Tumble

by Locke, Adriana

  “What?” I ask.

  “That’s all you have to say about Neely being back in town? ‘Word travels fast.’ For fuck’s sake, Dane. What’s wrong with you?”

  We don’t have time for that conversation.

  I sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I’d love to have been a fly on the wall for that little run-in.” Penn snickers. “Did you stutter around like I imagine? Or did you not manage to say an entire sentence?”

  Working my jaw back and forth, I point a finger his way. “You better stop while you’re ahead.”

  He reads me correctly, and his animation drops a notch. “You just stuttered?”

  “You’re such an asshole.”

  “You say that like it’s new info,” he says, continuing his amusement at my expense. “Really, though. How’d it go? But before you answer that, let me toss out there that I heard sparks were flying all over the diner so hot Claire had to call the fire department.”

  I shake my head. “Shut up.”

  “Just telling you what I heard.”

  “The firemen were there to order food, you idiot.”

  He thinks he’s onto something. There’s a glee in his face that means only one thing: it’s going to be a long day around here.

  “So, what happened?” he asks, resting his arms over the truck bed.

  “You know, sometimes I think you should’ve been a girl with all the gossiping you do.”

  “This isn’t gossip,” he contends. “This is Neely-freaking-Kimber, man. Every memory I have of my entire adolescence has her in it. She bailed me out of jail when I was too scared to call my dad and you and Matt were passed out on moonshine. Remember that?”

  My chuckle is so hard, it causes my thumb to throb. “I forgot about that. She was pissed.”

  “I didn’t prostitute myself. The cop was just pissed off. He wanted to nail . . . What was her name? Claire’s cousin? Anyway, doesn’t matter. He wanted her and I got her first.” He shakes his head. “Neely came through, though. God, I miss her.”

  Those last words echo through my mind.

  I have shoved her out of my head for the last few years. Took over Dad’s business, took care of my business. Trudged forward without her because that was the only choice I had. I hardly even think about her anymore unless someone brings her up in conversation.

  So why do I itch to crawl into the truck and hunt her down?

  Because I’m a fucking idiot.

  My hand squeezes my finger harder.

  “I gotta get back to work,” I tell Penn, shoving away from the truck. “So do you.”

  “Wait. You haven’t even told me anything yet.”

  “What do you want to know?” I ask. “I went into the café for a cup of coffee. She came in. We said hello. She left.”

  He looks nonplussed. “And?”

  “And what? There’s no more to say.”

  “You know how you know when there’s more to say? When someone says, ‘There’s no more to say.’”

  Fiddling with the bandanna, I consider that.

  Of course there’s more to say. But if I tell him I bought her coffee or noticed the new freckles across the bridge of her nose or thought about her so much in the last hour I wrecked my finger, he’ll never let it go.

  He needs to let it go.

  I need to let it go.

  I wipe my brow again. “She’s visiting for a couple of days. Living in New York. Seems happy.”

  “That’s your answer?” Penn deadpans.

  “Yeah. That’s my answer.”

  He scratches the top of his head. “Really, Dane? It’s like you withhold the good stuff just to be a dick.”

  “What good stuff?” I laugh. “You want to know if she’s hot? Hell yes, she’s hot. No,” I backtrack, realizing that’s not quite right. “She’s not hot. She’s fucking beautiful.”

  My brain starts to send words to my mouth at a speed my lips can’t quite keep up with. I start and stop four sentences before giving up with a shrug.

  “Yeah, you’re fucked.” Penn smiles, but this time, it’s a tiny bit less asshole-ish.

  “What are you talking about?” Twisting my hat around backward, I let the sun hit my face. It’ll be a decent excuse for the heat in my cheeks if Penn calls me out on it. “She’s just a girl from my past. I ran into her. People run into their exes all the time.”

  “Just a girl from your past, huh? So if I tell you Brandon Atwood has a date with her tonight, you’re cool with that?”

  “He fucking what?” I bark, not giving a damn that my cheeks are blazing. “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t. It was a litmus test.”

  Shoulders slumping, a breath rushing from my lungs, I glare at him and try not to laugh. “You’re a cocksucker.”

  “And you’re a liar. What’s worse?”

  “Does the cocksucker charge for sucking cock?” Matt slides up to the truck and looks at each of us. “If so, that’s worse. If not, I’ll go with the liar.” When we fail to respond, he grins. “This is going to be good, isn’t it?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Whatever the two of you are arguing about.”

  “We aren’t arguing,” Penn tells him. “I was making a point he didn’t want me to make.”

  Matt pulls his brows together. “You made a point? Okay. This I gotta hear.”

  “I don’t even have to make it,” Penn says. “Let Dane tell you, and then you’ll see my point. That’s the magic of all this.”

  “Will you shut the hell up?” I ask. “Why do you have to make such a big deal about everything?”

  “Uh, because this is a big deal.”

  Matt’s head goes back and forth like he’s watching a volleyball match. “Is someone gonna tell me or what?”

  “Fine.” I look at my brother, ignoring the shit-eating grin on Penn’s face. “Neely is home.”

  His eyes grow wide. “No kidding?”

  “No kidding.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “I don’t know. Saw her this morning at the café.” My voice is calm as her face streams through my mind. “Yes, she was hot, if that’s the first thing you wanted to know like dumbass over here.”

  “You said beautiful.” Penn holds his hands to his sides. “What? You said it. I didn’t.”

  “She was always beautiful,” Matt admits. “That’s nothing new.”

  “Yeah, but you should see her now. Fucking hell, Matt.”

  Their raised brows let me know they’re curious where I’m going with this.

  Answer: nowhere.

  I open the cab of the truck and pretend to search for something just to stop the banter. Just to get a second to myself.

  The vein in my temple begins to pulse along with the heartbeat in my thumb. My skin itches as if it can’t keep all my emotions contained. I can’t focus on one thing, one part of this thing, long enough to make sense of it without jumping to the next. I shouldn’t give a shit. She’s here for a few days. She said so herself. Even if she were here indefinitely, it doesn’t mean she would give me the time of day or that I should even want her to. Or that I could actually do it.

  I broke her heart. I broke her heart in the worst way I could, and the fact she didn’t tell me to fuck right off is more than I really deserve. It’s more than I would’ve given me.

  A box of screws falls from the passenger’s seat onto the floorboard. Penn’s voice calls from the other side of the truck, giving me shit about my state of mind. I flip him the bird before going back to rustling through the middle console.

  I can’t make things not have happened. I can’t undo actions taken years ago.

  My hand stills over a packet of spearmint gum. Eyes resting on the little tree-shaped air freshener, I sigh.

  I wouldn’t undo them. Even if I could. Even if it would have saved her the heartbreak.

  My shoulders slump as I back out of the cab.

  “All that for some gum?” Penn asks, lookin
g at the packet in my hand.

  I deliberately open a stick and shove it in my mouth. “Want one?”

  “Just in case you poisoned it, I’m good.” He stretches his arms overhead. “So can we call off today and go see Neely?”

  “No. Both of you go back to work.” The gum crackles as I put way too much effort into chewing. “Now.”

  “You wanting to go alone?” Matt cracks.

  “Why do I like either one of you again?” I look from one to the other.

  “Because I’m your brother and saved you from drowning when you were ten. And we keep Penn around . . .” Matt looks at our best friend and shrugs. “Why do we keep you around?”

  “I’m assuming so you can get pussy. So many come at me I can’t possibly handle them all.”

  “How does that shit taste comin’ outta your mouth?” Matt asks.

  I watch the two of them spar back and forth. Despite the near-constant jabbing between each other, Penn’s refusal to ever show up on time, and Matt’s perpetual state of looking for something he’s lost, they’re the two I can count on.

  As I realize they have stopped bantering and are both looking at me, I frown. I can’t do this all day. “I’m going for lumber,” I tell them.

  “Is that what we’re calling her now?” Penn tries to bite back a laugh and fails. Matt joins in, and their entertainment at my expense grates my nerves.

  “If you need anything,” I say, ignoring them, “you have about two minutes to tell me.”

  “I need about a dozen two-by-fours,” Matt says, trying to wave Penn off. “And a couple boxes of nails.”

  “I figured we were going to come up short.”

  Penn digs a water bottle from the cooler in the back of my truck. “That’s what you get for letting Matt do the calculations.”

  They chat about something quietly as I busy myself with picking up the screws on the floorboard of my truck. It would be a completely normal day if I didn’t have a knot winding in the pit of my stomach so tight I can feel it radiating through my core.

  By the time I get the screws back in the box and the passenger’s door shut, there’s a peace in the air. The bantering has stopped, and a stillness settles across the lawn.

  Matt wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he gazes over the forest below. “Can you imagine walking out your door in the morning to take a piss and then seeing this?”

  “I don’t normally piss out my front door, but I see your point,” I say, admiring the acres of forest surrounding the building site.

  “Well, I do and I get it.” Penn takes a few steps in front of us. “Nice chunk of land.”

  “Nah, it’s more than that,” I say. I can imagine the yard full of toys, the house smelling like roast beef. “It’s the perfect spot for a home.”

  Matt takes a deep breath and works his neck back and forth. “You know, I’ve been thinkin’ . . .”

  Penn groans. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “I’m being serious,” Matt protests. “Hear me out, will ya?”

  “We’re listening,” I tell him, preparing myself. Absolutely anything in the world could topple out of his mouth. Nothing would surprise me. A few things would irritate me, and I have a feeling he’s headed that direction.

  Matt pauses, possibly to get his courage up, and takes another drink. His lips pull together as he screws the top back on. “We’re getting old, guys. Maybe it wouldn’t be bad, having a house like this with a woman and—”

  “Did you just suggest monogamy to me?” Penn gasps. “Do you know me at all?”

  I give them both a look. “This day gets stranger by the minute.”

  “Fuck you, guys.” Matt chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m just saying maybe there’s something to be said for predictable pussy.”

  Shoving away from the truck, I laugh. “That’s an oxymoron. Pussy is never predictable.”

  Matt nods. “Yeah. You’re right. Bad choice of words. What about consistent pussy?”

  I was right. I know where he’s going with this, and I’m not about to let him get there without a few attempts at redirection.

  “Consistent pussy means a consistent headache,” I say.

  Penn shrugs. “I don’t know what either of you are talking about. If there’s one thing in my life that’s consistent, it’s women.”

  Matt’s head swings side to side. “You know what I’m getting at.”

  “Do we?” I raise a brow. It’s more of a warning than a question.

  “I do, and I think Matt better tread lightly.” Penn points a finger his way. “If he kills you, I’m helping bury your body.”

  Matt and I have a standoff—him trying to make a point and me trying to deflect it. I have no clue why he thinks today of all days is the day to go there, but I refuse. He doesn’t agree.

  “Seriously. Do you ever wonder what might’ve been?” Matt asks, ignoring my glare.

  I twist so we’re face-to-face. I don’t want anything getting lost in translation. “No,” I state. “I don’t. If you have to wonder why I don’t, you better walk your ass away before I knock you upside the head.”

  Matt slumps as my point sinks in.

  “What might have been wasn’t for a damn good reason. It wasn’t and it won’t. How pretty she is or how long we dated or how many fucking sparks flew this morning doesn’t make any difference.” I look at my brother and then at my friend. “Get it?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry,” Matt says, his eyes falling to his boots.

  “I figured you might be.” Glancing up the path, I succumb to the realization that if I stay here with these two, all we’re going to do is rehash the past. I can’t do that until I sort it out in my head. I need to go now. “I’m going to town. I’ll be back.”

  “Got ya.” Penn tosses his empty bottle in the back of my truck. “Sorry we’re assholes.”

  “I know.” Making my way to the driver’s side, I pop open the door. “I’ll go by Mucker’s and bring us back some lunch.”

  “Excellent peace offering,” Matt says. “I’ll make sure I get the front done today just to be nice.”

  “Whatever.” I climb inside the cab as they back away from the bed.

  I sit, engine off, watching my friends make their way back to the jobsite, and I kind of regret biting their heads off. It was them just being them. They’re always jackasses, but at the end of the day, I can’t blame them.

  Everyone was devastated when things between Neely and me ended. We were as much a part of Dogwood Lane as the train tracks through the middle of town. Baseball captain and elite gymnast. The all-American couple who would have a slew of babies if anything were right and fair in the world. Turns out, there’s nothing right or fair about the world at all.

  For reasons both good and bad, Neely changed who I am in every capacity. I don’t think about her every day anymore. But when I see a ditch full of tiger lilies on a country road in the summer or find myself arguing to some unknowing soul that cheerleading is a sport, I think of her. Then let it go. It’s all I can do. I had to let her go for her own good. I had to let her memory go for mine.

  I start the engine, and as the makeshift ice packet falls to the floor, I slam my truck in reverse and back out of the driveway.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NEELY

  She goes into this half-hour-long dissertation about how adorable her granddaughter looks in her flamingo outfit,” Mom says, relaying a part of her day. “I don’t understand why people do that. It’s not like I’m going to agree her family is the prettiest bunch of girls on the planet when I happened to birth the actual one myself.” She looks over her shoulder and smiles. “Maybe next time I’ll whip out pictures of you.”

  “Um, I’m not in a onesie anymore.” I laugh. “I don’t think it’s a direct comparison.”

  “I bet I have some of those around here somewhere . . .”

  “Oh, I bet you do. About fifty million.”

  She chuckles, going back to the chicken pasta dish she’
s stirring on the stove. The kitchen is flooded with the warmth of a home-cooked meal. My mouth waters, ready to eat more than my share to cap off a long-but-not-altogether-unbearable day. I might go as far as to say today was halfway enjoyable.

  After the Dogwood Café incident with Dane, I slid into the bank to see Mom and ended up spending an hour chatting with her and her coworkers. They reminded me how I used to call Mom at work at three thirty when I got home from school and proceeded to keep calling to ask a million questions every few minutes until she got off an hour later. Apparently, I was quite the handful as a child. The term they used was “distracting.” They don’t know what distracting is.

  Distracting is the way a certain pair of green eyes refuse to leave your brain even after the air clears of his cologne.

  “Neely.”

  “What?” I ask, jumping at the intrusion.

  “What?” Mom’s brow furrows.

  “What what?”

  “Your entire demeanor just changed.”

  I hop off the counter and sigh. It’s so much easier keeping things from her when she’s in Tennessee and I’m in New York. “Just thinking. That’s all.”

  She places the spatula on the spoon rest we picked up in Philadelphia last year on a quick mother-daughter getaway. Mini vacations are how we see each other unless she comes to see me in New York. I tell myself she needs to get away from here, that it does her good.

  Facing me, the confused look melts into one of concern. “Do you want to talk about it yet?”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Why you’re here. I don’t want to pressure you, honey, but I would like to be there for you because I know good and well something spurred this.”

  Grabbing my glass, I head to the refrigerator and add some water. “I can’t just miss my mom?”

  “I hope you do,” she says. “But you haven’t just hopped on a plane and come home. Ever.”

  I lug in a deep breath. “Maybe I was wrong for not coming home before now. I just . . .”

  “I know it’s hard to face things here. We all have things we don’t talk about in life. It took years before I even wanted to hear your father’s name.”

  “I still don’t want to hear that.”

  “Me either.”

  I take in my mother in her kitchen, wearing her apron with a relaxed air about her I never see in New York or while on vacation in a random city. A person looks like that only in their home. As I watch her move easily around the room, I realize I’m more relaxed here than I recall being in a long time.