by Megyn Ward
“You’re my favorite,” I tell her, dropping another quick kiss on her cheek before I leave with Robert’s burrito.
I go home.
Sitting on the couch, I unwrap my stolen food and eat it. While I chew, I stare at the painting Cari hung on the wall before she left. Not the one she set on fire, along with a counter check for a million dollars.
No, I’m looking at a different painting. One I’ve never seen before.
I saw it the second I walked into the living room, my eyes drawn to its bright splashes of color against the muted tone of the wall. Seeing it is why I left in the first place. Why I spent extra time with Mrs. McGintey. Why I stopped at Benny’s. Why I had to force myself home instead of going to Con’s. Drag myself up the stairs instead of fucking around downstairs with shit work that doesn’t need to be done.
I wasn’t ready to see it then. I’m not ready to see it now, but I force myself to look anyway because I’m finished running. I’m not hiding anymore.
It’s of me, sitting in the front seat of my car, the one I used to drive in college. I can see the hint of a smile, my profile bathed in the glow of a stop light.
Looking at it, I know that this is it. The night I met her.
The moment I fell in love with her.
To be honest, it’s not the painting that had me running like a little bitch. It’s what’s behind it. Tucked into the top corner between the canvas and the wall is a notecard. It’s bright blue, a fancy letter C printed on the front. Cari’s sister made them for her for her birthday. She loves them. Only uses them for special occasions. People who matter.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, empty burrito wrapper in my hand, staring at that note card before I’m able to make myself stand and cross the room.
Plucking the card from its perch, I’m glad I’m alone because my hands are shaking like a leaf.
Quit being a pussy and read the fuckin’ thing already.
Con’s voice again. Too smart for his own goddamn good.
I hold my breath and flip it open. Reading it, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding until it was gone.
I love you too
Twenty-five
Cari
I left.
Left him sleeping while I took everything I could stuff into the trunk of my car and ran away.
But before I did, I cleaned up my mess. Stuffed charred canvas and melted plastic into a garbage bag and hauled it downstairs. Somewhere in there was a check for a million dollars.
I tried not to think about it. What I could’ve done with that kind of money. Pay off my student loans. My parents' house. Send my little sister to college.
Stay.
Because that’s what I wanted to do. When I woke up in the dark, Patrick wrapped around me—his soft, even breath against my neck. His arm hooked around my waist—I wanted to stay. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
And if I didn’t leave before he woke up, that’s exactly what I would’ve done.
So, I cleaned up my mess and packed my car. I stood in the doorway and watched him sleep for as long as I could.
The last thing I did was hang that painting. The first one I ever did of him. The night we met.
The moment I fell in love with him.
I tucked the note behind the wood-stretched canvas—it said what I couldn’t.
I love you, too.
I hope it’s enough, and then I walk away.
When I pull into their driveway, my parents rushed out to meet me. I called them from the road as planned, telling them that I’m moving back for a while and that I’ll explain when I get there.
Now that I’m here, they want their explanation.
My sister stands on the front porch. Grace is four years younger and at least a decade older than I am. The reason is soon to be three-years-old and currently pealing across the patchy front yard, screeching my name. Gracie was eighteen when she got pregnant, nineteen when she had Molly. Everything she’s been through since floors me, every time I think about it.
“AUNT CAAARRRRI!” Molly flings herself at me, and I drop my bag and crouch, just in time to catch her. On the porch, Grace smiles at me before going back into the house. She’s just as anxious as our parents to know why I’m back. Unlike them, she can wait.
“Hey, monkey-face,” I say, covering Molly’s face with noisy kisses, loving the way she dissolves into a helpless giggle fit against me. I avoid looking at my parents. They’re hovering over us, waiting for me to tell them why I left Boston. My face and neck are a mess from what happened with James, both last night and the day in his office. I don’t want them to see me. Don’t want them to worry about things that can’t be changed.
Unable to stall any longer I stand up, letting Molly climb me like a jungle gym. “It looks a lot worse than it actually is,” I say over my mom’s audible gasp and my father’s outraged roar.
“Who?” He’s rooted in place, anger rolling off him in waves while my mother clucks and flutters around me like a mother hen. “Who was it?”
I give them a sanitized version of the truth. That an ex-boyfriend, who wasn’t so happy about being an ex, started making trouble. Showed up at the apartment and attacked me. I didn’t tell them about the video. That James had tried to blackmail me. Stalked me.
“Where was Patrick while all of this was happening?” my father demanded.
“Doug.” My mom admonishes him quietly.
“Don’t Doug me, Ellen,” he tells her. “What’s the use of having a male roommate if he can’t stop things like this from happening?”
“He was at work, Dad.” I smile. “I broke James’s nose all by myself—and then Patrick came home, beat the snot out of him some more and threw him down the stairs.”
“Patrick threw him down the stairs?” My mom presses her fingertips to her mouth to suppress a smile while my Dad grunts his approval. “I knew I liked that boy.”
“That why you’re home?” My dad says. “Because... of what happened?”
I tell them about Miranda wanting to show my work. That I moved back home so I can focus on painting full-time. That it’s temporary, just until my opening. “I’ve got savings,” I tell them, suddenly worried about the fact that they can barely afford to feed the bellies they’ve got without me, throwing myself on the pile. “Not much, but it’ll go a lot farther here than Boston.” I think about Patrick’s offer. That maybe it would’ve been better, easier if I’d taken him up on it. Then I think about the check I burned. Probably best not to tell my parents about that either.
My mom waves her hand at me, her way of telling me to be quiet. She hates talking about money. Probably because it reminds her that we’ve never had any. “I’m going in to finish up supper,” she says. “Won’t be long now—don’t stand out here yappin’ too long.” She heads back into the house, leaving my dad and me alone, Molly clambering for attention between us. I know what’s coming. All I can do is stand here and wait for it.
“You should’ve called, Cari,” my dad lectures me while swinging Molly up in the air, her high-pitched squeals punctuating his stern words.
“I did call,” I say, collecting my bag off the ground and slinging it over my shoulder.
“Don’t get cute, little girl.” He tries to glare at me but doesn’t quite pull it off. Between the two of them, Mom is the one with the iron fist. But dad has his moments. “You know what I mean.”
I do know what he means. If I’d called and told them I was coming, he would’ve insisted on taking a bus to Boston and driving back with me. It would’ve taken days neither one of us could afford. “You can’t take that kind of time off work, Dad.” I say it as gently as I can. He’s always been sensitive about his job. Almost bitter about the fact that he has to work so hard, even with my mom’s job at the post office, to make ends meet.
He glares at me again, and this time he manages it just fine. “I’ve got some vacation time saved up.”
“And I want you to use it w
hen you, Mom and Gracie come to Boston for my show,” I smile at him until he finally lets it go.
Swinging Molly onto his back, he gives me a rueful grin while she climbs onto his shoulders. “Well, at least you had sense enough to put new tires on that hunk of junk before you drove it to hell and gone.”
To hell and gone.
The same thing Patrick said to me last night.
You can run to hell and gone—I’m still going to be here, and I’m still going to love you.
I look at my tires. They’re brand new. I hadn’t even noticed.
He must be able to tell from the look on my face that I had nothing to do with putting new tires on my car. He laughs at me while Molly uses her sticky, chubby fingers to smoosh his hair into a mohawk. “I suppose I have your fella to thank for that,” he says, shaking his head at me. He’s met Patrick a few times over the years and likes him. Who wouldn’t?
“I don’t have a fella.” It’s a knee-jerk reaction that has my dad laughing.
“He beat-up the sack of shit who put hands on you and put new tires on your car,” he says. Anchoring Molly’s legs to his chest with one arm, he throws the other around my shoulder and walks me across the yard, toward the house. “Sorry to be the one to break it to you, little girl—but you’ve got yourself a fella.”
Eleven months later...
Twenty-six
Cari
“Nervous? “
I look at Grace, draped across her twin bed, long legs swinging over the side while she flips through one of the fashion magazines she pinched from the post office. She works there with mom as a mail sorter a few days a week. Benton, Ohio, population: 875 doesn’t have a whole lot of mail to sort. Not enough to warrant full-time employees. She supplements the post office job with working sporadic shifts as a cocktail waitress at the local dive. The only place around here that offers full-time work is the factory where Dad works, and the only way a job opens up there is if someone dies.
Looking at her, long blonde bangs sweeping across her forehead, elbows dug into the worn mattress as she flips the pages, I can almost believe we’re in high school again.
Almost.
Downstairs, I can hear Molly screeching out the happy birthday song. Her birthday was a few weeks ago. Since then, every time someone puts food in front of her, she sings the song before blowing a raspberry all over her plate. Mom’s feeding her breakfast before she leaves for work, while Grace helps me get ready for my trip back to Boston.
“No,” I say, tossing some underwear into my carry-on. I look up to see her watching me, an exasperated expression on her face. “Miranda said the charity show went really well, so well that—”
Grace rolls her eyes at me. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” She flips the page, pulling the tab on one of those fancy perfume samples and rubs it on her wrist. “Are you nervous about seeing Patrick again?”
I shrug, debating on the necessity of bringing both of my dresses. “We haven’t spoke in eleven months,” I remind her. “I’m not sure there’s anything to be nervous about.”
“What does that matter?”
“He hasn’t called me, Grace.” I flip my carry-on closed, leaning on it to zip it up. “What if he changed his mind?” I’ve been gone for almost a year now, and while I talk to Tess every day, I haven’t heard from Patrick. I’ve even talked to Con and Declan a few times, when she’s passed the phone around Gilroy’s—but no Patrick, even though I can hear him in the background.
She gives me an exasperated look. “Have you called him?”
I sit on the edge of the bed and sigh. “No.”
Smiling, Grace flips her magazine closed and throws it on the floor. “And have you changed your mind?”
I shake my head, bottom lip caught between my teeth. “No.”
Grace beams at me triumphantly, like she’s solved the world’s energy crisis.
“It’s going to be okay, you know?” Grace says, sitting up, tossing the magazine on the floor. “Your opening is going to be fabulous.” She flips her hair and bats her eyes at me. “Your new series is fantastic. So fantastic that you’re going to sell every last one of your paintings, and you’re going to be famous.”
Famous? The thought sours my stomach a bit. Thanks to Con’s computer program, the video James and Sara posted online has been completely erased from existence... but that doesn’t mean people didn’t see it before it disappeared and it doesn’t mean people won’t recognize me. Point at me and say, hey, didn’t I see you online somewhere? Or you look familiar—do I know you? Just the thought of it makes me want to get a job at the post office with my mom and hide in Benton forever.
“Come with me, Gracie,” I say on impulse, sitting on the edge of my bed, across from her. The room is so small our knees touch.
“I’ll be there for the show with Mom and Dad,” she says, shaking her head at me like I’m crazy. “You’re gonna be too busy for the next few weeks to—”
“No,” I say, grabbing her hand. “I mean, come with me. To stay.”
“That’s not funny.” Gracie pulls her hand out of my grasp, looking at me like I just made her the butt of a cruel joke. “You know I can’t.”
I know she thinks she’s stuck here. That deciding to keep Molly when she found out she was pregnant at eighteen put an end to any plans she might’ve had about getting out of Benton. That our parents need her just as much as she needs them. I reach for my cell, charging on the nightstand and pull up my banking app. Tapping in my password, I hand her my phone. “You can.”
I know when she sees it because her mouth falls open and her blue eyes grow to the size of dinner plate. “Holy shit,” she gasps, hand flying to her mouth. “Cari.” She looks at me. “Where—”
I take the phone from her and close the app. “Do you remember the certified letter I got a few weeks after I got back?”
She nods, laughing a little because she’d been the one to deliver it. Seeing the Boston postmark, I signed for the letter and took it upstairs. Hiding in the bathroom—the only room in the house with a locking door—I ripped it open to find a single piece of folded paper.
Legs -
Try not to set this one on fire –
Con
p.s. Drew you another picture of my dick. You’re welcome.
The note was wrapped around another check. This time I kept it. Spent a lot of time looking at it. Deciding what to do with it. Coming to terms with what having that kind of money could do to change my life. My family’s life. A few weeks ago, I deposited it.
“Well, it was from a... friend of mine from Boston.” After everything he’s done for me, there’s no other way to describe Conner. He’s my friend.
“He sent you eight-hundred-fifty thousand dollars?” Grace hisses at me.
“Actually, it was a million. I’ve spent some.”
If possible, her mouth falls open even wider. “A mill—for what?” She sounds worried. “What did you have to do for it?”
I tell her everything. Not just about what happened with Patrick and me. I tell her about James. Sara. The video. The blackmail. At the end of it, she’s gaping at me again. “You set a million dollars on fire?” She shakes her head at me. “Are you crazy?”
“It felt like I was.” I stand, tossing my phone on the bed next to my suitcase. Being home, I realized that I might not need more, but my family does. Grace and Molly. Mom and dad. They’ve been struggling their whole lives, and it was selfish of me to do what I did, throwing that money away, knowing that I could be the one to put an end to it. “I want you to come to Boston.”
“Cari...” Grace shakes her head, mouth slack as she tucks a lock of her long blonde hair behind her ear. “I can’t—Mom and Dad... they need me.”
Downstairs, I can hear Molly squealing and clapping her hands because her favorite show came on TV. “Girls,” Mom shouts upstairs. “I’m leaving for work—Moll is in front of the TV... you better get a move on, or you’ll miss your flight. Snow’s co
ming down pretty hard out there.”
“Okay,” I shout back before looking at Grace again, waiting for the front door to slam shut before I continue. “Yes, you can. I paid off the house for Mom and Dad yesterday morning.”
“You what?” she squeals, sounding just like Molly.
She doesn’t have to say what I already know. Dad is going to freak when he realizes what I’ve done. Being several hundred miles away when he does will give him a chance to cool down. Hopefully. Either way, it’s too late now—and even if it weren't, I’d have done it anyway. “Dad won’t have to work so much. Maybe Mom can quit working altogether. They’re going to be okay.” I tell her. “We can get a place together in Boston. You can go to college. I can help you with Molly.” I kneel in front of her and take her hand. “Let me do this for you, Gracie. Let me get you out of here.” I stand up and let her go, reaching for my suitcase. “Just think about it, okay?”
She looks scared. Unsure. But she also looks excited. Hopeful. More hopeful than I’ve seen her in a long time. Nodding her head, she stands. Downstairs, Molly shrieks along to the opening tune to her favorite cartoon.
Hearing her daughter, Grace smiles. Takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay.”
Twenty-seven
Cari
The flight didn’t take nearly as long as I hoped it would. “You’ve been upgraded to first-class, Ms. Faraday,” The gate agent said, handing me my cell after scanning my boarding pass. I open my mouth to ask how and why but quickly close my mouth when I figure it out on my own.
Conner.
Settling back into my wide, comfy seat, sipping my champagne, flipping through an old, in-flight copy of Bostonian I make a mental note to add the upgrade to the growing list of things I have to thank him for. Like thinking of him created him out of thin air, his face appears in front of me, captured between the pages of the magazine in front of me, the words Boston’s Best Catch splashed across the page below him.