Secrets of Southern Girls

by Haley Harrigan

  It is beautiful, and she wishes that Reba could be there with her. The real Reba, and not some impossibly perfect idea. She wishes Reba had told her the truth all those years ago. She would have gotten angry like teenagers do, and they would have gotten past it, like good friends get past lies, even big ones. It’s a version of a fantasy she’s had a hundred times, probably, since finding out the truth, but now she sighs and lets it finally drift away. She can’t change any of it.

  It only took a few days for her anger to fade once she returned to New York, and she was glad, then, that she’d left the diary in the sealed envelope outside Toby’s gallery. Julie isn’t the same as Toby, isn’t vindictive like him, not really. She couldn’t keep Reba’s words from him, no matter that he held the truth from her for so many years. Toby’s pain isn’t the same as hers, she knows, but that doesn’t mean that his wounds aren’t real. She knows it was the right thing when she remembers the long scars along his wrists and how he’d crumbled to the floor at the mention of Reba’s name. Those paintings. And Julie had felt lighter once the journal was out her hands, out of her possession. Now it is gone, to Toby, where it will heal him or hurt him, she isn’t sure which.

  “Where are we meeting Daddy?” Beck asks.

  “On the bridge.”

  Beck laughs. “But which one?”

  “This one.” Julie watches the pigeons, gray-blue and shiny, pecking at the sidewalk. When she looks up, she sees Evan in the distance, walking toward them. These two beautiful, charming people—one of them is hers, and the other could be, maybe.

  He raises his hand in greeting, and Beck waves back frantically. Julie falters as they cross the bridge, though the wood is sturdy enough beneath her weight. When they reach him, his hands on hers feel crisp and dry as long-dead petals. And he isn’t enough.

  Evan takes Beck’s hand, and Julie kisses her good-bye. It’s a Friday afternoon, the start of Beck’s weekend with her father. Julie doesn’t watch them walk away, only turns back and crosses the bridge, one steady step at a time. A street vendor has a small kiosk set up near the bridge. “Flower, miss?” he asks as she approaches. He holds one out to her and she looks at it, the fragile droop of the bloom, the petals stained carmine. And she should know, as she pulls a few bills from her wallet and takes the flower on a whim, that something is about to change. But she walks alone, past the bridge and the water that is trickling along, unsure, but moving still.

  98

  August hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Jules since Lawrence Mill, can’t get her out of his head no matter how hard he tries. It’s brought him back here to New York, and now he’s standing outside her door. Same old song and dance. He doesn’t know what to expect, how she’ll react. Maybe it was over for her after Lawrence Mill. Maybe that strange night was more about closure for her than anything else, any kind of spark.

  Either way, whether she wants him or not, there’s still one last thing he hasn’t shared with her. One last confession he needs to make. And she’s not going to like it.

  Meeting Reba was never an accident. August had come to Lawrence Mill angry at his parents for pulling him out of his school in Richmond, where he was popular and well-liked. There was a girlfriend he’d left behind. It was the end of the world for him, being dragged to some godforsaken hick town in the middle of nowhere.

  He’d been bitter about the whole thing. For that first week, he wouldn’t even speak to his parents, just took his camera out and disappeared for hours. And then his dad had gotten grief from some asshole at work. August overheard his parents talking about it, and all at once, he had a new and narrow focus for his anger.

  Even before the Internet, finding someone was easy enough. When he knew the guy’s name, he’d gotten hold of the local Yellow Pages to find his home address. The plan for revenge was only half formed—eggs and toilet paper, maybe, some kind of property destruction. But when he went to scope out the house, he saw her. He knew her face. It was the girl from outside that rickety shack of a store, where he’d been snapping photos for a few days. When his flash had gone off, she’d stood up and stared right out at him. He hadn’t even known she was there.

  Gorgeous, young, sweet, and probably the apple of her racist father’s eye.

  And so his plans changed.

  He’d read in the paper about the whole debacle with Penny Decker and James Whoever. He knew what he was doing. He wanted to start something. He was dying to.

  It was easy enough to make sure that she saw him the next time he was out with his camera, to pretend that he was running away from her. To let her chase him.

  He’d wanted to make Reba fall for him, wanted her daddy to catch them together, wanted the whole damned town to know about it. Wanted to get his adolescent revenge. Mr. McLeod was the symbol of everything that had messed up his teenaged life, and he could do something about it. All he had to do was manipulate one pretty girl.

  He never thought he’d actually fall for Reba. He scrapped his entire plan after that afternoon in the flower shop, when he’d shown her his photographs and she’d talked about those lilies. Once he cared about her, it was impossible to take his revenge at her expense.

  But still. He’d gone looking for Reba, gone out with a mission—to use her for his own purposes. When he and Jules were back in Lawrence Mill together, she kept looking at him like he was some kind of saint, like he was the only honest thing in a river of lies. But he wasn’t, isn’t, and she needs to know.

  • • •

  Julie holds the lily to her nose as she walks home, breathing in the powerful fragrance, spinning the stem in her palm. The scent is so strong that, in the elevator up to her floor, she feels almost light-headed. Like being in Nell’s Flower Shop all over again, except now the aroma doesn’t invoke panic but something else, something heavy and sensual. She feels the strangest sense of anticipation that she doesn’t understand, until the elevator doors open again and she sees August standing outside her door. August, who should be in Virginia right now, back to his life, and not here in New York, pacing back and forth outside her door, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

  “Jules,” he says, his smile uncertain. His face is familiar and not, alluring and accepting, and she knows, as surely as she’d known since the night she arrived home from Lawrence Mill, though she hadn’t breathed a word of it, how much she’s missed him. How badly she wants to know him.

  “Yes,” she whispers, as the lily falls, forgotten, from her fingers to the carpeted floor of the hallway.

  • • •

  He can’t risk it, not now, with her looking at him like no one has in such a long time. Not with that smile on her face.

  Her embrace is warm and comforting and almost perfect. It probably doesn’t even matter that he can’t come clean.

  Reading Group Guide

  1. How does Reba’s diary serve as a narrative device within the story?

  2. What do you think is Julie’s central motivation for agreeing to return to Lawrence Mill?

  3. Who, if anyone, do you think is responsible for Reba’s death?

  4. How is the relationship between Julie and Evan similar to the relationship between Reba and August? How are the two relationships different?

  5. Why do you think Nell never told anyone (not even Toby) about Reba’s diary?

  6. How do you think Toby will react to Reba’s diary once he reads it? Will it change anything for him?

  7. Racism is an ugly stain on the town of Lawrence Mill. How would things have been different if Reba’s parents—and the town—had been more accepting of an interracial couple?

  8. Do you think Reba and Toby really loved each other, or was their relationship purely physical?

  9. Why is Reba’s innocence so important to Julie? Do you think people hold their friends to higher standards than the ones they set for themselves?

  10. In what ways is the deca
ying old mill a metaphor for the relationships in Julie’s life?

  A Conversation with the Author

  Where did you get the idea for Secrets of Southern Girls?

  I’ve always been interested in how a person’s past shapes and informs who they become in the present. I’m also fascinated by identity and self-awareness—how we see ourselves versus how other people see us. I knew I wanted to take those big concepts, add two teenage friends, and drop it all into a small town and see what happened. Things took off from there.

  Of all the relationships in the book, which one do you think is the most important?

  The friendship between Julie and Reba, definitely. Despite the romantic involvements, it’s the friendship between these two girls that really drives the story forward: what they each want out of their friendship, what they expect from each other, the secrets that drive them apart. Julie puts no store in romantic entanglements (until Evan, at least), but she carries the weight of this broken friendship with her for a decade.

  Why did you choose to make Reba and Julie’s friendship so pivotal to this story?

  I had a very clear picture in my mind of these two friends: one of them a free spirit who was quite intellectually and emotionally mature for her age and yet very innocent at the same time, and the other who had a certain level of sexual maturity but lacked that emotional knowledge. I was enamored by their friendship, and I wondered what kinds of trouble they’d get themselves into, both together and on their own.

  What was your inspiration for the town of Lawrence Mill?

  I grew up in a small town in the south, which gave me some logistical inspiration (mainly, the mill itself). But I wanted to create a town where not everything is friendly and charming and happy. I wanted to create a town that had some ugly to it, that had a dark side. The racism in Lawrence Mill isn’t exactly a secret. I think that, unfortunately, that’s not too far removed from reality for some small towns in the south, even today. It’s something that I was afraid to write about, and that’s how I knew it was something I needed to write about.

  Which character from Secrets of Southern Girls was your favorite to write?

  Believe it or not, Toby was my favorite. He’s a complete mess, but I was so invested in his journey. Throughout the writing process, his voice was the one that came to me the clearest.

  There’s music in the background in many of the pivotal moments in Secrets of Southern Girls. Why did you choose to make music so prominent?

  A few reasons. One is that I love nineties alternative music, and I was excited for a chance to make it part of this story. The other is that I think there is a special relationship we have with music when we’re growing up, where a song can have a powerful, lasting effect. I don’t think we are quite as susceptible to that power as adults. It made sense to me that in those very intense moments between Reba and Toby, not only would there be music playing, but they would notice it.

  How long have you been writing?

  For as long as I can remember. My grandpa had this shiny electric typewriter when I was a kid, and I remember the first time he let me use it. I fell in love. I would sit there for as long as he’d let me, typing story after story. Luckily, the stories have evolved (somewhat) since then.

  Where do you find inspiration for your writing?

  Everywhere. Mostly, by trying to pay attention to everyday life. I find that the ideas I take the farthest are based on one very mundane kernel of truth, turned around and around until something that began as commonplace ends up as something else, something twisted and complicated.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank the following people for helping bring this book to life, and for being simply wonderful humans in general.

  Hugs and kisses for my mom, for instilling in me a radical notion that I could do and be anything. I believed you. To Papa, for bringing me back down to earth—as only a dad can—when I let that radical notion get out of hand. You’re the best in a crisis. Thank you for your advice and love.

  To Mike, my dad (some of us get two), for never saying no to five-year-old me when I showed up at your recliner with a stack of children’s books and the demand that you READ.

  My grandparents, for all the stories. I hope you never read this book but are proud of me anyway.

  To my wonderful team at New Leaf Literary & Media. All of the glitter and confetti for Suzie Townsend, the best agent a girl could ask for. I can’t thank you enough for all of your hard work to make my dream a reality. Sara Stricker, you are a ray of sunshine. Thank you to Hilary Pecheone, Kathleen Ortiz, Mia Roman, Pouya Shahbazian, and Chris McEwen. I’d be nowhere without you.

  To the wonderful folks at Sourcebooks. Shana Drehs, you are an incomparable editor. Your insight has made this book so much better, and being on this journey with you has been so much fun! Thank you for making my debut experience fantastic. Thanks to Liz Kelsch, Heather Hall, Adrienne Krogh, Danielle McNaughton, Heather Morris, Valerie Pierce, and Heidi Weiland. I’m so grateful to have you all in my corner.

  To Philip Lee Williams: literary mastermind, mentor, and, most importantly—friend. Your guidance, support, and wisdom have brought me back every time I thought about walking away from the writing life.

  To Whitney Hoffman: reader, editor, and sweet friend. And Jason Lemper, Man of Honor for life. I could fill a book with our antics.

  To Jess Dallow, who first plucked my little story from obscurity. I’m so grateful to call you my friend.

  To Quentin and Barkley, my two furry babies, for all of the love and snuggles. You’ve both made my life so much better.

  To my 17 Scribes debut group: I’ve learned so much from all of you, and I’m grateful to have had such a wonderful support system during this year.

  To Brenda Drake, fairy godmother of the writing world. Thank you for all you do.

  To my coworkers at my day job. Thanks for making every day fun!

  Finally, to Patrick. For keeping our house from falling down around us while I chase my dream. For being my moral compass. For making me smarter. For everything you do, and everything you are. I love you.

  About the Author

  Photo credit: Anne Yarbrough of Anne Yarbrough Photography

  Haley Harrigan lives in Athens, Georgia, with her husband and their adorably quirky Yorkshire Terrier. She holds degrees in creative writing and public relations from the University of Georgia. This is her debut.

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