“You working or avoiding people in here?”
Beau. My big brother let himself in - I shouldn't have given him a key and trusted him not to drop by - and called out to me. I groaned, but despite wishing he'd left me alone, I couldn't rally any real venom toward him.
“Both.”
He cropped up in the awkward doorway from the viewing room into my office. He was the shortest of us, but he was taller than average and had to stoop to enter fully. People referred to him as a Golden Boy, with his thick blonde hair and topaz eyes, full red lips, and bringing his own light into every space. Perpetually up-lifting.
“Hiya, Little.”
I let out a dismissive grunt, while waving him into the room.
Story went, he had called me Baby Brother, and simply Baby, until Dominic was born. At which point Dom became Baby, and I became Little Brother. And just, Little.
“Hey, Beau. What's up?” I hugged him, one arm wrapped around his steady shoulders, my nose assaulted with his sharp citrus soap and cologne scent.
Of all my siblings, wrong may it seem, he was my favorite. By a long shot. I wasn't sure I loved him more so much as different than the others. I was closest to Dominic, but it was Beau I turned to most and whose presence was always a balm.
“Nothing.” His smile was wide, and he batted his eyelashes at me. I sat back down and rolled my eyes at his mockingly flamboyant gesture. “I need you to house sit for me.”
“Sure.” Beau didn't have a house, but I knew he meant Elliot's house.
“God, I love you.” He sank down into the other chair in the room. The one he had brought himself and put in the office because he hated when I gave him my chair and stood while he sat. An antique wingback chair, with buttons tucking the fabric and making it uncomfortable to sit in for any length of time. “It's this weekend. Elliot made plans for us to go to a hot air balloon show.”
“And that is why Elliot wins at life. He's phenomenal.”
“I know, right?” Beau lived every day fully, and as such he was newly in love with his wonderful boyfriend on a daily basis. They were quite the pair and if they weren't both so loud all the time, I'd never want to leave their company. “God. Who thinks of that? Anyway, he'll worry about the African Violets all weekend if you don't go sit with them.”
There were pets to consider as well as the plants.
Beau had a cat that lived at the homestead with us. A scrappy calico monster that needed nothing other than food in her bowl. Between Denver and Dominic, one of them would keep her fed with Beau away. Birdie - yes, the cat's name was Birdie - would howl incessantly until someone catered to her simple needs, which left Beau satisfied she wouldn't starve to death in his absence.
Elliot and Beau had adopted a cat together three years ago. Jango was a behemoth orange cat they guessed was a Maine Coon. He was affectionate in as much as he would purr at your feet and wanted to be petted under the chin for perhaps a minute. Then he'd follow you around and stay close but not require any additional attention from you. It was a happy agreement as far as I was concerned.
The biggest job at Elliot's house was his plants. Checking the soil was simple enough, and it shouldn't have been a job that caused me any stress, especially over the course of two to three days. But then I would remember how important these plants were to Elliot, how much time and energy he devoted to them, and I was terrified they would die on my watch.
Beau went over the care of Jango and the plants, all of which I was familiar with because it wasn't my first time house sitting. Somehow, I was the responsible one of us. Denver could handle ill-tempered Birdie at home, and tolerated Jango if need be, but he flat out refused to get involved with the plants. I knew it was because he worried about killing them, and hurting Elliot in the process. Joey would never give up his time to help out. But we let him get away with that because he had a family to take care of and knew his kids should come first. Dominic had volunteered in the past, and loved the cats, but he was unreliable. Dom was likely to forget to shut the door, to over water the flowers, or forget about them entirely. He was good for willingness, not so good with the follow through. That left me. I wasn't particularly fond of plant care in general, but I liked Beau and Elliot enough to lend them a hand.
“You're upset about something. What's going on with you?” Housesitting job settled, Beau got down to the business.
“Nothing.”
Beau's eyes inspected my face. He didn't believe me, as I knew he wouldn't.
“You'll tell me eventually.”
“Not this time.” I assured him. Would I admit how hurtful I'd been with Maggie? How careless? No, I'd much rather not.
He swallowed, and I knew I'd hurt him with my omission. Beau didn't like it when we kept secrets from him. I figured it was middle child syndrome that made him mind being left out more than the rest of us.
I'd been kidding myself thinking I could forget my state of despair, forget the way it ate at my insides, and how the agony of it showed on my face. I was the brooding one, the serious one with the fuck-off face. With most people, I could hide my inner turmoil behind that veneer. Not with Beau. Inner turmoil? I was an emo jerk wallowing in a vat of nothing; nothing but trouble of my own making. I had determined, through experience, that hooking up with a different girl wouldn't work. It would not purge Maggie from my system. I would need to find something else, a hobby that occupied all facilities mental and physical, as an outlet. I was lacking ideas.
“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He clasped a hand over my shoulder, giving a meaningful squeeze, before heading out.
“In a hot air balloon?” I called the joking words out too late, after he already closed the door, locking it behind him.
Sealed inside my studio, I turned back to my work. Loneliness gnawed at me, pressing in on all sides, and I found myself looking out the window over Main Street. Hiding away up here wasn't doing me any favors. Doing what I'd always done wasn't working.
I thought about Dominic, his confession that he was tired of meaningless hookups. We were going through quarter life crises or some shit. I was sick of the white painted bricks that imprisoned me, sick of my self-imposed solitude, sick of avoiding life. I had my reasons for distancing myself from people. Namely my hair trigger temper.
I was doing the community of Fox River a favor by not exposing them to my brand of crazy. But I couldn't bear it anymore.
Chapter Ten
Magnolia
At twenty-four, I still didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had ideas about being a wife and mother, and the kind of person I'd like to be, but not career wise.
Growing up, I remembered those kids who were sure and never wavered. Those same folks who now worked jobs in their chosen field. Alyssa, for example, always knew she wanted to be a nurse. After high school, she went to Western Carolina University, got her BSN and now happily worked at the Fox River Medical Park. The town was entirely too small for its own hospital, and for most of its existence there were only two doctors in town. About fifteen years ago with another doc moving into town, and a desire for something more, they pooled their resources to create a central location. Over the years, they'd grown to have a radiologist, a nutritionist, and a separate children's and elder center. Alyssa's goals were clear-cut and she didn't hesitate to make them happen. Maybe it was because her older brother Kent always knew he'd be an accountant and he did exactly that, and in record time because he finished college courses before he finished high school. Whereas my brother had no goals, worked pretty darn hard at sabotaging anything good along his path, and I had no example. No positive role model or good influence.
My mama had gone to college for a couple years, before dropping out to have Lucian. After that she stayed home with us kids. It wasn't until my daddy took off that she needed to find work - something made more challenging due to her lack of education and lack of job experience and being a single mother of two kids. She settled for working jobs that paid th
e bills rather than doing what she wanted. I wasn't sure she knew what she wanted to do when she grew up any more than I did.
I couldn't blame my lack of ambition on my family, but there it was an obvious influence, and I was floundering.
I wound up working in the Fox River High School front office because at the time taking the job was a practical and good choice. I'd always told myself it was temporary, something to give me a paycheck until I found something better. By better I meant utilizing my degree in birth to kindergarten education. When I chose my major, it was for lack of a better idea. After my mama pointed out that it was ridiculous to waste four years of college to work in a daycare, I stuck with my major as a form of standing up for myself. Alyssa told me one time that I was only able to stand up for myself in that arena for the fact that I didn't actually care. It was something that didn't matter to me, and therefore it wasn't too scary to stick to my guns about the issue. She wasn't wrong. I had lived at home during college because it made more financial sense to stay local. It was a forty-five minute drive to Spencer Community College in a neighboring and slightly larger town for classes, and I opted to take as many online/distance classes as possible. When the high school's principal, Mr. Nesbit, offered me the job in the office, as an administrative assistant, it was a good opportunity. My plan was to keep the job as long as it took me to get a job at a preschool. The reason I kept the job was twofold. One, I hated the preschool in town, finding their philosophies on childcare and education outdated and stifling. Two, my mama insisted that working with preschool aged children didn't constitute a real job.
During the summer months, I worked part time. There was enough to do with summer school and preparations for the coming school year, to keep me on staff. All these years later and I still found it weird being at school during the summer. At first I thought it was a residual feeling after a lifetime as a student. I came to realize that it had more to do with the school itself and the smaller population of staff and students. It was strange to be one of three in the office rather than one of six or more. It was odd to walk the hallways with so few people milling around. The students behaved differently too, responding to the summer themselves, so the mood of the place was altered. It was the high school version of a ghost town.
The phone on my desk rang, and I knew before I answered it would be Alyssa. Shortly after I took the job we found the loophole in the no cell phones rule. I kept the calls short, and we bypassed having to go without talking.
“Fox River High. Maggie Porter speaking.”
“Maggie Porter speaking.” Alyssa lightly mocked my professional tone.
“Ha. Ha.” I rolled my eyes and twiddled with the phone cord. Phone. Cord. Such a throwback. “What's up?”
“Bring me lunch.”
“You're so bossy.” My laugh gave away my feelings on the matter, being that I wasn't put off by her bossy pants demand. “It will be late. I'm off at one.”
“Ugh. I'm starving!”
“Vending machine, Lyss.”
“Yuck. Okay. I'll see you in a few hours.”
As soon as I hung up the phone, Mr. Nesbit left his private office and approached my desk. Slick gray hair parted on the side and swept over his shiny balding head, sharp eyes and sharper nose. One of those voices that stopped students in their tracks.
“Ms. Porter.” He was a good principal. An all-around good guy. He was stiff and formal. It was off putting. Which was maybe the point. “Need I remind you that you are not to take private calls during work hours?”
I stifled a snort. My eyes managed not to roll. If I could do anything, it was keep a straight and sweet face while falsely agreeing with a person. It was a skill I had honed over a lifetime of going along with whatever my mom said/wanted/expected.
“Yes, sir.”
He lifted his bushy brows and gave me his stern face. I wanted to not care. Instead, my stomach ached. Guilt or shame, I could rarely distinguish between the two, made itself known. My head said, I kept it short and I am allowed to take a five minute call, while my gut said, why would you break the rules and put yourself in this position to disappoint Mr. Nesbit? I was sick from the back and forth of it.
Thankfully Mr. Nesbit was a man of few words. He shut himself back in his office for the remainder of the day. I fielded calls from parents, worked on a few schedules that needed rearranging, and filed paperwork. There was never a lack of paperwork in the front office.
Egg salad croissant sandwiches in hand, I went to the Fox River Medical Park. Alyssa worked in the urgent care, and as such her schedule was sometimes difficult to coordinate lunch breaks. I shot off a text and sat with our lunch at our regular spot at the picnic table off the southwest corner of the building. It was too hot to be outside mid-afternoon in the summer. Not that such a thing as heat would stop us. A large oak provided shade, and I secured my hair up off my neck. Following hours in an office with windows that looked out into the school hallways, I craved the outdoors and sunshine.
“Lunch is a decoy.”
I jumped when Alyssa joined me at the table. She yanked her food out and eyed me over the paper bag. She wore lavender scrubs, and her hair was pinned up in a severe bun.
“Um. For what?”
“I talked to Vincent.”
Her smile gave away enough for me to know she was pleased. I couldn't pinpoint what that meant for me. I licked my lips and pretended to be busy drinking my sacrilegious unsweet tea.
“I kind of forgot about that.”
It was a testament to how much I was preoccupied with Cotton, and to my efforts to not be preoccupied with Cotton, that I had forgotten about Alyssa's plan to set me up for even a minute.
“What!?”
“Sorry.”
“You, my dear, are hopeless.” She spoke with sandwich in her mouth. “But, look, it's all set up. Friday night. Plus it gets you out of going to the jam.”
Did I want to get out of going to the jam? Granted bluegrass wasn't my favorite thing, but I went nearly every week because despite myself I did like getting out and being a member of my community. I wouldn't see Cotton if I missed the jam.
“Oh God.” She didn't just give him my number. She didn't encourage him to ask me out. She planned a date. “What am I doing with Vincent on Friday?”
“Getting tattoos?” She laughed and swallowed her last bit of lunch. Her break was short, and she had gotten in the habit of eating at least twice as fast as me. “I don't know. He'll call you.”
“Call me?” I pressed the heel of my hand into my forehead. I hated the phone. I hated answering the phone, talking on the phone, making calls. I did it for work, but somehow that was different.
“I'll tell him to text you.”
“Please! I can't answer the phone and have a conversation with Vincent Berry. Can. Not.”
“Hopeless, sweetie.” She took my hand across the table and gave it a squeeze. “It's hot as balls out here.”
“I'm ignoring that.” I picked at my food and sipped at my tea. The paper cup was sweating profusely in the heat, and the ice was melting into my tea and watering it down. Alyssa was crude generally because she found it funny, but also to see the looks on people's faces.
“Jacob and I are out of town this weekend. Do not back out of this date.”
“I won't.” I might have had a history of doing that exact thing. Only after an established history of horrible dates.
“Promise me you will go out with Vin. Give him a chance.”
“I said I'd go.”
“Promise.”
I sighed dramatically, but nodded my head.
“I promise.”
“Good. I have to get back in there.” She stood, came to my side of the table, and wrapped me in a loose and sweaty hug. “Let me know when you hear from him. We'll dish.”
I nodded my agreement. I was tired of speaking. My best friend walked away and disappeared through a side door. I stayed and finished my lunch. Rough wood scratching beneath my thighs, the
sun brutal in midday, yet nothing to prevent me from staying right where I sat. I stayed to eat, but mostly I stayed to work out how I felt about my upcoming possible date with Vincent.
For lack of a better plan, I texted Dominic.
Me: I'm going out with Vincent on Friday. So Alyssa says.
Dominic: He's a good guy. It will be fine.
I wanted better than fine. But I knew what he meant. I didn't have to be so worried. A gnawing in my lower abdomen accompanied memories of Cotton kissing me. There was no need for feeling bad about going out with a different guy. I was not with Cotton. I would not be with Cotton. He wasn't an option. Still, that kiss had been wonderful while it lasted. I worried it had ruined me for other guys, that I would compare all future kisses to the one I had shared with Cotton. Much as I would compare all text interactions with future guys to those with Dominic.
Dominic: Be yourself. He'll like you or he won't. In the end, how much does that even matter?
Dominic: Speaking of which, let's hang out. When is our next date?
Speaking of which? Were we speaking of which? My lips smiled, and my queasy stomach settled to some degree. Dominic was my new platonic boyfriend and it was an agreeable arrangement. For both of us. I didn't understand why he liked hanging out with me, but I was going with it.
The Guilt of a Sparrow Page 8