by Talley, Liz
So his shot had been wide right. He sighed and turned onto Sunny’s street. “That’s enough, KC. You’re being ugly, and it’s too early to deal with this. Let me talk to your mother.”
“Whatever. You always take up for Landry,” his darling, precious daughter said.
His ex-wife sounded out of breath when she answered the phone. “Hey, what’s up?”
“You tell me.”
“What do you mean by that?” Jillian asked, sounding annoyed. She always sounded annoyed when she talked to him. Gone was all pretense of sweetness. That meant the kids were out of earshot.
“They call me, fighting over pens. Like I can do something from here. What’s going on there?”
“Don’t call me and accuse me of something, Henry. Things are crazy here. Mary Ellen’s getting married, this kid is sitting on my bladder, and Eddie just had a manager quit. If you have a problem with how I’m doing, make the attempt to be more present in their lives rather than calling and criticizing me.”
Henry shook his head, wishing he’d hung up instead of asking to talk to his ex-wife. “I’m not criticizing, Jill. I’m asking if everything is okay. Katie’s giving me attitude, and—”
“When does she not give attitude?” Jillian interrupted, the slightest hint of humor in her voice. “That child was born giving us attitude. Oh, and we need to discuss Landry’s punishment for getting behind the wheel and having an accident. He needs to share in paying for the repairs. We’re lucky the owner of the motorcycle didn’t file charges. That could have been disastrous. I think Landry understands he could have been in way bigger trouble.”
“He’s going to help Dad paint the barn, and I told him he’d be punished,” Henry said, trying to relax his grip on the steering wheel as he turned into Sunny’s driveway.
“Two weeks with no video games and no outings with friends sound good?”
“Perfect,” he said, watching Sunny exit the old house. The shutters needed a new coat of paint, and the porch sagged in the middle. He could send some guys over to run support beams underneath. If Sunny would let him. Stubborn woman.
“Katie Clare said something about the motorcycle owner being an old girlfriend. She’s not talking about Sunny, is she?” Jillian’s tone hardened. Sunny had always been a point of contention between them. In fact, Sunny had unknowingly ended their marriage. No, that wasn’t exactly true. More like the torch he carried for Sunny had ended his marriage.
He and Jillian had tried damned hard to make their relationship work. Jillian had been the perfect mother—warm, silly, and ever present. She had social connections, made their four-bedroom house feel more home than showplace, and took great care with her appearance. He should have adored her, wept at her feet to have such an extraordinary, saintly wife. But he hadn’t… because he’d given his heart away to Sunny long ago and had not asked for it back.
And deep down, he supposed Jillian had always known that.
Which hadn’t been fair to the girl he’d met at an Ole Miss mixer the fall of his freshman year. His mother had all but shoved him toward the willowy brunette, gushing over her grandfather who’d served as governor for eight years. Jillian had been easy to talk to, a nice stand-in for Sunny at the homecoming game and at winter formal. He’d held her hand when escorting her and draped his arm about her shoulders for party pics, but he’d never been into her the way she’d been into him. He’d been waiting for Sunny to get to Ole Miss so they could be what they’d always been—together. But a little something called Jim Beam had other plans.
Okay, not just Jim Beam.
He and Sunny had fought. Technically, they’d been broken up at the time, but they still talked every week and tried to see each other when they could. That day she’d called to tell him about her gown for the Miss Morning Glory High pageant. She’d been so excited about the dress her aunt had helped her sew and had mentioned that Chris Havens had told her how good she looked in it. Of course, he now knew Chris was gay, but back then he’d been seized by such jealousy he’d lashed out at Sunny and let it slip he was taking Jillian to Old South, Kappa Alpha’s biggest social event, that night. Their conversation had ended in tears with Sunny refusing to answer any more calls from him and declaring she would accept the scholarship to Mississippi State instead of going to Ole Miss.
That night he’d gotten wasted, and so had Jillian. And when Jillian drank vodka, she got frisky, and Henry had used the condom he carried in his wallet… a condom he’d carried around for four years… a condom that had expired.
He couldn’t undo what he’d done.
His first time was supposed to have been with the girl he loved, but Sunny had sworn she wouldn’t have sex until she was out of high school. They’d gotten close to actually going all the way too many times to name, but Sunny always came to her senses. She’d been firm—she wasn’t getting pregnant. She was going to college and making something of herself before she got married or had a baby. And Sunny was stubborn as hell.
The afternoon after the party, Sunny called him and apologized. She’d been nervous about the pageant. Henry had wanted to put the mistake he’d made the night before behind him. He told her he was sorry for being jealous and drove home to spend a few days of spring break with her. He’d tried to forget about Jillian and the condom… until Jillian cornered him in the library and told him the mistake he’d made would be one he’d pay for over a lifetime.
“Henry?” Jillian interrupted his thoughts of past mistakes. “Is she talking about Sunny?”
“Actually, she is.”
“Well, I bet you’re just loving that, aren’t you?” Though Jillian was happily in love with Eddie, she still carried resentment against him. And Sunny, obviously.
“Not really, Jillian. Sunny hates my guts. Not much fun dealing with someone who hates you.”
Silence met his response.
“I need to go,” he said, watching as the subject of the conversation emerged from the house.
“Yeah. Right,” Jillian said before hanging up.
“Shit,” Henry breathed, clicking off his phone and shoving it into the holder.
Sunny opened the truck door and climbed inside. She smelled like fall. Like campfire marshmallows, vanilla, and pumpkin pie. Like the way home should smell. He longed to drop down on a pile of leaves with her, nuzzle her neck, explore the petal-soft skin beneath the cowl-neck sweater she wore.
She pulled the door closed. “Morning.”
“Good morning. Coffee,” he said, nodding at the cup awaiting her.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.” He backed out of the drive once she clicked her belt into place. When they were on their way, he said, “You smell good.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Eden left some lotion behind. I’m not much on perfume, but this cold is drying my skin out. Think it’s called pumpkin soufflé. Out of season, but beggars can’t be choosy.”
Why had he said anything? She probably thought he was a nut. “I might pick some up for my mom. She likes stuff like that.”
“And how is Miss Annaleigh? Still chairing committees and designing the perfect life for her only child?” Sunny smiled, but her words held an edge.
“She’s older and less involved in social things.”
“Huh,” Sunny said, turning her head and staring out into the gray morning. Even as a teen, Sunny had known the score with Henry’s mother. She knew the woman was opposed to her son dating someone from the wrong side of the tracks. Not that Annaleigh was openly hostile or anything. His mother would never be so crass. She was a Southern lady, after all.
The phone rang. Jillian’s number. He ignored it.
Sunny glanced over at him before returning her study to the trees flashing past. The mood was definitely uncomfortable.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, Deet said the part should be in by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”
“My mother’s van might be ready by then. Or not. We had to send it to Jackson to get the tr
ansmission fixed. They don’t seem too concerned about getting to it.”
“No worries. I’m going to the school anyway, so…” He wondered what to say next. Maybe just I’m sorry.
He should rent her a car from Townplace Autoplex. Surely Bryce Barham had loaners he’d be willing to lease for a week or so. Then Henry wouldn’t have to be trapped in a cab fifteen minutes each way with someone who hated him, who blamed him, who still made his heart squeeze into a tight fist of regret and desire.
“Yeah,” she said, her attention seemingly outside the cab. “Like I said, I appreciate it.”
A minute passed and he turned up the radio. The Eagles begged him to take it easy, and he rather thought that was good advice. Pick her up, take her to work and back home again. Take it easy because there was no need to do anything the hard way.
He pulled around to the parking lot because buses crowded the loop. Teens poured out, mingling in the cold morning, their breath making small puffs of air as they punched each other on the arm, high-fived, and clumped together like magnetic shavings. “What time will you be done?”
Sunny paused with a hand on the handle. “Uh, I’m not sure. Around four?”
“That should work for me. Hope your day is good.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said, her voice sounding a bit lighter. “I’m nervous, which is silly. I handled multiple high-level tasks for my last company, but somehow dealing with teenagers makes me feel like one all over again.”
“You’ll do great.”
“Or die trying.” She gave him a half smile. Just that little twitch of her lips did something to him. Damn, he was such a fool, and he hated himself for taking pleasure in something she tossed his way so easily.
Sunny slid out of the truck, taking her lunch bag with her. When she planted her feet, she glanced back at him. “Thanks again.”
“Sure. The least I could do.”
“No, you didn’t have to be kind, but then again, you’re Henry and always kind. Mostly.” Then she closed the door with enough force to make him wonder about those last words.
Henry watched her walk toward the front office. She wore black boots that encased slim legs and a dress the color of wild plums. Her hair looked too bright against her creamy skin, but she still looked good, which was probably why a clump of boys wearing Morning Glory High letterman jackets turned to watch her enter the school. Something ugly reared inside him for an instant—that age-old, primitive need to smash faces in and toss Sunny over his shoulder and run off to his cave.
Mine.
But she wasn’t.
Henry shifted into Drive and started down the hill to the construction area.
Not even close.
Sunny studied the jumbled folders in the drawer. Each had odd initials and made no flipping sense at all. She shoved the drawer closed and watched as a sloe-eyed beauty wearing a short skirt and too-tight shirt made her way to the attendance desk.
“Oh hey,” she said, looking uncertain. “Uh, is Miss Melanie here?”
“No. She’s on medical leave. I’m Mrs. David, and I’ll be taking her place. Can I help you?”
“Um, yeah, so, like, I need to check out for fourth hour. Here’s my note.” She placed a piece of paper on the counter.
“Place it in the basket by the door,” Sunny said, gesturing to where Melanie Geter had the students deposit their excuses and notes for checking out. It was already quite full, and as soon as half the staff and faculty stopped coming in for coffee and welcoming her to MGHS, she’d get started on entering the information into the computer. “Come by between third and fourth hours to verify the checkout.”
“But Miss Melanie never makes me—”
“Sorry, but I need time to verify,” Sunny said, tapping at the computer because it made her look like she was doing something. “Once I get the hang of things, I’m sure we can go back to how Mrs. Geter was doing it.”
“’Kay,” the girl said, tossing her note into the basket and sashaying out.
Pushing in at her heels was a huge guy wearing a basketball jersey. “Yo, I need to get a temp ID.”
Sunny lifted her eyebrows. “A what?”
“Temp ID. Like over there.” He pointed toward a roll of stickers sitting on a table. On the table was a machine that made student IDs. Supposedly every student had to have an ID on a lanyard around their neck. The machine made the permanent IDs, but she didn’t know how to run it yet. Mrs. Yancey, the school secretary, had said she’d show her how to run it later in the day.
“Sure,” Sunny said, scooting her chair over to the table.
The giant slapped down three dollars and crossed his arms.
“What’s your name?”
“Woozy.”
She turned and looked at him. “Woozy?”
“Yeah, that’s what they call me.”
Sunny rolled back over to the computer. “What’s your legal name?”
“Aww, I don’t want Wayne written on my tag.”
Sunny gave him the look. The one she used on handsy coworkers and dumb asses in general.
Woozy’s shoulders sagged. “Fine. It’s Wayne Curtis Jefferson.”
Sunny carefully printed WAYNE “WOOZY” JEFFERSON on the temporary sticker. She peeled it off and handed it to him.
He glanced at it, gave a jerk of his head as approval, and then slapped it on his massive chest. “We cool.”
“Great.” Sunny spun back around toward the computer, trying to remember if there was a screen for making IDs. She’d only spoken to Melanie Geter briefly, jotting down indecipherable notes about the computer programs designed to make her life easier.
“Wait, who are you anyhow?” Woozy asked.
“Like that ID on your chest, I’m temporary.”
“’Cause Miss Melanie broke her leg?”
“Actually, I think it was her hip, but yeah, pretty much.”
“That’s cool and all,” he said, holding out his fist. Sunny stared at it before realizing he was giving her some kind of approval. “What they call you?”
She bumped her knuckles against his. “Mrs. David.”
“Aww, I can’t call you Mrs. David. That’s like for old ladies.”
She didn’t know what to say. Was he flirting with her or just being nice? “You don’t have to call me anything really. If you remember to bring your ID and stay out of trouble, you don’t even have to see me again.”
“Red.”
“Beg your pardon?” she asked.
“Your hair’s red. I’ma call you Red.” With that declaration, he pushed out the door. A bell rang, and the hall filled with noise and bodies. Her door bumped a few times, and a few kids opened it and placed their notes into the basket.
Red? Did kids give staff nicknames that they actually used? She and her friend used to call Mr. Trayner “Crypt Keeper,” but never to his face. Of course, she didn’t know much about kids these days at all, outside of what she saw on TV and social media. But maybe she was about to find out.
The door opened before she could reach for her phone to call and check on her mother.
Two hours later, she felt like she’d been run over by a Mack truck and left to be scraped off the pavement. Twenty-four students had come and gone through her door, along with the security guard, two teachers, and Mrs. Sarah Whitmore, who looked more like a polished executive than a high school principal.
“You can take a break for lunch now,” Marilyn McConnell said, appearing in Sunny’s doorway. Marilyn was the vice principal and had been at the school since the beginning of time. In fact, the woman was as much a fixture at the school as the school mascot, Benny the Buccaneer. “I can get Tina to cover for you.”
“I can eat in here unless you would rather I didn’t.”
“If you want to,” Marilyn said with a shrug, her otter earrings brushing her sweater, which featured frolicking kittens and balls of yarn. Marilyn either wore vintage 1985 because she was stuck there… or she could foresee brightly patterned sweaters ma
king a comeback. Lord, Sunny hoped that style didn’t make a comeback. “How’s your mama doing?”
“Still breathing.”
Marilyn snorted. “Tough cookie, ain’t she?”
“That’s putting it kindly.” Sunny allowed herself to smile. Betty had lived in Morning Glory most of her life, minus the couple of times she’d tried to get out with some guy or another. People in town knew her mother’s history. Hell, they knew Sunny’s history. To pretend anything else was like trying to fill a broken vase with water. “I’m trying to talk her into moving into the Arbor. She needs around-the-clock care and someone to make sure she doesn’t resurrect her coven when the moon is full.”
Marilyn laughed, leaning against the doorframe of her office. The woman wanted to talk. Sunny would rather not, but she knew how to get along in an office. She had several months ahead of her. Things were easier in a small Southern town when you at least pretended to be “one of them.” “You know, she was in the same class as I was. Of course, I didn’t know her well. I was a band nerd and she was… well, popular.”
“So I hear,” Sunny drawled but added a smile lest Marilyn think she was offended. She’d learned long ago to pretend away the shame of her mother’s past. “She’s digging in her heels about it, but I think some social stimulation would be good for her. Currently, she does nothing but watch police procedurals and try to sneak the cigarettes I’m trying to hide from myself.”
“How do you hide things from yourself?”
“It ain’t easy, but I’m good at it.” In fact, she was a freaking pro at hiding things from herself. Wasn’t bad at lying to herself either. That’s how a girl got through life sometimes. She just didn’t acknowledge the truth. No owning up to wishing she had someone to lean on, no more hoping for something good down the road. She also didn’t admit that she still stooped to pick dandelions, scattering the seeds while sending up useless wishes. But she did, because hell, it might just work.
“If I need tips at hiding things from myself, I’ll know who to go to.” Marilyn grinned.
“I’m a pro,” Sunny said, uncorking the thermos of coffee she’d packed and hadn’t had time to sample. She knew things were about to get hairy since many of the kids she’d managed to log into the system would be checking out around noon. “Oh, I wanted to ask you something. I found a stray dog a few days ago, and I’m looking to rehome it without taking it to the shelter. You don’t happen to know anyone looking for a family pet, do you? She’s a sweet dog.”