I call Coach, tell him I’ll be late, and stay up in the water tower for hours. When the sun dips closer to the horizon, I move around to the other side so I get an unobstructed view. The sky fades from its familiar blue down to an intense orange glow. With nothing but fields beyond Crowley, the crops—painted by the setting sun—look like flames. They sway and move beneath the wind, and it looks like the earth is on fire. I smile at the idea of watching it burn.
When I can’t take the growling of my empty stomach anymore, I throw my legs over the edge and climb down the ladder. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I feel heavier, weighed down with all the burdens that couldn’t reach me at the top. But they are my burdens. I square my shoulders and vow to deal with them all tomorrow.
The Haystack is busy for a Thursday night. There are plenty of locals and even a group of kids from Franklin. Sawyer and Angela come in together and join his gang of friends near the back of the bar. She gives me a wave before taking a seat at the group’s table. I return her wave and make my way over. The guys introduce themselves while the other ladies just give forced smiles.
“So, Angie, you and Sawyer bumpin’ uglies yet?” one guy asks from across the table.
“Excuse me?” she says, giving him a completely deserved crazy eye.
“You know. Hidin’ the sausage. The horizontal two-step. Bashing the beaver,” he replies, laughing.
“Are you special?” I blurt. “I don’t mean like gold-star special, I mean one-too-many football-concussions special.” The guy stares, unblinking. “Unless you are a third member of their relationship—which would never be an option until you learn to breathe with your mouth closed—what they are doing with their uglies, sausage, and beaver are none of your damn concern.”
Angela presses her lips together and drops her gaze to the floor. She looks shocked but amused by my outburst.
“Oh, snap!” Sawyer shouts, getting the group’s attention.
Angela laughs as Sawyer puts his hand on her knee. She answers with a nervous smile.
I take their order and deliver their drinks, accepting another generous tip. The rest of my night flies by, and I appreciate how work keeps my mind occupied. Though my problems don’t leave me completely.
As Sawyer tells his buddies good-bye, Angela takes a seat at the bar.
“Hey, are you all right?” she asks.
I spin to look at myself in the mirror behind the bar. “Why? Do I not look all right?”
Angela laughs. “No, Wren. You’re gorgeous, as always. You just seem distracted.”
I lean on the bar across from her. “You have no idea. I feel like I’m stuck in a melodramatic Lifetime movie right now.”
“Small-town life a little more complicated than you remember?”
“You could say that.” I pour myself a glass of water and swallow down half of it.
“Well, if you ever need to talk, I’m around. That is, if you can stand being seen with a band nerd.”
“Hey,” I say, pointing at her. “High school does not define us for the rest of our lives. It’s crazy how we think that time is so important. In the grand scheme of things, those four years were nothing.”
Angela raises her eyebrows, seeming impressed.
“Wow. Check out the wisdom from Miss Hart.”
“I’m definitely not ‘Most Likely to be a Celebrity’ anymore,” I tease. “So, how are things with Sawyer?”
“Didn’t you tell mouth breather earlier to mind his business?”
I laugh and slap the bar. “I sure did. Sorry for asking.”
Angela smiles and gives me a grin. “I’m kidding. It’s still very new, you know? We’re great, Wren. He’s great. I’m great.”
“Sounds great.”
We both chuckle as Sawyer wraps his arms around her from behind. He places a kiss on her cheek, and Angela’s entire face lights up. Her joy and nervous energy remind me of my own infatuation with Preston.
“Good night, Wren,” Angela says as she makes her way toward the door.
“Later.”
“I’ll be there in a second,” Sawyer tells her. Angela nods and leans against the front window, checking her cell phone for something to do.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I checked out that Dylan guy.”
“And?”
“He’s got a pretty long rap sheet, Wren. What the hell were you doing?”
I roll my eyes. “Spare me the lecture. That’s history. Where is he now?”
“Well, as of three days ago, he’s locked up in St. Louis on a drunk and disorderly charge.”
“Good. At least he’s in jail,” I say, exhaling.
“For now,” Sawyer answers, giving me a stern look. “I’ll keep an eye on him and let you know if anything changes. Call me if you need anything. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, snapping off a salute. “Thanks.”
Sawyer gives me a nod before heading out. I can’t help but feel relieved knowing where Dylan is at the moment. That little bit of comfort lets me focus on finishing up my work.
When the place is clean and I’ve collected my tips, I tell Coach good-bye and step outside. Preston stands in his usual spot, leaned against the building, his thick arms crossed over his chest. The sight of him makes my chest ache. I miss him, our conversations, his touch, the way he counts out kisses. But the nagging lie sits on the forefront of my brain, and I can’t let it go.
He greets me with a cautious smile and steps toward me. The grip on my bag tightens, and in this dark, quiet night I’m glad he’s here. I don’t say a word as I step into the parking lot and head for the street.
Preston seems to be okay with walking in silence. He follows behind me, giving me the room he knows I need. My mind is at war, wanting to fight and wanting to keep quiet. His gaze on my back unnerves me until I can’t stand the space between us. I feel my frustration growing and growing.
A block from Vinyl I spin to face him. Preston stops in his tracks. He looks so unsure of himself, eyes downcast, hands tucked deep into his pockets.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“To make sure you get home safely.”
“I don’t need an escort.” My voice is harsher than I intend.
“Bennie told me you got another envelope today.”
I exhale in a huff and prop my hands on my hips. “That doesn’t give you the right to follow me around like some lost puppy. I mean, what are you going to do if Dylan shows up?”
I glare at him, waiting for a response. Preston looks out at the road past me.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
“Would you even be able to touch him?”
My words are harsh, and I instantly want to take them back. Preston’s face is an open book, and the blow I’ve just delivered hit its target beautifully. I stomp into the back alley, through the back door and up the stairs. When I’m in the safety of Bennie’s place, I throw my bag down and take a seat at the kitchen table. The yellow envelope waits for me.
With bitter and regretful tears in my eyes, I rip it open and turn it over, but nothing falls out. Digging into the envelope, I find a photo tucked inside. My body starts to shake as I see Dylan and me at Niagara Falls. The beautiful scenery in the back, our smiling faces up front. Only, he’s taken a pen and scratched my eyes out. Harsh indentations and furious lines of black mark out the top half of my face.
The chair I’m in falls over when I jump up. I throw the photo and envelope in the trash and retreat to my room. Leaning against the closed door, my eyes search the space just to make sure I’m alone. When my sights land on the Niagara Falls snow globe still sitting on my windowsill, I see red. I stomp over to the window and push it open. Picking up the snow globe, I shake it one last time, letting the good memories of our trip try to surface. But they don’t. I pull my arm back and let the souvenir fly. In the darkness, I don’t see where it lands, but am satisfied by the sound of breaking glass.
A split seco
nd of
Profound bravery
Has me walking
A tightrope
Over pools of
Virus and disease
No net below
A crowded room
Yet all I see
Is the curve of
Where her neck
Meets her shoulder
I close my eyes
And recall
Exactly how that
Patch of skin smells
Just when I feel
Like I’m drowning
She looks at me
Lips curl up
Toward her eyes
For one thousand one
One thousand two seconds
Then, she is gone
- Preston
Chapter Twenty-Two
Absolution
Friday, I spend the entire day with Bennie in the store. Though my mind often drifts to Dylan and what he has planned, I keep my focus on my sister. We take turns picking out albums to play until I have to leave for work. Preston doesn’t look my way or attempt to talk to me. While I tell myself it’s for the best, I can’t deny the nagging feeling that wants to reconnect with him and regret for the hurtful things I said. I miss the secret smiles he used to give and the way he’d find any excuse to touch me. I miss his quirks, his notebook with the pencil tucked inside. I miss diner lunches over a grid pattern of plates. I feel my anger toward Preston withering away, but my stubbornness holds on for now.
My night at The Haystack goes great until some out-of-towners start a fight with a local. It turns into a full brawl until the sheriff and Sawyer show up and shut us down.
When everything is done, Sawyer offers me a ride home. I accept when I see that Preston is not waiting outside for my walk home. I’m not sure if it’s because we closed early or because of my hateful words to him the night before. There’s no conversation between Sawyer and me on the short ride to Bennie’s. I gaze out of the cruiser’s window and ask for forgiveness. I beg for forgiveness for leaving the only family I have and setting off on a selfish adventure, forgiveness for being so blind that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me, forgiveness for such hurtful words to a man who—despite his lie—has been kind and protective.
I crawl into bed unhappy with who I am and the decisions I’ve made. Thoughts of “what if” race through my head. Scenarios of my past adventures play out a million different ways. As I drift off to sleep, I press my hand to the wall separating us and ask for Preston’s forgiveness, and the capacity to forgive him, too.
Saturday is more of the same. I hang with Bennie at the store, where she whispers about Preston spending lots of time in his workshop and how he never smiles anymore. Guilt eats away at my anger, but I refocus our conversations. Sometimes Bennie will wince in pain, and I dote over her like a nurse. She always gives me a frown and points out that is why she never told me about her sickness in the first place.
I work my shift at The Haystack and walk home alone. I debate calling Bennie for a ride, but it feels silly to be so afraid. But as I cut through the park again, Dylan creeps into my mind. Every little noise in this quiet town makes me jump. Every street is too dark, every corner a hiding place.
After a shower, I lay in bed and flip through a few photo albums from my closet. I grin at the old Bennie and me, two carefree girls taking their time for granted. Photo after photo of our time together pulls on the last thread holding me together. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes and run toward my pillow. They soak into my hairline at my temples and cool my aching head.
As I wipe my eyes, a hard beat comes through my wall from Preston’s apartment. Then the song kicks in, and I close my eyes as Muse reminds me that our “Time is Running Out.”
…
Sunday morning greets me with a bright window and indentations on my face from the photo album that became my pillow. Bennie makes us oatmeal with chocolate chips and walnuts in it.
“This is so good. Tastes like cookies,” I say with my mouth full.
She chuckles. “Remember when you wouldn’t even try oatmeal? I had to trick you.”
“Yeah. Thanks for that. Otherwise, I’d be missing out.”
We finish breakfast and decide to go back to the lake, since it has become our new Sunday tradition. Bennie asks if I want to invite Preston, but I say no. I want to forgive him. I want to stop holding all this anger in my heart for him. But every time I remember that my time with Bennie is limited and he knew that, it firms my resolve. He should have told me.
We have a great day out at the lake, but leave early when Bennie says she feels bad. Though I’m happy that she doesn’t have to hide this misery from me anymore, I absolutely hate seeing it. On the drive home, I ponder my life without Bennie. Even when I was traveling alone, I knew that Bennie still existed here. I wonder what will be left of me when she is gone or how I’ll survive without her. The thought fills me with anger and bitterness, so I leave that behind and focus on the here and now.
“We should get matching tattoos,” I say.
Bennie doesn’t say a word. She simply smiles from behind her oversize sunglasses.
“Something small, just for us.”
“Like what?” she finally asks.
“I don’t know, hearts?” Bennie squishes up her face. “Okay, no hearts. What if I sign my name on you and you sign your name on me. Then we get them to tattoo it on.”
Bennie gives me a smile and nods. “I like that.”
“Okay.” I return her grin. “Let’s do it.”
After dinner, I wash the dishes and put them away while Bennie heads off to bed. It’s early still, and I feel energized, not ready to settle down. Tired of feeling trapped and tied down to my problems, I need an escape—a night of drinks with strangers and letting loose. I decide to borrow Bennie’s car and head into Franklin. I throw on my favorite black dress and my badass wedges before checking myself in the mirror. For someone who’s miserable on the inside, I don’t look half bad on the outside.
I grab my wallet and Bennie’s keys from the hook by the door and head out. And, of course, Preston stands in the hallway locking his door. He doesn’t look up, but keeps his back to me as I scoot past. At the top of the stairs, I pause and grab onto the handrail. Taking a deep breath, I spin to face him only to find Preston a few inches from my face.
“Shit!” I yell and lose my balance, teetering on the top step.
Preston quickly wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close. My heart is beating in my throat, not only from the almost-fall, but from being in his arms again. I grab each of his thick biceps and push him away. That frown reappears on his pretty face, and it almost dissipates my determination.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
My insides flutter, not like dandelions blowing in the wind, but like a vibrating beehive. “I’m fine. Thanks for saving me from certain death.”
“Not death, but maybe a twisted ankle. Or a concussion.”
I nod and mentally tell myself to go. My feet don’t listen. They are planted firmly in front of Preston and refusing to move. There is a battle between my head and my heart, and just for kicks, my girlie parts want a vote, too. I miss him. I miss learning about him. I miss the way he smells. I miss his schedules and his need for control. God, do I miss his kisses.
“You look great,” Preston says after a long silence.
I run my hands down the front of my dress and notice that his eyes follow my movement. “Thanks. I didn’t want to be in the house tonight.”
“I’m heading to Coffee Call. Would you like to come?” Preston glances at his watch, looks at me hopefully, and then checks his watch again.
“I don’t know. I was heading to Franklin.”
Preston nods and looks at his feet. He takes a deep breath and blows it out through his pouted lips. When he lifts his head and his eyes meet mine again, something has changed. There is an electric charge in the air between us.
“I’d really love it if you�
�d come with me, Wren. Give me a chance to explain myself.”
Before I overthink anything, I nod. “Okay. I’ll go.”
Relief washes over him in a way that I can physically see—an exhaled breath, relaxed shoulders, and the crinkles at his eyes.
“Do you want to change your shoes? Or would you like me to drive?”
“You can drive.”
In Preston’s truck, I sit pressed against the passenger-side door. There’s a fat, awkward silence wedged between us on the bench seat. He clicks his seatbelt into place and unfastens it. Preston struggles, repeating the action again and again, finally satisfied with the eighth try.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
I shake my head, disappointed that we have regressed back to these nervous apologies. Nowhere in this town is very far from the apartment, so after a five-minute drive, we’re parked in front of the café. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, staring into the coffee shop.
When I hop out of the truck, Preston locks my door from the inside. He pulls up on the lock and pushes it back down. I see the frustration building in his expression, his fingers clawing at the lock. Finally, he is pleased and climbs out.
Inside, Preston leads me to a table near the microphone in the corner. He slides the table toward the wall a few inches and arranges the chairs so that they are evenly spaced apart with two of them facing the staging area.
“Can I get you something?” he asks, adjusting his watch back and forth on his wrist.
“Vanilla latte, please.”
I’m a little overdressed for this place, but that doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is the flirtatious smile and fake laugh the coffee girl gives Preston. She is falling all over herself trying to get a reaction from him. Even though I no longer have claim, I am smugly satisfied when he ignores her and returns with our drinks.
Preston sets my latte down and twists the cup until the opening in the lid is facing me. He does the same with his drink and looks up at me. He wraps both hands around his cup and twists it around and around.
I sigh and take a sip of my drink. “You said you wanted a chance to explain.”
Chaos and Control Page 22