Third Time's the Charm

by Liz Talley

  “I’m not worried about you,” he said, more to himself than to her.

  “Good.”

  He pulled into the school faculty parking lot. “Since we’ve cleared the air on not caring about one another, let’s move on to what we do have between us. I’ll pick you up about four to take you to Deeter’s. I may be a little late because I have to run to Jackson today and don’t know if I’ll get held up.”

  “I can get a ride if I need to. Don’t worry about me.”

  Her gorgeous blue eyes met his. The words he’s said before sat between them—I’m not worried about you. But Henry knew he’d lied. He did worry about her, not because he loved her, but because it was who he was. So what? He was sucker for helping people, for trying to fix things, for going the extra mile. No one had ever said Henry Todd Delmar was a hard-ass.

  “I’ll text you.”

  “Bye,” she said, shutting the door, shouldering the bag she carried. Then she walked away from him.

  Henry sighed, wishing he could go back to how it was between them yesterday. At least they could talk to one another about the weather or the new development Wilson Caruthers was building on the edge of town. Something other than this discomfort.

  Still, what they’d said the previous evening to one another was like lifting the edge of a scab to drain away infection beneath. The wound between them had been festering for a long time. Neither of them could pretend it had healed and faded. So maybe it had been a good thing that they’d said what each had been afraid to say. They exposed the ugly to the light. They released the infection, and now maybe, finally, the wound could heal. The words they’d spoken, as hard as they’d been to hear, were their only chance to find some sort of peace.

  Or maybe he was hoping for something that would never happen.

  Last night he’d lain awake thinking about her words… about the hurt in her voice. Maybe deep down in a place he didn’t want to explore too much, he’d known she’d not meant what she said that long-ago afternoon when she’d declared they were over. Or maybe he had believed she was serious. Either way, it didn’t change the fact he’d gone to the party with Jillian, drank half a bottle of bourbon, and given his virginity to a girl who hadn’t mattered to him.

  What he could remember was a knot of anger and hurt pulling tight inside him after he’d hung up the phone. At first he’d been so upset he’d told his roommate James that he wasn’t going to attend Old South at all. James had flat-out refused to let Henry miss the party of the year. He’d liquored him up with Beam and 7 Up, light on the latter, and dragged him out the door. By that time, the anger and hurt had made Henry reckless. He picked up Jillian—who insisted on driving after seeing his condition—and spent the first thirty minutes of the party on the dance floor. After that, everything became a blur of loud music, booze, and Jillian unbuttoning his shirt.

  He woke up naked the next morning in a frat brother’s room. He’d rolled over and found a discarded condom package, the one he’d been carrying since junior high, and everything he’d drank the night before had come rushing back up.

  After he’d brushed his teeth, he’d stared at himself in the mirror and uttered, “Well, shit.”

  Then crushing guilt had descended. His first time was supposed to have been with Sunny. They’d essentially promised that to each other. But hell, she’d broken up with him. Told him they were done and she wasn’t even going to come to school at Ole Miss. She was the one who’d betrayed their promise to one another. Wasn’t like he could do anything about it now. Besides, she’d never have to know.

  Or was that cheating?

  No, not cheating if they weren’t together. Or at least he didn’t think so. Were there guidelines for giving up your virginity to another girl the same day that your girlfriend told you she would never, never, NEVER get back together with you? Had to be, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t in the wrong. And if Sunny gave her virginity up to someone the night before… Well, he’d kill the son of a bitch she’d slept with.

  End of story.

  Henry hadn’t said anything to Sunny when she called that afternoon to apologize and tell him she’d won the school pageant. Miss Morning Glory High and he were back on track, maybe not officially but as legitimately as they could be. He told Jillian he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship and he’d settle for being friends, and he called Sunny every day and snuck home to see her whenever he could duck out of class early.

  It was all good.

  Until Jillian had shown up with a giant wrecking ball that had plowed through the defense he’d erected between himself and the truth that he’d screwed up.

  Henry had driven home, sobbing, punching his steering wheel, cursing the god who’d done this to him. Telling his parents hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected. His father had never been particularly impressed with his only son and seemed to have been waiting for Henry to screw the pooch in a colossal way. His mother saw the opportunity to attach their name to one of the most prominent families in the state. The idea of her son marrying the granddaughter of a former governor and the child of a wealthy banker, even at such an early age, was preferable to Henry marrying white trash. But breaking the news to Sunny had been the worst experience of his life.

  That afternoon had been breathtakingly pretty, with daffodils flaunting their cheerfulness and songbirds providing irritating accompaniment. The sky had been cloudless and blue as Sunny’s eyes, mocking him as he pulled onto Park Street in Grover’s Park.

  Dread twisting his gut, he shut off his truck, knocked on the door, and found temporary reprieve in the form of Betty answering the door.

  “Well, Henry Todd Delmar,” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a hug. Betty wore a shirt cut so low he could see all the way to China. Hooker heels made her tall enough that she was almost eye level, and she smelled of Virginia Slims, Poison perfume, and beer. “Here to see our girl, are you?”

  Her words were slurred, but she wasn’t out of her mind like she sometimes was.

  “Uh, yeah. Is Sunny home yet?”

  “Not yet, but come on in,” Betty said, drawing him into her lair… um, living room.

  A guy with motorcycle boots, paint-stained pants, and a sleeveless T-shirt weighed down the recliner. He glared at Henry and then went back to watching a weight lifting competition on the television.

  “That’s Claude.” Betty jabbed a scarlet-tipped finger at the moody, muscular man who did not fit his name.

  “Hello,” Henry said to the sullen mountain.

  The mountain grunted.

  “You want something to drink? The beer’s cold.” Betty gestured to a Styrofoam ice chest sitting on the couch.

  “You ain’t giving that shithead my beer.” Claude eyeballed Henry.

  “No, I’m good,” Henry said, shifting from one foot to the other. He didn’t want to deliver this news to Sunny while Claude was here. A sobbing Sunny and a pissed-off Betty might set Claude off. They’d probably never find Henry’s body. “Uh, maybe I better come back later.”

  “Why? She’ll be here in a little bit. I made some brownies. The good kind.” Betty laughed. Even Claude managed a smile at that.

  “No, thanks.” Henry tried to remember all the ways out of the house. The back screen door stuck sometimes. He’d have to remember that if it came to running for his life. Mount Claude was big, but Henry was likely much quicker.

  “Come ’ere.” Claude pulled Betty into his lap. He squeezed her ass and nuzzled his head between her breasts.

  Henry looked away, studying the print Sunny had told him belonged to her grandmother. There was a windmill and wildflowers. And a tiny field mouse in the corner. When he heard the slap on Betty’s butt, he knew Claude was finished mauling her.

  Just as Betty clacked toward the kitchen, Sunny pushed into the house.

  “Henry,” she crowed, running to him and throwing her arms around him. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you surprised me like this.”

  He hugged her, savoring
the feel of her in his arms. Her hair smelled clean, and she squeezed him so tight he thought he might like to go ahead and die right there. “Yeah, I had to come home to do a few things.”

  She peeled herself off him and sparkled like only Sunny could. “I’m so happy.”

  And then he decided it might be good for Claude to rip his arms off and beat him to death with them. Because he was lower than dog crap. “Yeah, uh, good.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Can we go somewhere, um, more private?”

  Betty cackled. “I bet you want to.”

  Claude snorted, and Sunny turned the color of Betty’s fingernails.

  “We can go outside.” He motioned to the porch. “It’s pretty today.”

  “You can go to her room, boy,” Betty said, perching on the arm of the recliner and dragging her nails through Claude’s receding hairline. “Y’all are old enough.”

  Sunny’s color didn’t fade, and Henry found heat rushing to his face too. Jesus, Betty needed a filter.

  “Come on,” Sunny said, obviously wanting to escape her mother and new paramour more than Henry did. “I have some homework, and you can keep me company.”

  “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Claude called before he and Betty dissolved into laughter.

  “I need to do some homework too,” Betty cooed.

  “God,” Sunny said, turning on her light, pulling him inside her room, and shutting the door. “Sorry.”

  Henry tried to smile. “That’s okay. I know how your mother is. At least she’s entertaining. All mine does is drink tea and host committee meetings.”

  Sunny rolled her eyes but then turned to him, pulling him into an embrace. She rested her head against his chest. Tears sprang into Henry’s eyes.

  “Hey, Sunny. Um, I gotta talk to you.”

  “What’s wrong, babe?” She peered up at him. She was so pretty, and at that moment, totally untouched by the pain he was about to bring her. He took a mental picture because he knew he was about to erase her innocence.

  “It’s something not easy to say.”

  Her gaze clouded. “What’s wrong? Is it your grades? Your parents? I know things have been hard for you. For us. Not being together. But—”

  “I messed up. Not on grades. On us.”

  Her arms dropped from his waist. “I don’t understand.”

  “Remember the day of the pageant? When you broke up with me and said you were going to Mississippi State?”

  “Yeah. Of course I remember. But that’s in the past…” Understanding dawned on her face. Her beautiful face. “You had Old South that night. That’s why you didn’t come to the pageant.”

  A curtain of silence whooshed down.

  Sunny swallowed, her gaze searching him. “What did you do?”

  “I, uh… Jesus.”

  “Henry?” Her voice nearly squeaked, and he saw the panic in her eyes. Her hands fisted and unfisted. “Tell me.”

  “I got her pregnant.” His words were like the crack of a felled tree crashing through the underbrush and landing so hard he nearly lost his balance.

  Lightning flashed, thunder shook the house, the floors opened, and Satan reached up to grab him by the throat. Or at least that’s what it felt like to watch Sunny’s eyes widen, her pretty mouth gape, her face crumple into hopelessness.

  Sunny’s knees buckled and she landed on the bed. “What? Who… I don’t understand how you got… You got someone pregnant?”

  She sat there. He stood there. One second ticked by. Another. And another.

  “You slept with that girl? Jillian? The one your mother pushed on you?”

  Henry couldn’t swallow. His mouth was as dry as Mississippi baked clay on an August afternoon. A nod was all he could manage.

  Sunny’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t understand. You… you were with her?”

  Henry couldn’t talk. Couldn’t confirm. He stood there, worthless, while Sunny sat on the bed, her eyes blinking, her hands latching, unlatching, latching again.

  Effing bluebirds chirped at the windowsill. Betty laughed in the living room. The thunk of weights hitting the floor came from the too-loud TV. Time should have stood still, but it didn’t.

  Eventually her gaze found his, and he could see she finally understood exactly what he’d done. Because her eyes hardened and her mouth flattened.

  “Get out,” she whispered.

  “Sunny, I know this seems bad, but I can fix it.” He had no clue how, but he’d figure out something. Jillian was insistent that she was going to have the baby, but maybe they could put it up for adoption or something.

  “How?” Her blue eyes crackled. “Make her get an abortion? What the hell would that matter? You slept with her, Henry. You… It was supposed to be me. Me for you. You for me. That’s what you said. You promised that we were meant to be and—”

  “I know what I promised.” He went to her, caught her hands.

  Sunny ripped them away, standing and pushing him back. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me.”

  “Sunny, please.” He tried to reach out to her. He had to make her understand that he loved her. That he’d been drunk and Jillian had been drunk too. That nothing could change how much he loved Sunny. It was a stupid mistake. A mess-up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  “Get out of my house. Now. And don’t ever call me, touch me, or even look at me ever again.”

  “Please, Sunshine, you’re my life.”

  “Get out. Or I’ll call that piece of shit my mother’s screwing and tell him to kick your ass. I mean it. Out.” She turned her face away from him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Sunny closed her eyes.

  “Sun—”

  “Claude!” Sunny screamed. “Claude!”

  “Okay, okay,” Henry said, patting the air. “I’ll go, but just know I love you, Sunny. I love you. I’ll always love you.”

  She turned to him right as the door opened. “You’re dead to me.”

  “No,” Henry said as Claude filled the doorway.

  “What you need, Sunny?” Mount Claude asked.

  “Get rid of him,” Sunny said, her tearful eyes cold as ice.

  Henry went backward as Claude grabbed his shirt and pulled him from the room. His feet scrabbled on the worn hardwood floor but couldn’t find traction. Everything became a blur after that. Betty screaming at him, Claude shaking him so hard his teeth rattled, and the cut from slamming into the porch rail when the big guy tossed him out the front door. Henry slunk to his truck, climbed inside, and let his head fall onto the steering wheel. Tears mingled with the blood from the cut on his cheek.

  Two weeks later, after avoiding his calls, dodging his attempt to show up after school, and refusing the letters, flowers, and desperate pleas he sent her, Sunny Voorhees left Morning Glory.

  And she never came back.

  Until over a month ago.

  Henry ran his hand over the center of his steering wheel. He wished he could rub out the memory of that terrible day. It had happened long ago, yet felt so fresh in his memories. The life he’d had… the love for that girl… wouldn’t fade.

  His phone rang.

  Work.

  “Yeah?” he barked into his cell phone.

  “Hey, bud, we got a problem here at the site. This cold’s messing with the pour, so we may need to get Ronnie Primm out here. Or Mother Nature on the line,” Carson said.

  “I’m there in two minutes. Put in the call and I’ll meet you at the site.”

  “Which one? Ronnie or that cold-ass bitch Mother Nature?” Carson laughed.

  “Both.” Henry hung up and pulled away from the school and the woman whose heart he’d broken all those years ago.

  Sunny tapped her pen on the white space of the agenda and sipped her coffee as Grace Metcalf outlined the plan for the 5K race to raise money for a local animal rescue. The small committee had decided to meet at the local coffee/ice cream shop�
�the Lazy Frog—to discuss how to raise seed money for the organization. Henry had dropped her off, and she’d asked her aunt to pick her up afterward. Her bike wasn’t ready because they’d sent the wrong part to Deeter.

  Because, of course.

  Deeter had apologized profusely and promised to have it done by the beginning of next week. Next Wednesday at the latest. Sunny just had to get through one more week of depending on the kindness of strangers… and her ex-boyfriend.

  Dammit.

  “What’s the actual name of the rescue?” Sunny asked when Grace took a breath.

  “Uh, we haven’t really come up with one yet. Right now we’re calling it Rankin County Animal Rescue Organization. I mean, we’ll figure it out before the race. This is just preliminary.”

  “You have applied for nonprofit status, right? Businesses will be receptive to donating money and services if they can write it off as a donation.”

  “Um, not yet,” Grace said, looking around at the small group as if questioning whether one of them might have thought of that.

  Sunny took in a deep breath. She didn’t want to overstep since she was low man on the totem pole so to speak, but Grace’s organizational skills were nil. “We can’t ask people to support something that isn’t actually in existence. I would say putting on a 5K is a great idea, but if you want people to buy in, you need to have a mission statement, a vision, and a catchy name that says we love animals and are here to help them. I volunteered doing paperwork at Happy Hounds Dog Rescue in North Carolina. Happy Hounds. Sounds like something people want to support, right? Rankin County Animal Rescue is fine but it’s also very utilitarian. Maybe we could host a contest to name the animal rescue? Is there a Facebook page?”

  Grace stared at her for a few long seconds.

  Sunny wondered if she should have turned down the invitation to help. Who wanted a bossy volunteer who wasn’t going to be sticking around anyway? She had no skin in the game. Other than finding Fancy a home, of course.

  Grace sighed. “No. We’ve just been doing work on the ground—building doghouses, delivering hay, picking up strays, and trying to find them homes. I guess maybe we shouldn’t have put in to do the race until we had our ducks in a row. It’s just we’re so overwhelmed with doing the actual work, you know? And we need some money. We can’t keep using our own funds.”