Sterling

by Foster , Delaney

  “It’s fine. Really. I don’t mind walking. Go get your dad.”

  Jayce leaned across the center console and pulled on the door handle. The door cracked open enough to nudge me backwards. “You always were stubborn. You might as well get in because I’m not moving until you do.”

  Stubborn? He was one to talk. When we were in ninth grade, Michael Willoughby left a note in my locker for my best friend, Avery. Jayce found it and got the wrong idea. The entire football locker room stood by and watched as Jayce called Michael a sneaky motherfucker then shoved him against the wall. Trace Carter finally broke it up, but I was so embarrassed about the whole thing that I’d walked home alone and refused to take Jayce’s calls. He spent the entire night on my front porch swing. It had to have been ninety degrees out that night. Not to mention the mosquitoes.

  I pulled the door open and slid inside. I buckled my seatbelt then tossed my hands into my lap and huffed like a spoiled toddler.

  Leather seats. Wood grain dash and a touch screen stereo. And that smell—clean, crisp, and so very Jayce. If anyone looked in my car, they’d probably find a stack of losing lottery tickets and a handful of Skittles buried under a pile of forgotten t-shirts and maybe a bra or two.

  Jayce shifted the Range Rover into gear and pulled away from the curb. I stared down at my fingers in order to keep from stealing glances at him. I expected the silence to be awkward, but it wasn’t. Why couldn’t I just hate him?

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” I finally said.

  Jayce turned right at the stop sign. “I’m sorry about your gram,” he said, avoiding the subject.

  I forced myself to look away from him. The pain in his voice was hard enough. I didn’t want to see it in his eyes too. Especially if it was anything like what I was feeling. So many emotions fought for control inside my heart. I was worried about my gram. I was sad for Jayce’s dad. I wanted everything to go back to the way it was, when it was me and Jayce taking on the world. And I wanted to forget I ever knew the man sitting next to me. It was like an emotional tug-of-war pulling me in all directions.

  The sound of a phone ringing echoed through the car’s sound system and pulled me back to reality. The name Monica glowed like a big neon sign on the touch screen display in front of us.

  I looked over at Jayce, whose jaw tightened when his eyes reached the screen. “You gonna get that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not important.” His answers were short, and he refused to look at me.

  “Is it the wife?”

  Jayce closed his eyes and shook his head. He heaved a breath when he opened them again. He was embarrassed. Jayce Sterling, All-American quarterback and valedictorian was losing his cool. I bit back a smile. This was way too much fun for me to stop. I couldn’t help myself. I reached forward and tapped the little green circle on the screen, accepting the call.

  Jayce shot me a look that said he regretted ever turning on the Bluetooth then pressed his lips together. I shrugged.

  “Jayce?” the female voice said through the speakers.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I’m here.”

  He squirmed in his seat. I had to pull my lips in to keep from giggling out loud.

  “Did you forget about dinner?”

  Dinner huh? I glanced at his hand on the steering wheel. No ring. Maybe Monica wasn’t the wife…

  He turned right at the next stop sign and began to slow down. My gram’s house was at the end of the street, right in front of a big patch of woods. The Victorian-style home took up the whole cul-de-sac. Jayce grew up three houses away. As children, we were inseparable. Who was I kidding? Most of our lives we were inseparable. Right up until the day he walked away.

  “No. I’m sorry I didn’t call. Something came up,” Jayce explained as he pulled into the driveway. He was talking to Monica, but his mind was somewhere else. His eyes moved from the large oak tree in the front yard to the wooden fence to… The wooden fence. What the huh? The fence was… missing. Or at least a good chunk of it was.

  “I’ll call you later and explain,” Jayce said quickly before ending the call. He put the SUV in park and turned to face me. “We should probably talk about that.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re allowed to go to dinner, Jayce. You’re a grown man.”

  Laughter broke from his lips. “I was talking about the fence.”

  Right. The fence. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I really needed to stop thinking about this man as though the past thirteen years hadn’t happened.

  There it was. A crack in Claire’s wall. The call from Monica broke the barrier and gave me a way in.

  “Unless you would rather talk about my dinner plans,” I said through a smile. I couldn’t help it. Teasing her was way too much fun. I understood why she liked it so much when she did it to me.

  Claire opened the door and climbed out in a hurry. “I would rather not talk at all. Thank you for the ride. I need to go check on my gram.” She closed the door and started up the sidewalk to the front door.

  And there went the wall again.

  I cut the engine and hopped out after her. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “No,” she yelled over her shoulder. Then she stopped to turn toward me. She closed her eyes for a beat and took in a breath. “I’m sorry. I just meant… you need to go get your dad. He’s waiting on you.”

  I wanted to tell her I was sorry. That the day I left her was the worst day of my life. I wanted to tell her she was more beautiful than ever, if that were even possible. I wanted to grab her face and kiss the living shit out of her. I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to go in there alone, that I would be by her side. But she wouldn’t believe me. Besides, I’d given Abigail enough time to call the police station and get the paperwork started. Claire was right. My father was probably waiting.

  “Yeah. I’m sure he is.” Her figure disappeared in the shadows of the oak tree’s branches as she walked toward the house. “I’ll see you later, Claire,” I called after her because I never had been able to tell her goodbye.

  She stopped just as she reached the bottom step of the wrap-around porch. “See ya.”

  She never could tell me goodbye, either.

  I climbed back in my SUV and watched her walk up the steps. Tonight, I would make sure my dad was taken care of, and by tomorrow I would know exactly what to say to Claire. Tomorrow. The fishing trip. Shit. Bennett. I needed to call him.

  I started the engine. “Call Bennett,” I called out over the Bluetooth.

  “Okay. Calling Bennett,” the robotic female voice replied.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be balls deep in a hot blonde right now?” Bennett said as soon as he answered. Whatever he chewed on made an obnoxious crunching sound through the phone.

  Yes, but not the blonde you’re thinking of…

  “Something came up.”

  Bennett finished crunching in my ear. “Yeah motherfucker, that’s usually how it starts.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No. I mean something happened. I’m not with Monica.”

  He stopped chewing. “Dude. Tell me you’re not calling to cancel the trip.”

  “I’m in Clover Creek.”

  It sounded like Bennett licked his fingers. Did the guy have any manners at all? “Oh shit. Is it your dad? Is he okay?”

  “My dad is fine.”

  The passenger door opened, and Claire reached inside. “Sorry. I forgot my phone,” she explained.

  “Woaaaahhh. What was that? ‘Cause it kinda sounded like a hot blonde to me,” Bennett blurted over the speakers. “Look fuckwad, if you don’t want to go fishing—”

  Dude had no filter. I pinched the bridge of my nose then glanced over at Claire, who stared at the touch screen as if it had grown arms and legs. “You’re on speaker.”

  “Damn. In that case, hey Monica.”

  I was just about to apologize when Claire spoke up as she read the name on the screen. “Bennett? A
s in Bennett Kane?”

  “What the fuck?” Bennett piped in. His surprised voice sounded a lot like a twelve-year-old going through puberty.

  “Language,” I warned.

  Claire threw her head back and laughed. I’d give her anything she ever wanted just to hear that laugh every day. “Oh, that’s definitely Bennett Kane,” she said. “This is Claire. Monica couldn’t make it.”

  “Claire Cunningham? Holy shit.”

  I mouthed the word “sorry” to Claire so that Bennett wouldn’t hear. She shook her head and laughed again.

  She mouthed back “it’s okay,” and smiled. The tension left. The air was light. And I wanted to stay there in the warmth of her smile forever. We shared a moment. At Bennett’s expense. But still… it was a moment. God, I’d missed her.

  “I just needed to grab my phone. Good talking to you, Bennett. Night, Jayce.” She took the cell phone from the passenger seat and started to close the door.

  “Hey, Claire,” Bennett said before she was too far away.

  Claire poked her head back inside. “Yeah?”

  “If you ever wanna know what a real man feels like, give me a call.”

  She scrubbed her hand over her face and shook her head. “Goodnight, Bennett.”

  I watched as she walked the pathway to the front porch then again as she rang the doorbell and went inside. Then I shifted into reverse and pulled out of the drive. As much as I wanted to walk inside that house and show her how much I’d missed her, now wasn’t the time.

  “She gone?” Bennett whispered. As if she wouldn’t hear him if she was still there.

  “Yes. She’s gone.”

  “Claire Cunningham? What the actual fuck, man?”

  “Long story. But trust me. It wasn’t planned.”

  “She sounded… happy. Did you talk to her? Did you tell her?”

  Leave it to Bennett to bring up the one thing I’d been trying to avoid since the minute I pulled up in front of the Cunningham’s house.

  “Seriously? No, Bennett. I didn’t tell her.”

  “So, you’re not there to see Claire? I thought you said your dad was okay.”

  The past wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. Not yet. “He is. And no. I’ll explain later. I gotta go.”

  “Look Jayce, I know it’s not easy. And I know you’ve been hiding from this for thirteen years, but… you need to tell her. She deserves an explanation.” Bennett’s usual chipper tone was solemn and serious. He could be mature. Sometimes.

  “I know.”

  She did deserve an explanation. And she would get one. I just didn’t know when.

  Why did everything feel so normal with Jayce? Why did it feel so right? What should have felt awkward and uncomfortable felt effortless and… nice. Really nice. It was as though time had stopped the day he went away and picked right back up the second I opened my parents’ front door.

  Only it hadn’t.

  Time had gone by and so had my life. I had so many questions for Jayce. Questions I wasn’t sure he would ever answer. I wasn’t sure I even really wanted him to.

  The wooden steps creaked underneath my feet when I walked onto the porch. I would worry about Jayce later, if I worried about him at all. Gram needed me right now.

  I pressed the button and heard the doorbell chime a familiar song inside the house. A few seconds later, Annie opened the door and welcomed me inside. I didn’t even look back when I heard Jayce pulling out of the driveway. The hardwood floors shined with a fresh coat of wax. As a kid—if a fifteen-year-old could still be counted as a kid—I could sock-skate across those floors like nobody’s business. If YouTube was around then, I’d have been famous, I know it. I was tempted to borrow a pair of Gram’s socks and see if I still had it in me.

  “How is she? Is she hurt?” I asked Annie while we walked from the foyer into the living room.

  “Hurt? No. She’s just a little on edge.” Annie’s chestnut brown hair fell over her shoulder in a long braid. Her outfit looked as though she’d just stepped off the runway in Milan. No wonder my mother had such a lady-crush on this girl. She was the daughter Abigail Cunningham always wanted. Just standing next to her made me feel like one of those little troll dolls that people didn’t even bother putting clothes on. Annie was Runway Barbie, and I was a naked, messy-haired troll doll.

  “On edge?” I questioned.

  “Yeah. You know… since the whole fence thing…”

  Right. I did notice the fence, but what did that have to do with my gram’s accident? I was just about to ask when the sound of two hands clapping together derailed my train of thought.

  “Claire,” Gram shouted from across the room. She sat next to the fireplace in an oversized chair with a blanket across her lap. When did she get so small? The old reading chair seemed to swallow her whole. Her face lit up. “Oh, Claire Bear, I’m so glad you came. It’s been a mess of a day.”

  You’re telling me…

  I shot across the room, relieved to see that Gram was okay. I was careful to sit on the edge of the chair before I wrapped my arms around her. The woman beside me looked like my gram. Only smaller than I’d remembered. She sounded like my gram. And she called me by name. She even seemed happy. Could my dad be wrong? Was this dementia? Did it come in different shapes and sizes? And if so, maybe Gram had a mild case. Maybe she would be okay after all.

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner,” I said as I scooted a little closer. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Gram pulled back the blanket, letting me slide underneath. It wasn’t cold in here at all. As a matter of fact, Annie could change into Malibu Barbie and I’d stay a naked troll doll, and we’d be just fine. But I wanted to be close to her. I’d missed crawling into that chair on Saturday mornings and talking about our dreams.

  My gram was that grandma. She’d tied an apron around her waist and filled the entire house with the smell of fresh baked blackberry cobbler or mouth-watering pot roast. Her door was always open, and she never knew who would join her for Sunday dinner. Because she invited everyone. She sold produce from her own garden to the local grocery store and sang in the church choir. She always wore a smile and never met a stranger. No one—not one person—could ever hold a candle to my gram.

  When I was little, my mother was a little overprotective. Okay, overprotective was an understatement. She dressed me in bubble wrap and performed background checks on my friends. Not really, but she might as well have. My grandma let me be the kid I never got to be anywhere else. She let me play outside. We went for walks in the park. I’d even gone to the woods behind Gram’s house and picked blackberries on Saturday afternoons. I would go home with stained purple fingertips, and my mother would be so mad. She’d fuss and complain, but Gram’s answer was always the same: “Let the girl live.”

  Annie came back into the room with a cup of hot tea. She set it on the end table next to the chair and Gram leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Could you grab my purse, dear? I need to pay the housekeeper.”

  The housekeeper? It was after dark. Why was the housekeeper still here? I pulled the blanket off my legs and stood. Annie flashed me a weak smile then dropped her head. Ohhhhh.

  I pointed at Annie. “You mean Annie?” I asked.

  “Annie? Heavens no. I mean this young lady,” Gram replied, waving her hand in Annie’s direction. “Your mother keeps sending her over, and I keep having to pay her.”

  Annie smiled at Gram then nodded toward the kitchen. My heart dropped to my stomach. I hoped I didn’t look as sick as I felt. Gram had no idea who Annie was. Annie. The girl who grew up right down the street. The girl who had owned a boutique in Clover Creek for nearly four years.

  “Gram, this is Annie. You know Annie.”

  Didn’t she? She had to. She looked so happy when I walked in. She looked so normal. I was sure my father had been wrong about the dementia. Why didn’t Gram know Annie?

  I tried my best to find the tiniest hint of recognition in Gram’s eyes,
but there was none. She looked back and forth between me and Annie, then around the room. She started fidgeting with the piping on the arm of the chair and moving her legs underneath the blanket.

  “It’s okay,” Annie said with a smile. “I’ll follow you to the kitchen.”

  I patted Gram softly on the knee. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  A smile crossed my face just as a lone tear fell down my cheek. I cursed it and blinked back any more before they escaped. You’re not going to cry. I hadn’t let myself cry in years, and I wasn’t about to start. An hour ago, I was deciding what dress to wear to my parents’ house. Now, I’d reconsidered every decision I’d ever made not to come back home.

  If I hadn’t woken up in a bed inside room 212 of the Clover Creek B&B, I’d have sworn yesterday was nothing but a dream. The sun peeked in through the sheer white curtains, making the room as bright as my spirits. I looked across the bed and laughed to myself. It wasn’t a dream. If it were, Claire would’ve been right here next to me when I woke up—naked and deliciously sore from a full night of fucking.

  The scent of bacon and eggs floated all the way from the kitchen and up the stairs, right through the crack under the door, making my stomach rumble. Heaven. I dragged my feet across the hardwood floor into the bathroom. The evidence of a missed shave scratched the palms of my hands as I scrubbed them over my face then looked up in the mirror. Wow. My shirt was wrinkled from sleeping in it, and I could really use a tube of toothpaste. If I was going to spend the weekend mending fences—in more ways than one—I was going to have to get a change of clothes. I took another look in the mirror. And some soap.

  But first, coffee…

  “Good morning, Jayce. Did you get some rest?” Myra Abraham asked as she swirled her spoon around her ceramic coffee mug.

  I reached for the glass pot and poured myself a cup of coffee. “You have the best beds in the county, Miss Myra.”

  She set her cup on the counter then carried a bowl full of scrambled eggs to the slightly worn round table in the middle of the room. She set it right next to a full platter of bacon and a plate of homemade biscuits. I was used to Miss Myra cooking breakfast when I came, but the only time she brought out full platters was when she had more guests. I’d checked in so late that she didn’t have me sign the guest book.