My Name Is Rowan: The Complete Rowan Slone Trilogy

by Tracy Hewitt Meyer

  Up ahead a guy was trying to corner a little dog, its leash dragging behind it like a bright green snake. I imagined the dog was smiling as she eluded her owner, and I laughed. There were few students out this early, and I relished the quiet. High above me a brown hawk flew, its wings wide and majestic. Just as I came upon the building where my English Lit class was, my phone started to ring. It was Jess.

  “Hey.” I sat on a metal bench.

  “Are you going to be home tonight?”

  “I have to work, but I’ll be home around nine. Why?”

  “I was wondering if you could babysit.”

  “Are you going out again?” The bookstore wasn’t open that late, so I knew she didn’t have to work. And from the edge to my words she would know where my thoughts, and judgment, were going.

  “Is this twenty questions?” She tried to laugh, but I could hear how forced it was.

  “I still haven’t finished that paper,” I said. But I thought about Tanya’s words from this morning. Just keep being the good friend you’re being… “I can, but only…”

  Before I could finish, though, she shouted, “Great! I’ll head out as soon as you get home.”

  “Wait—” I started, but then the other line went dead.

  I did need to work on that paper. Even though I’d graduated high school with honors and had gotten a full scholarship to college based on my grades and financial need, classes were a lot harder than I ever imagined. The classes, especially biology, moved faster than I could keep up with. And English Lit, well, I had no idea what some of these short stories were about. If they had us reading Greek, I wouldn’t be more lost.

  I chewed the sharp edge of my nail as I thought about Jess. If I could help her I would, and honestly, I had been helping her since she found out she was pregnant. But our relationship was give and take. She was the first person to have my back no matter what, who didn’t judge or cringe or slowly slink away because my baggage was too heavy. And I liked to think I held the same importance to her. I hoped so. But I wasn’t sure that being there to watch Jacob while she went out partying was actually helping her.

  I gasped as I bit too far down on my nail, pulling the delicate skin that held the nail to my finger. I sucked on the tip until the sharp pain began to subside. But the worry didn’t. Mike. Mom. Now Jess. I could feel the first stirrings of a tornado beginning deep inside my body, whirling and igniting uneasy, unsettled, frightened feelings that I had hoped to never feel again.

  Settle down, Rowan. You can handle whatever is coming. This is nothing compared to what you’ve been through already.

  I slid the phone into my pocket and went inside the Language Arts building. I still had thirty minutes until class but the room was open so I went in, English Lit book tucked under my arm.

  SHANE WAS waiting for me when I walked out of the building, his guitar slung over his back like a permanent fixture. He usually didn’t carry it in a case because he said it interrupted his spontaneity. There had been moments when we’d be crossing the lush green campus and he would whip it from his back at the ready, playing music more beautiful than any instrument should make. I thought it was crazy, though, not to protect such an expensive instrument, but I never said that. His quirkiness was one thing I liked about him. Plus, I got to witness his brilliant ability firsthand.

  “Hey!” I slid my arm around his waist but didn’t reach up to kiss him. “I didn’t think you’d make it here this early.”

  “Yeah. I’m beat.” He leaned down until his breath touched my ear. “Someone kept me out half the night.” I giggled, and he bit my earlobe. “I didn’t want to miss class, though. You know, just in case this musician thing doesn’t work out, I have something to fall back on.” His laugh flittered through the air.

  I snuggled into his arms and rested my head on his chest.

  “Maybe I’ll come over again tonight?”

  I closed my eyes. “I agreed to watch Jacob again.”

  “Again?” Shane never got irritated, at least that I saw. Although he did seem to be losing patience when it came to how often I watched Jacob. Perhaps it was giving up time together so I could watch Jess’s son.

  “Yeah. What can I say? I’m trying to help out a little more.” My tone was more defensive than I meant.

  “You’re a good friend.”

  With my thumb through his back belt loop and his arm slung over my shoulders, we walked toward the library.

  “Jacob cries all the time and the doctors say there is nothing they can do except put him on another antibiotic, at least for now.” For some reason I felt like I had to explain myself. “I keep trying to get her to take him to a new doctor, but she goes to the free clinic and doesn’t feel she has many options.”

  “Wow. That’s tough.” We walked a few steps. I could feel my cheeks and the tip of my nose grow cold as the breeze whipped up. The falling leaves started swirling in a perfect spiral and the smell of autumn wafted into my nostrils. I inhaled deeply, relishing my favorite time of year despite the unease coursing through my life.

  It was tough, I thought as an image of Jess’s face popped up. It had lost some color over the last months. There was no healthy flush of pink. Instead, her cheekbones were hollowed out and her eyes seemed constantly cast in shadows. She was tall and had always been thin, but she seemed skeletal now, bony. And there were new patches of hair on the chair each morning.

  “I would like some time with you without Jacob. My roommate will be out of town this weekend. Come and stay with me. We’ll have the place all to ourselves.”

  He stopped and turned to face me, his hands low on my waist. He curled his thumbs around my hips and his fingers grazed the band of my jeans. “I could have you all to myself for days at a time.” He kissed my lips. “Nights at a time.”

  There were so many currents shooting through my body, I wasn’t sure how to distinguish any of them. Spending time with Shane, without Jess, without Jacob, almost made my head spin. Not to mention a week ago, I thought I was ready to take our relationship further; it was just a matter of timing. But now, well, nothing had changed, yet something had.

  This weekend Mike was in town. Mike. Mike Anderson. The thought of those warm green eyes made my stomach clench so tightly I thought I’d lose my breakfast.

  I clamped down hard on my lip. This was ridiculous. Mike probably just wanted to say hi. I wouldn’t say no to time with Shane for a quick chat with Mike. Why would I even consider it? True, there was a lot of history with Mike. He had been my first love. My only love. But I had been thinking more and more about letting things progress with Shane. Was that simple text from Mike enough to make me change the entire direction of my relationship with Shane?

  I cared about my boyfriend. We hadn’t been together long enough to say I love you, but I was committed to him. “That sounds incredible.”

  I HAD two more classes and a lab that day. After those were done, I stopped by the library before I left for work, knowing I wouldn’t get to the English Lit paper tonight if I had to watch Jacob again. I had picked a topic and started an outline, but it wasn’t clicking and I didn’t really get the assignment. Understanding literature didn’t come easily to me and each day that passed increased my anxiety tenfold.

  Once upon a time, I used to write poems. Not poetry, which sounded too legitimate. But simple words from my heart. I never had the knack for long-winded journal entries, yet the short, concise impact of poems managed to portray my exact emotions…and somehow ease the burden of my heart. Now, I rarely wrote. Not since Jacob was born.

  With a sigh, I eased into one of the many cubicles that sat just inside the library, nestled there for students like me who didn’t have a lot of time and didn’t want to bother going to one of the higher floors where it was quieter. I pushed my earbuds in and opened the heavy book containing more stories than I could ever hope to read in a single semester.

  I decided to reread the short story since the last time I read it was two weeks ago. It n
eeded to be fresh in my mind if I had any hope of figuring out what to write. With my head in my hands, I started reading. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how it was considered a “short story.” Though only twenty pages, the words were thick, heavy, weighed down with symbolism that I couldn’t decipher.

  By the time an hour was up, a raging headache pounded against my forehead, and I had only read half of it. I massaged my temples and walked outside. Stress was starting to make its own place in my body like it was a vital organ, settling in-between my shoulder blades and creeping up my neck until it squeezed the base of my skull. It was like a mass of rubber bands had replaced my veins, pulled taut, ready to snap without warning.

  I was running late for work so I sped down the winding mountain road that led to the interstate. Janie, my boss, would understand, but I was frustrated with myself, especially since I hadn’t called to say I’d be late. So when my cell rang, I knew it was her, not angry but worried. She had quickly become a member of Team Rowan after I started working at the shelter, and though she didn’t know everything about my past, she knew enough to be concerned when something unpredictable happened, like me being late. But it wasn’t Janie. It was Trina.

  “Hello, Rowan.” The way she said my name—quietly, simply—made her sound like her childhood self. I thought that girl had died a long time ago, and I cringed at the unexpected flashback.

  “What do you want, Trina?” There was no way to keep the edge out of my voice, razors and knives and sharp whirling chainsaws shaped those few words.

  Ignoring my tone, she continued, “I just want to talk.”

  “About what?” I spat.

  She was quiet long enough for me to ease off the gas and focus on what she was going to say.

  “There is a path we must take, Rowan.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?” I pulled onto the interstate behind a group of motorcycles, each driver clad in matching black leather vests with silver, cryptic lettering emblazoned across the back.

  “It is my wish that you would heal.”

  “Trina, cut it out and tell me what you want.” I thought about passing the motorcycles moving slower than a snail’s pace, but I was distracted, confused by her words and wasn’t paying enough attention. So I slowed to a crawl, committed to staying in this lane as I watched car after car race past me.

  “Are you still going to church?” she asked.

  “No. Why?” I couldn’t take it anymore and shoved my foot down on the gas, zooming past the motorcycles. Fortunately, there was no one hiding in my blind spot.

  “Oh, Rowan. You are so lost. Seek the Lord and the path will become clear.” The words seemed innocent enough, even helpful, albeit strange, but you had to know my psychopathic sister to realize her intent had nothing helpful in it. She was stirring up trouble. It was left up to me, as always, to try and figure out what that trouble was and to hope I dodged it in time to save myself.

  Trina was still in high school and lived with Gran in our childhood home. With Dad dead and Mom in jail, there was no other option, at least until she was eighteen. It was good, though, that Gran was there to keep an eye on her. My sister was born for trouble, thrived on it, letting it drive every action she made.

  “Ro? You there?”

  I glanced at the clock. I was already twenty minutes late and there was a sour taste developing in my mouth. “I’m here.” I entered the town’s city limits too fast and had to slam my foot on the break to avoid hitting the car in front of me. A sigh escaped my lips, telling me that my icy heart was thawing as it did in the moments when she reminded me more of my vulnerable little sister than of the person she’d become. It was at these times, though, that I had to be the most careful.

  The light ahead turned green, and I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, urging the elderly man in the car ahead to move faster. “I have to go,” I told her.

  “God bless you.”

  “What?” My armor was too confused to stay in place. Trina had weaseled her way into Mrs. Anderson’s good graces by going to church and the youth group Mrs. A. had always tried to get me to go to. But the last I heard, she had stopped going. Mrs. A. had called me a couple of times not only to catch up, but to ask about Trina. I hadn’t thought anything about it then. Now, I couldn’t help but be weary.

  She hung up the phone without saying another word. Trina changed personalities more than a chameleon changed its colors. Shaken, I parked the car at the shelter. For the millionth time in the last handful of years, I thought about how much I hated my sister. I rested my head against the steering wheel, trying to lure in calm and peace before I went inside. That was all I ever wanted—that and to be loved, accepted. Why did it seem like every six months or so my hard-earned peace was disrupted, threatened, torn apart?

  Please don’t let this happen. Please let me just be.

  WHEN MY phone rang, I glanced down to see a number I didn’t recognize. I was sitting behind the counter at the animal shelter, checking my email. It had been slow at work lately; our number of animals down to almost non-existent. We were a small rural shelter on a good day. On slow days, we were a nearly empty building with only a few stray cats and a skunk that lived along the periphery of the backyard. I often did my homework or puttered away time on the Internet. Janie didn’t care when I took personal calls but since I didn’t know who it was, I let it go to voicemail. As soon as the alert popped up, I hit the listen button.

  Rowan, this is Dr. Annabeth Schweitzer, your mother’s psychiatrist. Your grandmother told me she talked to you about coming in to see me. I would like to speak with you. Could you please call me at 555-212-5656?

  I was about to listen to it a second time when Janie appeared. “Hi, Rowan.” Her heavy work boots pounded against the tile as she walked forward.

  “Hi, Janie.” I flipped the phone shut and tossed it into my bag.

  “I have news.” Janie leaned over the counter, a smile pulling her lips upward until it met her eyes.

  “You do?” I studied her face. She was a middle-aged woman with long graying hair that fell to her waist in loose, frizzy curls. A permanent pair of worn-out overalls covered her body, and her feet were clad in the same old dirty boots she always wore. But something about her was different. She seemed flushed, happy, thrilled even.

  “We’re getting married.”

  “What? You and Angel?” I jumped to my feet as Janie shoved her hand toward me. On her left hand’s ring finger was a gold band with a row of four small emeralds. I pulled her hand to my face. “Are you kidding me? You’re getting married?” I bounced on my toes.

  “Yes! She asked me earlier. We’ve talked about it for ages, but she finally decided to take matters into her own hands.”

  “Oh my God, Janie! That’s amazing!” I studied the ring then darted around the counter to hug her. She was several inches taller than me, as most adults were, so I stood on my toes to wrap my arms around her shoulders.

  “It is!” She hugged me back. “We can’t get married here, of course.” She leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “They don’t let folks like us get married in these here parts.” She winked, and I smiled up at her.

  “Where will you go?”

  “We’ll go to New York.” Her lips pulled into a wide smile. “But, we’re not in any hurry.” She waved her hand in the air, the gold catching the light. “This is pretty awesome now and we’re going to enjoy it.”

  I smiled at the child-like sound of her voice. Even on Christmas morning, I don’t think I ever sounded so excited.

  “That is really cool, Janie. Does Angel have a ring, too?”

  “No. She surprised me with this one. We’ll go to the jewelry store and get one for her. She’s more particular than me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she already had one picked out.”

  I laughed. I didn’t know Angel as well as I knew Janie, but she had become my tutor-extraordinaire last year, helping me maneuver through my senior year when some of the content had b
een too difficult for me to understand on my own. I was still convinced that I wouldn’t have passed advanced chemistry if it weren’t for her. “I’m so happy for you and Angel.”

  At that moment, the glass door swung open and Angel walked in. Whereas Janie was casual with her overalls and long flowing hair and dirty boots, Angel was a model of professional couture. She wore business suits that looked like she had just picked them up from the dry cleaners—crisp, clean, and no-nonsense. Her short dark hair was always neat and perfectly styled and the toes of her shoes were never scuffed. But even as Janie’s exact opposite, she was a perfect fit.

  “Hi, hon.” Janie met her halfway across the room, like she couldn’t stand to wait a second more, and kissed her.

  “Hey, love.” Angel let out a long sigh as she pulled away. “I’m beat.” She glanced over at me. “Hi, Rowan. How are you?” She smiled, but I could see the fatigue in the circles under her eyes.

  “I’m good. How are you?” It didn’t take a question and answer session to see that she was upset about something.

  “What’s wrong?” Janie picked up on her mood, too. Angel shook her head as her eyes glassed over and Janie took her hand. “Tell me.”

  “I just wanted to share the good news. That was all I wanted. But a law office is full of conservative hypocrites.”

  “What did they say?” Janie’s lips hardened.

  “Oh, same old stuff.” She waved a hand in the air, and her eyes rolled upward. “It’s fine.” She took a deep breath and let the air out with a huff. Then a smile spread across her face, and she laid a hand on Janie’s cheek. “But it doesn’t matter. All I need is you. Not their approval.”