Chapter 3 #2
I can’t believe he’s here. It’s not like I thought he wouldn’t be, but seeing him, the one other person who acknowledges the truth about me … it’s too much. I want to ask him to move, but he looks at Linden. “She shouldn’t be here.”
“Max.” There’s a plea in my cousin’s voice that I hate.
“Linden. This is—”
“Max, stop. She needs this.”
They’re talking about me like I’m not even here.
“Really? You think she needs this?” He motions to me with disgust on his face. “Look at her.”
And I just can’t.
I can’t do this. I can’t fight with Max. I can’t be in the same room with someone who …
Someone who knows the truth.
“You’re an asshole.” Worse things come to mind. Terrible things, but this is the only thing I’m brave enough to say.
Max looks at me now and says, “Yeah, I know.”
It’s almost resigned, but I don’t care. Without another word, I turn and walk out of the art building, through the quad, and all the way back to my dorm before Linden catches up with me.
“What the fuck, Nieve?” It’s said in a whisper because people are watching. They’re always watching the Monroe kids. I just want to be invisible.
“Go back to talking about me like I’m not standing right there.” I say it at full volume because I don’t care what anyone thinks about me. Not anymore.
She runs past me so that she’s standing in front of the door to the hallway. “Nieve, please. Not today. Just an hour, okay?”
But I’m not listening. If I can just get past her …
Suddenly, Max is there whispering something to Linden, and then—
“Fine.” She groans. “Fucking fine.” Her hand slides down to my wrist, and I feel the way her fingers wrap around it. It’s comforting, but only for a second before she yanks me toward the parking lot.
Carter’s hand slipping from mine.
“Open your eyes, Nieve.”
I don’t fight her as we get into the car or ask where we’re going when we get on the freeway. Two hours later, we’re driving through our hometown toward Grandee’s house.
Short wooden fences line the road. It was paved decades ago, but now it’s mostly broken asphalt and weeds.
Nearly dirt. Our light blue two-story farmhouse stands in front of a small pond and a ferocious garden.
A large porch wraps around the house, and something in my heart tells me that I’m going to be safe as soon as we pass through the gate.
It feels like a million lifetimes away from the school we just left.
Grandee stands on a small wooden dock, her back to our car as Linden drives slowly on the gravel. Six sheep stand near her, mindlessly chewing grass. When we pull to a stop, Grandee throws a bundle of sticks into the water.
Linden mutters something about Grandee’s odd shit but doesn’t say anything else. Of the two of us, she’s always disliked the way Grandee sees the world. As if it were something malleable and movable. Time a suggestion, decisions never permanent.
When I push open the door to the car, the sheep have moved in front of me. One with a blue bandanna around his neck tries to headbutt me, and I swat him away.
“Luke! You knock that shit off!” Grandee yells at the sheep. “Sorry. Logan and Dean got into a patch of clover, and he’s pissed they ate it all.”
“Where’s Rory and Lorelai?” Linden asks.
She waves to somewhere behind her, like she doesn’t have a clue, but she does. She always knows where her sheep are. “You’re back?” She looks at me, but I don’t know what we’re doing here, so I shrug.
“Can we talk?” Linden asks our grandmother.
Grandee’s face pinches into a frown, and she nods, moving to the porch.
I don’t follow them, because I know they don’t want me to. They want to talk about me, without me. Like I’m not able to make a decision for myself.
I follow Luke out to the water, where Paris quietly eats grass. Grandee’s sticks float at the top of the water, tied with yellow yarn. It’s not really a proper bundle so much as three twigs tied together.
“Grandee is weird, right?” I ask Paris, but she doesn’t look up. “Why does she do things like this?”
Sticks floating, tied with wool yarn she made herself, possibly from the sheep that stand next to me.
Cast into the water with inaudible words muttered under her breath.
It’s this strange thing she does to pretend like she has any control over her own life.
As if these things somehow sway fate. I’ve always thought of it as her quirk.
Like how some grandmothers are really into scrapbooking or baking.
And for some reason, I hate it. I hate her hope.
It doesn’t change anything. Carter is still gone.
I’m still the reason.
I take a rock from the bank and toss it at the bundle.
I don’t even come close to hitting it. I throw another and another until finally I hit it on the end.
It spins, swirling in the rippling pond water, and I toss another rock in.
Eventually, the yarn breaks off and the sticks go scattering in opposite directions.
They separate but still float, and for some reason, this breaks my heart in an entirely new way. Why? Why didn’t I let them stay together?
“Why did you do that?”
Max stands over me, his face a mixture of shock and fear. Green eyes search me, and his hands reach out before he pulls them back. “Why did you … Nieve.” He blows out a heavy breath and runs his hands through his damp hair. “What the hell?”
I bend down and wrap my arms around my knees as I crouch on the bank. The sheep that were minding their business have come to join me and are staring out at the pond. As if they realize what I’ve done, too.
I don’t know how long we sit there before Grandee puts her hand on my shoulder. “You ready for some dinner?”
I take a deep breath and look back at the house, but Linden’s car isn’t in the driveway anymore. “Where’s Linny?”
Grandee pulls me up to a stand, putting one of her scratchy hands into mine. They’re worn from years of washing and dyeing wool. “Back at school.” She walks to the house, expecting me to follow. And I do.
“When’s she coming back?”
Under the oak tree, Grandee stops and turns toward me. “She’s not. You’re staying here, and she’s going to school.”
“But…” I’m relieved, and it feels wrong. Why does every emotion lead to ten others?
“You need to be here. The best way to heal our parts that are broken is to rest.” She smiles back at me. “And ice. Rest and ice for broken bodies and souls. That’s why dinner is going to be ice cream.”