Keeping his back to me again, he paced the room as he shook his head, and I hit my limit.
“I’m kind of relieved, you know? In a weird way.” I barely gave my angels a second look as I passed the dresser. “All this time I thought you left because I was pregnant. I thought the baby and the responsibility and too much too fast drove you away.”
Boone stopped pacing, but his arms stayed curled around his head.
“When really, all along, it had to do with some giant miscommunication. You taking the word of, as you put it, the guy you hated most in the whole entire world, no questions asked, without running his story past me. You believed him. You had so little faith in me that you were willing to accept that I could look you in the face and tell you I loved you in the morning, then slip into his bed that night.” I paused on my journey to the door. Even now, looking at him and having so many of the missing pieces filled in, I still couldn’t hate him. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. My heart wouldn’t let me. “It’s a relief knowing what really happened and why you really left.”
Boone’s head tipped back some. “How is that a relief?”
I waited a moment before answering. “Because now I can let go of the what ifs and the occasional moments I miss you. You didn’t run away because you were a typical eighteen-year-old boy, scared shitless of becoming a dad. You ran away because you took the word of an asshole and never had the consideration or the respect or the foresight to ask your girlfriend about it. I didn’t lose a scared boy that day, because you know what?” I swiped at my lower lashes before the next tear fell. “You can’t lose something you never had in the first place.”
When I reached the door, I only hesitated for a moment before opening the door and escaping. Tonight, I was the one walking away.
And I learned being the one who left was just as hard as being the one left behind.
I’d moved on from being unable to exhale to completely suffocating. The thick night air felt as though it were pressing down on me, ready to grind me into the ground. That future didn’t seem all that bleak in comparison to the possibilities.
When I’d finally come back after my night walk that wouldn’t end, it was morning and my room was empty. I might have been the one who left, but he was the one who was gone.
There hadn’t been a sign he’d ever been there either. No curled up socks abandoned in a corner, no blankets and pillows left on the floor, no second toothbrush balanced on the ledge of the sink. Boone had left my life as seemingly suddenly as he’d come back into it.
I should have been relieved. I should have been thrilled I wouldn’t have to deliver some awkward good-bye at the end of this whole plus-one charade after what the two of us had learned last night. He’d left me because of a lie, while I’d spent the past seven years believing he’d left me because he couldn’t handle being a teen dad.
Knowing the truth should have made things easier, but instead it made them harder. We hadn’t come between ourselves—someone else had come between us. We’d let someone else come between us. Who knew what would have happened if Ford had never told Boone what he had. Our breakup could have been inevitable, it could have been worse, but either way, it was tragic.
I’d dated Ford after Boone. For a couple of years even. How could he look me in the eyes when he’d done what he had? How had he been able to just forget the past, the lies he’d told, and try to make a future with me when he knew the scars Boone had left me with?
I hadn’t been able to look at Ford once all day. In fact, I knew better than to put myself in the same general area as him—unless I was looking to get myself arrested for aggravated assault.
That was why I was camped out on the back porch stoop, where the hired help passed through, instead of mingling with the rest of Charleston’s finest at the Abbotts’ version of a rehearsal dinner.
The Abbott version didn’t include renting out a room at the local buffet or barbecuing some ribs down at the public park or being served pot roast in the basement of a church, like the handful of other rehearsal dinners I’d attended. No, the Abbott interpretation of the rehearsal dinner included fine champagne ordered by the case, a surf and turf dinner where only the best cuts of beef and largest lobster tails would be offered, and about one server to every two guests.
Not to be forgotten, the Abbott family rehearsal dinner had a theme, and it wasn’t a half-assed one either. Tonight’s theme was the Roaring Twenties, but instead of feeling like actual history books had been consulted for inspiration, I felt more like I’d stepped into one of the more opulent scenes from the latest Gatsby movie.
Everything was excessive or over-the-top or some mix of the two. Everything was golden or sparkling in some jewel-toned color. A band played ‘20s music, and most of the guests were wearing some style of fashion that harkened back to that time period. A few of the guests had even rolled up in old cars from the ‘20s. It was a ridiculous show of money and abundance. Everyone loved it.
Except me.
That was why I’d holed up on the dark stoop—to avoid the party, the party-goers, and most importantly, the party-throwers. I hadn’t told my family about Boone leaving, not that they wouldn’t have thrown the celebration if I had, but because I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. I didn’t want them to know I’d made the same mistake twice with the same man they’d warned me against twice.
I didn’t want them to know I’d lost him all over again. I’d done a decent job of dodging them all day, and my plan was to keep up the trend tonight. Actually, keeping up the ruse until I was lifting off and flying in the opposite direction of this place would have been nice. I knew better than to hope for that though. I’d learned the hard way what happened to a person when they put their faith in hope.
I was busy picking at my version of a ‘20s dress—a simple cotton sundress that Charlotte had informed me was not anything close to resembling the era before thrusting a different gown, heavy with beads and contempt, at me . . . which was why I was wearing the cotton dress.
I noticed the shadow moving in my direction, but I assumed it was one of the catering company’s staff needing to step into the kitchen for a fresh tray of caviar and crackers. That was when I noticed the orange glow of a cigar. For some reason, that pulsing orange glow was one of the few good memories I had of home and my family.
“What are you doing camped out back here, Clara Belle? Everyone’s looking for you.” My dad’s voice filled the night around me.
“Hiding,” I answered, because if I’d ever been able to admit the truth to anyone in my family, it had been my dad. More because he could see through a lie before it had been aired than because of his aptitude in understanding and compassion.
“Hiding from what?” When he moved closer, enough of the light streaming outside from the kitchen cast onto him. In true Abbott style, he was dressed to impress with his pinstriped, double-breasted suit and cap shoes.
“Hiding from everyone,” I said, twisting the toe of my shoe into the ground. “And everything.”
“Hiding only delays the inevitable. It sure doesn’t make it go away. Better to just confront whatever it is you’re hiding from and get it over with.”
“Does that wisdom apply to me wanting to stab a cocktail fork into the groom-to-be’s right eye, then his left, before burying it in his throat?” I hadn’t really intended to verbalize my dark fantasies, but I was tired of the whole lip-service thing.
Instead of shaking his head like I was being emotional and immature, or grunting in tired disapproval, my dad moved closer and took a seat beside me on the second-to-bottom step. I scooted over to give him space, and I pretended I wasn’t surprised my dad was sitting beside me—willingly—on the back steps of the staff entrance.
“Where’s Boone?” he asked, shifting around on the step like he couldn’t get comfortable.
I shouldn’t tell him the truth. I should keep up with the lie. I was tired of both.
“Gone. I think we’re over. Again.”
Dad was quiet for a moment, silently working on his cigar. “When something doesn’t work out the first time, there’s not much hope it’s going to work out a second time.” He stared out in the night in front of us like he could see things I couldn’t. “You’re still you, and he’s still him. People don’t change, Clara Belle. Not because they don’t want to, but because they can’t. Boone is who he is, and you are who you are. I would have warned you not to make the same mistake twice if I’d known you were even considering letting Boone Cavanaugh into your life again. Or if I thought you might actually listen to me . . .”
I ignored his last comment, knowing he was right. I did have a bad disposition when it came to listening to anything my parents tried telling me. “Yeah, but I think the whole reason we didn’t work out the first time was because of a lie. The same lie that’s coming between us now.”
Dad shifted on the stair. “What lie?”
I was about to shake my head and wave in a forget-it kind of way before encouraging him to go enjoy the party, but I felt the truth rise up in my throat. It was done being bottled up. “Ford told Boone we were sleeping together and implied in not so many words that the baby could have been either of theirs.”
Dad’s face pulled up into a wince, probably because we didn’t talk about the baby. I was as guilty of keeping that topic under lock and key as they were. I hadn’t said anything about it since that summer I’d left, and it was clear from the look on his face that he thought he’d never hear about it again.
“I’m sure Ford had the best intentions when he told Boone that.” His voice was too controlled, too even. “Ford’s always cared about you, Clara Belle, and while what he did might have been the wrong way to go about it, you can’t fault him for trying to do what was in your best interest.”
I felt anger boil in my veins. I shouldn’t have expected my dad to side with me, but I sure hadn’t been prepared for him defending Ford. “He told Boone that I was sleeping with him.” I twisted on the stair, facing him. Dad didn’t move; he just kept staring out into the night like a movie reel was flashing before his eyes. “How can you say that Ford telling my boyfriend something like that when I’d just found out I was pregnant was in my best interests?”
Dad took another long pull on his cigar before blowing out a series of smoke rings. “You and Boone Cavanaugh were never going to wind up together. You both knew that, right along with the rest of us. Ford just happened to be the one to step in and bite the bullet.”
“He had no right to.”
“Right or not, he did it. And I’m not sorry to admit I was relieved. You deserved better than that boy, sweetheart.” Dad’s voice went quieter, edging into the soft realm. “You deserve better than any boy God’s seen fit to make, but I knew Boone would only become a bigger black hole in your life if he stayed.”
I crossed my arms over my knees and dropped my head onto them. Seven years later, and I was still about in tears talking to my dad about Boone Cavanaugh. I prayed I wouldn’t find myself in the same situation in another seven years. “He was never a black hole. He was pretty much the one bright spot in my universe. You guys never got it, but that’s the way it was.”
Dad snorted. “What do you call him getting you pregnant when you were both a couple of kids then?” He shook his head as he popped off another snort. “If that’s not a black hole, I don’t know what is. What were you two going to do if you had stayed together? Have that baby, let this whole city see you as a single teen mom pretending to play house with a boy whose five-year plan was staying out of prison? I wanted more for you, baby. I wanted the world.” He threw his arms out in front of us like the world was right there, just waiting for me to grab it. “Not some run-down shack in that trailer park he grew up in.”
“Don’t you see, Daddy? I had the world. He was my world. He was everything I wanted, and Ford took that away from me.” I didn’t realize I’d started to cry until I felt my dad’s arm wrap around my shoulders. It didn’t feel forced or unnatural; it felt like a concerned father trying to comfort his daughter.
He patted my back a few times before his arm returned to his side. “Don’t play the victim. Ford didn’t take anything from you. You just didn’t have a hard enough grip around it. Because somewhere inside you, you knew what we all did. Boone wasn’t your future.” His words weren’t gentle, but his voice was.
“I loved him.”
“I know baby.” He sighed. “I know.”
Swiping the tears away, I felt anger shoot back into my blood. I was on an emotional roller coaster and couldn’t find my way off. My dad was going to wish by the end of this conversation that he’d never sat beside me. “I loved him so much, and he just left. He took Ford’s word and walked away. Didn’t answer my calls, wouldn’t answer the door no matter how hard I pounded on it. He just seemed to forget all about me.”
My dad shifted beside me right before he worked the top button of his shirt undone. “That, baby, might not have been all Ford’s doing.” He stopped to put out his cigar. “I wasn’t planning on telling you this, your mama doesn’t even know, but I think you should know something about Boone you don’t.”
My heart stalled. “What?”
“He came back.”
“Wait.” I shook my head, feeling like I’d just been dropped in the middle of the desert and wasn’t sure which direction I was facing. “When did he come back?”
“A few days after the big scuttleloo.”
What he called a “scuttleloo” I called the worst day of my life—the day Boone and I had broken up.
Dad continued, “I suppose he needed a few days to cool his jets or whatever, but he came back to the house late one night, looking for you. I was out on the porch and caught him before he climbed that tree to sneak into your room.”
“Did you talk to him?” My voice was barely audible.
He gave a burly-sounding grunt. “I wanted to run him off with my shotgun, but it was locked in the safe. Your mama made sure of that after all that went down between you and Boone, guessing I’d shoot him on sight when and if he showed back up.”
“Daddy . . .”
“What?” He looked at me with an innocent expression. “That’s what any boy deserves who doesn’t take the proper precautions and responsibility to prevent an unwanted pregnancy.”
“It wasn’t unwanted.” I looked him straight in the eye, unyielding. “Unexpected, but please don’t ever call it unwanted again.”
He returned the unyielding stare, the master I’d probably picked mine up from. “You were eighteen.”
“It was my baby.”
He blinked and looked away. “So Boone wanted to see you. Right then and there, at half past midnight. I told him no and to get lost. He said he wasn’t leaving until he saw you. I told him you were asleep and I’d be damned if he ever saw you again. He said he’d wait outside until you woke up and that he’d be damned if he let me keep him from seeing you.” He waved his hand in an et cetera motion.
“So it was about a typical conversation between you and Boone.”
“Up to about this point. That was the day after . . . you’d lost the baby. You remember?”
The air shifted then, becoming less sticky and more chilly. Instead of encasing my skin, it felt more like it was attacking it. “I’ll never forget,” I whispered.
“You were catatonic and hadn’t left your room all day. I was worried, beyond worried.” Dad kicked at the same patch of earth I’d been working to death with the toe of my shoe. “You were dealing with so much, and I thought bringing Boone back into your life would set you off into a tailspin. You were fragile.”
My shoulders lifted then fell. “I’d lost a lot in a matter of four days.”
“I didn’t know what or who would be the one to pull the pin from you, baby, but I knew if I wasn’t careful, it would happen. Boone seemed like the most likely suspect, so I did what I had to do to keep him away.”
I swallowed and hugged my body. It was ba
rely nine at night in the dead of summer in the south, so why did I feel like I’d been locked inside of a walk-in freezer? “What did you have to do?”
“Offered him a stack of cash. A thick stack.” He pinched his fingers together to show just how thick.
“You paid him off to stay away.” I should have known. I should have at least guessed.
“I would have done so much more.” He clasped his hands together and let his shoulders drop. “I did do so much more.”
“What does that mean?”
He was quiet for so long, I was almost convinced he wasn’t going to answer me. I knew from experience that trying to pry something from my dad was about as successful an endeavor as trying to pry a cub from a mama grizzly bear’s paws.
“I told him you lost the baby.” His eyes narrowed as he studied the night in front of us. “I told him it was gone. You should have seen him, Clara Belle. The life drained right out of his face. I’d never seen a person fall apart like that, right in front of me.” Dad stared at that space like eighteen-year-old Boone was in front of him all over again. “That lasted for about a minute, then he made a run for the door. He’s always been one strong son of a bitch, even for a kid, and I couldn’t hold him back. So I told him what I had to in order to get him to go away.”
My heart was beating so loudly, it drowned out the music from the band on the front lawn. “What did you tell him? What did you tell him, Daddy?”
He shook his head, glaring at that space in front of him like he was cursing it. “I told him that you’d had an—”
“Abortion.” An imposing shadow stepped out of the same space my dad had been staring at. “That you’d walked into some clinic and had our baby aborted.”
The Fable of Us Page 25
