by Penny Dee
Again, my face burned with embarrassment.
I looked at her. “I behaved like an ass. I get it.”
She shrugged. “There was a lot of emotion behind it. Seems to me there are a lot of things left unsaid between the two of you.”
“Cade has moved on. So have I.”
She pushed off the door frame and walked in. “Oh, he says he has. He says a lot of things because he is a man, and just like his daddy, he can be a damn fool. But I know my boy. The torch he burns for you is as bright as any torch is going to get.” She slid my leather bolero jacket from a hanger in the closet and put it on me. And because I was so lost in what she was saying, I let her. “If you’re going to say goodbye to that girl for good, best you know who you are saying goodbye to.”
She turned me to face the mirror and my heart stalled. The girl standing in front of me was the same girl who had walked away from Cade and Destiny twelve years earlier. Oh sure, she was slightly older, and hopefully a hell of a lot smarter, but other than that, not much had changed.
I frowned at my reflection. I didn’t know what startled me the most.
How these clothes still fit me after all these years.
Or how good it felt to be wearing them again.
Confusion knotted in my chest.
I needed to clear my head. Get my emotions straight.
I needed to see my brother.
Talking to him always helped.
I needed some brother-sister time.
An hour later, I walked through the immaculate green lawns of Grenville Park, our local cemetery. It had been twelve years, but not a lot had changed and I had no trouble finding Bolt’s grave. He was next to our grandparents, Connie and Jude Parrish, and our Uncle Samuel who’d died at nine years old from acute leukemia.
On Sunday, my daddy would join them in the shade of the willow tree.
I walked toward Bolt’s grave and immediately felt an all-too-familiar feeling of pain and regret spread through my chest. I used to visit every week, but hadn’t been back since leaving for college.
I knelt before his gravestone and drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I let the feelings of grief and loss engulf me. Bolt had died young. One minute he was here, and the next minute he was gone.
And I was alone.
I reached out and traced his name carved into the fieldstone.
BOLT HANK PARRISH
Sadness wrapped itself around my heart. It had been eighteen years since I had seen my brother. Eighteen years since I’d heard his voice and his infectious laugh. Eighteen years since he had put his arm around my shoulders and told me everything was going to be okay.
My heart ached. Tears spilled down my cheeks.
My brother.
I had left him behind, too.
INDY—Aged 12
Then
I hated the smell of the hospital. Mama said I would get used to it, but I didn’t think I would, not even if I worked there every single day. And why anyone would want to work where it smelled so bad and people were so unhappy was beyond me. The only good thing about the hospital was getting to hang out with Bolt and watching TV while eating Jell-O and ice cream. The nurses were kind and gentle, and they would bring me little tubs of it when they brought Bolt’s dinner to his room. And half the time, Bolt didn’t feel like eating, so I got to eat his, as well. Lately, Bolt hadn’t been eating at all, so they had him hooked up to a bag that fed something into his arm, but the nurses still brought dessert for me.
Bolt got tired a lot. Even watching TV was tiresome for him, so he’d ask me to read to him instead. He loved Harry Potter and we were half-way through book three. I liked reading out loud to him because he would close his eyes and his face would look peaceful, and I wondered if me reading to him was the only time he was able to block out the pain. It made me feel helpful, which was good, because watching his illness eat him from the inside out and not being able to do anything made me cry into my pillow every single night.
Not that I let Mama know. Or Daddy—especially not Daddy, because he had become so stressed and mean lately. He didn’t smile anymore, and there was a harsh edge to his voice, so I stayed away from him. One night, I found him sitting in the treehouse with his legs dangling over the side. He had a bottle of liquor in one hand and his face was buried in the other. He was sobbing and it made me feel real weird because I had never seen my daddy cry before, but this night he was really letting his tears get the better of him. I watched him sob, then take a swig of liquor, and then sob again.
He didn’t really come to the hospital very much anymore, either. But today he did, although him being there didn’t seem to comfort my mama much. She was crying a lot, more than usual. Ronnie, Garrett, and Cade were there, too, and even they looked torn up and scared, and I didn’t understand why. They’d seen Bolt lots of times, but for some reason today they were taking it real bad. I went to the water fountain for a drink, and when I walked back to Bolt’s room, Garrett Calley brushed past me muttering, “It ain’t right, God taking them so damn young.”
Alarmed and confused, I watched him disappear down the hallway and out of view. When I turned back toward Bolt’s room, Ronnie and Cade were walking out.
“Go see your brother, baby girl. Go spend some time with him,” Ronnie said softly.
Cade took my hand in his and squeezed my fingers, but he didn’t say anything. Feeling a sense of urgency bubble up from deep within me, I pulled my hand free and pushed open the door to Bolt’s room.
Inside, Mama sat beside his bed, holding his hand, while my daddy stared out the window that looked out over the parking lot. Neither glanced up when I walked in, and Bolt looked like he was asleep.
A strange mood hung in the air.
They weren’t telling me something.
I cleared my throat and mama looked up at me.
“Hey, baby.” She forced a smile. She looked sad and tired, the type of tired where people look sick to their bones.
“You want me to get you some coffee, Mama?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, sweetheart.”
“Well, I feel like one.” My daddy turned away from the window to look at mama. “Irish. Hold the caffeine.”
Mama looked weary. “Not today, Jack. Please, let’s just get through today without whisky.”
“I’ll do whatever the hell I want, woman,” my daddy replied darkly, and turned back to stare out the window. “I’ll do whatever I goddamn want to.”
My mama and daddy fought a lot lately. I remember how he used to touch her with such tenderness. A gentle stroke on the cheek. A small squeeze of her hand as he walked past. Now he barely looked at her.
“I can go get you something if you like, Daddy,” I said. But he just ignored me and kept staring out the window like I wasn’t even in the room.
Mama reached for my hand and squeezed it. “You’re a good girl, Indigo.”
I heard my daddy growl and then storm out. Mama looked worn out and sad.
“Sit with your brother, Indy. Maybe read him one of those books he likes.”
I nodded and Mama got up and went after Daddy.
I looked at Bolt. For the longest time. I just stared down at him lying in the hospital bed.
“Will you quit lookin’ at me like that, Indy.” He opened one eye. “Anyone would think you ain’t seen someone dyin’ before.”
“Is that what you call it, Bolt Parrish? I thought you was just lazyin’ around.” I sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t think I ain’t noticed how I’ve been picking up your slack around home with chores and stuff.”
“You got me.” He forced a weak smile. “This is just some ploy to get outta chores.”
I chuckled. “I was figuring.”
“I would give anything to be home right now.”
“You’ll be home soon enough.”
His smile faded. “I’m never going home, Indy.”
My smile faded, too. “Don’t say that,” I whispered.
“It’s true. Why’d you think Mom and Dad are so upset. Why’d you think the Calley’s are here. I’m dying, Indy.”
“You’re fourteen, Bolt. Fourteen-year-old boys don’t die.”
“They think I don’t know. But I do. I hear stuff. They think I’m asleep or passed out on pain medication, but I hear their conversations. I know that it’s only a matter of days, maybe even hours—”
I stood up. “Don’t you speak like that! It’s not true. You hear me?”
“It is true.” He lifted his head off the pillow. But it must’ve been too much for him, because he grimaced and winced, and fell back into his pillow. He looked so weak. I felt a horrible tingling at the base of my stomach and looked away from my brother. I couldn’t let him see the truth in my eyes. That I was terrified for him. That I was terrified that he may be right.
“Where do you think we go when we die?” he asked, looking up at me from his pillow.
I didn’t want to have this conversation with him. But I knew he needed to talk.
“I don’t know. But I bet it’s real nice.”
Again, he smiled weakly. “When it’s time for me to go, I’m going to soar like an eagle. I’m going to fly over town and people will look up and go, ‘There goes Bolt Parrish, flying like an eagle, flying free at last’. And I will be free—free from this pain.” He sighed and his breath left him slowly. His lashes brushed his cheeks as his eyes closed. “How I want to be free.”
Tears spilled down my face. I didn’t want my brother to die. But he was dying, and no matter how much I didn’t want it to be true, he was ready to go.
“Bolt . . .”
He opened his eyes and reached for my hand. Then he gently shook it. “Don’t you go getting all soppy on me, girl.”
I smiled weakly and wiped the tears from my cheek. “As if! I was going to suggest I read you some more Harry Potter.”
He smiled up at me. “Please . . .”
I opened the book to where we last left it and began reading. Ten minutes in and I glanced over at Bolt. His eyes were closed and he looked still. Very still. I swallowed deep. My heart pounded in my chest.
“I’m still breathing . . .” he croaked out. A small smile curled on his pale lips, but his eyes remained closed. “You can quit your starin’, Indy.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I know that, silly. I was just taking a breath.”
I took a sip of water from the cup beside his bed, and started reading again. I glanced at the clock: 4:39 pm. I turned the page and continued into the next chapter.
At 4:43 pm, I looked over and Bolt was sleeping again. I bit my lip. Again, he looked very still.
Was his chest moving?
I drew in a heavy breath and leaned in closer.
“Bolt?” I whispered softly.
There was silence and a terrible tingling began to unfurl in the base of my stomach.
“Bolt?”
The Harry Potter book dropped from my grasp as I went to him and shook him.
“Bolt, wake up.” Another shake. “Bolt.”
But he didn’t wake up.
“Wake up, please!” I cried.
The door opened and Mama walked in carrying a cup of coffee. When she looked at me and then to Bolt, the paper cup in her hand fell to the floor and coffee spilled like blood across the linoleum.
“No,” she cried, and raced toward the bed.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion from that point on. A nurse ran in, followed by a doctor, followed by my father. My mama grabbed onto Bolt’s pajama shirt and cried for him to open his eyes. She pulled him toward her, but his arms were floppy at his side. The nurse and the doctor struggled with her, trying to get her to free her grip on his shirt.
“No,” she kept crying. Over and over. And finally, she fell into the arms of the nurse while my father stood there like a helpless toy soldier.
“I’m sorry, Mrs Parrish,” the doctor said, winding his stethoscope around his neck. “I’m so sorry.”
Mama screamed then, like a wild animal. She unleashed her pain and heartache into the small hospital room. My daddy fell forward and dropped to his knees by the bed.
“Time of death . . . 4:45 pm,” the doctor said.
I stepped back, one foot behind the other until I reached the door.
Time of death.
I turned the doorknob.
My brother was dead.
I opened the door and ran.
CADE
Now
My jaw hit the floor and I had to check myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming when she walked in. Sure, she looked like Indy. But she was nothing like the conservative, angry girl who had walked back into my life after twelve years. No. My ex-girlfriend was back. Tight jeans. Leather jacket. Knee-high boots. An attitude in her hips as she walked in the room. A real MC Princess.
I smiled to myself.
Would she complain if I called her that?
Nah. Seeing her look so fine, I had a feeling my soul mate had just walked back into my life for good.
Whether she knew it or not.
Wolf whistles echoed around the room and I couldn’t help but grin when Indy shot down each and every one of them with a few choice words and some rather suggestive hand gestures.
Yeah. My MC Princess was back.
I stood up as she approached.
“Nice to see you got your dress sense back,” I said with a grin.
She raised an eyebrow. “What can I say, I ran out of clothes.”
“And your accent? I see that’s back, too.”
She shrugged. “You can take the girl out of the South….”
I licked my lips and leaned in. “Does that mean you’re thinking of hanging around?”
She pressed her hand into my chest to keep me at a safe distance. “I’m here under duress, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Because you were an ass to me last night.”
She gave me a pointed look. “You told me to be here at ten. Its five minutes past. Now will you tell me where we’re going?”
“Not a chance. You’re not getting off that easily.” I pulled my bike keys out of my back pocket. “You ready to ride?”
With a roll of her eyes, she followed me outside to the parking lot. As we walked to my bike, a car barreled up the driveway and came to a screeching halt next to Indy’s rental car. An angry looking blonde climbed out and slammed the door.
It was Genevieve.
Davey’s ex-old lady.
Her eyes zeroed in on Indy, but as she came closer they narrowed in on me.
I nodded to her. “Genevieve.”
But she ignored me and yelled, “Davey, you fucking asshole!” as she disappeared inside.
“Friendly,” Indy said.
I handed her a helmet. “You have no idea.”
“Friend of yours?”
“Davey’s ex-old lady.” I secured my helmet and slid my legs over my bike. “Totally unhinged.”
We could hear her screaming at him, even when I started my bike. I reached around and guided Indy onto the back, securing her arms around my waist.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
I smiled, and with a flick of the throttle, we roared off into the warm, Mississippi sunshine.
INDY
Now
The Destiny Watermelon Festival had been a big deal for as long as I could remember. Mom and Ronnie used to bring us here every year. Now, apparently, the club were a part of it. They ran a barbecue cookout stand to raise money for the local hospital. It was a silent payoff for building a strip club across the road from their Emergency Room.
It was busy. Being a Saturday, the showground was packed with families. Parents pushed strollers while kids ran around hopped up on cotton candy and corndogs. Teenagers hung in groups, while lovers strolled hand in hand. There were tantrums. There was laughter. There was a festive vibe in the air as the town gathered on the small showground to celebrate their biggest export: the watermel
on.
Here you could get it all. Watermelon cotton candy. Watermelon slushies. Watermelon ice cream. Fresh watermelon. Juiced watermelon. Watermelon cut in the shape of your favorite Pokémon. Watermelon socks. Watermelon stress balls.
At midday, there would be a watermelon-eating contest, followed by a seed-spitting competition.
Yep. A seed-spitting competition.
Because we did that here.
It had been a long time since I’d been to the festival and I had almost forgotten about it. The last time I’d visited it, I was with Cade and we’d just become official boyfriend and girlfriend, and he had won me a gigantic soft toy in the shape of a donut.
I stopped walking. “Why did you bring me here?”
Cade turned around. Two dimples deepened in his cheeks. “Something tells me you need to be reminded how to have a good time.”
I put my hands on my hips. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you need to lighten up and have some fun.”
When he started to walk away I stomped after him.
“I know how to have fun!”
“I don’t think you do.”
I had to walk quickly to catch up to him. Cade was tall. His stride was twice the size of mine.
“Just because I don’t want to hang out at some stupid watermelon festival, doesn’t mean I don’t know how to have a good time.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“My friends all think I’m fun,” I insisted. “Anyway, I have things to do. More important things than hanging out at some fruit carnival.”
He stopped walking and turned around. “Fine. Just let me kick your ass at Shootout and then we’ll go.”
He started walking again.
“Kick my—I don’t think so!” Again, I had to walk fast to keep up. “My aim is on point, I’ll have you know!”
“Still not as good as mine,” he said, stopping beside the Shootout booth.
I knew he was baiting me to play, but I couldn’t help myself. And he knew I wouldn’t be able to resist the challenge. Because he knew me so well.