The Guilt of a Sparrow

by Jess B. Moore

  Then I reflected on my own mama. After Lucian died, she needed me. Four years later, and she still needed me. Her dependency on me was sometimes a burden, and I suffered waves of guilt when I thought of it that way. I couldn't place my own issues and perceptions onto his situation with his family. Likely, Vincent was happy to stay home and help out, or he wouldn't be doing it.

  Vincent was a couple years older than me, and I had always thought he was hot. Even back in school, before all the tattoos, he would dye his hair blue or pink, he hung out with the drama kids and seemed to be the leader of the misfits, he found clothes at thrift shops and altered them so that they were his own brand of rebellious. But he never got in trouble. His grades were good, and when he left after graduation and didn't go to college, it was a big deal. People talked about him throwing his life away. I wasn't sure when he went, but at some point he did attend college because he was a radiology tech, which was at least a two year degree. Alyssa knew him at work, but they weren't friends and didn't talk enough for her to have the details.

  I dusted, I cleaned windows, and I scrubbed bathrooms. I filled hours with busy work. Every time my thoughts drifted toward Cotton, I forced them to cease and desist. I focused on Vincent and our upcoming date.

  The house was clean. It was midafternoon.

  To fill the remainder of my time before the date, I showered, obsessively changed my clothes seeking the perfect date outfit, and flat ironed my naturally wavy hair. I ended up looking not like myself, in the seersucker dress, and with abnormally straight hair. I even put on makeup, which I rarely bothered to do, saving the effort for special occasions.

  I played loud music while I got ready, and spent all my time convincing myself that I would fall madly in love with Vincent Berry. I would show up for our date, we would have a wonderful time, and I wouldn't think about Cotton MacKenna. Nope, he was not allowed in my head. I convinced myself that I didn't care if he kissed me - twice, and walked away from me - twice, and left me bereft. Nope, he could do whatever the hell he wanted, and it would not include kissing me again, that was for sure. I was over my secret crush on Cotton, over reliving the moments he had his hands on me, and I would be fine.

  Fine, I say. Fine.

  The plan was for me to meet Vincent at Bella's, the only sort of fancy place in town, at seven. We had traded a few brief texts to ascertain the time and location of our date. No real phone calls, which I suspected were due to Alyssa letting it leak I had phone-phobia. I found myself almost wishing we'd talked, so that I could fall back on the sound of his voice, so that I could detect his level of enthusiasm for our date. Texting did leave a bit to be desired when it came to finding a connection.

  I was ready to leave the house and head for the restaurant when two things happened at once. My mama arrived home from her day trip. And my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number - though the message indicated it was from Cotton and he had gotten my number from his brother.

  “Hello, hello!” Came my mama's familiar voice as she came into the house.

  I rushed to greet my mom at the front door and took a couple of her bags. My heart stopped beating for a second, while I processed what it might mean that Cotton had texted me. I tried to greet my mother without looking like I was having a heart attack. Distracted wasn't a strong enough word.

  “Hi. Did you have fun?” I asked, willing myself to pay attention.

  “I did.” Her smile was more natural and relaxed than usual. The kind she only wore after having a break from her normal day-to-day life. “I'll tell you all about it over dinner.”

  “Oh. I made you dinner, so everything is ready, but I -”

  “You are such a good kid.” She pulled me in for a hug that was encumbered by all the bags. The woman had at least four tote bags, a soft cooler, several shopping bags, and her purse.

  “Thanks. I'm going out. With Vincent Berry. Remember?”

  “I forgot all about that. I was looking forward to seeing you tonight and talking with you.” Her face fell, and her eyes accused me of awful things.

  “I understand. We'll catch up tomorrow.” It had occurred to me to remind her of my plans earlier before she came home, but unlike me she hated to text. So I hadn't bothered to text her my exact plans. I was hoping to leave her a note with the dinner I'd prepared, and be gone before she got back. “In fact I have to leave now.”

  My heart was settling down to a regular and less painful rhythm, but wasn't allowed to fully calm because my phone kept buzzing as more texts came in. I tried to focus completely on my mama and getting myself out the door. It occurred to me that it was highly unlikely she had forgotten about my date, because she had already been counting on me going on one so that she could use it to her advantage and set me up. Her feigned ignorance of my date pissed me off. As per usual, I couldn't figure out if it was me being selfish or her, and I didn't like either outcome. Our relationship was a mess.

  “What is wrong with your phone?” She demanded, the earlier traces of her relaxed mood slipping away.

  “What?” I snapped out of my thoughts. It had been chiming and chirping and buzzing like crazy in my pocket. “Texts, that's all.”

  “That sound is intolerable. Respond or turn the thing on silent.” Yep, her good mood and relaxed smile: gone. I sighed and pulled my phone out.

  Unknown: Hi Sweet Maggie. This is Cotton. I got your number from Dom.

  Unknown: I am trying very hard to stay away from you.

  Oh lord. My eyes - and heart - bounced back and forth between the first two messages. Sweet Maggie. Good gracious. Trying to stay away. I groaned, then regretted it with my mama in the room.

  Unknown: I want to apologize. For my behavior last night.

  Unknown: And last week.

  He was sweet. He was annoyingly formal. I was going to be late for my date.

  While my mama carted her bags fully into the house and began delivering them to the kitchen, her bedroom or bathroom, and wasn't standing over me, I added Cotton to my contacts.

  Me: No need.

  Me: You were right. About hurting me. I just didn't listen.

  I sent the response in a rush. I didn't allow myself to think first. My chest ached with the pain of the interaction, his apologizing and my being a martyr about it. I allowed myself a brief lapse in time and judgment to accept that he regretted kissing me. That I was stupid stupid stupid. I switched my phone to silent, and slipped it into my purse rather than my pocket, to better ignore any further texts. Not that I expected him to say anything further. What else was there to say?

  “I have to go, Mama. I don't want to be late.”

  “Fine. I'll talk to you tomorrow.” She was upset and giving me the cold shoulder.

  Damn it.

  “I'm sorry I won't be here tonight. I didn't realize it was so important to you.”

  “It's fine, Magnolia.”

  When a woman, particularly an angry southern woman, says fine - nothing is fine. She was mad. No, she was hurt. I knew her well enough to know that she would consider my actions as abandoning her, or not caring about her. If I cared about her I would be home to hear all about her trip. I wouldn't be leaving her to an empty house.

  More and more, the older I got, I could not give in to her demands of my time. I recognized her tone, the clipped words, the mix of shock and hurt on her face. My whole life, I avoided doing or saying anything that would cause her to be upset. Between single parenting and Lucian's antics, she didn't need more stress. I erred on the side of overly placating to keep from making things hard for her. As an adult, I grew tired of the pressure. I could never quite discern if I placed it on myself or if it came from her. More likely it was some combination of the two, and what she expected from me got hopelessly entangled with what I thought was the right thing. I couldn't do it anymore. I tried, and for the most part stayed the path, but I couldn't be made to feel guilty for having a life. As an adult, I was well within my rights to have plans and to keep them. She knew about the p
lans upfront, and I wasn't convinced she truly forgot about them. I schooled my features, steeled my gut from giving into guilt, and I stayed strong.

  I gave her a quick hug and left.

  ***

  Bella's was downtown off Elm Street. I could have walked the few blocks over, and that had been my original plan. After getting held up for a few minutes more than I expected, if I walked I would be late.

  I took the car.

  It was technically my car. My name had been put on the title after Lucian died, making it mine. I only drove it when absolutely necessary. After four years, it wasn't possible that it held any of my brother. When I pushed myself into the driver's seat, I must have imagined the way it smelled like him. No amount of telling myself it wasn't real made it any less real. That nineties something Honda Civic hatchback would always be Luke's car, would always bring him to the forefront of my mind, and would continue to taunt me with his cigarette and Ralph Lauren Polo cologne scent. What would have taken me twenty minutes to walk, took all of five to drive.

  Vincent waited for me out front.

  He was cute. Impossibly intriguing. Tall and thin, bordering on lanky, with long honey brown hair pulled back into a messy man bun. Tattoos covered all exposed skin, except his face, in splashes of indiscernible shapes and colors. You couldn't not look at him. He stood near the entrance, hands stuffed into the pockets of his green chino pants. He would never fit in. I liked him, without actually knowing him, based on his ability to be himself. People stared. As I walked from my car to the glass door of Bella's, I saw people point and whisper, not bothering to hide that they were talking about him. People were rude.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.” His lips were in an almost smile and his eyes roamed over me.

  I found it easy to focus on him, our date, and not the drama I had walked away from.

  At that he opened the door for me, and we went inside. The hostess was not immune to Vincent, and looked torn between finding him hot and finding him appalling. She was too young for him at any rate, not out of high school. Her candy apple red lips smiled at us as her focus stayed on Vin, and she showed us to a booth.

  “How are you?”

  “You look nice tonight.”

  He spoke at the same time I spoke, our words falling all over each other. We shared awkward smiles, and it helped. I looked at him, and he seemed a bit nervous, though his smile seemed natural, and it helped. I took a breath and tried to relax, including making myself stop fidgeting with the silver ring on my left thumb.

  “I'm good.”

  “Thank you.”

  We did it again. Maybe on purpose. His shoulders marginally relaxed and he leaned against the booth back. I took an incomplete inventory of his visible tattoos while he openly appraised me. A cardinal on his neck with Dogwood flowers. A gypsy lady head on his forearm. An open rose on his hand. Symbols across his knuckles. All were artistic, with rich beautiful colors, good shadowing, and flowing clean lines. Vincent Berry was a walking piece of art, and his tattoo artists were mega talented. I looked back up to his face, determined not to stare at his ink all night, and found him waiting for my gaze to lift.

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Don't be.”

  “You must get sick of people staring at you.”

  He shrugged. His eyes never leaving my face, specifically my lips. Outwardly, he was relaxed, and he kept up his end of the conversation. But there was something about the way he watched me, his eyes lingering on my features, that told me he wasn't immune to me. It was a sort of rush to think he found me attractive, or that he wanted this to go as well as I did.

  “Nah. I'm used it. The first couple years, it sucked. I hated the attention.” He cocked his head to one side, remembering back to that time. “I don't like the attention now. Usually. More like I'm used to it.”

  I didn't miss the way his voice lowered when he said the word usually. He was either a skilled flirt, in which case I could smile and not take it personally. Much as I would if I was with Dominic. Or he was into me, and he was letting me know, and in that case my hands went clammy and my tongue went numb.

  Our waitress, a girl I recognized from school and by proxy of living in our small town, but that I did not know personally, paused at the edge of our table. She did a double take, her eyes skipping from Vin to me and back again. The few seconds it took her to recover spoke volumes. Only, I wasn't sure what they said. She found it strange Vincent was out with me, or that I was out with him. Or maybe she had heard about my “dating” Dominic MacKenna, and she was disapproving about my being out with another guy. Hell, maybe she was having a bad day with a long shift working on her feet and she dazed out for a sec.

  Moving on, Maggie, moving on.

  “Hi, my name is Emily. I will be your server this evening. Do you know what you want to drink?” Her southern twang was more pronounced than most people in town. Her words came carefully, and I shoved away thoughts that she was being weird and that it had something to do with me.

  Emily Tanner. That's right. She was a grade behind me. Band geek. Excellent softball player. No connection to me as far as I knew. No telling if she dated Dominic at some point. Vincent didn't look at her with a speck of weirdness, so I didn't figure he had dated her in the past. Actually, Vin was pretty well known for not dating since he'd been back in town. Huh.

  He ordered a dark malty beer. I ordered a red blend wine. Emily walked away with her fake smile still in place.

  “That was weird. Right?” I asked to confirm my assessment of the girl.

  “I don't know her; I was hoping you could shed some light on what that was about.”

  “She looked like she'd seen a ghost.”

  “She looked like she wanted to claw your eyes out.” Vincent's words were slow and sure, with a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

  “What?” I sat back, surprised by his assessment. “She did not.”

  “That girl had a definite woman scorned air about her. You didn't steal her boyfriend?”

  “Um, unless you are her boyfriend, no.” Did he not know anything about me? I had zero boyfriends, zero potential boyfriends. I wasn't counting kissing Cotton because no one knew about that. “Oh, or Dominic.”

  “Are you saying you both dated Dominic?”

  “No. I don't know.” I was not being clear. Darn it. “I mean, I don't know if she has ever dated Dominic. I am not dating him, but we are friends, and she could have thought we were more.”

  “Interesting.” He sat back again, cocked his head again, and studied me.

  It was not interesting. It was disturbing. Emily. Not the thing with Dominic. Maybe a little bit Vin's reaction. Oh lord, think of something to say and change the subject. Something. Anything.

  “So, you work with Alyssa.”

  “Yes.” His smile was sly. I got the feeling he knew I blurted out random words because I was a crazy person and couldn't carry on a conversation.

  When he didn't expand upon the topic I had presented, I searched for another.

  “How's your sister?”

  “Lu's good.”

  He continued to tell me about Louisa's struggles and successes at school, what she was up to at home, and more than I actually needed to know. It was an improvement over the stuttered conversation leading up to it, and I'd take it.

  Our waitress dropped off drinks, took our order, and got away from us as soon as possible. With Vin's idea in my head, when I looked at her, I could see that she was aiming her desperate angry eyes my way. I chalked it up to a history with or crush on Dominic. I found it easy to ignore her with Vincent sitting across from me.

  Every few minutes, my mind forced me to think of Cotton. The way he looked at me, the words he said to me, the searing of his lips on mine. It was impossible to put him completely out of my head. Which pissed me off. I wanted to forget about him and only have beautiful intriguing Vincent in my head.

  We talked about mundane topics. It became easy and more comfortable as more t
ime passed. The food was good, the wine warmed my belly and helped relax me, and I noticed Vincent's eyes were beautiful. A caramel brown with shots of gold that fanned out from his pupils. I picked my favorite of the tattoos that were visible to me, a black and gray cat in a swanky suit doing a little curtsy. It was small and on the underside of his forearm, tucked away so that I didn't see it unless he turned his arm a certain way. I enjoyed watching Vincent, the way his hands moved as he ate and talked, the small movements of his lips that made his smile seem like a well-guarded secret.

  He paid for dinner, though I offered to cover my half. He walked me to my car, with a hand on my elbow, which was such a strangely gentle gesture. There was that moment, before I got in my car, before he walked away to his own vehicle, that moment filled with anticipation of the good night kiss. I had always hated when I got to that point of a date, when I was ready to escape, and I was freaking out hoping for or hoping against a kiss. Truthfully, it could go either way. Most of the guys my mama had set me up with weren't my type, and after a couple hours in their presence I liked them less, and I wanted to slip away without the kiss. A few times I was curious and wanted to rack up a little more experience. Even when I wanted the small peck on the lips, I wanted to get it over with and move on. These were guys that I had no intention of seeing again.

  It was different with Vincent. I looked up at him and my eyes fell on his lips that curved ever so slightly into a smile. A hint of a smile. I wanted him to kiss me, and I wanted him to do it because I wanted to feel his lips on mine.