Chapter 21 #3
“Her name is Cher. She’s super friendly, and well, this is her shop.” And as if she heard us call her name, Cher appears from behind the back shop door, coffee in hand and a smile on her cheerful face. She spots us and makes her way over. There is no way to ease them into her now.
“Jade!” She says brightly, and pulls me into an embrace whether I wanted one or not.
“How are you? I'm still nursing a hangover from dinner the other night, believe it or not. Please tell me you fared better than I did?” She asks and slowly looks around at Lollie and Ashton, who have stepped closer to me at this point.
“Oh my, you have company. So sorry to invade. I am Cher!” she says in a way that gives no hint of her actually being sorry.
“Hi, Cher. This is Ashton and Lollie. Two of my dearest friends from Detroit,” I announce.
This introduction being a lot more welcome than the last. Or at least I think it is.
I notice Lollie has a stoic look on her face the whole time, like she will not let her guard down.
Odd behavior for someone who befriends literally everyone she meets.
Cher invites us all out to dinner tonight, not caring about my friends’ reception of her.
Both Ashton and Lollie agree to join with a bit of reluctance.
After all, they’ve been dying to see everything about the town I’ve been calling my residence for the last few months.
We all settle on meeting Cher at Tallulah’s Cajun Bar later tonight, and then promptly leave the scene of more than one rather awkward encounter today.
The comfortable October air makes it ideal to walk to The Spanish Moss, our destination for brunch.
I am lucky enough that the owners are nowhere in sight, and as I had predicted, Lollie and Ashton ate their way through tomorrow, leaving just enough time to check out more of the town.
We drag a reluctant Ashton around, popping in and out of as many shops as we can for most of the afternoon, until he finally asks if we can spare him by going home.
“I need a nap if I plan to make it out tonight with you girls. We weren’t all born with loads of energy that allows us to look aimlessly at worthless trinkets all day.” He jokes, obviously referring to Lollie. She doesn’t miss a beat.
“Oh, don’t we know it, Grandpa.” She says back and bats her eyelashes in his direction. His expression heats.
Their constant backhanded remarks are normal expectations in their strained relationship. However, there is something that isn’t being said, and I’ve noticed strange subtleties between them since arriving here. Ashton is right, though. A small nap does sound rather nice.
Back at the estate, we all agree to go to our separate bedrooms. A welcome invitation of the rest our legs are begging for. I grab Carya, who is wandering the hall, scooping her warm frame up in my arms, and head to my room.
I make a quick go of taking off my brown suede skirt and throw on the sweats already bunched up on the end of my bed from this morning. Carya and I settle in, and I close my eyes, thinking how hard it will be to fall asleep with the excitement of my friends finally being here.
That doesn’t last long, because I’m soon pulled into a dream. A dream connecting a daydream that swam through my mind mere weeks ago when standing on the exact bridge.
I am running to the river toward a stone bridge mounted up high. The bridge sits in anticipation, as if waiting for footfalls to be heard against its hardened trail.
I feel something wet against my face. There is no rain. I touch my face, and my hand comes away damp. Tears. I don’t know why or for whom, but I’m crying.
I brace myself at the railing of the bridge, finding my shoes grasping at the rounded stones to raise myself up to the top of the ledge. I look down, knowing this river will surely pull me in at first contact with the muddy water, but I don’t think it will do what I want without some help.
I hear movement on the bridge and look to my left. A man is running toward me; screaming, but his face is blank. It all comes back to me.
It’s always him. Over and over, wrecking my heart like it means nothing. If I live anymore in this world knowing what I know and seeing what I’ve seen of love or lack thereof, I will slowly lose both my soul and my mind.
One is not meant to know these things, and that is why I jump.
But before I do, to make sure it is a death that sticks.
I take a small blade from my dress pocket and move it deep into each of my wrists.
It doesn’t hurt. Nothing could hurt as much as my heart does at this moment, knowing all that I do.
And that is all I remember, because I know that is where my life ended.
I wake a hot mess of sweat. My heart beating through my chest. I have never had a dream like that. It felt so real. A forgotten memory—impossible, since the me in that dream never made it out alive.
One detail stands out, though. As the blade made its way into each wrist, my mind’s eye caught a glimpse of something familiar on my ring finger. A ring that sits alone in a box on my dresser drawer, just inches away from where I lay in bed now.