“Why did you guys get back together? If you were so worried about what your friends think.” Or, after finding out what he did to me?
“Because I realized that life was too short to worry about what other people thought of me. We’d already started talking again before I even knew about the clip. And trust me, you wouldn’t have wanted to be a fly on the wall when I found out about it,” Isabel said, though she sounded more like a princess than a mobster. “I told him to take it down immediately.”
Cat straightened. “That was because of you?”
“Yes. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want you to think I was being a bitch. Then when you started dating Alex Locke, Bennet told me some things about him. Things he’d heard from his older brother about how Alex had been hanging out with a gang a few years ago and was maybe involved in some robberies. I wanted him to tell you so you didn’t get hurt.”
She let out a startled gasp. “Here at the booth? When he came over to me? I thought he was just being a jerk. I had no idea.”
“In hindsight, perhaps I should’ve talked to you myself. I guess I was worried you were still mad at me about what happened when we were kids. I don’t blame you if you are. I wasn’t a good friend to you back then. You probably won’t believe me, but I’ve spent a lot of time feeling bad about what happened.”
Cat was silent as she studied Isabel’s face. Her remorse seemed genuine, if unexpected. Curiosity got the better of her, and she wrinkled her nose.
“How did you manage to forgive him?”
Isabel let out a soft sigh and some of her princess aura left. “When we were five, I had a birthday party, and some kid there stole my favorite doll. Bennet went and found it. It was in the mud, and he tried to wash it for me. He rescued it.”
“You based your character assessment on what a five-year-old kid did?”
“I can’t expect you to understand after what he did to you. All I can say is I’d seen a better side of him,” Isabel said. “It helped me to trust him again. Trust he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice or treat anyone else the way he did you. I really am sorry. You have no idea how much.”
The room went still.
She doubted she’d ever be friends with Bennet Miller, no matter how many dolls his five-year-old self rescued. But she might’ve misjudged Isabel. Then she sighed. The difference between her and Isabel was that Bennet obviously still wanted to be with her, unlike Alex, who only wanted to keep the hell away from Cat.
“Why are you telling me this?” She frowned.
“I guess I just wanted to tell you things aren’t always as they seem. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” she said just as a customer came up to the booth and started looking at the large framed prints. Isabel took the opportunity to slip away while Cat explained the different printing techniques. In the back of her mind she tried to figure out if her conversation with Isabel made things better or worse.
Scrap that. Worse. Definitely, worse.
…
“So, you want to hang out?” Nikki brought the car to a halt. “We could do the ice cream thing. Or, voodoo dolls. That might make you feel better.”
“Not today.” She fumbled for her keys. Nikki opened her mouth as if to protest, then just shrugged.
“Fine. I’m going to give you a couple more days of mourning, but then I swear things are going to change. If you like, I could go and kick him. Real hard.”
She managed a smile. “We talked about this. Physical violence isn’t always the answer. But I might take you up on the ice cream. Just not today.”
Nikki hugged her and then fired up the engine, causing old Mrs. Mitchell across the road to look up from her weeding.
Cat sighed and walked down the path.
Bowie music was blaring out from her mom’s studio as she walked in.
“Just me,” she called out before throwing herself onto the old sofa.
“Oh.” Her mom let out a weird yelp from the other end of the room, and Cat looked up just in time to see her mom and Joe break away from each other. Her mom’s face was bright red, and even Joe looked flushed.
“Um, er… Sorry.” She scrambled to her feet, grabbing her backpack at the same time. Note to self. In future knock, knock, and knock again. Oh, and perhaps walk into the room backward. With eyes shut. “I just remembered I have homework to do. Lots of homework.”
“Actually, I’m just going.” Joe coughed as he fumbled for his car keys, pausing only to give her mom a shy kiss on the cheek. “But let me know if the machine acts up again, okay?”
“I will.” Her mom dutifully nodded and then waited until Joe had left before collapsing on the sofa. “For what it’s worth, he was helping me with the new press I just bought. One of the bolts was stuck, and I didn’t have the right tools to fix it.”
“Mom, it’s okay,” Cat said as she reluctantly sat down again. Why hadn’t she just gone straight to her room and sulked like a normal teenager? “You don’t need to explain. Plus, hey—at least you both had your clothes on. There’s something that would be really, really hard to un-see.”
And why am I even putting that out into the universe?
“Trust me, there’d be no winners in that scenario,” her mom said in a dry voice as she reached for Cat’s hand. “And I wasn’t explaining why we were kissing. I think that’s obvious. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in your home.”
“I don’t.” She shook her head. “Though, it will be a long time before I can listen to David Bowie again. And on the plus side, I guess that misery isn’t contagious.”
“Cat—”
“Relax. I’m joking.” Kind of. She cautiously studied her mom’s face. “So, you and Joe? It sounds like it’s getting serious.”
“It is.” Her mom nodded. “And I know it’s bad timing, after everything that’s happened with you and Alex.”
“It’s okay. Really.” It was bad enough being dumped, but it was worse having people feeling sorry for her. Especially her mom, who had dated enough dirtbags before finally finding someone decent. She plastered on a smile. “Is this the part where I need to ask him about his intentions?”
“I think we can safely skip that.” Her mom tightened her grip on her hand. “Sweetheart, can I just tell you that it will get better?”
Her mom had gone for years on her own, raising Cat and running a business, all without falling apart.
And here I am, feeling like death after just one week.
Drama much.
She took a deep breath as tears prickled her eyes. “Was it like this with you and dad? Did he just say that he was leaving and not give you a choice in the matter?”
Silence filled the room as her mom looked out the window. “I did have a choice, and my choice was always you. As upset as I was at the time, deep down I knew that your father and I weren’t a good match. But here’s the thing, all relationships are different. And complicated. And as much as I’d like to turn this into something I could put on one of my cards, I can’t. All I know is that you’ll get through it. Because we Turners are made of strong stuff.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Cat croaked as her mom’s arm snaked around her, while afternoon sun filtered through the window, encasing them in light. It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but all the same, some of the emptiness in her chest lessened.
Chapter Fourteen
“Really?” Alex eyed the tray of brownies in front of him. “You want me to take all twelve of them? We broke up, I didn’t get a sudden addiction to sugar.”
Not to mention, he didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.
“Perhaps you need it.” Birdie shrugged, not looking at all repentant. “So, do you want to tell me what really happened?”
Nope. On account of the whole not wanting to talk about it thing.
Especially the part where I have to say her name out loud.
“I did,” he said, not quite returning her gaze. Birdie did what she alwa
ys did. She just sat there, letting the silence spread out around them. No wonder she was such a good card player. She could out-sit anyone. He sighed. “Fine, the real reason was because I told her the truth about me.”
“And what truth is that, Alex?” she said in a soft voice. His guilt increased. Cat wasn’t the only one he’d been lying to. He’d been lying to his grandmother as well.
His voice shook as he told her about what he’d been doing the night of the accident. About why he hadn’t been there to stop his mom from getting into the car. About where the decorative egg in her living room had come from, and how Clay Tait had turned up on his doorstep last week looking for money.
“That’s why I broke up with her. I didn’t want to drag her into my world. She deserves better. Face it, Birdie. I’m going nowhere. At this rate, I’ll be stuck at the canning factory for the rest of my life.”
“What happened to your dreams of college? That scholarship?”
“The scholarship isn’t on the table anymore. Who was I kidding?”
The lines around Birdie’s face softened as she let out a small sigh. “Sweet boy. Do you know what people sometimes ask me when they find out about Debra and the life she led? About what happened. They ask me how can I forgive her.”
The air went still, and Alex couldn’t move.
Birdie sometimes talked about his mom, about what she was like as a girl, but it was rare she touched on the later years, when things had gone from shades of gray to black and white. From okay to hellish.
“What do you tell them?” he asked, the words catching in his throat.
“I tell them it’s not my place to judge Debra. What I can do is forgive myself for wanting things to have been different and to remind myself that I loved her. I still love her.”
The scent of sugar and flour filled his nose as Birdie’s papery fingers touched his arm. Everything was familiar, but different.
Birdie made it sound easy. Like falling in love over a flat tire and an Elvis quip. Like baking brownies to mend a broken heart. Like humoring a grandson who was letting her down just as much as his mother ever had.
“What if I don’t know how?” His throat tightened.
“You’ll find a way.” She patted his hand, her fingers weathered but soft. “Alex, you can’t go into the past and change it. All you can do is change how you feel about it. Being mad at your mother is like swallowing poison and hoping she’ll suffer the effects. Don’t keep swallowing poison, Alex.”
He closed his eyes. Everything Birdie said made sense. In theory. “Does it get easier?”
“Some minutes it does,” she said softly then reached for one of the brownies. “Now, how about you go and make a cup of tea.”
Alex got to his feet and walked into Birdie’s tiny kitchen. As always, his eyes searched for the teapot that wasn’t there. Did his mom ever even think about how much Birdie might miss it?
Enough.
No more dragging out the past. It was useless. He reached for the plain black ceramic pot, but in its place was the decorative egg. The one that held all of his secret shame.
What the hell?
Anger curled in his belly. The egg was his past. Had Birdie put it there on purpose to torture him? He snatched it up and was about to smash it onto the floor. Get rid of it once and for all, like he should’ve done right from the start.
Blood pounded in his temples as his fingers tightened around the cool surface.
He needed to shut it down. Get rid of the egg and all his problems would go away.
Except it didn’t work. He’d tried it with Clay and look what happened. Even getting rid of the suit hadn’t worked. Everything he tried to dump just came back to haunt him.
He tightened his jaw. If at first you don’t succeed, then—
Shit. It was no good. If he’d wanted to get rid of the damn egg, he would’ve done it years ago. Why the hell didn’t I?
He lowered his arm as it hit him.
The egg was someone else’s teapot. Every time he looked at it was a chance to give it back. To make amends. But he’d been too busy avoiding it. Hiding his guilt, his shame. He spun on his heel and walked back to where Birdie was waiting for him, her expression sanguine.
“You knew? All this time?” he said as he held the egg out to her.
“I didn’t know the details, but I put two and two together. That’s all my hunches ever are.” She shrugged. “Question is what are you going to do with it?”
“The only thing I can do,” he said as he reached down and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to give it back. I’ll tell them what happened, and if they want to press charges, then I’ll deal with the outcome.”
Was this how it started?
“That’s all we can ever do. We don’t know how the dice will roll until they’re thrown.” Birdie patted his hand as she plucked a brownie from the plate on the table. “Whatever happens I’ll be here for you. Just like I was here for your mom.”
“How did you bear it?” he suddenly asked, his throat so tight he could barely breathe. Silence smothered the air and prickled his skin. “Not knowing if she was going to hurt you again?”
“Because that’s how love works. Getting hurt, not getting hurt. It’s all part of the risk. Imagine if your grandfather had been too scared to stop and fix my puncture? His life might have been safer, but perhaps not as happy. As for me, I wouldn’t trade any of it. And you shouldn’t, either.” Her steady gaze was fixed on him, full of warmth and love.
“You’re talking about Cat?” His heart hammered, causing an ache in his chest.
Birdie nodded. “She tried to stand with you.”
“I know.” He swallowed and ignored the prickling sensation in his brow. It came on every time he thought of that night at the pizza store. Of her face, drained of color. I did that. “But what happens if they press charges? How can I ask her to be part of that?”
“It’s easy. You open your mouth and let the words come out. You’ve made your choice; let Cat make hers” Birdie said. “Because as smart as you are, you don’t know everything. In my experience, the only way we can know things is by asking.”
Her words hung over him, pounding in his skull as if desperate to get inside his head.
Birdie had a habit of making it all sound so simple. So easy.
Like her famous brownie recipe. Just add a pinch of this and a cup of that and smother in chocolate.
But in his experience, life wasn’t simple, and it sure as hell wasn’t easy.
Except with Cat.
“Do you really think it’d work?” His words sounded raspy. Scared. Unsure. As if he was testing them out for size. This was normally when he would’ve bolted, but Birdie was helping him hold open a door, and on the other side was Cat. If there was a chance he could get to her he was going to do his best.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
He nodded and headed to the door.
I bet Elvis never had to confess to a crime, either.
He had no idea if this was part of what forgiving himself meant, but it sure beat sitting at home thinking about everything. Then he took a deep breath and walked out.
Chapter Fifteen
Monica’s lips parted as the door scraped open and a figure appeared. It was him. The guy she couldn’t stop thinking about. She drank in his face. His blue eyes were like polished lapis with tiny lines of gold running through them. They were eyes she could get lost in. Eyes that widened as he saw her. Her heart pounded in response as he moved closer. The guy she wanted killed. Okay, not killed, but definitely hurt, because he’d hurt her, and it really sucked. Oh, and there was a small chance she was going insane. Monica that was. And perhaps me—
“Oh, God. What the hell’s wrong with me?” She threw down the notebook she’d been writing in, making a mental note to rip out the page later. And the page before, and one before that.
Because apparently, I can’t even write. All I can do is vomit up a stream of consciousness that makes no
sense at all.
She leaned against the tree and rubbed her brow. Somewhere in the background she could hear her mom blasting out David Bowie from her studio, and Cat let it drift over her. Perhaps she should stop writing stories about how everything sucked and start writing songs about how everything sucked.
David started to sing about climbing a fence. Then she stiffened. Correction. David Bowie was singing about going into space. The fence climbing noises were a separate thing entirely. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and her stomach tightened as she turned to where Alex Locke was lowering himself to the ground with a feline grace he didn’t deserve.
If anything, he deserved to make a sound like a stampeding herd, to give a person warning he was coming and he was bringing trouble with him.
And that he deserved to have a really bad song written about him.
He looked different. In the two weeks since he’d dumped her, his dark hair had grown, softening his face and highlighting his lapis blue eyes (damn you, Monica).
And why’s he wearing the tuxedo?
“Hey, there you are. And you’re not throwing anything at my head yet, which I hope is a good sign,” he said, his mouth inching into a tentative smile that did disastrous things to her belly.
“What the hell, Alex? You can’t just do that anymore,” she growled as he lowered himself down onto the ground next to her. Her first thought was he would get his suit dirty. Her second was it was no longer her concern. Her third was she should’ve gotten up while she had the chance because now she was trapped in the magnetic orbit of his body. There were planets with less gravitational pull.
Sirens went off in her mind.
“I know,” he said. Their shoulders were almost touching, but his eyes were fixed straight ahead, as if not looking at her would somehow make everything okay. “I should’ve used the front door. Or called you first.”
The Heartbreak Cure Page 14
