Chapter 3 #2
Every fiber in my body begged me to press for more. To squeeze the last ounce of gossip, of possibility from Meredith’s chest. But I couldn’t—not when I couldn’t offer the same vulnerability, no matter her quiet knowledge of my mother.
Because of course they left.
Right after everything. Because why would they stay when rumors floated? Why would they subject their son to defamation of the most minuscule, purposeless kind?
Because of you, my thoughts snarled.
Meredith slipped behind the register. When her back faced me, I took a paperclip from the cup on the checkout counter, twisted it, and clutched it in my palm. Waiting. Hoping for it to break skin. For my thundering heart to drip down, down, down.
“I have a question.”
Meredith licked a pen and wrote something down on a receipt paper. “Mm?”
“Harthwait. What do you think of it?”
She chuckled. “Don’t tell me you scared of that place, Landry. Can’t focus on fixing it if you’re worried about every shadow.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell Sayer that.”
“Poor boy. His knees knocked if lightning hit too close. He helping you?”
“For a few weeks.” The guilt for both him and Emma taking off work to help me lurked over my shoulder. How much money were they losing because of me? Would their bosses look poorly on them because of it?
“Good. Always liked that boy, you know. Sweet kid.” She patted a hand over her heart.
That shred of guilt ballooned.
I gave a weak sigh. “I don’t know, it’s just—don’t you think it’s weird how Aunt Cadence never let me stay the night? And you know how people talk about the old places in town.”
Her eyebrows rose, indignant. “Just because it’s on the registry doesn’t mean it’s haunted. Besides, who do you take me for? I’d tell you all those plants Cadence had would surely start talking before any ghosts popped out of the closet.”
I thought of the now shriveled garden patch at the back of the property. She had a point.
I leaned my elbows on the counter. “Why do you think Mom wouldn’t let me stay the night, then?” I lifted my chin like an audacious teenager, eyes squinted.
Meredith leveled me with a steady gaze. So steady that it shook something within my resolve. “Honey, I’m gonna be honest with you once, real good, okay?”
My lungs stilled.
“Your momma didn’t want you with Cadence, period. And that’s all there is to it,” Meredith said. “She wants somethin’ just to keep it from other people. Greed, coveting specifically, can make people ugly.”
I unfolded the paperclip from my palm and twisted it back to its original form. It didn’t look quite right. A little crooked around the top, a smidge bent at the end.
“Did Aunt Cadence tell you that?” I pinched the paperclip.
“She didn’t have to.”
What I didn’t understand was if Mom hated parenting so much, why wouldn’t she have let me stay here? Or had Aunt Cadence not really wanted me, either, and I’d built it into something it never was in the first place?
The Blue Corduroy was the only coffee shop for nearly twenty-five miles.
It butted against the library under a green awning, long since sun-bleached and worn. Burnt coffee beans, a hum of a grinder, and the hiss of a steamer greeted me as I stepped over the threshold.
A man rocked on his heels at the register, eyeing the menu. Round two-seater tables dotted the small space, every other one filled by a laptop or set of elbows. I took the spot in line behind the man, knees bouncing.
If only I had something to hold—like the box I’d dropped off with Meredith—to act as a buffer. At least that would give me the feeling of being guarded. A barrier between the outside world and me.
Halfway through my menu examination, my phone buzzed. I dug it from the depths of my purse, then stopped at the sight of CARLA on the screen.
I locked it. Tossed it back in my purse.
It buzzed again. And again.
Just as the man handed his money to the woman at the counter, I pulled my phone out. I swiped to decline the call, but the phone slipped. A minute counter appeared under Mom’s name.
“Landry?” my mother’s muffled voice came.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Then pressed the phone to my ear. “Mom.”
“You haven’t answered my texts.”
“I’m kind of busy.” I swallowed. When I opened my eyes, the entire menu melded together. “Can I call you back?”
“You won’t,” she snipped. “You never do.”
“I will, I promise.”
“You make promises just like your father. You know he called me, right?”
A needle slipped through a rib and punctured a lung. The woman at the counter—a blur of white, long hair and a diamond, wrinkled face—tapped an empty cup as a signal. “You’re next, Missy.”
I wiped a hand over my face. My body grew flushed. “Mom, I need to go.”
“You know, Landry—”
I hung up. Blinked, snappy, rapid successions to disperse the burn behind my eyes. I held the power button as I approached the counter, the barista glaring at me. “Sorry about that.”
The woman’s head cocked, the fluffed, white hair twisted atop her head shifting with the movement.
Her skin was heavily creased from years of sun, the lines around her mouth deep.
Her nametag read BERNICE, but the R had faded, leaving BE NICE.
Her eyes suggested anything but. “What you want? Ain’t got no vanilla today. Didn’t come in on time.”
I ordered a large black coffee, extra strong, just because I felt like I’d need it. And inconveniencing Bernice was likely a sin.
I stood off to the side for four minutes. She squawked, “CODY!” followed by, “LARRY!”
Close enough.
Given the presumed Cody was already halfway out the door, I figured I must have been Larry and took the boiling, thin paper mug outside. I tightened my cardigan around me, holding the coffee in the other hand, and found an empty bench down the sidewalk in the direction of my car.
Mom was right.
I wasn’t going to call her back.
I popped off the lid and watched the steam. How could I hold this and still feel a chill? When was the last time I hadn’t felt one? When I didn’t have fine, white hairs lining my arms?
While I sipped, I swiped open my notes app and scanned my list of reno ideas for the house. It was cathartic, pulling together inspiration pictures and a list of items to order.
I used to do the same thing with my doll’s clothes when she finally got a new outfit. I’d line them up by color, maybe by style. A quiet satisfaction came with being able to do the same thing for my adult job, just on a larger scale with furniture, paint colors, accents.
The golds would accent the sage green. The sage green would tie together Harthwait’s first floor. The upstairs bedrooms would be individualized. I could probably watch one of those home renovation shows for a few ideas on tie-in pieces—like doorknobs, or maybe dresser and cabinet handles.
I made it halfway through my coffee, ankles crossed, when I heard it.
“… couldn’t appreciate you taking the time more than I already do,” a woman’s voice whispered.
“Don’t worry. We strive to make the customer experience as individualized as possible, and—Landry?”
I stared at the wingback chair on my phone screen.
Every nerve in my body ignited like a live wire. Immediately, my heart strung itself up in the back of my throat. My palms grew clammy. If I stared hard enough, I could just make out the fluttering of my blue pulse in the inside of my wrist.
Footsteps. Closer. I couldn’t not look.
“Landry?” he asked again.
I glanced up, as if dazed and thoroughly distracted, from my phone. Locked it, and sat it face down on my lap so he couldn’t see it. Both hands wrapped around my coffee. His name rolled off my bottom lip before I locked eyes with him.
“Ivan?”
He leaned closer, as if to make sure. The russet undertones of his hair looked too uniform, the blond highlights too intricate. His jaw was square and his cheeks were high and his eyes were deep, deep blue.
Pretty.
I wanted to walk out in the middle of the street and lay down. No. That didn’t give me a high enough chance of being killed. A car would straddle me, rubber would graze my arms, and I’d be unharmed. I needed a bridge to jump off of.
“That’s crazy,” he said, more to himself. He used his teeth to close a pair of sunglasses before tucking them in his shirt collar, his other hand reaching out for my shoulder. How did he get so close all of the sudden?
He was going to touch me. Palm and all.
I smothered a recoil.
“I didn’t think you still lived local?” he said. The top two buttons of his shirt remained open, as did his sport coat. The slacks he wore held a tight crease in the front. His hand landed with a light squeeze.
“I don’t,” I said.
His eyes shuttered, brow furrowed. “Visiting, then?”
“Something like that.” Lie. Lie.
A woman hovered, half-forgotten, just behind him. He turned back to the her—early fifties, with the aura of importance around her perfectly distressed jeans. Only rich people could look so casual while still give off an air of prestige.
His fingers clenched my shoulder as he motioned to me. “Excuse me, Rene. This is Landry Frederick. We went to school together.”
She offered a nod, lips flat, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Landry. It’s a pleasure.”
“You, too.” My cheeks burned with a forced smile as they spoke in low, hurried tones. With a pat on Ivan’s shoulder, Rene offered another strained look to me before turning to leave.
Then it was Ivan and I. Two cars hissed by in those eight silent seconds. My reflection wavered, ghostly, across the street in the windows of a law office. Why weren’t my legs working? Why wasn’t I standing? I should have already left. Made an excuse, an appointment, something, for me to walk away.
“It was nice running into you, but I have to get back,” I said, standing. I gave a smile while looking at the ground. Why did he have to stand so close to me? Why did he still smell the same—fresh cologne and dryer sheets?
He stepped in front of me. “Hey, hey. Don’t leave yet.”