cash register's buttons as the girl slid a wrinkled ten-dollar bill on the counter, her eyes chancing a glance upwards to meet the blue ones. "I'm glad we could help y'all out then."
"You've been a big help. I'll take any opportunity to have him not hollering in my ear, especially in this heat. Speaking of..." The girl nodded at the fan whirring in the corner of the shop. "... it's a little hot in here."
Alicent gathered the change and placed it gently on the counter, letting out a pitiful little scoff with a slight shake of her head. "The AC's been broken for almost two weeks now. My daddy's been trying to get it fixed, but... middle of the summer, everyone's air breaks down when it's real hot, you know."
"My, uh—" The girl shifted, picking at something nonexistent on her fingertips as she spoke, "My uncle actually does AC and stuff— well, he did, he used to own a shop with my dad. But I could ask him to come and take a look. See if he can't fix it for cheap?"
Alicent watched the girl's eyes and saw something different there for the first time, something underneath the smooth words that had just barely creased, become more vulnerable in their candor. And Alicent felt it all at once, rushing red onto her cheeks as her hand lingered on the tin can of tobacco.
"That would be... God, that'd be great, actually. Do you— do you have a number I could write down?"
"Yeah, I can write it down for you?"
Alicent spun around momentarily, plucking a ballpoint pen from a glass cup and growing impatient at the lack of sheet paper in her immediate vicinity. Her eyes ripped around the space behind the counter before she found an old envelope sitting just on top of some boxes. She slid it across the countertop, watching the girl write big, curly numbers out before handing it back.
"I'll talk to him as soon as I can. Thank you."
"Yeah, it's... it's real hot out, so. Don't want you catching fire or nothing."
Alicent thought her skin couldn't burn any hotter than it was at the moment, thought a sudden blaze might actually be refreshing given her current state of mind. She gave a dimpled smile back. "It's not impossible."
The girl grabbed her change and the tin can, that warmth laced in her voice again like it'd never even slipped out of the room. She raised her eyebrows and gave that sugary-sweet grin that was unknowingly becoming Alicent's most guilty pleasure.
"Surely not... what, uh— I'm sorry, what was your name? I'd hate to be rude next time I see 'ya."
"Ally. Or— Alicent, really. But everyone calls me Ally."
"I'm Ray. Rhaenyra, if I'm in trouble, but... yeah, I go by Ray." Rhaenyra held the can up a little and gave a nod.
"Alright, until next time. You have a good rest of your day, Alicent."
The silver bells chimed when the door swang open, and then Rhaenyra exited the shop.
Alicent.
She knew it was greedy, bordered on something sinful, but Alicent would replay the way Rhaenyra said her over and over and over and over again. She would reimagine the shape her lips formed as she enunciated all the syllables, catalogue the dips and elevations in her tone as she spoke it, inscribe the moment into a pocket that was hers and only hers to burrow into when she wanted to tinge her cheeks with giddiness. She did it until the shop's doors were locked, until that night's supper was finished, and until she was laying between her bedsheets with something shamefully loud ringing in her ears.
Until next time.
That night, she knelt and asked Him for patience.