Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
GUNNER
The words feel so good leaving my mouth that I wonder if I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life.
Rebel reels away, glaring at me with fire in her ice-blue eyes.
Horrified shock spills across the faces of the Ladies, but I’m… calm.
I place a hand to my chest and realize that there are no heart skips. My pulse is hammering steadily as it’s supposed to.
In fact, I feel downright alive.
“Gunner?” Mom clutches her cheek as if she’s been slapped.
“You said it yourself, mom.” I nod to Rebel. “Certain privileges are given to the wives and girlfriends of the Kinseys. I just wanted you to know who those privileges rightly belong to.”
Marjorie’s jaw smashes to the floor.
I straighten my shoulders. “Rebel and I?—”
“Uh…” Mom slumps over the table and groans in pain.
I jump into action, racing to her side. “Mom?”
“I think I need to lie down.”
“I’ll get you some water,” I offer.
“No.” Mom’s grip tightens on my arm. “Take me home.”
“Carol…” Rebel’s soft voice trembles through the air.
My eyes flash to her. She’s staring at mom, her blue eyes brimming with concern and guilt.
Sensing that she’s blaming herself, I tell Rebel, “She’s fine. I’ve got her. You can go home.”
Rebel flinches and I realize those words came out wrong.
“I’ll come by later,” I tell her, softening my tone.
She nods, grabs her purse and walks to the exits.
I’m relieved that she didn’t argue. I’d hate for Rebel to stick around, waiting for news of mom’s condition, and get verbally lashed by the Ladies.
“Carol, are you okay?” Victoria murmurs, rubbing my mom’s shoulders.
Marjorie and the Davis sisters crowd around her too.
Mom shakes her head pitifully, but her mouth curves up at the edges and a part of me thinks she’s loving all the attention.
“Wait up, Rebel,” a man says in the distance.
I glance up and see the suit from earlier chasing Rebel down. He says something to her and then walks with her outside.
Frustration nips at me, yet there’s nothing I can do but watch. I can’t abandon my mother—even if I’m half-convinced she’s just putting on a show.
Dad skates to a stop in front of us, his eyes searching mom’s frantically. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“It’s too stuffy in here.” Mom pulls at her collar.
“We’re under a tent.” I point to the giant canopy mom rented. At that moment, a rough breeze blows through the party area, further proving my point.
Mom gives me the stink eye. “I know what I feel, Gunner.”
“This way, honey. Let’s get you to the house.” Dad coos to her, “What happened? You seemed perfectly fine earlier.”
“It’s all because of that horrid girl,” Marjorie whines, keeping up with mom while holding her purse. “That Rebel Hart, she?—”
“Thanks, Marjorie.” I snatch mom’s purse away from Marjorie, effectively cutting off any reason she has to follow us.
Dad, mom and I use a shortcut, cutting through a path that takes us to the edge of the orchard.
At home, I open the screen door for them, and dad helps mom into the living room. He deposits her gently into the sofa, fussing over her.
“Tell me what you need, Carol. Should we call Dr. Mark?”
Mom shakes her head.
Dad notices her massaging her temple. “I’ll run up and get the headache medication.”
“We put the meds in the car, remember? They’re in the extra first aid kit in the pickup.”
Dad frowns. “The truck is parked all the way at the northern entrance. Gunner, keep an eye on your mom while I run and get the medicine.”
I nod.
The moment the screen door slaps shut behind my father, mom’s face smoothes out. She straightens, cranes her neck to peer through the window and then looks at me. “You want to explain yourself, young man?”
“What happened to your headache?”
“I asked first.”
“It’s exactly as I said. Rebel and I are dating.”
She barks out a dry laugh. “I’ve never seen you talk to that girl. And now you’re suddenly dating?”
I nod sharply.
“Since when?”
I fold my arms over my chest and think about it.
“You don’t know? You announced such a ridiculous lie without even thinking of such details?”
“What matters is that we’re dating now.”
Mom pinches her lips together. “Son, you’ve never been impulsive. Why on earth would you…” Her words trail off and she talks to herself like she’s working through a complicated math problem. “Yes, you’ve always had a soft spot for the less fortunate. Your father and I raised you to have a generous, giving heart. But what I don’t understand is why you’d say such a thing in front of poor Victoria?”
My eyes narrow slightly. Why is mom mentioning Victoria?
“Don’t act as if you don’t know why she came back to Lucky Falls. She had several job offers back in the city. Her career would have taken off if she hadn’t turned those opportunities down.”
I frown. That’s not my responsibility.
“I don’t know how you left things when you broke up with her, but it was obviously not clear to her that your intentions were with someone else.”
My lips remain pressed together. I’ve already said what I needed to. Mom can talk circles around me all she wants.
Mom studies my face and, when I say nothing, she changes tactics.
This time, her voice is coaxing. “Gunner, I’m your mother. I want what’s best for you. You were happy with Victoria, weren’t you? You two would have continued dating if she hadn’t left to study.”
“Victoria and I are just friends.”
“You dated her for three years,” mom insists. “That’s more than friendship.”
My eyes lift to the ceiling as I try to find the words that will convince my mother.
Mom gets tired of my silence and spits out, “Fine. Date other people. But not her.”
“Why not?”
“Gunner,” mom’s voice rings with exasperation, “I said nothing when you tossed your business degree and went to work for your uncle’s hardware store, stocking shelves. I said nothing when you got all those tattoos.”
She waves to the ink that’s hidden beneath my black, long-sleeved shirt.
“I didn’t say anything when you spent all your time playing with the hockey team instead of settling down and marrying a nice girl. I figured you’d find your way eventually. You’ve always been a sensitive child. Maybe you just needed more time.”
Mom shakes her head, causing her bob to swish around her cheeks. “But I was wrong. Today shows that I should have been guiding you with a stricter hand.”
“I don’t need your guidance or your permission to date someone.”
Her eyes flash with hurt. “Really? Is that how you feel? After all the years I raised you… is that all you can say to me?”
I rub my forehead. Again, it seems like I said the wrong thing.
This is why I keep quiet.
Mom exhales in frustration. “That girl won’t fit in with us, Gunner. You heard what she said about the Ladies. She has no respect for everything I’ve built, everything this family stands for.”
My eyes slide away. Rebel made several points in her speech that I agreed with, but Mom is definitely not open to hearing how the Lady Luck Society has been disproportionately focused on one side of town while ignoring the other.
“And she’s in a fight with several of our family members too. Your Uncle Stewart is livid about those ladies at the Pink Garage. They stole all his customers!” Mom wags a finger. “And that Rebel-one especially is said to flirt with every two-legged male who walks into her shop, married or otherwise.”
“Let me guess,” I growl, “Did you hear that from Marjorie?”
Mom tilts her chin up. “I neither confirm nor deny that.”
I scoff and shake my head.
“Where there’s smoke there’s fire. Can you seriously tell me that girl doesn’t use her beauty to her advantage? Who’s to say she’s not using you for the Kinsey name?”
“Trust me,” I mutter, “Rebel wants nothing to do with the Kinsey name.”
Mom dramatically grips the back of her neck, launching into a familiar spiel about how hard it is to be a mother. In the middle of her dramatic performance, my phone buzzes with a message.
REBEL: How’s your mom?
I look up, observing mom’s one-woman monologue about the discomfort she had while pregnant with me, how she thought she wouldn’t survive the fourteen-hour labor, and how I came out at ten pounds and two ounces at birth.
ME: She’s doing better.
REBEL: We need to talk. Meet me at the treehouse.
Dad comes back with the first aid kit and I leave mom to his care.
On my way out the door, I think about what I’ll say to Rebel. Given how she responded at the table, she wasn’t happy about hearing that we’re dating now. There’s no way she’ll want to go along with being my girlfriend.
And that’s probably for the best.
It can’t be her . Mom’s voice is on a loop in my ears. It can’t be her.
I know that more than anyone.
But as I near the treehouse, I find myself reluctant to apologize or take the words back.