I didn’t believe in angels, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a possibility they were real. If they were, I knew my mother would be an angel, and if she was watching over me, I hoped making her dream come to life would make her proud.
Just as I did every week, I called my brother that night to update him on Dad’s condition.
Derek lived up in Chicago and had been saying—for the past fourteen years—he was going to get back to visit. It turned out I was always the one to make the yearly trip up north to see him.
As we talked that night, I could tell he wasn’t upset by the news of Dad’s deteriorating health. “Well, maybe it’s time for you to step back completely. Let’s be honest, Jax, you’ve done more for that man than he deserves. You don’t have to keep being a parent to a guy who didn’t even parent you correctly.”
I sat down in Dad’s favorite recliner and sighed. “Easier said than done.”
“I’m serious, Jax. You’ve done enough.”
I didn’t respond because after the accident with Mom all those years ago, I didn’t feel as if I’d ever do enough to make up for what had gone down.
“I have a lot of karma to clean up, Der. The least I can do is look after him in his final days.”
He sighed through the phone, and I envisioned him pushing his hands through wavy hair that matched mine. “If this is about the accident—”
“It’s not,” I lied. Of course it was a lie.
Everything about my life was a result of the accident from years before. Every choice I’d made to push people away was because of the mistakes of my past.
“Jax.” I could hear Derek’s pain for me through the phone. “What happened was not your fault. You can’t hold that shit on your soul forever. Believe me when I say this…it wasn’t your fucking fault.”
He told me that every time we talked.
I never believed him.
After we ended the call, I headed to bed and allowed the darkness of the night to rock me to sleep again.
6
Kennedy
If you gave a Kennedy a muffin, you’ll probably pry to learn some facts.
That seemed to be the motto of the people in Havenbarrow.
I’d awakened to more neighborly folks showing up with goodies to welcome me to town. The number of times they handed me food while trying to peer into my home was unnerving. What was even more concerning was how I’d say something to one visitor, and by the time the next one came through, they were already caught up on my whole life story.
It turned out news spread through Havenbarrow like wildfire, and when the stories spread, they somehow became a little worse than when they started. It was as if we were playing telephone in elementary school. Currently, I was an unemployed single female, squatting at my sister’s property without her knowledge.
I’d never truly considered myself a city girl until that moment right there. Back where I came from, no one cared who you were, and the only gift they were offering was a hand pressed to their horn if you waited two seconds too long after a red light switched to green.
The one saving grace for the small town other than my not-so-nosy neighbors the Jeffersons?
My other lovely neighbor, Joy Jones.
Joy was quite the character to take in. That morning when the sun came up, she walked outside on her front porch and sat down in her rocking chair with a smile on her face and a large cup of coffee in hand. A few of my nosy visitors told me it was a daily routine for her.
Her silvery hair was tossed up in a messy bun held together with two knitting needles, and her thick-framed vibrant orange glasses sat on top of her head. She wore a brightly colored bow in her hair that matched her dress for the day, and she always greeted everyone who passed by her house, even when they didn’t speak back to her.
When no one was passing by, she was busy talking to herself—or, more accurately, talking to her husband, who was no longer alive. She also scribbled away on paper, writing letters as if her life depended on the ink bleeding onto the ruled pages.
It was heartbreaking to watch, yet more concerning was how the townspeople ignored her when she did slip out of her delusions. When she greeted the passersby, she was so kind, but the feeling wasn’t mutual. It was as if they were afraid to offer her a wave, a good morning, good evening, or good night on their walks around the block.
What bothered me even more was how quickly people ridiculed her. If they did speak her way, they mocked her, calling her Crazy Joy, the woman who never left her front porch. Rumor had it she hadn’t stepped foot off of that wraparound wooden porch since the day her husband died. Sometimes, teenagers would mock her, flipping her off as they laughed with each other in groups.
“Hi, Crazy Joy. Cook anyone up in your house lately?” they harass before I scolded them and hurried them away.
“Have good days, sweethearts,” Joy said as she waved their way, not even bothered in the slightest. Still, Joy kept greeting everyone who passed, and her smile never faltered. It was as if she was above being bothered by an individual’s judgments and cruelty, as if the others’ opinions and thoughts didn’t affect her joy.
She truly lived up to her name. I wished I could be more like her—less affected by the world around me—but my feelings were so much like the wind, moving wherever they were blown. It was a flaw of mine, one my husband had made sure to tell me about all the time, too.
“Pull yourself together, Kennedy. You can’t react and take everything I say so personally,” he’d always tell me. “Your emotions are going to ruin everything good that we have.”
I’d been trying my best to delete his words from my brain, but it was easier said than done. When someone makes you feel so little, your mind locks onto your flaws.
“I’m sorry they were so cruel to you,” I said to Joy.
She looked my way with the biggest smile on her face and shook her head. “Who was cruel, sweetheart?”
I grinned back.
Never mind.
I went back to reading my book on my own front porch as the beams of sunlight warmed me from head to toe. It was funny thinking about how Joy hadn’t left her house for years. To others, it probably seemed insane, but I understood. I hadn’t driven a car in over a year for my own personal reasons, and Joy hadn’t ventured out for hers.
I wasn’t saying it made sense, but I understood. Sometimes, no matter how much they want to fight it, a person becomes so invested in their fears that they do everything in their power to keep them from coming to life. I didn’t know what Joy’s fears were or what was keeping her from leaving her home; all I knew was I got it.
Life is hard. We have to do whatever it takes to keep ourselves and our minds comfortable. For me, that meant not driving. For Joy, that meant staying home.
I wondered how she managed, though. I wondered how she kept living without stepping foot outside her home. She didn’t seem to have any children or even a caregiver who came to aid her from what I could tell.
Later that morning, my questions were answered as a blue pickup pulled up in front of the house. Needless to say, my jaw dropped to the ground when I saw Mr. Personality step out of the vehicle. He walked his way straight toward Joy’s front porch, his arms filled with grocery bags.
He proceeded to greet Joy, and she stood from the rocking chair as he set the bags down. Then he hugged her.
He hugged her!
I wouldn’t think someone as grumpy as Mr. Personality had the ability to hug someone. The two of them walked inside to put the groceries away, leaving me completely baffled and unable to return to my reading. It took a lot to break me away from a book—and by ‘a lot’, I mean a lot. My house could’ve been on fire, or aliens could’ve beamed me up, and I would’ve still been trying to get in that one last page. When my own love story was broken, I turned to stories to heal the cracks of my broken heartbeats. When my world fell apart, the books still believed in happily-ever-afters. Those books saved me on the days I felt my soul falling victi
m to the hardest of storms.
Yet Mr. Personality pulled me away from the words on the page. He made me curious about him walking into Joy’s house. Watching him chat away with her had my mind racing. A few minutes later, when the two of them walked back outside each with a glass in their hands—one with wine, the other with some dark liquor I assumed was whiskey—I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over at them. Joy kept talking, and Mr. Personality kept responding. Even though I couldn’t hear what they were saying, Joy looked beyond smitten with whatever was being said to her, which forced my own heart to skip a few beats.
Well, I’ll be damned.
The town asshole made me swoon.
I looked away before he could notice me staring at him as if he’d just saved a kitten from a tree. As I turned back to my novel, my heartbeats didn’t slow, and I silently wished I could be a fly on Joy’s porch railing to see what the two of them were talking about.
When I heard a deep manly chuckle fall from Mr. Personality’s lips, my head flipped around so quick to see him tossing his head back in amusement.
Whoa.
He had the ability to be amused.
Who would’ve ever thought?
The two talked for a little while longer, and then when it came time for Mr. Personality to leave, he stood and gave Joy another hug.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast,” he told her. “I’ll make you pancakes.”
“Okay, sweetheart. You call me once you make it home,” Joy said.
“I’m right around the corner, Joy. I’ll make it home safely.”
“Call me once you’re home,” she said once more, more sternly this time.
He almost smirked as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Will do, Joy.”
My heart?
Pitter-freaking-patter.
As Joy walked inside and Mr. Personality walked down her footpath back to his truck, my eyes followed him the whole time. He didn’t glance my way once, but his lips did part.
“If you’re going to be that nosy, you might as well pull up a chair on her front porch to skip over the eavesdropping next time,” he said to me, still not looking my way. “I shouldn’t be shocked, though, seeing how you have a way of trespassing, first on my land and then on my conversations.”
I sat up straighter in my chair. “I wasn’t trespassing.”
He opened his truck door. “Pull up a search engine online, search the word trespassing, realize you were wrong—then live with that fact for the rest of your life.” With that, he slammed his door shut, turned the key in his ignition, and pulled away from the curb without another word.
And my pitter-freaking-patters?
They came to a halt as my heart flipped him off.
So the asshole was still an asshole, even if he had drinks with sweet Joy.
That night, I did google the word trespassing.
Tres-pass
/ˈtrespəs,ˈtresˌpas/
Verb
Gerund or present participle: trespassing
Enter the owner’s land or property without permission.
Commit an offense against (a person or a set of rules)
The definition on Urban Dictionary was a little different than Merriam-Webster, though.
Tres-passing
When a woman is someone else’s property but two guys tag-team her.
(Tres)passing: Two men, one woman. (threesome)
Okay, okay. I had been trespassing on his property, but there was no threesome-type trespassing involved whatsoever. Plus, I wasn’t trespassing on his conversation. I was eavesdropping. Totally not the same thing. I’d call that a win in my book.
7
Jax
Joy Jones was easily my favorite human in Havenbarrow, but most of the town stayed far away from her. Eddie’s family and I were the exceptions. She was in her late eighties, and most of the day her mind lived in a time when the world was much different. Ever since her husband passed away over twenty years ago, Joy had become a true recluse.
Most people called her insane, but I called her brilliant. Little interaction with other human beings? Count me in.
When I was younger, I ran away from home once after my drunk father told me he was going to beat me until I went to sleep forever, and I ended up hiding in Mrs. Jones’ back yard for a few days. When she found me, she didn’t scold me or tell me to go home and get lost. Instead, she baked me cookies. She fed me dinner. She asked me about myself.
That was over fifteen years ago, and I’d been having morning coffee and evening dinner with her pretty much every day since then. To the rest of the world, she was Crazy Joy, but to me? She was my friend, one of the few.
“What do you think about my new neighbor?” Joy asked me one night after I came for our evening dinner session. “Eddie and Marie came over for lunch earlier, and they had so many nice things to say about her.”
“I think nothing of her,” I said as we sat down at her dining room table, which was laden with enough food for a whole gospel choir. Joy had a way of cooking too much food all the time, and I knew it was because she was determined to send me home with leftovers each night. I swore, the woman probably thought I couldn’t make a frozen pizza without burning it.
I never argued with her about the leftovers she sent with me. The truth was, I’d burned my fair share of frozen pizzas, so Joy’s concern was warranted.
“I think she’s so sweet. Beautiful, too,” Joy commented, placing salad on her plate before passing the bowl to me.
“Oh?” I said, sounding disinterested even though I’d have been a damn fool not to notice how good-looking the woman was who’d moved in next door. Good-looking felt like an understatement. She was breathtaking. Her tight honey curls bounced every time she smiled, and when she smiled, damn…
That smile made even my cold heart want to feel slight warmth. She had long legs that went on for days, vibrant clothing, and short shorts that hugged her ass in all the right places. Then those eyes…
Those damn eyes. Why did they look so familiar to me, as if they were a key to a memory I hadn’t been able to unlock? Those eyes smiled even more than her lips. When she was sad or spooked, her eyes frowned more than her lips, too. It was as if her irises were the pathway to her story, but I hadn’t been able to dive deep into her language, hadn’t cracked her code. I didn’t know what story her stare was telling. I didn’t understand the words lingering in her eyes.
Shit, I hadn’t even tried to understand.
I didn’t want to try.
“She seems like a good girl,” Joy went on. “Nice personality, too. You know each morning she greets me with the biggest smile and asks if I need anything? She’s a sweetie pie like that. The world needs more nice girls.”
Why? So it could destroy them?
If I knew anything about nice people, it was that the rest of the world wouldn’t stop itself from beating the kindness out of them. It was as if niceness was a disease and everyone was determined to pummel anyone who displayed its symptoms. I’d spent the past twenty-eight years having any positive light beaten out of my system, and if I’d learned anything, it was that the world wasn’t made for nice people. It was created to destroy them.
I stayed quiet as Joy kept going on about her. “You should talk to her more, get to know her.”
I snickered a bit. “Not really into making friends, Joy.” She knew this. It wasn’t a secret. A warning sign of that should’ve been when my best guy mate was my fucking therapist and my best lady friend was almost ninety. “Besides, I have you.” I always figured if you had a true friend, you were better off than most. And me? I had a handful of them—if I counted Connor. Based on statistics, I probably had one too many.
“Yes, well, one day I’ll be gone, and you’ll need a new one. You better start putting out feelers now. I ain’t getting any younger, boy. Besides, I think she could use a friend, too. She lost somebody, just like the both of us.”
My eyebrow arched. “She told you that?
”
Joy shook her head. “Loss isn’t something that needs to be said. It sits heavily within a person’s eyes. People who have lost loved ones move a little differently. Her loss still feels fresh, as if she doesn’t know how to move through each day. That’s something I can understand. I think it’s something you can understand, too, so consider getting to know her a little.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You aren’t trying to play matchmaker since I broke up with Amanda, are you?”
“No, no, not this time. Not a matchmaker—just a friend-maker. Contrary to your personal belief, everyone needs friends, Jaxson, even the black sheep in a small town like Havenbarrow.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And by the way, I’m happy you broke up with that Amanda girl. She was too pushy,” she said, waving a hand in dismissal. “Always wanting you to be someone you weren’t, trying to change you into someone she wanted you to be—I didn’t like that. Plus, she didn’t like my lemon cake.”
I laughed. “Which was exactly why I broke things off with her.”
She reached across and patted my hand with her palm. “What a good man you are, Jax. Speaking about my neighbor,” she said, switching the subject back to what she deemed important, “you know what I like best about her so far?”
“What’s that?”
“The unique car parked in her driveway. It’s so different and fun! Oh, Jax, you have to see it when you leave. It’s very neat.”
Thankfully, Joy allowed the conversation to shift from my dating and friendship life when the newest episode of The Bachelor came on. Like always, I watched the insane show with her. Like always, I called who wasn’t getting a rose at the end of the episode, and like always, Joy acted so surprised at who was going home. During the show, a few rumbles of thunder came rolling through, and I knew we were in for a powerful rainfall.
Southern Storms Page 6