“You were supposed to keep things in line for me. Make it so I don’t get hurt again.” Control is all I can count on and even control is out the window with the number of things I can’t control in my life.
Like the group allowing Knox to stay in the text thread.
I frantically tap my fingers on my thigh. The group is mine. I should be able to say who stays and who doesn’t. Shouldn’t I? Or is that me exerting control where I can’t have it or shouldn’t have it?
They talk with him and joke with him. The other women in the group have completely accepted him and… I don’t know how to feel about it.
Why aren’t they worried about him lying? Why isn’t this concerning?
But I’m close to dropping out of the group because I can’t trust him. I know I can’t. How can I when I’m not even sure what is the truth and what isn’t?
My phone buzzes and I’m tempted to throw the cell across the trailer, but it won’t go far and won’t be nearly as satisfying as say throwing it across the lot at a BBQ trailer that isn’t even there.
Swiping the screen, I’m prepared to yell at the phone. Yelling at Paul isn’t making me feel better.
A new thread with Dion opens.
Dion: You okay? You haven’t said anything on the thread in a while.
Me: No. I’m mad at Knox and upset you guys aren’t madder at him.
Dion: But he didn’t hurt anyone by being in the group, did he?
Me: No, but is that the point? He lied. He… I thought he was a good friend as KT. And I was dating him. And… I just feel… I don’t know.
Dion: I get it. You love him and you feel like he let you down. We all feel like that sometimes. Plus, he was and is your good friend as KT. Just because the sex changed, doesn’t mean he has.
Me: Wait, what? I don’t love him. I hate him.
Dion: Yeah, I can feel the uncertainty in your text without even seeing your face.
Dion: Look, I need the group. I need YOU in the group. And I know Knox wasn’t who you intended to be in the group. At least not originally, but what if HE needs us?
Me: I still assert I hate him.
Dion:
Me: I hate him.
Dion: Except you don’t.
Me: I don’t?
Dion: You don’t. You love him. Time to accept that so you can move on from whatever is holding you back from letting yourself be happy.
Me: But he’s the wrong guy.
Dion: Or he’s the right guy.
And I can’t fault her for saying that. Knox isn’t the wrong guy. He’s never acted like the wrong guy. He’s only the wrong guy when he lied.
And in the whole scheme of things, what he lied about isn’t that big of a deal.
But at the same time, it is.
I can’t get my head wrapped around everything I need to. I set the phone down and stare across the lot from my view out the window.
I miss everything about where I’d been before. I had to leave though. Getting away from a liar had to be on the top of my priority list. Plus, if Dion is right and I have fallen for Knox, then what good would I be in the group?
Would I tear apart my whole family because of the actions of a liar and then replace him with another liar?
That doesn’t make sense.
No matter how much a small part of my mind screams that what Knox and Keith lied about were two entirely different things and on different levels of severity, I have to ignore it.
I have to.
Because what kind of self-respect would I have?
Chapter 36
Knox
No matter what I text Savvy or say to her in voicemails, she doesn’t call me back. I’m even sure she’s reading the messages I’m sending.
The app she uses for the group messaging thread shows when people see the messages or don’t. If it’s accurate, she hasn’t read any of my messages in a while. Or any in the group.
I can’t wait any longer. I reach out to the women. What do I have to lose? Considering Savvy isn’t reading the messages and I need help. Desperately.
Me: I need everyone’s help. If you can.
Dion: What do you need, Knox? We’ll do our best.
Me: The thing is… I love Savvy.
Me: She’s not reading these messages. She’s not answering me or my voicemails or anything else. I know I messed up.
Me: Big. I know I messed up big. Huge. I just didn’t know what to do.
Me: I love her. I need her. That whole family is everything I’ve been missing out on.
Me: Please, tell me how to fix this.
Alex: Have you considered renting a hot air balloon and going to her work?
Mandie: Make her some keto treats.
Me: She doesn’t eat keto…
I delete the message before sending it. That isn’t my secret to share.
Sara: I think you should take her flowers.
Veve: No. No one likes flowers. They’re dead. You’re literally delivering a dead body to someone like that means you love them. It doesn’t.
My jaw drops. That is the first time I’ve ever heard giving flowers described that way. That explained why Melissa – an ex-girlfriend – told me I was trying to kill our relationship before it even began and threw the roses at me.
Where was this group when I needed them?
Dion: Chocolates?
Sara: Keto. Unless you can buy some of her keto treats for her? No, that’s dumb.
I couldn’t tell them she loves food and control and neither are supportive of the other.
Me: Can I get her a planner? She likes those.
Dion: NO! ASBSOLUTELY NOT!
Sara: Nope. You’ll be dead to me, if you do that. Her, too.
Me: Wow, that bad? Why?
Mandie: You never buy a planner for someone else. That will kill all respect she has for you. You have no idea what she’s looking for in a planner.
Veve: A planner is like… A boyfriend. You can’t find the right one for someone else. You just can’t.
I grin, but don’t reply. Savvy’s planner is her boyfriend. Paul. She even named him.
Sara: I like the chocolate idea. But maybe not what sells at her truck. Is there some way you can get some recipes and make her some? Or some of your brisket?
Veve: I’d date you for some of that brisket.
Dion: Oh my, Veve, we need to get you a man or a distraction at the very least.
Apple: Knox, I think it’s so sweet that you care that much for her, but you can’t buy her affection. Let her know she’s missed. Make her feel missed.
I close my eyes and hang my head. “How in the world am I supposed to accomplish that when she won’t even talk to me?” My voice seems loud in the empty trailer.
But there is no answer and I’m not sure how to deal with that.
Chapter 37
Savvy
Working at the Post Falls lot has me frustrated most days. I’m there a week and I already want to yell at the customers that keto isn’t a flavoring.
More than half the people who come to my trailer ask what flavor keto is or if it has anything to do with the new Korean dishes out on the north side of town.
I got similar questions in Coeur d’Alene but they didn’t seem to bother me at all. Now, I’m irritable and close to snapping most of the time.
Back home from yet another day of irritations and I flop onto the stool at the counter in my kitchen.
Abby eyes me from the table where a schedule and planner pages are spread out over the surface and she’s bent over them with a pencil in hand.
I sit up, suddenly no longer as tired as I had been. “Oh, is that a planner?” Leaving the stool, I edge closer, taking a chair opposite where she’s sitting and lean forward, resting my arms in front of me and trying to only look mildly interested.
Even though I’m dying to see what she’s doing.
Maybe I need a new planner. A refresher. That wouldn’t be out of li
ne. I’ve had Paul for a while. Maybe, if I get a new one, I won’t feel like I’m stilted in my planning efforts.
But as appealing as that is, a small voice inside me whispers changing planners is like changing husbands. You can’t just jump from one to the next because life gets hard. I’m sure there’s a life lesson in there somewhere. I’m going to ignore it for now.
Abby shakes her head at me and holds up her hands. “Mom, this isn’t like what you have going on with Paul. I’m not even naming mine. I’m not using washi tape or colored markers or any form of stickers. In fact...” Abby flips through a stack of daily sheets and pulls a page of planner stickers out. She slides it across to me and arches an eyebrow. “There, you can use those. I don’t want them.”
I sit back, not sure if I’m insulted or what. I clear my throat, my fingers inching toward the sheet of brightly colored stickers. Yes, I admit it. I feel like a six-year-old when I hold new stickers in my hands and I can’t wait to find a place to put them in my planner. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you want to decorate your planner? This is… Offsetting.”
And it is. I study the workspace she has set out, my brow furrowed. Why would she want to plan with just a boring pencil?
Yes, of course, you plan and make appointments and all kinds of things with a pencil, but not the first time you sit down with your planner.
No, your first time is when you have fine-tipped markers, stickers, washi tape, colored pencils, maybe crayons, all of the options and then some.
That’s when you write down birthdays – which are days that don’t change or doctor’s appointments, days off. All kinds of things that aren’t changeable. Then you start plugging in goals and dreams and thoughts and quotes.
But I’ve told Abby all of these things. She knows how to plan. I need to let her do what she wants. She doesn’t have to do things the same way I do them for her to be successful.
Wait. Is that really how I feel? I try to look inside myself and then I realize that yes, it’s exactly how I feel. I don’t need to control something.
The realization is actually freeing and I let my shoulders relax.
A black figure darts across the low side window by the front door and I barely catch a glimpse, but it’s enough to shift my attention. “That cat. I’m going to…” Standing from my seat and point my finger at Abby. “I’ll be back in a little bit. Lila is watching the trailer. I need to run to the hunting store.”
“Mom, you’re not hunting the cat.” Abby is both in denial and slightly horrified as she stands, too.
I shake my head. “No, oh no, that’s terrible. I would never.” I hold up my hands, shuddering at the thought of killing anything, even the cat that has gotten my innocent feline knocked up. I sigh. “No, but I am going to see what my options are. I need to get the cat owner to pay attention to this problem. Plus, we don’t want him running around all the time.”
She nods and slowly sinks to take her chair again, but she watches me as I leave the house. I’m slightly worried, too, but I can’t admit that to her or anyone.
What do I do with the cat, if I catch him?
***
I snap my eyes open and stare at the ceiling through the darkness. Something woke me, but I’m still too asleep to really know what it is.
Blinking, I roll to my side, determined it was just the wind on a windless night or something like that when I hear it again.
A screeching, growling call from the backyard.
Sitting up like a spring is attached to my back, I jolt upright and then jump to my feet, pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt before flying from my room.
Abby is in the hallway, her eyes wide. “What is that?” She whispers, the sound almost too loud in the quiet of the early morning.
“I think we caught the cat. Or A cat. I’m not sure.” I hope the noise is from a cat and not a rabid raccoon or opossum.
I can’t stop thinking it might be a coyote. What if it’s a coyote? Are there coyotes that far into the suburbs of town?
The guy at the hunting store told me a catcher cage was the best way to go because snares weren’t allowed in city limits. He offhandedly informed me snares kill animals and I almost yelled at him, but decided to just point out I would take the cage.
Now what, though?
What did I do now that I caught something? Feed it and treat it like a pet? The store clerk hadn’t told me that part.
After setting up the cage, I’d even read the manual front to back, all three pages of it and even tried to interpret the other languages on the pages. I’m hoping the French section doesn’t tell you how to get rid of what you caught. I don’t speak French.
Abby reaches out and grabs my hand. I’m not sure if it’s to steady me or her, but I’m grateful either way. I’m grateful she would care enough to worry about how I feel and I’m grateful she would think I’m strong enough to go to in her moment of fear.
At the backdoor, Abby and I breathe in and then I yank the door open. Before we can stop ourselves, we step through the doorway and then come to a halt on the deck outside.
The black cat sits huddled in the cage, a ridge of raised hair along his spine as he glares balefully our way. I can almost hear him saying to us with complete disdain, “Yeah, I got her pregnant, so what? She’s a big girl.”
I could be wrong. He could be a completely good choir boy cat. Do they have those kinds? But his black fur and the fact that he’s skulking around my house has me convinced he doesn’t have honorable intentions toward my cat.
Not that it is all his fault.
“What do we do? You caught him. Yay?” Abby’s voice lilts with the question. I’m confused too on whether I should be excited we caught him or not.
Yes, he’s a nuisance. But what am I supposed to do with him?
I swallow and flick my gaze over the fence line toward his home. If Blaze had only said he’d do something about his cat…
Wait, that isn’t fair. This isn’t Blaze’s fault. It isn’t the cat’s fault. It is, honestly, no one’s fault.
I just want someone to blame.
My planner didn’t ruin my life. The customers at the lot haven’t destroyed my dreams for me or my heart. Knox hasn’t ruined the group.
No, my perceptions and reactions have knocked everything down. I have to own that. I can own that, but how do I fix it?
I sigh. “I don’t know what to do, honestly.” I turn away from the cat and his blame-filled eyes and move to rest my arms on the railing of the deck.
“Mom, why don’t you call Knox? He would come and help. I’m sure of it. Plus, we haven’t seen him in a while. It’s almost like you’re mad at him.” There is no question in her voice this time and I don’t know how to reply.
Wrong Text, Right Reply: A Sweet Accidental Romance (An Accidental But Perfect Romance Book 1) Page 23
