I punched him in the ribs and he yelped, but the laughter roared right along with the fire, and he grinned at me the whole way as he limped back to his seat.
Sarah started in on a new story, but I didn’t hear a word of it because Wren popped up from where she’d been sitting next to Tucker and fell down in the chair next to me, instead.
“Hi again,” she said, swiping her hair away from her face. I thought she’d say something else, but she just watched me with lazy eyes.
“Hi again to you, too.”
She tilted her head just as another round of laughter ensued. Someone smacked me on the knee, but I didn’t look away from Wren, and she didn’t look away from me.
“You seem to have stolen the show tonight.”
I snorted. “Not intentionally, I assure you.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all,” she said with a giggle. That giggle was enough to undo me. “You should tell a story.”
My eyes widened at that and I immediately shook my head, but she leaned in and nudged me.
“Come on, everyone else has so much to say about you, but you haven’t said anything at all.” Her eyes were glossy, and her words slurred a little, blending into each other in one smooth stream. “Tell me something real.”
I frowned.
Something real.
The only thing that came to my mind when she said “real” was Dani, and I didn’t have anything to say about Dani. Not to Wren, at least. Not now. So I scrambled, trying to think of something—anything—to tell her. The longer I stared at her, the more my brows furrowed, and her eyes softened. She leaned back, not even a centimeter, but I felt the distance as if there was a string tied between us and she’d pulled it taught.
Too long passed without an answer, and she sighed, eyes finally breaking contact with mine like she was disappointed. She likely thought I didn’t want to talk to her, but the truth was just that I didn’t know what to say. I watched the lazy happiness drain from her eyes momentarily, but then they lit up again as they focused on something behind me.
“Rev!”
The buzz around the fire ceased, as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over all of us. My heart kicked in my chest, hard, and when Wren looked back at me, smiling and unfazed, she must have seen it—my fear, my anger, all of it on display. Her face fell instantly, just as the same stray cat I’d seen in her cabin the week before jumped in her lap. She wrapped it in her arms, but wouldn’t stop looking at me, brows bent, like she didn’t realize what she’d just said.
She’d heard the stories, but she didn’t know me. No one called me Rev anymore, and of everyone there who had a right to, she was last on the list.
I stood, knocking a full can of beer over with my boot as I did. All the eyes around the fire were glued on me, and I felt the sticky weight of them as I turned for the drive. My hands jutted into my pockets to keep from pulling at my sweater. It was too hot. It was too loud. I needed to leave.
I shouldn’t have come at all.
“What is your problem?”
Her small voice had grown in size, and it stopped me in my tracks.
“I ask you to tell me something real, and you run off like it’s the worst thing you’ve heard?” Momma Von tried to quiet her, but she kept going, and I kept my back to all of them. “All night, everyone is telling all these stories about how fun you are, how crazy you are, but I don’t see it. I don’t know who that person was or why he changed, but whatever the reason, it doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole to me.”
“Alright, Wren,” Yvette said this time, and I turned, watching as both she and Momma Von moved in on Wren. Yvette touched one arm, and Wren swayed a bit, steadying herself when Momma Von was close enough to hold onto. She was messed up, and my nose flared as her eyes hardened on mine again.
“No,” she slurred. “No, I’ve taken enough shit from assholes in my life.” She stood straighter, like she had something to prove, and opened her mouth to say something else. But she stopped, huffing, as if it wasn’t even worth her time. She turned to Momma Von. “I want to go home.”
“Okay, peaches, let’s get you home, then.”
Momma Von glanced at me but I just turned again, feet moving faster this time, all the way down the drive. My cabin was only minutes away, but every step burned my skin more and more. My fists clenched in my pockets and I gritted my teeth, using every ounce of power I had not to slam my front door once I was inside.
Dani stared at me from her table, and I growled, ripped my sweater over my head, and jogged up the stairs. Auto pilot kicked in, shower started, clothes thrown, and once the hot water hit my back, I let out one long breath, pinching the bridge of my nose and bracing the other hand on the wall in front of me.
Sarah had called me Rev not too many nights before and it’d barely fazed me. I told her not to call me that again, and that was it. But hearing the name from Wren’s lips, from someone who didn’t know the meaning, who didn’t know me—it stirred something that had been lying dormant for years.
And then she’d screamed at me like we’d been friends forever, like she deserved to know more about me. She’d called me an asshole, and at that thought, all I could do was lean my forehead against the cool tile.
Because if nothing else, she was right about that.
I let the water run cold, finally shutting it off when I was shivering. It’d been a long time since I’d felt numb, but the familiarity of it was welcomed as I toweled off and slipped on a pair of sweats before climbing into bed. I trained my eyes on the ceiling, shaking my head every time I replayed the night in my head.
Did I really think it’d be so simple? That I’d walk into a party full of friends I’d abandoned almost seven years ago and we’d all, what? Pal around? And that I’d maybe get to know the new girl in town, who’d been stuck in my head for God knows what reason all week?
But I had nothing to give her—nothing. Not even an answer to the first genuine question I’d been asked by a girl in years. Maybe ever.
She asked me for something real, and I had nothing.
At least now I knew.
BREAK
ˈbrāk
Verb
To separate into parts with suddenness or violence
Keith used to always make me coffee.
We had a morning routine, one that consisted of a dance of sorts. I’d brush my teeth while he shaved, then he’d breeze past me to get dressed while I put on makeup. He’d always step back in just as I started straightening my hair, and he’d smack my ass with an appreciative smile, fastening his tie, and he’d ask, “How sweet is my girl today?”
The answer was always different—sweeter than your mom’s chocolate pie, about as sweet as a judge, or sometimes just a glare—and that’s how he knew what kind of coffee to brew. By the time I was dressed, he’d have his briefcase in one hand and my cup of coffee in the other, sweetened somewhere between black and liquid candy. He’d pass it to me, kiss my cheek, and then he was out the door.
It was the good times, the moments like that, that seemed brightest in my memory. It was harder to remember the nights he yelled, the nights he ignored me, the nights I went to bed wondering what I’d done wrong, only to have to wait a week to find out when he was drunk. Our minds are selective like that, almost like a defense mechanism that somehow harms us more than it helps us.
Keith used to make me coffee, and maybe that’s why his name was the one I called out the next morning when I woke to the smell of a fresh pot brewing.
“Nope, just me,” Momma Von answered.
I cracked one lid open, instantly squeezing it shut again when the light assaulted me. Momma Von grabbed my hand and moved it to the mug, waiting until I had a sturdy grip before she stood and threw the curtains open wider.
“Ack!”
“If you think that hurts, just wait.”
Slowly, I inched up the headboard until I was propped up, one eye still closed as I squinted through the other at Momma Von. She no
dded to my cup and I took a sip, humming slightly. “Thank you.”
“There’s ibuprofen and a bottle of water on the table. Those are next.”
I squinted through the other eye and reached over, popping the two white capsules in my mouth and chasing them with another sip of coffee.
“Or now,” Momma Von said with a chuckle. She sat near the foot of the bed, grabbing her own cup of coffee from where she’d sat it on the dresser and crossing her legs as she watched me. “We need to talk about Anderson.”
I groaned, using one hand to push myself up a little straighter. “But do we really?”
She nodded, brushing her bangs away from her eyes. “We do. Do you remember what happened last night?”
My fingers not wrapped around the coffee mug worked against my temple, kneading with a gentle pressure as I tried to sift through the cloudy memories of the night before. “Kind of. I remember everything up until Tucker handed me the joint. After that, it’s a little foggy.”
“Tucker got you high?” I nodded, and she just sighed. “Well, that explains a lot.”
“I remember everyone laughing and telling stories about Anderson, and I think I asked him to tell me one, and then he got all Broody McGrumperson and stormed off.”
“And you called him an asshole.”
“Well!” I answered, waving my free hand before letting it fall with a slap to my bare thigh. “He is! The first time I saw him, I waved, and he didn’t say anything back. Then he comes barreling into my house that night I cut my foot and he carries me all close to his chest and makes a joke about my shoes, but leaves just as fast as he came in, and doesn’t talk to me for a week. Then he checks on my foot, and he offers to help me fix this place up, right? So I say ‘no, it’s okay,’ thinking he’ll surely insist. But he doesn’t. He just leaves. And then he stares at me all night at the bonfire like he wants to eat my face and now here we are.”
I was out of breath and I reached for the water, chugging half of it before setting it back down and cupping my hands around my mug. Momma Von stared at me, blinked, and then barked out a laugh.
“Oh, peaches, you are a mess.”
I sank into the sheets with a whimper. “I know.”
My eyes were on the caramel coffee in my mug, and I kept them there, sipping occasionally, waiting for Momma Von to say what she needed to say. She was watching her own hands, and she seemed to be searching for the right words. When she’d found them, she sat up a bit straighter and lifted her eyes to me.
“Anderson used to be very, very different when he was younger,” she started. “And as fun as those stories were that everyone was sharing last night, his kind of crazy wasn’t always the good kind. He got into trouble. A lot.” Momma Von tapped her thumb against the handle of her mug as she continued, eyes bouncing between it and me. “Went to jail a couple of times, got into hard drugs for a while, had a complete disregard for anyone else but himself. Well, and one other person, which we’ll get to.”
Already I’d perked up, pushing myself up to lean against the headboard again. I didn’t ask questions though, just drank my coffee and waited for her to tell me the way she needed to.
“He worked, various jobs around here and down in Gold Bar, but he’d blow his paycheck on pills or car parts or whatever else he was into at the time. He was always a good guy, a good friend to those whom he felt deserved it, but he lived fast and didn’t care if he died young. That was just who he was.”
She smiled, a half smile, one that didn’t fully reach her eyes.
“But there was one person who always kept him grounded. It wasn’t his Aunt Rose, though the poor woman tried,” she added with a chuckle. “No, it was his cousin, Danielle.”
It was suddenly hot, and I kicked the covers off my legs and pulled my knees up to rest under my chin, setting my mug on top of them.
“She was younger than him, and he was protective of her, but half the time she treated him like she was the older one. She was a good girl—straight A’s in school, college girl with dreams set on getting her doctoral degree abroad. And when Anderson stepped out of line, when he took things too far, she was always the first one to smack him back down to reality.” Momma Von paused, smiling with a shake of her head, thumb still tapping. “She was a light in this town, and in his life, especially. And then, almost seven years ago to the day, she left this Earth,” she said, her eyes filling. The tears didn’t run, just pooled in her eyes as I covered my mouth with one hand. “She was just twenty years old, here one day and gone the next. And the Anderson she left behind is the one you know now.”
Maybe it was the hangover, or maybe my emotions were unstable from my own mourning, but my eyes welled right along with hers. I had a baby brother, and the thought of losing him so young made me feel like my throat was closing in.
“Last night, when you said Rev, he didn’t know it was your cat,” she continued. “I didn’t either, the first time I heard you call it that. You see, that was Dani’s nickname for Anderson, and it caught on pretty quickly. Everyone used to call him Rev, but ever since she died, no one mutters it at all. I think hearing it from you shocked him, freaked him out.” She paused. “Last night was the first time he’d been out in years. It was already so much for him, and I think that just pushed him over the edge he’d been balancing on since he walked into that back yard.”
She sniffed, wiping at her cheeks that were still dry, and I drank the last bit of my coffee, letting it all sink in. I understood now, yet still I never could.
Seven years.
It seemed so long to grieve, which led me to ask the only question I had as carefully as I could.
“What happened to her?”
Momma Von shook her head, reaching forward to pat my knee. “That’s not my story to tell, peaches. I only told you what I felt you needed to know. Anderson is a good man, he just has scars like all beautiful and tragic things in life.”
I chewed my lip, heart aching for the man I didn’t know, the man I was curious about, the man I didn’t need in my thoughts at all. “Well, thank you. But it’s probably for the best.” I swallowed. “I came out here for me, and that’s been hard enough as it is without getting wrapped up in a guy with nice arms.”
“And that’s fine,” Momma Von said, standing. “I respect that. And you don’t have to give him attention.” She tilted her head down, looking pointedly at me over her nose. “But you do have to give him an apology.”
My stomach turned and I tucked my knees in closer like they’d protect me, like they’d get up the nerve to apologize to Anderson for me. Because even though I hated it, Momma Von was right. There was no excuse for what I said last night.
Momma Von gave me a sympathetic, understanding smile before rounding the bed and heading for the stairs. “There’s a full pot of coffee downstairs,” she said, pausing on the top stair. “And, please, take a shower before you go see him. You smell worse than the homeless boy I dated in my hippy days.”
I let out one short laugh, and she winked at me before descending, leaving me alone in the bed I’d made.
I took my time showering, drinking another cup of coffee while I dressed and put on my makeup before switching over to the bottle of water Momma Von had given me. I curled my hair, put on my favorite lipstick, and tried on four different outfits before settling on a white, off-the-shoulder sun dress with a high slit. It was peppered with dark red peonies and I loved the way it hugged my shoulders, drawing attention to my exposed collar bone.
It was sunny out, but the temperature was hovering somewhere right under seventy., so I grabbed a light cardigan just in case and tossed it over my arm to use when the nerves settled and my body cooled.
And when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t feel even two percent ready to do what I had to do.
I hated saying sorry, mostly because I’d said it so much in the past few years that the word made me sick. I’d apologized for who I was, who I wasn’t, for trying and failing or not trying at all. But the differe
nce was that this wasn’t Keith, and I actually had something to apologize for.
Thankfully, it took a little while to track Anderson down. The entire time I wandered around, asking where he might be, I dried my sweaty palms on my dress and recited what I’d say in my head. My throat still felt tight when I finally found him, and everything I thought I’d say flew away the moment I saw the muscles in his arms catching the light and the shadows as he worked under the hood of old man Ron’s truck. I pulled my eyes away from the way his dark jeans hung off his hips and focused them instead on the hard line of his jaw, the same one I’d traced with my eyes a million times in the fire light the night before.
He didn’t notice me when I walked up, didn’t even stop working for a millisecond, so I cleared my throat, and he and Ron both stopped tinkering at the same time.
Anderson looked up at the same time Ron pushed himself from under the truck, and where his brows rose in surprise, Anderson’s dipped in accusation.
Ron, being the man of many words that he was, simply used the bumper to climb to his feet, dusted off his hands on his pants, and clapped Anderson on the shoulder. He turned to me only for a second, long enough to give a curt nod, then he disappeared inside his cabin, leaving me alone with Mr. Approachable.
Who went right back to working.
“Hi,” I tried first, aiming for casual, yet a little sheepish. “How are you?”
Anderson’s scowl was so deep it practically made a valley between his eyebrows, and he didn’t respond, didn’t look at me, just kept doing whatever it was he was doing under that hood.
I huffed, adjusting the cardigan that hung over my arms before crossing them over my stomach. “Look, I don’t want to bother you. I know you have a lot going on and the last thing you want is to talk to some girl passing through your town.” There, that was a little more real. “I just wanted to apologize. About last night—”
“It’s fine,” he clipped, tossing one tool into the old red box I’d seen him carrying the week before with a clunk before picking up another one.
Revelry Page 8
