She opens the gate, and Nick closes it once we’re through. We make our way around the pasture, toward the hills that line the backside of the property.
“Hold onto your reins,” Nick says, coming up behind me. “They’re going to get excited with all the green grass. Once Trinity goes down for a bite, you might not get her head back up,” he teases. Or, at least I think he’s teasing. Trinity perks up and her ears pivot around at the change of scenery. “They love going off-road.”
“I don’t blame them. I’d get bored running around in circles, too,” I say.
We ride in companionable silence, and every so often, when Jesse looks back at me, I wave in reassurance.
“So, are you going to tell me why you don’t like riding?” I ask, unable to resist a smirk. I can tell it’s a touchy subject, but he has to know I was going to ask.
Nick looks at me askance. “I had an accident when I was seven. Totally not a big deal, I just never wanted to get back on again.”
“It sounds like a big deal if you didn’t want to ride.”
Nick shrugs. “It is what it is. I barely remember it, actually. I think it was the fear that became the monster, more than the memory, if that makes any sense.”
“It does,” I say, knowing my fears rule me more than I’d like them to sometimes.
He peers out at the rolling hills as our horses start up the incline.
“But, you’re riding today. For Jesse?”
He shrugs. “For Jesse. For me.”
He’s quiet for a while, and I worry I’ve hit a nerve until, finally, he speaks again. “Thank you for the other night.”
“What, for taking you home? It’s the least I could do.”
“But you didn’t have to stay,” Nick adds quietly. “I appreciate it.”
I blush. “I wasn’t sure you even remembered any of that.”
Nick doesn’t say anything else, and once again, the silence between us stretches as we make our way toward a large oak tree on the crest of the hill. Sam and Jesse veer off and make their way down toward the lake.
“We can wait up here,” Nick says, anticipating me. “Jesse will be fine. We can see Reilly’s place from up the hill. There’s an outlook Sam’s dad used to take me to a long time ago. You can see most of the property.”
I stare out at the glinting water. Growing up here seems like a dream, one I might not have appreciated in another life. We make our way through the woodsy hillside, twigs and leaves and debris crunching beneath the horses. Every now and again, Trinity tears a long green weed from the ground, growing too tall to resist.
We weave around trees and up and down the landscape, over logs and around rocks, until we finally come to a small clearing. As our horses come to a stop, I admire the way the blue skies kiss the tops of green and the rolling hills and oak forest that stretch out beyond the outlook.
“This is all theirs?” I ask. The beauty of it is humbling in a way that living in town has never been. “I feel so small.”
“It’s not all theirs, but a lot of it is. Reilly has some of it, and there are fence lines Sam’s never crossed, up in those hills further back.”
I scan the property on the other end of the lake and find Jesse and Sam making their way up to the house. Sam helps Jesse down and when she opens the pen, a black and white dog runs up to him, tail wagging excitedly.
“So, Sam and Reilly live in houses across the lake from one another, huh?”
Nick nods, dismounts Target, and wraps his reins around one of the low oak branches. “Pretty much.” He glances back at me. “You might want to stretch your legs. You’re going to be sore, if what I’m feeling is any indication.” He winces and does a quick lunge.
“That’s . . . not hilarious at all.” I try to stifle my amusement.
“You laugh, but this shit hurts.” He walks over to the big oak and rests his palm against it, staring out at the swelling hills. I follow suit, finally finding the courage to ask him something I’ve been wondering about all day. “You seem . . . okay about everything that happened the other day,” I say, even though I know that’s highly unlikely. “Have you talked to your parents about it?”
Nick takes a deep breath and looks at me with a sheepish sort of smile tugging at his lips. “Yes. No. But, it could be worse. Let’s just say that I feel like I’m part of the club now, too.”
“What club is that?”
“The Fucked-up Family Club.” He leans against the tree with a smug smile. “According to Reilly, I’m a member of the ‘guys only’ chapter.”
“Cute,” I say, glad his friends finally know what happened. “Well, I extend you an official welcome, from the ‘girls only’ chapter.” I startle when my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
“You’re a squeaker, huh?”
“Pardon me?”
Nick barks a laugh. “That sounded wrong. I mean, you squeak when you startle.” He shrugs. “Good to know.”
I lift an eyebrow and peer down at the text message.
Dad: Where are you?
“What’s wrong? Is it your parents?”
“Yeah. No big deal. My dad probably wants to lecture me about school.”
“Hmm. Speaking of school, have you thought about which grad school you’ll apply to after you get an awesome score on your test?”
“No,” I say with a grunt, and I straighten my back. “What about you? Where are you going to work after you graduate, some big firm in Benton?”
Nick’s easiness fades, and he plucks up a long piece of grass. “No, probably not. I like working at Lick’s, to be honest.”
“Yeah?”
“Sometimes I think that’s what I want to do, just work there my whole life. I’m good at it, and I like people, most of the time.” He twirls the grass between his fingers.
“Maybe you should buy your own bar,” I tell him.
His eyes shift to mine again. “Now you’re just talking crazy.”
I push him playfully. “I’m serious. If you love it, you could get your own place, turn it into whatever you want—you have the capability. You could run your own bar in your sleep.”
His amusement turns to something more enlivened, and he smiles. “Sounds kinda nice, actually.”
“You could call it Pickle Juice. Or Nickel’s, for Nick and Pickle.”
He chuckles. “I think you should leave the naming to me.”
“Well then, what would it be?”
“I dunno. I’ve never thought about it before.”
“You have to have a signature drink with pickle juice, at least,” I tell him. “It only makes sense. You named a doll Pickles for crying out loud.”
Nick laughs, more boisterous this time, and I think I could listen to him laugh all day long and never get tired of it. “That sounds delicious but I don’t think people would go for it.”
“You’d be surprised. It would be a good marketing strategy. It would make you stand out. I think you should seriously consider it. I can picture it perfectly.”
I have to resist the urge to do a lunge or two, knowing a deep hamstring stretch would be euphoric with all the tension in my backside. Knowing I wouldn’t be as cute as Nick doing it, though, prevents me. The last thing I want is to look like an idiot.
He chuckles beside me. “Just do it, Bethany. Stretch it out. You know you want to.”
“No, I don’t,” I lie through a smile.
“Just do it. Come on, I’ll do it with you—”
I push him, snorting out a laugh. “Stop being weird.”
He pushes me back. “I’m not being weird, I’m making you laugh. It’s the best part of my day.”
My cheeks flush, and after a long, drawn out, sideways glance, I decide making him smile is the best part of my day, too. With a smirk, I do a quick, awkward lunge, earning me another hearty chuckle, and I revel in the sound.
Thirty-Five
Bethany
After riding, Jesse and I go out for an ice cream before heading home to lock ourselves
upstairs in the game room and watch movies all night. My dad’s Jaguar is parked in the garage with no sign that my mom is home, which isn’t surprising.
Exhausted, Jesse and I shuffle up to the front door, my legs so sore, I can’t imagine what tomorrow will be like. “Wait,” I say as Jesse reaches for the doorknob. “Your shoes. Leave them on the tile entry. Mom will freak if you track horse shit into the house.”
He smiles down at his feet, as if he’s contemplating it.
“You wouldn’t get to drink Squirt for a month, buddy. Your life would be miserable.”
Flinging the door open, I step inside and balance the best I can as I pull off one boot and then the other. My hope to go in and decompress, though, is short-lived.
“Beth,” my dad says, eerily flat from his office. I’ve barely gotten through the front door, and I already have a bad feeling.
“Take off your shoes and head upstairs, J.”
Jesse’s eyes meet mine, his brow furrowed in question. In worry.
Flashing him a reassuring smile, I nod toward the stairs. “Jump in the shower so we can start our movie.”
Finally, he nods and jogs up the stairs. Dropping my purse onto the couch, I make my way through the living room, to my father’s office.
When I step into the doorway, he sets the document in his hand down, pissed or troubled, I’m not sure which, then he rubs his brow. “Did you have fun today?” he asks, but there’s no real curiosity in his question, no inflection or interest at all. He’s upset with me, and I’m damned no matter what I say.
“It was successful.” I decide it’s the safest answer. “Jesse had a blast and learned a lot. Nick was really great with him.” I almost smile at how good the day felt, but any lingering joy diminishes as my dad continues to glare at me.
He leans back in his chair, his eyes not leaving mine. The fact that he’s giving me his full attention is a telltale sign that I should be worried. “How’s your project going?”
“It’s going fine. Why?
His expression is unchanging, and he clasps his hands together in his lap. “I ran into Edward Murray this morning.”
Confused, I shake my head. “Edward Murray . . . You mean, Professor Murray?” I’m not sure how my dad knows my professor, but I’m not that surprised. My dad knows everyone in this community. Benton—Saratoga Falls, it’s like they’re one in the same. I hate it.
“He mentioned you and your final project partner were having some problems.”
“We were, in the beginning, but we’re not anymore.”
“So it seems,” he mutters. “Your mother told me you were working on your project today.”
“We were supposed to, but plans changed. I was with Nick, but we—” The absurdity of the conversation stops me short, and my blood begins to boil. “I’m twenty-three, Dad. I don’t need you micromanaging my school work or my life.”
“No? Well, if history is any indication of the direction this partnership of yours is going, you’re only distracting yourself again from what’s important.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I cross my arms over my chest, barely able to contain the annoyance bubbling beneath the surface. He sits there high and mighty, like he knows anything about me, my life, my distractions . . .
“This is Mike, all over again,” he grumbles. “I’m not doing this with you again.”
The color drains from my face, and my heart skips a few beats. “Nick is nothing like Mike,” I tell him. “You don’t even know him.”
“No, and I don’t need to. You barely graduated high school with Mike whispering in your ear. Now, so close to graduation, you and your boyfriend—”
“His name is Nick, and he’s not my boy—”
“—are spending a lot of time together.”
“Yes, that’s what partners do,” I bite out. “They spend time together, they work. Nick and I happen to be friends, too. And he likes to be around Jesse.”
“And sleepovers, how do they fit into the project—excuse me, the friendship?”
“You have all of this so wrong,” I growl with disdain. I’m tired of him always assuming the worst. Bored with having this same conversation over and over, I turn to leave. “I’m done talking about this.”
“Don’t do something you’ll regret, Bethany.”
“You don’t know anything about me or Nick,” I snap and look back at him, eyes narrowed and a thousand curses desperate to pass my lips. “If you want me to graduate, stay out of my business.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything else as he watches me walk away, silently fuming. When I notice my mom standing by the couch, her arms crossed, eyeing me like I’ve done something wrong, I can’t resist. “Don’t even start with me,” I say and head upstairs.
I’m relieved to hear the shower water running and Jesse inside as I slam my bedroom door shut.
I only remove my dirty pants before I collapse on my bed with tears in my eyes. Why does this all have to be so hard? Once again, the constant conundrum of an apartment or grad school overwhelms me and I know I have to make a decision—I have to come up with a plan.
My phone buzzes in my pants pocket on the floor, and I scramble for it. When I see Nick’s name on the screen, my chest aches a little under the weight of it all—of seeing his name and the relief I feel and what it all means. I force myself to answer. “Hello?”
“Hey, how are you feeling? Sore yet?” He laughs on the other end of the line, and I wish I could, too.
“Ah, yeah, a little. Now’s not really a good time, Nick.” The backs of my eyes begin to sting. I hate that I let my dad get to me, but he’s like poison, bleeding in.
He’s quiet for a heartbeat. “Are you okay?”
His sincerity and concern makes it difficult to breathe, but I force my vocal chords to work. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
There’s movement on the other end of the phone. “Jesse forgot his jacket, I just thought you should know.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.” I can barely manage the words as I let out a suffocating breath. “I’ll get it later.”
“Hey, I know you said you were going to work on our summary tomorrow, but—do you want to do something fun?”
“Something fun?” I ask, wiping the moisture from beneath my eyes. All I can think about is the look of censure on my dad’s face at the idea.
“Yeah, the gang wants to go to the beach tomorrow. What do you say? Feel like acting your age for a day?”
I nod, eyes blurred with tears. “Yeah, actually, that would be really great.”
Thirty-Six
Bethany’s Journal
April 21st
I’m not sure why I keep trying to please people who will never be happy. I’m tired of having to explain myself. I’m tired of their assumptions. Sometimes I feel like my parents done don’t care much about me one way or the other. But, if that’s true, why do they micromanage my life so much? How can they not see that they’re pushing me away, or is it that they don’t care? I don’t even think their anger with me is about grades anymore. Not really, anyway. It’s about how far I’ve somehow fallen in their eyes, and how I’ll never live up to what they want.
Leaving seems like the only thing to do, and I know I would be happier, even if I’d hate being away from Jesse. But, I have to get out of her here, and that’s what I plan to do, after I take the GRE. If I can wait that long. –B
Thirty-Seven
Nick
The moment I walk into my parents’ house, the tension in my body triples, despite the smell of homemade cookies that fills the air. Normally, it’s a comforting scent that makes my stomach rumble and my smile stretch from ear to ear. After my phone call with Bethany, though, and hearing the reediness of her voice, something tore open inside me. I’ve heard her scared and angry and frustrated, but never desperate to hold herself together like that. I know it had something to do with her parents, especially after seeing that text from her dad, which makes me think of my own and how scre
wed up this situation is. It’s hard to imagine how this family dinner will go.
“Nick, sweetheart, is that you?” My mom’s voice rings from upstairs. “I’ll be down in a minute. I’m just freshening up.”
“No prob.” I head into the kitchen to snoop. There are chocolate chip cookies on the counter, some on a small, decorative plate, and two Tupperware containers beside it—one for my dad and one for me, I assume. I wonder if it’s easier for her now, not having to hide the truth.
Opening the fridge, I reach for the carton of orange juice. It’s light and almost empty, so I spin the cap off and chug what’s left.
“I see not everything’s changed,” my dad says from behind me, and I nearly choke in surprise.
Wiping off my mouth with the back of my hand, I glance over my shoulder. He’s in his workout clothes, like he’s just coming home from the gym. But then, this isn’t home anymore, not for him. He sets the newspaper on the counter and walks over to the cabinet and pulls out a glass.
“Nope, not everything.” I toss the empty carton into the recycling.
My dad eyes my ranch clothes. “How’s Sam?”
“Good.” I don’t feel like elaborating, not while there’s no trace of remorse on his face.
He pours himself a glass of water. “I’m glad. She’s a good kid.”
“We’re not kids anymore,” I remind him. “We’ve been adults for a long time now.”
My dad shakes his head, as if he’s amused. “You’ll always be our kids, Nick. We’ll always want to protect you.”
I step over to the sliding glass door, biting back my resentful comments. I’m not sure if I should start in on him now or wait until my mom’s present so we can hash it out together and be done with it.
“I wasn’t sure you’d join us tonight,” he admits. The laughter in his voice I remember so well as a child has been gone for a very long time, I realize.
“Yeah well, here I am.”
When my mom strides into the kitchen, she smiles at me, wraps her arms around my shoulders as best she can on her short little legs, and then she squeezes me tightly. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Told You So_A Saratoga Falls Love Story Page 20
