“So don’t go until you’re ready.”
“But I just feel the need to . . . move. To go. To do. To experience,” she sighs again. “I feel like I was a nomad in a past life. A gypsy.”
“I think they make their living by fortune telling,” I note, taking a drink. “You got a crystal ball somewhere?”
“Very funny.” She crosses her arms over her chest and shoots me a look. It’s the one that I can’t just blow off.
“Okay, I’ll play. Why do you want to move or however you say it?”
“I don’t know,” she whines. “I feel like there’s so much out there that I don’t know and I’ll never see.”
“You’re in your early twenties. You have time,” I laugh.
She rises up. “I’m being serious. I feel like I’m the little sister of all the Landry boys. Like I’m the afterthought, the one no one expects anything of because you assholes have already conquered the world.”
“Lincoln had conquests, Sienna. It’s not the same thing.”
“Hardy, har, har.”
“Fine. You want to blaze your own path. You did go to fashion school, remember? You have an apartment in Los Angeles . . . I think? You’ve been in Savannah more or less for a few months now so I could be wrong about that.”
“My roommate there can handle the rent. She has a bigger allowance than I do,” she frowns. “Besides, her sister is staying with her now so it’s not like they miss me.”
“So what do you want to do? Travel? See the world? Get a job with that expensive degree you have?” I say, remember Graham’s outrage at how much a fashion design degree costs.
She laughs, thinking the same thing. “Graham about died.”
“If he had his way, we’d all be misers, pinching pennies and refilling ketchup bottles out of to-go packets,” I say, knocking the takeout bag in front of me.
“Do people really do that?”
I shrug. “I saw it on television once on one of those shows where people do crazy things to save a buck. Maybe you could try that out. I don’t think gypsies have a lot of money. Could work.”
“I’m being serious, Ford.”
“Fine,” I sigh. “What are you wanting to do? Answer that.”
She blushes and looks at the floor. Picking at the hem of her shirt, the sequins catch the light and bounce it around the room.
When she finally looks at me, I see the sincerity in her eyes. She twists in the seat and squares her shoulders with mine.
“I want to move to Illinois.”
“What in the hell is in Illinois?”
“I knew a girl in LA from there. She just moved back home and we’ve been texting a lot. She does some freelance design work for some of our friends in California, and it’s kind of growing really fast. She invited me to be a part of it.”
“So you want to move there? And not go back to LA?”
Her smile is contagious. “We’d run the business from Illinois. I’d join as co-CEO and we’d do the work from Illinois, going back to LA if we need to. She’s making a fortune, Ford, and Graham’s finally freed me up some cash to do with what I want.” She sets her jaw. “This is what I want to do.”
“Did you not want to design socks like six weeks ago?”
Exasperated, she throws her hands in the air. “That was then. This is now.”
“Sorry,” I flinch, scooting back a little. “So, Illinois and designing what?”
“Clothes. Computer skins. Hats. Maybe socks,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I want to do this.”
“I can tell.”
“But I need to know if you think it’s stupid.”
Of course I think it’s stupid. Designing computer skins with a fashion degree that’s fees could feed a small island for a year is asinine. I know Graham is going to have a major meltdown and Dad isn’t going to be thrilled either.
Before I can say that, I see the glimmer of hope in her eye. It’s similar to the one Camilla flashed me when she came to me to appeal to my rational side.
“Why did you come to me with this?” I ask.
“Because you’re rational.”
“Damn it,” I laugh. “Do I need to be more of a dick or something so you and Cam will stop asking me for approval for dumb shit?”
“Oooh,” she says, leaning forward. “What did Cam say?”
“I’m not talking to you about it because you won’t tell me certain things I want to know.”
Her bottom lip pouts out. “I can’t.”
“Tell me this,” I ask. “Who will flip out more? Graham? Barrett? Lincoln? Or me?”
“Maybe . . .” she considers this. “Barrett. I think. I don’t know. Maybe G? You aren’t going to be thrilled either.”
My head goes into my hands, my stomach churning. “If this is what having a daughter is like, may God bless me with sons.”
“Hey,” she says, punching my arm. “You know you love your sisters!”
“I do,” I say, picking up my burger. “But I love you more when you go to Graham with your crap.”
She laughs as we go back to our dinner, and I realize that even though Sienna drives me crazy, it feels good to have someone else here tonight.
Ellie
“YOU COULD BE WITH FORD,” I taunt myself like the crazy person I’m beginning to think I am. Pouring myself a cup of hot tea with honey, I hope it somehow helps me get to sleep.
It won’t.
There won’t be sleep when my heart hurts so much.
When my body misses his touch.
As my fingers itch to touch him, to feel him grin against the side of my neck in the middle of the night, sleep will be out of reach. Just like he is.
The bowl of half-eaten soup sits next to the sink. Half of it is probably full of tears as I took the soup that Ford asked Violet to bring me and cried on her shoulder.
Carrying my teacup, I make my way into the living room and set it on the coffee table. The pillows bounce as I drop onto the cushions and pick up the remote. There’s nothing on but the infomercials I’ve already watched twice. I almost purchased the copper pots.
“That’s how pathetic you are,” I tell myself.
Proving that point, I jump when my phone glows beside me. In one quick move, I swipe it up. When I see Violet’s name, I almost throw it across the room.
“Hey,” I say into the line.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I saw you’re still up.”
“How did you see I’m still up? It’s like two in the morning.”
“I was out,” she says snarkily. “I happened to see your lights on. Thought I’d check on you.”
Tossing the remote on the other side of the couch, I get comfortable. “I just can’t sleep.”
“Want me to come back by?”
“No,” I sigh. “Go home or wherever you’re going.”
“Ford called me a couple of hours ago,” she admits. “He wanted to see how you were feeling.”
“He could’ve called me.”
“I believe you said you wanted space.” She singsongs it, like she’s rubbing it in my face. “You could’ve called him, you know.”
I hate when she’s right and there’s nothing I can do about it. After a long, drawn-out sigh, I get the nerve to stop the façade and just be frank. I’m too tired to pretend anything else at this point.
“What am I doing?” I ask her. “I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”
“I have no idea. You’re going to have to tell me, friend.”
“I’m just so, so tired.”
“Fine. Let me walk you through this,” she groans. “Boil it down for me. What is it that you are really afraid of? What is the image you see when you have these panic sessions.”
Choking back a memory, I clear my throat. “I’m afraid of getting in so deep with him that I’m at his mercy.”
“Elaborate.”
“Damn it, Vi,” I gruff. Getting up from the sofa, I begin pacing the
living room. “I can’t just switch my feelings on and off with Ford. I love him, Vi. Like, I love him.”
“That’s good.”
“Not if he decides he doesn’t love me back,” I point out. “What if he gets a wild hare up his ass and wants to go campaigning with Barrett? I can’t do that. We have the store. Besides, I don’t want to do that. But then what? What happens to me?”
“Whatever you want to happen to you.”
“I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am. To be strong and smart and capable. When I’m around him, I feel myself relying on him. Needing him. I don’t want to do that because . . .”
“Because it gives him power,” she says, finishing my sentence. “He told me you don’t trust him.”
Even though she can’t see me, I shrug.
“El, you’re smart to want to protect yourself. But you can’t go through life waiting on the next shoe to drop.”
“It just always seems like there’s one just waiting to fall.”
“There is. It’s life. It’s what happens,” she laughs. “But you’ll be okay. You’ll survive. Look at all you’ve survived already.”
She’s right. I know that. I pride myself on being a survivor and not a victim. But that doesn’t make it easier to change the way I see the world.
“I’m not telling you what to do,” she says, “but I think you need to inventory your life. Decide what you want in it and what you don’t. And be prepared to live with those choices.”
Her words hit me like a dose of cold water. I glance at the clock and see it’s way too late to call Ford now.
“I’ll give him a call in the morning,” I tell her. “We’ll see if we can work it out.”
“Good girl. You’re meeting Heath and I in the morning at eight, right? We’re supposed to figure out how to style the mannequins.”
“I’ll be there. And, Vi?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for being such a good friend to me.”
“You’re welcome.”
I hang up the phone and head to my room. This time, when I lay my head down, I’m lulled to sleep by Ford’s laugh.
Ellie
“YOU LOOK LIKE CRAP.” HEATH makes a face as he breezes by me and falls dramatically in the recliner. “And I thought I was having a bad hair day.”
“That key was for emergencies,” I tell him. “That’s the second time you’ve just barged in. I’m going to take it away.”
“Would you rather have dragged your sorry butt off the couch? I could’ve knocked,” he points out.
“He’s been this way all day,” Violet sighs, picking up my legs and sitting on the end of the sofa. She drops my feet on her lap. “How ya feeling?”
“Meh. I feel like I’ve been lit on fire and stomped on.” Rolling over to my side, I look at Heath. “The yellow polo shirt looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” he grins. “I thought I looked pretty banging in it.”
“Has Ford called today?” Violet asks.
I give her a look.
“He called me,” she offers. “He was worried when I told him you didn’t meet us this morning. I’m supposed to check in with him later. He said he had a meeting with his brothers later today.”
“Can you imagine that board meeting?” Heath asks. “It’s like a game of How Many Hotties Can We Fit in One Room?”
We all laugh. For the first time in the last two days, I don’t feel like I’m at death’s door. My stomach isn’t gurgling and my head doesn’t feel as stuffed with cotton.
I sniffle to be sure.
“You have the flu or what?” Violet asks. “I was in the bakery this morning and they were saying lots of people have come down with a nasty bug.”
“I guess. My dad has it too. I called him a few minutes ago and he said he’s been in bed since yesterday. Just feeling wiped out.”
Heath adjusts in his seat. “Is that how you feel? Wiped out?”
“Does it look like I’ve gotten off this couch in a couple of days?” I laugh. “I just want to sleep. But on the bright side, I think I’ve lost five pounds.”
His eyes snap to Violet’s. Something, not vomit this time, rumbles in my stomach. “What?”
Violet grins at Heath. “Is it possible . . . ?”
Heath laughs. “Oh, you know it’s possible, and if it’s not, she doesn’t deserve him!”
“What in the hell are you two talking about?” I say, scooting up on the pillow so I’m sitting.
Heath bends forward, his eyes shining. “Has it ever crossed your mind that you’re pregnant?”
The vomit is back now in full force. “No,” I say loudly. “I’m not pregnant.”
My mouth goes dry as the acid in my stomach that was quelled just a few seconds ago is now churning like a volcano ready to erupt. I can’t be pregnant. I mean, I can. I could be. Technically. But I can’t. Not really. That would just . . .
“Hey,” Violet says, her hand resting on my shins. “One thought at a time.”
“I have the flu, guys,” I insist. “It’s what my dad has. I probably caught it from him or the girls in the bakery this week. I mean, I . . .”
Breathing takes effort as what feels like the entire room caves in on me. There’s a franticness that I can’t control, a slew of reminders of feeling this way once before hitting me in waves.
“I’m going to be sick.” I leap up, holding my stomach, and race to the bathroom. As I spill the last few drinks of water into the toilet, I add in a few salty tears.
Violet takes my hair and pulls it to the side, her other hand rubbing small circles on my back. After I’m sure I’m done heaving, I look at her and laugh. It’s a sad, terrified sound, more like a crazy person than her best friend.
The wall is cool as I lean on it. Violet sits beside me on the bathroom floor. She doesn’t offer me advice or direction or tell me to get up and deal with whatever it is. We just sit there looking at the light blue wall.
“I have the flu,” I mutter. My mouth tastes like bile and it almost makes me get sick again. My face feels swollen, puffy, and I really wish that was my biggest concern. Laughing, I look at Vi. “Funny how things put other things in perspective. Now I just wish I was worried Ford might stop by and I’d look like shit.”
I look down at my stomach. It looks the same. But is it still the same? Or is it quietly harboring a secret I didn’t know?
Forcing a swallow, I look at Violet. She’s watching me patiently, the side of her lip starting to curve upward.
“I’m afraid to really consider this is a possibility,” I admit.
The room might be spinning. I find a toothbrush sticking out of the holder on the sink and focus on that to keep from falling over.
A series of emotions tumbles through me, and I don’t know which to grab on to.
“Breathe, Ellie,” Violet whispers.
“It’s harder than you think.” I blow out a shaky breath and refill my lungs. “I’m not ready for this. I mean, if that’s what it is.”
“It might just be the flu.”
“Maybe. I hope so.” Timidly, I rest my hand on my stomach. All I can feel is the gurgle from the acid that threatens to expel, but I close my eyes anyway.
Déjà vu strikes me hard in the feels. I was terrified then. I knew in my soul that I was too young to do it properly, to do it the way my mom did it. I was terrified then. But I may be more scared now.
Would I be ready for this now? Would I be ready to take on all the changes a baby would require? I’ve been telling Ford I’m not in a place to do those things and I don’t feel like I am.
I want to follow through the promises I made to my mother—to see things and do things and live a life that’s more than she did. If I have a child, I . . .
“I’m gonna be sick.” I heave again into the toilet, the tile floor biting into my knees. Violet kneels beside me and it occurs to me that in the moment I might find out I’m going to be a mother, I need mothering. Certainly this is evidence of failure on
my part.
Taking the washcloth offered me, I wipe my mouth and rock back on my heels. “I need to know. I probably have some virus and this is all for nothing. But I need to know.”
Violet nods. “Heath ran to the pharmacy on the corner.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“We knew you’d want to know. And maybe we wanted to know too.”
“Of course this is about you,” I laugh. My tone is shaky and hearing that only makes me more anxious. “I don’t know if I can do this, Vi. What would this mean for Halcyon? What would it—”
“One thing at a time. Besides, this isn’t the end of the world if it’s true.”
“Your business partner is going to be a lot less partner-y.”
“Good. I’ll do what I want,” she winks. When I start to object, she laughs. “Ellie, babies are a blessing. Maybe it’s not how you planned it. Maybe it’s going to make some things harder, I’ll give you that. But I’ve never heard a mother say she wishes she didn’t have her child.”
My shoulders slump. “I had so many plans. I really feel like my life was just taking off. And now this?”
I close my eyes and try to find the happy place that Mallory teaches us to find at yoga. My center. My zen. Before I find it, Heath appears at the doorway.
“How are we doing?” he asks.
“Fork it over.” I extend a hand, palm up.
He flashes Violet a look.
“I know you have it so just give it to me,” I order.
With a sneaky grin, he lays a slender box in my hand. It feels like it weighs a ton. The weight of my future lies in this piece of cardboard.
As I ponder whether I really want to do this or not, my phone rings in the living room. Heath goes to get it. When he returns, it’s in his hand. “It’s Ford.”
“It’s like he has ESP or something,” I groan. “Will you answer it? Tell him not to come by here. Make up some reason because I don’t want to see him.”
“He’s going to want to check on you,” Violet chimes in.
“Tell him . . . tell him I have some errands to run today and am leaving in a minute. Tell him I’ll call him later.”
Heath beams, swiping open my phone and walking away. His tone, almost cooing in the line, makes me roll my eyes.
Swear (Landry Family #4) Page 17
