Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“Shit, shit, shit.”
“I’m gonna need more to go on than you swearing,” Maddie said, her laugh muffled behind the rim of her glass.
“I told you what’s wrong,” I groused, pacing the length of her living room like a caged lion.
“No, you really didn’t.” She twirled her margarita glass like it was a magic wand. “All you’ve done is demand tequila, cuss a blue streak, and declare that Michael Rankin is an ass. Newsflash: I already knew that. But details? None.”
I stopped mid-prowl, took a long gulp of my drink, and flopped onto her ridiculously plush couch. It swallowed me whole, as if conspiring to smother my frustration.
“Fine. First, he’s an ass.”
“Wow. Groundbreaking. Did you also discover that water’s wet?” Her eyes sparkled with sarcasm as she rolled them skyward. “What else you got?”
“He’s telling the whole town I’m wonderful. Acting like he doesn’t hold a grudge about me leaving him at the altar.”
Her brows shot up. “Well, you are wonderful. And damn right he shouldn’t hold a grudge. You’re the one who should be pissed. Honestly, though, I like that he’s trying to sway the town’s opinion. Shows some class. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t castrate him with a rusty spoon all those years ago.”
“And second,” I continued, ignoring her commentary, “I think he wants to get back into my pants.”
“He has a penis, of course he wants in your pants. What else you got?” Maddie shrugged.
“I think he wants to get back together-together.”
Without a word, Maddie stood, marched into the kitchen, grabbed the tequila bottle, and brought it back with her. She didn’t bother with finesse this time, just filled her half-full margarita glass to the brim and thunked the bottle down on the coffee table.
“You know,” I said, watching her glass practically overflow, “I think that’s not a margarita anymore. That’s just tequila. Straight up.”
“I’m going to need it,” she muttered, returning to the couch and plopping down beside me. “Because I have a feeling you’re about to drop a third bomb.”
I sighed, bracing myself. “There is a third thing.”
Maddie took a bracing sip of her tequila—not margarita—and narrowed her eyes. “All right, hit me.”
“I’m beginning to suspect he didn’t cheat on me, I think it was a set-up.”.”
Her glass froze midair. Slowly, she set it down on the coffee table, her eyes drilling into mine like I’d just suggested the moon was made of cheese. “You’re delusional. How about that?”
“Nope,” I said, taking another defiant sip. “I think I’m right. Michael loved me. He wouldn’t have cheated.”
Her laugh was sharp enough to shatter her margarita glass. “Fallon, honey, you called me right after you saw him with Lindsay. You were hysterical. You saw what you saw.”
“Oh, I saw it, all right. He was on her front porch. He kissed her—ten seconds, max. Then he backed her into her house and shut the door. Believe me, that image is seared into my brain for eternity. But…”
Maddie’s brow furrowed. “But what?”
“She didn’t put her arms around him.”
She stared at me, slack-jawed. “What the ever-loving hell does that matter?”
“Have you ever been kissed by someone you liked and not put your arms around him?”
Her silence spoke volumes.
“Well, I haven’t,” I continued firmly. “I always put my arms around his neck.”
She tilted her head, considering. “Sometimes I grab the guy’s shirt. Maybe she did that. Would you have seen it from where you were?”
“Okay, maybe not,” I admitted. “But I haven’t told you the last thing.”
Maddie shook her head sadly.
“Don’t look at me that way. It’s not like I want him back. I’m not pining over him. I just want to close this chapter of my life.”
“And I believe the moon is made of cheese.” Maddie took another big sip of her cocktail, then swung it toward me in a grand gesture. “But please, enlighten me with the last thing.”
“Michael knew I was due at Dorothy’s Antiques before closing to pick up my brooch bouquet. You know, the one you talked me into getting?”
“It was going to be so pretty.” Maddie sighed. “I never got to see it.”
“I need you to focus, Mads.”
“I’m focusing.”
“Michael knew what time I would be at Dorothy’s; it was going to be right before she closed up. And as I pulled up to Dorothy’s store, that’s when I saw Michael’s truck in Lindsay’s driveway, and Michael on the porch.”
Maddie’s eyes widened.
“At just that time?” she whispered her question.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?”
“Because I didn’t really think of it before? It never even entered my consciousness until Michael started acting all crazy about me now and I realized something seemed hinky.”
“So this could have been a setup…”
I slumped back into her couch and I felt my eyes begin to burn. “But that would be so much worse. Why would he do something like that to me, Maddie? We were each other’s everything. We were best friends. Why would he throw that away?”
Maddie’s gaze softened—just a little. “Fallon, he did throw it away. I mean, even if it was a setup, he threw it away.” She picked her margarita glass back up.
I fell quiet, my mind spinning. Things between Michael and me had been perfect—until they weren’t. Everything had been fine until we found the house. That’s when the shift happened, I realized.
Maddie snapped her fingers in front of my face, jolting me back to the present. “Earth to Fallon. Where’d you go?”
“Back in time,” I muttered.
“Care to share?”
I sighed, leaning into the couch cushions. “It started with the house. The wedding plans didn’t faze him, but the second we made an offer on that house, everything changed.”
“So that’s when he decided to become a manipulative asshole. Mystery solved.” She threw her hands up, splashing tequila into her hair. She didn’t even notice.
“Uh, you might want to…” I motioned toward her tequila-soaked locks.
She waved me off like a diva. “I’m accessorizing.”
“You’re a disaster,” I muttered.
“And you’re in denial,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “If Michael didn’t cheat, he wanted out. Just admit it.”
“The house was perfect. Four bedrooms, one already set up as a nursery. The kitchen and bathroom were remodeled—everything we wanted. And then, suddenly, he pulls away?”
“Sounds like cold feet to me,” Maddie said, shaking her head and looking at me with pity. It was kind of ruined when I saw tequila dripping off her ear.
“Maybe.” I rubbed my temples. “But it doesn’t make sense. He wanted that house. He wanted us .”
Maddie took another sip of tequila. “Or maybe he wanted out.”
I glared at her. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m not here to help. I’m here to drink margaritas and tell you the hard truth. Speaking of which…” She raised her glass in a mock toast. “To tequila—and clarity.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re stubborn. Guess we’re a perfect match.”
“Not even close,” I said.
Maddie sighed. “I need to drink tonight. You just gave me a perfect excuse.”
“What? Why?” I demanded to know.
“Never mind. Forget I said that.”
For the first time tonight, I really looked at Maddie and noticed the dark circles under her eyes, like bruises from too many sleepless nights. She was a social worker, primarily working in Jasper Creek and Gatlinburg, and tourist season was just ramping up. She’d told me enough stories over the years, so I knew what this time of year meant for her.
It meant more transient families cramming into dingy motel rooms or pop-up trailers near the mountains. It also meant more unsupervised kids, neglected because their parents were juggling two or three jobs just to scrape by.
I thought of the horror stories Maddie had shared before—the worst being a four- and five-year-old left alone for a week with barely any food. My stomach churned.
“God, Maddie, I’m a shit friend. I haven’t even asked how you’re doing. It’s been all me, me, me. What’s going on in your life? How’s work?”
She waved me off with a flick of her hand. “Same old, same old.”
“Yeah, right,” I shot back, folding my arms. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“I’ve been in bed early lots the last couple of weeks,” she insisted, but her tone was about as convincing as a kid caught with cookie crumbs on their face while denying they’d had their hand in the cookie jar.
“Sure, but have you actually been sleeping?”
She took a long gulp of tequila, then set her glass down with a decisive thunk. I raised an eyebrow as she reached for the bottle to top it up.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” I snatched the glass and bottle away, marching to the sink. “If you think tequila’s going to solve this, you’re as delusional as a reality TV star thinking they’re going to win an Oscar.”
“Hey!” she protested, standing up and wobbling. “That was good tequila!”
“Talk to Auntie Fallon,” I said, ignoring her indignation as I poured the rest down the drain. “What’s going on?” I asked as I walked back into the living room.
Madie let out a dramatic sigh and flopped onto the couch like a rag doll. “Fine. There’s a little girl, Reagan. I just can’t seem to shake it, what’s going on with her.”
I nudged her knee. “Tell me about her.”
Maddie’s shoulders slumped. “She’s nine. I’ve had to remove her from her home three times for neglect. Each time, her mom gets her act together just long enough for Reagan to go back, only for the cycle to repeat.”
“Don’t you inspect the house before that happens?”
“Of course. Her mom makes sure everything’s picture-perfect at first. But by month four, Reagan’s back to skipping school, and the principal calls me.”
“How many chances does a parent get?” I asked, incredulous.
“With any judge but Stevenson? Three strikes and they’re out. But Stevenson… He always sends kids back unless there’s terrible abuse.”
“There have to be good judges,” I said, hoping to lift her spirits.
“Two. Abernathy’s one of the best, but he’s on vacation for two weeks. So yeah, Reagan’s going back to her mom. Again.”
“At least she’s not being abused, right?” I offered weakly.
Maddie’s eyes darkened. “Cheryl, her mom, has a new boyfriend. Two charges for domestic violence, both dropped before trial.”
“Think he threatened them?”
“I’d bet my tequila on it,” she muttered. “If I had any.”
I sighed. “No wonder you were drowning in tequila.”
“I’m sorry for dumping this on you,” she said, looking guilty. “You’ve got enough going on.”
“Maddie, you’re not dumping. You’re my best friend. This street goes both ways. But that’s not everything that’s going on, is it?”
She shook her head, her dark hair flying. “It seems like old home week around here, is all.”
“Why? Who else besides me is back in town?”
“Brady Beaumont,” she said.
I blinked, the name stirring a vague memory. Then it clicked. “Wasn’t he Beau’s twin brother? Didn’t he get kidnapped by his dad or something? I remember Mom and Dad talking about it when we were in middle school.”
“Bingo.”
I leaned forward, intrigued. “How long was he gone? Where was he?”
“Thirty years. Their dad took him to Alaska.”
“No shit.”
“Scout’s honor,” she said solemnly, holding up one finger. “Apparently, he goes by Kai Davies now—thought that was his real name. He was in Special Forces before some injury took him out. So Beau came home to see him.”
“Holy shit, Maddie. Beau’s back. But that’s wonderful,” I breathed. “When was the last time you talked to him? You two used to be inseparable.”
Maddie didn’t respond. Her dark brown eyes turned black.
“Mads? Talk to me.”
“I loved you to death. I adored my sisters. But Beau? Beau was my best friend in the whole world. But the day he left for boot camp? I never heard from him again.”
“That can’t be true.”
She didn’t say a word. Her pain filled the room, like a noxious gas.
“Oh Honey.” I hurled myself across the couch and pulled her into my arms. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Because it shouldn’t have mattered. We were just friends. And he needed to go. After everything he’d been through with his mom dying? He needed to go.”
I held her trembling body close, rocking her, stunned she wasn’t crying. Finally she pulled away.
“You should have told me,” I whispered. “I always leaned on you.”
Her lips twitched into a small smile. “I did put up with years of hearing about the perfect love story of Michael and Fallon.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
“You scoured every store for china with hearts on it for your gift registry!”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“Yep.” Maddie gave a shaky laugh.
“No more holding things in, okay?”
“Agreed. I tell you, and you tell me. Even if it is to float ideas like Michael not cheating, instead masterminding some convoluted plot to get you to break up with him”
My heart beat faster. “Then you think it might be true?”
“Let’s just say, I’m not ruling it out. But you know what you need to do.”
I nodded.
If I wanted answers, I’d have to go straight to the source—Michael himself. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that conversation.