Last Slice of Pie (Starving for Southern Book 2)

by Kathryn Andrews

  During the day we would lie under it and make wishes on dandelions as we blew the seeds away, and at night I always stayed up in my room and watched for the fireflies as they would twinkle up into the sky. There’s something so magical about something so small that can light up all on its own.

  I had settled down into my seat by the window, which was cracked so I could listen to the cicadas, and that was when I saw a flicker of light coming from inside the tree house, a light brighter than that of the fireflies. Staring, I had begun to believe I’d imagined things, but then the light flickered again.

  What was James doing out there, and why hadn’t he invited me to join him?

  Anger coursed through my ten-year-old body. In our safe little world here on the farm, it never occurred to me that I should be worried about a stranger being in the tree house, so I grabbed my flashlight, pushed open the window, and climbed out onto the back porch. Instead of going down the steps, I tiptoed over to the side of the house where the veranda ended and jumped to the ground.

  If you walked directly behind the house, the motion lights would kick on, so instead I ran around the edge of the backyard, up against the edge of the tall grass, which lead to the path to the tree.

  Standing at the base of the ladder, I heard sniffing, like someone was crying, and immediately my anger slipped to concern. Whenever he was mad or upset, my brother always hid in the tree house to have time to himself.

  “James, are you okay?” I asked.

  The sniffing stopped, and I heard some shuffling over into the far corner. No one responded.

  “All right, be that way, but I’m coming up.”

  One by one I climbed the rungs up into the tree house. There isn’t a door to enter, just a hole cut out of the middle of the floor that wraps all the way around the tree, and once you climb up the trunk, you step out onto the floor.

  As soon as I entered the tree house, I turned on my flashlight and waved it toward the corner where I’d heard the noise. Startling me, there curled up in the corner was a boy I’d never seen before, a boy I instantly knew went by the name Bryan, a boy I somehow knew was going to change my world.

  Bryan and his stepfather had moved to our farm the week before. I had overheard GiGi talking on the phone, and she was saying how sad it was that the poor man’s wife had died in a car accident, leaving him all alone with his stepson. This man wanted to start over, making a new life for him and the boy, so GiGi agreed and hired him as our new property manager. With the care of the property came room and board in a separate house on the edge of the land. It wasn’t big, but it was big enough for the two of them.

  “Hey, Bryan,” I said apprehensively, keeping my distance from him.

  “Hey, yourself.” His sarcastic tone came across clear as a bell.

  “What are you doing up here?” I raised the flashlight from the ground to his chest, and he flinched at the brightness, looking away and cloaking his face in shadows.

  “Nothing.” He resituated himself to attempt to hide from me and the light.

  “You’re lying. I heard you crying.”

  “Just leave me alone. I want to be alone.” As much as he wanted to sound forceful, what I heard was desperation and loneliness. Neither of us moved, so I raised the light higher to see his face for the very first time.

  He heard me gasp, so he tucked his face under his arm.

  Walking over to him, I dropped to my knees and placed the flashlight on the ground, light up so it would reflect off the ceiling and we could see.

  “What happened to you?” I asked quietly. He was very dirty, and he didn’t answer. I reached over to finger the edge of his dirty shirt and he jerked away from me.

  “Please leave me alone.” The tears were back, and I could see the dirt smudged all over his face as he tried to wipe them away.

  “No. If you’re hurt, we need to tell someone.”

  “I’m not hurt. I just want to be left alone.” He wrapped his arms tighter around his drawn-up knees and lifted his head to pin me with a sad, angry glare.

  “But, I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to,” he said harshly through clenched teeth.

  I didn’t know what to do or say. Something was clearly wrong with him if he was up there crying and hiding, and we continued to stare at each other until he eventually let out a long sigh and dropped his head.

  “Fine, I won’t ask you to leave again. Just please don’t say anything about me being up here. I just wanted some space and time to myself.”

  “Okay, stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  With that I climbed down and ran back to main the house. I had a feeling he was going to sleep in the tree house that night, so I wanted to grab a few things to make him more comfortable.

  I snuck in quietly, knowing GiGi had already gone to bed. I packed up a few things from the hall bathroom then grabbed a snack from the kitchen, a clean T-shirt for him to wear, and a pillow and blanket.

  When I got back to the tree house, Bryan was still there, and he was still crying. Neither of us said anything to each other. He watched me warily, and I just went about as if I knew exactly what I was doing.

  Reluctantly and slowly, he let me take his shirt off of him, and I cringed when I saw the scrape across his back. I moved the flashlight over to get a better look, retrieved the wet washcloth I’d brought, and very carefully cleaned up his back. The skin was irritated and split open in a couple of places. Gently, I applied some cream, just like GiGi would do, and I covered the largest spots with Band-Aids.

  “I scraped it climbing out the window. I couldn’t get it up all the way and I just wanted out of that house.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  He turned his head, and his lips pressed into a flat line. “Nothing.” He sounded so dejected and so sad.

  I handed him a clean shirt of James’s and helped him put it on. Afterward, I opened the backpack and pulled out the snack. He shook his head, so instead I handed him a bottle of water. He swallowed slowly and continued to watch my every move.

  As I went to put the washcloth back in the bag, I remembered his face. I looked him in the eyes as I leaned forward to brush the hair off his forehead. His hair was so soft, nothing like James’s. He let me wipe down his face then his hands, and sometime during this process he’d stopped crying and begun shaking.

  In the tree house was a large cooler where we kept two sleeping bags and pillows. It made a great outdoor trunk because it stayed airtight against the bugs and kept the humidity out. I pulled out the sleeping bags, opened them up, and laid them flat on the floor. I threw down the pillows and took Bryan by the hand, and he moved over to the makeshift bed and curled up on his side. He just looked so sad.

  I didn’t even ask him if he wanted me to stay; I just lay down next to him and threw the blanket over us. I wanted to curl up around him and hold him, but being uncertain, I just lay in front of him, face-to-face. I brushed the hair back off his forehead and reached out to hold his hand.

  “He hates me,” he whispered.

  “Why would you say that?” I asked, feeling sad for him.

  “Because he tells me so every day.”

  I couldn’t imagine GiGi ever saying she hated me or James, and my heart swelled as it ached for him. His eyes once again flooded with water, and big tears slowly dripped down the side of his face.

  “I miss my mom,” he whispered, closing his eyes as his chin quivered and grief settled over him.

  I don’t remember my mom, so I don’t miss her, but I couldn’t imagine losing GiGi.

  He snuggled a little closer and continued to shake. It didn’t feel that cold out to me, but just in case, I rolled over and scooted up next to him. I wrapped his arm around my waist and continued to hold his hand. He pushed his face into my hair, and I could feel his breath on the back of my neck as he cried. Slowly, the shaking stopped, and we both fell asleep. I hoped in his dreams he’d be able to escape his sadness, whereas in mine, all I saw was a
beautifully damaged boy.

  The next morning when I woke up, Bryan was gone.

  That was the first time he left me, and little did I know, it wouldn’t be the last. That’s why I should turn around and go back home instead of standing here like a creeper waiting for him to make his grand entrance, but I continue waiting.

  Our town square is set up like any other small-town town square in the south. The streets are laid out like a grid, and right in the middle of the business district is a piece of land deemed historical, one dedicated to our founding fathers. I do believe ours is larger than others, which is why we call it the town park instead. Of course, it has the requisite gazebo in the middle for special events and such, and all around it and throughout the park are oak trees, really large ones that are great for climbing—or in my case, hiding.

  Peeking out from behind a tree on the eastern side of the gazebo, I watch as the crowd waiting to see him continues to grow. After all, around here, he is a celebrity and a role model to the children. Adults have followed his football career for years, ever since he started playing for a recreational league at the age of twelve, and the kids, well, they look up to him as a real-life hero.

  From this vantage point, I am given the gift of time: time to study him, time to gather my wits, and time to decide my next move—that is, if I want to make a move. I’m not sure I do.

  Yes, I’ve seen him on television, but this version is so different from the guy I knew back then, and really, I know nothing about him.

  Absolutely nothing.

  Well, except that he prefers pie over cake. My heart sings at the thought.

  “I can’t believe you dragged me out here for this. I’m sweating like a hog and it’s pouring off of me,” Marie chirps from behind me while swiping at the sweat threatening to roll down her chest and into her shirt.

  “Look, it’s bad enough that I feel the need to hide from him, but I can’t stand here by myself. What if someone sees me? At least this way we look like we’re having a private conversation.”

  She rolls her eyes and starts flapping her elbows to attempt to dry out her armpits. “Seriously, you should just find him after this, walk straight up to him, and say hello. After all these years, what do you have to lose? Nothing.”

  “But we’ve never said hello. That wasn’t our thing,” I argue.

  “Well, fine! Say hey, say whatever. It doesn’t even matter. Just get in front of him, strut your stuff, and make him feel sorry for leaving you.” She swipes at the sweat forming across her forehead.

  A laugh slips out of me as I try to imagine what I would look like strutting. As I’m a little on the curvier side, my guess is it would look more like waddling.

  Off in the northwest corner, the high school marching band starts to play. The music gets progressively louder as they approach the gazebo, and my heart rate picks up in anticipation of being closer to him than I have in years.

  I know I’m being ridiculous, but right now, at this moment, my nerves are winning out. Yes, we were friends as kids, but he’s never returned home, not once, and to my knowledge through James, he’s never talked about it or even asked about me.

  Again, unrequited love.

  Sure, I’ve dated people over the years. I actually had one long relationship with a guy when I was in culinary school, but when it was time to graduate and return home, I discovered I wasn’t that sad to leave him, and I certainly didn’t miss him the way I’ve missed Bryan.

  The music eventually dies and the screech of the microphone sounds through the speakers. Taking a deep breath, I step to the side of the tree and scan the crowd. Hundreds have come out to see him. In fact, it looks like most of the town is here. Figures. The gazebo is covered in garnet and gold balloons, our school colors. There’s a large framed photo of him from when he played here, one of him in college, and one of him playing professionally. Several news crews are present, mostly local, and I imagine this is one of the biggest stories of the summer for them. Bryan is making an appearance off the field, which is like spotting a rare bird in the wild.

  There’s commotion on the stage. The mayor has walked over to stand at the microphone, and he’s smiling down at someone on the stairs that lead up to the gazebo. Deep down, I know it’s him.

  There are so many people and it’s so crowded, but with the way my heart is pounding and how fried my nerves are, he may as well be standing right in front of me.

  A warm, humid breeze sweeps by my feet and with it, a tossed-aside flyer. I pick it up and see that it’s an agenda for today. Its main highlights are the award, the acceptance, and then a meet-and-greet session with Bryan where he’ll be signing a giveaway photo of him and posing for pictures. From there, people can wander over to the community center for a potluck lunch that will have everything from pulled pork to Ms. Diane’s famous chocolate chip Bundt cake.

  A huff escapes me. I can tell you where I’m not going to be today. There’s no way in hell I’m standing in line to see him or mingling at a town gathering where the gossipmongers will be watching. The last thing I want or need to be is a topic of conversation.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” blares out from the speakers. “I’m Mayor Buckley, and I would like to thank you for coming out this morning. I would also like to thank the distinguished city of Oakwood and recognize the generous contributions one of our own has made, not only to our community, but to others across the great state of Florida. He is an inspiration and the true definition of what success looks like due to hard work, dedication, and leadership. It is my pleasure to introduce this young man to you today, so please give it up and welcome Bryan Brennen.”

  The crowd cheers, and it’s not one of those halfhearted responses because they’re expected to cheer. There’s real emotion swelling up out of them that’s meant for him, and I can’t help but be swept away by their enthusiasm and feel proud for him. I may be hiding, but inside I’m squealing.

  As if in slow motion, I first see blond hair on the back of his head as he ascends the steps and becomes visible over the crowd. Broad shoulders wrapped in a white tailored button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Muscular back. Narrow waist. Long legs. And then he reaches the top. Turning toward the mayor, he extends his hand, the mayor excitedly shakes it, and then he pulls him in for a hug. There are a few pats on the back, and then they release each other and turn toward the crowd.

  His face.

  That smile.

  He looks just like he did on television, only now he appears a little shinier. He looks real, and in my head I’m screaming, Oh my God. Ten years is such a long time, and right this moment an imaginary bucket of freezing water douses me as I realize my reaction to seeing him feels less like the homecoming of a loved one and more like I’m fangirling at a celebrity. Fangirling.

  Anger slices through me, and my eyes blur with the unmistakable vision of humble pie. I know deep down I’m not a groupie, but I may as well be considering I was never important enough to him to stay in touch with. I drop my gaze, not wanting to see him anymore, and suddenly I wish I were anywhere but here.

  “Marie.” I turn to face her. “I think—” From above me, a clicking, squeaking, and squabbling starts. At first the noise is just annoying, but as I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I don’t think anything of it until the sound gets closer and louder.

  So loud.

  So fast.

  So much scurrying, and I’m not prepared for the two fighting squirrels that race down the tree. One jumps on my head, the other on my back, and they proceed to crawl all over me while one runs from the other.

  Now, you have to understand, the squirrels in the park are so spoiled by the townspeople, it’s like they are almost domesticated. They’ll climb on your arm, sit on your shoulder, and essentially pose for pictures if it means they’ll be fed, but if there’s one thing you’ll never catch me doing, it’s feeding the squirrels.

  I. Hate. Squirrels.

  To me they are rats with a bushy tail, and the fact that
two of them are racing all over me sends my heart into instant overdrive and me screaming from out behind the tree with my arms flailing.

  “Oh! My! God!”

  Little claws scratching.

  Smelly fur in my face.

  This is a total nightmare come true!

  “Get off me!” I scream while running around in a circle like a crazy person.

  Rare diseases, permanent scars, bald patchy spots where they rip out my hair—every imaginable horror stampedes through my head as my feet tear up the grass underneath me.

  At some point I trip over a tree root and land on the ground. That’s when the squirrels finally jump off, and I’m left panting and trembling. This has to be one of the worst experiences of my life.

  Gasping for air, I slowly stand, shake out my arms, and clap my hands together to get rid of the dirt. Smoothing down my hair and my skirt, I glance at Marie, who is howling with laughter and wiping her eyes.

  “Seriously? It’s not funny.” I scowl at her. “You could have helped me.”

  “Oh, yes, it is funny! Look . . .” She points behind me, and cold dread slides right down my spine.

  Oh no.

  Slowly, I turn toward the awards ceremony, only to find the mayor has stopped talking and everyone is staring at me—and I do mean everyone.

  Bright red embarrassment bursts to the surface of my skin as my eyes land on Bryan’s, and to my utter and complete humiliation, I watch as one side of his mouth twitches and turns up. He’s trying to not laugh. At me.

  I’ve waited ten years, ten long years for this moment, and he’s laughing at me.

  I could cry.

  Someone, please, just kill me now.

  Turning, I glare at Marie as I walk past her and head straight for my car.

  I should have known today wouldn’t go the way I planned, and although I know the ceremony just started, there is no way I’m sticking around now. My overworked broken heart crashes into my stomach as horror, more embarrassment, and disappointment battle it out to see which can affect me more.