I had survived and I was having fun, and I had let myself believe that I would walk away from the night not only unscathed but willing to do it again. The key was pretending Cotton wasn't sulking off to the side, or at least to pretend I didn't care.
Then someone brought up the town's upcoming Slip'n Slide event. It had been an innocent enough thing, an across the board inquiry as to who would be going. I laughed into my second glass of Beau's Magical Lemonade that tasted like honey and tartness and heaven. I couldn't believe they were planning to go. It was such a silly event, and these were grown-ups for all intents and purposes. The youngest of us here were Dom and me, and even we weren't all that young.
My answer was a simple no, because no I hadn't planned to go. Inside my head, I didn't care. It was dumb, and why would I want to be in a swimsuit in front of the whole town and throw myself down a wet sheet of plastic? But when the word left my mouth, it sounded sad. I realized I was maybe a little sad. I blamed my brother. I could vividly recall the last time I had gone to the Slip'n Slide event. I was twelve; scrawny and wishing I had boobs. Lucian was fifteen, uninterested in anything and supposed to keep an eye on me. We walked over together, then I didn't see him again. He disappeared for hours and I had no idea where he'd gone. Once Alyssa arrived, I spent the day with her and Kent who exemplified what an older brother should and could do. I was there, surrounded by all those people, and I was alone. I noticed people staring at me, and an increase in whispering. Turned out Luke had broken into the bakery, taken all the pastries he liked and destroyed the rest. Later, when asked why he did it, he simply stated because he could, no one was watching and he knew he could get away with it. The irony of course being his not getting away with it. He had also taken the Sheriff's car, covered it in shaving cream, and no one could prove it was him so he did get away with that. A few years before, he'd put dye in the water hoses so that everyone walked away from slip n sliding a colorful rainbow. He was young, and enough people found it funny, that he had gotten away with that as well. No. No, I wasn't planning to go to the event.
I tried to play it off like ha-ha Fox River is weird. It was true, and we all knew it.
Denver didn't let it go. He had a tendency to speak before thinking, or to speak what he thought without considering other's feelings. Or he had a tendency to be an asshole and bludgeon people with the truth. Something like that.
“Her mama won't let her.”
The others stood up for me, and tried to convince me that I was an adult and could make up my own mind. All the while I shrank under the heavy weight of the truth. I was easily and highly influenced by what my mama did or did not do. When she stopped bothering with town events, I understood her reasoning, and I followed suit. The last few years, as Alyssa insisted I get out more, she and Jacob would drag me to these things. As the years passed, my reasons to stay behind made less and less sense.
I agreed with my status as a fully functioning adult responsible for her own decisions, half determined it would be true, half wishing we could talk about anything else.
Beau's question was innocent enough, coming from his genuine curiosity. He wanted to understand when he asked what my mama had against town events. The explanation came out in jumbled thoughts and memories and left a salty sad taste in my mouth.
Something happened when I spoke. When I told them what it was like for us, to live with Luke's choices, especially for my mama to be judged for them. There was a shift, and it rocked me. All those MacKenna blue eyes looked at me, and saw me differently than a half second before. It wasn't with judgment or pity, but acceptance and longing. Like they wanted to help me, to lift me up, and to care for me. Dominic's hand squeezed my thigh, the warmth of him grounding me.
“You ought to come with us. It will be real fun.” Beau smiled his promise. I blushed under the intensity of the moment but couldn't deny the relief and belonging that cocooned me with them.
I loved this family. Every one of them there that night, they were special to me. Just like that, in one instant. I had never seen such trust looking back at me, trust that I could make my own decisions, and more importantly trust that they wouldn't stop loving me if I messed up.
One time, years ago, I'd thought I wish I had a sibling. There was a certain loneliness in growing up how I had, hidden in Luke's shadow. And we'd never been close, not at any point in our lives. I'd been a sort of only child long before my brother died. I realized when I'd had the errant thought, that of course I had a sibling. What I wanted was a different one. I wanted this, a troupe of people that looked out for one another, that saw me and accepted me.
“Pack a picnic and spend the afternoon with us. Saint Joe will even show up.”
I gave Elliot a sideways look and his smile was full of mischief.
“Joseph. He's the do-gooder super responsible one, you know? He hates it when I call him Saint Joe, which of course is why I do it.” He winked at me and I hid my laugh behind my hand. Elliot was a riot. “His wife, Missy, thinks we're all a bunch of loser misfits. If it wasn't for the kids I wouldn't bother to put up with either of them.”
“That is my brother you're talking about.” Beau acted offended, but I didn't buy it.
I knew who Missy Douglass MacKenna was, and had never been a fan. When I had dated her little brother Tiny back in high school, she had been awful to me. She would say terrible things about Luke, which weren't too far off base, but it was still rude. Tiny always took up for me, and we made an effort to never be around her when we could help it. I always kind of figured he broke up with me because of her constant barrage of my lesser qualities to him. Tiny had moved away after high school, and cut ties with his sister, evidently sick of her behavior. I saw her around town, in her high fashion clothes and hair that she drove an hour to get cut in a fancy salon, but we never spoke. They had two kids, a boy and a girl, both young enough to still have chubby cheeks.
“We'll all go to the bonfire after.”
I nodded, and for no good reason looked toward Cotton. Every so often I tortured myself by sneaking a glance his way, usually to find him looking at the deck flooring or out at the pasture. He was fuming. I sucked in a breath at the harsh glare he shot my way. Before I could think through why he was upset, he stood and stalked away. His boots heavy and loud on the deck and down the stairs. I stared at his back as he went, watching the power of his movements, and his hair orange as the sunset.
Dominic called after him, to no avail.
“This is my fault.” The words escaped me on a whisper, before I could stop them.
“Of course it's not.” Dom assured me, but we knew better. His grimace was an apology and annoyance at his brother all in one.
“Don't be ridiculous. You're a doll. Cotton just has his panties in a wad.” Elliot joked, and I snorted at his glib words.
“Still, it's about me. The panty wadding, it's my fault.” I sucked in another long breath, then released it in a sharp sigh. I heard their laughter in a distant way.
I pushed up to my feet, and before I could tell myself to stop being stupid, I left. I followed the path Cotton had taken away from the house and toward the barn. I wasn't sure where to go from there, as the land dropped away and I couldn't see him. The grass was taller back there, tickled my legs, and I waded through it like a sea. There were probably snakes hidden in the grass, and I was probably very stupid to follow Cotton. Again. It didn't end well the first time, and who was I kidding thinking it would go differently this time. Only, I wasn't thinking about any of that, I was answering the call to follow him, responding to the pull of my heart to him.
Just when I was cursing my terrible bad decision to gallivant back there while the sun slipped away and cast the land in a thick gray darkness, I saw him. The dark silhouette of him. He stood still; too still.
“Go back.” His voice was gruff and reached me before I reached him. “I don't want to talk.”
“Cotton, I'm ...” My voice was so soft, so weak. I cleared my throat. His shoul
ders tensed at the sound of my voice, like maybe he hadn't known it was me coming up behind him. For lack of anything else to say, I said the all too familiar words, “I'm sorry.”
“God damn it, Maggie.” He spun to face me, and I was glad I couldn't see his face, as he yelled at me. It was surely scary. “Stop apologizing to me.”
I flinched but stood my ground. He muttered a curse under his breath.
“Why did you leave?” Again. I wanted to ask why he left again. The pain of his leaving after kissing me last Friday resurfaced, an open wound.
“You don't want to know. Just ...” He stepped in my direction, but kept his distance. “I'll walk you back.”
“I do want to know.” When I didn't move from where I stood, he stopped and stared. His eyes glinted in the dim remaining light.
“Should I have not been here tonight?” He asked, clearly worried and taking the blame himself. We weren't so different in that way.
“It's your house, Cotton.”
“All I can do is hurt you. I see you and I can't ...” He stepped closer; he smelled of the acrid beers he'd been downing. “I stood a chance at doing the right thing, up there, with my brothers all around you. You shouldn't keep following me when I leave, Magnolia. All my resolve goes away when there you are looking at me like ...”
He was right, I had followed him. Last week, before he kissed me. Tonight. I kept throwing myself in his path. He kept reminding me he would hurt me. It was stupid to think he cared for me, or that he wouldn't hold true to his words when he promised being near him would cause pain. But whatever was there between us, it was a connection I couldn't possibly deny or ignore, and I had to trust my heart to lead me true. I blinked up at him, barely visible as more than the shape of Cotton as the last of the light died and darkness fully cloaked us.
“Like what?”
“You should tell me to walk you back to the house.” I recognized the plea for what it was; my last chance to escape unscathed.
I shook my head. He was right, of course, that was exactly what I should have done. I was tired of doing what I should. When I was so near to him, the only thing I could be certain of was how much I wanted him. It was a powerful drug that controlled me and pushed me to him.
He stepped closer still, closing the space between us. I lifted one hand and placed it on his chest. He was hot to the touch, and his heart was pounding against his ribs. I relished the feel of it beneath my hand, proof that he was affected as much as me by our proximity.
Cotton's hands went to my hips, fingers gripping me tight, pulling me to him. I gasped when I found myself pressed hard against his body. He took advantage of my surprise and kissed me. He wasted no time on being gentle or warming up, instead moving his tongue directly into my mouth. He stole my breath. My mouth moved with his and met his kiss with fervor. All that pent up anger at him leaving me mixed with the years of crushing on him, and I wanted to devour him. I had no idea what I was doing and I didn't slow down to think about it. One hand was caught between us, with the other hand I ran my fingers through his thick hair and settled it behind his neck. I held him to me. He bent me backward as he kissed me and held me to his body. I was his. For as long as it lasted, I submitted to his hunger for me, and I belonged to him.
Never letting an inch of space open between our bodies, he ran his hands up my waist and up my ribs then back down. His mouth moved to my jaw, trailing kisses then down my neck, and gently biting the sensitive skin below my ear. I pulled oxygen into my lungs and moved my free hand over the firm muscles of his shoulder and down his side. When I reached the hem of his shirt, I slipped my hand beneath the soft cotton to his skin. He paused, releasing a breath with a groan, then impossibly pulled me closer to him.
He said my name, again and again, each time like a prayer. With such reverence, I cracked open and knew there was no turning back from him. Not from the way he held me, not from the way he worshipped me. I whimpered and lost myself to his touch.
“Cotton.” I didn't know what I was saying. I knew why he had repeated my name, because to speak his name was enough. It was a statement of my desire, of the wing flapping thing happening to my heart, of my brain giving way and accepting him as a necessary part of me.
Instead of encouraging him, at the sound of his name, he stopped. He held me tight to his body, his fingers hard on my soft skin, his lips grazed my collarbone, but he stilled. In reaction, I stilled too. The only movement was the frantic pounding of our hearts and the panting of our breaths. Then he stood up and straightened me with him, and released me. I was left cold in the heat of the summer night, with only the phantom memory of his hands on me. A tingling ache for more the only thing that remained in each place he'd touched me.
He didn't say a word. Cotton took my hand, and pulled me along back up to the house. When we reached the edge of the light that shone from the deck into the yard, he stopped. His big hand squeezed mine, like he didn't want to let go. The way he held tight to me told me this was more than a kiss, more than a physical thing. But he was still fighting it. I willed words to come out of my mouth. I begged my tongue to cooperate and ask him to stay. He let me go; he dropped my hand and walked the wrong way from the inviting house.
My feet knew what they should do, and they moved my body closer to the house. Three steps into the yellow spill of light on the gray green of the night grass, and I was seen.
“Maggie. Thank God.” Dominic bounded to me and scooped me into his arms. I fell into him and clung to him. He tensed and shifted, and that's when I knew that he knew that I was broken. He didn't let go.
“You want me to bring you inside? You can stay here tonight.”
“No.” I didn't move, I stayed there wrapped up in Dom's embrace and my hands fisted the back of his shirt.
“You want me to drive you home?”
“No.” I spoke into his chest. He was warm. He was not Cotton. But just then I didn't care. I wanted the broad chest to place my cheek on, the thick strong arms to hold me together, and the comfort it provided. I should have let go. It was wrong after kissing Cotton, to run into his brother's arms.
“What did he do, Maggie?” Dom's words were a soft whisper that rumbled in his chest and in his breath. They were laced with a subtle threat that both startled and soothed me.
I was dimly aware that Denver passed in my peripheral. He slipped by silent as a ghost and was swallowed by the night. What would Cotton tell him?
“Why doesn't he want me?”
“What do you mean?” He reached around behind himself and pulled my hands loose of their hold on him. He held my hands, so that we were tethered, but put space between us so that he could look into my face.
“I'm doing something wrong.” Hot streaks of tears moved down my face and dripped from my jaw. A silent assault from torn emotions that poured over my cheeks. “He kisses me, and holds me like he wants me, then he leaves. He's able to walk away. While I'm ...”
I couldn't explain it right. Not even to myself, much less to Dominic. His hands around mine tightened and when I finally looked up into his face it reflected back an all too familiar anger. He looked too much like Cotton just then, with the subtle differences melted away by the lack of light, with the efforts at controlling a temper evident in his face.
“Maggie. Listen to me.” His words were strained. I found the things that made him Dominic and focused on them. “You aren't doing anything wrong. Never think that. Cotton, he ... he doesn't think he should ever let anyone love him because he's so sure he'll hurt them.”
There was more to it than that. I could feel the way Dom warred with himself about how much to say, and the careful selection of words. It didn't matter what he told me. I knew that Cotton wanted me, but that when he kissed me it was a slip up. I'd been wrong to think it meant anything to him. After his brain caught up with what his body was doing, he pulled away, and he put as much distance as possible between us. He had shifted from the boy I wasn't supposed to like, that I crushed on, to the man
I longed for, but could never have. The rejection hurt. I hated that it hurt. A burning orb in my chest that bumped up against my heart and my lungs and my stomach, and made me ill.
When I finally pulled myself together, I wasn't hurt so much as embarrassed. The pain evolved into shame of being such a fool. I drove myself home, threw myself into bed, and wallowed in my own idiocy.
Chapter Fourteen
Magnolia
I called Alyssa's phone at least a dozen times. I texted her repeatedly. At some point I called Jacob's phone. I was desperate to contact my best friend and tell her I was queen of all stupid girls. My redundant efforts suggested a stubborn streak and a touch of insanity. She had warned me they lacked phone service at the hot air balloon slash music slash camping thing. The mountains were spotty at best for cell phones.
I had to tell someone about the kiss. My fingers kept doing stupid things like touching my lips and making me remember the pressure of Cotton's lips on mine. I refused to gush to Dominic about it. He was Cotton's brother, and as such not an impartial confidant. Plus I was mortified about the way I'd clung to him and cried on him after the incident.
With no one to talk to, and a full day stretched out before me, I did what any mildly neurotic person would do. I cleaned.
My mama was out for the day. She was driving up the Blueridge Parkway to meet some old friend vacationing near enough to warrant a get together. They were doing lunch or some such thing. She had divulged all the details to me that morning over coffee, and I had tried to pay attention, but walked away with nothing but my head swimming with my own problems.
While I ran the vacuum and scrubbed the kitchen tiles, I let my mind drift to Vincent. Vincent Berry, with his tattoos, his playing electric guitar when that was the antithesis of our bluegrass prone town, and his sweet devotion to his family that brought him home. I wondered if he'd rather go back to Asheville. He'd been there for like six years before he came home to Fox River. After his dad died, he stayed to take care of his mama and his sister. Louisa was sixteen or seventeen, and as such still lived at home. For a second I considered it unlikely his mama needed that much help, for him to uproot his life and stay here long term. Asheville wasn't so far away, and he could come home on the weekends.
The Guilt of a Sparrow Page 11