by Ella Fields
I got to work, kneading, rolling, and indenting dough while Flo served the customers out front.
I’d just slipped the miniature pies into one of the two industrial-sized ovens when Dennis walked in through the back door and retied his frilly purple apron. “Sorry, gorgeous. I had a fight with a stray, and I lost.”
Flo walked in the back, then promptly dumped herself onto the stool next to the phone. “Ruh-roh. Do tell.”
Dennis bent low to retie one of his platform shoes. He was in his fifties, loved anything that glittered and enhanced beauty, and he was totally straight. Married with a little girl named Margie. “That old guy who’s been walking through town with his shopping cart?”
We both nodded, knowing who he was talking about.
“Anyway, I bought him a coffee, and the jerk threw it at me while screaming about all the ways I’m a blight upon Earth.” He swung his arm out theatrically. “A plague that needs to be wiped out.” With a flick of his blond hair over his shoulder, he then dug in his apron pocket for his bright yellow scrunchie.
“Asshole,” I said, my limbs tense with anger.
Flo was up and heading to the back door. “Where’d you last see this shit-stain?”
I choked on a laugh while Dennis hurried after her. “It’s fine. He missed. They didn’t call me the star quarterback in high school for nothing.” He flashed me a grin. “Twinkle toes, baby.”
My smile made his widen, and he walked over, his fingers pinching the air, coming for my cheeks. “Let me at ’em.”
I indulged his odd fascination with my cheeks, standing there while he did his usual prodding and squishing.
“Where’s Flo?” I asked after a minute of his cooing had passed.
His hands fell, and he darted for the back door. “Son of a fucking gun.”
It slammed behind him, and I quickly checked on the pies before moving out front, my chest feeling lighter.
The morning rush usually began at eight, and I served three customers before the pink framed clock on the wall above twin sets of white metal tables and chairs ticked closer.
I was serving a woman with a monobrow and two screaming kids when I saw her.
Right on time, as per usual. Every Friday morning, Mom—or Victoria as I now referred to her—would drop by on her way to work and leave a basket outside.
The first time, a month after we’d opened, I’d stared at her with an odd sense of disbelief, relief, and horror, wondering what the hell she was doing.
The few times I’d visited home during college to see Dad and Daphne, I hadn’t seen her. Not after the first Christmas of freshman year when I’d knocked on the door of what used to be my home, only to be welcomed inside a house that now felt anything but.
The air felt wrong, blowing warm over my skin from the A/C, and the silence seeped inside my pores, growing stale as Mom, Heath, and I had struggled to finish a cup of tea and open the presents we’d bought for one another.
I hadn’t set foot inside that house since.
I suppose she’d heard, as she would have in this town, that I’d opened up a shop, and therefore, I was now a resident once more.
“I’ll just leave these here,” she mouthed, pointing at the basket she’d propped on the metal table outside beneath the overhang. She then wiggled her fingers, gesturing and mouthing, “Call me.”
I wouldn’t, and she knew that, yet she still came by every damn week.
I watched her go, feeling nothing, and then the woman I’d been serving cleared her throat, and I apologized.
When the rush began to dwindle, half our stock was already gone. I headed into the kitchen between customers to check the pies cooling on racks. After the last customer had left just after nine, I began mixing a fresh batch of brownies.
The back door opened and closed with a boom, and I didn’t bother to glance up.
“You can’t chase people down the street, Florence Nightingale.” He always called her that, which, of course, drove her nuts when he’d first been hired.
“Why?” Flo demanded. “He’s lucky he’s sprightly and that’s all he got after what he did to you.”
Dennis, heading for the sink to wash his hands, sighed. “Because it’s bad for business.”
Flo’s hands met her hips as she gave me a look that said, “Can you believe this guy?”
Then she saw the basket of fruit and recipes on the stainless countertop in front of me and cursed. “Again?”
I nodded.
Dennis pouted. He didn’t know the full story like Flo did, but he knew enough. Still, I suppose being a parent himself, he never hid how the nonexistent relationship between Victoria and me saddened him.
“God,” Flo spat, tying her apron and fixing her unruly curls into a messy bun. Her face was flushed, likely from running through town. “When will she take a fucking hint?”
“She’s her mother,” Dennis said, taking the brownies from me. “A mother’s love knows no bounds.” He shooed me, and I turned for the coffee machine to make a tea.
“That’s not an excuse to act like a cruel, crazy bitch.” Flo moved out front.
Dennis whispered, “You okay?”
I stirred my tea, staring down into its murky depths as I pondered that loaded question. “Yeah, I’m good.” I was. For so long, I’d taken Victoria’s and Heath’s punishments and had worn them with a little honor and a healthy dose of shame.
I’d thought I’d deserved their wrath, their embarrassment, and their hurt.
And maybe I had, but now I knew better.
I knew they could feel all those things without doing what they’d done to me.
Picking up the basket, I took it to the storeroom and dumped it in the far corner. Dennis took them home with him to a women’s shelter near his townhouse.
Then I closed the door and dusted off my hands.
Jackson
I’d never been allowed up here as a kid.
Nestled along the edge of town, the high-rise gave view to most of Magnolia Cove. Of the creeks that split and wound through town, eventually joining with the lake, which connected with the sea.
Closing the drawer that housed a bottle of top-shelf whiskey, cigars, and two porno mags, I smirked, realizing they were probably the reason. I doubted Victoria was permitted to enter the large space either.
Dressed in rich brown leathers, red velvet rugs, and state of the art technology, this had been Dad’s sanctuary and institution all in one.
Shifting from the sleek black desk, I tucked my hands in my pockets and gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the wall behind it.
The sun tried to peek through the tiny gaps in the clouds, but they moved too fast, blanketing the cove in gray.
Home.
I was back in the one place I never wanted to call home again.
A dream I’d harbored years ago was now coming true, but it was too early and too late. I no longer knew if I wanted it.
The past week had been a blur of phone calls, removalists, and fear. So much fucking fear. It splintered, arcing wide over so many different reasons, the main one I struggled to even think about.
I’d been happy. Content. I’d moved on.
Then one phone call from Victoria in the middle of the night had changed everything.
But… only if I let it.
Steeling my shoulders, I released a long breath, and said, “Come in,” when a knock sounded on the door.
I didn’t bother turning, my gaze, unseeing, remained planted on the blue and green scenery beyond as Ainsley’s heels clipped over the marble floor. “Thought you might still be up here.” Her arms came around me, the scent of Chanel enveloping. The overpowering perfume used to drive me mad, but I’d learned to accept it, just as I had the woman who wore it.
My hands found hers over my stomach. “News?”
“Your mom thinks he should be home by next week.”
Eight days ago, Dad had been in a car accident on his way back into town after a meetin
g.
Trying to avoid a fresh pileup on the highway, he’d apparently swung the wheel too sharp, and he was hit by someone in the next lane over.
Both cars lost control and had ended up in the pileup anyway. When Dad had come to, he’d discovered he had no feeling in his left leg. It’d been crushed thanks to the other car’s front-end caving in the left-hand side of the footwell.
His leg had been torn open so badly that he could’ve lost it. They’d reconstructed his shattered tibia; the other fractures would need to heal on their own. He’d recently left the ICU, which was promising. They were hoping for a full recovery, but there was a good chance he might need assistance to walk for the rest of his life.
“Rehab?” I asked.
“Victoria’s arranged it. He’ll be working with some of the best in the state.”
While that should’ve been comforting, numb was all I could feel.
My relationship with my father hadn’t been strained since I’d left for Austin. It simply hadn’t existed. As soon as I could get into a dorm, I’d packed up and driven for two days straight, and I never once looked back or answered their phone calls.
“There’s one problem.”
It took everything I had not to stiffen in her embrace. “And what is that?” Even without the cautious lilt to her voice, I knew what it was, or who it was.
“Willa.” The name left her on a rushed exhale, as if she were annoyed she even had to utter it.
I couldn’t blame her. It’d taken years for Ainsley to shake her paranoia and jealousy where Willa was concerned.
It wasn’t something I could sweep away with words and the coupling of our bodies. Not after she knew. She knew, back before we’d graduated high school, what Willa had meant to me.
It was a risk to involve her in my botched attempt to keep our parents at bay, to keep as much peace as possible, but yearning doesn’t provide a great deal of headspace for assessment.
I’d been desperate enough to ask for Ainsley’s help, and for whatever reason, after she’d called me crazy with tears welling in her eyes, she’d agreed to give me it.
We hadn’t skipped off into the sunset when Willa destroyed me. I’d been single and making the most of it throughout freshman year while remaining friends with Ainsley.
Then one drunken night turned into many repeated nights over the following years, and before I knew what was happening, we were talking about sharing an apartment during our junior year.
She’d been a distraction from destruction. But you couldn’t spend months, years, with a person and feel nothing for them.
Distraction can grow if you feed it. And I kept feeding it, at first just enough to satiate and do a quality job of chasing ghosts from my mind and heart.
But she wasn’t just a distraction. She cared for me, she was in love with me, and after what I’d put her through and the fact she was still willing to keep trying me on for size even though I’d never fit, her patience and that love had my eyes opening to possibilities I’d never once thought of.
Something healthy. Something that wasn’t innocence wrapped in sin. Something that could last and flourish if given the right attention.
Squeezing her hands, I murmured, “What’s the issue?”
“She’s blocked Victoria’s number. At the bakery and to her cell. Her colleagues won’t even let her enter the shop.”
It was rolling over my tongue, gaining speed, to ask about this bakery of hers, but I smacked my lips shut just in time.
Humming, I turned. Sliding my arms around Ainsley’s back, I felt her shiver as they glided over the curve of her spine. “So she doesn’t know.”
Ainsley’s teeth released her lip, her red lipstick still perfect as she stared at my chest, her fingers toying with the buttons on my dress shirt. “I don’t think so. Victoria wanted me to ask if you could…” She stopped, mascara loaded lashes fluttering as she exhaled a sigh.
“It’ll be fine,” I said, my tone and hold of her slender frame firm.
Her chin tipped back for those blue eyes to meet mine. Uncertainty and hope swam within, coating them in a glossy sheen. “You promise?”
I no longer made promises I couldn’t keep, but if there was one thing I knew with a certainty to rival that of the rising sun, it was that Willa Grace couldn’t touch me anymore. All that remained was scorched earth. A barren, dead, and useless wasteland.
Taking Ainsley’s chin, I brought her lips to mine and reassured her.
Willa
Shoving the phone between my shoulder and ear, I flicked off the lights in the kitchen and headed out the front, doing the same there. “I can always change the premium later.”
“It would be better to make sure you’re covered now, Wil.”
I wanted to groan, but as always, he was right. “Okay, I’ll call them tomorrow.” I locked the door and pulled it closed behind me, then locked the deadbolt. “It’s just hard to find the time. I’m on hold for ages.”
“What have I told you about making sure you schedule proper break times for yourself?”
I did groan then. “I know, I know.” I didn’t bother unlocking the door to my apartment. I’d gone there half an hour ago to grab my dinner from the fridge to eat at work while I finished up prep for tomorrow.
“It’s important.” Dad cleared his throat while I locked the door behind me, heading upstairs. “Listen, there’s something I need to talk to you about. Victoria called.”
“Nothing good is about to leave your mouth, and I’d rather live in blissful oblivion.” I opened my apartment door, kicking off my flats, then almost dropped the phone.
“Willa?” Dad called.
A figure, bathed in moonlight, was seated on my couch, a leg propped up and draped over his knee. “It’ll have to wait. I’ll, um, call you later,” I managed to mumble, then hung up.
My phone clattered to the entry table, every air particle in the room drifting from reach. All that remained was that scent. Minty cedarwood. His scent.
“Jackson?”
The lamp on the side table came to life, and my heart began to roar in my ears as his face appeared. A face that hadn’t changed much, save for the light layer of stubble residing on an even sharper jaw. His green eyes were fixed to something on his lap, but I couldn’t remove mine from him to see what it was.
“Do you always leave your door unlocked?”
That voice. My knees quaked, my stomach somersaulted and backflipped, and my eyes stung with the urge to cry.
Unable to clear the emotion building in my throat, I could only blink. “W-what are—”
“Stuttering, Willa. Really?” His eyes swung up then, colliding with mine, and the cold detachment within had me taking a step back. Sighing, he set the photo frame he’d been holding on the couch, then rose to his full towering height, and buttoned his suit jacket. “I’ll cut to the chase. Heath was injured in a car accident. No one could get a hold of you, or they were too chicken shit to really try, so”—he spread his hands—“here I am.” His lips curved. “Lucky you.”
I frowned. “Lucky me?” Then I stepped closer. “Wait, what? Is he okay?”
With his gaze flicking over my apartment, he said, “He’ll live. Victoria wants you to at least visit him in the hospital.” Giving me his eyes, he stared down the straight slope of his nose, indignant and stoic. “Or do you think yourself above checking in on the man who helped raise you after such an ordeal?”
His words, the cruel manner in which he’d uttered them, combined with his overbearing height, broader shoulders, and intimidating presence… I could scarcely think let alone respond how I wanted to. “I’m not above anything.”
Glancing around again, he puckered those perfect lips. “Could’ve fooled me.” Then, turning and walking behind the couch, probably to avoid passing me, he was striding to the door.
Panic, and something too indescribable to name, had me saying, “Wait.”
A dark rumble of laughter was all I received before the door to
my apartment closed, and I heard him descend the steps outside.
It was almost one in the morning by the time I dragged myself to bed.
Setting the photo frame, the same one Jackson had been holding, back in its home, I readied myself for bed, willing the tears to stay gone.
Silent and untamable, they’d arrived the second I’d seen Jackson climb inside a new black truck out on the street, and I’d let the lace curtains fall back into place.
I hated that even after all this time, I still had tears to shed. I hated that he’d come here, invaded the home I’d made for myself, and had managed to make it cold and uninviting, all in the span of five minutes.
His presence was everywhere, and after tossing and turning half the night, I woke early and dragged the vacuum and mop through the apartment, trying to rid it of his scent.
It wasn’t possible it had lingered, and I knew it had to be my imagination, but it made me feel better all the same.
The halls of the hospital were sterile as nurses flitted between rooms and a family passed by with a little boy in a wheelchair.
I smiled at him, and despite his arm and leg both being casted, he smiled back.
This is fine, I told myself. Just make sure he’s okay, that he sees you for five minutes, and then you can leave.
I’d almost decided not to come, but Jackson had been right. Despite all that’d happened, before that, there was a time Heath had loved me and cared for me as if I were his very own.
I would honor that by ignoring the lingering hurt long enough to see how he was doing.
Pausing outside the door the receptionist had given me directions to, I closed my eyes and drew in an extended breath. Behind the confines of my eyelids, the beeps and soft murmurs of the hospital faded, and memories vied for center stage.
Popsicles in the summertime, and secretive smirks during church when he’d sneak me candy. Yelling, disappointed familiar green eyes, a drill meeting wood, and then silence. So much silence when I needed noise to match the chaos brewing inside.
