Leaving Scarlet

by J. Lynn Bailey

  Junie will write down her gratitude.

  She’ll write down how important Clyda, Delveen, Pearl, Mabe, and the late Erla are to the community.

  She’ll tell them about the fear and worry that went away the moment they received the check from The Ladybugs.

  She’ll tell them that grief can be ugly and that big decisions are best made later, after the ache of grief is gone and the fire settles deep inside their hearts.

  She’ll tell them that this community will not be the same without them.

  Tonight, she’ll do it when she can be alone with her thoughts.

  28

  Scarlet

  Present Day 2020

  I’m waiting for Anna in our usual window seat. The twinkle of Christmas lights in the windows down Main Street creates a sense of old and good feelings, a sense of feeling part of again. Childhood memories. Maybe it’s the feeling of both wanting to let those memories go because those days are gone, but also wanting to sit with them for a while, remembering them, holding on to them even if it’s for a moment.

  “Hey.” Anna sits down opposite of me.

  “Hey. I ordered you a water.”

  “Much needed.” She takes a sip and sets it down. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught up in surgery with a young pup who had swallowed a big Lego.”

  We sit and chat about life for a few minutes, and I fill her in on the house—minor details, of course, keeping things vague. My attempt at no attachment, no shared memories, so things won’t be hard when I go back to Boston.

  “Are you still wanting to sell?”

  “Of course,” slips out of my mouth.

  Anna sits back in her chair and surveys me just as Libby walks up to take our order.

  “Hey, ladies. The usual?” she asks.

  “Yes,” we reply in unison.

  “More wine, Scarlet?”

  “No, thank you, Libby.”

  Libby leaves.

  “What?”

  “From what I’ve heard about you, you can sell anything. You’ve closed multimillion-dollar deals. According to Google, you’re listed in Forbes magazine. But you can’t sell your childhood home in Dillon Creek? I find that hard to believe, Scarlet.”

  I give her words a few minutes to simmer within me. I’m taken aback by her forwardness and her ability to be so honest. I expect this from shrewd businesspeople. I expect this from top executives and vice presidents and CEOs. But I didn’t expect this from Anna for two reasons. One, we might have a past together, though spotty and inconsistent, but she always seemed kind and caring, and she and Tess made a point to make me feel included and shared a smile. I’ve thought of her as a sugarcoater, not a truth giver. And two, we’re not that close, so why would she feel the need to say this?

  “I’m sorry,” she blurts out. “It’s this pregnancy. I’m a wreck, Scarlet. I am all over the place with my emotions, and Colt is worried because I cry at the drop of a hat. I say things I don’t mean.” She reaches up and wipes a tear that’s fallen. “I shouldn’t have been so forward with you. I’m sorry.”

  Is Anna right?

  Deep down, do I really want to sell the house? If so, she’s right; I’m dragging my feet. I could have sold this house without even coming back to Dillon Creek. But I did come back. Is there some truth to what Anna just said? Am I really ready to move on?

  Instead of exploring the truth, I say, “I’ve never been pregnant, but I can only imagine the emotions with pregnancy. It’s okay.”

  We eat dinner and skirt around the fact that we’re both still here, enjoying each other’s company, when Anna says, “Listen, I need to ask you about something I found in my dad’s things.”

  “Sure.”

  Anna pulls out a piece of paper from her purse. “Since you moved to Chicago—I mean, I don’t know; it’s a shot in the dark—maybe you know something about it.” She pushes the piece of paper across the table to me.

  It’s just an address in Chicago, on Haight Street, scribbled down. “I don’t know, Anna. I’m sorry. Why are you going through your dad’s things?”

  Her eyes meet mine. “My mom finally asked for a divorce.”

  “Really?”

  She nods. “I was going through a few boxes in the attic, and for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about this scrap of paper that I found—this address. I just thought, since you moved to Chicago, that—I don’t know. It all sounds so crazy, saying it out loud.” She shakes her head, pushing her dinner plate out of the way, resting her elbows on the table. “Forget I said anything, will you?”

  I slide the address back to her, and she puts it back in her purse.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I smile.

  When I get home, I see Cash sitting on the porch of my grandparents’ house, and I’m transported back in time to when we were kids. Internally, I fight the urge to feel comfort in him, fight the urge to go to him, fight the urge to smile.

  “Hey, stranger,” Cash says.

  I slowly walk to the porch and sit down next to him. “Cold night to be sitting on the porch,” I say.

  “Yeah, just thought I’d bring you these.” He motions back to the empty, flattened boxes leaning against the house. “Saw them at Nelson’s and thought you could use them for the move.”

  My heart sinks. But this is good; he’s supporting the move. My wishes.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into the night sky, and my breath lingers momentarily in the darkness. “How’s the barn coming along?”

  “Got power.” He looks at me with his blue eyes, his long eyelashes, and just for a moment, we’re kids again. His heart pure and unbroken and whole. Before the cancer.

  “Good to hear it.”

  Silence falls around us as we try to pick up words for conversation.

  “Doctor says I shouldn’t go back to fighting bulls,” he finally says. “Doc says I’m one accident away from a life-changing injury or death. But … I’m not sure I’m ready to let go. Scary place to be, huh?”

  “Fear isn’t your problem, Cash. In fact, it’s never been your problem.”

  “What’s my problem then, Scar?” he whispers, eyeing me with a smile.

  “Love.”

  Cash laughs and picks at his nail. “I’m sure many would beg to differ.”

  My face is stone when I turn to him and say, “Because they don’t know you like I know you.”

  “People change.”

  I nod because he’s right. “People change. But you didn’t. You’re still the same boy I met when we were kids. I mean, don’t get me wrong; you’ve aged,” I kid, smile, stare down at the ground. “Want to know something?”

  “I do.”

  “I’m terrified of love. Terrified to love so unapologetically and so blindly that I’ve been running from it my entire life.”

  “Is that what happened between you and your ex-husband?”

  “No.”

  “Then, what happened?”

  I hold my breath. My heart burns against my chest as the truth falls out of my mouth. “I fell in love once, and we walked away.”

  It’s what Cash doesn’t say that keeps me fully aware of the fear that slowly builds.

  It’s the minutes that pass between us, the nightfall that waits patiently for us to reclaim the truth of what happened all those years ago.

  Maybe it’s not the heartbreak he’s running from. Maybe it’s me.

  So, instead of being overcome with the truth, I say, “Tell me a lie.”

  We catch each other’s stare.

  “I’m free to do whatever I want.”

  I eye him curiously. “That’s not a lie. Of course you can do whatever you want, Cash.”

  He shakes his head. “I have this need so deep inside me. I’ve fought it for years. I’ve fought night after night on the road, trying to forget you. Forget us. I tried to erase us and fill those memories with all the wrong things. I tried to drink them away. I chased it with adrenaline, the wrong women. I tried to forget you,
just to free my heart.”

  My pulse begins to race. My hands become sweaty, and my stomach twists and turns. My skin goes flush, and I reach for my earlobe.

  “And when you got married, I knew. I knew you’d moved on.”

  I want to tell him I didn’t. I didn’t move on because I couldn’t, but I don’t say this.

  “When I saw you in that white dress that sat just off your shoulders and exposed your neckline and your eyes that looked so in love, I knew we were meant for different paths. We’d walked through so much together in our childhood; if it were meant to be, we’d have made it work, right, Scar?”

  I feel his gaze.

  “You were at my wedding?” My voice quivers.

  “I had to make sure that the man who took your hand and your heart was good enough for you. Better than me. And he was. You could tell the look he had was pure. He was smart, educated. He loved you very much.”

  Hold it together, Scar. Just hold it in. But tears start to stream down my face. In the darkness, I allow them to fall, as if unseen. Like we’re kids and in the dugout. “Hank is a good man. He did love me. But I pushed him away.”

  Cash is still.

  “But I didn’t love him the way a wife should. I loved him like a best friend. I cared for him deeply, but I wasn’t in love.”

  “Why?” Cash asks.

  I blow out a big, deep breath while I try to slow my pulse. Try to figure out how I chased him away. “Because he wasn’t you,” I finally say. The confession lies there like a wound that won’t stop bleeding. Badly, I want to cover it, take it back, hide it from its rueful entrance into the world.

  Seconds pass.

  Then minutes.

  I beg him in my head to say something, but he doesn’t until finally he says, “It’s getting cold out here.” Cash stands, holds his hand out to help me up, and leads me to the front door.

  Forcing a smile, I hold my tongue. When we reach the door, I turn to him, but before I can say anything, Cash says, “I walked away. As much as you want to believe it was you, it was me. That night when we were seventeen … I didn’t want to believe—I just couldn’t face—”

  But before I know what’s happening, he raises my mouth to his and kisses me, slowly at first and then the need starts. His appeal is devastating, and my body feels warm and heavy. With his lips reclaiming mine, he crushes me to him, and I begin to kiss him back with hunger that belies my outward calm.

  Cash’s lips brush against mine as he says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there …” He chokes back words, but I pull him to me in remembrance of the intimacy I feel for him. No longer a teenager, but as a man who’s been through hell and back because of me.

  Our mouths continue to explore the changes, and I remember how Cash Atwood always left me wanting more of him.

  Summer was rodeo season for him, and every weekend during my summer visits, he’d hit the road with Casey. My heart, every Friday, seemed to always beg for more of him, more of us. I remember the first time we made love, the first time he told me he was in love with me, I panicked.

  Instead of telling him the truth about that night, we both went our separate ways, I open the door behind me and pull him inside, our mouths growing with necessity.

  He props me up on the kitchen counter, and I open my body to him.

  With the darkness that surrounds us, the rain starts, and gradually, his hand unbuttons my blouse, his fingers icy but his palm fiery hot, exposing my bra. For a long moment, he takes me in, making me feel vulnerable. He eases the lacy cup of my bra aside.

  With one flick of his fingers, he unhurriedly pushes my bra off and slides his large, calloused hands around my breasts. He strokes his thumbs over my nipples, calling them to attention.

  We don’t break eye contact until I see the look in his eyes, and he bends down, his tongue caressing my sensitive, swollen nipples.

  I lean back, watching him, giving myself to him.

  I tighten my legs around his waist. He brings his lips to mine, and my mouth covers his hungrily. Our kiss becomes urgent and exploratory.

  We move from the kitchen counter to my bedroom, and I feel him hard and ready for me.

  “Make love to me, Cash.”

  He groans as I bury my face into his neck and breathe a kiss there. Gently, he lays me down on the bed and stands back and marvels at my body. Without asking, he pulls my jeans off, so I’m naked, except for my panties.

  Memories I try to chase from my head make their way into this moment.

  I lie naked beneath his gaze and watch him undress.

  Above me, he stands, his hard length big and ready, his bare chest made of strength and hard work. I gasp as his bare chest meets mine, feeling his length just outside my waiting wetness.

  “Please,” I beg.

  “No.”

  He moves down my thighs to my middle and peppers kisses against my thighs. My legs fall open, and I give him all of me. His tongue begins to move between my folds, and while he is merely filling a moment of physical desire, I am allowing him to tear apart my soul.

  Cash’s tongue flicks and moves against my knot, and I gasp, desperately needing more of him than this first touch. I rise to meet him and push him from me, for fear I’ll let go too soon. The warmth of his soft flesh is intoxicating as I move my mouth to his length and take him in.

  He groans as he leans down and watches me.

  Slowly, he gently pulls me from him and lays me back down on the bed. He climbs beside me, and our bodies tangle with one another.

  “I didn’t come to your porch tonight to make love to you, Scar. I came here to tell you that I support you. Whatever your choice is—to stay or to go—I will always be here. I’m not going anywhere this time. That’s what I came to tell you.”

  Trying to pull my thoughts and ecstasy back down to reality, I’m reminded of my conversation with Anna. “I was at dinner with Anna tonight, and she asked why I haven’t sold the house yet with all my killer instincts,” I try to joke.

  Cash toys with my long strands of red hair. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t say anything,” I whisper. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to leave Dillon Creek this time, Cash.”

  He kisses the side of my head. “Don’t.” I hear the pain in his voice, leaving me with a choice but also wanting something more. Way more.

  I want all of his forever.

  I let go of the idea of love.

  I let go of the fear.

  I let go of what we used to be.

  And I pull him on top of me.

  Our bodies are in exquisite harmony with one another as he slides inside me. We push and give and love, and a deep feeling of inner peace enters me as we move together. Cash has shattered the hard shell that I built so carefully to protect my heart.

  His raw sensuousness carries me to greater heights as he picks up the pace.

  Our eyes connect, and I know he won’t budge until my entire world sits on a different playing field, built upon ecstasy, on connectedness, on us—because it’s always been us.

  Like a curious child, he watches me unravel around him, and I abandon myself to the whirl of sensation as Cash calls out on top of me and pushes deeper inside me. Deeper and deeper until we lose everything together.

  When we’re done and the silence has almost lulled us to sleep, Cash asks if I’m awake.

  It’s always been simple with Cash and me—before I left. And even then, when I told him the news, he left, and I left, and that was that.

  While I try not to allow my mind to spin out of control about what’s next with us, I say, “Yeah.” I lean into his chest, taking in his familiar scent, the way my body fits in his, the way it’s always fit, and I try my best not to get lost in this moment because that, for me, is a scary place to be.

  “That’s not how I envisioned that going.”

  Immediately, I grow insecure. Did I do something wrong?

  He chuckles. “I wanted it to last a lot longer than that. But I coul
dn’t help myself.”

  I smile against him.

  We breathe in the silence and the darkness, and then he says, “So, hear me out.” He tightens his grip around my shoulders. “I’m thinking about fixing up old barns and selling them.”

  When I don’t answer, he continues, “Thinking I’ll drywall the inside, reinforce the roof. Big open floor plans. Lots of windows. And maybe I can build custom barns too.”

  That’s not a bad idea. While I don’t specialize in residential homes, this is a market, especially in this area, that might be untapped. I gaze up at Cash and run my fingers along his five o’clock shadow. Something I’ve never done before.

  He looks down at me, and his eyes search mine. “Dumb idea?”

  I shake my head. “No, I think that’s a brilliant idea. But do you think that is what you’re meant to do for the rest of your life? Bullfighting was the rest of your tomorrows, right? What you loved. Can you see yourself enjoying this line of work until you retire?”

  Cash plays with my fingers. His rough, callous hands are remnants of years of hard work. Then, he puts my hand in his. “Truth?”

  “Truth.”

  “I’m not sure if the love for bullfighting will ever leave me. I know it’s part of who I am. It’s what I’ve known for most of my life. I was just lucky enough to be good at it.” He pauses. “But my body won’t always be able to keep up. I knew my days in that arena were limited. The money, I’m not sure it was worth it, but it was worth getting to do what I loved for the last eleven years. The bullfighting, not all the shit that comes with it.”

  “I lost my job.”

  Cash’s head jerks to me. “What?”

  I nod. “I quit, I guess I should say.”

  “Why?”

  Be honest, Scarlet. You haven’t got a goddamn thing to lose.

  “Well, the owner of Manchester Enterprises, Frank, we started the company together—with his money, of course. It grew and grew and grew and made us a lot of money. The spoken agreement was that I would buy him out when he was ready to retire or leave or start something new. For years, I tried to get him to sign a contract, but he would always shrug it off. I trusted him. When it came down to it, he decided to give the company to his son, and I would be promoted to some dumb title, but I wouldn’t have the ability to buy the company.”