“Well, I overheard the twins talking about that guy, D or Dom or Derm or something.”
“Dermott.”
“Whatever. Apparently Gracie’s phone is off, and the guy keeps calling here and being weird. They think something happened between them. Looks like your little perfect worth-it girl is a bit of a slut.”
Sasha looks satisfied with herself as every muscle in my face, neck, and chest tightens. My heart hammers as I try to figure out my thoughts, but the only one that is clear and concise and makes any sense is the need to see if she’s okay. That’s all I care about. Is she okay?
My feet start moving, and I back away from my sister. She’s playing the hurt game. Say the most hurtful thing you can just to prove you win. I shake my head. I don’t want to play this game right now, but I don’t stop myself from laughing at her. A short mean scoff as I gesture to her with my hand.
“Coming from the girl who got caught screwing some other woman’s husband on the day of our father’s funeral. When she was seventeen… Real classy, sis. Maybe you should think before you say things. Maybe you of all people should realize that sometimes decisions are made for much deeper reasons. When your halo starts shining, then you can start judging people, okay?”
Sasha’s mouth hangs open. I win. When it comes to mistakes, my sister’s a pro. I know why she makes most of them. I know where her behavior really comes from. Sasha acted out when Dad got sick. Started living recklessly. Disrespecting herself and everyone around her. She wanted everyone to feel the pain she felt. I handled it differently. I internalized it. Only wanted me to feel pain. I tried to save people from pain, to show as much love and affection as I could to any girl that wanted it. Smothering them with gifts and money and time in the studio to record. When I started to realize I couldn’t save them, when the pain came back, I bailed. I knew I was being used, which made it easier to run, but it also kept the hurt inside. I lived in it by thinking I deserved to be used. Just like Sasha lived in her pain by inflicting it on everyone around her.
For a moment, I feel like apologizing. I hate fighting with my sister, but I also hate how quick she judges without ever turning inward to take a look at herself. She needs to hear it. Or I need to say it. I don’t know which one is true. All I really to know is I have to see if Gracie’s okay.
I spin around and leave my sister still shocked, still unable to respond.
***
Gracie sits on the thick wooden railing of her porch, her knees pulled tightly into her chest with the blanket still wrapped around her. She leans against the huge pillar that holds up the awning and stares blankly at the rain, coming down in sheets. The hammering of the drops on the roof creates a rhythm that, mixed with the expression on her face, fills me with sadness. There’s that need to wrap her up. To save her. But Gracie doesn’t need saving. Gracie needs to be real. With herself.
“I just needed fresh air. Don’t come close or you’ll catch whatever it is I have.” She doesn’t look at me, and her voice is flat. She’s living inside her head, and she’s almost as good as me at locking it away. But I’m better, which means I notice it.
“I don’t think I can catch what you have, Gracie.” I lean against the rail at her feet, and she turns a hard stare my way.
“I know something happened. You don’t have to tell me. I just need to know you’re okay.” I touch her knee, and she jerks back.
“I’m fine. Nothing happened.” She’s a terrible liar. A great manipulator but a terrible liar.
“Alright. I like to come outside and stare at the rain and look like someone just drowned my pet kitten when I’m fine, too. Maybe I’ll join you.” I pull my legs up and lean against the opposite pillar and rest my feet against hers. The corner of her mouth twitches, and she moves her toes against mine. The blanket falls off her shoulder exposing her arm and the little leather book that is clutched in her hand like it’s her life force.
“What’s really in that book, anyway?” I nod toward it, and she shakes her head.
“Poems written by my mother.” She turns her head away and continues to watch the rain, but her eyes become shiny, and she looks up to stop whatever’s happening behind them.
“No, Gracie. I know that. What’s really in that book?”
The tear that falls has nothing on me because I’m up and sitting at her feet before it hits the porch. I’m straddling the rail, sitting on her feet with her hands in mine around that book. Her eyes are wide as she looks around.
“Your dad’s not here. He’s with Diana. I don’t give a shit what your brothers think.”
Another tear falls, and she tightens her grip on the book, pulling her hands from mine.
“You should care what my brothers think. And you shouldn’t want to be here with me. You shouldn’t because you’re leaving anyway. You shouldn’t care about what’s really in this book.”
“But I do.”
I grab her legs and throw them over mine so I can get closer to her. Her eyes are wide and scared. I’ve never seen this look on her. I didn’t know this look could exist on her face. Torn. Defeated. Terrified.
“You had sex with him, didn’t you?” I am not sure if I should say it until I do, but it’s definitely the right button. Or wrong button, depending on how you look at it.
Her lip trembles violently, and the one or two tears gathered in the corners of her eyes turn into a flood. Her face contorts, and my heart breaks for her. The first time is never good. Maybe it is for some people, but it definitely was not for me. More like an embarrassing disaster.
I lightly pull on her arms, and she flings herself at me so hard we almost fall off the railing. I hug her tight to my chest as she sobs into me. Her breathing comes in hiccups and coughs and short choking bursts.
I rub her back, squeeze her tight, stroke her hair. Everything about her feels good to me, and I don’t want to leave her, even though she’ll push me away. Even though I might run. I listen to her cry. I hear the thunder roll in on the horizon. The rain has calmed the dust, and the air is wet and clean smelling. I feel her shaking in my arms. It makes me feel strangely calm. This is life. It’s a weird time to re-prioritize, but as the storm resets the world and a girl is crumbling in my arms, I think about how unimportant most of the things I worry about are. The things I’m afraid of suddenly don’t matter.
I lean back and take Gracie’s puffy face in my hands.
“I’m so sorry, Bentley. You should hate me. I hate me,” she chokes out, and I frown.
“Why would you say that?”
She starts sobbing again, and I hug her again so she can calm her tears and slow her breathing.
“After what you did for me. After everything you’ve done. I just ruined it. I just ruin everything. I wish I didn’t.”
“Graceland, it’s not like you’re my girlfriend. Yes, it’s kinda shitty that I tell you I care about you and you immediately go to him, but I think I get it. As long as he didn’t hurt you.”
She shakes her head vigorously. “No, it was me. I was mad. I was lonely. I was desperate. Stupid. I started it. Dermott is a great guy. I’ve known him forever. It was after. After that I just. I just. Felt empty.” Her sentences are choppy as she tries to catch her breath.
“Like you weren’t ready?”
She looks down into her lap.
“It’s that I was the last one of my friends. It’s a stupid reason. I just wanted the memory. But it’s not perfect.”
“What is your obsession with perfection and these memories? I’ve heard it from you, your dad, your brothers, Lacy, and almost everyone else I’ve met.”
Gracie holds the book out to me, and I stare at it. She pushes it closer to me, and I take it. The book falls open in my hands to a cracked and broken piece of the spine. This page is obviously the most visited of them all.
When happy is sad/and fear swallows joy/when life is thrust upon us/the imperfect glares/it’s all around, all around/it never leaves, it’s always there/the only time it fades/is wh
en I’m alone/with the air/Under the dusty sky
At first I don’t understand. It’s just a poem.
“You collect perfect memories because your mom wrote a poem about life being imperfect?” I don’t mean for it to come out so disbelieving, but I never would have thought something her mother wrote years ago would literally dictate her life.
Gracie points to the date and now I get it. That’s kind of a downer poem to write on the day her child was born.
“I’m the reason she left. I’m only eleven months younger than the twins. Four of us in just over two years. I wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m the imperfect.”
She starts to cry again, and I take her chin. “Do you know that for sure? Have you ever talked to your dad about it?”
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t talk about her. Not ever.”
“Have you tried?”
She shakes her head again.
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t know I have it. I stole it when I was ten. He was so mad when it went missing that I’m still scared to tell him I did it.”
I laugh.
“Seriously? Your dad thinks you’re the poster child of perfection. He’d forgive you in a heart beat.”
“You don’t understand, Ben. Not for this.”
“I doubt that, Gracie. Just do your eye thing and tell him you’re sad and he’ll fold.” I try to lighten things up a bit, because with the rain and the sadness it’s just too much.
Tears are still rolling down her cheeks, but I see a tiny smile pull at the corners of her mouth.
“What eye thing?”
“The one that gets you everything you want.”
Her eyes shift down.
“It didn’t get me you.” Her voice is basically a whisper under the spattering of rain on the roof. I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yeah it did. Just not in the way you’d planned.” I cup her neck with my hand and force her to look at me.
“Don’t, Ben.” Her voice is suddenly serious, and I drop my hand from her face.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t be nice to me. Touch me like that when you know I don’t deserve it. Don’t care about me when you know you shouldn’t. Just stop being nice. Especially because you’re leaving. You can’t care if you’re just going to leave.” Her chest is rising and falling fast and fresh tears form.
“Then tell me to stay,” I say flatly, and her eyes lock onto mine. She doesn’t respond.
“You pretend you don’t care, and you’re right here. How is that different? Be real with me, Graceland. Tell me to stay, and I’ll stay,” I continue.
“But your sister?” she stutters, unable to look at me now.
“To hell with Sasha. To hell with your mom. Forget about everyone who’s telling you what you are and just be you. What do you want?” I’m getting irritated, but I move closer to her despite the frustration.
“Ben, I can’t—“ she starts, and I shake my head.
“I’m not asking you to love me. Or marry me. Or even date me. Jesus Graceland, I’m not asking you for forever. I’m asking you if you want me to stay. I’m asking you for right now.”
Her eyes dart everywhere but at me. Her hands shake, so I take them in mine and place her palms on my chest.
“I like you, Gracie. I want to be around you. I want to touch you and find any ridiculous reason to do so. I care about you. But the real you. I said that in the barn the other day, and it’s still true. I can’t stay, though, if you won’t say it. I won’t stay if you can’t tell me what you want. What you truly want from me. I won’t play along with your perfect memories. You can’t pull shit like you did the other day. It doesn’t have to be much, but it has to be real. I can’t take any more pretending.”
Her arms are tense, and her fingers dig into my chest. I wonder if she can feel how fast my heart is beating. I think this is the most real I’ve been with anyone, too. It’s true. I am sick of pretending. I want something real, something that isn’t based on sex, or money, or lies, or insecurity. I don’t know why Gracie always has this way of making me feel like I’m 'the girl' in our messed up situation, but here I am, giving her an ultimatum, heart pounding, telling her I want to be friends as well as more.
But she doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing but rain now like a torturous rhythmic beating that keeps in time with my heart and works its way into my ears, drowning out everything else.
After a while, her facial expression hasn’t changed. She’s torn and tortured. Her thoughts swirl around behind her unfocused eyes. I drop her hands from my chest and push back. The movement startles her, but I’m already halfway to the door. Halfway gone.
CHAPTER 26
Graceland
“Stay!” The word is louder and way more desperate than I wanted it to be. Bentley spins as I scramble to pull my leg over the railing and hop down onto the porch. He has that neutral thinking face on, but his gaze envelops me and pulls me toward him.
He’s right. I like him. I don’t love him. This isn’t forever. He has to leave at the end of the summer, but if I let him go now I’ll never know him the way I want to. Better.
“Stay?” he asks.
“Yes, I want you to stay.”
I open my arms, and he steps into them, sliding his hands around my waist. I wrap my blanket around us both and drop my mom’s journal on the ground behind him so I can hold him right.
“Why?” He grins down at me, and I finally feel like I can smile again. Not a full real one but half hidden and almost honest.
“I kinda want to get to know you better,” I say and press my lips together, hoping he gets it. He does. A kiss for everything he learns about me.
He leans in for a short soft kiss that does more to my heart and my mind than any full-on make-out session has ever done before he pulls me into his chest. Guilt washes over me as the realization of what I did sinks in yet again. Not that I feel bad because of Bentley, because he’s obviously a lot more sane than I am. I feel bad because of me. This is a memory that won’t go away. My mistake. Just like I was my mom’s mistake. I dragged Dermott into it when I shouldn’t have. I wanted it so badly I didn’t think about him.
How I hurt Lacy, Dermott, and Bentley rips at my chest, and I hug Ben tighter. How I yelled at my dad for wanting to be happy, for trying to be happy. How I made sure my brother and my best friend felt guilty about how they felt for each other. All because of her. But Ben’s right.
“I’m going to talk to him.” I mumble into Ben’s chest, and he pulls back to look at me.
“Who?” he asks, and my chest constricts. I have a lot of people to apologize to.
“My dad. I’ll give him back the book. I’ll ask him. He probably won’t tell me, but I’ll ask.”
Ben touches my face for the millionth time, but I lean into it. In this moment, I feel like I’ll never tire of it. I want him to touch my face always, with that gentle tentative stroke of his thumb across my cheek. In this moment. That’s what he asked for. For right now.
Not the future. Not forever.
Right now.
The Ben feeling pushes out all my fear and all my memories as he soaks me up with those eyes.
“I want to kiss you. But I need to know you’re okay. With it, I mean. You’ve had a pretty intense weekend.”
He chuckles under his breath, but his eyes are so serious.
“I’m not okay. Not yet. But I like you, Bentley. I always have. I just didn’t want to. I’ve never had the Ben Feeling before.”
His eyebrows pull sharply together. “The Ben Feeling?”
My face heats up.
“The way I feel when I’m around you. I’ve never felt it before, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I tried to hide from it. Make it go away, no matter what. But it’s still here. It’s here right now, in every part of me. I’m scared of it, but now I don’t want it to go away. I wish I would have listened to it earlier.”
I barely take
a breath after finishing, and Ben has me wrapped up in his arms, his lips on mine. He’s crushing me to his body, like he’s trying to pull me inside, and I do the same. It’s a kiss I’ve never experienced before. Not hungry but urgent, not frantic but passionate, not slow but almost as if it’s happening in slow motion. Everything else is gone. Nothing else matters but right now. Not the apologies I have to make, not the friendships I have to mend, not the forgiving of myself I have to do.
In this moment.
I can feel him. I can hear him. I can taste him, because I’m living in him right now.
It’s not a memory to collect. It’s not a feeling that I’ve sculpted to fit some idea.
It’s real.
It’s happening right now.
It’s beyond perfect.
CHAPTER 27
Graceland
My heart sputters as I step into the kitchen. I take one more quick look at Ben through the screen door. He smiles encouragingly at me before turning and heading out to the field.
The sunlight stretches across the huge kitchen, making it bright and warm and inviting. Dad’s sitting in his spot at the table, sipping his coffee and reading the paper. Today should be warm enough to dry out the rest of the hay so they can continue harvesting, so Dad looks happy. He always smiles as he reads the paper when the weather is good. He looks up as I cut a shadow in the light.
“Morning, Bug. You done your chores?” He still sounds a little mad at me, but I guess I don’t blame him. I was a total bitch.
Clutching the book behind my back, I shift back and forth a few times before he picks up on my discomfort and frowns. I don’t know how to start. I didn’t think about how to start.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and I decide just to go for it. I place the book in front of him, and it falls open to the page of my birthday entry.
I’ve never seen his eyes so wide. The color drains from his face, and his eyes flash with so many things it scares me.
“Where did you get this?” He scoops up the book and looks at the page, his eyes filling with sadness, which looks unnatural on him.
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