I wonder if anyone else sees the lines around his mouth, from years and years of smiling—the marks of years of nothing but good news.
They’re all beaming at him like he belongs to them. Like he’s their golden boy, up on the stage, winning a spelling bee.
Ellis pauses, taking it in, and I grip the edge of Pastor Holland’s table to keep myself from choking the information out of him.
“Let me tell you,” Ellis says. “The world is gonna hear us now.”
Us. They love that. They’re already clapping and whistling and stomping their feet.
Before the anticipation reaches a fever pitch, Ellis holds his hands up for silence, and the room obeys. Not their golden child. Their king.
Finally, he announces, “I just found out I’m getting my own TV show!”
That’s enough to whip the crowd into a frenzy, but he hurries on before they can drown him out. “And we’re filming the first episode right here in Jasper Hollow!”
The room erupts. The tables shake with pounding fists, and the cheering is a roar that vibrates my skull. Pastor Holland has gotten to his feet, hollering through cupped hands, and then he’s laughing, tears shimmering on his face. Ellis goes to him first—after he kisses his wife—and they hug each other.
I storm out of the Watering Hole, into the glaring sun of the Circle, but not a soul seems to notice.
Chapter 26
TO CELEBRATE ELLIS’S LATEST step toward conquering the world, he makes dinner reservations at a fancy restaurant an hour from Jasper Hollow. So fancy, I have to wear a dress.
Melody brings me a navy-blue one and hangs it on the knob of my open bedroom door. She’s already wearing hers—her favorite color, dark green. The hem brushes her ankles, but halfway down her thigh, the fabric becomes sheer enough to see through. My eyes graze the ghost of her strong legs.
“Are you okay?” she asks me.
I’ve been in a foul mood all evening, pacing my room, growling obscenities into pillows, and even kicking the mattress every once in a while. I’m sure she heard me from across the hall.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
Ellis is about to get richer from every lie he’s ever told, and Mom is nowhere to be found. I’ve been lying in bed for the last half hour with the afternoon light slanting in, pulling my hair and trying to think of a way to stop feeling so powerless.
“I’m sure.”
“If you’re upset about Pastor Holland coming with us to dinner, you don’t have to talk to him. I’ll talk to you. And so will Neily,” she adds. “We can pretend he isn’t there.”
I smile. “Thanks. I’m just tired from work.”
“Oh.”
She doesn’t leave the doorway. Like she’s got something else to say but doesn’t know how.
“Well.” I crawl out of bed. “I guess it’s time to get dressed.”
“Right.” She shakes her head like she’s trying to shake a thought. “I—”
She turns to leave, but then she comes back and holds something out to me.
I take it from her and turn it over in my hands. It’s a metal feather, dull gold. A hairpin. “You can’t wear an old piece of ribbon to a restaurant like this,” she says, trying to sound snooty.
I smirk and touch the silky, red ribbon I’ve been wearing to keep my hair out of my eyes. “And why the hell not?”
“Because you just can’t.”
If I didn’t know her, I’d say her cheeks redden because she’s irritated by how clueless I am. But I’m almost certain that it’s because she’s completely mortified that she just gave me a gift.
I untie my ribbon and stand in front of my bathroom mirror. “Where did you find this?”
I’ve never used pins in my hair. But as soon as I think it, I realize that’s not quite true—my dad gave me a set of purple flower clips in second grade that I wore every day for a year.
But I’ve never paid attention to how girls older than ten are supposed to wear them. Melody watches me make a few botched attempts before she comes up behind me and takes it from my hand. “Let me.” She brushes my hair out of my face and arranges it into a neat little twist. “It was in an antique shop on the Circle. I got it for fifty cents. Not a big deal. I just—well, when I saw the feather, it made me think—”
“Of me.”
“Of your name.”
“Right.”
“Right.” Done with my hair, she drops her hands. “Get dressed. We’re leaving soon.”
She turns to go again, but I catch her wrist.
“Thank you, Mel,” I say.
I notice in that moment when the light comes through the window and hits her face at just the right angle, her brown eyes flash the same shade of green as her dress.
“You’re—” Her voice cracks, and she has to swallow. “You’re welcome.”
Then she pulls away from me, and I’m alone.
-
I can’t remember the last time Mom and I ate inside a McDonald’s, let alone a real restaurant. And I’ve never been within spitting distance of the kind of place Ellis takes us to.
The round tables are all draped with wine-red cloths that brush the shining wood floor like the hems of ball gowns. The walls are aged brick, and glittering chandeliers drip from the ceiling. A woman in the corner plays a sleek, black piano while waiters flit around the room in pressed white shirts with collars and red ties that match the tablecloths. It seems like one of them was hired for the sole purpose of brushing crumbs off people’s tables.
I’m always on the other side of the window when it comes to elegant places like this. But somehow, here I am. And I didn’t even have to sneak in. I almost want to be excited.
Our waiter starts reciting some things from the menu too fast for me to keep up. And Melody just kicked me under the table for the third time. After the fourth, I turn to her and snap, “What?”
With an exaggerated sigh, she takes the cloth napkin folded on the table in front of me, unfurls it, and places it in my lap. I glance around and see that I was the only one who hadn’t done it yet.
“Oh,” I say.
“It’s pronounced thank you,” she whispers with a half smile, which I mirror.
“I guess I deserved that.”
But I can’t even fake a smile once Ellis starts talking.
“We’ve been trying to get the green light on the show for months, but I didn’t want to tell anyone until it was a sure thing. We’ve already got a name and everything. By Example. You know, like leading by example? It’s perfect, isn’t it? I think it’s just perfect. I’m supposed to travel around the country and interview people who are overcoming the odds and doing positive things. You know, like blind people learning to paint and prisoners training service dogs. Real uplifting stuff.”
Jill chokes on a sip of her water when he mentions traveling around the country—apparently, he hasn’t run that by her yet. But Pastor Holland hangs on every word.
“Tell us about this first episode,” he says. “The one you’re filming in Jasper Hollow.”
“Well, it’s really going to be something. We want it to be an annual thing, where people from all over Ohio can come and celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” Neil asks before he shoves half a buttered roll in his mouth.
“Letting go. Moving on. Leaving the past behind to start working toward a brighter future. I’m going to give a speech, maybe sign some books—”
“People will come from all over Ohio for that?” I blurt.
He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Well, I’m always flattered by the support I get. I mean”—he glances at Jill—“remember how many tickets sold for my last tour? I was just blown away. It was a real blessing, but I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve it.”
I don’t think I ever fully understood the term humblebrag until just now.
“It’s going to be a kind of ceremony,” he goes on. “Once it gets dark, everyone is going to line the str
eets with candles. They’ll all get little slips of paper to write down one thing they want to let go of, and then they’ll burn the papers. It’s symbolic, you see? And that’s when I’ll give my speech. I think all those candles will look real nice on camera, don’t you?”
It’s a good thing someone interrupts before I can tell him a better place to put his candles for the camera.
A man in a black suit pumps Ellis’s hand with both of his, and after a minute, I figure out that he’s the owner of the restaurant and that they’ve known each other for years. When Ellis tells him the news, the man claps his hands and whispers something to a passing waiter. A minute later, a complimentary bottle of champagne arrives at the table. And then the adults are toasting and laughing and exchanging news.
I zone out because it’s the only way to keep myself sane. Somehow, the conversation must have turned to the piano, because the owner asks Ellis, “When is the last time you played?” And then they go sit on the bench together and pound out an upbeat duet, Jill and Pastor Holland standing on either side of them, laughing and clapping.
“This is unnatural,” I say to no one in particular. “Isn’t this unnatural?”
“He’s good at making himself at home.” Melody shrugs and takes a sip of her water. “People like him. They can’t help it.”
Neil looks over the menu, like he hasn’t even noticed that his father is serenading the whole restaurant. “You should get the filet,” he says to me.
I find it on my own menu. “Forty-five dollars?”
He looks embarrassed all of a sudden.
“Is it a giant steak?”
“No. You get two sides with it, though.”
“I don’t think those are included in the price,” Melody says.
“Oh.”
“Quit bitching and order it,” Melody snaps, cutting herself a piece of bread. “You aren’t paying for it.”
I glare at her for being a spoiled, rich brat. But she’s right. So I order the filet. And mashed potatoes, green beans, and crab-stuffed mushrooms.
I glance at the piano to make sure the adults aren’t paying attention before I filch Ellis’s half-empty glass of wine and refill it from the open bottle on the table. Melody gasps and snatches for it. “You can’t—”
I hold it out of reach and warn her, “Touch it, and I’ll tell your mother you pushed me into that lake on purpose.”
I’m bluffing, and she knows it. But she doesn’t want to risk causing a scene and ruining her dad’s big night. So she settles back in her chair with a scowl and looks the other way.
I guzzle the first glass without pausing for breath, getting a dry burn down my throat. It’s not bad, but honestly, I miss the cheap stuff I’m used to—the kind they sell for eight dollars a bottle at Kroger that tastes like juice.
I pour another glass, then offer the bottle to Neil, and he shakes his head at first, but then he agrees to just a sip.
“Neil!” Melody hisses, but he does it anyway, and the way his face screws up at the taste makes me laugh.
“Bitter.”
“Maybe you’ve got to be a little bitter to enjoy it,” I say.
“Or twenty-one,” Melody grumbles.
“Christ. I don’t know anybody who needs a drink more than you do.”
It must have come out meaner than I meant it to, because she looks at me like I’ve slapped her. “You think I’m too uptight.”
“It was a joke—”
“You think I’m boring.”
“When the hell did I say that?”
She stares at me for a long moment, biting her lip. Then she grabs the glass from my hand.
“Mel, hold on—”
She tips the wine down her throat, emptying the whole thing in a few swallows. Her mouth pinches at the taste, just a little, but she fights to hide it, her eyes on mine the whole time. A challenge.
She moves to pour another glass, and I stop her with my hand on her wrist. “One is plenty.”
“You’ve had two.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve had a drink.”
“Mel, maybe you shouldn’t—” her brother starts.
“If Phoenix can take it, so can I,” she says, pouring another glass.
-
Melody is a handsy drunk.
She keeps hugging her brother and braiding and unbraiding my hair. I’m in the middle of asking her how she’s feeling when she nods very seriously, tracing the cusp of my ear with her finger. Neil laughs, and she turns to him and does the same thing to his nose. When she starts running the smooth curve of her knuckle over my bottom lip, I have to take both her hands and force them into her lap, because after nearly an hour, the adults are walking back toward us.
I already hid the empty wine bottle under the table.
Ellis orders another, and he and his wife have a glass each, but when the waiter tries to pour one for Pastor Holland, he holds his hand over it and says, “A man’s judgment is poor enough without it, don’t you think?” Which sends Melody into a fit of giggles so intense that Neil and I both have to kick her ankles to make her shut up.
Jill rolls her eyes at Pastor Holland and signals for the waiter to top off her own.
Neil stands suddenly, loosening his tie, and announces, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
The adults hardly notice him, busy laughing at something Ellis just said. He’s at the height of his charm right now, telling jokes and talking with his hands, captivating people from a few tables over who seem to recognize him. I’m the only one who sees Neil walk in the opposite direction of the bathroom.
He slips out the front door just as a man is about to walk through it, but Neil takes him by the shoulders and pushes him back. He nods his head reasonably, calmly, while the man tries to shove him off.
I glance at Melody, who’s too busy playing with the springs of her mother’s curls to pay attention to me, or her brother, so I sneak quietly from the table.
When I step outside, the man is pacing the parking lot, rubbing the stubble on his face and muttering something, listing to one side like he’s drunk. The valet politely pretends nothing is happening, standing behind his little podium while he watches from the corner of his eye.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Jameson,” Neil says. “I think Dad just wanted a small, quiet dinner tonight, that’s all. I don’t think he meant to leave you out. Really.”
“He’s a spineless goddamn son of a bitch,” Jameson growls, shoving Neil. “He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me, you know that?” he says, pounding his chest with his fist. “Ask him what I’ve done for him. Ask him!”
“I will, Uncle Jameson, but you need to—”
“Get in your car,” I say. “I’ll drive you home.”
Both of them turn to look at me where I stand on the sidewalk, my hands braced on my hips.
“You don’t have to do that, Phee,” Neil says at the same time Jameson sneers, “Shut up, bitch.”
Neil shoots a glare at him. “I’ll take him home,” he says.
I shake my head, walking toward them. “You need to go back in there and be with your family.”
Neil dips his mouth toward my ear and whispers, “I don’t think that would be . . . safe. He’s pretty drunk.”
I laugh. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
He shrugs, offering a lopsided grin. “Maybe not. But I need to be the one to take him home.”
After a moment, I nod. “Okay. I’ll stay with him while you go tell your parents.”
I watch Neil jog inside, and the second the door closes behind him, I hold out my hand to Jameson. “Keys,” I say. Jameson eyes me for a moment before he looks at the restaurant again—through the glass window, at his brother and his beautiful family, celebrating yet another victory while Jameson is stuck on the outside.
I snatch the keys from his pocket while he’s distracted, and then I grab him by the wrist and tow him to the car.
“He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me,” he say
s again. The anger in his voice has faded.
“I know he wouldn’t,” I answer, softly.
We pull out of the parking lot before Neil ever makes it back.
The baby was born in the quiet hours of the morning, a few days after Nina’s seventeenth birthday. He weighed just over eight pounds. He had a tuft of soft, black hair and a small birthmark on his left cheek the size of her pinky nail. Nina named him Bailey.
His grandfather didn’t come to see him. Her father had sent her to live with Aunt Janet and Uncle Arnold months ago. They both stood over her bed with fidgety smiles, hands clasped behind their backs and their eyes averted. But they relaxed when it was their turn to hold the baby. They huddled over him and poked at his puckered mouth and made soft little noises.
Nina didn’t know exactly what she was supposed to feel about the baby, the little bundle that had caused her so much trouble, but she found it impossibly easy to smile at him, so pink and fragile in her arms.
But he wasn’t enough to dispel the sourness that had clung to her since her father had made her leave home. Since her pregnancy had started showing.
She’d never gotten used to the staring or the whispers, people saying, So young and, What a shame. Even the nurses hissed into each other’s ears. Nina made her face blank, but she couldn’t make herself feel blank.
For the first two weeks after her father sent her away, she’d called him every day, even after it became clear that he wouldn’t answer. Then she settled for leaving him messages—about how Aunt Janet and Uncle Arnold spoke to her like a stranger at the bus stop. About how she felt so sick all the time and her whole body hurt. About how scared she was because she’d heard how painful having a baby would be.
God, it had hurt. Even more than she had expected. And maybe her father being there wouldn’t have made it hurt any less, but she would have liked it if he’d been there to hold her hand and let her cry.
But he hadn’t said he would send her away forever. He just didn’t want the people she had known all her life to see her that way. He’d been trying to protect her, she knew. And now that the baby was here, he’d let her come back. She was certain. Looking down at her child, she knew that this is what she must have looked like to her father the first time he held her.
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