One of them had their life together and one of them didn’t really have a life at all.
She made it to Country Aire in record time. Booming bass music came from one trailer, and people spilled outside to huddle around a fire pit, still celebrating. The smoky air rocketed her back to days of hot dogs on sticks and s’mores. Time had a way of softening the rough edges of her memories like a river smoothing a stone.
But her life hadn’t been idyllic back then. A mother lost forever. A father who was often at work. A stepmother whom she viewed as competition for her father’s attention and love. She shook her childhood away while she changed into jeans and a T-shirt. None of that was important.
Pack. She needed to pack up and move on. If she’d done this weeks ago, she could have avoided the pain. But through the cracks of her heart, other memories seeped out. Jackson’s eyes, sad but offering absolution, as she’d poured out her shame. His gentleness with her in bed and out. Taking care of her and River when she’d been too proud to ask for help.
He wasn’t perfect. He was stubborn as a donkey and as serious as an undertaker. His black-and-white attitude sometimes made him intractable, but he was willing to forgive his mother and give her a second chance. Not only that but he’d waded through all Willa’s grayness and still loved her.
He loved her, and she loved him. The acceptance swept from her heart and through her body like a gentle wave, uncovering the truth that had been etched there for a long time and only now was truly believed. Whether she saw herself as deserving or not didn’t change the facts.
And here she was running away from the best thing to ever happen to her because it had gotten complicated and difficult like the rest of life. But that was just … life. Hard as hell and tragic and horrible, interspersed with joy and laughter and love. Maybe the trick was making sure the joy outweighed the tragic.
She wouldn’t be surprised to see a lightbulb hovering over her head. Or Oprah giving her an ironic handclap for her aha moment.
She’d told Sutton no one could help her, but that wasn’t true. She could help herself. She was tired of hiding and even more so of running. Maybe things with Jackson were destroyed beyond repair; maybe they weren’t. But the only way they stood a chance of moving forward together was if she stopped, turned around, and faced her past.
The decision felt inevitable, as if the road had led to this moment since she’d landed in Cottonbloom and Abbott Garage. She looked around the trailer, but not with the resignation she’d battled earlier.
She swung the straps of the duffel over her shoulder, but left everything else and locked the door behind her. She didn’t want anyone stealing her library books. She would be back, one way or another, to settle things.
Chapter Nineteen
Jackson ran to the middle of the road and watched the taillights of his Mustang fade. River was on his heels, her bark interspersed with sad-sounding whines. He yelled the one curse word that would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap as a kid. It echoed in the still night. Willa had disappeared. Maybe forever.
“What’s going on?” Mack’s voice was sleepy. “Was that your precious car spitting rocks down the road?”
The cold seeped into Jackson’s feet along with the pain of sharp gravel. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans and jogged to Mack’s front door.
“Willa took off in my Mustang.”
Mack jerked his head toward the door, and Jackson followed. “Gone for good?”
“Hell if I know.” His usually even temper was rocky and volatile. He wanted to hit someone. Too bad Ford wasn’t available. A dark humor welled out of his anger and hurt. Willa would have thought that was funny.
“We could call the sheriff.”
“I’m not going to have her arrested, for goodness sake. I love her.”
“I know, but I wasn’t sure if you loved your car more.” Mack’s lips twitched. Even if it wasn’t a real smile, Jackson was glad to see the evening’s events hadn’t sent Mack spiraling into a funk. “You have any ideas where she went?”
“A guess? Back to her trailer to pack up. After that, I don’t know. Somewhere she can disappear.”
“If she’s packing up her life, then we should be able to catch her. I’ll put on some pants.” Mack retreated to his bedroom. His voice drifted out. “You want to go back to the loft for shoes or borrow a pair of mine?”
Jackson leaned in the bedroom doorway. Mack was pulling on a sweatshirt. The room had been their pop’s before Mack had taken over. He’d put his stamp on the room and the house, just as he had the garage, but much remained of their childhood. One bedroom still housed the bunk beds Jackson and Wyatt had shared.
A framed picture of all the brothers plus their pop was hanging on the wall. They were younger back then, their current troubles not reflected on their faces, but they were there, growing like a cancer under the surface of their smiles.
Mack tossed him boots and a pair of socks. “Don’t want your foot fungus.”
“Har-har.” Urgency squatted on his chest and he slipped them on while stumbling his way to the door. River was waiting on the porch and jumped into Mack’s truck before Jackson could stop her. “You mind?”
“Nah. She can ride along.” Mack ruffled the dog’s head.
Jackson had a feeling Willa kept a bag packed and leaving would be a matter of minutes, not hours. His impatience must have bled into the cab, because Mack drove fast.
“What do you think Pop would’ve said about Ford selling his share to an outsider if he was alive?” Mack asked.
Jackson was grateful to transfer his worries, however temporary. “I don’t think Ford would have sold if Pop had lived. Even though he didn’t want the life Pop built, Ford loved him and wanted to make him proud.”
The radio was off, but the heater and the tires on the road filled the gaps.
“What does Ella Boudreaux want?” Mack asked softly.
“My girlfriend stole my car and ran off in the middle of the night. You think I understand women?”
Mack’s laugh settled like a security blanket, and Jackson couldn’t help but join him. Maybe they’d be all right after all. After their laughter dwindled, Jackson said, “Look, Ella Boudreaux can’t be worse than Tarwater, can she? She might even be a sight better than Ford. Once she gets the lay of the land, hopefully, she’ll stay out of our hair until we raise the money to buy her out.”
“We can hope.” Mack turned into Country Aire Trailer Park, and Jackson braced a hand on the dash and one on the door handle, ready to jump out. But her trailer was dark, and there was no sign of his car. He didn’t need to bang on the door to know she wasn’t there. A feeling of abandonment was stamped on the place.
He made himself get out and check anyway. River followed him and scratched at the front door. Jackson tried the knob but it was locked. He cupped his hands and looked through the window, but it was too shadowy to make anything out.
“Here.” Mack tapped him on the shoulder.
Jackson glanced over to see the shaft of a flashlight. He clicked it on and shined it through the window. The inside was in disarray, but everything wasn’t gone. He saw clothes on the small couch and pots in the kitchen area. He moved to a back window and scanned the circle of light around her tiny bedroom, passing over a stack of books.
He highlighted the books again and squinted. Library books. His rush of relief weakened his knees, and he turned to lean against the dingy white plastic siding.
“What is it?” Mack asked. “What’d you see?”
“She’s not gone for good. She’s coming back.”
“How do you know?”
“She would never leave without returning her library books.”
“It is so weird that you know that.” Mack gave a little shake of his head. “Then where is she?”
Where would she go? She wouldn’t want to add to Marigold’s troubles. Sutton? He couldn’t think of anyone else.
He pulled out his phone and hit Wyatt�
�s number. He answered on the third ring. “Is it Mack?”
He glanced at their older brother. Apparently, Jackson hadn’t been the only one worried about Mack’s state of mind after the revelations of the evening. “Mack’s fine and with me, actually. It’s Willa. She’s run off. I thought she might have called Sutton.”
“Hang on. Sutton’s down the hall.” Fabric rustled for several seconds before low voices sounded, too faint to understand. Wyatt came back on the line. “No word from her. You got a plan?”
“I think she’ll be back. Eventually. I could wait for her or…”
“Or what?”
“The only other place I can imagine she went was home.”
“The loft?” His confusion was understandable.
“No. Home to see her father.”
“Did she finally come clean?”
“Sort of.” No need to call out his own stupidity on the phone. He already wanted to kick his own butt for not giving her the time she needed to tell him the truth. “The car she drives belonged to her grandmother. Registered in Claiborne Parish. Her real name is Wilhelmina Buchanan. Her dad runs a garage. Shouldn’t be hard to track down.”
“Swing by and pick me up at the Mizes’ place.” He disconnected.
Mack had heard his half of the conversation. “We’re headed to Claiborne Parish?”
Jackson whistled for River. She came trotting out of the darkness of the field behind the trailers. “You don’t have to come.”
The look Mack sent him was of the are-you-effing-kidding-me variety. “Are we getting Wyatt on our way?”
“Yep. The Mize place.”
River jumped into the cab and hopped into the backseat to curl up behind Jackson. The town was silent and so were they. Wyatt waited at the edge of the driveway, stamping his feet and still in slacks and his dress shirt, although it was untucked and he’d lost the bow tie.
He climbed in the back with River, shoving her over so he could sit in the middle, his arms draped over the two front seats. “I should’ve called shotgun on the phone.”
His grin was infectious, and lessened the weight on Jackson’s chest. “I can’t believe the Judge put you in separate rooms.”
A twist of sourness crossed his face. “Right? When I tried to sneak in her room earlier, she kicked me out. Can you believe it?”
“I would not want to be caught with my pants literally down in Sutton’s bed by her daddy. Talk about awkward,” Mack said.
They settled in for the long ride, their conversation drying up as they took turns driving and resting. Finally, Jackson ended up behind the wheel. He was too wound up to take his turn and pretend to close his eyes. His brothers slept, Mack’s soft snores keeping time. River whined and laid her head on the center console.
Jackson scratched behind her ears and whispered, “We’ll find her and bring her home. Promise, girl.” If only he felt as confident inside as he sounded. The more miles the truck ate up, the more he was convinced he’d dragged his brothers on a snipe hunt.
Dawn splashed color across the sky. Dark pink and orange chased away the purple. In the days after their pop had died, he’d been up to watch the sun rise more mornings than not. Sleep had become that elusive. He wasn’t sure when he’d started sleeping well again, but it had been months since he’d been awake at dawn. Time marched on and scars formed over old wounds.
He shook Mack awake when they hit the parish limits sign. After a yawn and stretch, Mack grabbed his phone and typed. “Buchanan, right?”
“Right.”
“Buck’s Garage sounds promising. Owner is…” A pause. “Mike Buchanan.”
“Directions?”
Mack guided him through a typical downtown and across double railroad tracks. The bump woke Wyatt who rubbed his face and sat up between the seats.
The garage was within walking distance of downtown. Jackson pulled into the parking lot. It was deserted.
“Holiday. Everyone is off.” Wyatt’s voice was rough from sleep.
“Let me see if his home address is listed.” Mack typed on his phone.
Jackson’s doubts flourished with the wait. “She’s not even here. I dragged you guys up here for no good reason.”
Wyatt squeezed his shoulder. “Even the possibility of tracking her down is good enough reason for me. We all care about Willa, you doofus.”
“Got it,” Mack said.
Jackson followed the twists and turns into a solidly middle-class neighborhood that was straight out of an old fifties sitcom. Play sets were in backyards and yards were landscaped.
He parked across the street from the house in question. Nothing moved, but a truck with BUCK’S GARAGE stenciled on the tailgate and doors was parked in front of a closed garage door. No sign of his Mustang or Willa.
He checked the clock. Not even eight in the morning. After discussing options, they headed back toward town for a to-go breakfast of ham biscuits and coffee from a fast food restaurant and settled back across the street to stake out the house.
Just as the voice in his head calling him an idiot was getting too loud to ignore, a figure came into view in the rearview mirror. Jackson turned to get a better look. Jeans, sweatshirt, ball cap. Even though she was too far away to positively identify, he knew. It was Willa.
The relief rushing through him was immense but followed quickly by nerves. What should he say? What if she told him to go to hell or that she never wanted to see him again?
“She’s coming up the sidewalk,” he said.
Mack and Wyatt both shifted to see her. “You got a plan?” Wyatt asked.
Excuses and arguments to win her back scrolled in his mind. No, there was only one option. The truth.
“Let me talk to her alone for a minute.” He slid out and observed her from the far side of the truck.
The LSU hoodie sweatshirt she wore was a size too big and made her look small and vulnerable, which was proof appearances could be deceiving. She was the strongest woman—person—he’d ever met. Could he have left home and survived with his hope and humor intact?
He stepped around the tailgate of the truck when she was even with him. She stopped short and faced him.
“Jackson?” Her voice was a combination of wonder and suspicion.
He ran his hands down the front of his jeans and crossed the street to join her on the sidewalk. Words clawed up his throat, too many to choose from.
She took a step backward. “Did you call the police? Because I don’t have your stupid car. I left it safe and sound at Sutton’s.”
His initial worry wasn’t about his Mustang, but the fact she’d driven this far in her piece-of-crap Honda. She’d obviously made it though, and insulting her car would only put her further on the defensive. “We didn’t come all this way because of a car. I can replace a car. You, on the other hand, are one of kind.”
The tightness around her eyes softened, and she closed the distance between them by a few feet. He didn’t move lest he spook her. “We?”
“Mack and Wyatt pretty much insisted on coming too. You’re like a little sister to them.”
“That was sweet.” She sent a half smile toward the truck.
He swallowed past the unexpected emotions welling out of him. Laying himself bare by choice was an uncomfortable feeling. He’d taken care to keep his emotions contained since he was a kid. It was how he’d survived.
He took a deep breath and forced the words out before he lost his courage. “I’m sorry I went behind your back. I was desperate. And scared too, I guess. I had fallen hard and knew you weren’t telling me everything. I betrayed your trust, but it won’t happen again. I can’t lose you, Willa.”
She stuffed her hands into her pockets, her gaze skittering toward her childhood home. He steeled himself for her rejection.
“I was going to settle things with my father—my past—before coming back home to apologize to you. I didn’t trust you when I should have. I would have done the same thing you did, believe me. Can you forgive me?
”
He tried to logically assimilate the message, but the words that went on repeat were coming back home and forgive me. Cottonbloom was home. The garage was home. Was he her home?
He threw his usual caution aside and grabbed her up in a tight hug. “Nothing to forgive,” he croaked against her hair. His lips went in search of hers. They collided in a kiss as sweet as it was fierce.
Her lips glided over his jaw to his neck. “I was always coming back.”
“I kind of figured you’d be back when I saw the library books in your trailer.”
Her laughter was the best kind, carefree and light. “Then why did you come all this way?”
“Because I didn’t know if you were coming back for the books or to me. I couldn’t risk it.” The jokiness in his voice fell flat.
She pulled back enough to cup his cheeks and gaze straight into his eyes. The brown of hers were free of defenses and wet with tears. “I was coming back to you. But before we can be together, I need to face up to what I did and who I hurt, starting with my dad.”
He tightened his hold around her waist and gave her a little shake. “Don’t you get it? I’ve got your back whether you need it or not. Hell, whether you want it or not. You don’t have to do this alone.”
She looked down, her lashes fluttering, and a tear skittered down her cheek. He caught it on his thumb, his heart aching for her. “I’ll go sit in the truck if you want me to but I’d rather stand by your side.”
She caught his hand and pressed a kiss in his palm, the heat of her lips branding him in ways unseen. “I want you with me. It’s just … I haven’t had anyone to count on for a long time. It might take some getting used to.”
“We have plenty of time to practice, don’t we?” He wasn’t sure if he intended the question to be rhetorical or not. Luckily, he didn’t need to wonder long.
“Forever, if you want.” Her lips trembled into a tentative smile.
When the Stars Come Out--A Cottonbloom Novel Page 26