And I honestly don’t. I’ve been working toward this for years, to learn from one of the best in the biz. I should be flying right now. Instead, I feel like I’m being pulled in two different directions.
I escort her down to the front door and open it while she gathers her bag, sliding the handle onto the crook of her slender arm.
“Keep an eye on your email and have a fabulous end to your summer.”
I change out of my interview clothes and take Nightmare for a ride. We trot through the untamed wilderness of our land. I’ve always loved riding her through the forest. It’s like I’m lost in another place and time, before the state was taken over by small settlements. I hadn’t intended on taking Nightmare anywhere in particular, but after a while, we find ourselves at Hettie and Roy’s place. I walk her to the fence and tie her up on one of the thicker posts.
I call out for them through the screen door, “Hettie? Roy? It’s Evie.”
Roy, a short man with a potbelly and more hair in his ears than on his head, emerges from his sitting room and smiles when he sees me.
“Come in, child. Come in.”
I open the door and step inside.
“Who is it, Roy?” Hettie shouts from the kitchen, where she always seems to be. She loves to cook and bake, even when the weather’s stifling.
“It’s our girl,” he answers.
She juts her head out from the doorway. “Honey, I’m glad you’re here.” She walks toward us, cleaning her flour-dusted hands off on her apron. “I’ve been baking up a storm. I have treats to take back home to your mother…and that handsome young man.
“Stop always trying to play matchmaker, Hettie,” grumbles Roy.
“Oh, hush up,” she shoos him off with a dish towel, “you old goat.”
I giggle, placing my hand over my mouth to stop it. I love watching them interact. After fifty years, they get on each other’s nerves with the drop of a hat, but you also see how much they still love one another, too. Mostly from the way Roy looks at Hettie, as if she were still the young, beautiful, vibrant girl he met all those decades ago.
“I’d better make myself scarce before she uses that towel across my head,” he whispers to me with a wink.
“I think that’s a good idea.” I wink back.
He waddles off to take sanctuary in his study. Yes, he has a study, but it’s really a small room with a TV, a well-worn chair with an indent in the seat cushion, fishing trophies, and baseball memorabilia he’s been collecting since he was a kid.
I follow Hettie to the back of the house and into the kitchen, taking a seat at the circular table big enough for four. Hettie, rushing about the kitchen like a chicken with her head cut off, sets a freshly-baked muffin on a small plate and pours a glass of milk, bringing it over to me. I dig a chunk out with two clawed fingers and pop it in my mouth.
“How did your interview go?” she asks, not even waiting for me to finish the first bite. I’d called her after I’d hung up with Sonya yesterday.
“It went better than I’d hoped. She basically told me I’ve got what it takes and I should expect a response soon.”
“That’s wonderful!” She ‘jumps’ up and pinches my cheeks as hard as her arthritic hands will allow, kissing me mercilessly. I take the loving assault with a smile. “I bet you’re excited to leave here and start fresh in New York.”
“I am,” I answer. It’s less enthusiastic than expected from someone getting exactly what they’ve wanted forever.
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’ve just been worrying about things lately, things I’ll have to leave behind.”
“Are we talking about Holt?”
“No.” I don’t think so. “Bailey and Meredith.”
“Well, I understand you fretting about moving further from your little girl, but it’s natural to move away from the nest.”
“Mom’s been going through stuff. Maybe my leaving isn’t the smartest plan at this time.”
“Is it the money troubles or the affair?”
“You know about her and Mr. Channing?” Shocked by Hettie’s knowledge of my mother’s lover (EW!), it takes a moment to process the money comment. “What was that about money?”
“Oh,” she mutters, tapping her fingers over her lips. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know, what?”
“Meredith’s gonna be upset with me for telling you.”
“She can’t if she doesn’t know. Please tell me.”
With a rise and fall of her shoulders, she says, “She’s been struggling with finances this past year. The family estate, or what little there was after your grandparents’ deaths, has almost run dry. Charles has been offering to purchase the land from her, but she’s refused.”
“That’s strange.”
“If you ask me, she should get rid of the wolf. I’ve never liked him much or that wife of his. She’s a snake in the grass. But it’s not up to me to tell your mother how to live.”
“That’s what Holt said. It’s hard, though.”
“It’s difficult to watch someone follow the wrong path, but the only way they’ll learn is to figure it out for themselves.”
“How did everyone know about this affair except me?”
“You’ve been away. And I think people were trying to shield you from it.”
“The whole damn town apparently.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” she suggests, but this information has me too upset to pretend I’m in a social mood.
“Actually, I should get back to Nightmare outside, feed and get her water. But I’ll be back for dinner tomorrow night and we’ll have a nice long visit. Alright?”
“I understand,” she says.
“Love you, Hettie.” I quickly lean in and kiss the tissue paper skin of her plump cheek before taking my leave.
“Bye, Roy,” I call on my way past his man cave. He calls back to me, but he’s lost in the baseball game on TV, so it’s more of a mumbled grunt. Once I’m back outside, I untie Nightmare’s knotted reigns from around the fence post, mount her, and take off into the woods.
The next day, I spend time in the garden weeding, keeping my hands busy to distract my thoughts. My brain was on a loop all last night. Between Meredith’s problems, the interview, and Holt’s absence, I was an emotional mess. It was like being on a boat in the middle of the ocean during a squall.
When tires on gravel catch my attention, I all but jump up, hoping Holt has finally come back, slightly saddened when Taylor’s white Jetta pulls up. She honks the horn with two short beeps. I force a smile as she gets out and approaches me. Holt’s absence has upset the balance of things.
I hate it.
“You look like you’ve been rolling around in mud all day.”
“I have,” I laugh. “Do we have plans?”
“Do I need a reason to visit?”
“Of course not.” I give her a quick, distant hug to keep her clothes clean.
“I thought we could have a girl’s night.”
After the news of my mother’s financial problems, the last thing I want to do is be social, which is probably why I should. I can’t sit and dwell on this.
“What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking two large pepperoni pies with extra cheese, a twelve pack of frosty beer, and a bad 80’s movie marathon.”
“You’re speakin’ my language.”
We haul the loot from the backseat of her car to the house. I clean myself up and dress in old gray sweatpants I cut into shorts and a comfy shirt with a collar so worn it hangs off my shoulder. We camp out in the living room, sticking a chick flick into the player, dishing out the gooey slices of pie and cracking open the brews. By the second movie, we’re painting each other’s toe nails. She chose a soft pink. I picked neon green. I’m focusing on staying within the boundaries of her pinkie nail when she says nonchalantly, “I ran into Aidan today.” I know better. This isn’t a simple mention of running into him. It’s a tiny town, everyone runs
into each other every day. She wants to talk.
“How did he look?”
“Like a guy who had his heart ripped out.”
“Well, don’t sugarcoat it on my behalf.”
“Oh, I never do.” She dips the mini brush into the bottle and swipes the excess paint from the soft bristles. “Honestly, I think you made the right decision.”
“You do?”
“I haven’t entirely forgiven him for what he did to you, E. You were devastated. It killed me to see you broken and in pain.”
“What do you think of Holt?”
“He’s never broken your heart. As far as I’m concerned, he’s got my vote.” She rummages for a napkin to remove a streak of polish from the side of my big toe. She isn’t as skilled at painting nails as I am. “It doesn’t really matter what anyone thinks about him aside from you. What do you think of him?”
“He’s the first man I’ve trusted in a long time.”
“What was going on with him and Makayla?”
“Nothing. She kept asking him out. He agreed because he didn’t want to make waves. Her father does own the only hardware store in town. But when she tried to make a move, he stopped her.”
“And nothing happened between you and Aidan?”
“He tried to kiss me, but I couldn’t do it. I told him I didn’t feel that way for him anymore. I didn’t want to hurt him more by telling him I was choosing another man.”
“I believe your feelings for him were simply remnants of what you felt years ago. You loved him before your father left. He represented a better time to you.”
“Why did you take me to his party if you felt this way?”
“I was hoping you’d get resolution. I thought you’d finally realize you were over him, that you’ve moved on.”
“We did. He apologized.”
“Did you tell him what you went through after?”
“It’s never felt like the right time.”
“When is it ever the right time to tell a man you’re the mother of his child?”
“True.” I clear my throat. “Margo asked me to keep it from him.” She stops painting, her eyes slowly rising to mine. They say it all. “She’s afraid he’ll get angry and take Bailey away. It was part of the arrangement to begin with, but I’ve been rethinking it. I’m afraid he’ll hate me.”
“Evie, if you tell him the truth, there’s no way he’d hate you. If he hates anyone, it should be his mother.”
“It doesn’t matter either way. He has the right to know whether he gets mad at me or not.”
“Are you going to tell Holt?”
“Why would I tell him?”
“If he’s becoming more serious, you’ll have to tell him, too. Some men get touchy if the woman they want had another man’s baby.”
“We’re not serious.”
She eyes me.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
see-through color
By the time Tay leaves, it’s dark and rain has begun to fall. It wasn’t much at first. An hour later, Mother Nature is having some major PMS. I hate these summer storms. It’s hot for GD’s sake.
I’m lying in Holt’s room. I’ve slept here every night he’s been gone. I told my mom it was for Max, he’d sleep better in the attic than in my room. Really, it’s me. It makes me feel like he’s here.
I pet Max’s head as he lies beside me on the bed, his breathing steady and calm. Unable to sleep, I stare up at the invisible ceiling, the lightning lighting it up every now and then, allowing me to see its height. It creates eerie shadows and dark corners. The comfortable, inviting, safety of the attic, now seems cold, lonely, and much too big without him.
Suddenly, Max’s ears stick up, his head doing the same. I’m startled by a creak of floorboards. When I sit up, the sheet clutched to my breasts, there’s pure darkness, but I sense a presence. It’s radiating from the depths of the pitch black. Light floods the room with a strobing glow. A glimmer of Holt standing at the top of the stairs flashes in front of me. The room goes dark again.
Did I really see him? Or are my eyes playing a cruel trick on me?
Lightning strikes again. I’m positive this time. He’s standing at the end of the bed.
I savor the relief of his presence. I love and loathe the euphoric rush.
He drops his bag on the ground and walks around the bed, ignoring Max springing around him, desperate for his affection. Our eyes remain fused with every step he takes toward me. He edges onto the mattress, forcing me onto my back until he’s lying over me. He weaves his arms about me, drawing me flush against his heavy body. His eyes, weary yet intense, beam at me until his lips land on mine, kissing me unhurriedly, completely, making up for time lost.
“Where have you been?” I ask through our conjoined lips, my mouth not wanting to break from his long enough to speak four short words.
“Illinois,” he answers from the side of his, keeping it bonded with mine.
“What were you doing in Illinois?” I finally pull my mouth from his, my brow tense and my eyes urging him for an explanation.
He rolls off me and runs his hands over his face.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
I roll onto my side and rest my head in my palm. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He removes his hands, considering my question, then turns onto his side. With the hand not propping his head up, he combs his fingers through my hair, twirling the ends around the tips. “You want to keep this thing between us free from complication, not get too deep. This is anything but that, Violet. This is a major part of who I am. If I tell you, you’ll see me as I truly am.”
His honesty frightens me. It’s not the openness, but the realness in his words, the weight they hold. And even though he’s right, I’m terrified to get close, I want to know.
No, no.
I need to know.
“Tell me,” I lay my hand over his, now resting along the side of my face, “please.”
His lids close over tightly. Perhaps to give himself courage. “Dealing with my mother’s death.”
“Holt—”
“Before you ask or say one of those typical things people say when they hear about death, I’m not sure what I feel. I don’t remember her very well. She’s almost a stranger to me.”
“I don’t understand.”
He gathers himself for a painful moment of agonizing quiet. I scoot in close to him, balling my body against his, keeping my eyes trained on his shirt. If I don’t look at him, it might make it easier.
“When I was four,” he says on an exhale, “my mother gave me and my five-month-old brother Alex up for adoption.” My heart officially stops beating. “She was a single mom working three jobs to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. She worked really hard, but never seemed to have enough to ensure our survival. I guess one day she realized she couldn’t take care of us anymore and thought we’d have a better chance at a comfortable life if she gave us up.
“I didn’t like being in the orphanage. It wasn’t a bad place, but I remember I felt lost when I was there, unwanted, unloved, alone. I didn’t really understand at the time why she had given us away. I was confused and frightened. I remember we slept in a room with ten other boys, most of them much older. I would stay up nights in the dark, waiting for her to realize she’d made a mistake and come get us. She didn’t. We moved from place to place after that, each ‘home’ worse than the previous. It got bad.
“When I was sixteen, I’d had enough of it. I wanted to forget everything. I lost myself on the road. I found myself there, too.”
What happened to Alex? I want to ask him, but it’s not really my business.
“Remember the man who asked about me?” he asks.
“He’s hard to forget.”
“He was hired by my mother’s lawyer to track me down and ask me to come to Illinois. When I got there, he informed me she had passed five months ago from cancer. He gave me a letter she’d written me. It explained
that she tried to track my brother and me down after she had married. Her husband was well off enough to provide a life for us. However, the adoption was done in a way that she wasn’t able to get any information on us. She hired private detectives but they came up empty for years. The lawyer went on to explain that she had set up a trust for me, with about three-hundred thousand dollars. I was so confused. I actually considered running again,” he admits with a snicker, as if this is an amusing thought. It makes my insides tense and ache.
“Is the reason you didn’t covered in black fur and his farts smell like rotten broccoli?”
He could never leave Max behind.
He huffs out a silent laugh.
“Well, I really love him, but—” his voice tapers off. I look up into his eyes, understanding exactly what he wants to say. My fingers lift to his face and trace the lines that make up his striking features.
“I—I missed you, too,” I admit.
We made love then. He lost himself in me. And I lost myself in him.
He held me in his arms afterward, our legs knotted with the sheets, his head relaxing against mine, burrowed into his neck. My skin flush with sex, his fingers drift down the curve of my bare back to the mound of my ass, drugging me until I overdose on his touch and slip into unconsciousness.
When I wake, it seems instantaneous. I wipe away the cloud over my brain and realize I’m no longer wrapped around Holt. I give the room a half-awake glance. My vision still has to adjust to the dimness of the room. I blink and rub my eyes before giving it another shot. Moonlight beams in through the windows, stretching across the floor. That’s when I see the top of his head at the footboard of the bed. He’s sitting on the ground.
I gather the sex-scented sheets around me and slide out of the comfort of his bed. He’s slouched, with his back against the air-cooled railing. His head is slumped between his bent knees, his hand flung over the back of his neck. The picture I’d found in his wallet after my first night in his room lies between his flattened feet, tucked close to the backs of his thighs.
“Sometimes I stare at this thing for hours, trying to memorize every line,” he says, his voice husky with sadness and tears. I realize now, after his story, the younger boy in the photo with him is his brother, Alex.
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