American Honey

by Heidi McLaughlin

  “I want to be with you too, Savannah, but we don’t have to rush anything. I like that we’re taking our time and getting to know each other. I love that I’m learning your body and figuring out what turns you on. You fascinate me in the best way.”

  When he admits to romantic disclosures like that, it makes the next part so hard to say. “We don’t have time,” I spit out.

  His hand stalls on my leg and his brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

  “My mom… she called last night, I leave for Paris next week.”

  Tyler sits up immediately and I feel the loss of his touch as if he’s stabbing me in the heart. He shakes his head. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. The last time we talked she said I’d be lucky to survive the summer but she called and told me that she made arrangements for me to go earlier. I told her I didn’t want to, but she’s not listening to me.” I crawl on my knees to Tyler and place my arms around him. “I don’t want to go, but I do. I’ve wanted to study in Paris for so long.”

  He nods. “It’s a good thing for you, Savannah.” He turns and pulls me into his arms. “I’ll miss you though, something fierce.”

  “Me too,” I reply, as I lean forward and kiss him. This time he doesn’t hold back and reclines. I shift so that I’m lying over the top of him and it’s only seconds before I feel his need pressing against me. I sit up and unbutton his shirt. Tyler watches my every move. The moment his shirt is off me, he’s maneuvered so he’s on top, resting on his arms so that he’s hovering over the top of me.

  “I’m afraid that I’m falling hard for you.”

  “Me too,” my voice breaks, as I look into his eyes. He takes me all in, his eyes never leaving me as he sits back on his knees, hooking his fingers into my panties and sliding them down my leg.

  “I want this with you, Savannah. But if you don’t want to, just tell me to stop and I will.”

  I shake my head. “I want this. I want you, too.”

  He nods and reaches for his jeans, pulling out the square package that will take us past the point of no return. He shimmies out of his boxer briefs and sheaths himself, hovering over me, his lips finding mine as he makes us one.

  Chapter 17 – Tyler

  It’s been a week since Savannah told me the devastating news. I had to hold back my emotions when she informed me that she was leaving early. I couldn’t let her know that I was breaking inside and each day since, I’ve done everything I can to show her how much she means to me. Each night when I lie in bed and listen to the hum of the air conditioner, unable to fall asleep, I wonder if it’d be so bad if I drove us to Vegas to get married. Right now, I’m willing to be as non-traditional as possible if it means she stays.

  As much as I want to keep her here, I can’t. Doing so makes me no better than her momma. I want to be the one person who doesn’t let Savannah down and the only way to do that is to keep up my façade that I’m okay, even when I’m dying on the inside.

  Never in a million years did I think I’d feel like this, especially when she stepped off the bus. Her attitude was such a turn off that I thought for sure we’d continue to butt heads, but she surprised me, over and over again. The reemergence of the Savannah that I grew up with was just waiting to be triggered and when she finally started to show, she blew me away. She just needed to remember who she was and that finally happened but now she’s leaving me, all too soon.

  I’m supposed to have months, not weeks and now only hours. This goodbye isn’t supposed to happen until late August, but once again her momma is taking her away from me and this time I know I won’t see her again. I have no doubt she’ll meet her soul mate in Paris and fall in love under the Eiffel tower, forgetting what it’s like to live here. She won’t need me, not as much as I need her. Savannah McGuire has my heart. She’ll be boarding a plane with it in her hand and there isn’t jack shit I can do about it. Asking her to stay won’t do. I can’t ask her to give up her dreams for me. I have nothing to offer her except for me and I fear that I’m not enough.

  Resting my head against the steering wheel, I take a deep breath trying to calm my anxiety. Savannah thinks I’m going to drive her into town to catch the bus. That doesn’t work for me. I’ll be driving her to Austin and waiting with her until the very last possible minute. I know I’m torturing myself, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to let her go. It’s selfish of me to feel this way, but I just got her back and I’m not ready to lose her.

  I reluctantly start my truck and shift it into drive. My hand hangs over the top of the wheel as I navigate the main road back to the ranch. I could’ve driven through the road we created when I moved in, but it shortens my trip and I’m not ready to load Savannah’s bags into the back of my truck.

  All too soon I’m pulling into the long driveway that leads to the house. Putting my truck into park, I refuse to shut off the engine. I wish I knew a way to stop this, but I don’t. The moment Savannah climbs into my truck for the last time, our lives are going to be forever changed.

  Savannah steps out with her stupidly big purse and her suitcase behind her. I close my eyes, hopeful that something, anything, will come to mind to make this moment go away. I slam my shoulder into my door, pushing it open. I can’t make eye contact with her as I take the steps two at a time, but when I’m there in front her I waste no time placing my lips against hers. My hands cup her face, holding her to me. Today, I need to call the shots and be as physical as I can with her. I need the memory of her lips ingrained in my mind.

  I hate that I have to pull away, but standing on this porch waiting for the inevitable to catch up with me is pointless. With another brush of my lips against hers, I pull away. My heart breaks at the sight of tears slowly falling down her cheeks. My thumbs wipe them away as I lean my forehead against hers.

  Clearing my throat, I step away and pick up her suitcase. It’s lighter than I thought, giving me hope that she’s left some of her clothes here for when she returns. Lord knows I’m praying that she does. . Savannah follows behind, climbing in and slamming her door. I hope that it’s pent up anger from leaving that she’s taking out on my truck.

  When I come around to my side, I open the door to find her in the middle. I smile at her. She doesn’t know how much this small gesture means to me. I’m thankful we’re leaving so early so I can drive the back roads, because taking the highway and making her move away from me is not an option.

  I climb in and hold her hand as her head rests on my shoulder. I’m afraid the ride is going to be done in silence and that’s not what I want. I want to hear her voice and record it for my memories. It’s my choice to live out in the sticks and right now I’m willing to give up my house for an apartment with Internet. Phone calls are going to get very expensive. That’s if she calls me.

  “Where we going?” she asks, as we pass the solitary bench in the middle of nowhere. The same place where I picked her up not so many weeks ago.

  “I’m not letting you take the bus to Austin. I’m driving you.”

  “Tyler, you don’t have to.”

  Doesn’t she know that right now I’d do whatever she wanted me to? If she asked me to go to Paris, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but she won’t. She either doesn’t want to interrupt my life or doesn’t want me in hers. I’m praying it’s the former because not having her in mine isn’t going to be easy.

  “I know I don’t have to, but I need to be with you until the very last second.”

  “Thank you,” she says through her tears. I put my arm around her and relax into the seat so she can snuggle into me some more. She grips my shirt and sobs, killing me slowly with each and every shake of her body. I have to bite my lips to keep my own tears at bay. Savannah won’t see me cry. Maybe when she’s out of sight and I’m pulled off onto the side of the road I’ll let out some frustrations, but not in front of her. I, at least, need to try and be strong for the both of us.

  The drive is shorter than I had hoped and when I pull into the airport parking lot, we’
re both quiet. I shut off the truck and wrap my arms around her, kissing her neck, cheeks, eyes and finally her lips.

  “I hate that our summer was cut short,” I whisper against her mouth. I honestly don’t know what else to say to her, except to ask her to stay, but I have nothing to offer her. She doesn’t need to be tied down to some ranch hand. This is the life I chose for me, she didn’t choose it for her. Her dreams are far too important to her and to me. She needs this opportunity to grow.

  “I love you, Tyler.”

  My heart stops at those three little words that mean so much. I pull back from her, to look in her eyes. I can tell by the shine in them that she means it. She loves me.

  “I love you, Savannah, so much. It’s so hard not to and I tried.”

  We hold each other, and spend most of our time kissing until it’s time for her to go. I hold her hand as we walk through the airport, dragging her suitcase behind us. It’s only when she has her ticket in hand do I feel my throat closing up. I can’t cry in front of her. I just can’t.

  Savannah falls into my arms when we reach security. Her body shakes with sobs. I hold her to me, trying to take away her pain, but my own is just as present. I can’t help but wonder if she’d be like this at the end of the summer or if we’d be okay with saying goodbye. Something tells me things would be worse.

  Savannah pulls me down for a kiss, this time her hands cupping my face. She peppers me with kisses, telling me that she loves me once again. Before I can reply, she’s running up to the TSA agent and checking in. All I can do is stand there and watch her disappear from me.

  I move to the side, where I can have a better view of her and wait for her to turn around. I tell myself if she does I’m going to ask her, no beg her, to stay… to stay and be with me.

  Except she doesn’t turn around and I can no longer see her.

  She’s gone.

  Chapter 18 – Savannah

  Paris…

  The Reeducation of Savannah McGuire will be continued.

  Look for it in the Fall, 2014

  Melissa Collins

  Chapter 1

  Owen

  “Hey, Mom,” I mumble a greeting around the carton of orange juice.

  This, of course, prompts her to smack me upside the head. “I raised you better than that,” she chides playfully, as she reaches behind me into the cabinet for a glass. The funny part is that she can’t quite reach it, even on her tippy toes. Laughing at her general goofiness, I easily stretch above her and get out my own glass, like I should have in the first place.

  Her broad smile is all the reward I need. She reaches up on her toes again to pop a quick kiss on my cheek. I consider not bending down, just to play around with her, but even I know that would be mean. “How was work?” she asks, pulling food out of the refrigerator.

  “Hot,” is all I can manage between gulps of juice. Walking over to the trash can, I shrug as I toss the empty carton away. “Same as usual, I guess.” She offers me up a sad smile, but doesn’t say anything.

  Leaning back against the counter, I cross my legs at the ankles and watch her cook. She’s a tiny thing, no more than five feet, and maybe one hundred and ten pounds on a good day. The knife she’s using to chop some veggies for a salad looks like it’s as big as her forearm. Walking over to her, I shake my head and put my hand over hers to steady it. “Sit, Mom. I’ll cook you dinner tonight, okay?”

  She smiles brightly up at me, her baby blue eyes twinkling despite the exhaustion that’s always there. With the tenderness that only Mom is capable of, she pats my stubble-covered cheek and says, “That’s my boy.” In that instant, I wonder if she struggled with the largest knife in the entire kitchen, possibly in the entire world, just to get me to make the salad.

  God, I love this woman. That’s why when she got a sick last year, it was an easy enough decision to move back home and give up everything I’d worked to build for myself. Before moving back to the east end of Long Island, back to where I’d grown up and promised never to return, I was finishing up my first year at a finance company in Boston where I went to college. It sounds melodramatic, but when Mom called to tell me she was sick, I ran straight home. Suddenly, everything I’d worked for, everything I’d thought I’d become, didn’t matter anymore.

  Chuckling to myself about how she’s just conned me into cooking for her, I toss the tomatoes into the bowl of lettuce. As I look out the small kitchen window, my past comes back to me full-force. My father left before I was even born, so it’s always just been Mom and me. Having never known him, I can’t exactly say I hate him, but in the same breath, he left. So it’s impossible not to harbor some kind of anger for him. Mom held a decent job, but she was a single parent; that’s never easy, no matter the job. We weren’t poor, but we definitely couldn’t keep up with the Joneses of southern Long Island. That’s why when I was old enough, well, big enough really, to get a job, I started working on a local farm. It was hard physical work and it got me out of the house for the majority of the day – the perfect combination for a growing boy who hated where he lived.

  But now, here I am, twenty-seven years old, living at home with my mom, working on the farm I worked on as a boy, while my framed MBA sits in a box upstairs in my childhood bedroom.

  The gentle pat on my shoulder startles me out of my own thoughts. “You okay, Owen?” Mom asks, her voice soft and far away. She’s never said it, but a large part of me knows that she feels tremendous guilt for getting sick as if it was in her control. The pain in her eyes lets me know all I need to know; she feels as if she’s ruined my life.

  Leaning down, I kiss the top of her head, and pull her to my side. “Better than ever,” I reassure her. “I’m just gonna grab a shower before dinner. I’ll take care of the rest when I’m done. Okay?” My eyes scan her face, making sure she understands not to lift a finger while I’m showering.

  She pulls away from me, contorting her face as she does. “You better. You stink something awful, honey.” For added insult, she even pinches her nose closed, moving her hand in front of her face as if I’m actually stinking up the place.

  Catching a whiff of myself on the way upstairs, even I can admit that I reek.

  When I come back down to the kitchen twenty minutes later, the table is all set, the food is spread out, and Mom is propped up in her chair, utter exhaustion apparent in her face. “Mom,” exasperation colors my voice. “I told you I would take care of everything.”

  Swiping a napkin over her forehead, she looks up at me. “I know, I know,” she huffs, shooing me away with her frail hand. “I just wanted to try and help out for once.” Her lips quiver as she struggles to hold back her emotions.

  Dropping to my knees in front of her, I pull her hands into mine. “It’s okay, Mom. Everything will be okay.” My reassurances sound empty even to my own ears. At the doctor’s appointment the other day, they told us they still weren’t sure if the cancer was gone. When they said they still needed a few more tests, Mom broke down. “Come on. Let’s eat and forget about everything for a bit, huh?” Gently, I tip her chin up with my finger and swipe away the tears tracking down her cheeks. She nods subtly and we eat in comfortable silence.

  When the phone rings an hour later, I’m elbow deep in dishes. “Ma!” I call into the living room. “Can you get that?” She doesn’t answer and the phone keeps ringing. Swiping a towel from the counter, I dry off my hands and pick up the phone.

  “Hello?”

  A cough sounds through the line, followed by a very formal greeting. “May I speak with Mr. Owen Carmichael?”

  “This is he.” I match his formality, though the worry that it’s one of Mom’s doctors is bubbling at the surface. Realizing that he asked for me and not her calms me enough to finish the conversation.

  He introduces himself as a Simon O’Neilll, a lawyer. “I’m terribly sorry to inform you, but your father passed away.” Simply by mentioning him, my world tilts slightly off its axis and I sink into a chair. When the lawyer sa
ys a few hellos, I realize I haven’t said anything. In all honesty, my father has been dead to me for quite some time.

  “Are you still there?”

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah. I’m here.” All formality is gone, replaced by shock. “What do you want?” my question a snap of anger.

  “We are reading his will tomorrow. There are a few items for which we need your attention.” He rambles on telling me the address of the place I need to be tomorrow.

  “And if I don’t show?” Not a single part of me is curious to see what he’s left to me. The man hasn’t been a part of my life ever, and now that he’s gone, he wants to give me something to remember him by. Isn’t that the definition of irony?

  The man’s voice stammers, trying desperately to fill the awkward silence. “We’ll still need you to sign over what he’s left you,” he says, his voice laced with trepidation. I’m sure that not showing up will make things more difficult for him. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little interested to see what I had inherited. Because up to this point, all I can thank him for is a lifetime of struggling.

  After scribbling down the address and his number, I hang up and try to let everything I’ve just learned in the last five minutes stop swirling through my brain. Mom hobbles past me. “I’m off to bed, honey. I’ll see you in the morning.” She bends down and kisses my cheek, and for the briefest second, I consider telling her what I’ve just learned, but the haggard and tired look on her face makes me think better of it. “Night, Mom.” Standing next to her, I help her down the hall into her room. She used to sleep upstairs, but since she’s been sick, it’s easier for her to stay on the first floor.

  After trekking up to my own room, I flop down on the bed, fold my arms under my pillow, and contemplate the implications that tomorrow’s meeting holds. The last thought running through my head before I fall asleep is of how foolish I thought I was trying to run away from my past.