3. Romy
3
romy
I sat in the school parking lot after work, checking my phone. There were two texts from Travis, apologizing for how things ended and asking when I’d like to get the rest of my stuff, a text from Brit, telling me she’d grab a pizza on the way home from work, four missed calls from a 541 number, and a random collect caller.
The 541 number had to be Frank. I told my father years ago to lose my number, but he’d always convince my older sister, Hazel, to give it to him. It was always because he needed money or to gloat about some rodeo star he was working with. The phone call would always end with him calling me a “fucking bitch.” I’ve changed my number three times now because of him. It usually resulted in me having to chew my sister out for betraying my trust and ignoring my boundaries. Then I’d block her until I started to feel homesick.
The phone buzzed in my hand. It was the collect caller again. Who in the world calls collect anymore?
Curious and stalling—I needed to grab a few things from the apartment and did not want to run into Travis—I answered it. “Hello?”
An automated voice came over the phone, “This is a collect call from— Hazel Miller —from Arnold County Jail,” my sister’s soft voice announced through the recording, and my stomach clenched.
Oh God! Hazel, what happened?
“This is a recorded line. Do you accept the charges?”
I gulped and barely released the word, “Yes.”
My heart pounded in my chest. I fumbled for my credit card in my wallet while I listened to the automated voice give instructions. My hand trembled as I dialed in the card number.
Please, don’t hang up, Hazel!
“Romy?” came my sister’s voice over the line.
She sounded so small and far away.
“Hazel, what happened?” I clenched my jaw, shielding myself from the answer. I was scared to know.
“Oh my God, Romy.” She burst into tears. “I’m so glad I got ahold of you. I gave Dad your number in case I couldn’t reach you.”
My eyes shuddered, a bitter taste in my mouth. Of course she did. I wanted to snap at her, but I bit my tongue.
“I only have five minutes, and they listen to the line. There’s something I need you to do for me.”
Never in my life did I ever think I’d have to answer someone’s jail call. Never would I have imagined it would be Hazel calling. She was the golden girl of Willows, hardworking and passionate about horses, outgoing and bubbly, although a bit bossy. She was their rodeo queen .
“I need you to go to Thornbrush Ranch. You know, the Larsens’ place?”
The Larsens’ ranch? I didn’t want to step foot in Willows, much less Thornbrush. I hadn’t been back since that day. The day I fucked up. The day I decided to hook up with my best friend and ruined the only true friendship I had. The day Jude and I acted on our lust. Embarrassed, confused, and hating myself, I ran and never looked back.
“Yeah, but Hazel, what can I possibly do?”
“I need you to pack my stuff that’s in the bunkhouse. There’s something there for you, too.”
“Okay …” She was being rather vague, but I was worried that if I asked her too many questions, she may say something that could get her into trouble.
“Could you maybe rent a storage unit and store my things there until I get out?”
Get out? Get out sounded hopeful.
“I just don’t know about … well, is Jude there?”
“Jude?” She sounded confused.
I suppose it was a random question, all things considered. She didn’t know Jude and I hooked up before I left twelve years ago. Or that I ignored his calls and all my friends—friends who were never really my friends, but hers—before getting a new phone. Because, truthfully, I was never good at making friends. I wasn’t as likable as Hazel. I always felt like the default to them when she wasn’t around. The only one who never made me feel that way was him .
“Is Jude at home?”
“Fuck no,” she scoffed. “He hasn’t been home since he left for college. Chuck’s been rather upset about it since he’s had to take care of Lloyd without any help. I think he sends them money, but he never comes home. You know he’s a big shot cage fighter now?”
Yeah, unfortunately, the guy I dated before Travis was a sports fanatic, and our dates were often in sports bars. He’d always make sure he got the seat facing the TV over the bar. I saw a few of Jude’s fights from over my shoulder.
And, wow, he looked good. Better than I remembered. Ripped. Older. Sweaty. Tatted up. Hot. I’d end up thinking about him the whole date, flashbacks of his fit body hovering over mine while he gripped my hands above my head.
Dates with “sports bar guy” didn’t last long after that.
“Yeah, I heard something about that.” I sighed in relief. “Okay, I’ll buy a plane ticket tonight for this weekend. I’m not sure how long I can stay, though. There are two weeks left of the school year.”
“The school year? Are you still in college?”
Hazel and I barely spoke now. Between our separate lives, and my own bitterness that she continued to choose our father over me, our communication had dwindled. My nose stung. My big sister was in jail for who knows what, and I hadn’t spoken to her in months. Pretty sure our last text was “Happy New Year.”
We had drifted apart. I let all that time pass without her knowing me and me knowing her.
There was a time when I’d do anything for her—especially if it meant getting her undivided attention. I worshipped the ground she walked on when we were younger. I wanted to do everything she did. She put on makeup; I wanted to put on makeup. She got blonde highlights; I wanted blonde highlights. She learned to barrel race; I wanted to learn to barrel race. She did everything perfectly. We were only a year apart, as close as two sisters could be, and I idolized her. I followed her everywhere.
When I was younger, I didn’t mind, but when we became teenagers, constantly being compared to her, or ignored if she wasn’t with me, made me feel like I never truly belonged. Even my high school boyfriend told me during our breakup that he would have asked Hazel out instead of me if she had been available. It hurt knowing everyone preferred Hazel over me. I was the least desirable of the Miller girls. Not only did the town make it clear, but so did our father.
When Mom died of breast cancer, Hazel took the reins. She made sure I got to school. She helped our father with the chores. He saw her as an extension of himself, while I was the fuck up. According to Frank Miller, I was ungrateful, rude, and disappointing. The sun rose and fell with Hazel, and my father couldn’t wait for me to get out of the house.
An automated voice came over the line, reminding us this was a timed call.
I sat up straighter. “No, I’m a teacher.”
“A teacher! That’s amazing, Rom. Mrs. Lin would be so proud. I knew you’d get out of our Podunk town and be somebody.”
Somebody who keeps getting laid off.
“Thirty seconds,” the recorded voice interrupted.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, sis.”
“Do you need anything else?”
“Five seconds.”
“Just to tell you I love you.”
And the dial tone whined in my ear.