Things I Remember (Heartlanders #6)

PROLOGUE

THE PRESENT

(THE END)

Time stops as five pairs of gorgeous, curious, and confused eyes land on me.

“Wait, what?” Skye says, piecing the puzzle together first. Unruly light brown waves fall across my younger sister’s face in that artsy way of hers, and behind one lock, her hazel eyes narrow.

It’s weighty and strange, this attention. Not that I can’t handle being on the spot, I can. I’ve been in billion-dollar boardroom meetings more times than I ever thought possible.

This, though. I’m not used to this—being on the spot with my sisters and my cousin and, I’m pretty sure, the five men across the room who are actively pretending not to hang on every word I’m about to say.

“Arranged marriage? You and Adam were arranged? What the actual—” Sadie starts, also catching on to what I just implied. My very successful, very famous, very pregnant sister is closest to me in age, but we haven’t been as close lately. Which is my fault.

I don’t correct her, and time restarts, sped up and with its volume knob turned past eleven. Everyone talks over each other.

“What!”

“You’re not serious!”

“No, you don’t mean to Adam.”

“Think about it! Bell Construction…”

“ Our Adam?”

“…Canton International, Bell International!”

“Malarkey.”

“Holy crap.”

“Shep, did you know about this?”

“Emerson Clark, you better not have known about this!”

“I repeat, what!?”

“Dad, like our father? Our father Jon Canton arranged a marriage? No.”

“Yes, apparently!”

“I cannot. I can’t with this.”

“I kinda can…”

“Suze…and Josh…”

“Who is Josh? Josh who?”

“WAIT!” Samantha, my lovable, blonde, very barbie-esque, very extroverted middle sister who is already the loudest, of course, talks over everyone else. “Yes or No, Susan. Your marriage to Adam was arranged.”

She says the word with obvious disgust and then the silence grows thick again. The dust in my cousin Kat’s quirky vintage retail store stops falling, the millions of Ozark birds and bugs outside seem to stop chirping. I did not plan to blow up our casual day of helping her set up her new shop with this secret.

But I’ve held it all in for too long.

I swallow.

And I nod.

Everyone begins to talk again, Sam screeching wildly as Sadie collapses in shock onto a nearby overturned crate. Her perfectly styled caramel waves flail and my heart skips a couple beats. I better not send her to the ER again, we, I mean, Canton International, can’t afford more of that kind of press.

Skye catches Sadie by the elbow and helps her sit, cursing under her breath. I can see them both already stitching together their many keen observations throughout recent years. A quilt of my lies by omission.

I gulp.

Sally, our resident brainiac, appears to be frozen in shock. Her eyes are wide under her recently dyed and cut dark chocolate bangs. She looks a lot like Zooey Deschanel. A very sad Zooey. It makes sense this news is hitting her the hardest since, as the youngest, Adam and I practically raised her alongside Dad after Mom died.

The men are turned toward us now, shifting uncomfortably. Emerson, the Ken to Sam’s Barbie, and Shep, Sadie’s almost-as-famous sports talking head husband, must know some of the recent details, since they’re Adam’s best friends. I’m using the term friend loosely because I’m not sure Adam knows how to have or to be a great friend anymore.

Matthew, Skye’s charming tech genius husband, and Nate, the tattooed monstrosity of a man Sally fell for, are unsure how to react. They’re new to the intense estrogenfest that is our family of five sisters (and one outspoken female cousin.) Adam hasn’t been around much in recent years so I’m not sure what they’ve heard or seen.

“Hold ON! ” Sam stops everyone again. “Is that why you got divorced? Like…” her voice cracks, “Like, you never actually loved each other?”

“No, that’s not it. We did.” The words rush out and my own voice falters too. This is part of why I’ve been avoiding this conversation. My whole life, and a large part of their lives, was not a lie.

My relationship with Adam started out fake and forced, but it became real. Very real. Only something solid and beautiful can shatter so spectacularly, can slice such a deep gash of pain and regret.

“Are you finally ready to tell us what happened?” Skye asks.

I shake my head. “I didn’t mean to do this now. Today isn’t about me. We’re here to get Kat’s shop ready.”

“Honey, Kat’s shop could keep us working ’til the cows come home,” Kat sasses back to me in third person. Her hair is black this week, which matches her all-black ensemble. You’d never know she’s the proud owner of this small-town, locally-owned snarky version of a Cracker Barrel that we’re standing in. The shock seems to be making her Arkansas accent thicker than usual.

“Cows come home. From the play The Scornful Lady. Sixteenth century. England.” Sally mutters under her breath.

I start to smile in my little sister’s direction as her tick about idioms shows itself audibly for the first time in months, but Kat goes on. “Please, for the love of all things baked and buttered, finally fill us in, Suze. Start at the beginning.”

“I’m more interested in the end,” Skye adds absently. She was the first one to notice something was off with me well over a year ago. I’d say I was fine, and she’d just stare, waiting for the truth. It never came.

Until now, I guess.

I think it through, aloud. “It’s not the beginning or the end that really explains a dying marriage, though, is it? It’s the middle. Those in-between years where nothing is thrilling or sexy anymore. Kids and responsibilities and life take over and suddenly you’re both tired and frustrated and lonely. Alone, together. Just making it through your routines. You get stuck that way. Then one of you gets unstuck and one of you… doesn’t.”

My words hang in the air and I feel a pang of guilt. All my favorite women are in relatively new relationships and marriages. I don’t mean to take a big fat crap all over their future. If anything, I hope to be a cautionary tale that helps them avoid my mistakes.

Not that they’ll need it.

None of them are as young as I was. None of them are as painfully naive and sheltered as I was back then, not even Sally.

And of course none of them are being forced together with their husbands.

“Um, yeah, I’m going to need more explanation than that.” Sadie finally chimes in.

Samantha nods. “A lot more.”

I brace myself and look around at the men, hoping they’ll make themselves scarce. They don’t want to hear all the details I’m about to muddle through. Luckily, a beep from Kat’s new store security system gives Matt an excuse to duck out of the main area of the store and Emerson follows. Shep mumbles something about checking ESPN for some scores before motioning to Dennis, Kat’s billionaire fiancé, and Nate. It’s still funny to see Dennis here. He was Sadie’s fiancé first, but he truly met his match with Kat.

All the girls, my girls, say their goodbyes to the guys as they go. The five handsome men all send a protective glance that says I’m not far toward my family, their soulmates, as they exit.

I remember that. That gaze. Adam used to look at me that way.

I suck in a bunch of air and hold it in my cheeks like a chipmunk. This is going to be hard.

“Shep!” Sadie calls.

“Yeah, Bambi?” He reappears so quickly he trips on some packing tape and then grunts more than one choice expletive as he flaps the tape off and reaches her side.

“Snacks. We’re gonna need drinks and snacks.” She says.

“Yeah, in fact, tell Ruthie we got a whole situation out here.” Kat adds, waving one hand in a large circle.

“On it.” He kisses the side of Sadie’s head before heading to the diner attached to this storefront.

I exhale.

“Well?” Sam waits.

“Well,” I pick up a piece of particle board and gesture around the room. I start reviewing a checklist I made without even realizing it— shelves, display windows, dry goods, price tags… “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna work while we do it.”

They stand, huffing and exchanging glances. Skye laughs. I know in their heads they’re calling me Bosslady, Mom Junior, Corporate Canton, and probably H.B.I.C. I shrug, accepting it. I’m an achiever, a doer. And a manager, too, who trends on the micromanaging side, as much as I often hate that about myself. I know I annoy them. Heck, they tell me I annoy them. Regularly.

Still, I’m often annoying and right at the same time. We can pick apart my shattered life and put together shelving units simultaneously. Kat needs our help.

Sam picks up a screwdriver and makes a show of getting started while clearing her throat, “Ahem!”

“Okay, Sam, okay.” I look from her to Sally, who’s been quiet. Her brow is scrunched in confusion and she’s yet to make eye contact with me. “I want you all to know I loved Adam. I always will. He’s a good man, a great father.”

Sally relaxes a tiny bit and slowly starts to get back to work. The others get moving too, so I press on. “I did truly love him. But no, I didn’t choose him…and he sure as hell didn’t choose me…”