“I don’t want to lose you,” he says. “I love you.”
I feel sick because I still love him, too, but I’ve decided to love me more. “I hope you stick with the counseling, and I hope you get better.”
“Is that it?” Dad pushes. The tears in his eyes are real and the wetness in my eyes burn. “You’re just going to leave? You walk out the door and you’re no longer my daughter?”
I’m still his daughter. He’s still my father. That’s why this hurts. I wish I could wave a wand and be gifted my fairy tale. That Dad is magically healed of his issues and that we could be a happy family, but that’s not how the real world works. “Please take care of yourself. Mom, Isabelle and I deserve better.”
It’s an empowering sensation as I zip up my suitcase, pick that one up and then the other, and walk past him and out the door.
JESSE
The sound of a chair scraping the floor causes me to open my eyes. At Glory’s, Scarlett and I are curled up on Glory’s bed and Scarlett is sound asleep. Scarlett’s staying here tonight and tomorrow she’s moving into her apartment. It was a tough evening. She left home, and I held her as she wept—my T-shirt soaked with her tears.
I couldn’t find the right words to help her broken heart so I stayed silent and held on. I wish I were better with words, the right words, at least, but I’m not so I offered the only comfort I could give—being here. She’s sad, she’s scared, but I tried to tell her through my touch that she’s not alone.
A glance at the clock on the wall. It’s ten at night, and there are voices and footsteps as Glory wraps up her last client session of the evening. The front door opens, it shuts and then there is the sound of an engine and headlights flash into the room I’m in with Scarlett.
Light footsteps and the door doesn’t squeak as Glory opens it. She leans her shoulder against the doorframe as she takes in the TV that plays a movie on low volume, Scarlett asleep and then me.
“Hey.” My voice is cracked from sleep.
“She okay?” she asks.
No, but I hope she will be. “It was a rough day.”
Glory tilts her head toward the living room, and I nod. I’m gentle as I sit up, and then place a blanket over Scarlett. In the moonlight, she appears young and at peace. I hope to God this all works out for her as she’s gone through enough pain to last a lifetime.
I leave the door open an inch to let her know that Glory’s done with clients in case she wakes. Glory’s not in the kitchen pouring tea like I expect, but in the living room at her table and in her chair. In her hands is her deck of tarot cards.
As I sit, she hands them to me. I raise an eyebrow, yet I accept the cards.
“What do you want to know?” Glory asks.
The obvious. “Is Scarlett going to be okay?”
“That’s up to her, but I have faith she’ll make enough of the right choices that she’ll overcome all of this.”
“Enough of the right choices?”
“We’re human, and we’re built to make mistakes. Success isn’t making the right choice every time. Success is trying again after you’ve failed. Now tell me what you’d like to know.”
I shuffle the cards, think about all that’s happened over the past few months. Truth is, after all this time I don’t have the courage to ask her what I want to know—if I’m going to keep my land.
“I would have thought you would have asked me about your land,” she says, somehow reading my mind for the millionth time since I’ve known her.
I keep shuffling. “Maybe I’m scared of the answer.”
“Are you scared I’m going to tell you that you’re keeping it or losing it?”
My stomach tightens as I don’t know.
“After all we’ve been through, do you think I’m real now?” Glory asks.
I think she knows weird stuff that I can’t explain, and I think she’s family. Family I care about and family who cares about me. “I think you put too much oregano in your spaghetti sauce.”
Glory laughs, and I work up the courage to ask her at least one of the questions that plague me. “Is the curse real?”
“My answer doesn’t matter, Jesse. The curse is as real as your answer. Anything is as real as you make it, including everything I do. People highly underestimate the power of thought and faith.”
Not the answer I had hoped for, but it’s honest. “People pay you for this nonsense?”
“And they pay me well.” She has the balls to wink as she takes the tarot cards from me and places them in the same intricate pattern that she did back in August.
“I didn’t ask a question.”
“You asked two. One you just asked aloud. The other you said in your mind.”
The Chariot is laid out again on the table, but this time the card faces Glory.
“This card likes you and Scarlett,” Glory says. “I’m happy to see it in the upright position this time. The Chariot shows movement. When it is in reverse, like it was in August, it can mean that you’re moving in the wrong direction, stuck and/or experiencing a loss of control. When it’s upright, like now, it means forward movement or progression.”
“That sounds like a lot of vague nonsense.”
“Does it? Because it sounds to me like after some false starts you’re starting to take the right path.” Glory lifts her head and stares straight through me with that faraway expression. “Play nice, Jesse, because he’s here to play nice with you.”
I cock an eyebrow and seconds later there’s the humming of a smooth car engine. Marshall’s car pulls up alongside Glory’s Beetle, and I’m baffled. “How do you do that?”
Glory waggles her eyebrows. “Marshall texted me earlier and told me he was on his way.”
“I knew you were a con,” I tease.
“I’m only a con when I’m not psychic. Now go on outside. My last two client meetings were draining, and I need some time to refocus my energy.”
That’s called being dismissed. I put on my shoes and a jacket, and by the time I step into the cool December night, Marshall is already walking toward the porch. He’s as casual as I’ve ever seen him in a gray Destin, Florida, sweatshirt and a pair of faded jeans. I sit on the bottom step so I can be in contact with my land. Here lately, I’ve needed its strength. I’ve always needed its strength.
Marshall joins me, and he glances over his shoulder at the house. “Glory still meeting with a client?”
“She’s refocusing her energy.”
Marshall shakes his head like he doesn’t get it, but that’s the thing, he doesn’t have to. I’m figuring out that I don’t either. It’s not up to me to judge what works for other people. Glory has her angels, and Pastor Hughes has his God. I should just be happy for them that they have faith in something that helps them along in a tough life.
My uncle and I look out onto the night, listen to the wind chimes lightly tinkle with the wind and to the peaceful sound of silence that only my land provides. It’s a cool evening as so far December has been mild.
“I feel like I owe you a kidney. If yours ever goes out then you can have one of mine.”
“If I ever need one, I’ll take you up on that.” Marshall rubs his hands together, reminiscent of the day of Gran’s funeral. A slow throb in my head as I don’t have it in me for more bad news. “Have you decided if you’re going to write a letter for me to read at the hearing or if you’re going to show and talk yourself?”
My plan was to write a letter, but that now seems like a weak choice when Scarlett has stood up to her father multiple times. She faced her demon, and maybe it’s time I face mine. “I’ll go myself and speak.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be there with you—every step of the way.”
I’m depending on that. “Thank you.”
We fall into silence again, but it’s not peaceful. Our feet are literally resting on the elephant in our conversation: the land. Marshall and I spent so many years fighting with each oth
er that it’s tough for me to switch gears into being on the same side.
“I promise not to get angry if you bring it up,” I say, “and I also promise to listen to what you have to say as long as you promise to listen to me.”
“That sounds fair.” Marshall rubs his hands together a second time then folds them. “I’m not going to claim that I have all the answers or that I’ve handled everything with the land right, but I want you to know that everything I’ve done, it’s because I care. I wish that everything with the land would have gone down differently than what it has, but what’s done is done. Now we have to figure out where to go from here.”
“I have the pastor’s vote.”
“You do.”
“I lost Mr. Copeland’s vote,” I say.
“I think that’s a given.”
The decision as to whether or not I keep my land is solely up to Marshall. It bothers me, but not nearly as much as I thought it would. “What do I have to do to keep the land?”
“Are you ready to have a mature conversation about that land? Not how you feel about it, but a financial one? If you want to keep the land, you can’t keep thinking about the land in terms of dreams. You need to understand what’s on paper.”
I open my mouth to argue that I have been dealing with the financials, but then close it shut. One, I just told him I would listen. Two, I recently spent an entire day trying to show Scarlett the hardships and responsibilities of living on her own. From the money I make, I’ve been able to feed myself and keep the electricity running. Marshall’s the one who has been handling the bills for the farm. “I’m listening.”
“You’re losing money on the land monthly between the taxes and upkeep. If you were to keep the land, you’d have to initially figure out how to make it self-sustaining and then figure out quick how to make it profitable. I wish I could help, but other than writing checks and subtracting from the land’s account, I don’t know a thing about how to help you manage the property.”
Farming is a morning, noon and night position with no days off. I’ve taken off too many days recently and the to-do list only grows. It’s not easy work. It’s possibly the toughest, most grueling work there is.
“There are multiple people interested in the land, and they’ll give you top dollar for it. Since your gran’s death, several corporate farms have inquired about the land. To be honest, we could probably have a very profitable auction on our hands. You can sell this land, and if you manage the money correctly, you’d be set for the rest of your life.
“You can leave town, never have anyone assume the worst about who you are ever again due to your last name, nor will you have to listen to nonsense about that curse. It’ll be a fresh start.”
“Will the money be mine or will it always be up to you as to what happens?”
“Yes and no. How the will is set up, the money would go into a trust. You’ll receive three payments over ten years. The first payment will happen when the land is sold. What you do with the payments when you receive them will be up to you, but if you’d accept my help, I’ll teach you how to manage the money to not only make it last, but so the money will work for you.”
This could be a fresh start for me and it could be a fresh start for Scarlett. I could sell the land and make her dreams come true. I could help her with college and living expenses. After all, one of us needs a dream to work out. Besides loving Scarlett, I have no idea what my dreams are anymore.
“Now is my turn to listen,” Marshall says. “I’ll admit to not listening to you when you first heard about the tribunal, when you said you had ideas of how to make the land profitable. I’m listening now. Maybe between the two of us, we can figure out if we can make your ideas work.”
God, I’ve had so many ideas. Clearing out the fields and putting in corn and soybeans. Using other fields for dairy and beef cattle. Keeping some of the property for hay and then using other portions for other crops. But as I try to tell him my plans, my voice box is as still as this night.
To do any of that, we need money and lots of it. Money that the big corporate farms can invest in their properties and still make a profit. They can hire people, and I can barely keep up with the land on my own now and keep myself fed. Marshall’s right: if I mortgage the property for my dreams and I mess up and don’t make the monthly payments, I could lose everything. “I need to think about this first. Once I do, we’ll talk.”
“Do you still want to keep the land?” he asks.
Truth is? I don’t know what I want. I lower my head and clasp my hands together. I’m not sure if I’m praying, but this might be the closest I’ve ever gotten to it if it is.
It’s time to be honest with myself. “The will said that the vote won’t officially happen until May. Is there enough money in Gran’s account to keep the land going until then?”
“I’ll make the funds work. If things get bad, we can sell a few acres, but that’s not something I’d advise we do often. You’ll get more for the land with the acreage intact.”
“I need time.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Marshall pats my back as he stands. “Let me know if you or Scarlett need anything.”
“I will.”
Marshall leaves, and I sit for a while after his car goes down the long road. Whatever I decide, it’s going to have a long-lasting effect on so many. For me, Scarlett and Glory.
This is Glory’s home, and I can’t ask her to leave it. That’s something to consider if I do sell the land or mortgage the property in an attempt to make this a real working farm—making sure she stays.
I enter the cottage, and Glory’s asleep on the tiny love seat in the corner of the room. She gave up her bedroom so Scarlett had a place to crash tonight. Marshall’s niece and nephew are in from out of town taking up his guest room, and with it being Scarlett’s first night away from home, I didn’t think crashing with me, across the road from her family, would be helpful.
I lock the front door, grab a blanket out of the hall closet, toss it over Glory then turn off the lights. The TV is still on when I enter the bedroom. Using the remote, I power it off then take off my jacket, sit on the chair in the corner and take off my shoes. I relax back and wonder if I should sleep here instead of making the assumption Scarlett wants me in bed. Holding her is how she fell asleep, and while I ache to hold her again, I want to respect her and her space.
When I stretch out my legs, I glance over at her and Scarlett’s groggy lids open. There’s a moment there of fog, that misty place between sleep and consciousness, and then she blinks into awareness as her gaze lands on me. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I whisper. “How are you?”
“Better.” Her blue eyes that were raging with a violent storm earlier tonight are calmer now and that settles some of the uneasiness inside me. “Are you okay?”
No, I’m not. “You should go back to sleep.”
“I will, once you lay with me.”
I don’t have to be asked twice. She holds the blanket up for me and I slip in beside her. Scarlett’s warm body melts into me, heating my cold skin and my broken heart.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers against my chest.
“I’m fine.” Scarlett’s gone through hell tonight. She doesn’t need to take on my burdens.
“Don’t lie to me. That’s not going to help either of us.”
She’s right. More than she knows. “Do you remember when I told you the reason why I stopped talking to you before our freshman year?”
She nods and her long, silky hair slides against the bare skin of my arm. For courage, I nuzzle my nose into her hair and inhale her sweet scent. She snuggles closer to me, almost as if she’s aware how terrified I am.
“You didn’t like how people treated me because of you,” she says.
I run my fingers along her back, not to comfort her, but to comfort me. After all that I’ve done, she’s still here lying with me. I need to be truthful with myself and with Scarlett. I’ve been lying to both o
f us for too long. “That’s not the full reason why I cut you off.”
Scarlett lifts her head and rests her chin on my chest. Her eyebrows pinch together as she looks at me. “What do you mean?
“I did overhear the conversation between you and your mom, but there was more.” How do I tell her my darkest fear? How do I let the thing that’s festered inside me like a spider laying eggs in a dark, deep hole come forth and be seen?
“Tell me,” she encourages.
“My mom didn’t die after we stopped talking like everyone in town thinks. She died during the summer. My father murdered her and I saw the whole thing.”
I close my eyes to fight off the memories. “I grew up with my mom in my ear telling me that the curse was real, and I had Gran in the other telling me it wasn’t. That summer, when I saw my mom in a pool of her own blood, when I laid down beside her and begged her to wake up and she didn’t, I decided Mom was right—the curse was real. It had to be, because I had never hurt like I had before that day, and I made the decision to never hurt like that again.”
A feathering touch on my cheek, but I ignore it. “Oh, Jesse.”
“I cut myself off from you because I was terrified if I stayed friends with you then the curse would affect you. I loved you, which meant the curse would hurt you in order to hurt me. And I couldn’t do that. I barely survived losing Mom, and I knew I couldn’t survive losing you. I loved you too much for that.”
There’s silence, a stillness. That heavy, weighted second before the razor of the guillotine is released. My heart thrashes wildly in my chest as the emotion of losing Mom clogs up my throat. Then soft shifting as Scarlett drags her body up the bed. I open my eyes and stare straight at the ceiling, waiting for her to bolt.
“What did you say?” Scarlett whispers.
“That I believed in the curse. That it’s my fault my mom died, and it would be my fault if anything happened to you.”
“No, that I heard. What did you say about loving me?”
The world zones out as her question causes me to snap my head to look at her. There’s hope on her face and that causes confusion in my chest. A sharp quickening and stalling of my heart. Is it possible that she loves me regardless of the curse?
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