I walked in with a giant box of paintings and drawings. “What’s that?”
“I’m leaving Winchester, Isabel.”
“For how long?”
“For good.”
I didn’t know if the frown on her face was directed at me, because it was her default expression. She reached under the counter and then handed me a check. “This was from the sale of your last two paintings. The good people of Winchester—and tourists—are eating up your work. I think leaving right now, just when you’re getting hot, is a mistake.”
“This is most of my recent stuff, Isabel. You can sell it and it’ll be like I never left.”
“I don’t want all your stuff, Casey.”
“Then give it away. Or toss it. I don’t give a crap.” Goddamn, the woman was like a glacier. Even angry, she was surrounded by a layer of ice and she engaged in a staredown with me. “Fine,” I said, picking up the box off the counter, “I’ll just toss it in your dumpster out back.” Sure, the box was full of creative moments, sweat, tears, inspiration, heartache, but I couldn’t take it all with me. I had to trim as much fat as I could, because my Versa was tiny and my parents could only spare a closet. It was as if my life was having a clearance sale.
I’d only taken two steps when Isabel said, “Wait! I can maybe figure out something to do with it.”
I placed the box on the counter. “Thanks, Isabel.”
“We need to inventory it, though, and sign a contract.”
“I’m telling you I don’t care. Do with it what you will. Pay me if you want. I just can’t take it with me.”
“That’s ridiculous, Casey. If you make anything, how am I supposed to pay you?”
Fuck. I just wanted to leave already. “Would you be able to mail checks to my parents’ house?”
So that was what we agreed upon and I got the hell out of there so I could finish packing for the thrift store that was taking the bulk of my kitchen items and most of my clothes. Maybe somebody could get some use out of them.
Because I sure as hell wouldn’t.
Chapter Twenty-three
Mom and dad knew I was bailing but they didn’t know why. The night before I planned to leave, I brought a carload of stuff to store there, and mom asked me to stay for dinner. There was nothing like mom’s cooking, so I agreed. Besides, I hadn’t seen them much the past few weeks.
“This looks amazing, mom.”
“Thank you, Casey.”
My dad spooned out a heaping mound of mashed potatoes. “So your mom and I were wondering what your plan is, honey. Do you have a job somewhere else?”
This was the part I’d been dreading: the conversation. “No.”
“Where are you going, Casey? Back to Denver?” I sprinkled dressing on my salad as mom continued. “Maybe…reconciling with Barry?”
My emotions got the best of me. “Dammit, mom, would you get over Barry already?”
“When I talked to him last week, he said—”
“You talked to him? Last week? Are you kidding? Mom, Barry and I are over for good. We are never getting back together. Never ever.” My mom’s eyebrows raised, and I half expected a scolding. “If you want to stay friends with him, fine, but that ship has sailed for me.” I didn’t know if my mother honestly loved Barry or loved the idea of Barry, so I didn’t feel like ruining her image of him—but enough was fucking enough.
Dad looked uncomfortable, but concentrating on his chicken didn’t provide enough distraction. “So if you’re not going to Denver, where are you going?”
“I honestly don’t know. I thought about driving down to Peru or Chile—I’ve heard the Andes are a sight to see. Or even California or New York, but I really don’t know. I’m just going to let my heart lead me.” So that was complete and utter bullshit. My heart was with Scott—and I was running away from him.
“But why, honey? If you’re not reconciling with Barry, why are you leaving? You have us here, and you have a job. And you’re making a name for yourself in the community with your art. Now seems the worst time to go. What’s out there that’s not here?”
God, my mother was absolutely right about everything—which was why I had to use my lying skills mixed with a tiny bit of truth. “Ever since my divorce, I don’t really know who I am. I really don’t know who the real Casey Williams is—and I want to find her.
“I can’t help but think—”
“You know what, dear?” my dad said to my mom, effectively interrupting her. “I imagine Casey’s just now starting to enjoy and appreciate being independent.”
I smiled at dad. He’d always managed to get me.
But then my mother surprised me after we sat in silence for a few moments, our forks scraping against plates the only sound we could hear. “You’re right, of course. Casey, as much as I wished you and Barry had worked out, I did worry about you getting married so young. You left home to go to college where you had lots of roommates, and then, without even finishing school, you went straight into marriage. You never had time by yourself—and there’s a lot to be said for being single, discovering who you really are at the core. As old-fashioned as I am, I think maybe you needed that.”
Dad nodded, smiling at mom before looking at me. “Agreed. I say good for you, Casey. You make us proud, honey.” He set his fork down and picked up his beverage. “And I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
I faked a smile, because I knew there wasn’t a goddamned chance of that.
* * *
The next morning, mom and dad met me at the now-empty house I’d been renting after spending most of the night cleaning from top to bottom. Lewis had just left after completing a walkthrough that I’d insisted upon, because the sweet old guy was just going to trust me and send the deposit to my parents so they could put it in my bank account.
He planned to put the house up for sale next week.
As short a time as I’d spent in Winchester since my return, it felt like this was the end of an era. This fucking fake journey I was embarking on to supposedly discover myself had already taken place over the last few months. But I’d made my bed and, preparing to lie down in it, I forced a smile for my parents. After all, they also put brave faces on for my sake, knowing deep in their hearts that what I was doing was rash, unplanned, and ultimately foolish.
Both of them gave me long, heartfelt hugs, tempting me to stay.
“Do you have everything you’ll need?”
I had my debit card, cell phone, an ice chest, some art supplies, a journal, toiletries, and some clothes. I’d also packed the picture of Scott I’d sketched, but I couldn’t imagine needing much else for now. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You’re still sure you want to do this?”
I nodded to my mother’s question.
Dad patted my shoulder. “It’s okay, Casey. We support whatever decisions you make.”
“We do. I just…worry.”
“I know, mom. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to.”
“I can’t help it, but it’s okay.”
With his other hand, dad squeezed mom’s shoulder in support. “Call anytime—if you need anything. Go see the world while you can.”
Mom nodded. “Do you need any money?” Was this really the woman I’d thought barely loved me a few months ago?
“Thanks, mom. I think I’m okay.”
“Are you sure you need to do this, Casey?”
Her question filled me with doubt, so I dug deep. I hadn’t heard from nor seen Scott since I’d told him I was leaving, and I knew that had to be more than coincidental. That alone told me he didn’t care about me as much as I did him—and, if that was the case, then leaving now and truly finding myself while deciding what to do about this pregnancy was the best thing I could do.
“It almost feels like you’re running away, baby girl.”
Oh, God. My heart was ready to crack in two. My mom hadn’t called me that since I’d been little and, for some reason, it hit me hard. I battled an onslaug
ht of tears that threatened to overtake my rationality.
“She’ll be fine, honey. It’s not like she hasn’t been away from home before.”
“I know, but—”
“She’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, dad.” I needed that reassurance. I hugged mom first and didn’t let go until she was ready before embracing dad.
“Are you sure you have everything you need, Casey?”
“Yep.” I needed to get the fuck out of there, though. I placed my hand on the door handle of the car. It felt warm as the morning sun beat down, and I knew I’d have my AC on soon enough. Before I could get in, though, I heard a vehicle pull up behind my car and, when I turned to look, saw Scott’s black truck.
I didn’t know what that meant, but my heart started thudding in my chest and my hand gripped my keys so tightly, the knuckles turned white.
So much for a clean getaway.
After he shut the driver’s side door, he walked toward me. “David told me you were leaving today.” Then he looked at my mom and dad, holding out a hand to shake. “Mr. and Mrs. Williams.”
“I don’t know if you guys remember Scott from Mother’s Day at Bob’s.”
“Of course. Nice to see you again, Scott.” Dad took his hand and shook it firmly. In the meantime, mom looked at me—with an eyebrow arched in approval. Wow. Never in a million years would I have expected that. Mom’s expression was muted when she took Scott’s hand, also an unusual gesture for her.
“I just wanted to say goodbye.”
My father must have sensed the huge weight there between Scott and me. “We’ll go ahead and go.”
Mom wrapped me in her arms again. “Make sure you call us, honey.” As she released me, I saw the tears in her eyes, and that only made my eyes grow watery, too.
Then dad hugged me. “Take care of yourself and call if you need anything.” I nodded, fighting against my emotions. I waved as they drove away, grateful that Scott had allowed me that time with them.
“I’m sorry I got mad at you.”
“You had every right to be. It came out of the blue.”
“Casey, are you running from something?”
“No. I just have to go.”
He lifted my head with his fingers under my chin. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No.” Being a skilled prevaricator paid off at times like these, but it made me wonder how he somehow knew there was a deeper truth—or if he was just guessing.
He held me in his arms for the longest time, and it made me second guess everything. “Is there anything I can say that will make you change your mind?”
“No, Scott. I…”
He looked me straight in the eye, and I was afraid he’d be able to see my soul and figure out what I was hiding. It almost took my breath away. “Are you coming back?”
“Probably. I just don’t know when.”
He held me close again and I snuggled my head against his neck, wishing this moment would never end, emblazoning it in my mind so I could hold it near when I felt cold and alone. “Casey, I’ll…miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Scott. More than you know.”
I could tell from his eyes that he questioned my words but he kissed me—that same meant-to-be-together, passionate yet tender, life-fulfilling way he always had.
But there was more to it than that.
There was finality to it, and I knew it would be one of the last times our lips would ever touch.
“Do you have a CD player in your car?” I nodded. “Be right back.” He walked over to his truck and pulled out a small plastic bag. When he reached me, he took out the CD version of Lamb of God’s Wrath…now our CD. Jesus…he was pulling out all the stops.
I continued to smile through my tears, wishing I had something else to give him, too. He already had my heart, but did he know that? “Thanks, Scott. I…don’t know what to say.”
Touching me under my chin, he urged my face up to his. His voice was soft when he said, “Say you’ll stay.” Oh, God…that was like someone reached into my chest and squeezed my heart. That hurt, because I wanted to say yes, but I just couldn’t.
His face was blurry through my watery eyes. “I…can’t.”
He pulled me close again until my sobs died down once more. “So this is goodbye, huh?”
I nodded again, something I was finding easier than tears. I hated for this to end. Why couldn’t time just freeze here, when I was still in his arms, when my life was still okay? The tears started again, and I found myself wanting to scream at him, I love you, Scott! I’m carrying your baby. Please tell me everything will be okay.
But instead, I said, “I guess so.” We kissed again, one last tender kiss. Finally, we parted, and I got in my little Versa and drove down the road, not knowing where I was going, not knowing what tomorrow would hold. That memory of Scott through my rearview mirror standing next to his truck watching me drive away would haunt me in my dreams for a long time. For now, though, my heart had cracked and was bleeding, dying…and I had been the murderer. Could I survive without my heart?
Chapter Twenty-four
August 3
I feel like my head is clearing, like I can think. My heart? That’s another fucking matter entirely.
I bought some nicotine patches when I got here, and I haven’t smoked for a whole day.
I’m saving money, right? I feel a little edgy, but that’s okay. I guess the next thing I need to do is start eating better. Fuck…that’s what’s hard. I have no appetite whatsoever. It’s even worse than usual. I’m just not hungry, not at all. In fact, the thought of eating makes me want to throw up.
Maybe that’s what morning sickness feels like?
August 6
Isabel called me while I was driving, and I let it go to voicemail. But when I got to Montrose, I checked in to a cheap-ass motel and listened to it:
Casey, I was so pissed at you when you just dropped off that box of stuff, and I started to walk it out to the dumpster myself…but something told me not to. So I just threw it in my office without even looking through it. The next day, my assistant was raving about some of it and asked me if she could mat and frame some of the pieces and do a display, so I let her.
Woman, you have a magic imagination.
Three of your pieces sold the first day. And today there’s only one left that hasn’t sold, so my assistant is framing more. People in town already love your stuff and they’re asking me to have a solo show for you—but I don’t know how the hell to do it if you’re not here giving me new art. So call me, okay?
Oh, and by the way, the cost of framing those pieces is coming out of your cut.
Why couldn’t she have displayed more of my stuff when I’d been there? Talk about bittersweet…
August 8
I got a text from Scott last night. No words. Just a picture. It wasn’t a selfie—someone (maybe David) took the picture for him. He was standing in front of the arts center next to a big banner by the front doors. It was an ad for the tattoo art show next month and it had the names of featured artists. Scott was pointing at one of the names: Casey Williams. He had a huge grin on his face, and seeing him like that, so proud of me, almost made me cry.
It also made me wonder how he’s doing—how he’s really doing outside of the staged picture. And then I wonder if he’s thinking about me as much as I do him; if he thinks about our short time together as much as I do; if it meant as much to him. I wonder if he hates me for leaving. It makes me miserable to think about it.
August 11
I called my parents, and mom was freaking out a little bit, because Barry’s been calling them constantly since I blocked his number. Mom said she told him I was gone. The way she talked, it sounds like he’s going to drive down to Winchester in the next couple of days.
Seriously?
So I’m not going to call home again for a while. Mom promised not to tell Barry where I was, but she wasn’t going to have the chance, because I did
n’t plan to tell her. It’s better that way.
Dad said Barry threatened to call the police and report me missing. I think dad could hear the nervousness in my voice, and he assured me they haven’t told Barry where I am. He also told Barry I’m fine. That almost put me at ease, but there was that little niggling worry at the back of my mind. I knew Barry way better than my parents. The man was a loose fucking cannon, and it sounded like he was getting looser by the day.
And I knew, ultimately, what that meant. Thank God I wasn’t there for it.
August 17
I feel emotionally void…after spending the last several hours in the hospital. I’d started bleeding and cramping last night out of the blue. I considered taking a cab to the hospital but decided not to panic. I wasn’t helpless, for God’s sake. I could still drive. So I pulled up the hospital on Google maps, wadded up a washcloth in my underwear, and headed over.
Fuck.
I spent hours there just to find out a horrible truth.
I have no baby. Never did. NEVER did. No wonder I never felt pregnant.
So I’m back to thinking I can’t have children. I’ve been crying ever since they told me. A big part of me is relieved, though, and I’d be lying if I said otherwise. But I feel sad and empty, too. I feel almost like I really did lose a baby. That maternal feeling I had? All in my fucking messed-up head. But even though I only felt pregnant mentally, I was starting to plan. I was thinking of names, dreaming about holding and talking to a tiny baby, of bonding with that baby. Instead, during the past month, I’ve been bonding with my fucked-up imagination. I’m really glad I hadn’t gone completely off the deep end and started buying baby stuff. It would break my heart to see it now.
And shit. What a relief that I never told Scott.
I asked the doctor about missing periods. I thought maybe it was related to this whole infertility bullshit thing. So I went through some more tests. He ultimately informed me that I wasn’t having periods because I was malnourished, and he gave me a diet to follow. He also told me there was counseling available for anorexia. Yes, he actually said that. What an insensitive asshole.
Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set Page 110