1. Sutton

ONE

SUTTON

Present Day

I look at my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me isn’t the same person from a few years ago. I’m skinny, skinnier than I’ve ever been and ever should be. I could use a few healthy and hearty meals, heavy on the carbohydrates. Except by the time I work my two jobs and finish my homework, the last thing on my mind is leaving the sanctuary I made inside these four walls and roof. Surviving on protein bars, snacks here and there, and whatever the owner at Down Home Diner would shove at me when we have a lull in customers is about the size of my dietary functions throughout the day. Now, though, it seems I’ve done a lot more harm than good, and eating better isn’t in my budget for the foreseeable future, either.

My skin is pale, my cheeks are sunken in, and there are deep circles beneath my eyes, dark purple and an instant reminder of the four hours of sleep I’ve been living on.

“Something has to change, Sutton.” I take a deep breath, trying to calm the emotion bubbling up inside of me. Mom always said there’s no use crying over spilled perfume, a lyric from a song she’d have blaring through the house every Saturday morning when it was time to do chores. I’d be in my teenage years, wanting to sleep in, and she’d come into my room, a broom in hand, using it as her microphone while singing a Pam Tillis song. Her two favorites were Spilled Perfume and Shake the Sugar Tree. It was hard to stay in bed when for a few hours a week, the two of us didn’t have anything going on. Mom didn’t work Saturday mornings, I didn’t have school, and while we may have done something as mundane as cleaning together, it was our time, completely uninterrupted by outside life, and as I got older in my teenage years, I still made sure to be home Saturday mornings.

Until one day it all came to a screeching halt.

Mom on the couch, sitting next to Mrs. Johnson, both holding each other’s hands, tears streaming down their cheeks, and my world shattered.

Terminal lung cancer.

She tried to battle it, did chemotherapy and radiation for a while, but soon enough, the cancer ravaged her body. Nothing worked on this type of aggressive cancer, and after a few months, Mom didn’t want to continue. Another piece of my heart broke, but as much as I wanted her to win the war on this, I knew, the doctors knew, Mrs. Johnson knew, and Mom knew.

We spent her final days doing whatever she wanted—driving around town and through the neighboring cities, a smile plastered on her face and the wind in her hair, what was left of it at least. How she managed to have time to knit three blankets, I’ll never understand, but it was on her list. One was king size, beige in color, and she insisted that it’s mine to keep forever. And two much smaller ones for one day in the future.

“Don’t cry, Sutton, you don’t have time for a mental break down today. Save it. In a couple more months, everything will be better.” I’m in this predicament because frankly, I’m an idiot. Mrs. Johnson stayed with me for weeks after Mom passed, but I had to let her get back to her life. I also needed to get back to mine. There was a new semester of college to enroll in, bills to take care of, and like another song of Mom’s, time marches on. A few months later, Shane Sullivan entered my life. I was lonely, vulnerable, and he gave me attention when I needed it most. What I didn’t expect was for him to ask me to marry him. He moved in, and while things were okay at first, it didn’t last long.

Shane Sullivan is lazy, he can’t keep his job, verbally attacks me, and expects me to pay all of the bills. Which I did before he came along. Mom’s house is paid off. Minus the taxes and homeowner’s insurance, it’s free and clear. The water and power aren’t too steep. It’s the man who sits on his ass, day in and day out, who refuses to get a job, who thinks his main goal in life is to be a kept man.

I take one last look at myself, seeing so much of my mother looking back at me. Another reason to avoid the mirror: Taylor Rawlins would kick my ass backward and forward. Then she’d pick me up off the ground and go through all the necessary shit in order to make Shane leave without another thought. But my protector isn’t here, and I’m left to pick up the pieces of foolish mistakes. I do a quick and rough job of brushing my teeth, knowing I’m going to have to hoof it to the diner in order to make my opening shift. I’ve already got on my work clothes of jeans, sneakers, and a Down Home Diner black shirt. My hair is up and out of my face. There’s not a spot of makeup on my face, just some drugstore moisturizer, because Taylor Rawlins drilled it into my head to stay hydrated and to never leave the house or go to bed without moisturizing.

My alarm on my phone goes off, so I drop the toothbrush in the holder and hit the button as fast as possible. Waking up Shane right now would only cause me to be late. There’s no way I’ll allow that to happen. The diner is my bread and butter. The medical transcriptionist job pays for the schooling I’m putting myself through years later than I care to admit. I flip the switch to the ensuite bathroom, then grab my coat off the foot of the bed, refusing to think about how a package was left on my front porch after a certain Johnson family member gave me a ride home. I’ve tried to bring it up to Mrs. Johnson, but she only told me it wasn’t her. I knew, deep down, he’d be the only one to do something so sweet and not say a single word. I should reach out to him, thank him at the very least or offer him some money. Except I’m a big baby and am avoiding Ryland Johnson like usual.

He sees too much.

He senses too much.

Ryland is everything I’m not—sensible and stable. The complete opposite of me. I’m foolish and unsteady. A lot like an active volcano where you’ll never know when they’ll blow.

I pocket my phone, grab my bag, and compartmentalize another piece of my life. I’m light on my feet as I walk through the house, not bothering to make a pot of coffee or grab a bite to eat from my own home. Nope, my main goal is to be as quiet as possible and get out unscathed. I’m halfway to the door when I hear Shane’s voice.

“Pick up a six-pack of beer on your way home, wife.” I look over my shoulder. Shane is sitting in the dark at the kitchen table. The one I watched my mom painstakingly restore after finding it on the side of the road. He tarnishes everything, and I loathe myself a little bit more.

“Get it yourself, and I’m not your wife. I haven’t been in a long time,” I smart back, bracing for his verbal comeback.

“Living under the same roof; a piece of paper doesn’t mean dick.” Shane brings a bottle of beer to his lips and drinks more than half of it. Great, he’s on an all-night bender.

“Not for long,” I mutter under my breath. We’ve been divorced for a while now. I managed to get him to sign the court documents when he’d been drinking, making sure to file them the very next day. The only problem was the aftermath. He went on a rampage and screamed he wasn’t leaving, which is where we are now. The eviction process is long and lengthy. Soon, though. I open the front door and escape into the jarring cold air.

“What did you say?” I hear roared behind me before a thud hits the door. I’m going to have to be careful coming home tonight. Usually, he’ll keep to himself. There will be days when I don’t see or hear from him. But since Lady Luck is not on my side, I’m sure this evening is going to be one for the books. It’s rare to have any interaction with Shane lately, but twice now, in less than a month, he’s made comments, the last time being when Ryland dropped me off. A conversation I’ll never forget and refuse to revisit.

Today is not the day. Tomorrow isn’t either. But there’s always the day after that.