by Joanne Ganci
“Um. I’m okay, I guess. I needed to get out of the house. It’s Sunday, and I used to pick up groceries while Dale was at the farmer’s market every week. I, uh...didn’t go last week, and we’re running terribly low on some necessities.” I nod, rubbing her shoulder. I can’t imagine how she’s feeling right now. “I was just picking up the same things I always do, on autopilot, you know?” She lets out a humorless laugh and shakes her head. “Then I grabbed these.” She holds the offending pork rinds up, a tear running down her face. “I don’t have to buy these anymore, though. No one else eats them. I always complained about how bad they smelled. But Dale loved them, so I always bought them. But Dale’s not here anymore...and I...I don’t have to buy them.”
Her shoulders start shaking as the tears fall freely, and I wrap my arms around her. “Oh, Maggie.”
“Look at me, crying over a stupid bag of pork rinds. Dale would have gotten such a kick out of that. That man could find humor in any situation. Oh, God. I miss him. I already miss him.”
“Of course you do, Maggie. I’d say he misses you, but he would never dream of truly leaving you alone. He may not be here physically, but I know he’s right by your side. He’ll always be here, in our hearts. Someone like that never leaves us. We just can’t see them anymore.” There are tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t keep them from falling, no matter how hard I’ve been trying to be strong for her. I may not be able to keep my tears at bay, but I can hold her. So I do just that, trying to give her as much strength as I can muster.
“Lydia, you are such a sweet girl. Dale loved you so much.”
“I know. I loved him too,” I say, my voice breaking. Now, it’s her turn to hold me while my shoulders wrack with sobs.
“Would you come to his memorial service this Friday? He insisted that he wanted to be cremated, but it didn’t feel right not having some sort of service.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of missing it. I’m sure the whole town will be there, Dale was a beloved member of this community,” I tell her.
“He was,” she says with a hint of pride. “My Dale was a good man.”
“The best.”
“I just wish him and Max would have reconciled before he left us.”
I give her a puzzled look. “Oh? I didn’t realize things were that bad.”
“Dale was a stubborn, old fool. He took Max leaving a little too personally. He hated that he left the farm...that he left you. Dale always wanted y’all to end up together. He never quite forgave Max for leaving. Especially when he saw that he was never truly happy.”
“He wasn’t?”
“Not since he left Midland. He loves his career, but I don’t think anything has ever made him truly happy since the day he left you behind.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. It’s one thing to hear him say he missed me and still loves me. Hearing his mom say that he hasn’t truly been happy all these years is a lot to take in.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m a mess. I’ll see you Friday, Lydia. Thank you for...just thank you.” She rushes out of the store, leaving me alone in the middle of the snack aisle. I close my eyes and wrap my arms around myself, I’m not used to dealing with so many emotions so publicly.
Letting out a deep breath, I open my eyes and prepare myself to finish my shopping. It’s then that I realize Maggie was in such a rush to leave the store she left her cart, with the pork rinds and all. I put them back, deciding that buying them would just upset her more. Then I place my basket in her cart and continue through the aisles. I grab a few more things for Maggie and the ingredients to make my mom’s famous lasagna.
I purchase the full cart of groceries—mostly toiletries, snacks and breakfast food for the Westons, then the few things for me— and head home. I’ll make the lasagna and bring both it and the groceries over to Maggie. She doesn’t need to be worrying about mundane shit like that at a time like this.
Max
9
“You did great out there, Mandy,” I tell her before rubbing her ass. The sound of a car coming up the drive brings my attention away from her, and she neighs in disapproval. “Oh, hush, girl. I was done grooming you, anyway. I better go see who that is.” Making sure all of the grooming equipment is put away properly, I get Mandy back in her stall. Bidding the horses a goodnight, I head out of the barn.
I stop in my tracks when I see that the car I heard is Lydia’s. What is she doing here?
She doesn't move to get out of the car. Raising my hand up to block the setting sun, I see that she's just sitting there, gripping the steering wheel. Mama didn't mention anything about her stopping by, so I don't know what she would be doing here. And I really don't know why she drove all the way out here just to sit in her car.
She's spent the past week giving me the cold shoulder, literally walking right past me. I told her on Monday that I wasn't goin' anywhere and I meant it. I don't want to be the kind of guy that shows up at a girl's work every day, but unless she tells me to stop or actually talks to me, I'll keep showin' up. We’re both stubborn as mules, so this could go on for a while.
Her head falls to the steering wheel and her shoulders slump. If she’s crying, I know I shouldn’t bother her, but I can’t just leave her sitting there by herself. I tap on her window, making her jump and scream. It takes everything in me to hold back my laughter. It’s comical how easily she gets scared.
She glares at me as she rolls her window down. “What do you want?” she snaps.
“I could ask you the same thing. You’re in my driveway, Blondie.”
Her snarl falls away, shifting to an expression full of sorrow. “Right. I, uh...I ran into Maggie at the store. She...got upset and ran off before she bought her groceries.”
“Dammit, Mama.” I kick the ground in frustration, dust flying up off the dirt driveway. I’m here to help her. It breaks my heart to know she broke down at the grocery store. I run my hands through my hair and clutch the back of my neck. “I told her I was going to the store after I got done with the chores. I don't know why she would have gone into town by herself. She doesn't need to deal with any of that stuff.”
“Well, I saved you a trip, I guess. I bought everything she had in the cart already. And I added a few things I thought y’all might need. Plus, the ingredients for my mom’s lasagna.” As soon as she mentions it, the smell of the lasagna hits me.
“I used to love your mom’s lasagna.”
“I know,” she blinks up at me.
For a moment, all we do is stare at each other. A reel of happy memories passes through my mind. I wonder if she’s remembering the same things I am.
She tries to give off the vibe that she hates me, but when she looks at me like this, I just can’t see it. How can you hate the person you were supposed to spend forever with? I know I never could. Damn if I didn’t try. I spent so much time trying to hate Lydia Lancaster, I think I fell in love with her more as the years went by. I know she thinks that I just left and forgot her, but I spent countless sleepless nights on the road just fucking missing her.
“You didn’t have to do all that, Lyd.”
“I know. I wanted to. It’s the least I can do. Your parents have always been good to me. Dale…” she pauses and lets out a breath. I notice her eyes are glassy. “Dale was like a father to me. I know he would want me to do anything I could to help Maggie get through this.”
God. She’s so fucking right. It’s one of the reasons I’m moving back. No one has ever loved a woman more than my dad loved my mom. The closest I’ve ever witnessed was…me. Weston men love hard. And Dad definitely passed that down to me. I love this sweet, beautiful girl with everything that’s in me. I don’t care how long we’ve been apart, not a day has gone by where I wasn’t 100% certain that she had my whole heart. She could be married to someone else, with a litter of blonde-haired, blue-eyed kids running around, and I would still love her. How the fuck did I live without her for nine years?
I c
lear my throat and choke back the tears that were working their way out. “Pop the trunk. I’ll carry in the groceries.” She nods and pulls the lever to pop the trunk. I grab all the bags, and she gets the tray of lasagna out of the passenger seat. When we reach the front porch, I stop and turn toward her. “Thank you, Lydia.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Max. I—”
“I do. Seriously. Thank you. It means a lot.”
She stutters for a moment before just nodding, “You’re welcome.”
She moves around me to grab the door, and we make our way into the house. It’s strange walking into my childhood home with my high school sweetheart, but it also feels so damn right.
“MAMA,” I call out as I put the groceries down on the kitchen counter. Lydia sets the tray down on the stove and moves to put away the groceries. “You don’t have to do that—”
“Let me help, Max. Please,” she pleads.
I can see the desperate need to help shining in her blue eyes. I wouldn’t dream of denying her, “Okay.”
We move about the house, putting away all the things she bought. She doesn’t have to stop and ask me where anything goes, even after nine years, she still remembers. I stop putting things away and shamelessly watch as she bends over to put something in the bottom drawer of the fridge. She raises to her full height and catches me staring. Instead of the earful I expect to receive, she just smirks at me and continues putting away the groceries.
“Max, you hollered?” Mama asks as she comes into the kitchen. “Oh, Lydia. What are you doing here, sweetheart?”
“Hey, Maggie. I, uh…” Lydia says, hesitantly, probably not wanting to upset Mama. “I brought you groceries and dinner. It’s my mom’s lasagna. You said you were running low on things, so I figured if I was going to bring your groceries, I might as well bring you a home cooked dinner too. I see that wasn’t really necessary with all these casserole dishes you’ve got in here.” She smiles sheepishly, trying not to make a big deal out of the whole thing. And that just makes me love her a little bit more.
“Oh goodness. I didn’t even realize I left all those groceries there. And Diana’s lasagna is much better than any of the stuff we’ve got in there.” Mama goes to Lydia and grabs her hands, squeezing them tight. “Thank you, sweet girl.” She pulls her into a hug before whispering, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Maggie. If you need anything at all, you just let me know. Anything, I mean that,” Lydia tells her while hugging her back fiercely.
Mama pulls away and looks around the kitchen. “Well, y’all put up all the groceries and you already made dinner, guess all there is to do is sit down and eat it.”
Lydia gives her a genuine smile, “I hope y’all enjoy.”
“What are you going on about? You’re joining us, aren’t you?”
“Oh, uh…”
“C’mon, Blondie. Have dinner with us,” I tell her. If there’s even a slight chance that she’ll stick around, I’m all for it.
“Um, okay. Yeah. I can do that. I’ll just text my mom and let her know I’m staying. She’s over at Brody’s, but I don’t want her to get home and wonder where I am.”
Lydia
10
“That was absolutely delicious, Lydia. If y’all will excuse me, I should be getting off to bed. It’s been a long day,” Maggie says, stopping to give me a quick hug before heading to bed. I panic a little bit as soon as she leaves. I’m in a room with Max. Alone. All night long I’ve been hit with all the happy memories of being in this house with him and his parents. They’re even more bittersweet now that Dale isn’t here, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I was always happy here. I planned my forever on this farm.
That thought comes with a wave of emotion that I really can’t deal with right now. “I have to go,” I blurt out, jumping up from the table. Scurrying out of the house, I rush to my car. I hear the pound of boots trailing behind me. Of course, he wouldn’t just let me leave.
“Lydia, wait.”
“No, Max. I can’t. I have to go.”
He stops me just before I reach my car, with a hand on my arm. His grip isn’t firm, and I could easily pull out of it. But Rachael and Mary’s words from this morning pour into my mind, and I don’t try to pull away. I can’t look at him right now, but I can try to listen. “Please, Lydia. We’ve been doing this all week. You scampering off to your car, refusing to talk to me. I’ll keep waiting, but I’d much rather just talk to you now,” he says, a hint of anguish in his tone.
Can I forget all the hate that I’ve harbored?
“I need more time, Max. I want to talk, but… I just can’t right now. Please, let me go.” It takes everything in me to keep my voice firm. I can’t let him see me cry. Not now. It’s bad enough I cried in public earlier, but that was over Dale. These tears have nothing to do with Dale. And I just can’t handle him seeing how fucking weak I am.
He lets go of my arm and takes a step back. “Okay. You know where to find me, Blondie. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
I know that if I say anything else right now it’s going to come out on a sob, so I just open my car door and get in. Then l take off, watching him get smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror, as I drive down his driveway. The big question is, will this always be the view I have of him? Have we grown too far apart? Is there too much hurt between us to ever move forward?
I just don’t fucking know.
March 23 - Four Years Ago
“It’s great, Mike. I don’t even fucking miss him anymore. Did you know that you’re like the best bartender I’ve ever met?” I tell the strapping young gentleman behind the bar. Hah! Where did that come from? Strapping? What the fuck is he strapping and what is he strapping it to?
“My name’s Mark. You’ve known me for 15 years, Lydia.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“No. You’ve called me Mike, Paul, Johnny, and about seven other names tonight but never once have you used my actual name.”
“Dammit, Pauly. I’m sorry.” I was wondering when he would say something about me messing up his name. I’m pretty smashed, but even I knew most of those were wrong. With the last one, I just couldn’t help myself.
“I’m cutting you off. You should probably go home. You need me to call anyone for you?”
Fuck. I probably should have stopped when he called me out. “I ain’t done drinkin’ yet, Mark. See. I remembered your name. I was just fuckin’ with ya.”
“I’m not sure I believe you,” he says, eyeing me skeptically.
“Put on that new Little Red Wagon song and I’ll show you how not drunk I am.” That song is so damn catchy, and it’s fast paced, making the line dance pretty fucking hard for your average person, drunk or not. But little does he know I could do this dance backwards, in my sleep, after a night of tequila. And I’ve been drinkin’ whiskey. I always drink whiskey on this day. No matter what way I want to go, sad or pissed off, whiskey makes the perfect companion.
“You heard the lady, Mark,” a guy sitting a few stools down says.
“Yeah, Mark,” I say with a sweet smile.
“You ain’t no lady, Lydia,” Mark guffaws. “But I’ll put yer song on.”
As Mark ambles toward the sound system, and I throw the rest of my whiskey back. I toss random guy a wink, and move over to the dance floor, shaking my body out. I do a little heel-toe pivot in my boots knowing full-well how great the motion makes my ass look in the daisy dukes I’m wearing. I have an audience after all. And random guy’s pretty cute, too.
I let my body feel the music, stompin’, clappin’, and kickin’ along to the beat. I don’t miss a single step. Turnin’ when I’m supposed to and shakin’ what my mama gave me. The repetition of line dancing makes everything easy. Your mind doesn’t get the chance to dwell on stupid ex-boyfriends, it’s too busy anticipating the next step, the next turn. It’s exactly what I need.
The song ends and I let out a loud whoop. “See, Mark. Totally
not drunk. Pour me another one!” He shakes his head at me, but proceeds to pour me another glass. Score! I plop my ass back down on the bar stool, and grab the glass that holds my best friend for the night. Sweet, wonderful whiskey. Mark’s a solid guy. I lift my glass in the air in his direction, “To the provider of the whiskey. You, my friend, are a stand-up guy.”
“Nice moves out there. You really showed him,” random guy says, moving to sit next to me.
“Thanks, random guy,” I smile up at him. I normally try to stay away from the cowboy types like him, but apparently drunk Lydia doesn’t give a damn.
He chuckles, “Name’s Bryan. It’s nice to meet you, Lydia.”
I eye him suspiciously, “How d’you know my name, Bryan?”
He lets out a full-on laugh, “Damn, you’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Mark said it earlier, remember?”
“Hm. Right. Well, thanks, Bryan.” I turn back to my whiskey.
“Wanna dance?”
“Sure, why not?” I throw back the rest of my glass and move my ass back out to the dance floor, not bothering to see if he follows. Because I know he will.
Turns out, cowboy’s got moves. He grabs me by the waist and starts leading the second he catches up with me. We dance for a couple of songs, when he starts making the move he intended all along. He’s whisperin’ in my ear and it’s definitely working for me. I lean back to look at him and...Max?
I jump away from him and rub at my eyes. There’s no way. Looking back at the man I was dancing with, I can see that he’s definitely not Max. And this is why I stay away from the cowboys.
“What’s the matter, darlin’?” not Max asks. What was his name again?
“I, uh...I need another drink.” When I get back to the bar, Mark is nowhere to be found. “Damn useless bartender,” I mutter. Charlene makes her way behind the bar. “Thank God. Charlene, can I get another whiskey?”
“Lydia, I don’t think you should have anymore, sweetie.”
“Ugh, not this again. I’m not drunk, Charlene. Just give me another whiskey.” I’m getting pretty fucking sick of everyone telling me my business. But, I’ll be nice if it’ll get me more whiskey, “Please.”