“Hi,” he says.
“Hi. Did you handle that problem that came up last night?”
Preston’s eyes flick to Bennie over my shoulder, but she is immersed in her novel, face hidden behind the pages.
“I did.”
“Was it hard?”
He nods his head and smirks. “Extremely.”
“Well, I’m glad you took care of it.”
He checks his watch and gives me a slow grin. “I was about to go to lunch. You want to come with?”
My stomach flutters, and I nod. “Sure.”
“I’m just going to wash my hands,” Preston says, holding up his perfectly clean palms.
“Okay. I’ll wait here.”
He heads toward the bathroom at the back of the store. I lean against the counter and sigh, not even trying to hide the satisfied smile on my face.
“You guys need to work on your sexual innuendo,” Bennie says while trying to stifle a yawn.
I spin to face her, my mouth hanging open. “I thought you were reading.”
“I was, until my ears were assaulted by the worst code language for masturbation I’ve ever heard. Seriously, Wren. You’re my sister. I don’t want to hear that shit.”
Glaring at her, I prop my elbows onto the counter and rest my chin in the palm of my hand. “Then you really don’t want to hear about the way he banged out a solution to my problem last night.”
“Ugh! Wren!”
“What’s wrong?” Preston asks, approaching us.
“Nothing,” I answer. “Let’s go.”
Preston nods, grabs my hand, and plants two chaste kisses on my lips. I’m shocked, but celebrate his affection with a wink at Bennie. She sticks her tongue out as Preston pulls me from the store.
“Be back in an hour,” he says over his shoulder.
The heat hits me the moment we step outside. Preston pulls his shades from the front pocket of his shirt and slides them on. He looks both ways and leads me across the street.
“It’s Wednesday, so I know we’re not going to Millie’s. Where do you lunch on Wednesdays?”
“Boone’s.”
“The grocery store?”
“Yep.”
By the time we get to Boone’s, I’m sweating. The cool air inside is heaven, and I want to just hang out in the refrigerated dairy section for a while. Preston laughs at me and nudges me toward the deli. As soon as he approaches the counter, a short, round lady smiles up at him and waves.
They don’t exchange words, but I watch as she prepares a plate with roast. She carefully spoons baked beans into one compartment and coleslaw into the other. After closing it, she sets it on the counter with a package of wrapped plastic utensils and a smile.
“And what can I get you?” she asks.
“I’ll take the chicken fingers and fries.”
Up front, we each grab a bottle of water and check out. Preston insists on buying my lunch.
“Now what?” I ask, standing on the sidewalk holding our lunches.
“Back to the store.”
“Ooookay.”
“Just follow me, Wren-who-thinks-she-knows-everything-about-this-town.”
I laugh and fall in step next to Preston. When we get back to Vinyl, he leads me past the store’s entrance and into the alley. We race each other up two flights of stairs to the attic storage space.
“After you,” he says, opening the door and sweeping his hand inside.
“I haven’t been up here since I was a kid.”
Preston flips the light on, and I can’t believe the space before me. The entire right side is a mountain of old furniture. Some pieces are covered in white sheets, while others are covered in layers of dust. On the other side of the room are work tables lined with paint cans, metal boxes with small drawers, and some power tools. An old sink sits in the corner. There’s a skylight in the roof, casting light into that side of the room. Preston walks over to a desk and pulls up two chairs.
“Let’s eat. I’m starved.”
“It used to be so dark and creepy and packed with so much junk, you couldn’t get more than ten feet inside the door. My friends and I used to dare each other to come up here at night.”
Preston takes a seat and taps the one next to him. I sit and open my lunch.
“When I first asked Bennie about including furniture in the store, it’s because I found this great chair on the side of the road. I knew it was filthy and used, but I was drawn to it. I cleaned it, repaired a broken leg, and refinished the wood. Bennie let me put it in the front display, and it sold the next day. It happened a few more times with found pieces, and I told her I could get more done if I had a place to work.”
I pop a french fry into my mouth. “And she mentioned this place?”
“Yeah. It took me a month to clear out enough room to work. Turns out when this building was originally built, it was a furniture store. Most of this,” he waves to the stacks of furniture, “was leftover inventory from when they closed.”
“Wow. I had no idea. I just only knew it as a bookstore and then Vinyl.”
Preston grins and opens his lunch. He pulls the utensils and napkin from their wrapper and lays them on the desk just like when he eats at the diner. I take a swig from my water bottle.
“So, all the furniture in the shop, you refinished?” I dip a chicken finger in ketchup and take a bite.
He shakes his head. “No, some stuff I’ve found at flea markets and such. But most are pieces I worked on.”
“Maybe we can expand the furniture section even more? Keep the records but add vintage collectibles and stuff? Oh! Maybe even set up shop online?”
Preston shakes his head, his eyes never leaving my face.
“What?” I ask.
“You talk like you’ll be around forever, Wren, like you’re going to stay in Crowley.”
I pick at the fringe on my shorts. “But I’m not.”
“I know,” he says.
After a few breaths of silence, Preston reaches for my fidgeting hands. He holds them so gently, sweeping his thumbs over my skin.
“I told my mom about you.”
I sit up tall in my chair. “You did?”
“Yep.”
“What did you tell her? What did she say?”
He releases my hands and leans back in his chair. “She says you could be good for me. Opposites attract and all that.”
I grin. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe we’d be good for each other.”
Preston folds his arms across his chest, a challenge in his gaze.
“You mean until you leave again?”
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip, hoping to distract him. “Seems we’re doomed before we even start, huh?” I say. “The girl who refuses to stay put and the boy who thinks he’s not relationship material.”
“Seems so.”
“So why even bother?” I ask. My defenses are up now. My chest aches as disappointment settles in. I cross my arms to mirror Preston.
“Because, maybe, for whatever time we do have, we could be great.” His mouth curls into a sexy smirk, and the air between us changes.
“How do you know?” I rest my hands on my knees and lean toward him.
“I just know.”
“Well, Preston-who-writes-poetry, Preston-who-sells-records, Preston-who-repairs-furniture, Preston-who-rebuilds-trucks, Preston-who-just-knows-things, is there anything you can’t do?”
He smiles now, his eyes on my lips. “I can’t look at that glob of ketchup on your face for another second.”
“What?” I swipe at my mouth but feel nothing.
“Just kidding,” he says. “I think your face is perfect.”
“Perfect, huh?” I dip my finger in the ketchup and swipe it on my chin. “Is it still perfect, Preston?”
He cracks a smile and turns away, focusing on his lunch. Without even looking in my direction, he grabs his napkin and waves it in front of me. I yank it out of his hand and wipe my chin clean.
; We eat our lunch and talk more about the work he’s done up here. The passion in his voice when Preston speaks of refinishing makes me excited for him. I can see that it brings peace in the mess of his disorder. I can also picture him up here, working with those strong hands, covered in sawdust and sweat—though I’m sure it’s not quite that dirty.
“Can I come watch you work sometime?”
Preston stops, mid-chew. “Uh, I guess so. I won’t be much company, though. I kind of zone out when I’m up here.”
“That’s okay.”
He gives me a smile—eye crinkles included—and goes back to his lunch. All the heaviness from our earlier conversation seems gone, and I am thankful for it. When we’re finished, we throw away our plates and take turns washing our hands in the sink. I follow him down the stairs and enjoy the view.
“Thanks for sharing your space with me, Preston.”
He grabs my elbow and presses me against the front window of Vinyl.
“Thanks for not thinking I’m weird.”
“Oh, you’re weird. But you’re a bunch of other things, too,” I tease. I trail my fingers down the buttons on his shirt. “You’re pretty.” He groans. “You’re smart. You’re talented. You’re sweet. You’re pretty.”
“You said that already.”
Preston leans in, our lips connect, and all thoughts vanish from my head. I rest one hand on his shoulder, and the other slides up his chest and around his neck. My nails scrape through the short hair on the back of his head as I pull him against me. We are sweet kisses and satisfied sighs, nipping at each other as if we’re dessert.
“We’d better get in before Bennie kills us for making out in front of her store,” I say.
He chuckles and opens the door for me. Again, the cool air is a welcome reprieve.
“Where’s Bennie?” Preston asks.
I check her usual chair behind the register and find it empty. Then I scan the store. I don’t see her anywhere.
“Maybe she’s in the back?”
“I’ll go check,” he says. Preston takes off toward the back of the store as I step behind the front counter.
“Bennie!”
She’s sprawled on the floor in an unnatural position, legs twisted, a mark on her forehead. Her novel still rests in her hand. I drop to my knees and lean my ear to her mouth to see if she is still breathing. She is. Every thought in my head is replaced with panic. My hands search her body, checking for more injuries, but I find nothing.
“Preston! Preston!” I yell. “Bennie, wake up.” She doesn’t respond. I take her hand and squeeze hard, willing her to gain consciousness. Preston appears above me, and I can barely see him through my tears. “Call 911!”
I pull her head into my lap and brush her red hair from her face. “Bennie, please wake up. Please, Ben.”
Preston returns and kneels next to me. “They’ll be here soon.”
I nod and continue to cradle Bennie’s face in my trembling hands.
“What’s wrong with her, Preston?” My voice is barely a whisper. “Why won’t she wake up?”
“I don’t know,” he says. His words are as strained as mine.
“Bennie, please.” I beg her to open her eyes and tell me she’s okay, but nothing happens. “Where are they? What is taking so long?”
Time is a funny thing in moments of panic. For some people, it slows down. They are able see and hear everything around them; they are extremely perceptive. For me, in this instance, time slips away like storm clouds across the sky.
Sirens wail as they approach, and I don’t leave Bennie. Men come with a stretcher and pull my sister from my arms. They wheel her away, and all I can do is watch.
“Where are they taking her?” I ask. I shake my head in an effort to clear my mind.
“Franklin Memorial. Let’s go.”
I nod and stand motionless while Preston closes the store. He ushers me out to his truck. I see his lips moving, but I can’t comprehend the words. Finally, he picks me up and places me in the truck. When I don’t respond, Preston buckles my seatbelt, too.
With nothing but highway, fields, and blue sky between here and Franklin, it seems like a never-ending journey. My mind races with worst-case scenarios and a world without my sister. It’s something that I can’t imagine. I replay every conversation we’ve had since I returned, looking for some clue, but I come up with nothing. There are too many thoughts buzzing around my brain to nail anything down.
When we pull into the hospital parking lot, I am out of the truck before the engine shuts off.
“Where is she?” I ask over my shoulder. Preston is scrambling to keep up.
“They said to go to the emergency room.”
Summoning a forced kind of calm, I slip through the sliding doors. The scent of hospital overwhelms my senses, antibacterial cleaner and medicine. The bright lights of the ER are blinding, even more so with the reflection off the shiny floors. I approach the counter and try to keep my voice even.
“Bennetta Hart. She was brought in by ambulance.”
The lady nods and taps on her keyboard. “She’s with doctors now. Are you a relative?”
“Yes.”
“They will let you know something soon. Have a seat for now. There’s fresh coffee.”
I sit in the chair nearest the door, and Preston sits beside me. We don’t speak, but we don’t need to. There is a soothing air in the space between us, an understanding of our roles here. Some trashy talk show plays on the television in the corner of the room. A mother and her toddler are curled up together against the opposite wall playing games on a tablet.
Every time I check the institutional clock hung above our heads, it’s only been another few minutes. Preston’s knee bounces up and down vibrating our row of chairs.
“Tell me something good. Distract me,” I say.
“I made it through an entire work day without having to touch anyone yesterday.”
“That’s good. But you usually seem to handle it okay.”
Preston takes a deep breath and blows it out. His knee stills.
“The struggle is internal, you know? And I hate people in my space.”
“I’m in your space,” I say, ducking my head, trying to catch his gaze.
“I’m different with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“The first time I saw you, those things just fell away. You were standing there with Tupelo Honey, and all I could see was you. Your lavender hair and black boots. Your big innocent eyes and that devilish smile telling me I’m pretty.” Preston stops, leans back in his chair, and crosses his arms. “No counting, no lists, no thoughts of germs. It’s like the only thing that existed was you. I can control my tics better around you. Not completely, of course. There’s no cure for this. But you seem to calm that part of me.”
“Why me?” I ask.
He runs one hand through his hair as his leg begins to bounce again. I let my fingers curl around his knee, and he stops.
“I don’t know. You’re like the best medicine,” Preston says, looking away.
I lean my head on his shoulder and smile at the speckled linoleum floor. I’m not sure what to say to his confession, so I keep quiet. After forty minutes, I feel my sanity slipping. I’ve watched four doctors come and go through that main door, but I still don’t know what’s going on with Bennie.
“Why haven’t they come talk to us yet?”
“Maybe they don’t know anything yet,” Preston answers.
I finally look at him and see how uncomfortable he is here. His posture is rigid, though it usually is, and his eyes constantly scan the room. He’s made three trips to the bathroom, where I assume he is washing his hands. A hospital must be a terrible place for someone afraid of germs.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Preston scoffs. “I should be asking you that.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me tight against him. “I’ll survive. You?”
“I’d be a lot better if they came o
ut here and told me my sister is okay.”
The double doors next to the nurse’s counter swing open. A tall man with green scrubs and a white coat comes through. I watch his face, trying to decipher some kind of code in the way his eyes move or the way his hands gesture and point. He speaks to the nurse, and she looks at me.
“Miss Hart?” she says. I jump out of my chair and hurry over. Preston releases me and follows. “Dr. Devall will take you back to see the patient.”
“Thank you,” I say.
We trail behind the doctor through two halls, three left turns, and finally into a room. Bennie is in a gown and hooked up to a couple of machines. Her eyes move to mine, and she gives me a weak smile.
“Hey, kid.”
“Bennie, you scared the shit out of me,” I say, rushing to her side. “What the hell happened?” I’m asking her, but I turn toward the doctor.
He exchanges a look with Bennie and motions for me to have a seat. I refuse.
“Your sister is suffering from extreme fatigue.”
“I haven’t been sleeping,” Bennie interjects.
“We’ll keep her overnight for observation, but she should go home tomorrow. You’ll need to keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s getting enough rest. Limit the amount of alcohol and caffeine for a while, stay hydrated. I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow morning, Bennie,” he says before leaving the room.
I exhale and fall into the chair beside her bed.
“He called you Bennie. Do you know him?”
“Dr. Devall? Yeah, we went to school together. And we may have once made wild passionate monkey love behind the church during one of Daddy’s sermons.”
“Bennie!” I scold. Preston coughs to cover a laugh. “You dirty, dirty girl.” She gives me a grin, and I know that she’s teasing. “Exhaustion, Bennie? Why haven’t you said anything? I can work the store. You don’t even have to pay me.”
“Oh, Wren. It’s a bitch getting old. Just thought it was part of the process.” I roll my eyes. “Now, you two go on home. I’ll be fine here by myself. I’ll call you tomorrow so you can come get me.”
“No. I’m going to stay with you,” I insist.
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