My Fate for Yours

by Steph Campbell

  Now it’s me who lets out a sigh because I will forever be ‘little sister, Rachel.’

  ***

  “Hey, Mama.” I lean against the door of our tiny home, using every ounce of strength to stand. When I was finishing at the newspaper, Kelly’s dad called to see if I wanted to pick up some cash and help out at his shooting range, so that sucked up my free time after class. I’m barely vertical I’m so tired.

  “Hey, baby girl.” Mom slides her wheelchair from our low-countered kitchen—courtesy of the LeJeune boys’ handiwork, and into the small living room. Just a TV, a couch, and she’s pretty much stuck in her chair.

  “How are you today?” I ask.

  “I’m good.” Mom sighs. “I hate asking you to do this, but we need to do a once-over on Arnaud’s house again.”

  I grit my teeth. “Why doesn’t he do anything with his own mother’s house, Mom? I don’t get it.” And it pisses me off because honestly, if he’s never going to use it, and we have to take care of it, I don’t see why we can’t live in that nice place instead of our miniature dump. And we’d be house payment free, which means the settlement money would last a whole lot longer. I’m glad I don’t know him, because I’d probably have a lot of colorful things to say.

  Mama smiles a sad sort of smile, and I bite my tongue, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. It’s her friend’s son we watch the house for. Mama’s friend, Beth, died in the car accident that put Ma in a wheelchair. I have vague memories of meeting him as a kid, but Mom and his mama, Beth, were friends since high school.

  “His father, I’d imagine. He’s a good man, just…distracted.” Mom wheels back a few feet and adjusts her chair in front of the TV. “As he always was. And even more when he dragged her from her hometown.”

  I want to say something else or ask why the house can’t just be sold, or why this guy can’t bother to come down to at least see the house his mom left him. It’s just…weird. I can’t imagine having an extra house.

  “I’m gonna crash for an hour before—”

  “Eamon took your shift at Carl’s.” She tucks a chunk of short, brown hair behind her ear as she starts flipping channels. In the winter she’s outside every day reading every book under the sun, and in the summer, when the heat and humidity are too much for her, she catches up on movies. That’s how it’s been in the seven years since her accident.

  “I’m sorry…what?” None of this makes sense. “Eamon doesn’t work at Carl’s.”

  “Well, he does tonight. Said he was worried about your sleep.” Mama gives me a half smile that’s an equal mix of slyness in her thinking Eamon’s gesture means something it doesn’t, and also a bit of sadness because we both know how I feel about him, and how he doesn’t feel about me. Still, in Mom’s eyes, he’ll come around eventually, but that’s only because I’m her girl and she can’t imagine otherwise. She’s told me that since I was a kid. That I was destined to be with Eamon LeJeune. I don’t know much about destiny, but I do know the logical side of me doesn’t see Eamon and me together in my future. But the fairytale side still does.

  I blink a few times. “I know I should argue and go to work, but I’m too damn tired.”

  Mom frowns. “I’m sorry, honey. You know I—”

  “Hey. Not your fault. We’ll be okay.” But mostly because I can’t think about what’ll happen if we aren’t.

  5

  Eamon

  I lean over the hitch I’m welding to Nelson’s new truck. Crazy ass wants everything twice as big and strong as it actually needs to be. I flip down my visor and flick my torch on again.

  It took every ounce of self-restraint last night to get through Rachel’s shift. I have no idea how the hell she deals with so many drunk assholes a night. I wanted to call her to see if she got any rest, but her phone ringing would’ve ruined my purpose. Carl gave me more than one headshake through the course of the night, but at least I finished the shift feeling like I was able to do something for her.

  Now it’s been a day, and I’m halfway through my day at Stine’s welding, and I keep looking up, wanting Rachel to stop in, but also knowing that if she did, I’d probably shy away. I want to call her, and I’m trying to figure out if this is a friend thing, or if this falls into the slippery territory of my stupid ass move of kissing her. I know I’m glad she laughed it off and blamed the booze, but a part of me really wanted to finish what we started.

  “Eamon!” Jerry calls. “Got a sec?”

  “Give me a minute!” I holler back over the sound of clanking steel from the other workers and my torch.

  I finish up Nelson’s hitch and set down my gear, wondering what Jerry wants from me. Hopefully he won’t ask about my crazy ass brother because I don’t know what to tell him or mom at this point. Worry tinges at the edge of my thoughts, but I have to think that maybe Tobin just needed some time.

  “What can I do for you?” I try to rub some of the black off my hands as I sit across the worn desk from him. Even his office smells like steel and fire. I’m waiting for him to ask me to supervise again, even though I sort of already do because I’ve been here longer. I just don’t want the title. It would be weird.

  Jerry leans back in his chair, his thin hair slicked to his head in the heat. “I’m gonna get straight to the point.”

  And then he pauses.

  I just wait; knowing whatever he wants to talk about is bigger than I was thinking.

  “I’m getting old, Eamon. You been here since you were sixteen. Close to eight years.”

  Eight years? Is that even possible? The thought makes it hard to breathe. For a while there, I was working two jobs, like Rachel. Working at the refinery in the mornings and coming to work as an apprentice at Jerry’s place. Eight years. Wow.

  “You gotta have a stash, E. I’m not saying you need to use it on this, but I wanted to know if you’d like to buy in as a partner here. You’d make more money, but you’d also have to help me manage the books and employees and all that.”

  No. The word is solid in my mind, but I can’t say it. It goes with everything Rachel called me on the other night. I planned on sticking with this job. Jerry’s an easy guy to work for. He’s got no problems with me working a couple all-nighters for some long weekends, and I get a few paid weeks a year. The money’s good. The hours are whatever I want them to be, but he’s turning my convenient job into a real one. Something I know I should want. Something I should be excited about. I should be thrilled he asked me.

  Jerry’s shop is known all over the south for custom trailers and hitches and roof racks, gates, fences, sculptures even. And he wants me to own half of this.

  “I didn’t ask you to marry me, you stupid ass.” Jerry rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to run this place until I die, and right now I don’t want to run it alone. Don’t answer now, and I’m not in a hurry for an answer, but if you think you might be interested we can sit and talk numbers, okay?”

  “Yeah.” I close my eyes briefly and see nothing but Rachel so I snap them open because that’s another part of my life that’s starting to feel tilted. “I’ll think on it.”

  “And no, I haven’t heard from your brother, but I’d like a call if you do. He’s got the time, but I’m…” Jerry pushes his lips together.

  “I know.” I stand and pull in a deep breath. “Me too.”

  “Nice job on Nelson’s truck. Don’t know what he thinks he needs that enormous hitch for, but…”

  “But he paid for it.” I give Jerry a half smile before stepping back into the doorway.

  He chuckles and waves me out of his office.

  I’m itching all over from how much Rachel’s taking over my thoughts, from how Tobin’s still gone and how Jerry wants me to own half of the business he built from nothing. I need to get out of here. I need my bike.

  ***

  “Eamon!” Traive’s face and motocross gear is covered in mud. His helmet’s slung over one arm, and Leslie’s in the other. Classic Traive. His dark hair is wet with sweat, an
d he’s got the same stubble as always because he trims it that way. He’d never admit it, of course. But I know he does it for the “rock band image” he thinks he’ll need when his band makes it big.

  “Came out to kick your ass.” I pull my bike from the back of Dad’s old truck and think again that I should be looking for a Jeep. Open top this time of year would be about perfect.

  “You’re on.” He plants a kiss on Leslie’s lips, and she doesn’t even flinch as his mud soaked arm pulls her thin waist into him.

  They’ve been attached at the hip since we were twelve or thirteen. We used to give him shit, but he was the first of our friends to round all the bases, which shut us up quick.

  “Don’t break anything, baby.” She laughs as she backs up and heads for the stands. The only spot in this huge dirt pit with some shade.

  I tighten my pads and slide my helmet on, wishing the parish didn’t have padding and helmet rules because it’s fucking hot today. Maybe we’ll hit the trails after this, so I can shed some of this crap.

  “Seen Tobin?” Traive asks, but instead of answering, I kick down and rev my bike to life. I plan on riding as hard as I can today.

  6

  Rachel

  Nothing clears my head better than a long run, and after today—a wasted day stuck in the doctor’s office while they run tests on mama for hours on end, I could use an extra-long one. I love the way the gravel crunches under my feet, every sound feels like a confirmation of progress, and in my stagnant life, I’ll take any feeling of forward movement I can get. The tracks between Rainy and Crawford are well traveled by all of us.

  I slow down my pace when I see Eamon’s dad’s pickup truck come into view. He still hasn’t replaced the one at the bottom of the lake. Probably best that way. He’s got enough respect for his daddy’s things that he will at least take care of himself while driving it—if only to protect the truck.

  He’s sitting on the tailgate, his legs hanging down, and the patterns of the sun through the trees cast across his features. My breath catches at how familiar he feels, but also with how much he’s changed as we’ve gotten older.

  I wipe my face, but sweat still drips down. I’d be dripping even if I hadn’t run because this spring has been even hotter than normal. As I walk closer, trying to slow my breathing, I see Eamon’s holding something in his hand. He flicks his thumb and a coin catches the light before hitting the ground.

  As make another swipe of my forehead, Eamon’s eyes catch mine. He gives me a brief nod and picks a piece of change from his hand.

  “I’ve been meaning to call,” I say biting my lip, wondering what we are. If anything between us is different. If I should have even thought about calling.

  “Yeah?” He glances at me briefly before tossing another coin.

  “To thank you for Carl’s. I was with Mom all day, and I probably would have slept through everything if you hadn’t helped me out.” Every test they did to see if she’s feeling any more in her legs and feet than she has for the past few years. She isn’t.

  “It’s fine.” His tone is a bit gruff, so I’m thinking he doesn’t want me to make a big deal even though for me, it was huge.

  “What are you doing with the coins?” I ask, as I watch him flick another dime onto the track.

  “My grandfather always said if a train ran over your coin, it was good luck.” There’s a twinge of exhaustion to his voice that pricks at me.

  “And what do you need any luck for, Eamon LeJeune? I thought everything you wanted fell into your lap.” My words slip out too quickly and I watch his smirk fade to a grimace. He rights himself quickly and tosses another coin.

  “Maybe it’s not luck I’m looking for.” He sighs, staring at the money scattered on the ground. “Maybe it’s more trying to figure out what my destiny is.”

  “That’s deep, LeJeune,” I say, pausing just shy of the edge of his truck. “How many beers have you had?”

  “Funny,” Eamon says.

  “What’s the difference, really? Don’t we all just end up with what we’re going to get and call it luck if it happens to be good?” I ask. I watch the way his vein pulses in his throat. This is not the boy I grew up with. He’s a man. With needs and secrets I know nothing about. “I mean, fate, destiny, chance, luck, they’re all the same, right?”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head. “Fate, that’s like how everything happens for a reason, you know? Destiny, that’s the path that you’re supposed to take. No matter what you or I do, we’re on a single road somewhere,” Eamon says. His eyes flicker over me. “Chance, is a random occurrence—like you being out here tonight at the same time as me. And luck, well, I’m just hoping to God I’m lucky enough that you’re going to let me kiss you again.”

  He hoists himself off of the tailgate of his truck and time moves in slow motion as he closes the space between us. The tendons in his neck flex as he works his jaw back and forth.

  My chest tightens and the familiar feeling of wanting Eamon LeJeune courses through me.

  What is he doing? Is he drunk? Screwing with me? I made a fool out of myself months ago when he made it clear there was never going to be anything between him and me. Now this?

  He takes another step closer. So close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face. I’m still frozen. His hand wraps around the back of my neck, catching the baby fine hairs, in the most delicious tug imaginable.

  “So this is what it feels like,” I say, not meaning to let the words slip out.

  “What is?” he asks. His eyes are fixed on my mouth.

  I give a small, embarrassed shrug. “For things to be okay. To be…happy.”

  “No,” Eamon says. He shakes his head. “This is.”

  His mouth finds mine and waves of the need and want that I’ve been stifling for year’s race through me, leaving me weak. The way our lips move together, in search of something that neither one of us is sure we can give.

  I don’t want to stop, but I have to. I step back slowly, trying to pretend with everything in me that Eamon didn’t just kiss me. Again. I shake my hands because they’re tingling and nothing in me feels right just now and even if it’s pointless, it seems like the movement will help.

  “Why’d you stop?” Eamon groans.

  Because I don’t know what will happen to me if I don’t.

  “I think I know where he might be,” I say. The words nervously tangle themselves in my throat. “Tobin, I mean. I have an idea of where we can look.”

  Eamon straightens up a bit and gives the slightest nod like I should tell him or lead the way.

  “You should grab a flashlight,” I say. Eamon rounds his truck, reaches behind the seat and pulls out a small flashlight.

  “Let’s go.”

  We walk up the tracks in silence and then I step off onto the small, overgrown path I think is the one that Tobin and Delia used to take. Eamon doesn’t speak, and I don’t know what to say to break the silence either. I wouldn’t know where to start, and I can’t imagine having some kind of discussion with Eamon where we talk about feelings or relationships or what kissing each other might mean.

  “Delia told me about this place when she and Tobin were still…together,” I say as we get closer to the lake. “It’s just up here.”

  “Where are we?” He chuckles as he swipes at the branches encroaching on the walkway. “The damn ends of the earth?”

  I pause as the cabin comes into view. A small little thing on the edge of the lake with a dilapidated tin roof. The tiny home looks almost eaten alive by trees on one side, but there’s a small open area on the side closest to us.

  “Right over there,” I say, pointing.

  “Jesus, Delia used to come out here?” Eamon asks.

  I nod. “Seems they would have done anything to be together, huh?”

  A surge of wanting something that passionate and desperate races through me. When I stop, Eamon runs into my back, but then steps around me his eyes floating over the decrepit structure. “
Guess so. This place is a dump.”

  It’s true. The cabin looks like it’s falling apart, but I sort of think it’s romantic that Delia and Tobin snuck away to this shack to be together, even though her daddy forbid it. Nothing could have torn those two apart…until something did. But I don’t say any of that, not just because Delia is a sore subject to the LeJeune family, but because Eamon may love women, but in all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never known romance to be in his bag of tricks. Eamon gets his way with well places smiles and reputation.

  “Let’s check it out,” he says. We make our way up to the cabin and Eamon pauses at the door. He puts a hand on my stomach to push me behind him and flips on the flashlight. I love that he’s protective even when he doesn’t need to be. The cabin is deserted, but there are some empty beer bottles and signs that Tobin, or someone, may have been here recently.

  Eamon picks up a magazine and a sweatshirt and tosses them onto the small pallet on the floor. I watch him in the tiny bit of light we have. The casual way he looks around. The natural protectiveness he has with me. His shoulders flex as he raises his hands to clasp them behind his head like I know he does when he’s thinking hard.

  I should be wondering what he’s thinking. Planning how to find Tobin. How to make him feel better. But he kissed me. By choice. Two times. Each heart beat pounds a little harder than the last as I step closer. Almost close enough for us to touch. Something about being here, being with him, talking about Tobin and Delia and love and togetherness... It’s all made me reckless.

  When he turns back toward me, my lips are on his, catching him by surprise. He finishes the kiss before leaning back.

  “What was that for?” he asks with one of the few expressions of his that I can’t read.

  “Just finishing what you started,” I say. And wondering how far you’ll let this go.

  “You’re fearless, you know that, Rachel?” Eamon says. It’s probably the greatest compliment Eamon LeJeune can give. His hand presses into the small of my back, low enough that his fingertips nearly tuck into the waist of my shorts, and brings me in until our stomachs touch.