“Never.” I chuckle, shaking my head.
“I think she’s a little shocked.”
“One question,” I say, turning around and walking backward toward my truck, the sun warming my face. “Did you know I was here?”
“Well, I knew Machlan wouldn’t have my check until Monday, and I also know you drive the silver Dodge Ram parked right over there, so you figure out what I did and didn’t know.”
A laugh I haven’t felt slip by my lips so easily in years bellows out. “Nora, I owe you one.”
“Yes, you do.”
Four
Kallie
“Do you still want to go to Peaches?” Nora asks. There’s a forced easiness to her tone, like we just didn’t walk all the way to the car and drive almost the entire way to my mother’s house in silence.
“No.”
Every step we took from the bar had me wanting to look over my shoulder in hopes of catching a glimpse of Cross. Every mile we pull away has me wanting to yell at Nora to turn around.
My head spins with the offer to see him again. My cheek sings with the memory of his touch. My heart aches as it absorbs the instructions from my brain to not forget the bad in favor of the good.
The endless partying with Machlan. The gossip. The rumors of wild nights without me in tow.
The two times I had to bail him out of jail for reckless driving and disorderly conduct.
His failure to take anything seriously or make a plan for the future.
A chill rips through me despite the warm summer sun.
“I really wanted a margarita,” Nora says, turning toward my mother’s house. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to Peaches?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re not hungry or you’re mad at me? I’m really feeling like ‘I’m not hungry’ is a passive-aggressive and untrue response.”
“I’m not mad at you,” I say finally, watching the bright green grass roll by. “Although I know that was a setup.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Don’t lie to me.” I laugh. “You totally set that up.”
“What can it hurt?” She sighs, turning into the driveway. “I know it’s none of my business, but…”
Her forehead is creased and her knuckles re-grip the steering wheel. Settling into the soft leather seat, I lean my head against the headrest. The adrenaline recedes, leaving me with a sluggish, almost hangover-style feeling in place of the excitement from a few minutes ago.
“He always asks about you,” she says softly. “I never told you that because it felt like it didn’t matter, but he does. Every time I see him, he says hello and then his features fall a little bit and he asks how you’re doing.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “He’s not a bad guy, Kallie.”
“He never was.” The words land on my own ears and my spirits fall. “He’s just not a guy that equals forever for me. Too much bullshit with that one, no matter how much I want to pretend it’s not true. I walked away once for a reason.”
“Maybe he’s not the guy you remember.”
“Leopards don’t change their spots, Nora,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt and grabbing my purse. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Call me tomorrow. Let’s do lunch or something.” She touches my shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“Me too. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Climbing out of the car, I shut the door. Nora honks the horn twice before pulling onto the street.
My mom’s home sits in front of me, a little white square with dark green windows. There’s a carport on one side that offers little protection from the wind in the winter, and my stomach twists that I’ve not been able to get it replaced yet.
“Someday,” I mutter as I climb the stairs to the front door. It opens before I get to the top. “Hey, Mom.”
“I thought I heard a car out here. I’m not used to having visitors.” She smiles, letting me by. “Did you have fun with Nora, honey?”
“Yeah. We walked around town, and I talked to Ruby at the library. I can’t believe she’s still alive.”
“Kallie Rae!” She laughs as she follows me to the kitchen. Pictures of me from various ages line the walls of the hallway. “See anyone else?”
“Machlan.”
“How is he?” she presses.
“Good.”
Pulling out a chair, she drops into the seat. “I saw him a few weeks ago at the post office. Good-looking boy.”
“He’s all right,” I say, shaking my head.
“All right? Sometimes I’m not sure you’re my child.” She chuckles. “If I were your age, I’d have snapped up one of those Gibson boys in a heartbeat.”
Turning away, I look out the window over the sink. The small back yard is tidy, her trash and recycling cans in a neat line by the gate. My old brown swing set still sits by the fence in the back, and the picnic table where I had dozens of chats with my friends growing up is in need of a good dose of paint.
All of these things are better topics than dating, or Machlan, or the one I know is coming: Cross.
My mother loved him like he was her son. She made sure he had homemade macaroni and cheese when he was over for dinner and always had his favorite soda in the fridge. When we broke up, she supported me, but I know down deep, she wishes things had worked out.
Maybe I wish that too.
Maybe wishes are pointless.
“We could get some paint tomorrow and redo the picnic table,” I say.
“I wouldn’t be able to move for a week.”
The room gets quiet. The quieter it gets, the louder I hear my heartbeat.
“I’m supposed to go to my women’s club meeting this evening with Dina. Do you want to go?” she asks. “Or did you make plans with Nora?”
Glancing at the clock, I see I have an hour until Cross asked me to meet him. My chest rises and falls, my fingers tapping on the counter.
“Well, you’re invited if you want to come.” She groans, getting out of the chair. “I’m leaving in about an hour. Let me know if you want to join, honey.”
Her steps get softer as she pads down the hallway, and I’m left standing in the kitchen with nothing but a decision to be made.
Slipping on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top after my shower, I make my way into the living room. The hardwood floor creaks as I traverse the room and plop unceremoniously onto the plaid sofa. The remote is on the other side of the room and I don’t have the energy to get it. Besides, the quiet is something I kind of love.
Living in the city made me forget what silence really is. There are no tires squealing or sirens blaring, just an occasional dog barking from the house across the street.
The room is filled with mementos of my life that could only be collected by a mother. A frame hangs to the right with every school picture I ever took. An art piece I created in fifth grade is propped up on a bookshelf, and a trinket we bought on a vacation at Lake Michigan sits next to the television. Each one of those things has a memory of Cross tied to it.
My heart sinks as I squirm on the sofa. There’s a hole in my chest that seems to have reopened since I pulled back into Linton, a big, gaping crevice that I was able to fill well enough in Indiana with work and hobbies and remembering things how I chose to remember them, but now? It’s not that easy.
I had to force myself to get into the bath and shave my legs so I wouldn’t run to the gym to see him on a whim. I washed my hair twice and then used a conditioning mask just to kill time. By the time I got out, I knew he would be gone.
A low rumble from the other side of the wall sounds through the air. Swinging my legs to the floor, I sit up and listen. It trails to the front of the house and stops. There’s a long pause, then a squeak, and then it starts again. Jumping up and heading to the front window, I peer out of the curtains.
My breathing halts, my hands shaking as they hold the lace fabric out of the way.
Cross is dragging my mother’s trash can from the back of the house to the street. He lines it up next to another one and brushes his hands off. Without looking up at me, he disappears into the back yard again.
“What the hell?” I whisper, dropping the curtain.
Finding my sandals, I slip them on and scurry to the kitchen door. When I step into the yard, he’s latching a cable through the handles on the doors of the shed in the back corner.
Wearing a pair of grey jogging pants and a red t-shirt, he looks tall and lean and as broad as the shed. A darkened spot between his shoulder blades flexes and pulls as he works the cable. The fabric pulls tight along his muscles, giving me an idea of their definition and making my knees weak.
He turns around abruptly, catching us both off guard.
“Hey,” he says, stopping in his tracks.
“What are you doing here?”
There’s a smile that flashes briefly, but it doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies. “I’m not here to bother you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Cross…” A lump takes root in my throat as I step across the soft grass. Sitting on top of the picnic table, I look at him still standing by the shed, just a few feet away.
So many summers we hung out back here in a swimming pool that’s since been removed. We played badminton when I went through an obsessive stage with that game and watched the fireworks from a big trampoline we sold in a yard sale the summer before I left.
Our first kiss took place back here under the oak tree, and we buried Fluffy, my poodle, together near the back fence.
All of this hits me like a flood as my gaze locks with his, and when he speaks, the tone of his voice makes me think maybe it hit him too.
“I take your mom’s trash to the road every week. While I’m here, I do some odds and ends I see she needs done. It’s not a big deal,” he says softly.
My heart slams against my ribcage, knocking the wind out of me. “You do? Since when?”