Page 26 of Cocky Origins: May and Jerald Cocker

I ask Jerald, “Have you and your brother always gotten along so well?” I pause. “Gee, I almost forgot to ask, do you have any other brothers and sisters? I plain assumed he was the only one without asking.”

Green eyes narrow like he’s trying to figure me out. “Hank is enough.”

“Have you always gotten along so well?”

“Sure we have. I guess brothers have their differences now and again, but we’ve had none that stick. With our father traveling back-and-forth to Washington D.C., and Ma being busy with her society dinners and everything it takes to be a Congressman’s wife, that left Hank and I pretty much to ourselves.”

The breeze lifts my curls and I forget to watch the fair become smaller, I’m so interested in getting to know Jerald better. “You must’ve traveled an awful lot.”

“You could say that,” he smiles, “How about you?”

“My grandparents on my Mother’s side live in Tallahassee. Other than that, and Atlanta once or twice when I was little, I haven’t. I’m surprised you don’t live in Atlanta. Wouldn’t a Congressman want to live somewhere more city-like?”

“They talk about it sometimes, since there’s so much travel. It sure would be more convenient. But Pops likes being among the people. He’s of the mind that the city is two steps ahead of the common folk. It’s his aim to remain in step with them so he can meet their needs as best he can.”

“Sounds like an honorable man.”

“That he is. That he is.”

“Will you follow in his footsteps then?”

“I’m already an honorable man, May. Unless you don’t want me to be.”

I blush, “I…I meant, are you going to be a politician?”

His smile says he knew. “Not sure if it’s for me. But I haven’t made up my mind yet. How would you feel about it?”

Lily says it’s always important to play hard to get. She’s wiser in all the ways on account of all she’s been through. We girls listen to her every chance we get when it comes to matters like, well, boys.Even Sable, though she would never admit it.

“Why…I don’t see what that has to do with anything. You should make up your own mind about who you want to be.”

“How old are you?”

Surprised, I toss his question back. “How old are you?”

His grin vanishes on the reminder, “I asked you first.”

“And so you did. But that doesn’t mean I have to answer you first.”

“Why May, I believe it does.”

“I don’t think that’s a rule. Not a real one.” I smile as he laughs, and continue on to say, “Jerald, I meant what I said last night! Numbers are confining. Why must we use them as measuring sticks? Why not just decide how you feel on your own, about someone?”

“Alright,” he nods, with one hand on the bar and the other resting behind me, his chest broad and open, buttons just above his sweater-vest collar pulled taut. “I’m twenty-two in November.”

I make a sound I’ve never made.

He looks at me from under blonde eyebrows. “Thought numbers didn’t matter.”

“I said I don’t like them. And now I like them even less.”

“Why?”

“Because my father has a shotgun.”

Jerald laughs from his belly, and it’s a beautiful sound. Much better than the one I made. “May, how old are you?”

“Fine, if you must know. I’m seventeen.”

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