54. Dusty

June wears on. Easy summer days filled with baseball and soft breezes give way to heat.

Energy-zapping, soul-sucking heat.

I cross the yard, wishing for rain or a stiff breeze, anything.

A cold drink will have to do. I can get something from the barn. Or from the gas station, for that matter. But then I wouldn’t get to see Marnie.

I’ve seen her passing back and forth by the kitchen window for a few hours now. Whatever she’s doing, it’s keeping her pretty busy.

I push the screen door open and step inside, feet slowing when I take in the sight of the chaos Marnie has sewn. Paper litters every surface.

I can see the legal boxes the papers came from. What I can’t understand is how three little boxes produced that much paper.

“What are we doing in here?”

I cross to the fridge, trying to gauge her mood. From a distance, I’d best described it as flammable.

“Dying slowly inside.”

She threads her fingers through her hair and leans her elbows on the table, heedless of the piles of paper she’s scattering.

I pull a pitcher of black tea out of the fridge, smiling at the sprig of lavender floating around in it. For the past few days, lavender has been as ubiquitous as salt around here. She’s been putting it in everything.

I didn’t care for her Proven?al chicken, which is a secret I will take to my grave. Lavender and meat have no business co-mingling. But the honey and chocolate tart she made was life-changing.

I sit at the table next to her, my muscles practically sigh with relief. That ACL injury has started to bother me again. The town loved comparing me to Runner.

I was halfway through the football season, senior year, one more touchdown away from beating my old man’s record. And boom. ACL tear.

Not only did it rob me of that title, it now dogs me into my twenties. Heaping insult on injury.

She filters through the papers, finding one in particular, and hands it over to me. Slumping back in her seat, those golden eyes settle on my face.

“What’s this?”

I scan the page. It’s some sort of medical record. I’ve always struggled a little with forms like this. My eyes want to skip all over the page, jumble the letters.

I read TEST RESULT: POS and PREGNANCY TEST CONSENT FORM. My first thought is that Marnie is pregnant. And that does weird things to me. Silly, prideful joy starts to radiate through my chest. Until my eyes land on the name. NAOMI NOVAK

I look up at Marnie. “What’s this?”

“She was pregnant.”

I realize Marnie’s eyes are bloodshot. She’s either exhausted or has been crying. Either way, a protective feeling surges through me. “Not with you?”

“Look at the year. That was her senior year. She was eighteen.”

Oh. Marnie doesn’t have any siblings. That she knows of. I carefully set the paper down. “And did she…”

“Keep it? Didn’t get that far.”

She snags another test result and waves it limply. “She lost the pregnancy in her first trimester.”

I study her expression for a few heartbeats before reaching out. Grabbing her wrists, I pull her up from her chair and onto my lap.

She rests her head on my shoulder. “You’re filthy.”

My t-shirt is sweaty. And smudged with dirt. But that doesn’t stop her from running her hands over my chest.

I smile softly, brushing my lips over her hair.

She runs her fingertip across my chest, idly drawing circles. “I called my dad to ask if he knew about the thing with my mom.”

“And did he?”

She heaves a sigh. “Yeah. Which is a wee bit annoying. I was literally asking him about all this a few weeks ago. He told me he was an open book.”

She laughs bitterly.

“You asked about the pregnancy that time?”

“Well, no. Not about that.”

She hesitates. “About some other stuff of my mom’s that I found.”

There’s a guarded tone in her voice. She’s not telling me everything, which makes me curious and maybe just a little jealous.

“She wasn’t a big fan of Silver Bend.”

I chuckle. “Most of the people who live here aren’t. It’s usually a love-hate relationship.”

“Yeah, but most people don’t tear out and never come back.”

“Some stay. It’s true.”

“You did.”

“Yeah. And I love this old town. But sometimes, I hate the place. If that makes sense.”

“I think it kind of does. I’ve been trying to understand why she hated Silver Bend so much. And this feels like the answer. But know that I’ve got the answer, I’m not sure what the question is.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It’s like I’m skipping ahead to read the last page of a book. Everything that came before is out of sight.”

She sighs. “Is it too early to start drinking?”

“You know what Jimmy Buffet has to say about that.”

She taps my chest. “Would you be available to help me take my mind off things?”

“Baby, I’m always available for you.”

She smiles at my cheesy words, but it's more than a line. It’s the damned truth. I’d give her everything she asked for and more if she’d be willing to put up with me.

I’m not a catch and I’m quite aware of that. Good for a fun time, but not the guy anyone is looking to run long term with.

There are times when I can almost live my life like a normal person, forgetting about my reputation and where it came from.

But it never takes long for reality to come crashing down on me. I live my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. When I hear tires on gravel outside, a certain rattling car engine, I know who’s out there. It’s my past, and it’s demanding my attention.

Leaving Marnie at the table, I step outside, trying to cut him off.

Juice stops just inside the farmyard, his car idling loudly. I motion for him to follow me to the barn, staying away from the house altogether.

This is a guy who took the fall when I broke the window on the old parsonage. He helped me weather my first hangover, which was at a critically young age.

He’s not what you’d call the cream of the crop, but he’s my friend and he’s been there through the thick and thin. And I know as well as anyone what it feels like to be somebody’s shameful secret.

I shouldn’t treat him that way and yet, as he pulls up to the barn, I want nothing more than to send him on his way.

He's my friend, but I’m having serious misgivings.

And those misgivings come in the form of one anemic, shady ass motherfucker riding shotgun. Skunk.

And it figures, both Marnie and Sienna are suddenly standing right outside the house. I do a quick double take when I see my sister. She was supposed to be at a sleepover tonight.

I’ll have to investigate why she’s back already, but as it is, I feel a little like a rooster in the henyard staring down a pair of foxes.

Juice may not be the most savory individual you’ll ever meet, but he does have a sense of decorum. He knows where the line is and how to not cross it. Skunk has no such scruples, and he’s staring at my sister and Marnie like he wants to eat them up.

Juice shakes my hand, making idle talk about the construction on Highway 23. Skunk’s not even pretending to listen. He’s got his leering eyes glued on my sister. “Hey, bud.”

I say, snapping my fingers to get his attention. “That’s jail bait over there, as far as you’re concerned. Quit looking at my sister like that before I kick your ass.”

He turns to me, affronted. “I wasn’t looking at the young one. I was looking at the brunette.”

A fresh surge of fury rolls through me. “Don’t look at her, either. She ain’t on the market.”

Skunk grins at me, but there’s a flicker of resentment there. “She your girl?”

“You’re damn right she is.”

I glance at Juice. “Is it entirely necessary to bring Dildo Baggins along every time you come out here?”

Juice laughs, coughing, when he sees Skunk’s expression. “We’re the dream team. I’m educating him in the ways of the warrior.”

“Weed warrior.”

I say. “What brings you by, man?”

Juice shrugs, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Just killing time. Came by to see if you need anything.”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, bud.”

I step closer, keeping an eye on Skunk as he wanders back towards the car. “Leave the Juice Crew at home next time, got it? Especially after the way this fucker’s been looking at my girl.”

Skunk holds up his hands, clearly overhearing me. “Just looking, my friend.”

“Well, don’t do that, either.”

I thump Juice on the shoulder. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

Juice grins at me, slapping my upper arm, muttering it’s all good as he passes by.

But, it’s not.

Not really.

I can’t help but feel like I’ve miscalculated by trusting him. Even if he is an old friend, he’s fucked me over in the past.

You’d think I’d learn.