“Before I go broke,” Machlan adds.
I can’t help but laugh at their camaraderie, the easy way in which they play off each other. Being with them seems like the best family vacation ever, filled with lots of ribbing and jokes and overall shenanigans. I also can’t help but notice how every woman who walks into this place immediately looks our way.
Individually, they’re all incredibly good-looking. Together? Together it’s hard to take.
“I hate to break it to you guys,” I say, gathering my pride, “but I don’t know why he’s being an asshole.”
Walker looks at Machlan. It’s Peck who looks at me.
There’s a kindness resting there that gives me something to latch onto for a moment. I have no idea if he knows Lance broke things off with me, but something tells me he does. Maybe he even knows why. But there’s no pity in the pools of his irises and I appreciate that.
“I need to get going,” I tell them. “I have a bunch of cupcakes in the back of my car to deliver to the nursing home over by the church.”
“Lance is outside,” Walker says, twisting that toothpick again. “He’s especially irritating today, so be warned.”
My heart clamors around my ribs, pattering so loud I struggle to block it out. I look out the windows, shielding my eyes with my hand, but I don’t see him.
“He’s in that truck over there,” Peck tells me, pointing to a silver truck.
“Feel free to take him with you,” Machlan jokes.
I suck in a breath to steady myself, keeping my eyes peeled on the truck. “I might just wait in here until you leave.”
“I’d say you have a minute before he comes busting in here looking for you,” Walker notes. “Might be easier having a conversation outside.”
Naturally, my car is parked right beside the truck so I can’t even sneak out a side door. Besides, I feel his gaze on me through the glass and it only makes me miss him more.
“It was nice meeting you all,” I say. With a quick smile at the Gibson Boys, I step into the sun.
Keeping my head down, I make a beeline for my car. I can’t hear anything over the steps of my shoes against the asphalt—that is, until Lance says my name.
Despite my brain saying, ‘Don’t look up,’ I look straight up into his eyes.
They’re the same beautiful green I remember, and the ones I see every time I close my own. There are bags underneath them, lines creasing from the corners announcing that he hasn’t been sleeping well. Or at all.
I hate seeing him like that. I hate him making me feel like this. I hate this whole damn thing.
“Hey,” I say as evenly as I can manage. It’s not even at all. It’s a shaky mess of a voice that I’m half embarrassed about. “How are you?”
He leans against my car as I unlock the door. “Shitty. How are you?”
“Fine.” My cup goes into the cup holder. The little buzzing sound that drives me crazy starts chirping, reminding me I just stuck my keys into the ignition. I want to ask him about the tequila, ask him if he lost his comb, but I don’t because those things are none of my business. “I need to go.”
“Where you going?” he roughs out.
“I baked for the nursing home. I need to get them over there before their dinner time.” I look at the blacktop beneath my feet. I’ve given him more information than he deserves, even though none of it really matters. Still, I need to stop this and get on with my day. “I really do need to go, Lance.”
He shoves off my car and stands just a few feet from me. “Talk to me.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” he sighs. “Why’d you put a lock on your door?”
“To keep you out.” I lift my chin and look at his five o’clock shadow. “I need some space, okay?”
“Mariah, I—”
“No.” My answer is firm, my tone strong. It’s a good launching point. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you. But I’m very tender right now and I need to shore myself up some before you come back in. Okay?”
I put my hands behind me just so I don’t reach for him as he skirts his fingers over his face. He lets out a low, frustrated groan and I want to kiss his cheek and make him laugh, but I don’t because it’s not my place.
“This is the best thing for you.” He blows out a breath as I wonder if he meant that for me or for him. “I know you don’t understand that, but it’s true.”
“You know what I don’t understand?” I ask. “I don’t get why you let me in so much, knowing you didn’t want to keep me there.”
He looks at the sky, stretching his neck all the way back.
“You knew my reservations,” I tell him. “And if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you drug me in just to see if you could.”
His eyes fly wide. “That’s bullshit.”
“I know it is,” I say, biting back a lump in my throat. “But pardon me for feeling like you made me fall in love with you and then slammed that door shut.”
The words are into the universe with no way to reel them back in. His mouth hangs open like it’s some kind of epiphany and that just annoys me more.
There’s a bubble threatening to burst, one I’ve held back from exploding since he broke things off with me. But standing here in this parking lot, looking at him like he’s the hurt one, makes me want to scream.
“I have to go,” I say, climbing in my car with a hurried frenzy.
“What did you just say?”
I turn over the engine. “You heard me.”
“Mariah …”
With a final look his way, I smile sadly. “Goodbye, Lance.”
The door shuts as he continues his protest and I pull out with only a quick glance in the rearview mirror.
Thirty-One
Lance
I hate this fucking place. It’s no place to spend a Saturday morning.
My shoes sink into the soil. It’s never solid. For whatever reason, the ground is always soft here and I don’t even want to imagine why that is.
Machlan comes here a lot. He makes sure the stone is decorated for each holiday and that the crew that mows the cemetery doesn’t damage the headstone my siblings and I had designed when our parents died. Machlan says he finds peace here. Well, he doesn’t say it like that, but it’s what he means. It doesn’t do that for me.
My steps fall with trepidation at seeing the black stone sitting near the back. There are purple flowers in the urns. It was Mom’s favorite color and although Machlan acts like a badass, and is one, really, he’s the one of us who remembers things like that.
“Hey,” I say to the stone, a flock of birds taking flight at the sound of my voice. “I know you aren’t here and that I’m talking to an inanimate object. Yes, Dad, that worries me too.”
There’s a bench Mom’s bowling league asked to place on their grave perched right next to the stone on the slab. I sit, feeling the sun on my face.
Despite the warmth, I haven’t felt alive in days. It’s funny, really. I’ve always been a guy who springs out of bed in the morning fairly excited about my day. But since Mariah and I stopped talking, since she goes out of her way to avoid me, none of that is true.
“You always taught us to be a blessing to others,” I say out loud, wishing my parents were here to answer me. “Told us we had so many advantages, so much to offer that was given to us by no work of our own, and we had to share that.” I stroke my chin, trying to get my thoughts together. “How do you decide what’s a blessing to someone and what’s a curse?”
“Depends how you figure.” The voice rings out behind me, making me jump. I spin around to see Machlan standing a few feet back. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”
“What are you doing here?”
“The landscaping crew left a bunch of trash the mowers cut up around the cemetery, so I picked it up and threw it in the garbage over there,” he says, motioning over his shoulder.
“Where’s your truck?”
“I walked down here. Not too far from my house.”
“Yeah. Guess not,” I say, getting to my feet.
“What were you talking about?” he asks. “Yeah, being nosy, but you have a lot of shit going on and I’m starting to worry a little. You haven’t told us one fuck story in weeks.” He looks at our parents’ stone. “Sorry, Mom.”
Shrugging, I look at my little brother. “I’ve been thinking a lot.”
“That spells trouble.”
“Right?” I sigh. “Mom always preached about blessings and all that, but …”
“Look,” Machlan says. “If you take one thing away from our parents’ lives, take this.” He bends down and circles the date of their death. “Take that.”
The numbers are etched into the stone, a stark reminder that the end of their lives was marked on a certain day, month, and year. Still, his point is lost on me.
“I don’t get it,” I tell him, still looking at the etchings.
“Did any of us expect them to die that day? Hell, no. If you would’ve gone with them, you would’ve been right beside them in the ground and I’d be sticking flowers on your grave too.”
The thought makes my skin crawl. We were all supposed to be with them that July afternoon on the boat. We all opted out, choosing instead to do our own thing. When the news reached us, it was devastating to a degree I didn’t know existed. Every time I think it could’ve been me sends a shock wave up my spine.
I look at Machlan. He doesn’t flinch.
“How different do you think things would’ve been if they’d lived?” I toss the question out there, not sure if he’ll answer. It’s all a guess anyway.
“Who knows? I think it’s safe to say it’s changed us all in one way or another.”
“I’ve been thinking about Mom a lot,” I admit. “I wonder what she’d have to say about the choices we’ve made in our lives.”