“Does it bother you,” I ask. “That my friends don’t like you?”
“No.”
Crystal clear and simple. I wish I were more like that, instead of muddy and complex.
“Does it bother you about my friends?” he asks.
“Everything bothers me.” I pause at the corner, where we go our separate ways for the day, and he raises an eyebrow. I typically keep walking, and because I’m impaired, I also typically don’t say goodbye.
Jesse waits for whatever it is that I have to offer him, and the words are stuck. I need to go to Glory’s this weekend for work, and I don’t want to go by myself as odds are I’ll get lost once night falls. Glory told me she’d give me a bonus if I can pass her “test” on palm reading, but in order to pass, I need to read someone’s palm, and considering my friends are in the dark about my extracurricular activities, Jesse is the best choice.
I need his help, but I don’t know how to ask him and I don’t know how to explain that I hate asking anyone for help. Asking makes me weak, makes me think of Dad pushing me to depend on him, and my mouth turns down because I don’t want to be me for at least five seconds.
“Do … do you ever wish you were somebody else?” My words come out in a rushed cluster, and I’m not sure they make sense.
His green eyes soften as he looks at me as if I’m the only person in the world. As if there aren’t hundreds of people pushing past in their quest for the next destination. As if there aren’t loud voices demanding that we pay attention to them and not to what’s going on between us. He takes a step toward me, so close that the heat of his body wraps me in an embrace. My breath catches as my blood tingles.
“I used to feel that way,” he says. “About wanting to be somebody else.”
I inhale his sweet, dark scent and I become a bit light-headed from his presence. “How did you make it stop?” Because I so desperately need answers to fill the hole in my soul.
“I spend time with you, and because you let me, I held you in my bed. Why would I want to be anyone else when I get to be the guy who holds you?”
The warning bell rings and my pulse beats erratically. Then, as if he didn’t blow my mind, Jesse walks away.
* * *
I jump at the stack of books slammed onto the circulation desk. Camila’s glare is red-hot. I finish scanning in the book that was in my hand before I was so rudely interrupted, place it on the cart of books that need to be shelved, then offer Camila my full attention.
“What are you doing?” Camila asks.
“I’m scanning books.”
Evangeline nervously watches us from the other side of the library. I inwardly roll my eyes because I should have seen this coming. The two of them have been whispering to each other nonstop since the first time Jesse stopped by my locker. Not that them being in each other’s ears is unusual, but typically they wouldn’t be staring at me so much while conversing.
“What are you doing with Jesse Lachlin?” she rephrases.
“Nothing.”
“He has been at your locker every day for the past month and walks with you in the hallway. And you two talk.”
I have to fight the urge to laugh because the utter disbelief and shock that I would talk to Jesse Lachlin is a bit hilarious. “Would it be better if I didn’t talk to him?”
“Yes.”
My brief bit of levity fades, and I sit on the stool beside me. “That would be rude.”
“That would be lifesaving.”
“That is overdramatic.” I pick up the scanner to start my work again.
“No, it’s not.”
My response is the beep of the book being swept back into the system.
Camila reaches over and snatches the scanner from me. This time, she isn’t red-hot, but full of concern. Camila is overdramatic, but she rarely gets this emotional. “He hurt you, and if you become friends with him again, or worse, if you date him, he’s going to hurt you again.”
A fast debate in my head of how to answer any of this without tipping my hand. If I say the wrong thing, it could open a floodgate of questions I can’t answer.
I rest the book in my hand on the counter and look Camila straight in the eye. “The night of the readings, Glory couldn’t take me home so Jesse did. We talked, and he’s simply been stopping by my locker to talk some more. That’s it.” It’s a lie, but the truth will set her off.
She squishes her face in disagreement. “But talking is a gateway drug. Talking leads to more talking, and more talking leads to hanging out, and the next thing I know you’ll be smoking pot with Veronica, tattooed like Nazareth, and having a baby with Jesse Lachlin and living in his trailer. Soon after that you’ll die because of the Lachlin curse. Is that what you want, Scarlett? To be dead by twenty leaving Jesse behind to raise your infant triplets in his broken-down trailer?”
“Now that is definitely overdramatic.”
“Is it?” She’s dead serious. “Besides the fact the curse is real, you are who you hang out with. I know I’m not the friend I could be, but my way of being a friend doesn’t include destroying you. He’s going to hurt you again. I’m the one who held your hand when no one else would. Don’t be stupid and make the same mistake again. You can’t trust him.”
Bluntly honest. That’s Camila. She’s speaking her mind, and it’s not her fault there is menacing truth to her words.
“I know I’m not easy to be friends with,” Camila says in a low voice, a soft voice, one full of regret and sadness. One I’ve never heard from Camila before, “but you stick by me when not many people do. I care for you, and I don’t want to see him hurt you again.”
“This isn’t a big deal,” I say. “We’re just talk—”
“You have a date tomorrow with Stewart Mitchell.” Camila drops the gauntlet.
“What?”
“The only thing we can come up with as to why you’re talking with Jesse is that you’re finally considering going on a date so instead of giving the opportunity to some guy who won’t appreciate you, we found someone who will.”
“What do you mean by we? And what do you mean by date? And Stewart Mitchell?”
Camila laughs like I told a joke and that must be the sign Evangeline was waiting for, as she joins us at the counter. “Isn’t it exciting?”
Um … no. But I don’t say that. My head tilts because I have no idea what just happened.
Camila rounds the desk. “The whole lunch table is in on this. First dinner, then a movie, then dessert. Fifteen of us will be going. It is going to be the most epic first date on the planet.”
“It’s not a pity date,” Evangeline adds, as if that was a worry. “Stewart has been working up the nerve to ask you out all summer, but none of us thought you were ready so we told him to enter at his own risk, but now that you’ve been talking to Jesse, we know you’re ready.”
How any of that makes sense, I have no idea. “I don’t want to date Jesse,” I say slowly, but a small part of my brain dissents. “I’m just talking to him.”
“Just talking is code for flirting.” Camila playfully pats my hand. “Please, the only reason any girl at this school talks to Jesse is in the hopes of dating him.”
“Or kissing him,” Evangeline adds. “I’ll be honest, I’d kiss him.”
Camila takes my hand. “But we aren’t going to waste Scarlett’s first date, or first kiss, on some boy who is going to be voted most likely to end up in jail.”
Mental whiplash. First date? And did she say … “First kiss?”
“You don’t have to,” Camila says, then frowns. “I’m not sure if Stewart will get the opportunity. Your parents are letting you go on a group date. But we can work out a system. Like blink three times and everyone will turn their back.”
My head spins, and I grab the desk for support. “My parents are letting me go?”
Camila releases a blazing smile. “My mom called your mom. I know how protective your parents are, and I thought if my mom brought up the group
date they would be on board.”
I swear with the way my tongue is twisted, I’m having a seizure. “They said yes?”
“It took until last night for your parents to get back to my mom. They took forever to agree to it, and there are like a gazillion rules, but you can go! Aren’t you excited?”
“I’m not okay with this,” I say.
“Give it a few minutes,” Camila waves off my concern, “then you’ll be fine. Besides, it’s all set so you have no choice but to go, which is the brilliant part of my plan because I know you better than you think. You’d be fine holing up in your room for the rest of your life pushing everyone away as long as people let you. So what that Jesse Lachlin hurt you years ago? The rest of the world isn’t out to hurt you. He’s cursed, and you’re not. It’s time to live, Scarlett.”
My mouth pops open, but nothing comes out. Camila twirls her hair as she examines me. “I think she’s in shock.”
“It is shocking,” Evangeline says. “You didn’t work up to the date. You blurted it out.”
“How does one work up to a surprise first date?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you could have said that Stewart thinks Scarlett is pretty, then you work your way up to the surprise first date.”
“That’s boring, and time-consuming. My way worked fine. She has to know she has no choice.” The bell rings, Camila loops her arm around mine, Evangeline gathers my things and I’m swooped off to lunch.
JESSE
I swing the ax and the wood splits. The chunks are small enough to stack, but I’m pissed so I swing the ax again, making the hunks of wood smaller. Besides a bonfire, there’s no reason I need to cut wood. I don’t have a fireplace, and I could have rented a wood shredder to get rid of this old tree that was downed by last night’s storm. But since this afternoon I’ve been Godzilla tearing through Tokyo. I thought chopping the wood would help erase my anger or that I’d tire myself out. I’ve been home an hour from school and neither has transpired. Guess I am cursed.
“That looks like hard work,” an unfamiliar voice calls out.
I pause mid-swing and glance over at the man intruding upon my land. A silent swear under my breath as I’m not in the mood for company, especially not someone I need to impress. I turn toward the thick trunk lying on the ground and whack the ax into it. I then pick my shirt off the ground and wipe my brow as I turn to welcome Pastor Hughes.
“It’s not so bad,” I say.
“You looked like a machine as I pulled up. I had a great-uncle who had a farm when I was younger. I remember chopping wood like you just did when I was angry at the world.”
Not the world. Just a girl named Scarlett who’s giving me heartburn. What sucks about school is even when you don’t talk, you hear things, and I heard more about her and some other guy than I wanted. She’s testing me, yet she’ll go out with him. My fingers twitch with the need to pick up the ax again.
“The storm was rough last night,” he says.
“Several trees are down, and I need to cut them up.” The storm wasn’t bad enough for so many of the trees to have toppled, which means the ones that fell were probably diseased. I have no idea what that means for the rest of my trees or if this could affect future crops. So far a Google search has been more of a labyrinth than helpful. This is one of those rare moments when I wish I had a mentor or some help.
“What brings you out?” I ask.
“You.” His eyes flicker over me, and I have no doubt he noticed the scar on my back. “I promised your grandmother I’d check in on you from time to time.”
Thanks, Gran. “Consider me checked-in on.”
Pastor Hughes doesn’t remind me much of a man of God in his jeans and red short-sleeved shirt. More like a guy who’s about to hit up fast food with his family on a Friday night. Guess I’ve watched too much TV to think these guys only wear black.
He offers me his hand, I accept, and the man has a firm grip and a friendly smile. The trailer’s in sight, but he had a decent walk. Because Gran raised me to do southern hospitality with guests, I say, “Do you want to go back to the trailer? I can get you something to drink.”
“Nah, it’s a nice day, and I’ll admit that I’d like to stay outside. I’m inside too much for my liking. But why don’t you go ahead and get a drink. Looks like you could use it.”
Fair enough. I grab a bottle of cold water from the cooler, down it fast, then set it on the ground. Near the weeping willow, Pastor Hughes scans the land as if in appreciation, and that makes me like him enough that I’m disarmed. At least enough to not tell him to leave.
“You have a beautiful piece of property,” he says. “I can see why your grandmother liked it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so rich in my life.”
“Loved,” I correct him. “Gran loved this land.” Like I do.
He nods his agreement and starts in on questions about my well-being: Am I getting along okay alone in the house, how has school gone, what have I been working on with the property? They’re questions meant to be deep, but allow me enough space to give surface answers. The type of answers, I’m sure, a busy man like him wants to hear.
Then he throws a curveball. “Have you considered applying for college?”
I pause for too long. “I’m not interested in college.”
“Why?”
If I tell him the real reason, because I want to work the land full-time, it could backfire and he could vote against me keeping the land. He, and every other adult, seems to have this quest for higher education. “Not my thing.”
“It could be.”
I shrug.
“There’s a big world out there.” Pastor Hughes looks off to the horizon. “Aren’t you curious what’s out there? Your grandmother told me you really haven’t left the state.”
Memories of Mom come rushing back and the hurt mixing with my previous anger becomes a toxic mix. “Let’s cut the crap. I know you’re part of the tribunal.”
I like that he has to pause to take in my words. “Did your uncle tell you?”
“No, and I know Scarlett Copeland is the other person. I told her the truth.”
“Is your uncle aware of your knowledge on any of this?”
“That I know the full truth? No.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I’m getting played in a game I never wanted to participate in. Seems fair to swing the game back in my direction.”
He’s not mad like I expected with the bombshell. Instead, he relaxes and that doesn’t sit well with me. Pastor Hughes places his thumbs in his back pockets. “How does telling me this swing the game, as you call it, in your direction?”
“Scarlett’s already agreed to vote for me. As for telling you, I figured it would be better if you and I shot straight. I’d bet the western part of this land you know I’ve left the state twice in my life, and I’m betting you know why and what happened on both occasions.”
He probably also knows how those occasions broke me in ways that makes fixing me impossible. If he does, he knows secrets I wish Gran would have allowed to live only with me.
“Your grandmother was hurting,” he says. “She wasn’t trying to betray you by talking to me. She was trying to find a way to let go of her grief before she passed.”
I’m tempted to ask him if it worked, but don’t. He’ll lie the same way Glory does to the people who pay for her time. “I don’t want to go to college, and I don’t want to analyze the why with you. But I do want this land. Whatever it is you need me to do to win your vote, I’ll do it. Losing this land isn’t an option. I hope that’s something you can understand.”
Pastor Hughes nods like he hears everything I’m saying and not saying. Maybe some things I’m not even hearing myself. “There are many ways you could have tried to manipulate this situation, but you took the most direct method and that, I respect.”
“Does that mean you’re going to vote for me?” I ask.
“It means you have my ear.”
It’s not a vote, but it’s a start.
“I’ll tell you what,” Pastor Hughes says. “I have an important decision to make regarding your future, and I take that responsibility seriously. So I have two requests for you.”
“You mean rules?”
He chuckles. “I mean more of an agreement. You agree to meet with me every month or so, when it’s convenient for you. We’ll talk, have dinner if you’d like.”
I can do that. “Sure.”
“The second part is for you to have dinner with your uncle. At least a couple of times a month. It’ll go a long way in earning my vote if you can fix your relationship with him.”
“It takes two people to fix things.” The words come out fast and bitter. “And he’s not the saint you think he is.”
“No one is above reproach. Not you, not me and not your uncle. You two share a complicated relationship. True colors will win out on this—for good or possibly bad.”
The idea causes me to want to grind my teeth, but I stay still, as my reaction will be judged. I’m tired of being tested, but this is what my life is going to be for the next year—me constantly being held over the fire. “Fine.”
Pastor Hughes holds out his hand to me again, I shake it and he says those nice things people do, “goodbye” and “see you later.” He’s four steps away when he glances back at me. “I didn’t know you and Scarlett Copeland were friends.”
Not liking the question, I yank the ax out of the trunk and use my foot to roll another, larger log to where I’m splitting the wood. “What makes you assume we are?”
“You mentioning that you have spoken to her.”
“We know each other.”
“Do you talk much to her father?” The question is casual but causes warning alarms.
I swing the ax and split the log in half with the first try. “Can’t say that I do. Do you?”
“Not much. I’ll leave my card in your mailbox. Call me when you want to meet up.”
“Sounds good.” I continue to split wood until his car disappears down the dirt road. Once he’s long gone, I wedge the ax back into the log, and I sit beside it wondering what level of hell I’ve unleashed by talking to him about Scarlett.
Only a Breath Apart Page 20
