“This stone came from the heart of my land. Gran told me that just because I can’t see the sun doesn’t mean it isn’t there. That block was put there to remind people of that. After the sun sets, I can’t see the sun, but I can still feel its warmth. There isn’t corn or soybeans in my ground, and the cows grazing in my field aren’t mine, but they will be. Just like the sun will shine again.”
Jesse’s cell pings, and I jump. I lower my hand, and my palm still burns with the heat of the stone and his touch.
“I need to go,” I whisper, and before he can respond, I run down the stairs and back across the street.
JESSE
A ping rouses me from that state where I’m dreaming but on the verge of being awake. For the past month I’ve waited for Scarlett to flash her lights, but each night, nothing. Last night, after waiting for her until one, I stayed up until three working on the plumbing in the bathroom.
My muscles heavy, I roll over in bed and grab my cell. I consider throwing it across the room when I spot Glory’s name: I’m here for you, remember that. We aren’t a conventional family, but we’re a family, and whether you believe it or not, you are loved.
Evidently Glory’s taken to recreational drug use. I scroll through my cell to find a few nonsense messages from V and Leo. They tag me and Nazareth to piss us off because we hate being spammed. Then there’s one from Marshall: I’ll be by at eleven. I need to discuss something with you.
Another meeting with Marshall is the last thing I want, but it’s necessary. I have a half hour to shower and make this place look halfway decent. I push off the bed and get to work.
* * *
I barely have the last dish dried when there’s a knock on the front door. The sick feeling in my gut makes me walk slowly to where Marshall’s waiting. I open the door, and he’s decked out in a pair of jeans and a University of Kentucky polo shirt. He’s an alum, and the fact that he’s a UK basketball fan is one of the few things we have in common.
Mumbling, “Hey,” I wave him in, and he does a good scan of the living room and kitchen. His surprise is noticeable. I’m betting he was expecting to find a graveyard of pizza boxes, a pyramid of empty beer cans and a few naked, passed-out girls.
Preferring not to have a repeat of our last conversation, I head to the kitchen and lean back against the counter as I wait for him to give me whatever new speech he’s concocted. He follows me into the kitchen and asks me a few questions about school. I answer them with short sentences. To be nice, I ask about his family. His answers are fake and to the point.
“I meant what I said after your grandmother died,” Marshall says. “I’m here for you.”
I don’t buy it, but I do want my land. “Why are you here?”
Marshall glances away, and a pit forms in my stomach. He’s not the type to dodge things. In fact, he’s the type that races through a wall at a hundred miles per hour. Direct and fast. Makes him a good lawyer and a pain in my ass. So this pause means bad things for me.
“I was contacted by the Parole Victims Services Office. Your father’s up for parole.”
Parole. Flashes of memory. My father. My mother. The yelling. The screaming. The crying. The searing pain down my back. Her blood and mine. Anger rushes through me so quickly I begin to shake. “How the hell is that possible?”
Marshall opens his mouth then mashes his lips together. After a few more beats, he tries again. “There’s not a good enough reason to give you other than it’s happening.”
I scrub my hands over my face, then over my head. Scratching along the way because the pain has to wake me up from this nightmare. Three years. It’s only been three years. “You told me he would serve twenty.”
“This wasn’t my understanding of the plea deal, and I have friends who specialize in criminal law looking into it for me. I know nothing I’m saying makes it okay.”
“Okay?” I shout. “He killed my mother! He should die in jail!”
“I agree. Keep in mind it’s a parole hearing. It doesn’t mean he’ll be released. In fact, I think we have a good chance of keeping him in. I think this is a mistake, and if I can’t have all this reversed before his hearing, I’ve secured a victim hearing with the parole board. I’ll be speaking there. You can come with me and speak or you can complete a Victim Impact Statement, which I can read to them. It’s whatever you’re comfortable with.”
My head’s a mess. Too many thoughts, too many emotions collide. Unable to stand anymore, I sink to the floor and rest my head in my hands. The hits keep coming.
“Will he be there?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “Because I don’t want to see him.”
My mom. God, I miss my mom.
The linoleum floor creaks as Marshall crouches in front of me. “No, he won’t. You don’t have to go. Instead, you can write a statement of what you want the parole board to know.”
“If I do that, you’ll say I’m not strong enough.”
“You saw your father murder your mother. I don’t get the right to think one way or another on how you handle this. I only have the right to respect you for still breathing.”
The words sound good, but I don’t put weight into them. After Mom died, he told Gran to send me away. I can’t deal with this, not now. I’ll make a decision. Later. Though my knees are weak, I force myself to stand. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Marshall stretches to his full height. “We should talk about your mom—”
“I can’t,” I cut him off, and when he starts to argue, I shut him down. “I can’t.”
Marshall raises his hands in submission, and the silence between us grows uncomfortable by the second. If Glory is psychic, she could have warned me that my life was about to implode.
“I need my land,” I say. “If you take it from me, you take my only shot at being happy.”
“You think this is the best time to discuss this?”
“No, but I don’t think there’s a good time.”
He tilts his head in agreement. “What if I told you one of the reasons I’m pushing you so hard is because you think this farm is all you have? There’s more to life than this land.”
“The guidance counselor already gave me a speech on college this week.”
“Did you listen?”
I snort as an answer, and Marshall is good enough to chuckle with me. Then he sobers up and so do I. My gut twists because I don’t know how to make him understand. “I need this land.”
“You’re more capable than what you think, and you’ll never figure that out because you limit yourself at every turn. Some days…” He pauses. “Some days I’m scared there is a curse. Some days I’d prefer you unsupervised in the world rather than you staying on this farm.”
That catches my attention. “You believe?”
“No, but I have to admit believing in a curse would make more sense than believing that doomed coincidence happens to this family over and over again. Julia dying so young, taking our unborn child with her, your mom being murdered, your gran losing everyone she loved.”
“She had me,” I say, and I don’t know why.
“She did,” he agrees. “But think of how you came to her and how hard it was for you to trust. That wasn’t your fault. I just wish something had been easy for your grandmother.”
Yeah, me, too. “You think sending me away from this land will break the curse?” The exact opposite of what my mother believed.
Marshall stares out the back window. “What do you think? When so many in your family have failed at happiness, what do you think is going to break the cycle?”
“I don’t know. It seems like every time I get a taste of happy, something else nails me in the head. But if I want to leave, then it’s up to me to leave, and it should be my choice if the land is here waiting for me when I return.”
Marshall studies me, and for one of the first times, it’s not in contempt. “This is the first real conversation we’ve had since you moved in with your gran.”
“Does that mean
you’re going to vote for me?” I ask. Marshall slightly grins and my lips slightly turn up as well, but then his face falls.
“It means you aren’t your mom and you aren’t your dad, and you aren’t a product of their choices. I hope someday you’ll see that. Believe it or not, I want you happy, and I believe you’ll be happier without the land and the doomed legacy that follows it. I loved your aunt Julia. More than you can imagine. We had the opportunity to stay out of this town, and I let Julia talk me into coming back. If I had disagreed, she’d still be alive.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. “That sounds like you have no intention of voting for me.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, hands on his hips, and I know without a doubt I’m screwed. I have Scarlett’s vote, but if I don’t convince the pastor to vote for me, I’ll lose my land.
“You think your vision is clear, but it’s not,” Marshall says. “You have to trust me on this. I can see the happiness you need even when you can’t.”
“I think you were right. I don’t think it’s time for us to talk about this.”
Marshall rubs his eyes then heads for the door. “You’ll need to decide what you want to do about the hearing. Take your time, think on it and get back to me.” Then he leaves.
SCARLETT
Isabelle sits on the landing of the stairway in the foyer with her arms crossed over her chest. Her cheeks are red, there’s moisture rimming the bottom of her eyes, but it’s not sadness that’s radiating from her, it’s anger. I have the urge to give her a high-five.
My sister is in time-out. She didn’t remove every item off her dresser and dust every inch. She only dusted the areas in front of her porcelain dolls and that didn’t follow my father’s explicit instructions. Therefore, she’s being punished.
In the living room, Dad sits with his computer on his lap, and he types. Occasionally he glances over the top of the screen to confirm my sister’s doing what she’s told. Control. My father thrives off of it.
“Did you take out the garbage, Scarlett?” Dad must not like me lingering.
I don’t answer him, but I do leave the couch and head to the kitchen. Funny, as I leave, Mom passes me and takes my seat on the couch. She can talk forgiveness, but she doesn’t seem to trust Dad alone with Isabelle either. Mom takes up her knitting like that was her plan, but once in the kitchen I see the pan caked in lasagna in the sink.
I yank the bag out of the can and twist it up. I’d love to take the overflowing garbage and dump it over his head. Instead, I yank open the back door and walk the bag to the trash cans that are lined up neatly against the garage.
The autumn evening is clear and brisk. Across the street the lights are on in Jesse’s trailer, and I can spot smoke and smell the burning embers from a bonfire in one of the fields. Since my freshman year, I’ve sat envious at my bedroom window and watched as Jesse has led his friends from the driveway to his back field. I hated them for being so happy together. I hated them more that I wasn’t invited.
If I wanted to be invited tonight, I could be. But something has been holding me back. A hesitation. A distrust. It’s almost nine. I could be across the road and part of the action in three hours, but I don’t know if I should or if he wants me there.
A shadow in the night, and I squint to make out the movement. My heart picks up speed when I hear footsteps—fear that it’s Jesse, fear that it’s not, fear of my father poking his head out and finding me with anyone.
Not wanting to take the risk of being caught, I head for the house but stop at the sound of my name being called by a female voice: “Scarlett.”
Veronica walks into the light from the overhead lamp hanging from the garage. I sneak a quick peek at the house. “What are you doing here?”
Veronica’s eyes are ice-cold blue, and when she tilts her head, her short blond curls bounce along her shoulder. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me, and I imagine you’re like the rest of your friends and think I’m garbage.”
I flinch as if she had hit me in the stomach because it doesn’t feel good for anyone to admit they aren’t liked. “I don’t think that.”
She ignores me. “But Jesse, Nazareth, Leo and I—we’re friends. Real friends. We will do anything to help each other.”
“Okay,” I say slowly.
She crosses her arms over her chest and purses her lips like I’m releasing the smell equivalent to a skunk. “Jesse’s upset and for some stupid reason he wants you.”
“He sent you here?”
“No. He said you couldn’t come, but Jesse never says he wants anything, but then he had to go and say that he wished you were there. You better figure out how to see him tonight or I swear to God I will take you out on Monday.”
I double blink; she pivots on her toes and leaves.
“Why is Jesse upset?” I call out.
Veronica doesn’t answer as she keeps walking.
* * *
I drop to the ground and inhale deeply to steady my shaking hands. Climbing down the tree was easy. It was that first leap from my window to the limb that was death defying. I can’t grasp the level of stupidity and courage I must have had when I was younger. I don’t remember ever thinking before I leapt out that window to Jesse when I was a kid.
I wipe my clammy hands against my jeans as I walk across the street. It’s eleven-thirty. My mom had a headache, and my father sent us to bed early, around nine. Jesse said he’d meet me at midnight, but I couldn’t wait thirty more minutes, though it may have been less intimidating to have Jesse waiting for me at the bottom of the tree instead of me strolling up to his yard.
I pass the trailer, and four figures circle a bonfire in Jesse’s back field. At least it’s not a long walk from his trailer, yet it’s still far enough away that my parents couldn’t make me out from their bedroom window. Jesse and his friends are loud and full of cheer, guitar chords are being plucked and occasionally there’s laughter.
Nerves threaten to swallow me whole yet I walk into the firelight. The conversation halts. Shock covers Nazareth’s and Leo’s faces, Veronica offers a satisfied smirk, and when I lay my gaze on Jesse I have to prevent myself from laughing with how wide his eyes have become. “Tink?”
“Tink?” Veronica repeats as she turns her head toward him. “Is that what you said?”
Jesse ignores her and scrambles to his feet. He sways, just a tad, and his smile is a bit goofy. This is new, at least for me. Jesse’s some level of inebriated.
“Are you drunk?” I ask.
He chuckles and flips the baseball cap on his head backward. “Not yet, but I’m working on it. Won’t lie, I do have a good buzz going on.” Jesse yanks his cell out of his pocket. “I’m sorry I messed up, Tink. I had my alarm set for eleven-fifty. I don’t know what happened.”
“Seriously, did anyone else hear that?” Veronica asks. “Or am I experiencing delusions? I mean, I knew it was going to happen at some point, but I didn’t think it would happen tonight. Do I look crazy to you?”
She looks over at Nazareth, and he nods in agreement. Veronica bobs her head as if the answer was a gimme, and then drinks from a can of beer.
“I don’t know what happened.” Jesse checks the time on his cell, and his mood lightens as he looks at me with the most adorable expression. Sort of like a cuddly puppy. “You’re early.”
“Yeah.” Poetic, I know, but with so many eyes on me, I’ll admit to being self-conscious.
Leo opens a cooler, reaches in and tosses a can of beer to Nazareth, who plants it in the dirt next to another unopened can. Leo then tosses one to Jesse, who catches it with one hand.
“Want one, Scarlett?” Leo asks with a friendly grin.
I twine and untwine my fingers. I’m not a drinker. It’s not like I’ve had much of an opportunity to decide if it’s for me, but now is a bizarre time to experiment. “No, thank you.”
“Who’s polite at a bonfire?” Veronica asks everyone and no one.
“The better questio
n is, who’s polite around us?” Leo pops open his can of beer.
“Maybe we should try manners,” Veronica says, and then her face brightens as if she has the best idea ever. “We should talk in English accents. Doesn’t that mean we have manners?”
“Have you had your rabies shots, V?” Leo asks. “Because I’m worried about your brain. Connecting those two thoughts together is weird. Even for you.”
She sticks her tongue out at him and then the two of them lapse into a fit of giggles. They then push on each other as if they’re five-year-old siblings. This entire situation is strange.
Nazareth strums chords on the guitar, and Veronica announces, “Sing-along!”
Leo groans as he dramatically flops to the ground like a fish.
“What d’you think?” Jesse tilts his head toward his friends. “Want to sit?”
“Okay.”
Jesse surprises me when he takes my hand, loosely linking his fingers with mine, and guides me over to where he was sitting. The grass is cool, the weather cooler, and I’m grateful when Jesse sits close to me because the sweater I have on isn’t enough to keep out the chill. There’s a bit of a letdown when he releases my hand, but I take comfort in how his shoulder brushes against mine.
Above us are a million stars, and beyond the scent of the smoldering wood and smoke, I taste the night air. Hundreds of memories of my childhood flood my mind—of laughter, of being free with Jesse.
Nazareth starts a new song, and this time Jesse sings along. Not to all the parts, just certain lyrics, and I can’t help but smile that he gets half of those wrong. They harass him for it, he harasses them back, but the teasing is good-natured and fun.
Jesse has a smooth voice, can hit some notes, but not others. But he doesn’t care that he’s not perfect. Doesn’t care he’s not precisely right. He sings, loudly when the song is fun, a bit softer when the lyrics are serious. I envy him because while I’ll tap my foot along to the beat, while I’ll laugh along with them, I don’t sing, which is a shame.
Only a Breath Apart Page 17
