Chapter 29 #2
“She’s really lovely. A great addition to the town,” Martha says while Tanya starts making the drinks. “So glad that you changed your mind about the business.”
“Oh yeah, well . . . just thought we might need something different here in town,” I say, unaware that other people knew about the change of plans.
“Yes, it was difficult looking through the archives to see if there was anything we could do to prevent it from happening,” Mae says.
Huh?
Martha nudges her sister with her elbow. “I don’t think she knows about that.”
“Knows about what?” I ask, looking between the two of them.
“Oh nothing, dear. No need to worry. All is good.” Martha smiles nervously. “Well, we best be off. Don’t want to be late for a meeting with Bob Krampus.” She waves. “Nice meeting you.”
“Yeah, nice meeting you,” I say, confused. When they take off, I turn to Tanya, who is finishing the drinks, and I say, “What was that about?”
“Didn’t hear what you ladies were talking about.” She keeps her eyes down as she fidgets with the drink lids. “I’m going to put these on Max’s tab. No reason for you to have to pay for a drink he wants.” She sets the drinks down in front of me. “Hope you have a good evening.”
“Thank you,” I say, studying her. “Hey, Tanya?”
She finally looks up, her lips pressed together. “Hmm?”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No, dear. Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. You’re acting weird, and then what Martha and Mae said. Just seems like they almost let something slip, and you’re trying to avoid talking about it.”
“Oh please.” She picks up a rag and starts cleaning the counter. “If you hear anything from those two, it’s mainly gossip. They don’t know what they’re saying most of the time.”
“Okay, because if there was something I should know, you would tell me, right?”
“Of course.” She waves her hand at me and then looks out the window. “Oh, it seems like Max is here.”
I glance out the window as well and see his truck pull up. Drinks in hand, I thank Tanya, still feeling uneasy, and carry them outside, where Atlas is getting out of the car and walking up to me.
Wearing a pair of green pants, a red sweater, and an orange shirt underneath, he looks adorable in his reindeer hat, but when he approaches me, he’s missing something. The spark in his eye. The smile that stretches from ear to ear.
Something is off.
“Hey,” he says as he wraps me in a hug and kisses the top of my head. “How was your day?”
“It was good,” I answer as he pulls away. “What about you?”
“Oh, you know, Christmas things at the farm,” he answers as I tilt my head to the side, studying him.
“Is everything okay? You seem a little off.”
“Do I?” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Just, uh, just a busy day is all.”
I hand him his hot chocolate and ask, “Are you sure? Because if there’s something that’s bothering you, you know you can talk to me.”
“I know.” He nods. “Um, should we get going?”
Still skeptical, I allow him to help me into the passenger side of his truck, and when he shuts the door, I set my drink down to buckle up. When he joins me, I look him in the eyes.
“You know, something was a little off in the coffee shop,” I say, wanting to be fully transparent.
“What was it?” he asks while blowing on his hot chocolate before he takes a sip.
“Um, well, I met Martha and Mae, and they said something about looking through archives—”
Atlas sputters out his hot chocolate, the liquid dripping down his face.
“Oh God,” I say. “Are you okay?”
“Napkin, I need a napkin.”
I pop open his glove compartment only for a paper to roll out onto the floor. A stack of napkins sits in the glove compartment, so I grab a few and hand them to Atlas before picking up the paper that rolled out.
Cute crayon drawings are scrolled across the paper, so while he cleans up, I unroll the paper as I say, “Aw, did Florence draw this—” My words are cut short as I take in the stick figures, the precisely drawn stick figures that look a lot like me and a lot like Atlas—not to mention my name is next to the first drawing at the top.
The figures are holding hands, there are hearts in the girl’s eyes, and at the very bottom, she’s crying with a broken heart next to her. At the top it reads Battle Plan.
“Atlas, what is this?” I turn it toward him as he finishes wiping his face. When his eyes read over the paper, they go wide, and I can see panic strike his features.
“Where . . .? How . . . did you find that?”
“It was in your glove box just now. What is this?”
“Fuck,” he says as he turns toward me. “Okay . . . fuck, don’t get mad.”
“Don’t get mad? That’s not a way to start an explanation.”
“I know, but what I’m about to say is going to sound really fucking bad, okay, but I don’t want you—”
“Is this about me?” I look down at the paper again, trying to decipher it.
“Yes,” he answers honestly. “It’s about you.”
“Why does it say battle plan at the top?”
He blows out a heavy breath and looks me in the eyes. “Because it’s what I put together when, uh . . . when you first started sniffing around the farm, before you knew me.”
“I don’t understand.” I look down at it again. “The pictures almost make it seem like you were trying to get me to fall for you.” And then it clicks.
Hits me all at once.
My head snaps up to his, and I feel myself slowly start to inch away. “Oh my God, was this a plan to get me to fall for you?”
He winces, but to his credit, he answers, “Yes.”
“Wh-why? And why am I crying at the bottom?”
“Fuck.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “Listen, Betty. Fuck, how do I explain this. I—”
Knock, knock.
Startled, I look out my window. Uncle Dwight is standing on the other side, not looking happy at all.
Oh shit.
He opens the door to the truck. “What the hell are you doing?” His eyes glance down at the paper and then back up at me.
“What is this?” He snatches it from my grasp and then reads over it.
When he’s done, his gaze moves right past mine and to Atlas’s.
“I fucking knew it,” he says. “I fucking knew you were trying to fucking lure her in.”
“No, that’s not . . . Fuck,” Atlas says, gripping the steering wheel.
“And why are you in his car? Because he convinced you that I was in the wrong? I told you this was his plan all along, Betty. I fucking told you. He wanted to distract you from what you were doing so he could find a way to save his farm.”
Martha’s and Mae’s comments float through my head, and I turn to Atlas. “Is that what Martha and Mae meant by preventing me from conducting business?”
“Shit,” Atlas mutters.
“Oh my God.” I unbuckle my seat belt. “Oh my God, Atlas.” I hop out of the car. “Has this all been just one giant ruse?”
“Yes,” Uncle Dwight says next to me. “I told you that, Betty. Let me guess, the new idea you wanted to talk to me about, it’s because he convinced you it would be a good idea?”
“He . . . he did,” I say, unable to believe it.
“Wait,” Atlas says as he unbuckles and then gets out of the truck. He moves around toward us, but Uncle Dwight holds up his hand.
“Don’t you dare come fucking closer.”
Atlas holds his hands up, clearly not wanting to start trouble. “Please, just let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” Uncle Dwight says. “You were using her.”
“Wait,” I say, crossing my arms. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
“Why?” Uncle Dwight asks.
“Because I want him to say it to my face.”
Atlas sticks his hands in his pockets, clearly distressed.
“If you have a truth to speak . . . then speak it.”
He stares at the ground and takes a few calming breaths before he says, “Yes, I had a master plan to woo you, to get you to fall for me so Martha and Mae had time to look into the town rules, to give me time until my parents were back from vacation and they could handle it. I just wanted time before you started uprooting everything that I’ve ever known at the farm.
The intention was to get you to fall for me and then for me to break it off once we had everything figured out. ”
Tears well in my eyes as I can’t believe what he’s saying. “You . . . you were using me?”
“No,” he says as he takes a step closer, but Uncle Dwight pulls me back.
“Don’t come near her.”
“Wait,” Atlas says, looking distraught. “Yes, that was the plan, but after a few interactions, I told Storee that I couldn’t—”
“Wait, Storee was helping you?”
“Fuck.” He pulls on his hair.
“Oh my God.” Tears fall down my cheeks. “I thought . . . oh my God, I thought everyone was being nice to me because they wanted to be my friend, not because they were trying to deceive me.” Memories of the “friends” I had in Fort Collins flash in my mind, the aching feeling of being played all over again filling my chest with hurt.
How could I be so stupid?
“Storee is your friend,” Atlas says quickly. “She is. Trust me.”
I shake my head. “There is no way I can trust you. Everything you’ve said to me, it’s a lie. Everything. And you made me believe you.” I wipe at my eyes. “You made me think Uncle Dwight wasn’t telling the truth.”
“He’s not,” Atlas says desperately. “I wasn’t the one who took the ornament.”
“Please stop.” I shake my head while Uncle Dwight wraps his arm around me.
“I’m serious. It was Ansel. We have video footage. It wasn’t me.”
“It was your brother?” Uncle Dwight says. “You’re going to blame it on your brother? How does that make it any better? You probably told him to do it.”
“No. Fuck.” Atlas looks up to the sky. “Please . . . please just listen to me. I’m trying to tell you . . .” He gets choked up, and he takes a deep breath, then his eyes meet up with mine. “Please believe me, Betty. I know I fucked up, but I’m telling you the truth.”
“Why does this feel so familiar?” I ask. “You begging me to believe you? Oh, because this keeps happening. You keep asking me to believe you. No relationship should ever have to deal with that.”
“Relationship?” Uncle Dwight asks.
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning toward him. “I’m .
. . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, but I fell for him, which was clearly his plan all along, and he did a good job at it.
And I’m stupid; I know I am. I know I should never have crossed you because now”—I suck in a sharp breath as a sob wants to escape—“I’m just broken. ”
I move past them, but Atlas grabs my arm. “Please, Betty.”
But Atlas is quickly shoved into his truck by Uncle Dwight. “Don’t fucking touch her.”
Atlas holds his hands up again. “I’m sorry. I just want to explain—”
“You’ve explained enough,” I say and then take off, leaving both of them behind as I find my car and start driving back to my cottage.
I need to get out of here.
I need to get my things, and I need to go.
This entire thing has been a joke.
A fallacy.
And I don’t want to be a part of it anymore.