“I fucking know that,” he shouted over his shoulder.
I crossed my arms. “You don’t have to yell, I’m standing right here.”
With a roar that made me take a step backward, he balled his fist and slammed it against the wooden beam. His knuckles came up bloody.
“What are you trying to do?” I asked, my tone of voice still not changing. “Scare me? Make me leave you alone? Or are you just so mad you don’t even know?”
He whipped around and if human eyes could glow red, his would have. His jaw was tight, the cords standing out in his neck. “Get the fuck out.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t take my eyes off him. He was going to apologize for that later, but right now, he wasn’t going to ruffle me. Had it been any other man in the world, I probably would have backed off, just in case he snapped and I’d underestimated what he was capable of. I wasn’t stupid. He was a lot stronger than me, especially with all that adrenaline coursing through his veins.
But I wasn’t backing down. Not from Gibson Bodine. Because even though he was out of control with rage, I still trusted him.
“You need to be real careful what you say to me right now, Gibson Bodine.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’re going to have to live with what happens next.”
He put his back to me again, his hands gripping the railing. Blood ran down his fingers, but I doubted he could feel it yet.
“Just leave me the fuck alone.”
I sighed. “What are you even mad about? Did something happen that you’re not telling me?”
“No.”
“Then what?” I said, finally raising my voice. “What has you so out of control you’re shouting at me and telling me to leave?”
“I don’t know,” he barked and suddenly his shoulders dropped, his aggressive posture softening. He looked down at his hand, spreading his fingers, as if he’d just realized he’d hurt himself.
“Why are you mad?” I asked again, softly this time.
He stood there for a long moment, breathing hard. Leaning against the railing, his back to me. When he finally spoke, his voice was a normal volume. “Because I spent thirteen years thinking you were dead. Because my father knew the truth. Because he was a shit father to us, but for some reason he decided to be your goddamn hero.”
I stayed quiet, waiting. I knew he wasn’t finished.
“Don’t get me wrong, if he was going to do one good thing in his life, I’m glad it was saving you. It’s hard to feel anything good for that man, but I’m grateful he helped you. I just don’t understand why. Why did he go so far out of his way to help a girl he barely knew when he couldn’t even parent his own kids worth a damn?”
I stared at his back, my heart breaking for him. He didn’t know. But how could he? I kept avoiding the memories of that night, assuming everyone understood what had happened well enough that I didn’t need to spell it out. His father had never told him the truth, and neither had I.
“He did it to protect you, Gibs.”
He looked at me over his shoulder, a deep furrow in his brow. “What?”
I took a deep breath, reaching into the box in my mind. Drawing out the memory. This part was clear, the details sharp even after thirteen years.
“When he found me on the side of the road, I was heading to your place. I was running to you.” I balled my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. I felt myself teetering between Callie and Maya again. “When he stopped, I told him where I was going. I asked him to take me to you. He said no.”
“Why?”
“He said he was afraid of what you’d do if you saw me like that. He told me he was sorry, but he couldn’t let you do something stupid and go to prison for the rest of your life. That’s why he helped me. Why he kept me hidden and got me out of town in secret.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said, but there was a quaver in his voice. He turned to face me. “He didn’t take your secret to his grave because of me. He walked by your missing-persons posters every goddamn day, and he knew you were alive. He was hearing from you with those damn postcards. He didn’t keep his mouth shut for me. He helped a teenage girl run away and he didn’t want to get in trouble for it.”
“He kept my secret for so long for many reasons, Gibs. Yeah, maybe one of them was to keep out of trouble. And he understood that my father was dangerous. After your mom died… That had to have kept him quiet, too.”
He shook his head and glanced away. “That’s what Jenny said. He told her it wasn’t an accident, but she didn’t know whether to believe him.”
“See, he was protecting his family. And I’m telling you, right here and now, the reason he helped me in the first place was you. That was why he put me in his truck and hid me in that shack for the night. And why he convinced your mama to come out with bandages and blankets. Why he drove me all the way to New York in secret while the whole town was looking for me. A little piece of it was to help a girl in trouble. But really, he did all that for you. He did it to protect his son.”
Gibson’s expression changed, his anger crumbling to pieces. His stormy eyes revealed the depth of his pain. A boyish innocence and desire for love long since crushed.
“He hated me.” There was no more rage in his voice. Only hurt. “He blamed me for his life not being what he wanted. He told me I was nothing.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. His painful honesty was hard to hear. It made me ache for him and dredged up shadows of my own childhood trauma. “It’s awful that he treated you that way. But I don’t think he hated you. I think he hated himself, and he wrongly took it out on you. I wish he hadn’t, Gibs. I wish he’d have been a good father to you. But I think there’s a piece of his truth in what he did for me. Deep down, he loved you.”
Gibson took three quick steps and grabbed me, hauling me roughly against him. His legs buckled and we both collapsed to our knees. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders while he buried his face against my neck. His breathing was ragged, and he didn’t say a word, so I just held him. Closed my eyes and gently rubbed his upper back.
His muscular arms tightened, his hands fisting the back of my shirt. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I felt his pain with him. Let it roll through me like a summer rain. I rested my face against his head, wishing he’d had better. Wishing we’d both had better.
“Why are you still here?” he asked, his voice muffled.
I sniffed. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m no good, Callie. I don’t deserve you.”
“Why, because you lost your temper and snapped at me?” I asked. “Gibs, I know the difference between someone who’s lashing out and someone who truly wants to hurt me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to let you get away with it. You keep yelling at me like that and I will get the fuck out.”
He pulled back enough to look me in the eyes. “I’m shit at apologies. It ain’t how Bodines do things. But… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
I touched his face, feeling his rough stubble beneath my hand. “Apology accepted.”
He didn’t break eye contact, the raw vulnerability in his eyes making tears well up in mine all over again. “I love you.”
A tear broke free, leaving another hot trail down my cheek. “I love you, too.”
And I knew, in that moment, that somehow we were going to be okay.
30
MAYA
For a place that was supposed to be quiet, the Bootleg Springs library was hopping. The hum of conversation filled the air. Not exactly outside-voice volume, but much louder than the usual hushed whispers in a place like this.
I went inside with my big handbag slung over my shoulder. The smell of food mixed with the scents of paper, leather, and lemon furniture polish. The library wasn’t large, but it was cozy, with a neat front counter, rows of shelves, and natural light from high windows.
I’d received no fewer than six invitations to June’s book club. Nine, if you counted the three times I’d bee
n invited to the last meeting. I’d only just started the current book, but everyone—including June—had assured me I was still welcome.
Gibson and I had paid Darren a visit earlier today, bringing him a few groceries and making sure he was comfortable—and still willing to be cooperative. He’d gone from scared, to reluctant participant in our strange—and as yet unfinished—plan, to downright cheerful.
No one in town knew he had any connection to the Callie Kendall case. To them, he was just a tourist named Darren. He’d told his family and friends he was doing a little traveling, and proceeded to soak up all Bootleg Springs had to offer. As far as he was concerned, for now he was getting a free vacation.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, considering what he’d done. But at least he was being cooperative. And we didn’t have to try to hold him forcibly. Cassidy and her father were especially glad about that.
Pausing near the front, I gazed at the two long tables set up in an open space near the fiction section. They were covered with food, potluck style. Casseroles, jello molds, baskets of muffins and buttermilk biscuits, fried chicken, at least four different pies, and numerous other dishes, baskets, and containers crowded together along the rectangular surfaces. It was an enormous amount of food, but the library was packed with people.
It looked like half the female residents of Bootleg Springs had turned out for June’s book club. Many wore matching t-shirts that said Book Babes on the front. I saw everyone from Carolina Rae Carwell—who’d been claiming to be sixty years old since before I had disappeared—to Lula, the drop-dead-gorgeous owner of the Bootleg Springs Spa.
There were young women in sundresses or flannels and cut-offs, and a little cluster of new moms who’d worn heels and lipstick, like they were living it up on a rare night out. Women whose grown daughters were here with them, and a circle of white-haired women with crepe-paper skin, several of whom had their knitting out.
Jenny Leland was here, who for so many years had been my one last tenuous—almost anonymous—tie to this place. To the good parts of my past. She stood smiling and talking with Nadine Tucker and Betsy Larkin, Leah Mae’s stepmom.
And among the large group, the women who’d scooped me up into their lives without question. Scarlett, Cassidy, June, and Leah Mae—girls I’d known when we were young. Girls I’d spent summers with—long days of running around town, piling into booths at Moonshine to share milkshakes, giggling about boys, swimming in the lake. And Shelby, who in the short time we’d known each other had treated me like we were long-lost friends.
It was like looking at the intersection of my past and my future, all in one place. A past I’d been struggling to outrun, and a future that, until recently, hadn’t seemed possible.
With a deep breath, I let the flurry of emotions pass through me. One feeling settled like a gentle mist. Contentment. I didn’t feel anxious or antsy, wondering where I was going next. Despite the fact that I was closer to danger than I’d been in years—in terms of physical proximity—I wasn’t compelled to constantly look over my shoulder.
I’d developed habits as Maya that I’d barely noticed. Watching over my shoulder. Checking and double-checking locks. Wiping down surfaces to get rid of fingerprints. I’d willfully ignored them, telling myself they weren’t out of the ordinary. Trying to convince myself that I was fine. I’d moved on.
But here, in this funny little town that was famous for not letting go of the past, I felt some of those habits slipping away. Or easing their hold on me, at the very least. I didn’t look over my shoulder as often because I knew there were other people around who had my back. I’d stopped wiping down the booth at Moonshine or the table at Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee before I left. I still checked locks, but not as frequently.
And there was no doubt in my mind those things meant something.
“There you are,” Jenny said, her gaze landing on me. She wore a pretty floral blouse and capri length pants. “I was hoping we’d see you here.”
I hugged her, enjoying her motherly embrace. “Looks like I’ve been missing out. There are so many people.”
“Fun, isn’t it? I’ve only been one other time, but now I’m hooked. Oh, and the books are good too.” She winked. “There’s more than enough food. Feel free to dish up. And Nadine says to make sure we all pack up at least one full plate for our men before we go. They need to keep up their strength.”
I took a plate and wandered down one side of the tables, adding a few things that looked good. If I tried even half of what was here, I’d be too stuffed to breathe. But I did make sure to grab a good-sized piece of Carolina Rae’s cornbread. I remembered it from before, and it was famous in four counties for a reason.
Millie Waggle approached, in a blue calico dress with a white collar that closed at her throat. She wore a name tag that read Hi, My Name Is, and she’d written Millie Waggle in perfect cursive. She was the only one with a nametag. “Hi, Maya. It’s awful nice to see you.”
I smiled at her. “Thanks. You have to tell me what you brought tonight so I make sure to get at least two.”
“Lemon bars and blueberry muffins,” she said, beaming with pride. “I thought about baking something with chocolate, but I feel like I’ve been getting too predictable lately.”
“Have you ever thought about opening a bakery?” Millie Waggle’s baked goods could turn the staunchest low-carb dieter back to the dark side of sugar and flour.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Her cheeks took on a hint of pink. “It’s just something I do for fun.”
“That’s nice too. I know everyone enjoys your baking.”
“Thank you kindly. Can I just say, I like your hair? And… well… it’s just real good to see you again.”
“Thanks.” My smile faded and I busied myself reaching for a blueberry muffin. The way she’d said that… Did she know who I was?
Looking up, I noticed a handful of the women watching me. A few leaned together and spoke quietly. I couldn’t be sure that they were talking about me—or that, if they were, it was because they knew the truth. But I had a feeling my identity was on the verge of coming out. These people were smart and observant. And their memories were sharp. The novelty of Gibson having a woman in his life had been distraction enough for a little while. But now they were starting to see me, and more than a few probably guessed who I was.
And yet, if they did know, they were keeping it quiet.
I decided the chance of an unexpected Callie Kendall reveal at tonight’s book club was unlikely. I’d discuss it with Gibson, but we needed to come forward to the rest of the town with the truth sooner rather than later.
“Everybody, direct your attention here.” June gestured for people to be quiet. Her dark blond hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and she had an extra helping of summer freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Her Book Babes t-shirt was white with blue lettering. “Thank you. Since our group is increasing in size, it has become necessary to dichotomize into separate sub-groups. I’ve created a spreadsheet detailing the members of each. You’ve been separated by a process of random number generation that allowed for the greatest chance of demographic diversity within each smaller classification.”
The room went silent, eyes darting around.
George’s voice broke the silence. “She means she divided y’all up into smaller groups because there’s a lot of you.” The lone man in the room—at least that I could see—sat away from the gathered women. He had an ankle crossed over one knee, his large frame dwarfing a rickety folding chair.
“Precisely,” June said with a satisfied nod. “If you’ll just refer to page three of your handouts, we can begin rearranging into the aforementioned groupings.”
Another silence followed her instructions, only broken by the rustling of paper as some of the book clubbers flipped through a stapled packet.
George didn’t look up from the magazine in his lap. “June Bug, maybe everyone can just break up into groups on their own. Might be a touc
h easier.”
“That’s also acceptable,” June said.
“Y’all, just sit with who you want so you can discuss the book,” George said. He glanced up, meeting June’s eyes, and his face broke into a wide smile. She beamed back at him.
The noise level rose again as the ladies all gathered purses, tote bags, and paper plates piled with food, and moved their chairs into smaller circles. I walked over to Shelby, who gave me a quick hug hello. We tucked in with a group that included Cassidy, Scarlett, EmmaLeigh—who also eyed me like she knew a secret—and Dixie Miller, a white-haired woman with clear blue eyes and a lap full of her knitting.
It occurred to me as I watched all the ladies settle in that there was a distinct lack of Misty Lynn Prosser in this room. Of course, it was a book club. That sounded like Misty Lynn repellent to me.
Nadine paused by our circle, met Cassidy’s eyes, and gave her a little smile. Then she dragged her chair to another group nearby. Looking around, it seemed like none of the ladies with grown daughters in attendance were sitting with them. Maybe they were just trying to sit with people they didn’t see as often—a nod to June’s attempt at randomization.
“Well, y’all, I don’t even know where to begin with this one,” Scarlett said. “It was even better than the last book. Do y’all agree?”
Heads bobbed with enthusiastic nods.
“I was particularly interested in the shenanigans on the couch,” Scarlett continued. “Did y’all find that difficult to picture, or was it just me?”
“I actually found the description quite helpful,” Cassidy said. “And by god, once you get it right, it’s worth it.”
“Is it?” Shelby asked, leaning forward. “I wasn’t sure, but maybe we should give it a go.”
“Are you kidding?” Cassidy asked. “Jonah was basically made for that sort of thing. Trust me. Try it.”
Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6 Page 23
