The Sweetheart Sham

by Danielle Ellison

  “Shut up. You don’t know anything,” Abby snaps. Lyla raises her hands in surrender.

  I look out the window as the rain pours. Our fire is already out, smoke drifting up toward the sky. “Looks like we’re all sleeping here tonight.”

  Lyla takes charge to make some sort of bed on the floor with the sleeping bags. She, Abby, and Spencer each have one.

  “Where’s yours?” she asks me. I point outside.

  “You should take that bed,” Spencer says, pointing into the bedroom.

  “Yeah,” Abby says. “You and Will can share it. Will, give your sleeping bag to Beau. Then we all have a place.”

  I want to argue, but Will passes Beau his sleeping bag. The whole room is awkwardly quiet. Beau gives me a glance before taking it and rolling it out on the ground. They are packed into this room like sardines, but it’s doable for a few hours.

  I follow Will into the tiny bedroom and toss some old fuzzy blankets on the bed. The bed is too big for the small room, so I have to crawl across it and onto the side by the wall. Will gets in too and covers us both with the musty smelling sheet.

  I’m lying there, listening to the sound of the rain and Will’s breathing. We’ve shared a bed before, but for some reason it feels like a betrayal to him, to me, to Beau, to Mystery Boy. It’s hard to keep track of the ways it feels wrong.

  “You going to tell me what’s really going on now?”

  I can’t see Will’s face in the dark, but I do feel his hand squeeze mine reassuringly. “It’s complicated.”

  “What were you and Beau fighting about before the storm? I was half asleep but heard your voices before the storm, so don’t say you weren’t,” Will says softly.

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to admit what’s happening, because what is happening? There’s been no proclamations, no actions, only reactions, only memories and what could’ve been.

  “You like him.” Will answers his own question.

  I can make out the shape of his face, either from my eyes adjusting or from how it’s memorized in my brain. I can almost imagine him studying me closely, trying to figure out what I’m not saying. He can read me like a book when he really tries. He can probably do it in the dark, too.

  “I knew there was something after the pier,” he says.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Un-complicate it,” he says patiently.

  I pause, trying to form thoughts in my head. “We did like each other, before. That summer, his last one, we were sort of together.”

  “You and Beau.”

  I need a drink of water. My mouth feels heavy and like I’ve been sucking on cotton. “Yeah, but it didn’t mean anything. He’s going back to Atlanta soon; there’s no future for us.”

  Will is silent for a second, his hand still in mine. “We can end this whole sham right now, and you can tell him you still like him.”

  “Not more than I like you being happy,” I say.

  “What about your happiness?”

  I think on it for a moment. Will is patient as the rain pounds against the old tin roof. It’s soothing in some ways; in others, it feels as though the whole world is going to crash in on us. “It doesn’t matter as much as you do.”

  “Or,” Will starts. His voice is nearly a whisper. “I can come out.”

  He’s never even entertained the idea before. Hope flutters in my chest then sinks. I don’t want him to make that choice for me; I’ve always wanted him to do it for himself. “Do you want to do that?”

  It’s Will’s turn to be silent. I’m not as good in the patience role but I’m trying.

  “I don’t know.”

  “When you’re ready, then you will know.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it and maybe you’re right. Maybe people aren’t going to treat me like Dale Westin.”

  I flash back on my conversation with Lyla and all the things about her life in Culler that I can’t begin to understand. Things that, somehow and in some way, Will could. “Funny, because I was thinking maybe I’m being too positive and I don’t know how people will respond at all.”

  Will sighs. “I don’t like being scared.”

  “I don’t, either,” I say.

  That Summer—August

  Georgie

  I’m ready, waiting, standing outside the town square under my favorite oak tree. The one that Beau and I dubbed ours this summer since we sat under it talking for a whole day. It’s the perfect tree. Right near the center of town. You can see everyone but no one really sees you unless they’re looking.

  It’s so humid and hot outside that my dress is sticking to my thighs, and my hair refuses to stay smoothly in its ponytail. An hour of work, more than I usually put in, is coming undone at the seams. It’s okay, though. Any minute Beau will be here; we will walk out there under the stars and dance. Tonight we show everyone in town that Beau Montgomery and Georgie Monroe are together, as a couple.

  I can’t wait.

  I look down at my phone. He’s a few minutes late.

  But any second, I’m sure he will be here. I know he’s nervous about dancing, which is really cute. He’s not a dancer, but for me he said he would.

  I look over to the town square.

  The Sweetheart Dance is already starting, and everything looks beautiful. Twinkle lights spread around in the trees, the band stationed in the middle of the gazebo, and couples out on the dance floor. Pink paper hearts that look like they’re falling from the sky. Some of them even litter the ground all around the dance floor. Momma really did a great job leading the Belles and making this place look great. I know she really wants me to carry on tradition, to join her with the Belles. I’m all about tradition, but being like her isn’t me. Even wearing this dress tonight doesn’t feel like me.

  I look at my phone again. Ten minutes late. I’m sure he’s just held up, but I text him anyway.

  …

  I’m sitting on the ground, leaning against the tree. I want to cry. The dance is almost over. My hair is flat, my shoes have been abandoned, and my legs are covered with mosquito bites. He didn’t come. Beau didn’t show up. I feel like an idiot for being here, for looking like this. He said he would be here.

  Where is he? Why didn’t he come?

  I’m never going to forgive him.

  I peel myself from the grass, grab my shoes, and head toward my house. Tears burn at my eyes. I won’t cry over Beau Montgomery. I’m so angry. I want to throw something at him. When I see him I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. I’m going to tell him what a jerk I think he is and a whole bunch more. It’s weird that he didn’t text me. He seemed so excited about this.

  I never imagined Beau would not come.

  Oh crap. Is he okay? What if he’s hurt?

  I pull out my phone to text him again, but I see my other eighteen messages from tonight. He hasn’t even read them. I can’t send another one to him.

  I’m halfway home, and even though I want to cry I’m so mad, I don’t. I know he wasn’t sure about the dancing, but he never said he wasn’t sure about us. I send him one last text, one that pushes me over the edge because I’m so mad at him I could scream.

  Thank goodness Momma’s not home yet. I don’t want her to know I was planning to go. She’ll ask too many questions about not seeing me. I sneak up the stairs. I want to take a shower and forget this night—and Beau for that matter—ever existed.

  The bathroom is full of steam and I’m about to step into the shower, when I get a text. My heart jumps because it must be Beau, and I scramble to reach for my phone. But it’s not Beau. It’s Will.

  Beau and Aunt Kerri are gone.

  I stare at the text for a few seconds, not really understanding what he means. Gone how?

  They left town.

  Three words. The anger and confusion and fear change into something else. I’m pretty sure I literally feel my heart break.

  The tears I was trying not to cry squeeze their way out. Beau left—just
like that? Where did he go?

  And why didn’t he even say good-bye?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Beau

  I’m on my morning run downtown when I see her. It’s the first time all week; ever since the camping trip she’s not been around the house much. The wedding is three weekends away. I know she has to be busy; even now her hands are full of brightly colored bags.

  I should go the other way.

  It’s not that I don’t want to see her, it’s that I do.

  Before I can make my move left, her eyes land on me. She doesn’t try to wave, but her face crinkles up like she wants to smile my way.

  That’s how I end up next to her.

  “You need help?” I ask.

  She gestures over her shoulder, the bags and boxes shifting. “Will’s right behind me,” she says quickly. “We’re running errands for Momma.”

  “Oh, okay. Right.” I’m standing here nodding like an idiot. A sweaty idiot. “How are you?”

  “Good,” she says. “Busy.”

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  Is she being awkward, or is it only me feeling awkward?

  “Are you coming to the carnival tonight?” she asks.

  Culler’s Annual Summer Carnival. It’s one long weekend packed with games, food trucks, and a few rides. Everything in this town is small but mighty.

  I want to say yes. Any chance to be around her feels like a win, but after the other night, I’m not sure I should. “I don’t know yet.”

  “It will be fun. I’m told there’s going to be a new teacup. It’s pink; all the town’s clamoring over it.”

  I smile. “Well, if it’s pink then I can’t miss it.”

  Georgia Ann starts to move over away from the door so others can get through. All the stacked items seem to move after she’s stopped. I reach out to grab her, and her stuff, before she falls.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Thanks,” she says.

  “Hey,” Will says, coming out into the street with his own load. “What’s up?”

  “Just running.”

  Her eyes seem to sparkle when she looks at me. It’s enough to keep me from ever moving again. “He saved me from a wedding spill disaster.”

  “Glad I was here to help.”

  “Me too,” she says. We stare at each other for a second, the town moving around us. It feels like it’s just the two of us. I know that’s cheesy as shit but it does. But it’s not the two of us. It never will be again.

  “Y’all need any more help?” I ask. The itch to touch her again is on my fingers. I need to get away.

  “I think we’ve got it all,” she says. “But thanks.”

  I nod. “No problem. Will, see you at home.”

  “Sure thing,” he says.

  I take another look at her, because I can’t help myself. “Georgia Ann, see you around.”

  “Tonight at the carnival.”

  I point at her. Why do I point at her? “Right, pink teacup.”

  Then I run away as fast as my legs can move, feeling like an imbecile the whole way home, in the shower, during lunch. I feel that way until Will comes back that afternoon and challenges me to a game of Zombie Survivor 5.

  …

  “Dad told me the coach has a spot for me and he suggested I stay here,” I say. Will and I have just found this survivor group in the game and completed our first mission to prove our worth to the team.

  “That’d be awesome,” Will says. “Will you do it?”

  I’ve been thinking about it a lot more than I want to admit. Being here could have good things, like Georgia Ann. Georgia Ann and Will. I shrug. “My life is somewhere else. Ma is there, and basketball.”

  “You’d have basketball here, and from the sound of it, more play time.”

  Will and I follow this group leader into the depths of his base.

  “It’s going to be senior year,” I say.

  “You can end high school as a Culler Bulldog, the way you started,” Will says. “We could graduate together.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. We’d always planned to graduate together. We’d always planned to stay together as long as we could. There was a whole different vision for high school than what we got.

  “I know I’d love to have you around,” Will says. “I’m sure Georgie would, too.”

  “Georgia Ann?” It shouldn’t get to me, but it does. Everything about her sends me a little more on edge. I try my best to play it off, though. “I don’t think she would care either way.”

  “I think you underestimate how much you mean to her,” he says between kills.

  There’s something in the way he says it, I don’t know, it gives me a feeling. Something has changed. Like he knows more than he’s ever admitted.

  Will sighs, shooting a zombie while he talks. “And I guess I’m an idiot who never knew how much she meant to you until these last few weeks. I missed it all that last summer. I was going through my own discovery.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Will and I take a few more shots and once it’s all clear he asks, “Do you have feelings for Georgie?”

  “She’s with you,” I say.

  Will pauses the game and looks directly at me. I know he’s serious now. “That’s not what I asked.”

  I wish I could distract us both with a zombie horde or some shit. I think about my dad, about his lies, and how all of that hurt me. I can’t do that to Will when he’s asking me point blank.

  “I did once. I maybe do now. I don’t know what I feel.”

  Will nods. “Okay.”

  “I’d never act on anything with her, Will. I respect you both too much.”

  He resumes the game, but that’s all we say about it for a while. We ignore the rest. Will’s character in the game lies down to take a nap on a bed and restore some HP. I do the same thing, even though I don’t need it as badly. When we’re up again, we dive back into this game, raiding buildings and killing shit.

  For hours we’re grinding. We explore a new city over a bridge and gather enough supplies to pick up this car. My character rushes back outside to unload the last bit from the car, and I hear a growl. They move fast on this game so he’s on me before I can react. Will takes him down with a shot in the face.

  “Good shot,” I say.

  “I need to tell you something,” he says. His eyes are on the screen as he drives our car back toward the nearest town. We split up and take out some zombies surrounding a gas station. We’re raiding the gas station when he says, “I’m gay.”

  I look at him. Him, and not the screen. His character still moves around there, picking up duct tape and canned peas. I heard him right, and my brain is shuffling pieces into place. Will is gay.

  “All right,” I say, going back to the game, too. “Cool, man.” But my next thought is: What about Georgia Ann?

  Will pauses the game again. “Cool?”

  “Yeah.”

  Will nods, but he’s still looking at me. “I don’t really know how to do this. Did I say the wrong thing?” he asks.

  I laugh.

  Will is gay.

  “I don’t know what the right or wrong way is,” I say.

  He resumes the game, and we get back to it. We find a tent, get into the car, and this time, I drive it.

  “Only one person knows—no one else in the family,” Will says softly. “I’m still figuring it out. I want to tell them, but I think Granddad would have a heart attack or disown me or something.”

  “Does it matter what he thinks?”

  “Yes. He’s Granddad. You’ve heard him.”

  I do know Granddad, and I remember what he said a few weeks back. “He’ll get over it.”

  “What if he doesn’t?” Will asks.

  Orry Montgomery can hold a grudge like no one I’ve met before, but family means everything. I’m honestly not sure how he’d respond. “Why did you tell me?”

  Will is quiet. “I met someone. Someone I like a lot. I want t
o be myself, and be happy, and that’s more important.”

  “Then like I said, why does it matter?”

  I’m asking it, but I do know that it matters what Granddad thinks. He’s taught us both a lot about life; he’s been there for us. He’s the only one who went out of his way to stay in my life when I left, even more than Will and Drew. “I get it, Will, at least somewhat. Just remember you’ve got me in your corner and probably this whole family. You’ve got to give everyone a chance to support you. I’m here for you, you gotta know that.”

  I’m saying I’m here for him, but I’m not, am I? I’m going back to Atlanta. What if he comes out to them and I’m not here? I can only be so much support from five hours away.

  “Thanks, man,” Will says. We run over a zombie with our car. “I am working on that. I figured you first.”

  What about Georgia Ann?

  “I’m glad you did. I’m here for you, however and whatever you need.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  I nod. “You got it.”

  If Will is gay, where does that leave Georgia Ann? Does she know? I start to ask when I hear, “Get ready. Shit’s about to get real.” Drew walks into the room.

  “For what?” Will asks.

  Drew rolls his eyes. “Sissy’s car pulled in.”

  Will and I exchange a look. Hell hath no fury like Sissy Montgomery. He bolts over toward the window. I follow. Drew is still standing in the doorway.

  Her large, white hat is the first thing we see. She’s wearing a power suit, even though she’s never worked a day in her life. She walks toward the front of the car while our cousin, Rena, gets out. She’s six years older than us, but acts like she’s six years old. That is, when she talks to any of us.

  “I was hoping they weren’t coming,” Will says.

  “I told you they RSVP’d,” Drew chimes in from the other side of the room.

  “She’s three weeks early,” Will adds.

  “Well, she’s Aunt Sissy. I’m surprised it took her this long to get here,” he says.

  He’s right. She’s a busybody. She’s always in everyone’s business. Sissy’s the oldest, then Uncle Ben and my dad; she’s always made it her mission to make everyone else miserable. I don’t know the whole story there. When I asked once why she was so mean, Dad said not to pay her any mind, that some people thrive off of being bitter just to have something to do. Ma hates her, especially since the divorce severed her requirement to claim her as family.