24. Twenty-Four
Early afternoon the next day, Sara and I drive to the county jail. Traffic through the city makes our journey slow and irritating—not that we need anything added to our nervousness. Neither of us has visited someone in jail before, and though Sara assures me she’s cool with it, her knee bounces incessantly, and she fiddles with the ends of her lavender hair like she’s weaving a purple blanket.
I’m uneasy, too. Distracted. About Jack. About his kiss. I can’t seem to get my head out from under that boardwalk.
Within twenty minutes of parking, we sit at a cafeteria-style table, waiting for Sara’s dad. Other visitors talk quietly at their tables with orange-clad inmates while guards watch nearby. The cinderblock walls, sterile lighting, and seating resemble school. It’s strangely calm and normal despite the bars, guards, and neon orange.
“Think he’ll be mad?” Her sudden question comes out with a nervous tremor.
“No, of course not. Why?”
“That I’m here to see this.”
“Your dad loves you. He’ll be happy to see you and know you’re okay.”
A breath putters from her as she nods.
A clanking door announces a new arrival to the visiting space. Eddie Sweet is tall and lean with a leathery tan, surely thanks to his lawn care business. His salt-and-pepper crew cut matches his clean-shaven face and brightens into a wide, toothy grin at the sight of Sara. He has friendly eyes, especially when his laugh lines tighten. His warm embrace surely eradicates her fears.
“Eddie Sweet.” He shakes my hand.
“Rowan Mackey, nice to meet you. Sara’s a wonderful girl.”
She gives me a surprised glance.
“Thanks for bringing her to see me,” Eddie says as they sit down.
“Of course, anytime.” I motion to the windowed waiting room where we checked in. “I’ll just be over there while you two catch up.”
It was a last-minute choice—leaving them alone—but it felt intrusive not to. They’re father and daughter and should be allowed to talk without me hovering. I return to the waiting room, where I retrieve my phone and stand near the window.
They talk for nearly an hour. I try not to watch, focusing instead on my group chat with Mira and Mom, which has been ridiculously active since last night when desperate for advice, I opened the discussion with: Jack kissed me, and I kissed him back. *mind-blown emoji, anguished emoji, broken-heart emoji. ??? WTF *face-palm emoji*
Mom FaceTimed right away. The entire story gushed out in a frustrated purge, ping-ponging between Jack and Dean like a tennis match. Only there’s no competition here—at last check, Dean wants to marry me, and I made a promise.
Then, there’s Jack. He’s motivated by what? Lust? Curiosity? Sympathy? Book ideas? I don’t understand why he did it—not sure I want to because there’s no good reason for someone like him to play with my feelings like that. I’m with Dean, but even if I weren’t, Jack would never be with me, and I’m no charity case to add to his sex rotation.
“Rowan, being with you isn’t charity!” Mom said, aghast. “You’ve been together all summer. He cares about you. He said so. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”
“Because it’s not true. You don’t know him or his revolving door of perfect women. If your advice is to dump Dean for a shot at Jack—”
“No. My advice is not to settle for anything less than what you deserve. You deserve a man who is there for you, someone who excites you and makes you a priority, a man who loves you wholeheartedly… Does that sound like Dean?”
It didn’t, but I couldn’t answer. The two were split on whether I should tell Dean about the kiss. Mom thinks I should be honest, while Mira worries it’ll be another thing he holds over my head.
I couldn’t argue with either.
I lean against the waiting room wall as last night’s Mom-lecture replays in my head. She doesn’t get it. Dean wants me as a partner, or he did. Jack wants me for a toy. There’s no comparison.
My phone chimes.
Has Dean texted you back yet?Mom’s text lights the phone as I scan our past messages.
No. Not yet.
This morning, I texted Dean. We need to talk. Not a quick call between takes but a real conversation, face-to-face. I want you home sooner than the day before school starts. Give me the entire weekend. I’ve been patient and understanding all summer. Now, I expect you to show me the same courtesy.
I wonder if I sound too demanding. He read it hours ago. A disconcerted ache grows in my chest the longer it sits there, unanswered.
Then, like bad karma is playing a wicked game, my phone pings again—Jack’s third text since the beach.
Just tell me you’re okay.His latest text expands the ache in my chest.
Gnawing my inner lip, I consider my answer. I’m fine. Please stop texting. My finger hesitates over send.
A knock on the glass breaks my concentration. I look up to find Sara waving me back inside. My finger falls on the screen, sending my message. I give up my phone to return to the main room.
When I approach, Sara huffs and leaves.
“Is she okay?” I ask Eddie.
He nods, motioning for me to take a seat. “Ms. Mackey, I apologize on behalf of my daughter for her terrible behavior toward you.”
“Oh, that’s unnecessary. She’s apologized, and I understand she’s in a tough situation.”
He gives me the same serious look he gave his daughter. “No, it’s unacceptable. She’s headstrong, yes, but being in a tough spot is no excuse for meanness and unkind words.”
“She told you about that?”
His long head bobs again. “I pressed her about it, and she’s not one to lie.”
“I appreciate the apology, but we’re past that now. She’s warming up to me… slowly.”
A light smirk corners his thin lips. “It’s not you, understand? It’s me she’s angry at. She likes you a helluva lot more than she lets on.”
“Really?” The word comes out in a high-pitched gasp like a doe-eyed child permitted to have my pick at a toy store. “Are you sure?”
“Definitely. You came to her rescue with the house. Thanks for that.”
“No problem. I’d do anything for Sara.” The realization strikes me funny. Sure, it’s true. It’s also true for my hundreds of students.
But Sara’s different. I feel innately drawn to her. Maybe it’s my long-dormant maternal instincts kicking in or that I see so much of my childhood in hers—that stubborn and independent spirit, most of all.
“Yeah, I can see that. It’s much appreciated. She’s a good kid, and she needs someone like you in her life. Though I’d advise against tangling with my cousins in the future,” he says. “They ain’t running on all cylinders. It’s not worth putting yourselves in danger.”
“Understood. No more stakeouts. Any other advice for me? Sometimes, she sees me as the enemy, I think.”
He leans his sinewy arms on the table, linking them in front of me. “She’s not quick to trust anyone. Her mom left when she was little, and she’s never had great role models—”
“Except you—I mean, one stint in jail excluded.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, stupid mistakes kinda run in the family. Sara’s like a crepe myrtle. She doesn’t need much and will do fine on her own, but things will go a lot better for her with cultivating and the occasional pruning. You’re a nice person—I can tell. But don’t be too forgiving. Don’t let her get away with bad behavior.”
His words kick up the dust of my entire summer, scattering annoying particles into the air. Have I been too nice? Too forgiving? The longer my text to Dean goes unanswered, the more I wonder if he always meant to spend the summer away, and messing up his proposal gave him an easy out with less guilt for leaving. Was his spontaneous wedding proposal his way of ensuring I’d be here, waiting with open arms, after he left?
Focusing on Eddie, I sit up. “I won’t.”
“She likes space…”
I think I hate that word.
“—And horror movies, though, they scare the bejesus out of me.”
I chuckle lightly. “Me, too.”
“She’s an artist. Paints, ceramics, pencil drawings—there’s nothing she can’t do. If you show an interest in that, she’ll warm up to you right quick.”
A lightbulb goes off in my head, remembering their art-filled living room and Sara hovering over a sketch pad at the beach. “Ah, that I can work with. Thanks.”
Sara rejoins us, and we chat casually about her awful taste in movies before the guards tell us that visiting hours are over. Our conversation ends with a long embrace for Sara and a handshake for me, but I promise to make it a weekly thing.
Driving home, the first ten minutes go by in a windy silence. With the top down, the late afternoon sun kisses us goodbye as the coastal breezes sweep the day away.
Nearing a congested red light, I downshift, slowing the VW and quieting our windy serenade.
“Rowan, I’ve been kind of a jerk. I’m sorry for the bad things I said. Thanks for taking me to see Dad.”
“Anytime. I’m glad that he shares my opinion of your movie preferences. Do you ever watch anything without slashing or haunting or torture?”
She sputters out a light chuckle. “Um, not really. But it’s your house. You should pick the next one.”
I nod in quiet victory as the light turns green, and we roll into action again. “It’s the first Sunday of the month this weekend—free for residents at Airlie Gardens and Cameron Art Museum. I thought maybe we could take advantage?”
“Art museum sounds fun,” she says with a mild shrug.
I play it cool, but I’m beaming inside.
“Rowan, is it okay if I take a few driving lessons with Jack? He offered yesterday. Well, he and Tom.”
“Oh, um, sure. Or, um, I could teach you.”
“What happened yesterday?” She side-eyes me critically. “You and Jack were acting weird at the beach.”
Excuses and denials cue in my head like my relationship drama is something I need to protect her from. But I think of my students and how they hate it when people treat them like children and assume they won’t understand.
“Jack kissed me… and I didn’t stop him right away. So, now I feel horrible, and I don’t know what to do.”
Her cheek bubbles with her smirk. “It’s no secret that Jack has the hots for you… or that Mr. Maddix has been a dick. You should be with whoever makes you happy and not feel horrible about it.”
“What would make me happy is someone I can trust. Right now, that’s neither of them.”
Sara nods. “Then don’t do anything. Let time figure it out for you. They’ll either build your trust or wreck it. It’s like with Dad. He thought he could trust his cousins, but they proved him wrong. He won’t give them another chance after this. But you could do a test if you wanted to move things along.”
“A test?”
“Yeah, I just did one on you,” she says, laughing.
“Really? Did I pass?”
“Yep. I already knew about Jack’s kiss. He told me.”
I groan. “He shouldn’t have bothered you with our… mess.”
“I’m good with messes. Trust each of them with something important and see who disappoints you. I did that with my so-called friends in the eighth grade. Someone was talking about me behind my back, but I didn’t know who. So, I told each of them I had a crush, but I told them different people. When the rumor got back to me, I knew who’d told my secret.”
“Wow, that’s clever… and a little devious.”
She shrugs. “I take friendship very seriously, and I don’t have time for anyone who doesn’t.”
“Fair enough. I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
“If it helps, Jack sounds serious about you.”
“Jack’s serious about material for his book, serious about whatever he wants at the moment, but not serious about me. He’s… we’re not… the same.”
“Hmm, not exactly, but different might be better. Can we order Chinese for dinner? And can I invite Ella over?”
“Sure,” I say, handing her my phone so she can place the order and grateful for the subject change.