The Beautiful Now

by M. Leighton

  “Do you come out here a lot?” I whispered my question. Not because I was afraid anyone could hear me, but just because it seemed like I should. Like a loud noise might shatter the moment, the night, the stars.

  Us.

  “Yeah.”

  “How did you find it?” I knew it wasn’t tall enough to be seen over the tops of the wheat until you were right up on it.

  “I’ve always known it was here. You can see it plain as day when the field is empty. Plus we have to be careful of it when we harvest. It’d tear the combine and the trucks all to hell if we hit it.”

  “Why don’t they just dig it up then?”

  “Too deep. It’s like an iceberg. Only a little of the top sticks up where you can see it. What’s under the ground is a lot bigger. Too big to dig up.”

  “It’s even bigger under the ground?”

  “Yep. My dad says this rock will always be here. There ain’t no moving it. It might not look like much from up here, but it’s what you can’t see that matters.”

  I thought Dane must be like that rock. I knew people looked at him and just saw a poor worker’s boy, not of much importance. But deep down, where their eyes couldn’t see, he was a lot more.

  Something told me he was everything.

  I thumped my palm against the rock, feeling its solid sturdiness. I bet Dane would be hard to move like this, too. Stubborn. The rock didn’t care about the wind and the rain, about the storms that raged around it, and I figured Dane didn’t either. He’d go on being Dane, ignoring Lauren Stringer and chewing his piece of prairie grass, no matter what people said or thought. He was strong and unmoving in ways they weren’t, in ways they didn’t understand.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I had to ask.

  I felt his shrug. His arm rubbed along mine, the tickling friction causing the little hairs on my skin to stand up. I turned my head so that I could look at him in the dim light.

  “Look up,” he said, almost like he could feel me looking at him. So I did. I pulled my eyes away from him, hard as it was, and got lost once more in the fathomless sky and infinite sprinkling of stars. “I wanted you to see how big the world is. How much bigger than Lauren Stringer and her stupid bunch of friends,” he explained.

  “Is that why you come here? Because of Lauren Stringer and her stupid bunch of friends?”

  His laugh was decidedly bitter for a kid. “No. I don’t give a shit about those girls.” I grinned at his repeated use of cuss words. Momma would give me what-for if I talked like that. We were rich ladies now and rich ladies didn’t say those words.

  Dane James didn’t care about rich or ladies, though, and that made me like him even more. And I was already getting dangerously close to a crush. Actually, if I was being honest, I was probably already knee-deep in one.

  “Then why?”

  His pause stretched on and on, but eventually his sigh broke the night in one long, forlorn sound, like the howl of a lone wolf. “I guess because everybody else cares about them so much. Coming out here reminds me how big the world is, too.”

  I knew then that as much as he tried to pretend otherwise, he was still affected by people like Lauren Stringer. The people who meant something in a town like this. I’d already known it was unfair and ridiculous, as unfair and ridiculous as it was that my mother wanted me to be friends with them just because of who they were. It was because of people like them that a really nice boy who lived over the barn would come out here, to a rock in the middle of a field, in the middle of the night, just to lie on his back and look up at the stars. And remember that, somewhere else, maybe names and families and jobs don’t matter.

  But that place wasn’t here. Because in Shepherd’s Mill, that’s all that seemed to matter.

  2004

  32 Years Old

  Chapter 5

  “You didn’t tell me Grandma was rich.” Celina stands in the V of the open car door, staring at the house I grew up in. “Or that this place was so pretty. It’s like Tara.”

  I don’t tell her that while it looks like Tara on the outside, it’s the devil’s playground on the inside. Or at least it was. Maybe things have changed now that the devil is gone.

  Even now I have to admit it’s striking—wide front door, enormous white columns, sweeping multi-level porches—but I will never be able to separate that from what lies just behind that breathtaking façade. I will never be able to separate the wolf from the sheep’s clothing.

  I’ll hide all that from my daughter, though. I’ll guard every scar and cover up every old wound if it means Celina can find wholeness here.

  “I guess it just never came up. Besides, it was Alton’s money.” I have to work to keep the disdain from my tone. “Hey, why don’t you bag up all the road trip trash? I’ll be right back.”

  Celina doesn’t argue. She just sits back down in the passenger seat, takes the plastic convenience store bag all our goodies came in, and starts cramming candy wrappers, burger papers, and empty water bottles into it.

  She’s a good girl. On any given day, I’d walk through fire for her.

  I make my way toward the house. I parked at the bottom of the drive for just this reason—to give me time and space from Celina for this part.

  I mount the front steps and raise my hand to knock on the door. Of its own accord, it pauses just before my knuckles can meet the cool wood, as though my body is giving me one last chance to turn back before I go too far.

  Determined, I grit my teeth.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  And then I wait.

  A few seconds later, I hear the rattle of a lock snapping open and then I’m face-to-face with my mother. She doesn’t look surprised to see me so much as she just looks displeased. I guess I don’t need to ask if she’s happy that I’m here. I can plainly see the answer to that question. That much hasn’t changed.

  I guess some things never change.

  Like her face, for instance. She must’ve had work done. Good work, because she has hardly aged a year, much less fifteen. Her hair is still a halo of short blonde waves that shows off her cheekbones, and her figure is still as trim as it ever was. But it’s her eyes that reveal the real lack of change. They’re filled with the exact same shade of green disappointment that I remember.

  She still hasn’t forgiven me.

  “Hi, Momma.”

  “Brinkley, what are you doing here?”

  “Cutting right to the chase. Okie dokie. Well, I’m not here for me, so you can get any thoughts like that right out of your head. I’m here because of my daughter.”

  My mother leans to her left so she can see around me. “Is that your car?” Disapproval is plain on her face. She probably wouldn’t even get into a car that looks like my beat-up old Mustang with its Bondo’d passenger door and faded canvas top.

  “It is.”

  She makes a sound of disgust in the back of her throat and I purposely ignore it. I don’t want to fight in the first five minutes.

  “It’s a miracle you made it here.”

  I hear the car door slam, so I know she sees Celina. The sad thing is, her expression doesn’t change. Not one iota.

  I can’t address that right now, though. I’m running out of time.

  “Momma, she doesn’t know I didn’t tell you we were coming. Can you please, please, please pretend that we already worked this out? I told her we were coming to help you.”

  Mossy eyes snap back to mine and narrow. “You brought her here under false pretenses?”

  “Of course, I did. What was I going to do, ask you? You’d have said no.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Yet you did it anyway.”

  “I did, Momma, because this is important. She’s important.”

  My mother’s quiet for far too long, giving me plenty of time to become antsy. Celina’s slow footsteps are getting closer and louder by the second. Although she’s not hurrying by any means, she’s not dawdling either
.

  I made the very large bet that, somewhere deep inside, my mother still harbors some amount of love for me and, therefore, will for my daughter. I hope I didn’t overestimate her. Since becoming a mother myself, I can’t imagine not loving your child, not doing anything and everything for their health and welfare and happiness.

  Then again, I’m not my mother, no matter how hard she tried to make me into exactly that.

  Finally, she gives in. “What do you want me to say?”

  My legs melt in relief. I sag against the doorframe. “You don’t have to say anything. Just don’t act all…just don’t act like yourself. Pretend you’re happy to meet her. Can you do that?” When she says nothing yet her lips thin, I feel compelled to work harder to sway her. “She’s your granddaughter. And she’s nothing like me. You’ll like her. Just give her a chance. Pleeeease.”

  I feel like a little girl again, desperate to talk her into something that would be common sense or common decency for most people. Katherine Peterson has always had her own way of viewing things, though. Most of which I’ve struggled to understand.

  “Fine, but I expect an explanation as soon as possible.”

  “You’ll get one. Just let us come in and make her feel welcome. Then we can talk.”

  She gives me a glare and then looks past me again to Celina. She manages a smile. Sort of.

  “You must be…”

  I hurry to fill in the gap. I’d forgotten that she doesn’t even know my child’s name. “This is Celina, Momma.”

  Celina stops beside me and stretches out her hand, her lips breaking into a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  My mother frowns for a second, her eyes darting from Celina, to her hand, to me, and back to Celina. Finally, she winds her fingers around my daughter’s. I feel the need to exhale, as though a huge hurdle—the first of many more to come—has been crossed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Celina. Won’t you come in?”

  She stands back and nods us in. She gives Celina a half-smile as she passes.

  That smile dies when her eyes land on me, though. She won’t be happy with me for doing this, but I have my reasons. I just hope the woman who spent hours outside on Saturdays teaching me how to ride a bike, and the woman who played Candyland with me until she was pink in the face is still in there somewhere, buried beneath years of snooty luncheons and hundreds of pairs of high-dollar shoes.

  I follow Celina into the living room. She sits on one end of the couch and I opt for the other end. Momma takes the chair across from us, sitting just on the edge of it like it’s a throne. It’s a throne and we are her subjects, which is fitting since she has viewed herself as a bit of a queen since she married Alton Peterson.

  “You didn’t mention when you called how long you’d be staying, Brinkley.”

  I feel the muscles in my face tighten. I should’ve known she wouldn’t be able to let this slide gracefully. I grit my teeth, but force a light, bright smile. “I’m not sure yet. Until we find a place of our own.”

  “A place of your own? You’re moving here?”

  I have to hand it to my mother. She actually took that one pretty well. She didn’t screech or pass out or swallow her tongue.

  Yet.

  “Yes, Momma. I told you that twice already.” I wave her off with my hand and loud-whisper to Celina from the corner of my mouth. “Grandma’s memory sure ain’t what it used to be.”

  For a second, I actually wonder if real steam is going to pour from my mother’s ears. There’s also a vein in her forehead that I’ve never seen before, and it’s standing up like a snake under her skin. What’s that about?

  Bemusedly, I wonder if she’d faint if I were to walk over there and press on that vein with my thumb. There’s bound to be a lot of blood flow to a vessel that large.

  The longer I stare at it, the bigger it gets. It actually seems to start pulsing with her fury, so I force myself to look away.

  I hold back a smile. Honestly, I never expected this conversation to be fun or satisfying in any way, but as it turns out, hoodwinking the queen and watching her try to hide a holy fit is quite pleasurable.

  “We won’t be under your feet a minute longer than we absolutely have to be, though. We’re looking forward to finding our own place, right, Celina?”

  Obediently, my daughter nods. With the movement, I notice the light from the window glistening in the fine sheen of sweat that has erupted on her brow. Her skin is waxy and pale, and she looks exhausted. Even her breathing is shallow.

  The momentary joy of my mother’s discomfort is quickly eclipsed by Celina’s welfare.

  “I think I’ll show Celina my old room, if that’s all right with you, Momma. Maybe she can take a quick nap. It’s been a long trip.”

  My mother looks relieved to be off the hook. “Of course.”

  The three of us stand, and I take Celina’s hand and lead her toward the stairs. It’s clammy, and I have to fight the urge to pick her up and carry her like my baby. Because she is still my baby, even though she thinks she’s too big to be carried, or for me to treat her like she’s my world. Truthfully, in this case, it’s probably for the best, though. She’s already taller than me and I’d probably get us both killed if I tried to pick her up.

  I ascend the steps slowly, giving Celina plenty of time to take them at her own pace. At the landing, I turn right. I’m so focused on my child that the barrage of unpleasant memories making the turn to my old room causes is pushed to the background of my mind. I’m sure I’ll think about them later, relive them later, but right now my biggest concern is the girl behind me.

  Stepping into my teenage bedroom is like stepping back in time. Kind of like moving to Shepherd’s Mill was all those years ago. It was like progress never happened.

  Same thing here. It’s like the years haven’t passed. Everything looks exactly the way I left it fifteen years ago.

  I expected that Momma would’ve turned it into a sewing room or a trophy room or a giant ant farm, anything other than the place where her shameful daughter spent her nights. I can’t quite figure out why she didn’t. My grand exodus from Shepherd’s Mill wasn’t exactly a point of pride for her.

  I catch myself before the frown that threatens my forehead takes hold.

  “Wow! It shrunk,” I tell Celina, smiling at her. “It was at least four times this size when I lived here. Of course, it had to be to hold my larger-than-life personality.”

  For that, I receive an eye roll. I’ll take it, though. It’s when she becomes too weak, too fatigued, too ill to joke and play and tease with me that my concern escalates to a dangerous level.

  I walk to the bed and pat it dramatically. “Come, lay your pretty head on the very mattress where I dominated Frogger for three years in a row.”

  “What’s Frogger?”

  I sigh theatrically. “Youth really is wasted on the young. Frogger was only the most amazing Atari game ever created.”

  “What’s Atari?”

  I throw up my hands. “Take a nap. I can’t handle this kind of disrespect right now.”

  Celina shakes her head at me, but I see the curve tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’re so weird.”

  I get that a lot.

  “You think anyone over twenty is weird.”

  “Everyone over twenty isn’t weird. They’re just old.”

  “I really don’t want to throw you out the window right now, but…” I purse my lips and tilt my head as though I’m still considering it.

  “You exhaust me.”

  “Then sleep, my child. Sleep. Sleep. Sleeeep.” With my best Transylvania accent, I wave my hands like I’m hypnotizing her. She curls up on her side, reaching behind her to pull the comforter across and up to her chin. I give her a smile and blow a kiss, which she ignores, before I leave and close the door behind me.

  I take a brief pause on the other side of the wooden panel, letting my eyes fall shut as I picture my beautiful little girl on the bed, in the house,
in the town that I hated so much growing up. I hope I did the right thing.

  Please, God, tell me I did the right thing.

  I push away from the door and head back downstairs, my heart filled with intense maternal love and a chaotic flurry of all sorts of other emotions. As I round the landing, the view from the hall window catches my eye. Beyond the glass are the fields. They stretch out like a pale ocean. For miles it seems they stretch, contained only by the dark tree line in the distance. The forest looms around the edges of the fields like a protective parent with outstretched arms, corralling her wayward children.

  Those fields remind me of one thing, one person.

  My heart rumbles with love and hate, regret and remorse, longing and fear. All things light and dark crash and tumble through me, and I’m reminded of something I learned long ago. Something I learned the hard way. If living in Shepherd’s Mill, South Carolina taught me anything it’s that life is, if nothing else, an unpredictable mixture of the bitter and the sweet.

  As I descend the stairs, a name for this turmoil rolls through my mind on a loop, over and over and over again. Dane James. Dane James. Dane James.

  I even find myself whispering. “Dane James. Whatever happened to you?”

  1987

  15 Years Old

  Chapter 6

  I heard the rumble of the engine get louder as the truck got closer. The crunch of rocks under tires became more pronounced as it approached, but I didn’t care. I didn’t turn around to look and I didn’t stop walking. I just hunched my shoulders, tucked my chin against my chest, and kept going. When I heard it slow down as it got closer to me, I thought for a second about turning around to shout, Go away! Leave me alone! There was not a single person I wanted to see or talk to at that moment.