CHAPTER 12 - Rosie

O n Saturday morning , I'm having regrets.

You can go to hell for all I care .

My response to Erol's renewed interest in me and my son was maybe a little bit reactionary. But in my defense, this man was the love of my life as a teenager and he left me. Pregnant. And for twelve years, I mostly presumed he was dead. Which is worse than actually presuming he was dead because every now and then I'd get the itch to picture he was not dead and then…

I sigh.

Because then I would get sad all over again.

Now I know how Lowyn felt that first day when she learned Collin was back. She denied her love, but it wasn't the kind of love that allows denial. And it caught back up to them.

But this is different. Oh, I know every woman probably says that. But it is. Because Lowyn and Collin were a thing. Knew each other their whole lives, dated in high school, made plans. In other words, it wasn't a whirlwind like Erol and I had.

And Collin didn't abandon a baby.

It's not gonna end up that way for me. I'm not getting back together with this man because I don't even know him. It would be like being with a total stranger.

Amon, on the other hand, is not only the safer choice, but the obvious one. Despite his reputation in high school and the ensuing dozen years he was gone doing secret military things, he's everything I never knew I wanted in a man. Strong, protective, smart, gentle, romantic, and fun. He was gone the same amount of time as Erol, but when Amon came back it was like he never left. Things were easy. And I know that in books and movies and such, women like to swoon over the broody, enigmatic loner, but in real life, that guy is almost certainly just another Scar.

So why are you even thinking about Erol, Rosie? If Amon is so perfect ?

It's a good question. And if I'm the one asking it, it's kinda hard to deflect. But there's an easy answer for my fixation and it's called closure.

I need closure. I haven't seriously thought about Erol Cross in probably six or seven years. I cried over him good when he first disappeared, but I was pregnant and hormonal. He faded over time.

But if he's back… then that bastard owes me a fuckin' explanation.

Yeah. That's how I see it. That asshole owes me an explanation. I don't need it to be in person, a letter will do just fine. But I'm gonna get this answer.

And then… well—I pause here to smile—then I'm gonna enjoy being courted by Amon Parrish.

God, when we were growing up he was the boy every girl wanted. Not the same way they all wanted Collin. All the good girls wanted to be Lowyn so they could date Collin. But the bad girls like me, it was Amon who prowled our dreams at night. He was always a one-night-stand boy. All the girls who got mixed up with him back then knew it was a booty call and nothin' else. And most of them took it well when he moved on to another girl the very next weekend.

But he's different now. And isn't this every rogue-lovin' girl's dream? To tame the bad boy's wild ways? To settle down with him and redirect all that savage masculine sexuality and swagger into tribal devotion and protectiveness? To gentle the angry man and wrangle that leather-jacket-wearing outsider into a husband and a father?

It is. Capturing the feral heart of a man like Amon Parrish and keeping it all for yourself is the plot of a teenage romance novel.

Or—I stop to chuckle here—a really good personals ad.

Which reminds me… I turn over in bed and grab this week's edition of the Busybody off my nightstand. There is just enough of the dawn-breaking light leaking through the curtains for me to read it.

Rugged and worldly man seeks small-town woman with shining gray eyes and a personality to match .

I sigh. Rugged and worldly is a good combination. Amon's always been blond. Not the dirty light brown of most boys around here, either, but a true blond. Add that to his blue eyes, squared-off jaw, and easy grin and this man is more than handsome, he's downright sexy.

Must love dogs .

What kind of woman is gonna object to that? I mean, a rugged and worldly man with a dog? It's like winning the jackpot twice.

He is charming, handsome, protective, and part-owner of a suspicious (but entirely legal) elite security service .

Now, some women might balk at this, but me? I just find it fascinating. I want to know all the little details about that Edge Security they've got goin' up there in the hills.

She is smart, funny, adorable, and a good mother who did not get lucky, but got exactly what she deserved .

Honestly, this is what won me over. Because the last part, ‘got exactly what she deserved', could be a very negative thing in my case. So it's the context that makes it dreamy. Because my prize in this particular instance is Cross. It's the perfect thing to say to a proud single mother.

And the ending, of course. She can pull off every kind of vintage and if she chooses him, she will never be alone and scared again.

Alone and scared. It's an interesting addition to his ad. One I don't quite understand yet. But I can't wait for him to explain.

Even though I would never have labeled Amon Parrish as ‘most likely to be a good father' back in high school, I can see it now. Yes, he's still wild. But his worldliness has also made him wise. And not only that, he is kind. All men who love dogs as much as he does have kindness in them. He would be a good role model for Cross. Not that my son doesn't have his share—all my brothers stepped up for Cross. Pate, Rush, Ash, and Lecter are all in their thirties, settled down now and with families of their own.

But it would be nice to have a man in the house again. To sleep next to someone every night. To be there when he got home from work. To talk about my day with a grown-up. Not that I don't have friends, I do. But it's not the same as discussing life with a partner.

I sigh again, closing my eyes to daydream a little before I get up and get ready for Revival. I gotta be there early because it's a dramatic day. The conclusion to all the tension that has been building since Easter Sunday reaches a crescendo next weekend on the Fourth of July and the final act begins.

This is my favorite part of our modern Revival season. The slow and lingering nature of the final weeks of summer when the plot is low-energy and a little bit sad. We're still playing out the Prodigal Son story from the beginning of the season, even though Collin and Lowyn are gone. They were replaced by Jameson Grimm and Taylor Hill—who really kinda hate each other, so everyone is ready for this season to be over.

The guests don't seem to mind, though. The regulars who come are caught up in the costumes, and the parties, and the atmosphere. And the first-timers care not a bit about the continuity of the story. They barely know it's happening. It's just a sideshow for them. A carnival. One of three stops on their tour of Trinity County.

But in my opinion, the weeks after Fourth of July give everyone time to breathe, and appreciate the beauty of Revival, and bask in the late summer sun as the story builds again, coming to a final climax around Thanksgiving and then, of course, the real turn into the next year's story.

It's a weird cycle, but I like it.

If this sounds like you, Gray Eyes, please respond to me, Rugged and Worldly, in the next issue so we can start a public correspondence.

This part says… I see you, Rosie Harlow. And I like what I see. Not only that, I want everyone in town to know it.

I throw the covers off, get up, and start getting dressed in my costume for the day. But I'm just going through the motions because in my head I am composing my first correspondence with Rugged and Worldly.

At the Revival I fan myself and shout, "Amen!" at just the right time. I faint in the middle aisle of the tent—just once this week—and get covered in sawdust. And then I flit down the aisles of the over-tent—which is in place because it's raining—starting scenes, and finishing scenes, and generally doing what I do every weekend. Just… filling in where they need me.

At four-thirty April Laver pushes aside the tent flap of her bakery and joins me in the back alley where I am sitting on a crate, taking a break. There is a scent of baking bread that lingers on her like perfume. Sometimes she smells like cupcakes.

April waves the Busybody at me. "What's this?"

I play dumb. "What do ya mean?" Everyone was murmuring about the ad this morning, but it was too busy for any of my close friends to question me about it. Now that the day is over, it's time. And I'm ready. More than ready. I'm excited about it.

"This ad, Rosie. What is going on with you and Amon?"

"What makes you think it's Amon?"

Her eyes go big. "Rugged and Worldly? Who else would it be? It's not Collin. And I doubt those other boys up there at that compound would even think to place a personal ad in an obscure, and fake, Bishop newspaper. Besides"—she smiles at me—"you've got the eyes of a thunderhead, Rosie. They're a storm."

I roll these gray eyes right to her face. "Like the rumble before the glory?" Which refers to the famous Revival sermon that plays every week on the loudspeakers.

"No. They're the echo on the water."

I scoff. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"You know. When you're out by the river, and the sun is going down, and the loons are calling, and you get those chills up your arms. That's the echo. The chills, Rosie." She laughs now. "‘Small-town woman with shining gray eyes and a personality to match.' That's got Rosie Harlow written all over it right there. And anyway, the ‘good mother' part gave it away."

I actually go speechless.

"What?" April asks.

"Nothing, it's just…" My eyes squint down a little. "You think I'm a good mother?"

"Oh, hell, Rosie. Everyone thinks you're a good mother. Even if you do cat around with questionable men called Scar from Fayetteville."

April winks at me. Like she knows I don't cat around with anyone. Like she knows I spend every moment of my day being busy so I don't have to remember that I'm alone at night. Like she knows I haven't been on a date in years now.

Then, suddenly, she grabs my hand and looks me right in the eyes. "Don't let him get away, Rosie."

"What?"

"Amon. He's a keeper. And this ad?" She holds up the Busybody and shakes it a little. "It's proof. So whatever hesitation you have, get rid of it."

"I'm not hesitating. I like him. Hell, I was daydreaming about him when you came out here. I've been daydreaming about him all day."

"Then why am I hearing rumors that you've got a secret admirer?"

My heart skips a beat. "What?"

"Come on, don't play dumb with me. Everyone in Trinity County knows you're getting letters."

"People are talking about that?" I'm shocked.

"Not only talking about it, they're taking sides."

"What do you mean?"

"Amon or the admirer, of course. A love triangle? We've done enough of them in the Revival stories for you to know better. The woman always loses, Rosie. And after this?" She shakes the Busybody again. "They're mostly rootin' for Amon. And if you drag it out too long, they're gonna get mad."

"What the fuck? My life is no one's business."

April scoffs. "This is Disciple. You, of all people, know that your life most certainly is our business." She looks down her nose at me, making her lips thin with disapproval. "Put an end to those letters, Rosie. They need to stop."

Then she turns and goes back inside her tent. Leaving the scent of fresh-baked bread behind her.

I sit there on the crate, confused. Because I didn't ask for any of this. People should just butt out.

But I know I need to do something about these letters. And tonight is the night Erol will be waiting for me at Fayetteville Burger Boy.

I wasn't gonna go. I wasn't. I wrote my response and that was it, as far as I was concerned. But everything April just said has me worried. Not about the opinions of the town—obviously, I don't care what people think about me—but I don't want this to get back to Amon. It's gonna ruin everything. There is no love triangle here. I've done nothing but open letters that were addressed to me. Why is this my fault?

Why, Rosie? Come on. Because you're the woman. Clearly, I'm a harlot who wants to have her cake and eat it too.

I roll my eyes. But April isn't wrong. If he keeps sending me letters, people will keep talking. And then Cross is gonna hear about it.

No. Nope. That right there is my hard limit. No, no, no. My son will not be hearing gossip about some fake love triangle. I absolutely need to put an end to this. I had no intention of meeting Erol at the Burger Boy tonight, but I'll be there. And by the time I leave he will know exactly where I stand and can be on his way to wherever it is he's going.

That's one thing I like about Trinity County. There are no apartments for rent to outsiders. Even the trailer I vacated to move into Lowyn's house was snapped up by graduating high schoolers. There are no houses for sale, either. And even if there were, they would not be listed anywhere else but on the bulletin board inside the little stone building where Jim Bob Baptist does his government business.

I guess Erol could come into town—attend a Revival, or something—and make trouble for me. But that would be a mistake. I have four brothers and they would not be swayed by a silly love-triangle story. They would chase him out.

But the letters, they're different. They come from outside and sneak their way in without permission, but there's no way to prevent them from coming.

So after Revival I go home—Cross is out with friends again, of course—and change into regular clothes. Because I'm going down to the Burger Boy to send this man from my past on his way.

I wait there for three hours . I sit in my car at the fuckin' Burger Boy for three hours .

And he never shows.

My anger builds as I drive home. What a waste of time. This jerk, he hasn't changed. And I don't even want to see him again. I only went so I could tell him to stay away. And now it looks like I was rejected again.

Never. He's dead to me now.

When I park in my driveway it's nearly midnight but I notice that there's a light on inside the house. I grab my purse and go to the door, unlock it and push it open. "Cross?" The light is coming from his bedroom. "Are you home?" He was supposed to stay the night at his friend's house. But when I look in the bedroom, it's empty. He's not here. I flip the light off and go back into the living room, looking around, suspicious now.

It's probably nothing, but… I dunno. I get a weird feeling, like someone was here.

Someone like Erol?

Calmly, I walk into the kitchen, open up the pantry, and grab the shotgun. I check all the bedrooms on the first floor first, then the basement. I do this just in case someone is still here. It gives them a chance to escape. I would much rather an intruder escape than shoot them.

Flashes of memory from when Collin had to do just that, in this very house, start flipping through my brain like someone's shuffling a deck of cards.

I take my time in the basement, listening for creaking floorboards. Then I go back up and check the master bedroom on the second floor.

No one.

I go back down and check the locks on all the doors and windows. Then I take my shotgun back up to my room and lay it down in the bed next to me.

Maybe it's crazy.

But then again, maybe it's not.