Love in Smoke

by Holly Hall

  “About what?” he asks, poised with his hand on the screen door, ever curious.

  I force my tone into something bright and encouraging. “Maybe finding you a baseball coach.”

  “Alriiiight.” He sounds reluctant, but he disappears. A few seconds later, Marissa is pushing through the door with a welcoming smile on her face.

  “You could’ve come in, you know!” she exclaims, flipping her braid over her shoulder with one hand and brandishing a dish towel in the other.

  “I wasn’t sure if you were busy or not, and besides, I needed to talk to you about something.”

  “Of course.” Marissa glances inside before closing the front door behind her. “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to apologize if Dane doesn’t come around as often in the future and Victor asks where he is. He was just helping me out with some house-related stuff, and I ended up telling him it would be best not to get too involved. Even if he’s only my handyman.”

  Marissa crosses over to me and plants a hip against one of her front columns, regarding the door she just walked through with a fond smile. “Victor really looks up to Dane. He was in the middle of raving about the hitting practice they were planning when he remembered that Dane was going to let him help ‘demolish your front porch’ and rebuild it. I thought it was great of Dane to help you out with all that, and of course to be practicing with Victor, when he could be doing a million other things.” She pauses, giving me a pursed smile. “I know it’s none of my business, but did something happen between the two of you? Not saying there was anything going on, but like I said, I thought it was generous of him to offer a hand. That place has been an eyesore for a long time,” she says, and we chuckle and nod simultaneously, both in agreement on that subject.

  I shake my head, thoughts clotted and eyes trained on the ground. “Nothing happened, I’ve just been hearing a lot of talk from the town about Dane and the things he may or may not have been involved with in the past. You and I haven’t had the chance to get to know each other very well, but I came here for a new start. For the quiet. I didn’t want to sabotage that before I even started, but I didn’t mean to crush Victor’s hopes, either.”

  Marissa nods understandingly. “I guess I can understand what drew you here, then. But don’t you worry, Dane made a promise to my husband to look after us, and he’ll be back sooner or later. But do you mind if I give you a little advice?”

  “Not at all.”

  Marissa’s eyes are soft but shrewd, when she says, “Heronwood is a wonderful place. The school is great; the town is perfect for raising a family. The sense of community is irreplaceable, but that’s also its downfall. Everyone is happy to make their judgments, but they don’t reform those beliefs so easily. Jamie went to school with Dane for a couple years before he graduated. With them both being on the varsity baseball team together for a year, he got to know him pretty well. Dane didn’t have the easiest upbringing. His mother died during his senior year, and before that, his father was always hard on both of his boys; to be the best at everything, to be tough. Trey didn’t respond as well as Dane did—he quit sports, started hanging out with some other boys that were into some bad stuff. But for Dane, baseball was the only thing he had after what happened to his mother. Then the situation with Grant Michaels happened, and Dane was arrested and kicked off the team in the same night. Jamie was at the game, and he swore that Dane’s actions were warranted. Nobody was willing to listen to him, though. It’s like they were looking for any excuse to get rid of him.” Marissa pauses, rubbing her chest like her own heart is hurting just talking about it.

  “That last part might just be suspicion, but I believe Jamie. Grant has always run his mouth, that’s never changed. Anyway. I’m not saying Dane is a saint, by any means. He’s kept his head down throughout all their family troubles and has been nothing but kind to everyone, as far as I’ve seen. Unfortunately, a decade of good behavior isn’t enough to erase a couple years of bad decisions around here.”

  Though I’m not completely convinced, Marissa’s reasoning waters down the worry that’s polluted my mind since last week. On top of that, Dane’s history doesn’t sound near as sinister as the girls made it out to be. I haven’t been through anything like the death of a parent, but I can empathize with his loss, and now I really feel shame, more so than guilt, settle onto my shoulders. This man has been paying the price for a choice he made ten years ago in the middle of grieving for his mother. I don’t know what Trey or their father is involved in, but nobody can choose their family; they’re bound by blood from the womb to the grave. I used to be so open-minded, giving people second chances they didn’t earn and allowing all the wrong ones into my heart. With Dane, I didn’t even give him a first chance, and I know that on a personal level, I misjudged him.

  “Too much? I’m sorry, I just hate the way gossip runs rampant around here. It’s like a bad game of telephone, only everyone’s repeating the same message, and they’ll never move on to a new one.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I wave off her apology. “I’m glad you told me. It’s hard to know who to trust these days.”

  “Being on my own with Victor most of the time, I can understand that. But things can get pretty lonely if you trust no one. Just watch yourself, that’s all.”

  “I will. Thank you for the advice.”

  “Of course. I talk to myself all day, so it’s a nice change to have someone around who’s not under the age of twelve or over the age of seventy. I work part-time as a nurse’s aide at the hospital,” Marissa explains, flipping the dishtowel against her legs.

  “Well, let me know if you ever need some company. Or just someone to share a bottle of wine with.”

  “I might take you up on that. Take care of yourself, okay?”

  “You too.” I wave goodbye and head back to my house, wondering how it’s possible to feel both clarity and confusion at the same time. Then I wonder how I came to care so much.

  NINE

  I swallow my pride and text Dane Friday morning. When that goes unanswered, I assume he’s just busy with work—or whatever it is he does on a Friday—and send one that includes an actual apology. Maybe the first was too casual. But I work through the day, and when I’m finally off, I have nothing new in my phone other than a text from Lynn telling me she’s going stir-crazy working from home and wants me to meet up with her. I’m only too happy to oblige.

  I settle for a bottle of gas station pinot grigio, thanks to Kirkwood’s being closed early for some undisclosed reason, and when I show up to Lynn’s, she’s sitting in the middle of her barn, surrounded by spare pieces of furniture and cans of paint, dusted with wood shavings.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be finishing a set for the Jordans?” I interrupt her as she’s scrolling rabidly through her phone.

  “Oh, praise Jesus. I’ve locked myself in here all day to get this finished, and I’ve had no less than ten conversations with myself in which I’ve debated the merits of drunk furniture-refurbishing.” She tosses her phone back over her shoulder and rests her elbows on her knees, making a face that says she’s at her wits’ end.

  “Okay, well, get some glasses and let’s handle it.”

  Lynn throws her hands in the air in response. “Where have you been all my life?”

  “Failing at marriage. Now, do you have cups in here, or do I need to get them from the house?”

  Lynn describes where in the kitchen her wine glasses are, and I fetch them while she puts the final touches on an antique dresser. When I return and give her a topped-off glass, she thanks me by chugging half of it in two huge gulps.

  “I see you’ve also been staying hydrated today.”

  “My physical health is a little low on my list of priorities at the moment,” she quips.

  “As well as your mental health, I see.”

  “Well, it took me forever to find the right crib for the Jordans’ nursery, so I’m running a little low on time. I should’ve delivered this stuff a
week ago.”

  “Oh, what did you end up finding?” I ask, scanning the room. Although baby-related items are still a sore subject for me, I can’t deny my curiosity when it comes to other couples’ nursery themes. One of my favorite parts of expecting a baby, besides the whole growing a human being that was half-me, was dreaming of the room he or she would grow up in.

  “That right there,” Lynn says, pointing with her pinky.

  I follow the direction of her finger, and my eyes land on some contraption of iron that looks like it might’ve been involved in either medieval torture sessions or criminal interrogations, I’m not sure which.

  “That?” I ask, and she nods. I take a long pull of wine and swish it around in my mouth a bit. “That’s a baby cage.”

  “Shut up. It’s classic. And it will look better when it’s painted.”

  “Fine. I’ll ‘trust the process,’ or whatever it is you artsy-fartsy people say. Where can I start?”

  Shoving the tiniest power tool I think I’ve ever laid eyes on into my hands, she pushes me in the direction of an end table. “Knock yourself out.”

  Lynn turns up her music, and I get to work sanding the old finish off the table. Despite the ear-splitting volume, my thoughts circle restlessly and soon land back on the subject of Dane. I debate bringing it up to Lynn, but being as forthcoming as she is, I’m kind of afraid of what she might say. Or what I might do in response to what she might say. I don’t need to get involved with anyone I would classify as unpredictable, but if I were to believe the things Marissa said, Dane is someone who was dealt a shitty hand of cards and has never been given the opportunity to redeem himself. I think of the situation with Caroline and some of my old friends, pondering how I would feel if they forever defined me by my mistakes—namely, the dissolution of my marriage—and refused to see the good in me.

  I used to be someone who only saw the good in people. I was forever the optimist, until Reed. Reed was the one before Jenson, who destroyed my self-esteem and primed me for years of believing myself inadequate. Then Jenson happened, and while he invested years into building me up, I still managed to come out the other end of our relationship feeling jaded. I was good enough for a few things, but not for the effort it took to be sober. Not for improving his life for the future. And that, above all, made me feel the most worthless.

  I can run my cynical inner-commentary all I want, but at the end of the day, I feel bereft. Barren. Like a failure. I failed to persuade my husband to put down the bottle, and I failed to keep our baby safe. I couldn’t even keep my friends on my side. I did all that, and now I’m trying to fend off a person who has been nothing but kind and helpful to me. Maybe I’m destined to pulverize the relationships around me forever.

  It occurs to me as I brush sawdust off my pants that this is something I can fix. Jenson might have to fix himself, but Dane . . . Dane is someone I shoved away before even finding out what kind of person he was. Maybe the fact that I can salvage this is why I’m so preoccupied with him in the first place. To prove to myself that I can nurture something, maybe. Give something a chance to flourish.

  “Jesus, what are you thinking about over there? Every funeral you’ve ever been to?” Lynn calls, and I realize I’ve been running the sander over the same dull spot for who knows how long. I switch off the power and sit back on my heels.

  “I was actually thinking of last Thursday.”

  A crease forms between Lynn’s brows as she thinks back to it. “Which part?”

  “Mostly the Cross-family bashing that took place. It made me rethink my relationship with Dane. I told him last weekend I didn’t need his help with the house anymore, and I’ve been feeling guilty ever since. I don’t know why I’m still stuck on it.”

  “Maybe because you’re not a soulless mom-bot who’s content to tear other people apart all the time to make yourself feel better,” she says with just a tinge of humor.

  “True. Most of the time, anyway. I just don’t know what to believe. My neighbor seems to think along the same lines as you do—that Dane isn’t the person everyone makes him out to be.”

  “He’s not some predator, Rae, he’s just a guy who can’t outrun the rumors. Think of how shitty it would be if everyone judged you solely based on your mistakes.”

  “I have, and I know how that feels. That’s why I feel so shitty now.”

  Lynn rests her brush across a can of paint before pegging me with an analytical stare. “Let me ask you this. Why the fascination? Is it really weighing on your conscience that much, or is there something else inspiring this?”

  “Definitely guilt,” I say, but that’s a lie. I know it, and I’m sure Lynn knows it, but I don’t feel comfortable acknowledging that right now. There’s something that flits around in my stomach when I think of Dane, but I’ve thus far chosen to ignore it. My path to self-discovery won’t be put on hold for a man, I won’t let it, and my emotions feel like they’ve been run over a cheese grater for the past year. I don’t want to subject them to more abuse my allowing them to hover around someone whose edges might be rougher than mine.

  “I texted him a couple of times today to apologize, but he didn’t respond.”

  “Can you blame him? He’s been crucified for years in this town. Most of the people he knows talk shit about him, and the ones who actually try to get to know him only do so out of curiosity. Did you know that someone once asked, straight to his face, in the middle of the café, if he killed that man Dalton Briggs a few years ago? They accused him of hiding behind Trey.”

  I’m at a loss for words, so I just shake my head.

  “It’s not often that someone new shows up here, much less someone halfway interesting, so I’m sure it was refreshing for him to meet you. You were like a blank slate; unmarred by everyone else’s opinions. Until you weren’t.”

  My sigh drags from my lips. Now I really feel ashamed. It’s impossible to be the bold, fearless girl I was before Jenson, or before Reed, but I can at least try to be fair. Allow Dane to write his own narrative instead of believing the one I’ve written in my head based solely on rumors. “I came here with the goal in mind to stay out of everything, but I got mixed up in it anyway.”

  Lynn waves me off. “Ehh, that was nothing. It’s natural to believe the worst about people, especially when the stories come from that crew. It’s like, you know their sources of information are sketchy, but they’re so damn dramatic that they’re convincing. I learned that in high school. But you’re not past the point of no return, yet. Dane doesn’t know how to hold a grudge. He’ll come around. Just be genuine.”

  “I can’t if he refuses to answer me.” I down the rest of my wine like I’m seeking answers at the bottom of the glass.

  “Well, you can’t avoid anyone in this town for long, as you’ve already learned.”

  “I have a feeling he could if he tried.”

  Lynn stretches her arms above her head, before picking up her brush and resuming her task. “You could just show up at his place, you know. He’s done it to you. And if you end up on his doorstep, he’s basically obligated to hear you out.”

  The knot of stress resting just at the base of my neck seems to intensify in that moment, and I roll my shoulders to relieve it. “I have no clue where the guy lives, and besides, it’s not like I’m going to just show up at his house unannounced.”

  “What are you talking about? You’ve been out to the shop.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t stop by his house while I was at it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You think they just have that place out in the middle of nowhere for nothing? Their house is out behind the shop. You just keep following the driveway.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose in disbelief. “Are you telling me they live in their junkyard?”

  Lynn presses her lips into a thin line and shakes her head, suppressing laughter. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  I move mechanically as I’m getting ready, like I’m having an out-of-body exper
ience and watching as someone else manipulates my limbs. I put on a dress and take it right off. I’m not desperate. I try a top and jeans, but the top is way too booby for my purposes. It says “come and get it,” and that’s not the message I want to convey. I pull on a v-neck tee and cringe. I look like an off-duty elementary-school teacher. I’ve never regretted the decision to chop off my hair more.

  On my way out of Nashville, I gave my stylist free reign to do whatever he wanted. He transformed my long, lightened locks into a dark auburn lob, and it looked so strikingly different that I loved it instantly. A fresh ’do for a fresh start. Not now. Now, I feel like a teacher preparing for a parent conference, only what I’m really doing is showing up to a house that may very well turn out to be a single-wide drug haven out in the woods. I know I vowed to be less judgmental, but the place is sharing property with an auto shop.

  I curl strands of my hair and brush it out into messy waves, before pulling on a flannel and the jeans I kicked off earlier, stuffing my feet into ankle boots, and grabbing my car keys. I need to do this before I find eighty more excuses not to.

  The night is moonless, and the darkness of the surrounding countryside gives my mission a sinister undertone. This is starting to look like the beginning of a horror film, starring me. I don’t realize I’m going twenty miles-per-hour down the road leading to Cross Automotive until someone behind me flashes their brights and honks. I guess small-town courtesy only extends so far. Luckily, his driveway appears ahead. I’m really doing this.

  It's so dark I can only see what’s immediately in front of me. Ghostly, hulking black shapes are the only suggestion that a maze of scrap metal sits just off to my right. It would be easy to get lost out here, even just off the main road, so I focus on staying within the boundaries of the gravel driveway as I round the bend and pass the spectral shell of the now-empty auto shop. As Lynn said it would, the driveway continues through the patches of pines, like a ribbon of white unfurling before my headlights. When I catch up to the vehicle in front of me, I slow down to follow them through an automatic gate—much more technologically advanced, and far less rusted, than the one right off the farm road. Interesting. I didn’t expect anyone else to be out here, but, then again, I didn’t really know what to expect at all.