Fear of returning to the wretched uncertainty of poverty had rewired my DNA, imprinted on my mind. Nothing was a given. Ask any person, any family living on the margins of survival and they’ll tell you: All it takes is one roll of the dice, one ill-fated turn on the wheel of fate to reduce your life to ruins. One missed check, one unexpected expense, one badly timed crisis.
I doubted I could ever tell Eddie about the shame I’d felt after my mother went missing for four days. My shame hadn’t solely grown from the cause of her absence. I’d been ashamed because my first thought was wondering if I could afford to bury her if she’d died.
“Nick?”
I shook my head, returning to the present.
“Nick, you okay?” It was hard to miss the concern, the worry in his voice.
“I’m fine. But Eddie—this matters. I’m seeing it through.”
“Fine. Are you back for the meeting tomorrow?” Eddie sounded resigned.
“Yeah. I’m flying in tomorrow, late afternoon. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning here. Last-minute details.”
That was a hell of an understatement. The prospect of seeing Zora again, without an audience, had me suppressing a myriad of impossible desires. I wanted answers from her. That’s it.
I lie best when it’s to myself.
Eddie exhaled noisily.
“We built this company together, Eddie. Every step of the way. You know I’d never drop the ball or risk our investment. You know you can trust me.”
Silence on the line.
When Eddie came back, his voice was quieter. “My concerns aren’t limited to business. I want to see this company thrive as much as you do, you know. But we’re also friends.”
“Here comes the sappy shit.” I heaved a pretend sigh. I never missed an opportunity to bust his balls. But he was my friend, and one of the few people I trusted without reservation.
“You’ve got more money than God at this point, Nick. You’re part of a community that appreciates you and all you try to do. If you haven’t figured out how to be content with that, I don’t know that there’s anything I, or anyone, can say to you. I don’t know what else you’re looking for. I hope you find it, man. You know where to find me if you need anything. Bye.”
He hung up.
I sat, phone still clenched against my ear, caught in the echoing vacuum of silence. I lowered the phone to the table and turned to stare out the rain-spotted window. Beyond was the same narrow two-lane road Zora and I had walked all those years ago. The same crack I’d taken care to avoid as a kid still zigzagged across the sidewalk. It was all the same—as if I had never left.
I’d never told Eddie about this town or my life in it before we met. Never told him how being scared and helpless as a kid made me crave stability, predictability. Being in control. And being back here reminded me all too well how it felt to be that kid again.
God, I needed to get out of this town before I lost my mind.
“All right.” Rebecca’s voice sounded from the side, and I looked up in time to see her slide a plate of assorted glazed doughnuts under my nose. A cup of hot cider followed. “It’s on me,” she said with a wink. “Even though you’re bigger than the Badcock’s barn.”
I stared at her. Mr. Badcock had a tiny hen house.
“Oh honey, Badcock replaced that henhouse with something much larger and fancier—a huge, gorgeous, modern barn. That’s what I’m talking ’bout.” She hit me on the shoulder.
“Ah. Okay.”
The waitress leaned a hip against the opposite side of the booth. “You were always tall, but it’s like you just . . .” Her eyes widened. “Hulked out.”
I laughed lightly and took a bite of doughnut. It was damn good. It tasted like home, but the good memories. “I guess I did, Miss Rebecca. Haven’t heard it put quite that way before, but it sounds pretty accurate.”
“You remind me of that stripper in the movie. The really big one? Dark hair?”
I coughed. “Uh, stripper?”
One corner of her mouth went up in a sly smile. “Don’t sound so shocked. I might look like an old lady to you, but this girl’s still got a little oil left in her can.”
I choked down the bit of doughnut caught in my windpipe.
What the hell was I supposed to say to that?
“You must take after your daddy’s people,” she said, lips pursed as she considered me with that same sideways tilt of her head. “God knows your mama was a tiny thing.”
There was nothing I could offer in response, and I didn’t have a mind to try. Unbidden, the voice of the town’s resident gossip, Karen Smith, came to mind: “Do we even know who their people are?”
“Well, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re back. And I’m glad you had an opportunity to connect with Zora. I know she and her family must have been so happy to see you.”
Seeing no need to correct her assumption, I only nodded, shoving more doughnut in my mouth so I couldn’t answer.
“It’s funny the way life turns out, isn’t it? Zora and Jackson James are about to be married, and you look like you’re doing well for yourself. You got a sweetheart, wherever you settled?”
Wait.
. . .
WAIT.
What. The. Fuck.
I braced my hands on the table, gulping down the entire mouthful of doughnut. “What did you say?”
Because there was no way she’d just said what I just thought she said.
Something in my eyes made her take a step back. “What, Zora and Jackson? They’ve been together for a minute now. They look so cute together. Both come from good stock.” She gave a meek, apologetic shrug. “Families like each other, seems like a good match.”
Come from good stock. Families like each other. Good match.
Fuck this town.
Chapter Four
Zora
“Oh, my God. Finally!”
I jumped back at the shouted words. The front door to my house suddenly swung inward before I had a chance to use my key. My work bag slipped from my shoulder and weighted the bend of my arm before it hit the porch with a heavy thud. I released my grip on the storm door, winced at the pulled muscle in my neck, straightened, and glared at the irritated woman framed in the doorway. In that moment, it was hard to imagine that a world existed where other people didn’t live next door to their annoying, intrusive best friend who used her just-for-emergencies key way too freely.
“God, Zora. I was about to go out there and get you. How long were you planning to sit in your car all spaced out? Were you playing that depressing-ass jazz on repeat again?” Leigh pursed her lips. “And you look awful.” Her gaze moved over me. “Come inside.”
I let out a sigh, casting a pointed look to the other side of the duplex and her designated front door. “How gracious of you to welcome me into my own home. Did you forget where you live? Or did you start out drunk and somehow end up passed out in my living room again?”
Man. I sound like Fate, i.e. a bitch.
Her eyebrows went up. “What crawled up your ass?”
I closed my eyes. “Sorry. I’ve had a rough day. I’m not at my best.”
She turned to head back inside the house. As usual, her short-legged Pomeranian, Felicia, was tucked under one arm. I stepped over the threshold and followed them in.
“I wasn’t drunk that time, for your information. But I was tipsy enough to know I’d be better off spending the night with someone who could turn me over if I choked on my vomit in the middle of the night.”
“You’re my best friend. I’ll always be here to turn you over. Even if you work my last nerve at times.”
“Back at you, babe. And you best believe you’ve been sawing away at mine lately, what with your self-neglect and disappearing act.”
I turned my back to her and closed and locked the door, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.
“I know you’re over there rolling your eyes. And you have some nerve. You still owe me from that time you came
over in your swimsuit asking if you could get by without shaving. My eyes still haven’t recovered. Would it kill you to wax year-round? Does Jackson bring his own chainsaw when he goes down there?”
Despite myself, I chuckled. “I could’ve made it work,” I said automatically, dropping my bag on the couch as I stepped from the living room to the kitchen. “The bottom was full coverage—” I stopped at the sight of my kitchen. Styrofoam containers, cottage cheese and yogurt tubs, Tupperware containers, and foil bundles covered my kitchen counters.
“What’s going on? What is this?”
Leigh parked Felicia on the floor then planted a hand on her hip, head cocked as she aimed a “don’t play dumb” look at me. “You should recognize it all. It’s from your refrigerator. I’ve been trying to figure out where the smell is coming from, now that you apparently don’t live here anymore.”
I sniffed experimentally at the air and, sure enough, detected something pungent and vile. “I live here—”
“You’re back to sleeping in your office again. No one’s heard from you, your brother is worried—”
“Walker’s worried about me?”
“Do you have another brother I don’t know about? Stop repeating everything I say. Just listen. Your brother called me because he hasn’t heard from you in over a week and he got worried. Said you were supposed to get something with the sink fixed with some guy in town. Then the plumber told him he never heard from you. Then I had to tell him I hadn’t heard from you either and your car hasn’t been here in three days so he’s on his way over—”
I slapped my forehead as cumulative exhaustion settled over me like a weighted blanket. “He’s coming over here? God, I feel awful. He’s already so busy. Why didn’t you just call me? On my cell, my desk phone at work?”
“Your voicemail at work is full. So is the one for your phone. I’d have emailed you if I thought that would work.” Her Jersey accent was more pronounced now, as it always was when she was frustrated or angry. “I sent him a text when you pulled up, but he’s still coming over to chew you out and fix the sink.”
I turned away from her exasperated expression and returned to the living room to retrieve my phone from the work bag.
It was dead.
“Let me guess,” Leigh said as I trudged back into the kitchen like a penitent child. “You’ve been working on some super important deadline, probably a grant. So you put your phone on airplane mode. And then you said, ‘What the hell? I have some wrinkled-ass pants and shirts here and a shitty couch to sleep on. I’ll just stay here till it’s done.’ Even though we all keep asking you not to do that.”
I released a sigh and slid onto the stool at the counter opposite her. It seemed the day from hell would never end. The last thing I needed was to rouse the irritation of my best friend and my slightly overbearing older brother.
“I’m sorry, Leigh.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you are not going to age me prematurely. Not happening.”
I bit back a smile at the defiant tilt to her head. Leigh still looked eighteen rather than thirty. Her posture was aggressively erect and she moved like the graceful dance major she’d been when I’d met her as a transferring undergraduate student at Northwestern. She’d ultimately decided against dancing professionally, but she’d retained all the discipline and healthy habits that kept her lithe and lean. The tiny shorts and tank top screen-printed with the name of a local Knoxville band displayed the figure of someone who had an unhealthy—and therefore very healthy—obsession with working out. I’d always thought she looked like a young Elizabeth Taylor with her dark, shoulder-length hair and the unearthly navy shade of her tip-tilted blue eyes. Those same blue eyes narrowed dangerously as she stepped closer.
“I’m glad you’re all right, but do me a favor, okay? Invest in some decent self-care. Nothing else will matter if you’re dead. I tell you this over and over, and you’re supposed to be the brilliant researcher.”
I shook my head, unable to tear my gaze from the faded Formica countertop. “Today was bad, Leigh.”
She picked up a yipping Felicia and settled on a stool opposite me. Felicia stared at me from her perch in Leigh’s lap with big, wet eyes. “How is it different from the usual suckitude? What happened?”
“Hello! Man on the premises!” The deep baritone boomed the announcement from the front door, accompanied by the triple chirp of the alarm. “Anyone within the sound of my voice should be fully clothed.”
I closed my eyes. “Is there anyone I didn’t give my key to?”
A small smile tugged at one corner of Leigh’s mouth. “He’s still scarred from that time he used his key without knocking.”
“Why would we have had clothes on in the dead heat of summer, when it was hot as an oven?”
“Because,” a familiar voice said from behind me, “civilized people turn on the AC and walk around with their clothes on.”
I shook my head at my brother. His quiet brown eyes reflected a solemnity that belied his jocular tone. His gaze moved over me in an all-encompassing sweep. Gone was the crisp suit, his usual uniform as vice president of our family’s bank. Instead, he wore a pair of jeans and an old white T-shirt. He set the toolbox and bucket on the floor.
“I don’t have air conditioning. You know that.”
He folded his arms. “Uh-huh. I also know the plan was not for you to still be in this house. This was supposed to be a revenue-generating property, remember? Dad told you to buy it, renovate it, sell it or rent it out. Instead, you’re still here dealing with the same repairs that apparently haven’t been fixed. And living with your eternal roommate.”
I didn’t miss the way his gaze moved over to Leigh and lingered on her bare legs before rising and resting on her face. “Cruella,” he said to her in greeting.
I slid down on the stool, weighted from the impact of yet another failure landing on my shoulders. He was right. I’d had every intention of renovating and unloading this house at first sight. My father had pushed, as was his way, enumerating all the reasons why it was a good investment. Fresh off a postdoc and facing the frightening prospect of moving back to Green Valley, I’d thought it couldn’t be the worst thing that happened to me, all things considered. Even if the ancient, shadowy house looked like it hosted untold deaths from murder, plague, and consumption.
But sometime between signing the sale papers and exploring the house’s large, open rooms with their creaking original wood floors, I’d deviated from my clearly-outlined plan.
Within a few months, I was in love with the house’s eccentricities and its little surprises, like the distinctive crown molding patterns and original, untouched woodwork. So when the hospital had an opening for a Child Life Specialist, I sent the job requisition to my best friend, who just happened to be desperate for a change of pace. Of course, I offered use of the house’s unoccupied side until she got acclimated with the town and found a place of her own.
After a while, I started questioning why I had to get rid of either the house or Leigh. She was one of my favorite people; she understood me more than most people ever did, her rent checks deposited just fine, and we had fun when I was home. As for the house, I came to accept its deficiencies as part of its character, like an aging beauty queen who, having retained all of her grace and charm, sometimes required assistance to climb off the couch.
Thank God for my brother, who usually supported my questionable choices with a minimum of fussing.
Usually.
Leigh smirked at Walker and leaned against the counter, chin propped up on her fist. “You know you love me. Don’t think you’re fooling anyone, pretending you’re here for Zora. I know you missed me.” She turned back to the counter to snatch a paper towel from the roll.
Watching the hungry expression move over my brother’s face as his gaze tracked the curve of her backside, I wasn’t sure Leigh was wrong. She wasn’t exactly covert in her appreciation of him either as she turned back, squinting up at
him after conducting her own thorough perusal of his tall, solid form. The air grew thick with sexual tension and I rolled my eyes heavenward.
After the day I’d had, after seeing Ni—him, I didn’t have it in me to play audience for my best friend and my brother’s constant will-they-won’t-they (spoiler alert, they never did) flirtation.
“Why are you here again?” I rubbed my forehead.
Walker seemed to rip his eyes from Leigh, his stare softening. “Your sink? Let me help, Z.”
A reluctant rush of affection warmed my bruised heart. As chaotic as my brother’s life was, he took the time to check on his wayward baby sister. He looked so much like my father: same shade of chestnut brown skin, same deep-set dark eyes, same dimpled jaw. But there was enough of my mother there to soften his otherwise rough-cast face. Walker and I shared the same freckle-dotted high cheekbones and fuller bottom lip.
Fortunately, he’d inherited very little of my father’s hard-nosed pragmatism and had more than a decent dose of my mother’s nurturing streak. My sisters and I all agreed he did his damnedest to hide it, though.
“Walker, I’m fine, and I’m sorry you drove all the way over here for nothing. You didn’t have to come over, but I appreciate the sentiment. If I ever think you’re dead in your house, I will return the favor.”
He ambled over, gaze fixed on mine, and roughly palmed my forehead the same way he’d been doing since I was a little kid and he was the older, annoying dictator of a brother tattling on me for every damn thing.
“It’s more likely you’d be dead in your office,” he quipped, wrenching my head back so far my neck threatened to snap. “I thought I’d stop here to gather clues first, just in case.”
I slapped at his hand while Leigh looked on, shaking her head at our antics. She hopped up, resettled Felicia, and went back to the task of my fridge.
“I’ve got enough shit on my plate without having to worry about claiming your corpse.”
Been There Done That Page 4