by Sarra Cannon
Beside me, Knox shifts his weight before finally taking my mother’s hand. I can feel the tension radiating off of him. From the corner of my eye, I can see that he keeps looking at me, and I have no idea what he expects me to do. Kiss him right here in front of my mom just to prove a point?
My mother looks at him again, her face full of doubt and judgment. “Well, I’ve got to get going,” she says. “I only stopped in here to pick up a new hammer and picture hanging kit for the church. We’re hanging up the new portrait of the pastor this afternoon before the dedication of the new social hall.”
I nod and smile, but just want this moment to be over already.
“You’ll be home for dinner tonight?” she says, eyebrows raised.
“I have to work tonight,” I say.
She narrows her eyes and nods. “Right.”
She glances from Knox to me, as if suggesting I’m lying about work just to be with him. She lets out a tedious sigh before sailing past us and out into the rain.
I turn and watch as she lifts her umbrella and walks away, each step careful and deliberate.
Anger flows through my veins, mingled with disappointment. Why did I let go of his hand?
I need to apologize, but I can’t even find the words. We stand there near the entrance, and I can’t meet his eyes. The carefree mood we had is long gone.
Finally, he breaks the silence for me. “What exactly just happened here, anyway?”
I look up and see the anger on his face. “I’m sorry,” I say. “My relationship with my mother is complicated.”
“And what about your relationship with me?” he asks. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Don’t do that.” I reach out to him, put my hand on his arm.
“Don’t do what? Don’t be honest with you about how I feel?” He pulls away from my touch. “I don’t like to be treated like I’m not even standing here. I don’t ever want to feel like I’m an embarrassment. My father used to do that shit to me all the time. When I moved to Chicago, he would parade his new family around like they were royalty, but me? He refused to even acknowledge me as his son. Do you have any idea how hurtful that is? I’m not going to be treated like that, Leigh Anne. Not by you or anyone.”
“What is it you expect of me, then? You want me to run after her? And tell her what? That I’ve kissed you? That I like you and want to spend time with you? What do you want me to do?”
He runs his hand through his hair. “I just want you to be real with me,” he says. “I’ve opened myself up to you in a way I haven’t with any other girl. And that girl? The one I’ve been talking to and spending all this time with every day for weeks? I’m falling in love with her. Only, the problem is, the second you get together with your old friends or see your mother, you become someone else. Someone I’m honestly not sure I like very much.”
I step toward him, but he shakes his head and raises his hands as he backs away.
He walks off toward the back of the store and I stand there near the entrance, powerless to even move.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I don’t go to the bar after my shift at the restaurant tonight.
It’s late and I’m exhausted. For a short, perfect few weeks, Knox and I were able to exist in our own little bubble. Boston felt far away and I was settling in to a comfortable place.
I knew it couldn’t last, but I had hoped it wouldn’t end so soon.
Seeing my mother today at the hardware store brought the curtain down on the carefree mood of these few weeks.
Now, I’m not sure what to do. If I keep seeing Knox, my mother will never let me hear the end of it. She’ll make my life hell and she’ll never accept him into our home the way Knox’s family accepts me. I know I won’t be able to change her mind. He’s simply not the kind of guy she wants me to be with and she’s far too judgmental to see past his circumstances. Even if she could find a way to deal with the whole bartender thing, there's no way she’ll ever forgive the jail thing.
I want to stand up to her, but the thought of the endless arguments makes me feel tired deep in my bones. I had to be strong in Boston on a daily basis, but part of the reason I came home in the first place was because I got so tired. I started to lose my sanity, I think. Toward the end of this past semester, I was in a very dark place.
If I am in a constant fight with my mother, I know it will take me back to that place.
But at the same time, losing Knox will devastate me.
He understands me. When I’m with him, I can drown out the rest of the noise in my head and actually laugh without forcing it. I can’t lose him.
The war going on in my brain won’t stop, so I drive home and am careful not to make any noise as I come in. It’s already after eleven, so my parents should be sleeping. All I want to do is go up to my room and crawl into bed. I’m tempted to search the hall bathroom for some of my mother’s sleeping pills so I won’t end up laying in bed with my mind spinning in circles for hours.
I avoid the creaking stair three from the top and open the door to my room.
Before I disappear inside, though, my mother says my name.
I want to cry. I want to yell at her to go away and leave me alone. But I keep telling her I’m not a child, so it’s probably not a good idea to act like one.
I square my shoulders and turn to face her.
She’s in her bathrobe and matching nightgown. Even her slippers match.
“I wasn’t expecting you home until later,” she says. “You’ve been staying out so much lately.”
I nod, bracing myself for the insult that’s coming.
She clutches her hands in front of her body. “Is that who you’ve been spending all this time with? This Knox boy?”
“Yes.” I keep my answers short and simple, not giving her extra ammunition for whatever it is she’s been waiting up to say to me.
She puts her hand on the banister and takes a few steps toward me. “Listen, I know you’ve been through more than anyone your age should have to go through over the past couple of years,” she begins. “I know it was your dream to go to school up there and it has to be difficult to be home now with your future up in the air. I get it.”
I lean against the door frame and stare at my shoes. I have braced for an argument. I have no idea how to respond to compassion. I don’t trust it.
“It’s only natural for you to come home and feel restless,” she says. “I feel like your father and I have done our best to stay out of your way while you explored some new choices. You wanted to get a job, fine. Of course, you know you don’t need to work as long as you’re going to school and still under our roof, but I can understand your need to do your own thing for a while.”
I take deep breaths, counting in and out, like my counselor back in Boston taught me. Still, my toe taps wildly inside my boot.
“Now, whatever phase it is you’re going through, I wish you’d let us help instead of turning to destructive behavior.”
There it is. The dig she’s been leading up to. And she isn’t finished. My hand curls into a fist and my fingernails dig into my palm.
“I assumed you were spending some time with this boy,” she says. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen him pick you up here a few times in that disgusting truck of his. What I did not realize, however, is just how far out of hand things had become.”
For the first time since she started this little speech, I actually look at her face. Her expression is all compassion, but I know my mother is good at wearing masks. She doesn’t have a truly compassionate or empathetic bone in her body.
“When I saw the two of you together today in that store?” Her hand goes to her heart and she closes her eyes, as if she’s physically in pain. “Oh Leigh Anne. I realized how twisted this whole mess has gotten you. You’re just not seeing clearly. You’re not making good decisions. The way you looked at each other? I feel I have to step in-”
“Like you stepped in with Burke?” His name hasn’t passed my lips
in a very long time and the bitterness in my voice surprises even me.
“Now, you know your father and I did everything we could in that situation,” she says, putting her hand up as if telling me to stop.
The fact that she uses the word situation to describe what happened to me proves she has no true understanding for what I’m going through. She cares more about her plans for me than she actually does about me. I’ve always known it, but tonight it stings more than ever.
Why do I continue to sacrifice myself to please her?
“You know that you never once asked me what I wanted while we were there?” I say. I wasn’t planning to talk about this tonight, but it spills out of me, and once I’ve started, I can’t stop. “We sat in the dean’s office and not once did you talk to me about what I wanted or what I needed.”
“Of course we did,” she says, her face wrinkling. “All we thought about the whole time we were there was what was best for you, sweetheart.”
“That’s not the same thing. Why can’t you see that?” I shout. My chest tightens and my breath becomes shallow. “My whole life, it’s always been about what you want for me. What you think is best for me. It’s never once been about what I want or feel or what I need.”
She lifts her chin. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing. If we hadn’t been there to protect you, just think what might have happened,” she says. She slices a pointed finger through the air. “Look at this poor girl, this Molly person. She’s being raked over the coals every single day, her face splattered all over the news every night. Is that what you wanted?”
“No, of course not, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him to get away with it either,” I say. “That doesn’t mean I wanted to have to keep my mouth shut about it for the rest of my life, pretending nothing happened. Hiding from it, like it was my fault somehow.”
“I never said it was your fault,” she says, lowering her voice. There are tears in her eyes, as if it’s me who has hurt her instead of the other way around. “But we had to do what was best for you and for our family. A long, drawn-out hearing or trial, even if we had somehow been able to keep it out of the press—which there’s really no way we could have—would have drained us all and for what? The small chance that they would believe you?”
Her words cut through me like knives. And the worst part of it is that she thinks she’s being supportive. She’s only thinking of herself in this whole thing.
“I guess we’ll never know,” I say, tears stinging my eyes.
I can’t stay here. I can’t live like this anymore.
I turn and grab my overnight bag from the corner of my bedroom. I rip open the dresser drawers and start throwing in tank tops and underwear, a pair of jeans, some shorts. I’m still wearing my work pants and shoes. My mind races. I want to gather what I can and get the fuck out of this place. I’m suffocating here.
“Leigh Anne, what in the world do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m leaving,” I say as I breeze past her into my bathroom. I toss my toothbrush and makeup into a plastic bag sitting on the counter and throw it into the overnight bag. I zip it up and throw it over my shoulder.
She blocks the doorway. “You’re not going anywhere angry like this, do you hear me?”
During this whole conversation, I’ve barely even looked at her face, but now I look straight into her eyes. I make sure she sees me. Hears me.
“I hear you,” I say. “I just don’t care what you have to say anymore. Now, please, get out of my way.”
She flinches. “I will not,” she says. “If you walk out of this house—”
“What? You'll take away my credit cards? I don’t care about any of that. I have my own money now, remember?”
She pushes air from her lips and jerks her head. “You can’t have more than a couple hundred dollars, Leigh Anne. How long do you think that will really last?”
“I have over a thousand dollars saved up from working at Brantley’s,” I say. “And I can always pick up more shifts if I need to.”
Her confidence falters and she crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Leigh Anne, you don’t have to go anywhere,” she says. “I know you’re angry, but we can work this out, honey.”
I shake my head. “What you really mean is that eventually I’ll do what I always do, right? I’ll be a good girl and do exactly what you tell me to do, because I don’t have a mind of my own. Well, I’m not going to be that person anymore,” I say. “I’m so tired of sacrificing who I am and what I want to be just to please you.”
I push past her and practically run down the stairs. She follows me, calling my name, but I don’t stop. I don’t even turn around once.
I let the screen door in the back slam behind me as I get into my car and drive away.
Chapter Thirty
Rain pelts my windshield as I drive away from my parents' house.
Tears of anger and frustration stream down my face and my breath comes in hiccups and choked sobs. I pull off the road about a mile away and let the sorrow spill out of me. I’ve had several breakdowns since that night, but this is the worst. All my walls are tumbling down. Everything I believed about my own life and about myself has been shattered.
I have wasted years feeling responsible for my mother’s happiness.
I can blame her all I want, but it’s my fault too. I’ve allowed her to make choices for me. She may not ask me what I want, but when have I ever once spoken up? The only thing I ever did on my own was say goodbye to Fairhope so I could make a new life for myself. I was so proud of myself back then. The look on my mother’s face when I told her I’d broken things off with Preston and was taking that scholarship was priceless. It wasn’t that I wanted to hurt her, but rather that I wanted to be my own person for once. I wanted to see what life was like without her voice in my ear.
But Burke Redfield took all of that away from me. He stole everything from me.
And instead of standing up for me, my parents helped him cover it up.
The truth of it hits me in the chest and I collapse against the steering wheel. I’ve held this in too long. It’s too much to carry by myself. If I don’t talk about this, if I don’t tell someone, I’m going to fall apart.
Knox is right. I haven’t allowed myself to open up, even though he was brave enough to open up to me. I have kept these walls up because my parents asked me to. They told me it would be the best thing for me.
But they were wrong.
I lift my head and take a few ragged breaths, then turn the car around and head to Rob’s bar, praying it’s not too late.
Chapter Thirty-One
The parking lot is empty. I pull all the way around the bar to make sure he didn’t park out back, but there’s no sign of his truck.
I beat my hand against the steering wheel. I have no idea if he’s at his uncle’s or if he’s gone out to the lake tonight to work.
I need to see him.
I pull my phone out of my bag to text him and ask him to meet me, but headlights flash in my rearview mirror and I look up. Through the rain, I can just make out Knox’s truck as he parks beside me and gets out.
I throw my phone onto the passenger side and get out of the car, not even caring that it’s pouring rain.
We meet in front of his truck, our bodies illuminated by the headlights. I throw my arms around him and press my face into his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” I say over the sound of the storm. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Your hands are shaking,” he shouts. He takes my face in his hands and lifts my head up. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I don't know anymore,” I say. Inside, my heart is pounding. Everything else is spiraling out of control in my life and all I want to do is hold on to him.
“I'm so sorry for how I acted earlier,” he says. “I completely overreacted. I was coming to talk to you when I saw your car speed past me. I followed you back here,” he says. “I needed to see you. I wanted to apologize f
or what happened today.”
I shiver as the rain pours down on us. I press closer to him, gathering his shirt in my fist. “No, you were right, Knox. I’m so fucked up when it comes to my mom. I’ve spent my whole life worried what she’ll think of me. Of my choices,” I say, raising my voice as the storm intensifies around us.
“It’s okay,” he says.
“No, it’s not okay.” Tears are coming so hard now, I just let them fall. I can't hold them back anymore. “I'm not okay. I'm a complete mess and you deserve more than that.”
Knox wraps his arms around me. He presses his mouth close to my ear. “What I said earlier, in the hardware store? About falling in love? I wasn't being completely honest with you.”
My heart sinks and I pull away, my eyes searching his.
“I'm not falling,” he says. “I'm already there. Head over heels, helplessly in love with you. And no matter what it is you're holding back, I'll wait for you. I swear to god, I'll do whatever it takes. Whatever you want. I just don't want to lose you.”
As he says it, I understand what he's been telling me. He's right. I haven't completely let him in, and he knew it before I did. I want nothing more than to say I love him too. But I can't.
I haven't allowed myself to love.
Standing here in the rain, I know this is it. This is the moment I either trust him with the truth or I walk away. I can't protect my heart and give it to him at the same time.
Fear rushes through me. I'm scared to death, but I want this. I want him.
“I have to tell you,” I start.
I open my mouth to speak again, but a sob escapes and I have to lift my hand to cover my mouth.
Knox lifts me up in his arms and presses my shivering body tight to his own. He carries me through the rain to the back door of the bar. He somehow manages to get his key in the lock and pull me into the darkness.
The door closes, shutting the rain out and it’s like we’re in a cocoon, sheltered from the noise and the rest of the world. He flips on the lights and I see that we’re in a storage room piled with boxes.