by Eden Connor
My brain did one of those fucking sideways leaps and suddenly, I saw the bland little room at the funeral home down the street from the hotel, where I’d taken Francine for a private viewing of Ernie, but when I peered into the casket, the wax-like figure inside wasn’t Ernie. Caroline lay there instead, with all the life drained out of her. Her skin glowed like alabaster, but the bruises from all those stones left angry shadows that writhed under the lamplight.
How many more stones would it take? Ten more?
Just one, hurled within earshot of little Shelby?
I lifted my eyes to peer across the road. Through the low-hanging branches of the big oak tree, I had a perfect view of the small white church, bathed in light. The cross at the top of the steeple glowed, but twenty yards away, where no light fell, lay Jill Shalvis, who should be forty, but was forever frozen at seventeen.
Her sin?
Loving Dale Hannah.
And Robyn Mason.
My heart stopped. In the silent, pain-filled space that should’ve been the next heartbeat came understanding. Robyn did have to stay here. This view fueled her hatred, and hatred worked like a drug, dulling the pain from those stones.
The truth of that idea punched through my chest, kick-starting my heart. I knew it was the truth because I used hatred the same way, to keep from trusting anyone.
Only, I hated myself. I hated myself for not being brave enough to shed the bonds of expectation.
But Caroline had no idea how to hate. I couldn’t puzzle out how that could be, but I knew to my bones, it was true.
“Once they saw I had no chance to break out of the mold they cast me in, they let up some. ‘Cause now, all they got left to say is ‘I told you so’, and that don’t hurt quite as bad.”
I opened my mouth, but she whispered, “Once I was pregnant, even I didn’t expect as much of me any more. I got comfortable on my bed of rock. So, I figure someone threw rocks at Macy, too. That’s what she’s trying to save you from, Shelby.”
The crickets were so fucking loud. The droning swelled inside my head, but my grandparent’s voices punched holes in the noise, shouting Bible verses and calling their own daughter a harlot.
Words had weight. And Caroline told a better story than I did. Her story took my own roots and punched them right through my heart, but the preacher had ripped off her wings.
And she’d made me her accomplice in letting him go unpunished.
“You’re pregnant, aint’cha? That’s why you showed up today out of the blue, when you should be at school?”
Pinned by the hell-breathing box across the road, transfixed by the coat of white paint that hid the soul of a monster and a never-ending pile of stones, I stammered, “I—this is going to sound dumb, but I hadn’t thought about it until your mother made that comment. But, I could be.”
“You quit takin’ the Pill?”
“Not... deliberately. After the wreck, I hurt all over. I didn’t have a car at school for three months, not until Caine brought the Audi. My prescription ran out. I hated begging for rides. I wasn’t seeing anyone, so I just didn’t think it was worth the effort to get them refilled. My head hurt all the damn time. I was all fucked up about Caine and Colt. I didn’t have sex until that night after we raced. But, it’s not like you or Colt knocked me up.”
“You and Caine didn’t—”
“He wore a condom.” I sighed, wishing she’d lift her damn head so I could see what she was thinking. “I had unprotected sex with the guy I’ve been dating at school, after Ernie’s funeral. I was all kinds of fucked up that day.”
Caroline raised her head and swung around in the slatted seat, hooking one leg over the flat arm of the rocker. The bare, forty-watt bulb overhead lit the tears that hung off the end of her nose and lips.
The monster smiled and bent to scoop up another stone. He took my hand and curled my fingers around the rock.
No! Oh, God, no.
“And around the same time, you had sex with Jonny.”
A giant fist punched through my ribs. My heart spasmed, as though the monster stroked it with his thumb.
All the time spent worrying about hurting Caroline had been wasted time. My racing or being the one who went off to college or falling for Caine had taken nothing from her.
But, in a single, careless moment, I’d jeopardized the one thing that might’ve transformed her life. If he wanted to be part of his child’s life, the tie to me could unravel what he and Caroline had. Not to mention, how could she help but hate me, if she was forced to watch that relationship unfold, while Brandon ignored her child? The way her father had ignored her, until way too late in her life.
The way mine had bailed on me. Leaving me to soldier along under the weight of my mother’s shame, trying to be good, so I’d be worth the fucking price she’d paid for me.
She scrubbed the back of her wrist across her nose. “You always make gettin’ what you want look so easy. Macy can’t object to Jonny. He’s the honorable kind. He’ll marry you.”
“Why can’t women be like guys?” I blurted, struck to the quick. “You can be their biggest enemy and do one thing right. They’ll forgive and move on. Not women. It’s like we’re goddamn hard-wired to reach down and grab that next handful of stones.”
I should’ve told her about Jonny this afternoon. She knew, and she waited for me to tell her. I broke the faith Jonny talked about. I fucked this up.
“If I’m pregnant—and that’s not a given—I’m getting an abortion.”
“Don’t fuck around, then. Do it. Tomorrow, if possible. Before you start thinkin’ about how you can do so much better raisin’ your kid than your mama did with you. Take my word for it, that’s a sweet, sweet song. Like the one those evil spirits sang to lure sailors to their death on the rocks.”
Her voice. Oh, God, her voice had the same flat tone as mine had, when I’d gone back into the kitchen to lean over my mother. Like a voice out of an old-timey radio. Mechanical, devoid of all humanity.
I dashed to the car. Before I closed my door, the porch light winked out, leaving me alone in the dark while the monster danced in the light across the road.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tampons. Pads. Where are the pregnancy tests? I scanned the lower shelves, to no avail. The test was free at the clinic in Greenville. I just wanted to know before I made the half-hour drive. One way or another, I had to get my head into studying for my exams. With a sigh, I headed for the front of the store. At least I’d found a dress that didn’t need alterations to wear for my adoption.
A long line snaked around the only open checkout. I pulled my phone from my purse and opened my banking app while the line shuffled forward. One hundred and seventeen dollars. I turned the clearance tag over to be sure of the price. Down to a hundred after I bought the dress. If tonight was a typical Sunday at the bar, I should leave with another hundred bucks. Call it seventy, to be on the safe side.
I could swing the dress, but not an abortion. What would Ernie do?
Besides look disappointed?
I switched to the calendar app. If I had the money, tomorrow or Tuesday would be ideal. My first exam wasn’t until Wednesday at one.
No, can’t be tomorrow. I have to go to Concord for the adoption. Dammit, that meant I’d use up the full tank I’d bought last night, so strike another forty bucks from my bank balance. Another of Dale’s maxims popped into my head. Never let your tank get below half empty unless you’re on a long interstate drive. No stop-and-go driving with air in the tank.
I wondered what advice the man had about a stop-and-go life?
Should I warn Dale he might be getting the two-for-one special again? My stomach made an alarming roll.
The opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony sounded for the fourth time in the last ten minutes. I pressed the button to ignore Mom’s call.
I could ask Robert if he’d make up the difference, but the fact that the baby might be Jonny’s stopped me. The ethics of the situation
eluded me. Did I tell both, and take the money from whichever guy wasn’t ready to become a daddy?
My body, my choice. My choice, my problem. I’ll put this off until after graduation. I can stay with Francine. Keep working full time, so, plan the procedure for the first week in June.
But, who could I ask to go with me? Everyone I knew, except Francine, would’ve left town by then. I didn’t think I could tell her about this. I didn’t think I could tell anyone about this.
Caroline’s accusing eyes swam in my mind. I’d picked up the phone five times already to call her, and every time, I laid it down. Should I ask if she’d come down and take me to Greenville? Would that fix the rift between us?
I realized the line had moved up, so I pushed the cart forward.
Behind the sullen cashier, I spied a tall display case. The pregnancy tests rested between cases of infant formula and boxes of Trojans. The ‘We accept WIC’ sign inside the case made me blink. Would I have to apply for government assistance if I kept the baby?
Our old apartment slid through my head. No matter how many times management slapped a coat of cheap white paint on those walls, the misery of our Section 8 life leaked right through.
Stop.
Who locked up condoms? Did that help sell pregnancy tests? The top of the glass case had a sign. We card. Be ready to show ID. Maybe the case had once held cigarettes? Did Target ask for ID to buy a pregnancy test?
Fuck it. I’ll find one somewhere else. At last, I was able to lay the dress on the conveyer belt. Mom’s ringtone sounded again. Goddammit. No time for your bullshit. A week had gone by since our fight. She was testing the waters before tomorrow. To be sure I’d keep my mouth shut. You need to be worried, dammit. I squeezed the button to ignore her call.
The cashier scanned the tag. “Will this be all?”
I screwed up my courage. “Could you get me one of those—”
“Shelby!”
I wrenched around to peer over my shoulder. Heat flashed over my skin when the person calling my name stepped out of the bright glare in the store entrance. Robert waved and grabbed Switz by the arm to steer him my way. Switz stumbled, trying to tuck his keys into the front pocket of his khakis.
Jesus. Fuck living in a small town. I turned back to the clerk, heart thudding.
“That’s all. Just the dress.” I tucked the phone away and grabbed my wallet. In my haste, the card flew from my fingers.
The clerk snatched the plastic from the conveyor belt. “Debit or credit? Hey, what about those shoes?” She jabbed a garish nail toward the bottom of the buggy.
The goddamn Beethoven song blared again. I’d meant to put the red cowboy boots back once I’d found the dress, but if I said I didn’t want them now, she’d think I’d meant to steal them. With a groan, I snagged the box and threw it on the counter.
“Sorry. Distracted,” I muttered.
“Someone wants to talk awful bad.” The young girl grinned and popped her gum. I ignored the call again, then realized the clerk held out my card. I tuned in to the card reader facing me.
“Hey, babe.” Robert wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pressing a kiss to my neck. “Whatcha buyin’?” The yeasty scent of beer enveloped me. Sour liquid seeped into my mouth.
“Got a new dress to wear for my adoption.” I swallowed hard and backed up a step. “Why are you drinking? Don’t you need to study?”
“Adoption?” He squinted. “Huh?”
“Dale’s adopting me.” The popping noise ceased. I glanced up to find the young clerk open-mouthed, eyes fixed on Robert. I selected debit. The card reader screen blinked.
Dum dum dum dum.
“But, you’re not a minor. I don’t get it.”
Dum dum dum dum. Yes, I sure as hell am dumb.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Macy! Learn to text, will you?” I squeezed the button to ignore the call. Could she not take a hint?
“Shame on you for that ringtone.” Robert laughed, but a Buffett tune sounded. He snagged his phone from his back pocket. “Well, hey there, pretty mama. What’s up?”
She did not. I glared, hoping to pick up who’d called him from his end of the conversation. Better not be Macy.
All the amusement drained from his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll have her....”
Switz slid behind me, pushing me into the counter so he could grab a bag of Cheetos. The register girl pointed to the keypad with raised brows. I stabbed the four digits, darting Robert a guilty glance. Stop, dumbass. He doesn’t know Caine’s date of birth.
I grabbed the bag the clerk extended. Before I could take the receipt she offered, Robert took me by the arm, dragging me toward the door.
“I understand. Macy, breathe. I’ll get in touch with Shelby and then call Dad. He can be there before we can. Hang on, honey.”
Now what kind of drama has she invented?
He swallowed hard and glanced at his phone, swiping the screen. I grabbed his wrist, digging my nails in until he let go of my arm.
“What’s wrong?”
His sober look made my pulse race. “Kolby Barnes and Dale got physical at the race. Dale’s been airlifted to Sammy Owens.”
“What?” I halted, refusing to take one more step.
“Sammy Owens. It’s a level one trauma center in Charlot—”
“I know that! I grew up in Charlotte, remember? I mean, what happened?”
Never fucking mind. I broke into a jog.
“Shelby! You’re in no condition to drive. Wait!”
“Like you are? You can’t even drive a fucking stick and you rode with Switz.” I stepped off the sidewalk. A horn blared. Giving the driver a dirty look, I hustled across the parking lot while I scrolled through my contacts. Mack.... Mack... Brown. There it is. I hit the button.
“Hey,” the sheriff barked. “Can’t talk. Have a prisoner in the back. As soon as I get Barnes booked, I’ll call you back.”
Oh, God, Mack arrested Kolby? “Mack! Don’t hang up. What happened?”
He hesitated. “Check your phone in two.”
“Mack?” I found my keys and pointed the remote.
“Yes?”
Jerking the car door open, I jumped inside. “Got any pull with the South Carolina Highway Patrol? I’m in Spartanburg. I don’t wanna end up in jail.”
“What’s your twenty?”
“I’m in the parking lot at Target. On Highway 29.”
“I’ll make a call. Stay put. Do not drive while you check out the link I’m sendin’. Understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wait. I can’t go. How could I face Caine? Much less Jonny?
Robert jerked the passenger door open, all but yelling into his phone. “I’m riding with Shelby. Dad, Jesus Christ, did you call this or what? We’re on the way.”
I stared at my phone, wondering what the hell Mack was sending. The nineteen-second call time stared back, then the screen returned to my screensaver—the picture of me and Caroline in green robes on graduation day. I jerked my door open and slid behind the wheel.
“What are you waiting on?” Robert demanded.
“The Highway Patrol.”
While I plugged my phone into the entertainment system, the tone denoting an email sounded. I opened the text on the larger screen. Why would Mack send a link to You Tube? I tapped the link, then grabbed my safety harness, belting up while the site loaded.
Robert fumbled his way into the restraint. “This thing’s a pain in the ass.”
“Yeah. I wish I had the ‘Cuda back.”
Kolby Barnes knocks out crew chief, the title screamed. The clip already had nineteen thousand views and it’d only been uploaded seventeen minutes ago. Swallowing hard, I slapped Robert’s hand away from the screen and touched the play button.
The opening frames were blurry, but the red-and-black Ridenhour crew uniforms finally came into focus.
“Mother. Fucker,” a man cried. “Gimme a goddamn break. Did the little prick really go after Kasey again? Wi
th Jamie runnin’ up front?”
“He needs a spankin’ and a pacifier,” a different voice stated. “Oh, shit. Look.”
The focus shifted to Richard Ridenhour. The team owner’s congested, purplish shade reminded me far too much of Ernie’s complexion during his final heart attack.
“Stand down! Stand down!” Rick cried, motioning the pit crew away from the wall. The team owner ran toward the concrete barrier separating the pit box from the crew area. Dale burst into the frame from the opposite side, dodging a huge metal toolbox like the one I’d sat on at the Christmas party, only taller.
“Rick, calm down!” Dale’s cry was overwhelmed by the roar of an engine. My stomach dove when the screen whirled through a forty-degree spin, but when the frame came into focus again, the twenty-two car limped into the pit box. Crumpled metal peeled back to reveal a hissing radiator. A strip of rubber flapped on the right front tire, which was flattened to the rim. The car lurched to a halt.
Shrugging off Dale’s hand, Richard threw a leg over the wall, struggling across. The old man righted himself beside the car and drove his fingers through the net covering the window, ripping the flimsy barrier away.
Thanks to the throbbing engine and hiss of steam, the audio couldn’t pick up the driver’s words. Kolby ripped off his helmet. Rick shoved his shoulders inside the car, blocking the view. A moment later, he backed away. The person filming shifted to his right a couple of steps.
Richard wrenched Kolby through the window like a rag doll, one arm locked around the young driver’s neck. Barnes’ legs were still in the car when Rick balled his fist and drove it into Kolby’s midsection.
“Jesus, he’s strong for an old man,” Robert muttered.
Harder, Richard. As though he heard, Rick slammed his fist into Kolby’s gut again.
Dale leaped the wall.
“No, no, stay back,” I whispered, wishing I could turn back time. Rick landed a couple more punches. Kolby kicked free of the window, but he made no attempt to strike back at Richard. He grabbed the older man’s arm and ducked out of the choke hold—then threw himself at Dale.
