***
Bobbi gripped the steering wheel so hard the tendons in her wrists threatened to snap. The dark road ahead began to blur through a thick filter of tears, streetlights and yellow lines swirling together like abstract art, so she pulled onto the shoulder and threw the car in park, letting the engine idle and sputter as raindrops pelted the windshield.
Her breath hitched, sending one plump tear rolling down her cheek.
I
promise
she’s not worth it.
For the life of her, Bobbi couldn’t understand why those six little words had affected her so deeply, like a roundhouse kick to the gut. It wasn’t as if she really cared about Trey—she didn’t love him—so why did she give a damn what his uppity prune of a mother thought?
She shouldn’t have eavesdropped, because she hadn’t needed further proof that Trey’s mom hated her—the woman’s hostile glares had said it all. With a frosty sneer, Mrs. Lewis had raked her gaze over Bobbi’s fat thighs, shaking her head pitifully as if to say,
Oh, honey, you should cover up those sausages
.
“Garbage,” Bobbi whispered to herself, wiping away another tear. That’s how Mrs. Lewis had described her, and it hadn’t helped that she’d looked the part. Instead of her polished designer wardrobe, she’d stumbled into Trey’s kitchen clad in Daisy Dukes and an old T-shirt, her shoes dripping wet, hair snarled, mascara oozing down her face. Not to mention wrapped around Trey and moaning like a porn star. What mother wanted to see her son with a woman like that?
Bobbi’s insides felt raw, like she’d skinned her soul instead of her knees or elbows. She hadn’t felt this exposed since the seventh grade, when she’d experienced her very first kiss. One of the popular boys, a cute soccer player named Ian Price, had asked her to walk with him behind the gym. Holding her hand, he’d kissed her so sweetly it had made the backs of her eyes sting with unshed tears—because
finally
, someone had seen beyond the grubby clothes and the unkempt hair to the girl underneath. But he’d walked her back to class without another word and ignored her each day afterward. A week later, she’d overheard two girls talking in the restroom and learned Ian had only kissed her to win a triple-dog-dare. She’d hidden inside her toilet stall, hugged her knees to her chest, and sobbed in silence for what felt like hours, while half the school laughed behind her back.
Now she understood the connection—why Mrs. Lewis’s words had scraped her so bare. It was Trey. Bobbi’d opened herself to him, just like she’d done with Ian. The judgmental barbs that ordinarily wouldn’t have fazed her had penetrated her heart because she’d made it vulnerable. She’d left it unguarded.
God, she was an idiot. Had she really been willing to sacrifice everything for one night with Trey?
“Why?” she demanded of herself, right before letting her forehead thunk against the steering wheel. “Why can’t you just stay away from him?”
Enough
, she decided. No more brooding. It was time to get her shit together and return home, where she could lose it again in the privacy of her guest bedroom.
Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the headrest and practiced the mental exercise her child psychologist had taught her more than a decade ago, after her third suspension for fighting. Focusing on her negative emotions, she imagined piling them like stones into a bulletproof box and locking them down tight.
At first, this was no different from all the other times, but when she imagined slamming the lid down, it wouldn’t latch. All those horrible feelings started bucking inside, rattling the hinges like a deranged convict demanding freedom. Balling her fists with extra effort, she was eventually able to close and lock the box, but she didn’t know how much longer the lock would hold. She didn’t want to know what would happen if nearly two dozen years of sick memories and neglected emotions escaped their prison. For good measure, she imagined locking her box inside a larger one, then wrapping it in chains and dumping it into the ocean. Not even Houdini could escape that.
She sucked a deep breath in through her nose and released it in a loud puff. There, that was better. Satisfied that she could drive safely, she checked over her shoulder for oncoming traffic—what little of it existed in this town—before pulling onto the road and heading for Luke’s.
Fifteen minutes later, she turned onto his gravel driveway and parked beside June’s new car, a glossy Accord the color of grape cough syrup. June really had a thing for purple.
Tucking her leather handbag beneath her shirt to protect it from the rain, Bobbi jogged across the lawn and up the steps to the front porch. She’d just begun fishing for her house key when a sudden movement to her right tore a gasp from her throat.
“Sorry,” said June’s voice from the darkness. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Bobbi bent a few inches and squinted, barely making out her brother and sister-in-law, who sat cuddled on the porch swing, wineglasses in hand.
Luke checked his watch. “It’s a holiday. Shouldn’t you be out partying? Only boring married couples come home this early.”
Boring or not, Bobbi couldn’t think of a better way to spend a stormy night than snuggled up with a man who loved her, sipping wine and watching the rain from the warmth and safety of his embrace. Feigning indifference, she shrugged one shoulder. “I’m tired.”
Even in the darkness she noticed Luke’s posture change, hardening in alarm. He handed his wineglass to June. “Something’s wrong. What happened?”
“Nothing,” she lied, following up with a trifling laugh. “I was up with the sun this morning, and I’m just—”
“Have you been crying?” he demanded.
How on earth could he know that? He couldn’t possibly see her puffy eyes from all the way over there.
“Your voice is all scratchy,” he explained, “and you sound like someone ran over your dog.” With the greatest of care, he took June’s shoulders and pushed her forward so he could stand. “Just tell me who I need to kill.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. And by the way, I’m allergic to dogs.” Changing the subject didn’t deter him.
Muscled arms folded over his chest, he stalked closer. “This is what big brothers are for, to kick the teeth outta guys who screw with their kin.” When he stepped near enough to study her face in the moonlight’s faded glow, his brows lowered, forming a slash over his dark eyes. “You
have
been crying. Damn it, Bo, what happened? Did someone hurt you? Where was Trey? He’s supposed to be handling stuff like this for me.”
Bobbi’s face heated. Her insides were still too raw, and for some backward reason, Luke’s brotherly concern only served to provoke her anger.
Now
he wanted to protect her? Where was he a dozen years ago, when she really needed him? Where was Luke when Ian Price told the whole soccer team Bobbi was a lousy kisser who tasted like welfare cheese? Or when she’d started ninth grade at a new school and felt terrified the other teens would see through her designer clothes and trendy haircut to the poseur underneath? She could have used a big brother then. Where was Luke when Bobbi’d found their mother dead, slumped over the toilet like Elvis? Here in Mayberry, that’s where, with June and Pru and a whole community of people who loved and supported him. He was going to church, feasting on fried chicken and buttered grits, getting everything out of life she’d been denied.
“I don’t need Trey or anyone else watching out for me,” she snapped. “While you were fishing and skinny-dipping and shit, I was learning how to throw a right hook.”
With a deep, slow sigh, he patted her arm in a condescending gesture. “I know, hon.”
“Don’t do that!” She shoved his hand away. “Don’t pretend to know what it was like for me. Not when you were living on some redneck version of Easy Street!”
“What?” Luke gripped his hips. “Is that what you think? That I had some
Leave
it
to
Beaver
experience here when Mama left?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
“Then you’re delusional!”
June set both glasses on the wooden porch and hurried to her husband’s side. Linking their arms, she began stroking his chest, almost petting him. He responded to her gentle touch immediately, shoulders sinking as his muscles unclenched.
“Let’s not do this,” June said softly. “It’s not a contest. There’s no prize for whoever had the worst childhood. We all had a rough time growing up, but we’re together now, and we’re happy. That’s what matters, right?”
We’re happy?
Speak
for
yourself.
Damn it, Bobbi was brooding again, and she didn’t want to turn into
that
girl—the bitter buzz kill who wound up living with a dozen cats. She silently counted to ten and tried to rein in her misplaced anger. “Yeah.” None of her problems were Luke’s fault. He’d provided free room and board—even a vehicle for the summer—without asking for anything in return, and she had no right to tear him down. “I’m sorry.”
She opened the screen door, staring into the foyer, grappling with the right words to complete her apology, but nothing came. Instead of loitering in the dark, she decided to reorganize the kitchen pantry. Maybe the coat closet after that. And if that didn’t make her feel better, there was always the toolshed.
Bobbi was beginning to think she’d missed her calling in life, because hot diggety damn, she stocked a mean grocery shelf. Using a damp dishrag, she wiped down a can of peas, removing the sticky residue from the sugar Luke had spilled inside the pantry last week, then lovingly placed the peas alphabetically in front of the pears and peppers. She rotated it ten degrees to the left so the label faced outward in perfect alignment with the others, then sat back to admire her work. Using the food pyramid as inspiration, she’d filled the top shelf with oils, sugars, and baking goods, followed by proteins like canned tuna and legumes, then fruits and vegetables on the shelf below, and ending with grains at the very bottom—bread, pretzels, crackers, and pasta noodles. The flawless symmetry with which she’d arranged these products gave Bobbi a soothing sense of accomplishment. She sighed in relief.
Funny, she hadn’t thought of it in years, but this was exactly what she’d done her first night living with Papa and Daddy. Her dads had tucked her into bed, blissfully unaware of her scheme to whip the place into shape, and they’d awoken the next morning to a gleaming, meticulously reorganized kitchen. They’d vowed right then and there to make her “lighten up and enjoy life’s little messes.” Bobbi snickered. They’d failed miserably. She didn’t
do
messy.
Standing, she brushed her hands together and grabbed a bag of M&Ms from the top shelf, figuring she’d earned a break. She sat at the kitchen table, sprinkled a few dozen candies onto the polished oak, and sorted them according to color. Then she proceeded to eat them one at a time in order from darkest to lightest. The sweet, crunchy chocolates lifted her spirits for an instant, until the scent reminded her of Mrs. Lewis’s brownies.
Leave it to Trey’s mom to taint a smell as comforting at cocoa.
“Hey,” June said, taking the seat across from Bobbi at the table, “I eat mine like that too. Except I put them in seasonal color combinations first, like red and green for Christmas, and orange and brown for fall.”
Bobbi shook another pile of M&Ms onto the oak and pushed them in June’s direction. “Glad to hear I’m not the only one with OCD candy habits. I do it with Smarties too.”
“Oh, I love Smarties.” June pursed her lips a moment. “I wonder if anyone’s invented a Smartie-flavored martini yet.”
“If they have, I’ll bet you can do it better.”
“Aw, thanks.” Flushing beneath ivory skin, June averted her gaze, clearly uncomfortable with accepting a compliment. Bobbi understood—she’d always had the same problem. “You’re sweet.”
Propping her elbow on the table, Bobbi rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “That’s not the word most people would use to describe me.” Tenacious? Sure. Assertive? You bet. Ballbuster? Sometimes. But sweet? No, that adjective was reserved for soft-spoken, natural caregivers like June.
“Luckily, I know you better than most people.” June pointed a yellow candy shell at her. “And I say you’re sweet.” She tried using a forceful tone, but it was instantly neutralized by her wide, brown eyes and Shirley Temple ringlets.
“Not even my brother would agree with you. Where is he, by the way?”
“In the toolshed.” June lined up her M&Ms and began flipping them right-side up. “Tinkering. It’s how he deals, kind of like his version of alphabetizing the spice rack.” Darting a glance at the open pantry, June wrinkled her forehead and nodded at the shelves. “No offense, but that creeps me out. It reminds me of the scene in
Sleeping
with
the
Enemy
where Julia Roberts comes home and finds all the cans in her cupboard lined up and facing the same way.”
“Oh, yeah, and then she runs in the bathroom and notices the towels are hanging just right.”
“And that’s how she knows her psycho husband’s been in the house.” June shivered.
“Sorry.” Bobbi tossed a handful of candies into her mouth and spoke with one cheek full. “You can mess it up if you want. It’s not the finished product that makes me feel better; it’s the act itself.”
While June absently rotated each M&M, she bit her lip and stared at the table in a way that warned Bobbi a change was coming in their small talk. “I can tell it’s hard for you and Luke being together like this.” Peeking through her lashes, she added, “Because you’re both jealous of what the other one had.”
“Luke? Jealous of
me
?” Bobbi felt her brows pinch together. “What did I have that he could possibly want?”
June replied without hesitation, as if the answer should be obvious. “A mother.”
“Psssh,” Bobbi scoffed. “She wasn’t much of a mother. He didn’t miss out on anything after she left.”
“I know. I remember a little about her, and to be honest, he wasn’t missing out on much while she was still here.”
“Exactly. Mama was there in body, but not in mind or spirit. I don’t know why she didn’t leave us both behind, since she barely acknowledged my existence anyway.” God only knows how she would’ve turned out if it hadn’t been for her dads.
“That’s the thing,” June said, leaning forward. “I think it would’ve been easier for Luke if your mom had left both of you, but she didn’t. Instead, she chose
you
and abandoned
him
. Like playing favorites, but on a bigger scale. Can you imagine how that would feel for a twelve-year-old boy who’d already lost his father?”
Bobbi nodded, the corners of her mouth drooping in a frown. “The ultimate rejection.”
“Right, because nobody’s supposed to love you more than your own mother. And by taking you to California with her, she basically told Luke you were worth keeping, but he wasn’t. It really messed him up, and I’d know—he came to live with us after that. He was angry at first, breaking things and acting out, and even after he calmed down, he was really guarded.”
Bobbi absently pushed her M&Ms across the table. “Poor kid.” She could picture him, tall and lanky like Carlo with a cap of reddish-brown hair, desperately trying to act like a little man while bleeding on the inside. She wanted to wrap her arms around twelve-year-old Luke and hug away his pain. “I wish he could’ve known how lucky he was, staying with you and your grandma.”
June shrugged. “He sees that now, but it wasn’t so easy back then. For the longest time, he had serious trust issues. The first time I told Luke I loved him, he lost his shit—oops, I mean sugar—and we didn’t talk for almost ten years after that.”
“When you moved away?”
“Yep. After we got married, he told me
I
love
you
were the last words his mom said to him before she left. So all those years, he assumed people didn’t mean it. That’s why he’d reacted so harshly with me, because deep down, he didn’t think he was worth loving. It broke my heart to hear him say that.” June lowered her voice, glancing from side to side as if someone might be listening. “But don’t tell him I told you. He doesn’t like people knowing. I think on some level, he’s still ashamed that his own mama didn’t want him, and that’s why he never told Trey about you.”
“That’s awful.”
“When I came back to town, I basically had to teach him how to love. It wasn’t easy.” She got a far-off look in her eyes and smiled sadly. “He fought me almost to the death, but I eventually got through to him.”
“I’m glad.” Bobbi reached out and patted June’s hand. “I guess I should thank you for that.”
Smiling, June gave Bobbi’s fingers a squeeze. “You two are more alike than you think. I hope you can let go of what you missed out on, and focus on what you have. You’ve already lost so much time.”
Bobbi took a few minutes to digest what June had just shared with her. Looking back, Mama’d had a dysfunctional relationship with members of the male sex, disdainful but codependent. She’d clearly despised men, but Bobbi couldn’t remember a time when Mama hadn’t had a boyfriend, or at the very least, a steady booty call. Maybe that’d been the motivating factor in her mother’s decision to abandon Luke. At twelve years old, he’d just started to become a man—the embodiment of everything their mother had hated.
Bobbi cringed, remembering her own words.
Don’t pretend to know what it was like for me. Not when you were living on some redneck version of Easy Street!
She’d had no idea how deeply Mama had cut Luke, nor how long his wounds had taken to heal. How arrogant of her to assume she’d been the only one to suffer.
“Think I’ll go talk to him,” Bobbi decided. “If I don’t make it back in half an hour, come make sure we haven’t killed each other.”
June giggled. “Just do me a favor and don’t hit him below the belt. I’m ovulating soon, so I need him fully operational tonight.”
Bobbi did
not
need to know that. “I didn’t realize you two were trying for a baby.” As often as Luke plowed that field, June should’ve sprouted a seedling by now. It looked like Bobbi would be sleeping with her earbuds in.
“We’re not. At least not officially.” June bit her lip while a rosy flush mottled her cheeks. “He needs a little more convincing, but I think I can sway him.”
What was Bobbi supposed to say to that? Break a leg? Or break an egg? “I’d better go,” she muttered clumsily, “before I lose my nerve.” She pushed to standing and scurried toward the exit, desperately trying not to picture the conception of her future niece or nephew.
“Hey,” June called, “send him in when you’re done. The wine’s making me sleepy.”
“You got it.”
Note
to
self: never bunk with newlyweds again, no matter how broke
.
Bobbi stepped out the back door and shuffled down the porch steps, immediately stopping short at the eerie change in the weather. A thick, rolling fog had uncurled over the lawn, creeping lazily toward nowhere in particular. The rain had stopped, and a full moon hung low and heavy in the sky like an overripe melon, illuminating the dense night air. Sudden movement from within the tall cornstalks bordering Luke’s property caused Bobbi’s breath to catch. Images of knife-wielding, white-haired children of the corn flashed in her mind, and she broke into a run, bolting toward the shed’s glow. It was probably just a raccoon scurrying through the field, but try telling that to her overactive imagination.
Without knocking, she threw open the wooden door and rushed inside the shed.
Eyes flying wide, Luke clapped a palm over his chest. “Jesus Christ, Bo! You scared the ever-loving shit outta me!”
She slammed the door and leaned back against the rough pine, trying to steady her breathing as the scents of wood glue and sawdust filled her nostrils. “Sorry,” she panted. “Too many horror movies. Everyone gets whacked in the cornfield, usually with a scythe.” When Luke quirked a questioning brow, she clarified, “There’s something alive out there.”
He shook his head, rolling his eyes as if to say,
You’re such a girl
. “Of course there’s something alive out there. About three dozen deer, on any given night. The only thing getting butchered in that field is the corn.” He returned his attention to a round, white contraption about a foot in diameter that sat belly-up on his workbench. Sorting through multicolored wires, he squinted at the machine’s innards, and Bobbi half expected him to request a scalpel.
“What’re you doing?” she asked, shoving her hands into her back pockets. Glancing around the oddly tidy space, she observed this was more of a workshop than a shed, and unlike Luke’s office, he kept his tools in pristine order, shovels and rakes neatly lining the walls, each wrench and screwdriver in its designated, labeled drawer. He’d even built a pegboard to hold larger instruments, like hammers and awls.
Luke made a guttural sound of frustration from the back of his throat. “June picked up this old Roomba at a yard sale, and she wants me to get it working again.”
“What’s a Roomba?” She stepped closer, observing two rubber wheels and a white plastic shell Luke had set to the side.
“A robotic vacuum. June’s got it in her head that this thing’ll clean the house while we’re at Shooters.” He snorted a laugh. “Gonna scare the piss outta the cat, though, so we’ll have a mess to deal with either way.”
Bobbi had caught a few glimpses of Lucky, June’s half-crippled, black and white cat, but the timid animal had taken to hiding behind the furniture since Bobbi’d come to town. “How’d you wind up with a three-legged cat, anyway? I thought you were more of a dog person.”
“I am.” Luke pulled two oak barstools from the wall, offering one to her. “June rescued Lucky from a shelter years ago. Some animal attacked him, and they were gonna put him down. She paid for his surgery with her grocery money, and ate ramen noodles for the next six months.”
Smiling, Bobbi dragged her stool opposite Luke at the workstation and perched atop the seat. “That sounds like something June would do. She’s got a big heart.”
“Mmm,” he hummed in agreement. “Always has, even when we were kids. I was a real butthole to her back then, but she never quit sticking up for me.”
“You know,” Bobbi said, brushing a bit of sawdust from the tabletop onto the floor, “as much as I wish we could’ve grown up together, I’m glad you had June. She was kind of like the sister I couldn’t be for you.” She caught herself scratching her nose and tucked her hands beneath her thighs.
Bobbi didn’t feel comfortable meeting Luke’s gaze, but she sensed him watching her. “Well, I’m glad she was in my life, but I never thought of June as my sister.” He cleared his throat. “I already had one of those, and I wouldn’t let anyone take her place.” After a few seconds of charged silence, he said, “I never forgot about you, Bo. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”
Now she glanced into his eyes, warm and green and overflowing with guilt. Guilt she’d dumped on him during her childish tirade earlier. “Don’t do that to yourself. You didn’t have to look for me at all.” Honestly, by the time Bobbi’d graduated from high school, she’d forgotten she even had a brother. What little she’d remembered of Luke had been blocked out by her defensive subconscious years before.
“But if I hadn’t waited so long—”
“What?” she demanded, softly. “You’d have taken over raising me when you were still a kid yourself?” She shook her head, then reached across the wood tabletop to nudge his hairy forearm. “I’m not the kind of person who thinks everything happens for a reason, but by the time you were old enough to get custody of me, I was already with my dads. If the courts had given me to you, I would’ve missed out on being a part of their family.” She rested her hand atop his for one brief second. “This way, I get to have it all—you and them. Everything worked out the way it was supposed to.”