Chapter 5 - Lowyn

Ididn't really have time to assess the hotness factor when I kicked Collin out of my house this morning, but I swear, when I saw him in that hedge maze, I about lost my breath. And I had already been looking at him on the video on Bryn's phone for several minutes before he caught me.

Not that anything I was doing was illegal. Of course I'm gonna look at the video. I cannot remember what I did.

Well, let's just say that thanks to that video, my memory has been jogged. I was sitting at the bar alone, just doing my thing. Getting drunk. And yes, I was looking for a man to take home.

This part isn't on the video because probably no one was paying attention to me until much later. But I do recall the moment I first saw Collin Creed walk through the bar door. Except I didn't know it was Collin. I didn't even have an inkling. Why would I? I haven't seen him in nearly twelve years. Haven't even thought about him really.

And I know, I know, I know that the bedroom doesn't look good on my part. Might make me appear dejected. Or jaded. Or possibly even unhinged. But I really haven't been pining over Collin Creed since high school. That's just not how it went.

And my proof, should anyone confront me on this point, is that I didn't even recognize him. All I saw was a very handsome man with a chiseled—yet slightly scruffy—face, mesmerizing hazel eyes, and that hair that has never been able to decide if it was blond or brown. He was wearing a leather jacket, jeans that hugged those thighs of his, and a t-shirt that said… well… something. I don't recall the t-shirt slogan.

He and I locked eyes. I remember that part too. That's how I remember what color they were. And then he headed in my direction and took the empty seat right next to me.

It was the only empty seat at the bar, to be fair. So it didn't immediately mean anything. Still, my heart was racing like crazy and when he turned on the stool to get his wallet out of his pocket, and his knee accidentally bumped into mine, I felt like I was back in junior high.

He said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to?—"

And that's as far as he got. His eyes went wide. Then he squinted them down into slits. "Lowyn?"

I was confused at first. I was still not thinking this man was Collin Creed. So I said, "I'm sorry, do we know each other?"

He pointed to himself. "Collin Creed. Dated you for three years in high school."

My mouth. Dropped. Open. I think I even gasped. In fact, I was taking a swig of my beer in that moment and I actually choked on it. Which made Collin start pattin' me on the back like a fuckin' baby.

When I finally calmed down, he squinted at me again. "You really don't remember me?"

Remember him? That was not my problem. The problem was the boy who killed a man right in front of my eyes when I was sixteen—the very one who walked out on me after we made all those plans—was back. And I was just supposed to… what? Take it all in stride?

Typically, as Bryn pointed out when I was telling her this story, this is my style. I take everything in stride. Except Collin Creed walking back into my life after almost a dozen years and sitting down at the bar stool next to me on the very night when I was out looking for a good time and had plans to get drunk.

I have never been much of a numbers girl—exhibit A, I had no idea I was paying for a landline phone all these years, maybe it's time to hire an accountant?—but what are the odds that he would show up in that bar, on that night?

So then I just started ranting and raving about fate. And the longer I talked, the more I drank.

I am pleased to report that I was a happy drunk until I woke up this morning and became a thoroughly humiliated, nearly-sober, respectable member of society once again.

Normally I do not do uptight. But there I was, caught in that maze, being a total bitch.

You can't eat here? God, what a childish remark.

And what did he do? What did Collin Creed do? Call me up on a phone that has been hanging on my kitchen wall for almost eight years and never once rang so he could invite me over to pick through his treasures.

What is a girl to make of that?

Is he coming on to me?

Do I want him to come on to me?

I mean… the guy was the love of my life. Until that night stole everything from us. In a matter of moments my perfect future with this man was shattered into bits and pieces. He was never the same after that.

I get why he shot the guy. He was scary. He looked homeless, or maybe he was on drugs. There was a lot about that intruder that was off even before you added in the fact that he was in the middle of kidnapping a little girl right from her bed.

And I get that Collin Creed, even back then, was kind of imposing and big. An athlete, tall and muscular. But he had just turned eighteen. He was still a kid, really. I looked at him after it was over. There was blood splattered everywhere. All over Olive—she was a horror show. Some of it even got as far as Collin. Little dots on his face. But when I looked at him, I saw someone else. Someone I had never met.

His eyes were raging wild, his breath coming out hard and fast. Olive was screaming. Just screaming her head off. And then someone was knocking on the door. Pounding, really.

It was the next-door neighbor asking if everything was OK. Jim Rush. That's who lived there back then.

We didn't plan anything. There wasn't time. Collin looked at me, panicked, then he looked at Olive and let out a breath. "Are you OK?" That's what he asked her. She had stopped screaming when the door pounding started.

We didn't plan the story. We didn't. Jim Rush broke through the locked door. Just kicked it open and came barreling through. He stopped and just stared at the body. Then each of us. We were all standing exactly where it happened. The dead man was crumpled around Olive's feet. Collin still had the rifle pointed where the man used to be. I was still hiding behind him with my hand to my mouth in shock.

Jim found us all in the hallway like that and he was screaming, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! What the fuck? What the fuck?" Asking everything twice. "Are you OK? Are you OK?"

We were OK, I guess. Bloody and traumatized, but we were not hurt.

I kinda lost time, but the next thing I remember is that me, Olive, and Collin were all outside, standing in the driveway. And the police—Jerry Cane and Matthew Reed—were telling us to calm down, take our time, and tell our story.

Olive and I didn't say anything and Collin lied. Said the guy came at us.

When they asked Olive and me for our story, I repeated what Collin had said. I don't know why. To protect him, I guess. I mean, I think he was justified. I know the guy was surrendering, but later—days later, actually—when the final report came out, it said that the man had a gun in the waistband of his pants.

So I think Collin was justified.

Olive didn't say anything that night and no one made her give a statement. Some days later, I think she did corroborate the story. And in two weeks the whole matter was put to bed.

But Collin, the one I knew, anyway, was gone.

He didn't hardly talk anymore. He skipped classes in school or just didn't go. And by March we all knew he had joined the Marines. He and Amon both.

I don't think they planned it that way. Amon ran with a different crowd. Most of his friends were from Revenant. Since the towns are all so small around here, Disciple, Revenant, and Bishop all share schools. The three towns make up a crude triangle on the map, so back in the Seventies or Eighties the county built a school compound smack in the middle of that triangle so we'd all have a ‘better school experience.' They were just being cheap. They wanted three schools for everyone in the area instead of nine. But it was kinda nice going to school with kids who didn't live down the street.

Amon lived in Disciple, but his crew was from Revenant, so I can't even imagine that Collin joined up because of Amon.

But they are friends now, I guess.

Weird how one night—literally the span of seconds—can change the course of an entire life.

I was so mad at Collin. I screamed at him when I found out he had joined up. And I never scream. Not about anything. I don't even think I screamed when the gun went off. But when Collin joined the Marines, I lost it. I lost my mind. It was a terrible night. I was crying so hard. And it was for so many things. The shooting, the lies, the way Collin just withdrew. And the fact that I was not important enough to stick around for.

He didn't yell back. Just looked at me as I screamed and cried.

That was Easter night. I remember that. It came early that year, so that whole week prior the town was scrambling to get the tent up and everything ready for the first Revival of the year. They always start on Easter morning and end on Christmas Eve.

And of course, Collin's daddy, Mr. Creed, was the preacher. So he was busy. So busy. We were all busy, I guess. My family, the McBrides, we ran the souvenir booth, plus my mama had the flea market. And the thing is, when Easter comes early like that it's cold outside. Some years it snows. And that particular year, I remember, it was snowing.

There were brightly-colored tulips everywhere, their pale yellow and pink blooms peeking up from the blanket of snow that had formed overnight. The tent is an aged cream color, stained brown in some spots, which made it look vintage and charming surrounded by the snow and the bits of green grass as the day warmed up. This was before we had the scaffolding built around it so we could put up an even bigger tent over the Revival one, should the weather call for it.

But it was still nice. There were rabbits scurrying around and a few deer in the field. And the sun was peeking out, shining scattered rays of light down on us like God was pleased. The whole scene was beautiful. It looked like an Easter card you'd get in the mail from your nana.

I was walking to the tent that morning to get ready for work and I had stopped in the street to just look at it. That's when Amon came up to me. Pinched me on the arm in a playful way. We weren't friends, but we were friendly. "Never thought I'd see the day that Collin Creed would join the Marines."

My head whipped to the side to look at him. "What?"

And then he spilled the whole secret.

That's how I learned that my boyfriend broke up with me.

From Amon fuckin' Parrish.

They left at the end of May after graduation. And even though they came back together one time that first year, Collin didn't even call me.

Easter night, twelve years ago, was the last time we spoke. He listened to me rant and rave and then he said, "I'm sorry, Lowyn. I gotta go."

I thought he meant he had to go home or something. That we'd pick this conversation up at some point. But on Easter Monday, he didn't show up for school. And when I went to his house that afternoon, his mama said he moved out.

Moved. Out.

"Where did he go?"

"He didn't say."

"Well, he can't just move out! He's in high school!"

But that wasn't true. He was eighteen.

I never did find out where he was staying. He had a Jeep, but he wasn't living in it. And knowing what I do now, I imagine he was staying with Amon, maybe.

I was so hurt. And back then, kids didn't have cell phones. Not kids where I grew up, anyway. So I could call that landline all I wanted, he wasn't gonna be there.

He came back to school, and I did try and corner him once, but he wouldn't even look at me. He turned his head as I yelled in the hallway in front of his locker. And when I was done, he just walked away.

Not another word.

I gotta go. That was the last thing he ever said to me until last night at the bar.

So how am I supposed to feel about this?

On the one hand, I'm giddy at the thought of him being around again.

But sad, too. Because of how we ended. And because I don't know him anymore. It didn't really hit me until he said those words, "Our opinions diverge here," that I felt all the missing pieces inside me.

Because he always had the heart of a poet. He used to say the most beautiful things to me. Not telling me I'm beautiful, though he did do that. Just the way he always had a new word to take the place of an old one, even in the most ordinary of situations.

Our opinions diverge here.

It's art.

In the morning, I'm packing for this week's pickin' trip and Rosie's mouth is runnin' like a motorboat as I gather up everything I need from the back of the shop. She's been talking about some guy named Scar who lives in Fayetteville, which is a big town down the river from Disciple.

I don't even bother mentioning that a guy called Scar is probably not the best choice because she already knows this. Rosie picks the bad ones every single time. She doesn't ever pick anyone from the Trinity area. But she doesn't ever bring them home to meet Cross, either, so everyone in Disciple gives her a pass on her dubious taste in men.

Whatever happens between her and these men is her business, I guess.

But just as I'm putting my little travel bag into the back of the truck, she changes the subject. "So… what's up with you and Collin?"

"What do you mean?" I close the back passenger door of the truck, walk around, and open the driver's.

She huffs at me. "He's back. Obviously single."

"How do you know that?"

"Amon told me. Said they're both single. In fact, all the men up there in that compound are single. Every girl in Disciple just let out a sigh, Lowyn."

"Good for them. We're not together, Rosie. We're not going to get together, either."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" I scoff. And I don't feel like talking about this. So I just change the subject. "I'll be back on Thursday night, as usual. My itinerary is on the board in the break room. Call me if you need anything."

Then I get in the truck and close my door before she can say anything else.

She's still smirking at me as she waves goodbye from the parking lot.

I'm heading southwest for this trip. I've got appointments set up near Knoxville, Chattanooga, and Memphis. That's probably as far as I'll get. Then I'll just turn around and drive home on Thursday morning. I love pickin' Tennessee, and I haven't done it in a while. Almost two years, maybe. I've spent the better part of the last year up in the Great Lakes region, so this will be a nice change.

About three and a half hours into my trip I make my first stop at a beautiful farm just outside Johnson City. There's a wrought-iron gate with a stone wall on either side, so I just let out a long sigh as I make my way up the driveway.

This woman is a dealer. Her specialty is mid-century toys. Which is a hot item, all the time. Everyone loves toys and they just don't make them the way they used to. Haven't for decades.

I warned this woman on the phone that I would not be paying top dollar. She said, "Just come out and look. You just come out and look."

And I thought, OK. She was warned. But this… dear God. The house at the end of the long, smooth blacktop driveway is made of stone too. River stone. It's gorgeous. A sprawling rambler that fits neatly into the curves of the hillside.

I'm instantly irritated because I know she's gonna have good stuff in that house. And I also know that I'm not gonna get much, if anything, because I've got a flea-market budget and this is boutique-class all the way.

But I'm here, so I might as well take a look. I get out and she's already coming down the front walk saying my name. "Welcome, Miss McBride. Welcome! I'm Sassy. So good to finally meet you."

Sassy's middle-aged. Maybe forty, maybe a little older. Well-kept, with make-up and blonde hair in an old-fashioned updo that is just the right amount of messy. She's wearing a long cotton dress with a muted floral pattern that drops just below her knees so she can show off her designer cowboy boots.

She's a country fuckin' music star, I just know it.

"It's just Lowyn."

"Lowyn, come in! Let's talk." Then she grabs my hand and takes me inside.

There is no way I can stop my gawking once I go through that door. The stone fireplace, the wide-planked salvaged floors, the gray and black tones, and the view of the forest outside just about takes my breath away. Her home is so beautiful. It's something out of a magazine. "Do you sing country music?"

She laughs. "I did, I did. You got me. What gave it away?"

"Well, everything. But listen?—"

She puts up a hand. "Ah, ah, ah. I already know what you're gonna say."

"Ya do?"

"I'm too fancy for your blood."

"Well, you are. I'm sorry."

"No, no, no. You're jumpin' the gun. I'm not interested in making top dollar."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't need the money, sugar. I'm not selling this stuff for money. I'm selling this stuff for revenge."

I smile, then giggle. "Divorce?"

She points at me. "Nailed it. That bastard. He was a lying, cheatin' fool. But I got the house, and the horses, and the guitars, and the toys."

"What he'd get?"

"The yacht. The mansion in the Bahamas. And the dog." She makes a face, a sad face that turns into an angry face. "I'm pissed off about the dog."

"I see."

"I loved that dog. She's my baby. And he's taken her prisoner. Don't worry!" Sassy puts her hand up again. "She's gonna be fine. I'm gonna steal her back as soon as I can find someone to do that for me. But first, I'm gonna sell his toy collection and"—she pauses to wink at me—"make a little country-music comeback." Then she takes my hand and starts leading me through the house. "Now listen, I've got a proposition for you, Lowyn McBride…"