I let out a sigh, and my back falls against my chair after I take off my coat.
A waitress comes to our table. She’s young, maybe eighteen. “Anna, Scarlet, what are we having to drink tonight?”
“Water for me, Libby,” Anna says.
I’m caught by surprise that the waitress knows my name; however, I’m sure my grandparents weren’t shy about talking about me.
“I’ll have a glass of your house red, Libby. Thank you.” Really, I don’t care what it tastes like. I just need a drink to get out of this uncomfortable feeling. Why did I agree to this?
“Water?” I try to change the subject.
“Apparently, it’s frowned upon to drink while with child.” A grin starts to spread across her face as she meets my eyes.
“Oh! Congratulations, Anna. That’s wonderful news.”
Libby returns with our drinks, and we place our food order.
Anna says, “Please, I’m so tired of discussing baby names with my mother. What I should eat and shouldn’t eat with my sister. And trying to convince Colt that sex is okay while I’m pregnant.”
I hold back a laugh while I try to swallow my wine.
“Can we please, please, please talk about you?”
I set down my wineglass. “I had twelve buyers back out of full-priced offers on the house today because they don’t like the idea of my grandparents dying in their own home.”
“Clearly, they’re not local because any sane person who knew the Brockmeyers would have jumped on the chance if they were in the market.”
When Anna says the word knew, the grief tickles the back of my throat. Knocks, asks to join the party. It’s in the evening time, about dinnertime, when I miss them the most.
“So, you plan to sell and not keep it and move back to Boston?”
“That’s the plan.”
We both look out the window just in time to see Sarah Beth and Josie walk by, smiling, caught up in the December feels that Dillon Creek gives.
“Do you miss it?” Anna asks, putting her water glass to her lips, holding it there for a second.
“What?”
“Dillon Creek?”
I shrug. “I miss bits and pieces.”
“When I moved away to go to college, it was good. I needed it. We all needed it, right? Needed to go our separate ways, break away from the Atwood lure.” She winks. “But no matter what, this place is always home. A place with people I grew up with who knew my past—my family, my friends. A place that collected my memories—proms, tearing down Main Street on my hot-pink banana seat cruiser with a basket in the front, trying my best not to piss off Cranky Carl. And sometimes, those memories are painful, but the good far outweighed the bad. Sometimes, I wanted to run because it’s so small, because everyone knows your business, but this town also helped me through the tough times, even when I thought I didn’t need help. I mean, come on. Look at my father. The town doctor who has the ability to keep his wife, aid the sick in some progressive ways, and sleep with people on the side.”
“What?”
Libby returns to the table with our food.
“Thank you, Libby.” I take a little pride in knowing her name now.
“Can I get you two anything else?”
“No, I think that’s it. Thanks, Libby,” Anna says.
“Dr. Cain?” I ask as Libby walks away to another table.
“My mother would never air our dirty laundry. And as kids, we weren’t really totally aware of the situation. It was maybe in my teen years when I started to notice calls and then Dad leaving. But he was a doctor, and he made house calls all the time. It was the perfume on his lapel that didn’t smell like my mother’s.”
I try to picture Dr. Cain in an immoral way, and I just can’t. It causes me to become a little nauseated. “I always saw your family as the perfect little family.”
“You pictured my father in an immoral way, didn’t you?” Anna asks, picking up her soup spoon.
We both start to giggle and then laugh out loud.
I don’t remember the last time I spent time with another woman, much less laughed out loud with one I wasn’t trying to sell property to.
Anna says quietly, “Every family has their demons, Scarlet.”
Respecting her privacy, I dance on the outskirts of the issue. “Has your mother talked to your father about it?”
“Not to my knowledge. But I did. On my wedding day. He cried. I did ask him to let my mom go. I’m not sure any of my words sank in because he’s still at home and they’re still married. Anyway, here I am, going on and on about me again. Let’s talk about you.”
Really, there’s not much to tell, but the wine is making me feel a little loose, not so protective of my secrets, my life. “Married and divorced, and I recently told my boss to go fuck himself.” I begin to giggle again. Damn the wine.
Anna shrugs. “Maybe that’s some gentle guidance from above, telling you to find a different line of work.”
“No. A different line of work? I’m almost certain that I was made to be in commercial real estate. Otherwise, why would I have made the money I have?”
Anna shrugs again. “Maybe the intention for you is to sell product, but think of it this way: you’re selling a product, but you’re also helping others meet their own goals, right? You’re trustworthy. You’re good with people.”
“That’s a facade.”
“I think you think it’s a facade. But I think, deep down, you like people—just like you did when we were kids. You talked to everybody and their neighbors. I think that people enjoyed you the most out of all of us kids. You’ve always had an old soul, Scarlet.”
I don’t remember any of it that way. I asked a lot of questions of others, sure—questions about life and philosophy—but I did that because I was lonely and curious.
“A different line of work.” I mull around Anna’s words in my head.
I never thought of it like that. I always thought that commercial real estate was my calling. I’m smooth. I pretend to connect, and I’m a damn good saleswoman. When Manchester Enterprises had a tough buyer, Frank would tag me in to seal the deal.
I finish my glass of wine and stare at Anna, feeling too vulnerable, too uncomfortable in this situation. “Are you excited for the baby?”
“Terrified might be a better word.”
“You’ll be a great mom because you had a great mom.”
“Have you thought about kids?”
“God, no. Have you met my mother?”
Anna doesn’t ask about my mom. A topic we both know—hell, the whole town knows—is a sensitive area for the Brockmeyer family with Toby Lemon being my biological grandfather and also the town drunk.
“And my dad being the town whore that nobody talks about?”
We both begin to laugh again.
Libby brings us the bill, and I take it. “My treat.”
“No, I invited you. Hand it over.” Anna holds out her hand.
I’ve enjoyed my time with Anna, and I stall before I say, “What if … we make this a weekly occurrence until I go back to Boston?”
A slow smile begins on Anna’s face. “I’d really like that.”
I leave a one-hundred-dollar bill for Libby. She’ll need it. She’ll be in college soon.
Anna takes me by the arm and says, “Come on. For old times’ sake, let’s go take in the world’s largest living Christmas tree.”
24
Cash
Present Day 2020
I haul all the supplies up to the Lost Hill barn.
It’s cold, and I work better in the cold than I ever will in the heat—another reason I can’t deny this place is home. It never gets past seventy-five degrees, and it gets in the low twenties in the winter. But with winter approaching, this will give me something to do.
“Remember what Dr. Levitt and Dr. Sullivan said, Cash Atwood. Don’t overdo it,” my mom said this morning as I poured my coffee.
I unload the supplies, the lumber, the t
in I gathered from the barn on the lower pasture, screws, nails, electrical wiring, outlets, hammers, a few handsaws.
The rain starts against the roof, and I can see where the rain is getting in. I make notes on the pad of paper and pencil I pull from my jacket.
The rain makes me think of Scarlet. Giving her space, I haven’t reached out to her since our dinner date. She’s in grief—hell, she could be still in love with her ex. Who knows?
Calder gave me shitty advice. “Make her remember, Cash. Give her a reason to stay in Dillon Creek and not leave this time.”
She doesn’t want to, and she’s made that clear.
I make note of each place the rain reaches the floor of the barn.
The barn door opens with a slow creak.
I look back to see Scarlet but remember the fifteen-year-old girl I kissed for the first time in this barn.
“Marry me,” I asked her.
“You’re crazy, Cash Atwood. I’m fifteen, and you’re sixteen. We’re going to change our minds a lot over the next ten years.”
“I won’t.” I took her by her hips and pulled her close to me. I watched her eyes grow and felt her heart beat against my chest. “You’re nervous,” I whispered closely to her mouth. “Why?”
“I-I’m nervous because I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid you’ll—never mind. It’s nothing.”
“It’s something, Scar. Tell me.”
I remember the frustration. As a kid, Scarlet was an open book, and then slowly, she began to shut down; she wasn’t open anymore. She was guarded. She sealed her heart away, and I watched it happen over the summers she returned to Dillon Creek.
“God, just tell me, Scar.” I dropped my hands in anger.
But I saw the walls shoot up around her, the bars on her heart.
“You act like you don’t trust me,” I said.
“You act like you don’t trust me,” she said, crossing her arms as she stepped back.
The rain hammered against the roof as we stood on the balls of our feet, and I silently wished the world were a better place.
I try to act casual, but my heart begins to slam against my chest.
“Hey.” I try not to sound breathless.
She looks around, wearing a pink sweater. I’ve never forgotten that pink has always been her color.
I remember how she used to make me feel as though I was the most important person in her life.
She finally says, “Only a few holes.” She looks up toward the roof and then meets my gaze. “What? “Did I step in cow shit or something?”
I let out a low, throaty laugh. “No.” My focus shifts to my boots and back up to her. “What are you doing here?”
“I just came here to tell you I’m sorry. That I didn’t properly thank you for the other night in the dugout.”
I lean against the post. “It’s no problem, Scar.” That can’t be the reason she made the trek up here. “But you could have waited until I got home. Why’d you come all the way up here?” I push.
“Your mom told me you left early. Guess I partly wanted to see the old place.”
“Is it that you wanted to see me?”
Her breath hitches. “Don’t flatter yourself, Cash.”
I laugh at her tough exterior. “One thing you’ve always been able to do is fool other people, but you can’t fool me, Scarlet.” I hand her the pencil and notepad. “And if you’re going to be here, the least you can do is help.”
She takes the pencil and notepad.
“Draw out each spot you see the rain coming in through the roof,” I tell her.
I begin to bring the supplies in from the truck as my heart finds a pace that’s more comfortable than it was a minute ago. My ribs ache, and I push through it.
Get ahold of yourself, Atwood. Fuck. You grew up with this girl. She’s Scarlet. Your Scarlet. You know her heart better than she knows herself.
It begins to pour.
She smiles.
“What?” I ask as I set down the sleeves of tin that we’ll put on the roof later.
“I miss the smell of rain.”
“I’m sure you get rain in Boston.” My hands settle on my hips.
She slowly shakes her head. “It’s not the same. It smells fresher here. It smells cleaner. Less industrialized. More country.”
“It smells like home.”
Scarlet tries to avoid my gaze and waits for the small streams of rain to drop into the barn. But she gives me the first handful of truth I’ve heard from her in an awful long time. “I’m not sure where home is anymore, Cash.” She pretends like her own words don’t bother her. Her walls stand guard as she hides behind them.
Her certainty hits too close to home, more than I’d like to believe. I’ve done the same for a long time. Running is just easier. Running from the shame. Running from grief and death and somehow drinking and sleeping with women were so much easier in the short go-around, but when it comes to the big picture—a life worth living, a life worthy of our hearts—I’m not sure how I let everything get so fucked up.
When Conroy died, pieces of me, memories of us, died within me. I didn’t want to remember my brother anymore. I don’t want to remember that I’m the black sheep of the family and I can’t do the same things my brothers do. I don’t want to remember that to my dad, I’m a disappointment.
I can’t be the one to convince her to stay when I haven’t even rightfully faced my own music.
“It’s easier to forget this place. It’s easier to run.”
“Yeah,” she sighs and stares back at me. “It is.”
We work in silence and move around each other like oil and water.
When she’s done documenting the holes in the roof, she hands me the pad of paper and the pencil. “What’s next?”
“Why are you really here, Scar?” I barely whisper, taking in the curve of her hips, her long red hair, her sharp stare, and I can’t help but get lost in who she is—a broken little girl who became a beautiful, strong woman that I’ve never gotten over.
“You know, you can’t fool me. You’re running too. And maybe we can spend the day running from our own lives long enough to just get a chance to breathe because some days, I feel like I can’t breathe.” She breaks eye contact and turns around to look across the floor of the barn. “Give me just today.”
I feel her truth, her pain, seep through her words, and all I want to do is fix them, help her right herself. Help her to feel all right again, okay in her own skin.
This is the second time I’ve ever felt this way about a woman.
The first time was when I was eighteen and destroyed everything between us.
“I can give you today, Scarlet.” I fight the need to wrap my arms around her and hold her. “We need to fix the roof first, but we have to wait for the rain to let up. Let’s cut electrical wire and install the outlets.”
“Outlets?” she asks with her back to me.
I grin. “Something I guess I need to prove to myself,” I say, thinking back to the disappointment of my dad when I was just a boy. That I couldn’t get it right that time.
We cut wire and install seven different electrical outlets. It’s late into the afternoon. It’s cold, and our hands are numb.
“We’re done for the day,” I say. “I’ll start the roof tomorrow. But in the meantime …”
I see her hands trembling, and without another thought, I walk over to her and take her hands in mine, creating a cocoon. I blow warm air on her hands. I feel the power between us, the electrical current that runs from her hands to mine. Her lips barely part as she looks at where we’re joined, but she allows me this. She gives me an inch to make some part of her feel better. Scarlet’s eyes meet mine, and our hands fall, but I don’t let go. I can’t help it. I just can’t.
“Your mom called me over for dinner tonight,” Scarlet says.
“Well,” I say, “you’d better not let her down.”
Scarlet smiles, a
nd I see the hesitation in her eyes, so I let go first, so she doesn’t have to make the decision.
“Thank you, Cash, for letting me stay today.”
I nod.
“I have a ton to do at the house, so I won’t come up to bother you again.”
“Bother?” I drop my head to the side, trying to comprehend what she’s even talking about.
“I Googled you, Cash. I tried my whole adult life never to do that. I didn’t want to know what you’d been up to all these years. But I couldn’t help myself.” She shrugs. “I needed to know.”
Fuck. All the shit she probably read.
Most of it was probably tabloid gossip. But the one about the threesome wasn’t true. I mean, it was but only parts.
Without trying to defend myself, I say, “Believe what you want, Scar. There’s one thing I can’t control, and that’s what other people think.”
She nods, rubbing her earlobe.
“Why are you nervous?” I ask, reaching for her hand that’s rubbing the lobe.
“I’m not.”
Once again, my hand is over hers. “Yes, you are. You do that when you’re nervous.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I—” She pauses her sentence.
I let go of her hand for the second time.
But a storm brews inside me. Fit the mold of what people expect, Atwood. Don’t try to convince them you’re something you’re not. What if you are just the womanizer, the adrenaline junkie, the playboy that people think.
“You know what I believe?” she asks.
I meet her gaze.
“I believe you’re still the boy who rescues reptiles and loves animals. I believe that you fight bulls because you’re running from something you’re afraid to fight. And I believe you use women because there’s a hole down deep in your heart—just like mine.” She pauses as she scans the old barn, looking for something she’s not going to find, which might be truth. “We have big hearts, and somewhere along the way, they were broken. Now, we’re trying to put the pieces back together the best way we know how.
Leaving Scarlet Page 13
