by Louise, Tia
A painful knot is in my throat, and I stand behind my desk, looking at my black computer screen as I take another sip of hot coffee.
“I don’t know, Dot. I mean, if it’s something Gray wants me to know—”
Her voice drops to just above a whisper. “I think it’ll help you understand why he’s being so distant.”
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I study her face. “We’ve been talking a lot about the accident… and the aftermath.”
She nods. “So he probably already told you. He and Danny had this massive fight right before it happened… about you.”
Shock flashes in my chest. “About me?”
“Gray said Danny had found out you two were… together, I guess, and he really flipped out about it. Told Gray he wasn’t good enough for you… he didn’t deserve you.” She shrugs. “All that stuff people used to say about you two.”
This is news to me. “People knew we were together?”
“Good lord, of course we did.” She shakes her head like I’m so naive. “You were always sneaking off together at the lake house. Leslie said she took a picture of you together. She was going to use it as blackmail, but I don’t know what happened to that.”
Anger burns at the base of my throat. “Leslie is such a bitch.”
Dotty nods. “She’s always wanted to have her cake and eat it, too. Or blow it, too.”
Taking a deep inhale, I nod, ready to end this conversation. “I guess that does explain some things. Thanks, Dot.”
“It was their last conversation before Danny died.” Her eyes are round, mournful. “I’m sure it’s just eating away at him.”
Dotty and her drama. I know she means well, or I’d tell her to mind her own business. As it is, I simply say, “I’ll talk to him about it.”
Her face instantly brightens with a smile. “I knew you would. You’ll talk to him, and that’ll take care of that ole pesky distance. You two can pick right up where you left off.”
I’m starting to understand Hunter’s paranoia. It’s like everyone in town knows more about my business than I do.
Riley’s appearance in the lobby saves me from any more of this conversation. Too bad it doesn’t take away my heaviness. First the PTSD, now the fight with Danny… I feel like I’m getting a headache, and all I want to do is put my arms around Gray and tell him none of it matters.
Only I know it matters to him. Danny’s words must have hurt him so much. They’re the same words he said to me last night.
A soft knock on the door snaps me out of it. “Are you ready to start now?” Riley’s eyes are round.
“Yes, please come in.” I gesture to the chair in front of me. “Have a seat. Here or on the couch, whichever you prefer.”
She takes the chair across from my desk. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
Turning to my computer I quickly type in her name. “I got a late start today myself, so we’re all good.”
I scan her notes quickly then turn to give her a smile, picking up my pen and taking out my notepad.
“I did what you said… about the lies.” Her voice goes quiet as she says the word.
“This isn’t about judgment.” I smile reassuringly. “Sometimes lies are a defense mechanism.”
“Last year, I told my teacher I was allergic to perfume.”
My head tilts to the side. “How did that help you?”
“She let me sit in the hall with the door open during class.”
I nod, waiting. I make a note on the paper, giving her a chance to say more if she wants.
“You told me to put down why… It’s Madelyn Frist.”
Our eyes meet, and my expression softens. “Does she make you uncomfortable?”
“She says I’m stupid.” Riley’s voice gets louder. “She says I don’t belong here. I’m white trash. I need to go back to hillbilly West Virginia where I came from. She calls me a loser…”
The rage simmering inside me over Gray sparks to life in my chest. My anger with people pushing others down, telling them they’re not good enough tries to overflow. Just in time, I grab the reins, making a Note to Self on my notepad: Calm down.
“Your school should have a policy against bullying.” I clear the thickness from my throat. “Have you tried talking to a teacher?”
“Then I’ll have to confront her. They’ll bring us all in a room together, and I’ll have to look at her face…”
“How do you feel about telling your mother?”
“No.” It’s a little cry, and I exhale slowly.
“Okay. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.” Putting my hand on my chest, I smile calmly. “Let’s practice breathing. Inhale… Exhale.”
Her face is fixed in anger, but I continue. “Inhale… exhale.”
It’s as much for me as it is for her, and after the third time, she relents, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly.
“That’s good.” Lowering my hand, I look at the white pad in front of me. “You shouldn’t feel afraid at school. Maybe we can work out some strategies for dealing with Madelyn and staying in the classroom.”
The last portion of her hour, I let her lead the way on things she can do to work around Madelyn. After Riley leaves, I make a note in her file to work on empowering her to go to a teacher or a trusted adult for help.
Ruby hasn’t been in, and I shoot her a text to be sure she’s okay. She says she has a stomach bug, and I tell her to rest and keep me posted.
I spend a good portion of the afternoon researching PTSD, symptoms, treatments, duration of the illness. Gray was right about one thing—the prognosis is scary.
People with PTSD are prone to substance abuse, they’re more likely to suffer mental illness, they exhibit higher rates of abusive behaviors, and worst of all, they’re more likely to commit suicide.
All of it twists my stomach in knots, and by the time I leave for the day, I’m angry, sad, and exhausted.
Driving the Jag past the garage, I slow down to look inside. My chest warms when I see Gray standing with Billy, looking at that Chevy. He’s so brave in spite of everything that’s happened. He came back here, he opened the garage, and no matter what he says, he’s never shown any signs of rage or abusive behavior. He moves to the side, and I smile, letting my eyes drift from his square jaw to his broad shoulders, his strong hands…
The car behind me honks, and I jump, continuing on to my house and not flipping them off.
When I enter the house, my dad is in the kitchen standing over a platter of lasagna.
“Where did this come from?” I drop my purse on the counter, looking around. “Did you cook?”
“Florence Stern brought it over.”
My throat goes dry. “What made her do that?”
“She said you didn’t go to prayer meeting last night. She was worried you might be sick.”
Meddling old cow. My teeth clench, but I force a happy face. “It’s actually Ruby who’s sick. She has a stomach bug. I should probably make some soup and take it to her.”
Dad waves a hand. “Linda makes better soup than anybody. We can have some of this.”
Crisis averted. Not that I’m ashamed to tell my father about Gray and me. I just want to do it in my own way, gently. Dad’s recovery is a big part of my plan to move out, to get my own place. I can’t stay here with him forever, and if I want to convince Gray we can start a life together, I need to start by having my own life.
We stand at the bar to eat. Dad takes down a tumbler and pours himself a drink. Tonight, I can’t be upset about it. It’s been a hellish twenty-four hours, and I need a little strength for what I’m about to say.
“I invited a guest over for dinner tomorrow night.” I tap my fingers on the granite countertop as I wait for his response.
“Why would you do that?” His voice is strained, but I can’t let it stop me.
“Grayson Cole has ben back for a few weeks now… I think we should have him over for dinner.” Dad starts to shake his head, but I cut him of
f. “I already invited him. He’ll be here tomorrow at seven. I’m making Frogmore stew.”
My father’s head bows, and I watch as his hand forms a fist on the top of the bar. Without another word, he puts the fork on the plate and picks up the tumbler.
I step up and catch his arm. “I want you to give him a chance. He was Danny’s best friend.”
Our eyes clash, and I see turmoil swirling in his. I don’t know why he responds this way, but I won’t let him ruin my dinner plans.
“Please, Dad.”
It’s the last thing he hears from me before he turns and walks out of the kitchen.
Chapter 28
Gray
For the second time this week, I’m standing in front of the Harris mansion, looking up at the enormous white entrance.
It’s not as late this time, and as I wait for someone to answer the door, my eyes land on dry rot taking over the top left corner. Tracing my gaze down to an enormous window, I see the wooden shutter is home to a bird’s nest.
A crack is running in a zigzag line along the brick in the far exterior, and something about noticing these little cracks and imperfections sparks that protectiveness in me. I want to take Drew away from this place…
What right do I have to think this thought? I can’t take care of her any better than her own father.
The door opens, and our eyes meet. The anxiety I’ve been fighting since our night at the amusement park melts, and I open my arms as she steps into my chest, placing her cheek right above my heart.
“I’ve missed you,” she sighs. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
We texted briefly last night, but I know what I told her has been weighing on her. I see it in her eyes. They’re not as bright as they always are. It makes me feel like a dog. I only want to make her happy.
She steps back, and I let my eyes run over the white dress she’s wearing. It’s high-necked and sleeveless, tight down to her waist, but the bottom flairs out. It stops at her thighs, giving me a nice view of her long, shapely legs.
“You look beautiful.”
She smiles, and even though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, I pull her fingers to my lips. “You look handsome as always.” She gives my hand a pull. “Dad’s waiting in the kitchen. I made Frogmore stew!”
“It’s my favorite.”
“I know.” She leads the way, and I watch her cute little ass sway beneath that skirt as I follow her across the threshold into this massive home where I was never welcome.
It’s actually my first time inside the main house, and walking through it now, I take in the ancient furnishings, portraits, and mirrors that line the walls.
It has dark wood floors throughout, and a long staircase with a white banister is against the wall on one side of the hallway Drew leads me down.
As we pass through, I notice beige lace doilies on the tops of chairs and sofas. A large circular one is on top of a piano in the corner. It looks like they never changed anything after Drew’s mother died.
The hall opens, and we enter a bright kitchen. This part of the house seems more lived in, and it smells delicious. The Frogmore stew sits steaming on a massive platter in the center of the bar.
Frogmore stew is actually what some people call a low country boil. It’s boiled shrimp with red potatoes, sausage, and corn on the cob. When Mack would make it, we’d sit outside and drink beer.
When I see Carl Harris standing on the opposite side of the room, I know it won’t be that kind of an evening.
“Daddy, you remember Grayson.” Drew has one hand on my arm. The other she holds out to her dad as if beckoning him to come closer.
The old man stands straight, not smiling, a crystal tumbler of whiskey clutched in his hand.
“Good to see you, sir.” I give him a nod, since I don’t think he’s ready for me to rush forward and shake his hand.
“Andrea said you’ve been back a few weeks now.” He takes a stiff step toward where we’re standing. “I heard you re-opened your uncle’s garage.”
“For now.” I’m not looking to spill my guts with this guy, but I’m not afraid to answer his questions.
Drew walks around to the cabinet and starts taking down plates, gathering utensils. Mack and I would eat straight out of the pile with only a roll of paper towels between us. Again, this isn’t that kind of dinner.
“What is that supposed to mean?” He pulls up and squints an eye at me. “You’re not planning to stay?”
“The fellow working with me now has a good head for the business.” I’ve only just started working out this plan in my mind, but I’ll be damned if I let Carl Harris think he intimidates me. “I’m thinking about letting him run the shop while I do other things.”
Drew pauses, mid-preparation and blinks at me. “What other things?” Her voice is high, and her dad looks from me to her slowly.
“My degree is in civil engineering. I’m thinking about Ralph’s offer. Maybe I’ll help him run his orchard.”
Drew shakes her head, and when she takes wine glasses from the cabinet, I notice her hands trembling. It’s a pretty tense evening, that’s for sure.
“Ralph Stern has some wild ideas,” Carl muses. “Still, he has an entrepreneurial spirit. He could make something of himself after all.”
Clearing my throat, I swallow my reply to that statement. My uncle was a small business owner in this town. I’ve taken over his small business. Heaven forbid something as concrete and reliable as a garage fall under the heading of entrepreneurial.
“Ready to eat?” Drew smiles, and when I catch her eye, I don’t really give a shit what this man thinks.
All I care about is being sure he’s wrong about one thing—I want to be strong enough to deserve her.
The food is delicious, but I’ve never been so glad to get to the end of a meal. Drew brings out a key lime pie, but her father declines. I hold up a hand myself, even though it’s my favorite dessert.
I’ve drunk one glass of white wine and a tumbler of whiskey. The wine was for Drew. The whiskey was for Carl. I wasn’t about to say no when he offered me a drink.
Now I’m ready to stop before I have a fucking headache in the morning.
“Grayson, I appreciate your visit.” Her father stands, and all three of us rise. He steps over toward me, and for the first time all evening, he extends his hand.
Stepping forward, I grasp it firmly. I’m about to let go, but he holds it a beat longer, his brown eyes boring into mine. “I hope we still understand each other.”
I’m not sure how to respond to his statement. I’m sure he knows I remember what he told me all those years ago at the garage. Don’t you ever touch my daughter again.
Something about the way he says still makes me want to step even closer and tell him how many times I’ve touched his daughter and how many more times I intend to do it. It’s a rebellious teenager response, I know. This guy has always brought out the worst in me.
“I’m not sure what you mean, but it was interesting seeing you again, sir.” Take that, fucking Carl Harris. Two can play at this game.
“Okay, then!” Drew steps toward us, hands clasped in front of her. “If nobody wants dessert, I guess I’ll walk Gray out. Maybe we can take a stroll around the neighborhood.”
“It’s late, Andrea.” Her dad snaps at her, lingering in my personal space.
“It’s only eight thirty.” Her voice is calm, and for the first time, I detect an edge in her tone toward her father.
He must notice it as well, because his eyes move from me to her before dropping to his glass. With a resigned sigh, he straightens and walks out of the kitchen. I feel like I can breathe easily for the first time since I entered this room.
Drew crosses to me and puts her hand in my arm. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said Wednesday. We have counselors at the clinic who I know would be happy to talk to you if you’re interested.”
I let her lead me out the side door to the brick-lined patio. A fire pit is situated i
n the center of the open space, and wrought-iron loungers are arranged around it with thick canvass cushions.
“I’ll think about it.” I nod, watching the flames licking the coals. “Is it anybody I know?”
“Do you have a preference? I can find someone you don’t know if it makes you more comfortable.”
My hands are in my back pockets, and I shrug. “This whole situation is pretty uncomfortable.” I try giving her a smile, but her expression breaks.
She rushes to me, putting her arms around my waist again. “I’ll do anything to help you, Gray. Just tell me what I can do.”
For a moment, I forget where we are. I put my arms around her and hold her close to me. My chest is tight, and I feel my heart struggling to beat. I kiss her sweet head, wishing with all my might I could change things.
“It might be easier if I went away again. Just for a little while.”
She whimpers against my chest. “Why would that be easier than being here with me?”
Stepping back, I lift her chin, moving her hair off her cheeks. “Because of Danny.” Fuck, it’s like a knife saying his name.
She blinks quickly. “Dotty said you two had a fight…”
I don’t bother asking how she knows. I knew when I said it Dag would repeat every word.
So I just tell her.
“Sometimes when I touch you…” I swallow the ache in my throat. “When I hold you, I remember his words, my anger.”
“You never got closure.” Her voice is pleading. “It’s understandable.”
The last thing, the last nail in my coffin—it’s time to say it.
“I was driving the truck, Drew.” My voice is so quiet, her head tilts to the side. It makes me think of a little bird, easily broken.
“What?”
Clearing my throat, I say it louder. “I was driving the truck. I was behind the wheel when it exploded.”
Her head begins to shake. “I don’t understand…”
“I was responsible.” Reaching up, I slide my fingers roughly over my eyes. “Now when I remember what we said… I can’t help wondering if I wanted him dead.”