His to Own: 50 Loving States, Arkansas

by Theodora Taylor

  “What?” Josie says. “You're quitting? Why?”

  Colin answers before I can, “I'm guessing because this situation wasn't cushy enough for her anymore. She found another sucker to feed off of like a tick, so she was going to dump you.”

  He cuts himself off with a curse. “Dammit, I knew I should have had you vetted. With any other girl, I would have.” He jams a finger into his temple. “But you got into my head. All that pretending to not want anything to do with me after our first time at the cabin-that was brilliant. I had no idea I was walking straight into your long con.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “That's not how it was. Not at all. I was thinking about quitting even before I got involved with you. And I know I would have before the baby came.”

  Josie hands go to her stomach, as if covering the eyes of the life housed within it. “What does our baby have to do with this?” she asks me.

  I shake my head. I don't answer. I can't answer. I've spent near my whole life acting like the answer to that question doesn't exist.

  And in the ugly silence that follows her question, Beau says, “Josie, honey, you're a good person, so you don't have any experience with this kind of thing. But Colin and I know how bad these obsessed fans can get. So I need you to go inside and let us handle this.”

  Now my eyes widen bigger than Josie's. “No, that's not it! I'd never do anything to hurt Josie, or you, or the baby! Please, you have to believe me.”

  “Why should I believe anything you say?” Beau asks me. “From what I've heard, all you've done is lie to me. To all of us.”

  “Yes, but…” Helpless tears spring to my eyes. “I had my reasons. I couldn't tell the truth.”

  “Josie get inside, call the police, and start working on one of those restraining orders you do so well,” Beau says, like my explanation is certain proof he's called it right. Then he says to me, “You packin', sweetheart?”

  “No!” Things are spiraling so fast. I can barely get one defense together before they're throwing another accusation at me.

  “Tell me now,” Beau says, his face harder than I've ever seen it. “I won't let you hurt Josie.”

  “I'm not packing a gun and I'm not what you think I am.”

  Now Beau's expression goes tight with skepticism. “So you're saying you haven't watched every one of my pro games then?”

  I stop, my heart freezing inside my chest. “Y-yes, actually I have but-”

  “And if I went upstairs and opened up your laptop, you're telling me I wouldn't find a bunch of files on me and Colin?” he asks.

  My bottom lip trembles with the effort to keep it together, but somehow I once again bring myself to tell him the truth.

  “There's not one on Colin. Just on you.”

  A beat of shocked silence. Then Beau says, “Well, Fairgood, I guess it's two to three now. Can't say I'm particularly happy to have won this particular contest.”

  It takes me a second to get his meaning, and then I remember the girlfriend Colin stole from Beau in high school. What he's trying to say is Colin got that girl, and Beau got two. One he wanted… and one who'd weaseled her way into his life. He couldn't have insulted me more if he wanted to.

  “No,” I say. “I never set my sights on you, Beau. Josie offered me this job and I took it. But that's it.”

  “So that's your story?” Beau asks, his voice flat with disbelief. “You were just some innocent, crazy stalker fan who just so happened to fall into a job helping out the object of your obsession.”

  “No, that's not my story,” I answer, my face twisting up with defensive anger. “I'm not obsessed with you. I don't like even like football!”

  Colin shakes his head. “So what then? You thought you were in love with Beau because he's good lookin', and you said you were in love with me because you finally figured out you didn't have a chance with him?”

  “What? Ew, no! I'm not in love with Beau. Not like that. Ew!” I say it again, because the unnecessary image Colin puts in my head completely turns my stomach.

  “Then what is it?” Josie demands. “I suggest you start talking now, because you owe all of us an explanation. I trusted you…”

  I know she did, and I feel terrible that I've betrayed her trust. I don't want her thinking even for a moment that I ever had any designs on Beau. She's right. I have to tell them the truth. I owe them all the truth.

  I address Josie, because she was the last one to speak, and if I'm being honest, the easiest one to look in the eye. The truth, as it turns out, isn't that complicated. It's just three words I've never said out loud.

  “Beau's my brother.”

  Silence.

  And I continue on, “I'm his sister. His half-sister. My mother and his father had an affair when she was the live-in servant here, and my mother got pregnant. With me. That's why they fired her. But my father-Mr. Prescott-he set us up in an apartment, gave my mother a monthly allowance, and that allowed her not to work while she pursued her singing career. So I guess that was something.”

  I finally bring myself to look at Beau.

  “I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't know how, and I was afraid you'd reject me even if I did. Our father-Mr. Prescott-never acknowledged my existence. Never let me call him daddy when he came by to visit my mama. Never. Then he died and-”

  “No,” Beau says, cutting me off. “You're a liar. You're lying now. And that's craziest story yet.”

  I shake my head. “I'm not.”

  I try to go toward him, but he backs away from the sound of my incoming steps, like I'm toxic waste come asking for a cuddle.

  “No,” he says, his voice harsh with anger. “Get out of here.”

  “Beau-”

  “Get out of here before I call the police,” he says.

  Then he takes the choice of continuing the conversation out of my hands by turning and going back into the house.

  “Beau…” Josie calls, running after him.

  But I don't have enough energy left to go after him, try to explain some more. My stomach filling up with regret, I watch my half-brother walk away, just like I've always been scared he would if he found out about me. Heart cracking with sorrow, I watch the front door open, then close. On the conversation. On the situation. On me.

  And that leaves just me and Colin.

  “I'm sorry,” I say to him quietly. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  Colin looks at me, his face harsh with pain. “You think all you did was hurt me?” he asks.

  “Colin…” I say, turning to face him. “I am sorry. I am so sorry. I couldn't be sorrier. Please believe that.”

  Colin just shakes his head, obviously not believing a word of that. “I told you I had trust issues.”

  “I know,” I say, feeling like the worst person on Earth. “I know you did.”

  “And you fucking lied to me anyway.”

  “I wanted to tell you, I just…” I shake my head. “I didn't know how. But I wanted to-”

  “Do you think I would have showed you the real me if I'd known I was just a paycheck? Some pity move from Josie?”

  “It was more than that,” I tell him, my voice barely above a whisper. “Please believe me.”

  “I don't believe you, because I don't trust you anymore!” he roars at me. “I was all in with you. This morning you had me wanting to write a whole album of love songs, because for once I didn't felt like I was all alone in this fucking world. But you been playing me from the start!”

  I can almost feel the pain radiating off of him. Like it's my own, and God, I want to hug him so bad. Comfort him, help him get over what I did. But I know he'd never let me, so instead I rush to tell him, “Colin, no, I-I meant what I said this weekend. I did. I almost told you last night. And then I tried again this morning, but you were on the phone…”

  I stop, realizing what this all must sound like to him. A bunch of excuses for doing the inexcusable. For lying to him the whole time about who I was and w
hy I'd called him in the first place.

  I clamp my lips together and shake my head, not knowing what else to say or how to explain that despite all my lies, I really do love him.

  All I can do is make myself meet his eyes, and then try not to cry when I see the tears shining there.

  “You think you hurt me?” he asks, his voice just as broken as his eyes. “You're not giving yourself enough credit for doing your job well, Kyra. You destroyed me.”

  Somehow his using my real name makes me feel even worse, like I've just completely killed the man who kissed me good-bye this morning. The man who was willing to take that leap off of love's cliff with me.

  But I only have to feel this way for a little while. Soon enough, his eyes shutter to a neutral setting I recognize, and I can see him transforming back into the closed-off person I used to think he was before all the phone calls and the universe-rocking sex. Especially when he finishes with, “I hope you got paid well for it.”

  “Colin-” I start to tell him everything I said when we were together was true. That he thinks I tricked him into showing me the real him, but he got more of the real me while we were together than I've ever given to any other man.

  But I don't get the chance because he walks away then. No good-byes or threats. Just the thunk of his cowboy boots against the gravel driveway. Then he's back in his truck, pulling backwards out of the long driveway so fast, I'm half afraid he'll run into something.

  But he doesn't. The black Silverado pulls out and takes off down the street with no regard whatsoever for the little community's posted ten mile an hour speed limit.

  And all I can do is stand there in front of my half-brother's closed door, watching the love of my life drive away.

  Chapter 37

  I don’t even try to get my stuff out of Beau and Josie’s house. After Colin leaves, I just get in my car and drive. Drive and don’t stop for anything but gas until I arrive home in front of my grandma’s cabin.

  My grandma appears on the porch before I’m even all the way out of the car.

  “What you doing here, Best Grandbaby?” she asks me with a worried look on her wrinkled brown face.

  It’s the “Best Grandbaby” that breaks me. I run to her and fall into her frail arms, sobbing.

  “Oh, what’s this all about? Come here, baby, come over here.” I get a weird sense of déjà vu as Grandma leads me over to the porch swing, because this is exactly what she did when I was near fit to cry myself a pond after my mother left for Los Angeles.

  “Whatever it is, it ain’t worth all of this,” she tells me.

  I lay my head in her lap and I shake my head. “Everything’s ruined, and it’s all my fault!”

  “I’m telling you, it isn’t. Now just talk to me, Best Grandbaby. Talk to me so I can help you.”

  My grandma sounds so distressed by my distress that I tell her everything. Well, not everything—there is no way I’m ever going to give my grandma the full no-holds-barred details of what Colin did to me in bed—but everything else, I put it all on the table. And as I tell her my sad and stupid tale, one thing becomes very clear: she may call me her Best Grandbaby, but I’m barely better than the reckless daughter she stills regrets not raising right.

  When I finally finish, I can feel my grandma’s whole body shaking underneath my head. I sit up, ready to apologize for everything I’ve done. My mother’s caused her enough pain and I can’t stand the thought of my grandmother crying because of something I’ve done.

  But when I get a good look at her, the apology dies on my lips. She’s not crying, I realize. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her thin shoulders are shaking, but not with sorrow.

  She’s laughing… at me!

  “Grandma, it’s not funny. I hurt a lot of people!”

  “I know it ain’t. I know you’re real cut up about all this, Grandbaby. I’m sorry! I’m sorry.” Grandma, tries to make her face serious, only to collapse into another fit of giggles.

  “Grandma!” I say, scolding her like she used to scold me the few times I tried to talk back to her.

  Grandma shakes her head, still cackling. “It’s just all this time I spent wondering if maybe I was holding you back from really living. But it looks like you went and got you your life. I mean, good gravy, Best Grandbaby, you done better than some of those characters in my stories! They should hire you to write for them on TV. I mean…”

  She slaps her knee and starts laughing again.

  And despite myself, my own lips starting twitching with something awfully close to laughter, even as I say, “Grandma, it’s really not funny. Colin thinks I’m a total psycho now—which he’s kind of right about. He told me he had trust issues going into all of this. And I went and lied to him anyway, and I hurt him so bad. Who does that? He’s never going to forgive me.”

  “Oh, he’ll get over it,” my grandma says, waving off Colin’s feelings like they’re a bunch of pesky flies. “Men don’t like to admit it, but they love themselves a crazy woman. Girls like your cousin, Bernice, all buttoned up and worried about being proper… men will praise them to the heavens while letting them dry up on the shelf. Girls like you and me? They’ll cuss six ways to Sunday right before they lock us down with a ring. I’m just glad you turned out to be like me and not like Bernice. Truth be told, I was getting a little worried with all this living like a nun you was doing before that country singer came along.”

  “What?” I say, unable to believe the words coming out of Grandma’s mouth. “I’m nothing like you! You’re good and sweet and honest. You’d never do something like this.”

  “Tell that to Bernice’s grandmama, Beulah Mae. When your Paw Paw came back from the Korean War, she had the nerve to approach my man at Lucky’s—that’s the juke joint we all used to go around to on Saturday nights so we’d have something to pray about on Sunday morning. She was the preacher’s daughter, but you should have seen her with your Paw Paw. Simpering and carrying on, messing with the top button on her blouse, like she was more than willing to open it if he said the word. You think I put up with that? No, ma’am. I undid three buttons on my blouse. Then I led him away to the dance floor, and showed him how a real woman do. And then the next time Beulah Mae tried to talk to him at Lucky’s, guess what I did?”

  “Told her nicely to stop,” I guess, with a picture in my head of my grandma making her cousin, Beulah Mae, her favorite peach cobbler every fifth of July and delivering it straight to her house down the road with a sweet “Happy Birthday!”

  “No, Grandbaby, that’s not what I did at all. What I did was go right up to them and very politely ask your Paw Paw for his lighter. Back then, I was known to smoke a cigarette or two, but only on Saturdays when we was out—which we was. So your Paw Paw handed me his lighter thinking nothing of it. Plus his eyes were glued to Beulah Mae’s top button, which you better believe she was fingering right in his face again.”

  “Grandma,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper. “What did you do?”

  “I snatched Beulah Mae’s wig, yes I did.” Grandma claws her hand into a fist, obviously right back in the memory. “Snatched it right off her greasy head and I lit it on fire. In front of your Paw Paw and every other eligible black man with all his teeth for four counties over. And I said, ‘That’s my man, heifer. You’d best step back.’”

  I gasp, covering my whole mouth with both hands. “You. Did. Not.”

  My grandma slaps her hands together with a big cackle that sounds like she bought it directly from a witch.

  “You better believe I ain’t lying! Your Paw Paw hauled me out of there. Called me fifty different kinds of crazy as he drove me home—let me tell you, Best Grandbaby, I didn’t even know there was that many different words for crazy. I was right impressed with your Paw Paw’s vocabulary on that ride home. I told him so, but he didn’t take that in the spirit it was intended. Just deposited me on my parents doorstep and screeched away in his Chevy Deluxe.”

  Grandma stops laughing then. �
��I’ll admit in the sober light of Sunday morning, I was a little embarrassed by all I done. I tried to apologize to him at church the next day, but he refused to speak to me.”

  “How did you get him to forgive you?” I asked, honestly seeing no possible solution to their situation, even though I’m here, so obviously the story had a happy ending.

  “I went crying to my mama, and she gave me some advice I’ll always remember, ‘leave a man alone for half a month of Sundays, and they’ll always come back around.’”

  “That worked?” I said, still unable to believe.

  “I gave him a half month of Sundays exactly, and then I walked up to him at church on the last Sunday and said, ‘You ready to thank me for saving you from boring old Beulah Mae yet?’”

  I laughed, just as I knew my Paw Paw must have back in the day. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one in this family who truly appreciated Grandma’s sense of humor.

  My grandma pats her thin grey braids, preening like a peacock.

  “Me and your Paw Paw was married two weeks later, and two months after that, Beulah Mae got herself engaged to the youth pastor at our church. He was maybe the only eligible man who didn’t see her get her wig snatched, and one of the few who actually cared about a woman being good and proper. So she learned her lesson about messing with another girl’s man.”

  “But—but you make her peach cobbler every year, rain or shine.”

  Grandma looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “She’s still my favorite cousin.” A sly smile tugs at her lips. “And the one woman in this county I could be certain wouldn’t never dare to come after your Paw Paw. Anyway, the point is, give that white boy of yours half a month of Sundays. He’ll come around.”

  I knew he wouldn’t. My grandma didn’t understand how Colin had grown up. How hard it was for him to trust. How betrayed he must feel now by my lies. But despite knowing that, I find myself laughing, the tears drying up in my eyes.