When I glance through the sliding glass door, Bethany is peering out at me. Her lips purse, and it’s obvious she’s anxious. Hell, I am too, but not for the same reasons. Talking to Sam is the easy part. It’s spending the next few weeks working with Bethany that worries me. If today is any indication, it’s not going to be easy.
I wink at her. It’s a peace offering to break the tension that’s already rooted between us, and she’s barely been in my living room an hour.
Shaking it off, I press CALL, and settle in to talk to Sam.
As it rings, I realize, had it been a few months earlier, I’d be out here lighting up a smoke to take the edge off, because Bethany, sitting on my couch, being irritatingly soft and natural, like she belongs there shouldn’t matter to me, but it does. That’s how I know I’m screwed.
“Morning,” Sam’s voice finally comes on the line. Clanking and scraping echoes in the kitchen.
“Sup, girl? Did you save me some breakfast?”
“No.”
I grin. “Liar.”
“Well, there won’t be, if Reilly eats it all.” She huffs and the background noise falls quiet. “So, what’s up. Are plans changing for today?”
“Not exactly.” I eye the empty ashtray on the patio table, longingly. “I need your help with something. It’s a project for one of my classes.”
“Wow, you sure have a lot of projects.”
“It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have taken another one of Murray’s class. I knew better.”
“What’s the project?”
“Well, my partner and I have to present a fake design project from start to finish—vendors, cost analysis, the works. I was thinking we could use the barn project to take it a step further.”
“What do you mean?”
“Help you and Aunt Alison with the interior, that sort of thing.”
She nearly snorts. “That sounds amazing, actually . . . What’s the catch?”
I bark out a laugh. “Dammit, Sam, you know me too well.”
“You’re not a tough case to crack, Nick, charming as you are.”
“So, you think I’m charming, huh?”
She’s shaking her head, I know she is because I know her like the back of my hand; she might as well be sitting beside me. “You’re incorrigible.” With a deep breath, she continues. “So . . . the catch . . .”
I glance inside at Bethany curled up with her notebook on my couch. “Bethany’s my partner and you’d have to present her with a budget, agree on décor style—you get the picture.”
“What?” It’s a breathy, skeptical sound more than an actual word, and I let that sink in for a minute, uncertain what else to say. “You mean like she will be coming to my house and working on this project—with me?”
“Something like that,” I say tentatively. When Sam doesn’t say anything, I continue. “You would really be helping me out, Sam.”
“Well—of course it’s fine. Whatever you need.” I can tell it’s difficult for her to say, but I know that she means it, which is what matters most to me. “I’m not even going to ask how this happened.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Thanks, Sam. Since I’m going to be there today, working on the barn, do you mind if she drives up to see it?”
“Uh, I guess?”
I laugh a little. “Way to sell it, Sam.”
“It’s fine. I told you, whatever you need, I just—”
“Thanks.” I stretch in my seat, about to say goodbye when she says, “Nick?” Her voice is cautious.
“Yeah?”
“I know there’s a weird connection between you guys, and I also know you don’t need me to tell you this, but . . . just be careful, okay?” Although I don’t need a warning or for her to worry about me, I appreciate the hell out of it.
“I know . . .Thanks, Sam.”
“See you later.”
“See ya.” A weight lifts from my chest when I press END, and I peer into the living room again to find Bethany watching me, worrying her bottom lip. She’s beautiful and looks innocent, even if I know she’s a siren behind those soulful eyes. I’ve never understood her hold over me, but it’s moments like these, when she’s vulnerable and real, that become etched in my mind and stick with me for days after.
I give her a thumbs-up and flash her a smile that’s a bit more enthusiastic than I feel. Whatever the back and forth between us has been over the years—the misconceptions and run-ins and arguments we’ve had—it’s all come at a cost: distraction – curiosity – a slew of unanswered questions and an inexplicable desire.
Bethany’s phone rings, and when I look inside again, her eyes are wide with worry, then narrow. “Jesse, slow down,” she says and tucks her hair behind her ear. “What?” Her words are muffled through the door, but when she rises to her feet and begins pacing the room, I know something’s wrong.
I head inside, quietly sliding the door shut behind me.
“I don’t think that’s what she meant, Jesse.” Bethany’s voice is calm, but her demeanor is anything but. “Mom wouldn’t do that.” She walks a line from the kitchen through the living room and back again.
Growing more anxious, I take a step closer. It feels like I’m in middle school again. I want to help her, even if I don’t know how, but if history’s taught me anything, it’s to stay out of it. So, I hang back and give her space.
Abruptly, she stops. “Wait, what?” Her mouth’s agape, and when she registers me standing a few feet away from her, she turns her back to me and her voice quiets. “I know, J,” she says, placating him, and even though I get that this isn’t my business, I can’t help the sting of her snub, knowing she’s blocking me out, again.
Nineteen
Bethany
“Dad says the Sunset program isn’t worth it—he’s gonna pull me out, Beth!” Jesse cries. It’s the most desperate he’s been in a while, and my heart breaks for him. “They’re my only friends.”
“I know, J,” I say unsteadily and pull at my hair. “I’ll figure something out, okay?” My grip tightens around my phone. The fact that this is happening makes me want to scream. The kid can’t catch a break when it comes to my dad, and I’m done with it all. “Is Mom home?” I’m already shoving my things into my bag before he can answer.
“They’re arguing downstairs.”
“All right, well, I’m on my way. I won’t let them pull you out of your program, okay? Just stay up in your room—stay away from Dad, and I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
He sniffles in the phone.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, sniffling again, but it’s going to be hours before he’s feeling like himself again. “Love you, J.” I hang up the phone and drop it into my bag. When I look up at Nick, concern creases his brow.
“I—uh—I have to go. Sorry. I know we have a lot to do, but I have to get home.”
“What happened? Is Jesse okay?”
I shake my head. “Nothing’s ever okay,” I bite out, but I know Nick isn’t to blame. Taking a moment to pause, I clear my throat. “Jesse struggles a lot in school for obvious reasons. I’ve talked to his teacher and she’s pretty cool, I mean, she tries to be understanding, but Jesse isn’t very social—he wasn’t making friends until we put him in this after-school program for kids with developmental issues. It’s small, so he feels comfortable there, which is huge.” I shake my head, still struggling to accept that my dad is so detached from our family’s reality. “My dad wants to pull him out.”
Nick frowns. “Is it a money issue?”
I freeze, my hair falling into my face. I forget Nick doesn’t know my dad, though I’m not sure why I’m surprised. No one does, not really. “It’s not the money. There doesn’t have to be a reason for my dad to be a dick.” I finish gathering my things and peer around Nick’s living room. “I take it Sam agreed to the project?”
“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “We’re good to go.”
“Thanks for doing that. Te
xt me, okay?” I write my number on his notebook and turn to leave.
“Just meet me at the ranch tomorrow,” Nick says. “Ten o’clock? I’ll text you the address, and we’ll figure it out from there.”
Finally, I look at him, into his hazel eyes, and see his kindness and his worry. “Sure.” I reach for the door handle. “Thanks, Nick.”
“I hope it all works out,” he says. “For Jesse’s sake.”
“Me too,” I mutter, and shut the door behind me.
When I get home, I drop my bags at the door. The living room is empty, and I hear commotion in Jesse’s room. He’s gone from hysterical to angry, but my mind is only on one thing. My feet move so fast, I’m in my mom’s office in the den before I can think of a strategic approach to the situation.
Morning light filters in through the large windows, and the strands of gray in her perfectly combed, blonde hair shimmer in the sunlight. Her glasses rest on the bridge of her nose as she stares down at the invoices spread across her desk, and she doesn’t bother to notice me.
Eventually, when she’s tired of me hovering, she peers up over her Neiman Marcus frames. “I thought you had a project to work on?”
“I did, until I got a hysterical call from Jesse. What the hell is Dad thinking? Are you seriously pulling him out of Sunset?”
“Your father wants to.”
“And you’re letting him?” I nearly screech. “Jesse’s happy there, or doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Hey!” she shouts. “Of course it matters to me, and watch how you speak to me.” She splays her hands over her desk. “I won’t let your dad him take him out of program. Calm down.”
“Have you told Jesse that? He’s in tears.”
“No, I haven’t. He’s destroying his Lego jungle by now. He won’t listen to me.”
“So, you just let him spiral?”
“Just because I don’t coddle him like you do, doesn’t mean I don’t care. And, don’t forget for one second that I’m his mother, Bethany. Not you. You don’t always know what’s best for him, despite what you may think.” She leans forward. “Maybe if you spent more time worrying about yourself and your extra-circular activities,” she snaps, “your grades would be better, and I wouldn’t have to put out that fire as well.”
I grit my teeth, choosing my battle carefully. I know how much she hates my drinking and going out, but my free time is none of her business and I barely get any of it as it is. “If you’re Mother of the Year, then why do you let Dad treat him like that?”
“Treat Jesse like what? Jesse overhead us talking and had a tantrum. I’m not rewarding that kind of behavior.”
“Yeah? What about explaining it to him in a way he can understand, instead of letting him go down a black hole?”
She removes her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, like my very presence is an inconvenience. “Bethany—”
“You can’t do this right now, I know.” I throw my hands up.
“I have two accounts I need to close Monday. I’ll deal with your brother when he calms down.”
I don’t bother pointing out to her that if she spent half the time with Jesse that she spends on work, he might actually like her and be less defensive. Shaking my head, I turn to leave, but I only get a few steps before I force myself to turn around again. “You’ll push him away, just like you pushed me, and then you’ll have no one, like Dad.”
I stalk from her office and through the living room, up the stairs to Jesse’s bedroom. I might be reactive when it comes to my brother, but it’s better than indifference and allowing him to feel like more of an outsider than he already does.
“J?” I say, peeking my head inside his room.
“Go away,” he growls, but I know he doesn’t mean it. He’s crouched down beside his crumbled Lego world, angry.
He can try to push me away all he likes, but unlike my parents, I won’t let him. “No way. I came home to make sure you’re okay and that’s what I’m going to do. You called me, remember?” I step inside and take a seat on his bed. “Well, since you ruined your jungle, what are we going to work on tonight?”
“I don’t care.” His bottom lip pinches as he frantically puts the colored Lego pieces in piles. He’s more upset with himself now for ruining his masterpiece than at my parents.
“Mom will make sure you stay with your friends, J. You don’t have to worry about that, okay?”
“I don’t care.” He’s all movements and concentration. “I don’t . . . care.” He spits out the words as he fusses over his piles, organizing the mess he’s made. It’s the only thing that will reel him back in—order in the chaos of his mind—so, I wait. I wait for his hands to stop fluttering over the mass of broken pieces and for his stimming sounds to cease. I wait for him to feel comfortable in his own skin again before I speak.
“If you don’t care, maybe we can make a boat this time, or a house, instead of a jungle.”
Jesse shakes his head and rests his chin on his knee, bent over the green Legos. He holds up a plastic palm frawn. “I want to make a jungle.”
With a smile, I join him on the floor. “Sounds good, but we’re adding a waterfall this time. And a unicorn.”
His face scrunches. “There are no unicorns in the jungle,” he says, distracted. But his mouth tugs in the corner. At least it’s something.
Twenty
Bethany’s Journal
April 14th
I’m not sure when I became this manic person on the brink of freak-out mode, but I’ve been feeling particularly agitated lately. The older Jesse gets and how little my parents seem to change or come around to him and his needs doesn’t help. I have a feeling Nick is more the cause for my mood, though.
Being around him more frequently after years of awkward, off and on encounters is hard to wrap my head around. Today, he was kind, if a little grisly when I showed up at his door. We might’ve argued, but it felt good in a way. It needed to happen, I think. He’s different when it’s just us—him with me and Jesse, or just me. Different from the cocky, smirking Nick that I’ve run into at the movie theater when he’s with a girl or when our friends meld together during summer camping trisp trips.
But working with him AND Sam on our project has taken things to a whole other level. I’ve been thinking about what happened with Mike a few years ago more than I’m comfortable with, now that the past seems to be catching up with me. Being with Mike distanced me from Jesse and my parents . . . maybe that’s why I cling so tightly to my little brother. I want to make up for lost time and for Jesse to know that I will never choose a guy over him again. And I won’t be like my parents who think work is more important.
Being with Mike also sent me into a spiral I don’t like to think about—a lot of drinking and late nights, and guys I surrounded myself with because they noticed me and made me feel something other than pain. A lot of wandering and darkness, but thank God for Anna Marie, my saving grace and the devil on my shoulder. She cared more than anyone else did.
The night I called Mike and heard Sam’s voice in the background was the night my heart was shredded in two. It went from “Sam and I are just friends” to the gut-wrenching truth that came pouring of out of him when I started to freak out. Something in him snapped and he laid it all out there, not a single grain of sugar to coat the truth. Yes, he’d been with Sam. Yes, he was seeing us both. He was also tired of high school girls and their needy emotions. He’d spent over a year telling me I was important to him and that my parents shouldn’t treat me like garbage, only for him to discard me the moment I was no longer worth his time and energy.
I wanted to blame Sam for it all. I did, for a while. She was the other woman. She’d ruined everything, and that’s why I maliciously flirted with Reilly last summer during our camping trip. I knew it would piss her off, even if they weren’t together. Despite what I can only imagine she’s been through after losing her dad, she got her happily ever after.
If only my parents would m
ove on too. They never cared that I was devastated about Mike, only that my grades were slipping, among other responsibilities—yet another reason my dad is permanently disappointed in me, even if my mom is the one who hurt me the most. Her calling me a slut one night when I came home drunk has stuck with me ever since.
Last year, at the Hughes holiday party, I realized for the first time that Sam not might not have been the conniving bitch I thought she was. Maybe she was just a gullible teenager, like I’d been. If Mac’s words from that night are all I have to go on, then I’m supposed to be the bad guy in all of this. Go figure.
So, yeah, I guess being around Nick and Sam . . . it’s not something I want to do but needs to be done. Especially if I’m going to get through the next month. -B
Twenty-One
Bethany
Sunday morning feels like a fresh start. I’m not sure if it’s the sunshine or the fact that I crashed last night after work and slept like a rock for the first time in forever. Or, maybe it’s because Jesse is at a play date with one of the kids from his program, acting like eleven-year-olds generally do.
Sunshine and happiness aside, driving up the dirt road, toward the boarding facility, it finally really hits me that I’m not just working on this project with Nick, which is a minefield of its own, but I’m working with Sam on this, too. And, it’s on her turf. My palms are sweating, thinking about it, but if Nick’s right, technically, this will be an easy project, and if I allow myself to hope just a little bit, it might even be fun.
Told You So_A Saratoga Falls Love Story Page 12