But then this summer happened, and I found out love can’t fix our problems, but it can heal our souls. I learned to love again, open my heart, let people in despite my pain and loss. Sure, I’m different now—we all are—but that doesn’t mean I’m shattered and no good. And if I keep letting fear and guilt dictate my life, then I might as well have died along with them.
Mama and Noli-Belle wouldn’t want that. On the roadside where they died, amidst the memorials built in their honor, lilies are blooming. In the aftermath of tragedy, there’s beauty. After the worst days of our lives, come the most joyful ones if we are open to the possibilities. I believe that now.
This was an accident—a terrible culmination of decisions, actions, and circumstances, and we’d give anything for a do-over. But that’s the one thing about life, right? There are no do-overs, and living in the past or cramming ourselves into a shell of who we used to be only creates more heartache from tragedy.
This isn’t the answer. Love is the answer. Forgiveness is the answer.
That is why I come before the court, imploring the powers that be to grant leniency to Mr. Lanford. He has a beautiful family at home waiting for a husband and daddy to return. My mama and sister will never come home, but theirs can.
Please choose to create beauty in the aftermath of this tragedy and restore the Lanford family. It’s what I want. It’s what Dad wants. It’s what my mama and sister would want, too.
Sincerely,
Camelia Jayne Ainsworth
* * *
There’s no sound in the courtroom, not even the shuffle of people shifting in their chairs. I lift my eyes to the crowd and immediately land on the oldest Lanford daughter. She reminds me so much of Noli-Belle. Her squared shoulders and strong chin tremble ever so slightly. She doesn’t cry, obstinate in the face of a family crisis. Our connection is magnetic. I don’t move until she does; a small grin breaches her lips, and without a sound, she mouths two simple words: Thank you.
After a few blank seconds, the judge breaks the silence.
“Miss Ainsworth, are you finished?” His stern grimace from earlier fades, replaced by a new tenderness that also resonates in his tone. But not from pity. No; if I’m reading him correctly, he almost seems proud.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Very well then. The court has heard what you have to say. With that, let’s take a ten-minute recess.”
The pounding gavel cues my feet to move, and I take off down the aisle, through the gigantic doors, and all the way to the gray stone steps out front. Dad and Em catch up, hot on my heels.
“CJ!” Dad grabs my arm, turning me toward him. “Are you okay?”
There are some things in my life that’ll never be okay. I’ll never get over the loss of Mama and Noli-Belle. I’ll never forget my summer with Memaw, and Jett will always be my first love. I don’t know how to forget those things, but now I know I don’t have to. They’re all a part of what makes me who I am, and they’re all parts of who I’ll become. There’s no way of knowing the future, but maybe that’s the point. All we can do is put ourselves out there, be willing to lay our hearts on the line, and see where it goes.
Dad and Em crowd around me, their eyes big and searching mine as if waiting on the coming meltdown. Only there isn’t one. I wrap my arms around them, tugging them both close to me, and laugh. “I’m good.”
“Suddenly she’s got it all figured out,” Dad laughs. “What do you think, Em? Is she good?”
Em looks over at me and winks. “She’s getting there.”
“I just need a little time,” I say, giving them another squeeze. “And the people I love most.”
“Exactly!” Dad wags his finger in my face. “So, let’s get you home.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The dink-doonk, dink-doonk, dink-doonk of Dad’s blinker signals our arrival. As the engine’s hum dies away, I stare up at my bedroom window. Life here used to be so good. Can it ever be that way again? I don’t know, but it won’t be for a lack of trying.
After court, Dad dropped Em off at her house. She’d been with me nearly every moment since arriving back in Greenville, and as I watched her wave good-bye, a pang of nerves clawed my insides. Dad said this was something we needed to do together. Just the two of us. There was also a long lecture where he mentioned something about a prodigal son, but I sort of zoned out after five minutes.
Dad eyes me from the driver’s seat. “Now that everything’s over, are you glad to be home?”
“You have no idea. Turns out this is exactly what I needed all along.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” I half-expect another speech, but he only smiles and steps out of the car. I meet him at the bottom of the steps as he reaches for my hand. We can’t predict how all this will go, but at least we’re facing it together.
What I don’t expect is the front door swinging open before we even get to the steps. Memaw struts out onto the porch, hands on her hips. “Like father, like daughter. So, what’re you two hooligans doing in Edisto?”
“I came to apologize, Memaw.”
Dad lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulder, hauling me in tight to his side. “We both did…Mom.”
At first, she’s expressionless, which in itself is a rarity for a woman whose emotions plaster themselves across her face with no filter, but then a smile creeps around the corners of her lips. “’Bout damn time. Come on in, my pain-in-the-ass, prodigal children.”
Thirty minutes later, Memaw and Dad are actually talking like civilized human beings, so I sneak away to my room. Everything’s the same as when I left, including the “Memaw’s House” artwork. How true that stupid picture is. Everything I needed to know I definitely learned at Memaw’s this summer. How to trust. How to live. How to love.
I hold my breath and walk to the closet door, opening it slowly to peek inside. When I see it’s still there, I exhale. The slinky blue dress hangs there with a purpose. It’s what I want to wear when I see Jett again. I undress and toss my clothes on the bed, then swipe the dress from its hanger and slip it over my head. The gauzy fabric skims my body, its feather-lite touch flowy and summery. And there, under the spaghetti strap and above the low neckline, my camellia-covered scar is out for the world to see.
And for the first time, I’m proud of it.
In the den, Memaw and Dad are still talking and shuffling through some papers. I clear my throat as I walk into the room. Both of them stop to stare. Memaw crosses the room and runs her finger along the strap with a smile. “This dress looks just like I thought it would.”
“Thank you, Memaw,” I whisper, quickly pulling her in for a hug. She doesn’t answer, just squeezes me harder. Dad gets up from the couch and joins us, his arms circling around both our shoulders. Somehow my grade-A dysfunctional family finally got its shit together.
Now that’s settled, other things need my attention. “Guys, I hate to break up this happy family moment, but can someone give me a ride? There’s somewhere I need to be.”
“You mean someone you need to see.” Memaw winks and walks to the foyer table, grabs her purse, then looks at Dad. “Pierce, take your old mom out to dinner, and on the way, drop CJ off at the racetrack.”
Dad drops me off at the front gate and I head out to the track to see if I can find Jett and salvage any part of what we started this summer. I’m not even into the thick of the crowds when two familiar figures catch my attention.
My stomach is lead when I walk behind them and tap her on the shoulder. “Gin?”
It takes a second for recognition to register on her face. When it does, her mouth drops open wide. “CJ? Oh my God, CJ!” She lunges forward and wraps me into her arms, nearly choking me with her blond ponytail. “I missed you. Don’t you ever leave me like that again!”
“I missed you, too.” Through the wild strands of her hair stuck across my face, Bo leans in and smiles. “Hey Bo,” I mumble to him over Gin’s shoulder.
This kind of recep
tion is not anything like I anticipated. I’d left them high and dry like I did Memaw and Jett. But Memaw’d forgiven me without a hitch, and now Gin and Bo are smiling and hugging me without a second thought. As happy as I am, I can’t help cringing over the twisting in my gut. Will Jett be so excited to see me?
“It’s about time you got your ass back here. Where’d you go?” Bo laughs. He steps in closer and fixes his eyes on my bare shoulder. “You look different, and…you got a weird tattoo?”
“It’s not weird,” Gin protests. “They’re camellias. Like her name.”
Before the usual brother-sister banter commences, I cut to the chase. “I’ll explain it later. Right now, I—”
Before I can finish the question, a shrill voice yells my name out in the crowd. It doesn’t take long to figure out who it is. To my left, a flash of bubble-gum-pink hair breaks out from the fans. Rachel charges at me, her shoes slapping the pavement with loud thuds.
“What the hell are you doing here? This is the last thing Jett needs, for you to come slinking back in here like—”
Someone standing behind me—someone I didn’t know was there—steps around me and reaches out to grab her arm, holding it steady. Rachel’s eyes widen as she shrinks like a scolded cat.
Mr. Ramsey clears his throat, and not in the I’ve-got-a-cold sort of way. More like an I-mean-business kind of throat clearing. “Rachel, stop.” His voice is hard, but as she begins to protest, he throws in the final shot. “You’re not needed here. Leave.”
As Rachel runs, disappearing into the crowd, I grab Mr. Ramsey’s arm.
He stares at me. “You’re back in Edisto.” It’s not a question. It’s almost like he’s not even surprised, and I can’t help wondering if he’s happy to see me or if he’d rather I’d never come back.
I swallow hard. “Mr. Ramsey, may I see Jett?”
“No. You can’t.”
My breath catches in my throat at his words, and I have to stare at the ground in order not to lose my balance. Everything spins. He hates me, and that means Jett hates me. Just when vomiting seems inevitable, Mr. Ramsey tips my chin up with his finger. His stern glare melts into a soft smile. “He’s not here.”
“But…the qualifications?” I glance back at a car lapping the track.
“As last year’s champion, he’s assured a spot in the race. Might not be a good one, but that’s a chance he’s willing to take.” He reaches out and pats my shoulder. “Besides, he had somewhere else to be.”
None of this makes sense. It’s not like Jett to blow off racing for just anything— especially for the championship. This is what he’s been working toward all summer.
“He’s gone to see you, CJ. But the real question is, why are you here?” The voice is unfamiliar, but when I turn around, I immediately recognize the face. She walks toward me, flanked on one side by Jenniston as if they’re the best of friends.
“My court date was moved up. It’s over,” I mumble, the words barely slipping through the confusion muddling my brain. “Wait…you’re Jett’s mom…Janice.” I bob my finger in her direction as a teenage boy steps out from behind her, waving shyly at me. “Hey, Buck.”
What the hell has gone on these last two weeks? Janice must notice my furrowed brow because she reaches out and pats my shoulder, her voice soft and full of honey. “I’m back in his life…because of you. He sent the email you convinced him to write,” she says as Jenniston strokes her arm. “You changed him—you changed our family—and Jett’s not willing to give you up. Not anymore. He knew tomorrow would be hard for you, so he was willing to sacrifice this to be there for you.”
Mr. Ramsey shares a knowing smile with Janice. “The boy’s smarter than I ever was. He takes care of the important things. It took me years to understand that.” He brings Jenniston’s hand to his lips. “I realized I’d been too hard on him, guilting him for not putting all of his attention into racing, when it’s you, CJ, who taught him life is about more than this track. I apologized for not seeing him for who he really is.”
The implication of their words soak in. Jett still cares about me, so much he’d gamble on the championship to stand by me without even knowing how I’d react. My body aches to wrap my arms around him and swear never to leave again. “I have to see him.”
Jenniston nods, her rosy lips smiling wide. “He’s at the house getting his things, so you better get going if you’re gonna catch him.”
I glance at my watch. “Bo, can you give me a ride?”
He frowns, shaking his head. “I can’t…I’m working the pits today. Just call him and tell him you’re on the way.”
Gin snaps her head toward him, eyes flaming and hands clenched on her hips. “Call him? CALL HIM! These two are making all these romantic gestures and you want them to reunite over a piece of freakin’ plastic? This is exactly why you only date online. No. Just no.” She stabs her finger with a firm order. “Give her your keys, Bo.”
Gin’s dreamy, romantic, made-in-the-movies scenario makes sense. If this isn’t the time for a grand gesture, I don’t know what is.
“Do what?”
“You heard her. Hand ‘em over.” I stretch out my hand, palm up and fingers wiggling.
Bo huffs out a loud breath, pulls his keys from his pocket, and slams them into my hand. “I must really like y’all.”
I clutch them in my fingers, the metal cold against my skin, and lean forward to kiss his cheek. “We like you, too, Bo. Y’all wish me luck,” I yell over my shoulder as I take off toward the parking lot.
Bo’s Bronco looks more like a tank parked in its corner space. The top’s off, so other than the windshield, it’s completely open-air. Baptism by fire, all right. You can do this, CJ. For Jett.
I hoist myself into the driver’s seat, heart thumping a mile a minute, insert the key, and turn before I can think about it too much. The engine rumbles to life, vibrating the steering wheel as I shift into drive and drop the accelerator with so much force, the tires squeal as I peel out onto the main road. In the rearview mirror, I catch a brief glimpse of Bo’s face. It’s possible he’s regretting this decision already.
The coastal breeze wafts in all around me, and compared to Jett’s car, super tight and cramped on the inside, Bo’s is much wider and open. It’s uncomfortable how I have to lean forward and stretch out my leg super far to keep it pressed firmly on the gas. My therapist’s words loop through my head. Being uncomfortable means adaptation, which leads to growth. I was never willing to grow beyond the grief before. Jett gave me a reason.
Love. For him. For life. For myself.
And love can do a lot of things, but it can’t solve problems. It was stupid to expect it should. It’s not a magic potion. I had to decide to move past the pain and make logical, rational choices about my future. Maybe love gives me the strength to do that. It makes me believe in myself, in others. It gives me something to fight for, live for. Love is the motivator, but I…I am in charge. And I’m tired of throwing my future away. Loving Jett brought happiness back to my life. Loving him made sense of the senseless.
The twelve miles back to the island go surprisingly easy with little traffic and no major freak-outs on my part. Up ahead, the Ramsey compound springs into view, along with a quick glimpse of Jett before he ducks into his car. As it starts to reverse down the drive, I stomp on the gas, sprinting to the gate’s edge, and park perpendicular to the drive.
His Challenger screeches to a halt, and Jett jumps out, waving his arms. “What the hell, Bo? Get outta my—” His eyes land on me and he drops his arms, standing there in shocked silence before he mutters, “Cami?”
Butterflies. It’s been two weeks since I’ve heard it, and it still gets me.
I open the door and jump out onto the sand-laden street, and he meets me at the front fender. “Hey, Jett.”
Standing this close to him, launching myself into his arms seems the natural inclination. But Gin’s right. This is our romantic movie moment, complete with the oceany breeze
rippling through his hair. We stare at each other, barely blinking, while the delicious tension charges like electricity bouncing between us.
“You drove?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Why? How?”
“Because of you. I had to get to you, Jett.”
“I…I knew you could do it, but…you were still so scared.”
“I quit being afraid. Of everything. The fear cost me too much. Including you.”
It’s the first time he breaks eye contact and stares at his feet. “When you left…”
I take the cue and step forward, so close our bodies are only inches apart, and take his hand. His palms are sweaty like mine, and our skin slides across each other’s in a reunion that shoots chills through my veins. Chill bumps pop up, head to toe, despite the summer heat. “I know. I don’t expect things to be like they were or for you to feel the same. But I have something to say, so let me get it out while I still can.”
Jett brings his gaze back to me, and for a minute, I’m lost, distracted by his lips and the intense desire to press mine against his. I swallow hard, refocusing, and continue. “I thought I could walk away, save myself from more scars. It turns out, the worst pain came from not being with you.”
Jett narrows his eyes and shakes his head. His fingers squeeze mine harder than before. “I never wanted that.”
My heart sinks to my stomach. I’ve been such a fool. “I know, and I’m sorry. For everything.”
“I’m not.” His words and sly smile catch me off guard. He continues, “I couldn’t fix you any more than you could fix me. It took you leaving for me to realize that, and so I decided it was time to figure some shit out.”
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