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The Art of Holding On

Page 35

by Beth Ann Burgoon


  Dev bends her knee, tucking her leg underneath her as she turns toward me. “I didn’t give up anything. It’s not like I had huge plans of setting the world on fire.”

  “You gave up Bryan.”

  Her lips roll inward. “No. He gave up me.”

  “But you were going to go with him. And you could have if you hadn’t had to take care of me and Zoe.”

  “Look, plans change. That’s life. And instead of waiting for me—like he promised he would—he found someone else.” She shrugs. “That is also life.”

  I trace my thumbnail along the edge of the floorboard. “Do you still think about him?”

  “Hard not to when he texts me at least once a month.”

  I freeze. “He texts you? I thought he was married.”

  “Oh, he is. According to him his wife doesn’t understand him, not like I did. They barely knew each other when they got married. It was a mistake, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Maybe the next time he’s in town we can get together…blah, blah, blah.”

  I blink at her. “Wow. Was he always such a jerk?”

  “Eh. He had his moments.”

  “Are you going to do it?” She gives me a curious look and I add, “Are you going to meet him? The next time he’s in town?”

  “No,” she says, emphatic. Firm. “He’s just looking to hook up. Or maybe I’m some backup plan in case things don’t work out with his wife. Either way, I’m not interested in being his second choice.”

  “Are you still in love with him?”

  She startles. “God. No.” She shudders as if my question—or the idea of still being hung up on jerky Bryan—gives her the willies. “What is with you today?”

  “Well, it’s not like it’s out of the realm of possibility. I mean, every time he’s brought up, you freak out. Every. Single. Time. And you haven’t gone out with any guy since he left. Zoe thinks you’re still into him, too.”

  “I don’t freak out,” she mutters.

  “Please. You practically run screaming from the room whenever his name is mentioned.”

  “Only because I hate being reminded of how gullible I was. How stupid to believe him. And, yes, after he left, I may have, for a while, thought I still loved him. And maybe I really did. Or maybe it was just habit, from us being together for so long. But then one day I realized I wasn’t thinking of him every day. That I hadn’t thought about him in weeks, and when I did, there was nothing. No twinge. No pain. No longing. No hope that he’d come back.”

  Stunned, all I can do is stare at her. She could be describing me last year and how I felt about Sam. How those feelings eventually shifted and changed.

  Or maybe they hadn’t changed at all. Maybe I’d just done a good job of convincing myself they had.

  If I’d truly been over him, if there hadn’t been at least a tiny spark of hope that we could still be together, I’d have been able to resist him when he came back.

  “And I haven’t gone out with any other guys,” she continues, “because I haven’t met any guys to go out with. The nursing home isn’t exactly swarming with interesting, gainfully employed, good-looking, twenty somethings and the men I meet at the motel are all in town temporarily. Besides, I work two jobs. I’m tired. All the time. When I’m not working, the only thing I want to do is put on sweats, sit on the couch and read a good book.”

  Good God, she sounds like a grandmother.

  Not our grandmother, mind you. Gigi took any and all opportunities to go out. That woman had the busiest social life out of any of us.

  “You wouldn’t have to work two jobs,” I say, trying to come off as if it’s just a throwaway, means-nothing comment, but my guilt manages to thread its way through, “if you weren’t stuck with me.”

  “I am not stuck with you,” Dev says with an exasperated breath that has Eggie lifting his head and looking back at us. “I’m not living in a cage. No one forced me to stick around. When Gigi left, I made the choice to stay.”

  “Why did you, though?” I can’t help but ask. “Stay, that is.”

  It’s one of the questions I’ve always been afraid to ask. One of the questions I’ve been afraid to hear the answer to.

  The other being, do you regret it?

  No way I’m strong enough to hear the truth about that one. Not today.

  “I stayed because you and Zoe needed me. Because it was the right thing to do.” Dev’s mouth quirks into a self-deprecating smile. “And because I refused to be like Mom.”

  That makes sense. Dev has some major issues with Mom, more so than Zoe or me. I think it’s because she was the closest with Mom, both because of her being the oldest and Mom treating her more like a kid sister than a daughter.

  “But mostly,” she continues, “I stayed was because I wanted you and Zoe to have one person, just one single person, who didn’t leave. I wanted you to know what it was like to have someone love you enough to stay.” She takes my hands in hers, squeezes them as she holds my gaze, looking as serious, as solemn and sincere as I’ve ever seen her. “You need to know this and you need to believe it. I’ve never, not once, thought I was stuck with you. You’re stuck with me. And you always will be.”

  You’re stuck with me. And you always will be.

  It’s one of the best things anyone has ever said to me and I exhale a shaky breath then throw myself into Dev’s arms.

  She holds tight.

  Unlike when Sam told me I’ll always be his girl, I don’t ask for Devyn’s promise that she’s telling the truth.

  I don’t need it.

  And it doesn’t matter what Mom did or how she lived her life, or how many people have let me down in the past. Doesn’t matter that Zoe will be living ninety-miles away or that one day I’ll be moving out of this trailer, too.

  Doesn’t matter whether we see each other every day or only once a year.

  Devyn, Zoe and I are Jones girls.

  And Jones girls stick together.

  Forever.

  52

  Dev leaves half an hour later—she switched shifts at the motel so she could be home last night and this morning—but I stay on the porch after she backs out of the driveway.

  I don’t want to go inside. It’s too quiet. Too empty.

  With a completely pitiful, wholly woeful sigh, I set my elbows on my bent knees and rest my chin on the heels of my hands. A few minutes later, Whitney’s front door opens and Tori steps out followed by Kenzie and Whitney. They’re all smiles and glowing faces and cheery laughs in matching outfits of yoga pants and tank tops, Whitney’s hair in a messy bun, Tori’s slicked back into a ponytail.

  I straighten slowly, stretching my legs out, bringing my arms to my sides. Holding my breath, I wait for them to look over. To see me.

  None of them do.

  And the sudden onslaught of disappointment almost crushes me.

  My breathing gets heavy. My heart starts to race. Cold sweat forms at the back of my neck. It’s like I’m having a heart attack or something.

  If I did, maybe that would, at least, get their attention.

  As it is, they only have eyes for each other and the joyful time they’re having basking in each other’s company.

  Not that I’m jealous or anything.

  Or dying inside a little bit at a time for every moment that passes where they don’t even notice me.

  Kenzie reaches Tori’s car first and waits for Tori to unlock the passenger side door. Whitney rounds the back of the car and I lurch to my feet, causing her to stop and look up.

  To look at me.

  And I see it in the tightening of her expression. The tip of her chin. Her hesitation. Her doubt.

  Her hurt and anger.

  I’ve ghosted her for a week. Have ignored her calls and texts. I did to her exactly what Sam did to me last year.

  I pushed her away.

  Whitney was my friend.

  But I wasn’t hers.

  And now I’ve lost her, too.

  We’re staring at each
other, gazes locked, when Tori comes up behind Whitney and pauses, then follows Whitney’s gaze to me. Tori leans closer to Whitney, saying something that has Whitney nodding, her mouth lifting in a small, sad smile. Tori squeezes Whitney’s arm then walks around the back of the car to the driver’s-side door.

  Without acknowledging me at all.

  But Whitney is too polite, too kind to give me an outright snub. She lifts her hand in a half-hearted wave then walks to the rear driver’s-side door, turning her back to me.

  No, really, I think I’m having a heart attack. As I watch them all climb into the car, my heart pounds and I can’t catch my breath. It’s wheezing in and out of my open mouth like I’ve just sprinted the entire hill leading to Hilltop Estates. I bend over slightly, hands on my upper thighs, but it doesn’t help.

  It’s for the best—no, not me having some sort of physical, mental and emotional breakdown, but the Whitney finally giving up on me part.

  It would happen eventually, I assure myself. It was only a matter of time before she got tired of trying to get past my defenses time and time again. Before she realized she’s better off with people like Tori and Kenzie, girls who know how to trust others and be vulnerable and open.

  It was only a matter of time before she left me.

  Just like everyone else has.

  And that’s exactly what they’re going to do. Tori starts the car and I’m bombarded by memories: of the last time I saw my mom. Of Gigi standing over my bed, telling me she was leaving. Of Sam walking away from my trailer that night last summer. Of him turning his back on me at Tori and Jackson’s party.

  Of Zoe’s car pulling away, Taylor waving from the backseat.

  That’s when I finally give up. When I finally stop fighting.

  And I break down and cry.

  It’s like a tidal wave of pain and disappointment and loss hits me, knocking me back. I stumble and fall, landing on the top step hard. Covering my head with my arms, I bend over my knees, press my face to my thighs.

  I’m sobbing, my entire body shaking, my breathing so ragged it feels like I might pass out. Eggie whines and pads over to press against my legs and that makes me cry even harder. He nudges my arm with his moist nose. Licks my elbow.

  I lift my head. Sniff mightily.

  And see Tori’s car backing slowly into the road.

  My pulse thrums in my ears. Adrenaline suffuses me and I shoot to my feet.

  “Wait.” But my whisper is too soft. Too broken for them to hear. So I swallow and try again. “Wait!”

  It’s a shout this time, more plea than demand. But it works.

  The car stops.

  Only to start rolling forward down the road.

  Away from me.

  That’s when I run.

  I take off like a rocket, crossing diagonally through our front yard, Eggie racing after me, barking up a storm. They pick up a bit of speed but I don’t give up. I swear I will chase them wherever they go. No matter how far.

  I’m done giving up.

  I push myself harder than I ever have. Run faster than I’ve ever gone, legs and arms pumping, bare feet slapping against the sidewalk, vision blurry with more tears.

  They’re almost at the stop sign and I put on a burst of speed that I dig out from some previously untapped, hidden inner reserve.

  Tori starts to slow.

  I do a quick glance left, then right, then dart across the street as she rolls to a stop--

  Please, please, please…

  --and plaster myself against the driver’s side door as I slap my palm against the window repeatedly.

  Tori jumps and swears. Kenzie screams and flaps her hands. I’m not sure what Whitney says or does as I can’t see her in the backseat but I’m sure there are no cusswords or theatrics involved.

  Tori rolls her window down. “Are you crazy? I could’ve run you over!” But then she gets a good look at me and whatever she sees has her frowning. Then again, Tori often frowns around me. Or she has for the past year. “Are you okay?”

  But all the running and the crying have made it impossible for me to breathe, let alone speak. And I’m too weak, too utterly emotionally exhausted to even try lying. All I can do is shake my head and gulp in air.

  “What’s going on?” Whitney asks, leaning forward between the front seats. Her eyes widen. “Hadley?”

  “She’s crying,” Kenzie tells Whitney in a stage whisper. “I think Sam broke her.”

  Tori snorts softly. “More like Max did. The asshole.”

  I shake my head again. Sniff. And when I speak, my voice is tear-free. Loud. Strong.

  And clear as a bell. “They didn’t break me.”

  The Constable brothers have used me, lied to me, left me and broken their promises. But they didn’t break me.

  I won’t let them.

  Tori studies me. Then nods slowly. “What’s this all about?” she asks, and though it’s not exactly brimming with patience, there’s a definite note of compassion.

  If you listen carefully enough.

  “Could you…” I stop and swallow. Wipe the wetness from my face. “Could you come to my place? I just…I have some things I need to tell you.” I let my gaze move from Tori to Kenzie and then, finally, to Whitney. “All of you.”

  Things I’d rather not say in the middle of the street with my dog sniffing the corner house’s rosebush. Besides, I have a point to make and I can’t do it here.

  It’s silent inside the car as the three of them share some wordless message conveyed only through eye contact, the raising of eyebrows and the pursing of lips.

  And I want to be a part of it so badly, want to belong to them so much, I start crying again. I blink rapidly, try to wipe the tears away as soon as they fall but it’s no use.

  So I just let them flow.

  More than that, I let them see.

  A red pickup approaches from behind us and Tori glances in her rearview mirror at it. Then she faces me, already putting on her turn signal. “We’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

  53

  Eggie and I are waiting at the end of the sidewalk when Tori’s car approaches from the opposite way they’d left, then pulls into Whitney’s driveway.

  The walk back to my trailer gave me enough time to catch my breath and stop my tears, so when Tori, Kenzie and Whitney all get out of the car, I’m at least outwardly calm.

  On the inside? I’m still a freaking mess. Still unsure and scared.

  But I’m not letting that stop me.

  I’m not going to ever let fear stop me again.

  Or at least, not today. Let’s face it, I’m not that great at the whole be brave and go after what you want thing. Not for long periods of time, anyway.

  But I’m going to keep trying. Build up my endurance.

  And maybe, one wonderful, magical day in the future, it won’t be so freaking hard.

  Eggie races to the edge of the sidewalk to greet our unexpected guests and the three of them all crouch down to give him enthusiastic pats and rubs and coo about how cute he is, how sweet, what a good dog.

  He flops onto his back, wiggling in ecstasy.

  But all good things come to an end and they eventually straighten and make their way toward me, Tori in the middle and slightly ahead, Kenzie to her, Whitney the farthest behind.

  When Tori stops a few feet from me, they all stop. All the better to stare at me like I’ve lost my mind and they’re not quite sure what to do with this development.

  “Well?” Tori asks, hip cocked, tone bored. “You wanted to tell us something?”

  “Would you…” I stop. Clear my throat, but I feel tears forming again. “Do you want to come in?”

  Whitney takes a step forward, used to coming and going from my place, but Kenzie’s words stop her in her tracks.

  “Like…in your house?” Kenzie asks. “I thought that was strictly prohibited.”

  My face heats. Great. I’m sure a beet-red blush is doing wonders for my probably blotchy,
tear-streaked cheeks.

  I straighten my shoulders and meet each of their eyes in turn. “Would you please come inside with me?”

  Tori and Kenzie share another silent look—always with the looks, those two—then Tori flicks her gaze to the trailer, then back to me.

  And nods.

  We march up the walk, all stiff and silent, like we’re heading off to our group execution and not the relative comfort of my somewhat air-conditioned home.

  I hold the door open. Eggie’s the first one in followed by Whitney and then, after a slight hesitation, Tori and Kenzie. Once inside, I shut the door.

  And I dive in.

  Starting with Whitney.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, my voice husky. Honest. “I’m so sorry I didn’t return your calls or answer your texts.”

  “Why didn’t you?” she asks, clearly more hurt than angry. Which makes me feel worse. But then, that’s nothing less than what I deserve. A hefty dose of guilt and remorse. “I thought we were friends.”

  “We are. At least…I hope we still are.”

  Her lips roll inward as if she’s stopping her innate kindness and politeness from taking over and agreeing that, yep, we’re still the best of buddies no matter how crappy I treated her.

  She’s being cautious. Smart. Careful not to put herself out there without some guarantee she won’t get used or hurt or left again.

  She’s acting just like me.

  I understand that. I understand it and I’m willing to put in the work to get through to her.

  Just like she tried to do with me.

  “Just, please, hear me out, okay? That’s all I’m asking.”

  She gives a reluctant nod, but instead of continuing our conversation, I turn to Tori and Kenzie because this part is for them, too.

  “So…uh…this is my home. Living room” –I gesture to the room in which we’re all currently standing then wave to my left— “kitchen. Beyond that is Devyn’s room and a bathroom. My room is at the end of the hall,” I continue, pointing that way. “There’s another bathroom and Zoe and Taylor’s room.

  “This is my home,” I repeat. “And the reason I never invited you over before, the reason I never wanted you to see it was because I was embarrassed.” Shame fills me, has the tears falling yet again. I keep talking as I wipe them away. “You both live in such beautiful houses filled with all these perfect, pretty things and I…I didn’t want you to see our ancient furniture and stained carpets. I didn’t want you to know that it gets so hot in here in the summer because we only have one air conditioner and can’t buy a second one, or that in winter we have to wear sweatshirts and two pairs of socks to bed because our walls are paper thin and not properly insulated and we can’t turn the heater up because we can’t afford a higher gas bill.”

 

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