by Mary Frame
He takes a step closer but I dance back.
He freezes and blinks. Something heavy moves behind his eyes. “You do. You do deserve better.”
The words aren’t unkind but they still hurt like a blade. “I’ve got to go.”
I step around him and he doesn’t stop me.
22
This idea that we are our own saviors, our own heroes. That’s hard, but also incredibly uplifting.
—Reese Witherspoon
Reese
The drive to Jude’s is a blur. I shouldn’t have looked back when I was leaving Fitz, but I did. I watched him in my rear view, his hands clenched in his hair while he crouched on the ground. Did his heart hurt like mine?
But he broke it.
It’s all his choice.
Yes, Abby is bruised and hurting, but she did it all to herself, and she’s pretending to be suicidal for sympathy and to manipulate Fitz. It’s a horrible, no good, terrible thing to do.
The realization doesn’t make me feel any better, only worse.
When I get to Jude’s, I immediately realize I can’t stay here. I can’t handle being in the room where we were so close, in the shower where he made me feel like a goddess.
I don’t feel worshipped now, I’m more . . . wrung out to dry. Discarded like four-day-old casserole.
There’s a physical ache in my body and this place doesn’t help. It’s just a reminder of being judged and decreed not good enough.
What if I’m never enough?
I pack my clothes and my most important box of books and get in the car to drive home.
The sun is setting as I head down Main Street. I pass the Frostee Freeze where Fynn and I had sundaes with Jude a few days ago. Ol’ Roy is at the H-E-B. I don’t bother waving this time.
I pull up in the drive on a cloud of dust.
The porch lights are on and Granny’s out front. With the shotgun set over her lap. Again.
“Do you sit out here waiting for me to show up?” I call while I’m walking up to the porch.
She spits something off into the side yard. She must be feeling ornery if she’s chewing tobacco. This doesn’t bode well for me.
“That jackrabbit’s out here again and he brought his friends. They’ve been pooping all over my flowers. You showing up is a coincidence. Lucky timing, I suppose.”
I walk up the steps. “I’m staying here tonight.” My voice doesn’t even waver.
She watches me with inscrutable eyes.
“You’re not gonna shoot me,” I say, straightening my spine and lifting my chin, like it might help.
She gets all squinty eyed, her lips pursed. “You sure about that, Tootsie Roll?”
I sigh and cross my arms over my chest. “If you’re intending to do it, get it over with quick then.”
There’s a long pause, but the gun doesn’t shift from where she’s holding it over her lap, so that’s something. “Good,” she says finally. “You aren’t scared anymore.”
I stomp onto the patio in front of her, simultaneously frustrated and surprised by her words. Everything I’ve felt and thought since leaving Fitz behind at the hospital compresses into a ball in my stomach and explodes like the big bang.
“Are you kidding me? I’m scared to death. Of everything. Of what I feel, of what others think, of getting hurt, of making bad decisions, of things I’ve done—if they were worth it or if it will end in heartache and regret. And it’s too late anyway because it already has. I’ve been trying. Talking to people, letting them in, allowing people to get close . . . and it hurts, Granny.” My face crumples and I cover it for a moment, collecting myself before continuing. “And it’s only going to get worse. I put myself out there and it was all for nothing. I’m worse off than I was.”
She shakes her head and laughs at me.
Laughs. She laughs at me!
“Living is painful sometimes, Tootsie Roll. And you’re being melodramatic. I’m glad though, it’s about time. You’re always too safe and serious. You upset about one of those fellas who came over for supper? Maybe the big guy?”
“Yes. And no, not the big guy. The other one. Fitz.”
Granny nods. “Here.” She leans down and grabs a mason jar from under the chair. “Have some moonshine.”
“That’s not going to help anything.”
“Well, it ain’t gonna hurt nothing either unless you drink too much. But it’s like I always say. Life should be full of moon words. Moonlight kisses and moonshine and your ol’ grandpappy mooning me from the front yard.” She holds the mason jar higher, extending it toward me.
I snort out a laugh before taking the proffered drink and sitting in the chair next to her.
Then she hands me the other shotgun from under the seat.
I sit it across my lap, pointed out toward the side yard, so I can take a drink of the moonshine.
“I know you’re unhappy, but things are better for you now.” She puts a hand on my knee, shaking it briefly. “Doesn’t matter what happens with that fella.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t you give me that offhand baloney. It’s about more than romance. You have friends. You’re living your life instead of going through the motions and hiding yourself from the world.”
“It’s just . . . I’m not sure it’s worth the risk.”
“Oh, sugar, it’s always worth the risk. Your grandpappy has been dead for twenty years and even though I’ve now had more time without him than I had with him, and even though sometimes he made me madder than a spitting hen, I would do it all over again. Even knowing the pain. One second of happiness is better than nothing at all.”
The moonshine slides down my throat with a harsh burn. A familiar-enough sensation and yet it never really softens. I pass the glass back to her.
“I was so worried about you, and now I’m not. You know why? You’ve always had a way of pulling into yourself, hiding from everything. I kept thinkin’ it would get better over time, but it never did. Then when you got kicked outta the dorm and tried to come home, that’s when I knew I had to take drastic measures. I had to put you out there, Tootsie Roll. You were scared you would fall, when I’ve always known you would fly. And see? I was right.”
I sniff. “But I’m not flying. I’m falling. Crashing. None of this is better.”
“Why did you run away when I had the shotgun the other week?” she asks abruptly.
“Uh, because you threatened to shoot me.”
“And?”
“And . . . I was scared.”
“What was the difference today? Were you not scared anymore?”
“No, I was still scared.”
“But you did it anyway. With the fear. And things worked out fine. Life’s like that sometimes. We’re all scared. Be afraid. Then do it anyway. And Reese, baby, that’s what you’ve been doing.”
Her words hit me right in the gut. “Wow.”
This might actually be the most profound thing I’ve ever heard Granny say, and she says a lot of stuff.
“That’s right.” She nods. “Sometimes you gotta take the skittles with the beer.”
Aaand she’s back.
A chuckle bubbles out of me. “That makes no sense, Granny.”
“It does if you hate Skittles.”
“Or beer.” I smile.
She frowns. “No one hates beer.”
I laugh so hard it brings tears to my eyes.
My laughter subsides and we’re quiet again, waiting for the jackrabbits and passing the moonshine back and forth.
“Forget about this boy. If he doesn’t see you for the prize you are, then he’s as useless as a fart in a fan factory.”
“Maybe it’s the moonshine talking, but I think you’re a genius.”
23
Stand for something or you will fall for anything. Today’s mighty oak is yesterday’s nut that held its ground.
—Rosa Parks
Fitz
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Fitz! Will
you bring me some water? My throat is so dry.”
Only a day has passed since I last saw Reese. Or spoke with her. But it’s been a long day. A lifetime. I’ve called multiple times, but her phone always goes to voice mail. I tried texting too, but no response. I even tried to enlist Annabel to track her down, but she didn’t see Reese at Jude’s.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Fitz!”
It’s been a looong day.
Her momma gave her a bell to use to call for one of us if she needs something. I hid it away an hour ago and now she’s resorted to banging on the walls.
Every time I try to talk to Abby about the accident, and what Reese said, she avoids the conversation. First, she had a headache and couldn’t talk. Then she had a coughing fit and needed water and couldn’t speak for an hour. Then the last time I tried when her parents were out of the room, she faked sleep.
She is feeling better and clearly milking it for all she’s worth, and I’m about to lose my shit.
Reese was right. I’m falling into Abby’s old manipulative ways. She’s dragging her injuries out, playing the woe is me card over and over again, and using me to hide everything from her parents.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
With a sigh, I go to the kitchen for a glass to bring to the princess upstairs.
She’s being extra bratty because her momma went to the store to buy her more magazines—since she ran out—and her dad’s at work, so she knows I’m the only one who can respond.
I need to tell her parents the truth about our relationship, or lack thereof. But the few times I’ve mustered up the courage to say something, Martha looks at me with those wide eyes. The same ones I’ve known my whole life and I falter and change the subject.
But I can’t go on like this anymore.
And honestly, neither can Abby. She needs help, more than what I can give.
I hate lying. I hate not talking to Reese like I want to. I can’t even imagine what she’s feeling. When I think about how I would feel if she had to pretend to be with Duke or something, my heart breaks all over again.
It’s Sunday, and Jude agreed to hold off the final Bedlam event until Tuesday, which would be exactly two weeks from when we held the first event. But I need to see Reese long before then. I need to get Abby to tell her folks the truth, and quick.
Inside Abby’s bedroom—still set up like it was before we went off to college, with her four-post bed and fluffy white comforter and pink carpet—I set the glass on her bedside table. Her face must feel better since her volume has increased, but it still looks terrible, dark-purple splotches mixed with mottled shades of yellow and green.
“Thanks, sweetie.” She takes a sip from the cup and sets it back down delicately. “Will you get me the nail polish from over there, too?” She points a languid finger to the white vanity.
I hand it to her. “I’m not your sweetie, Abby. And we need to talk about your accident.”
She grimaces. “You know, now isn’t a great time. Maybe tomorrow.” She opens her nail polish and starts painting her toes.
Her tone is flippant. Dismissive. Like now she’s got her nail polish and she’s done with me and the complete lack of caring about anything but herself snaps something inside of me.
“No, Abby. We’re talking about it now.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m the dramatic one?” I think my head might pop off I’m so angry. “I refuse to be held hostage by you forever. You will tell me what really happened and why you crashed into that tree.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “I’m still recovering. My parents have already been through so much. How can you do this to them?” She weeps quietly into her hands, but it doesn’t sway me.
“How can I . . . Do you even hear yourself?” I’m about to tell her to cut the crap, but the front door opens and her momma calls out she’s home. “Look. Here’s how this is going down. You’re gonna tell me the truth, right now, or I’ll tell your parents everything I know, with or without you.”
“You wouldn’t,” she says through sobs.
“Watch me.” I make for the door.
“Wait!” she calls when I’m halfway out.
I face her, crossing my arms over my chest, standing near the door.
“Okay, okay.” She moves her hands away and her eyes are clear and sharp and I’m stunned all over again that I fell for her lies for so long. “You’re right, Fitz. I might have gone off the road on purpose, but I didn’t want to hurt myself. I wasn’t going fast at all, but then it was dark and the shoulder was steeper than I thought. It was just because you weren’t calling me back and I wanted to show you how much I still care about you. I did it for you, don’t you see?”
I think I’ve passed the point of disbelief and gone straight into flabbergast. I can’t even speak, and I don’t have to because Abby keeps going.
“You don’t understand. I can’t tell them about what I’ve done and Kevin and everything . . . everything I did to you. I can’t stand it. They’ll hate me.”
“They won’t hate you.” Though I might. I sigh and run a frustrated hand through my hair. I’m surprised I’m not bald after the last two days. “How’s this. We tell them we mutually decided we’re better as friends. It’s not a lie, that’s why we broke up. I’ll leave out the cheating and fake accident and let you to decide if and when you want to tell them anything else. But I’m done with this. I can’t keep lying to my parents. I’m with Reese now.” I hold her gaze so she knows I mean it.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I can’t believe you moved on so fast,” she grumbles.
“You moved on faster.”
“That doesn’t count. Kevin was . . . a blip.” She flicks a finger at me. “You won’t have a blip, Fitz. You stick.”
I think about Reese. Her funny faces, her quick brain, and the way she felt in my arms. “I sure hope so.”
“I can’t pretend to be happy for you.”
“You get to feel however you feel.”
All I’m feeling is relief.
Until fifteen minutes later, when we’ve broken the news to her momma.
She cries, like I knew she would, and she wants more details than I’m prepared to give, but Abby finally convinces her we decided we were better as friends.
I throw into the conversation that Abby needs help—really needs to talk to someone about her accident. Abby protests, but I think Martha listens, at least.
I’ve done all I can do.
And after all of that, after weeks of lying and drama and angst . . . it’s all over in a matter of minutes with one short—albeit difficult—conversation.
Once I escape, I immediately try to reach Reese, but her phone is still going to voice mail.
When I pull up at Jude’s, she’s not there.
Her car is gone ,and inside, her clothes aren’t hanging in the closet and her box of favorite books is gone.
And of course, the first person I run into is Beast.
“Where is she?”
He shrugs his giant shoulders and I groan in frustration. Why am I asking him? I may as well ask Mr. Bojangles.
I find Jude in the backyard, cat in his lap, reading a romance novel.
“Where is she?”
“I believe our little Ms. Tootsie Roll has made her way back to the homestead.”
“But there’s still one more challenge to go.”
“There is. One final challenge and the announcement of the big winner Tuesday night. She already said she would be here for it.” He languidly turns the page.
How can he be so blasé about this?
“If she doesn’t show, the room is yours,” he adds, like that’s what I want to hear. “Although I hope she shows. I’ve got a lot of money riding on this.”
The room might be mine. It was all I wanted. But now it’s not what I want at all.
And since Reese won’t answer her phone, I’ll have to go to her.
Ten
minutes later, I’m heading down the long drive, kicking up gravel as I speed my way to the Jackson ranch.
I come to a halt behind Reese’s VW and jump out of my truck, but I don’t make it very far.
“Can I help you?” Granny’s standing at the top of the patio steps with an ancient break-action shotgun.
I hold up my hands. “Can I speak with Reese, please?”
“Don’t you think if she wanted to talk to you, she’d answer her phone?”
“I reckon that’s true, but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna give up easy, ma’am.”
“And why’s that?”
“Reese means a lot to me. I’d face down this shotgun right here if it meant I could talk to her, even only for a minute.”
Her eyes squint at me, her face a blank mask.
“Tootsie Roll!” she yells so suddenly I startle. “You wanna hear what this here young gent has to say?”
“No!” The shout comes from above the porch and I step back to eye the next floor.
There’s an open window, pale curtains blowing in the breeze.
“I know you hate me right now, but can we please talk?” I call out.
There’s a long moment of silence. Reese doesn’t appear in the window. Granny caresses the trigger of her shotgun and squints harder.
Finally, Reese’s voice calls out. “Have you told your parents about Abby yet?”
I swear softly.
“That sounds like a no to me.” Granny cocks the hammer.
“Now just hold on a minute there.” I lift my hands again. “I’ve told Abby’s parents. I haven’t had a chance to talk to my own folks yet. But I will, I promise. I’ll go over there right after I leave here. If I get to leave alive,” I add.
Granny flashes her teeth in what might be a smile but also could be a snarl.
More silence, and then Reese speaks, but I have to strain to catch all the words because she’s not yelling anymore.
“What if they don’t want to meet me? They probably love Abby. She’s the one they’ve thought you would be with forever.”
My heart wrenches at the softly spoken words, words laced with an uncertainty I helped create. Reese has struggled with fitting in her whole life, and now I’ve put her in this position . . . “I don’t care what they think.”
