by R.S. Grey
“Jack! Yoo-hoo! Hold on there for a second.”
I motion for the guys to keep on loading the supplies then turn to greet her. “What can I do for you, Dotty?”
“Brought you a Dum Dum!”
I like Dotty—she helped me open my first bank account—but apparently, she’s another one of Meredith’s new friends.
“Oh, also, I was just hoping you could pass these along to Meredith for me?”
She’s holding out a Tupperware full of cookies, homemade from the looks of it.
“She came in yesterday to open an account, and she tried one of these,” Dotty explains, patting the lid. “I had them out for the patrons—open more accounts with cookies than with sales pitches, y’know. Anyway, she said they were the best cookies she’d ever had and she asked me for the recipe.”
“So you decided to bake her a batch?” I ask, amused.
She bats my arm playfully. “Well, I just felt so bad for forgetting to give her the recipe. She really was such a dear and went on and on about how good they were. Plus, we got a new teller down at the bank, young girl—Patrick Smith’s daughter? Anyway, it was her first day and Meredith was real patient with her. Mr. Rogers had come in just before and was so snippy, so her nerves were jumbled. He nearly made her cry—”
“I’ll make sure Meredith gets the cookies,” I say, cutting her off so I don’t get trapped here talking to her for God knows how long.
“Oh, okay, I’ll let you get to it. Just remember that the recipe card is right there on top. Make sure she gets that.”
I nod. “Will do.”
“It’s real nice seeing you. Oh! And my business card is there too in case she has any questions about the baking…or banking!”
“Got it.”
“We’ll make sure she gets the cookies, Miss Dotty!” Chris calls from behind me.
“Thanks boys. I’m sure y’all have a big day ahead of you,” she says, waving and backing away. Then she thinks better of it and steps toward me, holding her hand up like she’s just thought of one more thing. “You know what? Just have her call me. It’ll be easier to walk her through the steps. My handwriting probably isn’t all that good.”
I tip my head, tell her approximately twenty times I’ll have Meredith call her, and then make a break for it. In Texas, people have a knack for turning a simple goodbye into an all-day affair.
When I make it back to the ranch, I pull my truck up right over near the shack so unloading won’t take so long. David and Chris offered to come back and help, but I turned them down. I’m not planning on doing any work today other than installing the air conditioner, and that’ll take me five minutes to set up on my own. I pop the tailgate and start unloading building supplies. Normally, I’d store everything in the barn, but the weather should hold and it’ll be more convenient to have everything at my fingertips when we get started tomorrow.
I expect Meredith to step outside to check on all the commotion, but I’m nearly finished unloading before the door opens.
I peer over at her from beneath the brim of my hat, jarred by her appearance. She’s still in her pajamas—one of my t-shirts with sleeping shorts creeping out from underneath. I open my mouth to demand—yet again—that she return my ill-gotten clothes, but then I glance up at her face. Normally, she’s glowing, one of those women with tan skin and a healthy complexion, like she just got back from a tropical vacation. This morning, however, her cheeks are splotchy and her eyes are a little red and puffy. She sniffs and crosses her arms over her chest.
“What are you doing out here?” she asks, her tone somewhere between annoyed and angry.
“Did I interrupt a call?” She’s clutching her cell phone in her right hand. It’s the first time I’ve seen her with the thing since she moved in. “I didn’t even know you had one of those.”
Even Edith carries hers around all day. She claims it’s so she can call me when she falls and breaks a hip, but we both know she’s addicted to Candy Crush. She’s the highest scorer among all her friends, and she can’t let the title slide. Also, she’s already had two hip replacements. At this point, if she falls, she’s liable to break whatever it is she lands on.
Meredith glances down as if just remembering the phone was in her hand. “Oh, no. It was Helen. She—” She pauses and shakes her head. “Anyway, no. You didn’t interrupt.”
I wonder if she’s upset because she had a bad phone call with Helen or if maybe she’s starting to have regrets about leaving her old life. Helen said it would only take a week or two before she realized her mistake and fled back home.
Either way, it’s not really my business.
I nod toward the stack of supplies. “I’m just unloading a few things. Got you—the shack—an A/C unit this morning.” Her gaze follows to where I’m pointing. “It’s the best one they had.”
“You can take it out of my paycheck,” she says quickly, her words clipped and hard.
I bristle at the response. It’s not exactly the thank you I was looking for. In fact, it sounds like she’s angry with me for helping her out.
“No. I said I’d get you one, so here it is.”
“I hope you didn’t go through any trouble. That thing looks heavy.”
“I can lift a box on my own.”
I don’t know why we’re doing this—why she and I mix like oil and water, why she’s not cheery and upbeat with me like she is with everyone else, why we flare up over stupid shit. We aren’t fighting, but we aren’t exactly playing nice either.
“What’s all that other stuff for?” she asks, pointing to the supplies stacked up neatly beside the shack. “Please don’t say you’re adding on to the farmhouse—that place doesn’t need any more floors to mop.”
A second ago, I’d been excited to tell her my plans for the place. Now, I don’t think I’d be able to stand her reaction. Hell, a part of me wants to load everything back into my truck and drive it right back to the store.
“It’s just building supplies,” I say after clearing my throat, eager to change the subject. “Mind if I install this A/C now? I have other things I need to get to today.”
She nods and steps aside to usher me through the door. I pause on the threshold, shocked to see what it looks like inside. Sure, the shack is still in need of some renovations—there are still gaps in the floorboards and the walls really need new drywall and paint—but she’s done her best to make it a home. There’s a blue rug on the ground that covers most of the floor, and a wooden stool stands beside the twin bed with a delicate antique lamp on top of it. A paperback I saw Edith reading the other day sits face down beside it.
“Did you buy all this with the advance I gave you?”
“Yes,” she answers hesitantly.
I frown, confused.
“Why waste your money?”
What I mean to say is, What’s the point in sprucing up a place you have no plans of living in for much longer? but my words come out twisted and meaner than I intended.
“I found some very good deals, thank you very much.” Then she brushes past, knocking her shoulder into me accidentally (or probably on purpose). She grabs for her sneakers and heads back for the door at an angry pace. “Now if you’re going to get started, I’ll go take a walk.”
I turn to stop her, to smooth over the situation, but the right words fail me. I’m not surprised; that seems to be a running theme with Meredith. Every time I think I’m making headway with her, I end up putting my foot in my mouth one way or another. Part of it has to do with my prejudices, but I see no way around them. Meredith isn’t here for good. One morning I’ll wake up and find her gone just like her husband did, and I see no reason to soften my heart or give her the benefit of the doubt. She might have convinced everyone else in this town to love her, but not me.
15
Meredith
There is no way around it: I am truly on my own. My sister has officially taken up forces with the dark side (A.K.A. Andrew) and there’s no talking her out of it
. I don’t have the strength to keep trying. Not only does it feel like a dagger in my heart every time she sides with him over me, it feels like I’m fighting a losing battle.
Apparently, over the last week, Helen and Brent have been brainstorming ways to get me back to California. That’s why Helen called me this morning. I was expecting her to ask me how I was doing, possibly inquire about my mental health, but the conversation felt like a politician stumping on a pro-Andrew platform.
“Have you tried calling him and working this out?”
I heaved an annoyed sigh. “I’ve been busy working. Besides, this isn’t a workable issue. It’s over.” Unless Andrew’s had a lobotomy in the last few days.
“Has he reached out to you?” she asked, sounding like she already knew the answer.
“Some. We’re playing phone tag. I’m not avoiding him on purpose.”
It’s true. He’s left two voicemails, both of which were eerily sedated and thoughtful. He went on about how much he misses me and implored me to come home to California so we could work things out. I listened to them in the hopes that he’d break and speak to me over the phone the way he did in private—then I could play the messages for Helen and say, See? This is the monster you want to send me back to.
I should’ve known he would never be that stupid.
A few minutes later, our conversation took a turn for the worse.
“I stuck my neck out for you, Meredith. You need to start being honest with me.”
My eyes narrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t tell me you’ve done this before. Andrew gave me his side of things earlier this week. He told me last year you disappeared out of the blue just like this.”
WHAT?!
“No. I went to stay in a hotel for a few days to clear my head.”
It was a Best Western down the street. There were roaches in the bathroom, and the man staying next door definitely resembled a MOST WANTED poster I’d seen on the news—that’s how badly I didn’t want to go home.
“According to him, you left then had a change of heart and went crawling back.”
Her tone sounded so accusatory, I had to grit my teeth to keep from screaming.
“Well, he’s lying. He knew I went to get some space. He and I had just had a bad fight and I needed time away from him to think.”
“That’s not the way he made it sound.”
“Then he’s lying!” My arms were flailing at that point. “Jesus, Helen, I’m your sister—why is it so hard for you to just take my word on something?”
“Because whether you like it or not, Andrew is your husband and my brother-in-law, and I’m having a little bit of trouble assuming the worst of him when you’re the one who randomly boarded a plane in the middle of the night!”
“So instead you’ll assume the worst about me?”
She sighed, clearly exhausted by the entire thing. “That’s not what I’m doing. I’m trying to be the voice of reason in all this. Listen, obviously if Andrew is the monster you say he is, I don’t want you to be with him, but you can see how this seems from my side, right? You’ve been with a man for years and up until recently, I’ve heard nothing but good things. On Facebook, your life looks amazing—it’s hard to believe it could have all been a lie.”
“Well it was,” I insisted, angry with myself for how close I was to tears.
We both took a few clearing breaths. I was half convinced we’d turned some kind of corner, but then she just had to keep going.
“Meredith, I need you to calm down and assess the situation with a level head. The easiest way forward is reconciliation. Divorces are messy and expensive and you—”
“You think I care about that? You think I’ll stay married to someone like him because I’m scared of what it will cost to leave him?”
The phone call didn’t last much longer after that. I was crying and hiccupping and feeling stupid for losing control of my emotions. I could tell my sister wasn’t sure how to handle me, not to mention I knew anything I said would be used against me if she decided to call Andrew again. In my head, I cursed her for her disloyalty before I realized she was being loyal, just to a version of me that doesn’t exist anymore.
I had just finished the phone call and was vigorously wiping tears and snot from my face when I heard Jack unloading stuff outside the shack. He caught me at the wrong time, and per usual, he took a bad situation and made it even worse.
Why waste your money? he’d asked dismissively when he saw the new decorations inside the shack.
You know what, buddy?! Maybe it’s because living in this dingy shack is making me miserable! Maybe it’s because I’ve had to pry four splinters from my foot in the last week! Maybe it’s TO SPITE YOU FOR INTENTIONALLY MAKING ME SUFFER SO I’D WANT TO LEAVE!
Obviously I didn’t shout any of those things at him. I stormed off, and now I’m out walking his property in my pajamas and sneakers. I have no idea where I’m going or how far his land extends. How close are we to Mexico? I’ve been angrily stomping my way in one direction for a few minutes and there’s still no end in sight. I didn’t have time to put on a bra or socks or deodorant, and all my blubbering on the phone and that angry getaway have really worked up a sweat.
I should definitely just turn around and head back, but I know he’ll still be there, installing that window unit. I felt so guilty when I saw it, thanks in part to my phone call with Helen. Before launching into her lecture about my marriage, she inquired about Jack.
“So, he gave you a job?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Where are you staying?”
“On the premises.” I was hesitant to admit I’m living in the run-down shack.
“Yeah? What about rent and food?”
“It’s included.”
Her tone turned cold then. “You better not be taking advantage of him, Meredith. It sounds like he’s going out of his way to help you, a complete stranger, and if you’re just going to run right back to Andrew in a few weeks—”
“I’m not!”
She wasn’t convinced.
“This is a mess. I asked him to give you a job, not to roll out the red carpet. I’ll need to figure out some way to pay him back. Maybe I should cut our trip short. We’d still have to pay for the hotels but—”
“No, Helen, don’t do that. It’s not like I’m just mooching off him. I’ve been working hard—”
She cut me off, annoyed. “Listen, this is my livelihood, Meredith. I don’t expect you to understand, but Brent and I depend on my income a lot, especially with this trip and renovation.” I could hear the stress in her voice. “Please don’t do anything to screw up my relationship with Jack while I’m gone. Keep your head down, work, and try to make yourself as useful as possible.”
I realize now that I’ve done the exact opposite. I’ve been nothing but a hassle for Jack since my arrival. He spent his entire morning buying building supplies to fix up the shack for me, and I know I never asked him to do it, but I still feel responsible. There was a lot of stuff in the bed of his truck and I have no idea what it cost him, much less how long it will take him to do the repairs. I want to be more help than hassle, and I cringe thinking of how Helen would react if she saw him unloading supplies like that. She would be livid.
I have no clue what to do…demand he take it all back? Decline the repairs? I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to use up all the goodwill Helen has built up for herself.
If I had money, I’d consider trying to find another place to live; at least then I’d only be depending on him for a job. I could leave the ranch at quitting time like the rest of the employees and be out of his hair. Unfortunately, with the paltry amount of money in my new checking account, that just isn’t an option right now, and probably won’t be for a while.
I have no choice but to march right back to the shack and stop him before he gets started. I’ll convince him I don’t need any repairs. With the rug there,
I almost forget there are gaps in the floor, and plenty of people lived in Texas before the advent of air conditioning. It’s kind of nice living in a sauna, and the spiders don’t bother me in bed because enough sweat pools around me to form a moat.
I knock on the open door when I make it back, as if I’m encroaching on his space instead of mine. He’s over at the window near my bed, using a power drill to anchor the air conditioner. His baseball hat is gone and I see now what I didn’t notice before: he got a haircut. The dark strands are trimmed short, sharpening his features. He’s the grown-up man version of a boy who was already intimidating to begin with. My stomach squeezes tight as I fight back the words that are spilling into my thoughts: kissing, touching, wanting, yearning.
“Not a very long walk,” he notes, oblivious to the fact that my mouth is open and there is drool dribbling onto the floor at my feet.
I’ve forgotten my agenda, my name, the year. The president? What’s a president?
He stops what he’s doing and turns to look at me. The profile—which was already killing me—changes to the full-frontal view, and I’m hit with the realization that I was married to Andrew for five years and never once felt weak in the knees like I do now, but that can’t be right. Maybe I’m just exhausted from my walk—all four minutes of it.
“Meredith?”
“You got a haircut.” I sound like English is my second language.
“Yeah.”
“You look different.” I’m a three-year-old, stringing beginner words together to form my first sentence.
His brow arches and he shakes his head. “What’s up with you?”
I force my attention to something else and my gaze lands on the air conditioner. Box thing make cold? Very brr-brr-freezy-freezy?
Oh, right.
I have a purpose for rushing back here, and it’s not to swoon.
“I don’t want you to do any repairs in the shack,” I declare confidently. “I do appreciate the thought.”