Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ASH
I don't see Rusty at all Monday.
We have until Friday to present to the chamber of commerce, and yesterday, we made a plan to visit every store and check in with the owners to make sure we have their support. But he's nowhere to be seen.
In fairness, he texted me in the pre-dawn to say that Matt is still down with a stomach bug and he has to be at the farm. And because that's his actual job, I don't protest. Much.
I do send him a kissing selfie, though.
"Did you send that to Rusty?" Lou asks as she comes into my office.
I drop my phone. "No."
"Liar," she says in her twangy Georgia accent. She sits in a chair across from my desk, opens the lid to my gummy jar, and tosses a handful in her mouth. "How did yesterday go?"
"It was amazing. We worked all day, went back to his place and he made me dinner. He referred to Pookie as 'our dog.' And he sort of confessed that he loves me, and then we got ice cream? — "
"HE SAID HE LOVES YOU?" Lou almost screams. "Atta boy, Rusty! I need details."
I tell her every word, every heavy confession, every kiss … okay, not every kiss, because that would be way too much detail. But I tell her that we made out until my face was raw, and she giggles like a schoolgirl.
"And everything kept going so perfectly until," I spit his name, "Arlo."
I give her the rundown, and she looks enraged. "He is evil !"
"I know. And everything changed after that. Arlo's timing couldn't have been worse. He was so mean and ugly, Lou. Rusty hugged me when he dropped me off, but he didn't say anything. It's like he couldn't . He just held me, and then kissed me and left without a word. It broke my heart."
"Poor Rusty," she says.
"I know."
"Poor Ash," she adds.
"No, I'll be fine. He's allowed to have feelings he needs to process. When he's ready, I'll be there."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
A few hours later, I'm questioning the truth of my words, though. Rusty still hasn't responded. I know he's busy, but it's never taken him so long to answer one of my texts. I send him another message saying the Janes and I are going to drop by the businesses on Maple Street and I put my phone away.
A minute later, my watch vibrates, and I look at Rusty's texts.
He's given my message a thumbs up.
And he's "hearted" the smoochy-face picture.
Freaking Arlo .
The Janes and I go from business to business, and we have to wait in line to speak to each owner. Everyone who was already enthusiastic about our plan remains enthusiastic, and we pick up a handful of converts. It's not like the votes have to remain a secret, but I get the feeling some people want to give us extra incentive to keep them even busier.
Sonny posted his video Saturday, and it already has several million views. It’s less than half of what Lou's has, but it's still making an impact. Even though he's retired from football, there are more people than ever walking around town wearing his number.
"I take back all my support," Duke says when he and Lottie come by the office to pick up Millie. "Sugar Maple wears number eight."
"The whole town doesn't have to wear your jersey," Millie says, "as long as the right people do."
She kisses him and Lottie giggles as they leave. "Daddy and Mommy are in loooove ."
By the end of the day, I normally have a second wind, but my enthusiasm for work is gone. I can't stop wondering how Rusty is doing. Last night was huge, and Arlo derailed us in the most vicious possible way. I want to go to Rusty’s house and make him dinner, but he's not answering my texts, and I don't want to be pushy. It's been a day, not a week, and he has plenty to keep him busy.
That doesn't mean I'm happy about it, though.
Lou calls the diner and asks Tia to set aside a table for us. She agrees, even though they're slammed. We walk over and sit at a table near the back of the restaurant. The Chicks find us while we're sipping on our drinks and waiting for our order.
"If it isn't the woman of the hour," Chick Hanks says.
"Any sign of the gophers?" I ask him.
"None! Looks like I finally got 'em! "
I put Pookie's poop in each of the holes this morning on my way to work. Reddit told me it was a surefire way to get rid of gophers by making them think a predator is near. They don't know Pookie weighs six pounds, only that she's got wolf DNA, or something.
I will take this secret to the grave.
"I'm glad your plan worked," I say.
"Your plan worked, too," Chick Hanks says. "I had to walk here because there was no parking!"
"I think the blonde one helped, too, didn't you?" Chick Parkinson asks.
Lou chokes on her water and coughs it all over herself. She shakes with mirth as she dabs water off her chin. "Yeah, the blonde one helped, too," she says.
"How did you girls do it?" Chick Allen says.
"You can't say things like that," Chick Hanks whispers.
"Like what?" Chick Allen asks.
"Girls. You have to call them women when they're grown up."
Chick Allen nods sagely. "How did you women do it?"
"Are you surprised that we did it because we're women? Don’t answer that. It was all social media marketing," I say. "We made videos that helped consumers see the things they value that Sugar Maple has to offer."
"How'd you make so many people 'value' fishing? I've never sold out of bait before." Chick Allen says.
"You've never charged so much for bait before, either," Chick Parkinson says, elbowing his friend.
"It wasn't about fishing, it was about what fishing represents. A chance to connect with nature, a chance to be outside in a peaceful setting and try something new," I say.
"And we showed them that it's okay not to know how to fish. You can still have fun," Lou adds, speaking from experience. The video clearly showed her not knowing what in the world to do, and it was so funny and personable, I think it's part of what made the video work.
"Whatever you girls — women — did, you have our support." Chick Hanks says. The other two nod.
"Even if you hadn't quadrupled my business in a week, you'd have my support for chewin' out Arlo Fielding. The miserable cuss," Chick Allen says.
"Does everyone know about Arlo?" I ask.
"Know what a miserable cuss he is? Oh sure."
"What does that mean, exactly?" I ask.
Chick Hanks shakes his head. "He was a bad father and husband. Violent, ill-tempered cuss."
Never in my life have I heard the word "cuss" used so many times. I like it, even if it's wholly insufficient to express what a terrible man he is.
"Did everyone know? Rusty and his sister and their mom? — "
Chick frowns, adding to the lines on his weathered face. "Maybe we suspected, but no one knew until the day of Shelby's funeral."
I look at Lou. I told her that Arlo said something happened on the day of Rusty's sister's funeral. I don't care what it is, though. The fact that Arlo referred to Shelby as Rusty's sister instead of his own daughter is reason two million why nothing that awful man says could ever matter to me. But something happened. And I want to know.
"Do you know about the accident?" Chick Parkinson asks.
"Only that Arlo was drunk and Shelby was killed instantly," I say.
"It was a head-on collision, and Arlo walked away without a scratch on him."
"What happened to the other driver?" Lou asks.
"That's the problem," Chick Parkinson says. "Arlo wasn't the one drivin'. His daughter picked him up from the bar because the bartender took his keys. "
My hands fly to my mouth.
Chick Parkinson nods. "The man she hit was paralyzed."
"Poor Danny," Chick Allen says.
"His wife left him after a few years. He's a good man with good sons, though. They take care of him," Chick Parkinson says.
Lou looks physically pained.
"I don't get it," I whisper. "I heard Arlo got court-mandated rehab."
"He did," Chick P. says. "His daughter was fifteen and didn't have her license yet. So he wasn't fit to supervise. Arlo told the police it wasn’t his fault, that he was throwin’ up and she got distracted and drifted into the other lane."
A cry bubbles from my lips, and the Chicks all nod.
"He was charged with somethin'-or-other and got rehab and community service.”
"What happened the day of the funeral?" I ask. My stomach clenches, knowing it won't be good.
"Arlo didn't go," Chick Hanks says. "Rusty stood by his mother and held her while she sobbed in the church and at the graveside service, as if the poor boy hadn't already been holding her up his whole life."
"Where was Arlo?" I ask.
"At Donegal's Bar. The bar of the man he paralyzed."
I'm horrified on so many levels, I don't know where to start. Donegal's? Patty and Sean own Donegal's. Are they the sons who take care of their paralyzed father? A soul-sick feeling overtakes me thinking of Arlo getting drunk instead of being there for the funeral he caused, whether he was driving or not.
A part of me wants to pity him, wants to understand him and his perspective — his father was a mean drunk! His daughter was killed in an accident picking him up! His survivor's guilt must have been intense, right? And he was an alcoholic. His addiction drove his choices .
But I can't absolve him. Nothing I've heard makes me think he deserves it. He never wanted this outcome, but this is the violent bully who called his son stupid, who yelled that his wife "entrapped" him. This is the hateful monster who refuses to take responsibility for his own actions even after a decade plus of being sober. This is the demon who torments his own son.
"He was at the bar of the man he paralyzed instead of at his daughter’s funeral," Lou says, shaking her head. "Unbelievable."
"That ain't all," Chick P. says. He looks at his friends. "After the funeral, Rusty got a call from Donegal's that they refused to serve Arlo and someone needed to pick him up."
"If they refused to serve him, why didn't they just make him drive home?"
"He was already drunk from wherever he'd been before. But he went right into the bar and sat on a stool. The bartender took his keys and called Rusty."
Another sob escapes my throat. "That is so cruel."
"My son worked tables there at the time," Chick P. says. "Rusty marched into the bar. He was stone-faced, wearing the suit he'd worn to the service."
"Only seventeen," Chick Allen says, shaking his head.
"He grabbed Arlo to drag him out, and Arlo spit on him, ranting about their siren mother," Chick P. says. "Rusty tried to pull him to his feet, and Arlo pushed him. He grabbed his son's collar and told him, 'You think you can escape this? Wait till you get saddled with a pair of brats you don't want, and see how you handle it.' That's when Rusty snapped. Punched Arlo right in the face, yellin’ that his sister wasn’t a brat, that it was all Arlo’s fault. He kept punching till Arlo was a useless heap on the ground, face bloodied and broken. When Rusty realized what he was doing, he stumbled back. Everyone said he looked like he was in shock. But Arlo started laughing, saying, 'you're just like me, boy.' And Rusty didn't say a word. He’d gashed his own hand open on Arlo’s face, and he ran outside and threw up. The bartender called an officer to take Arlo home, and my son called ol' Tag Carville to get Rusty. Tag came right away and took Rusty to get his hand patched up at the hospital."
Tears stream down my face. I clutch my hand over my heart. This is what Arlo was talking about? A teenage boy on the worst day of his life snapping and finally stopping his abuser?
I remember the puckered skin over his knuckles I've touched a hundred times over the last almost two weeks. I think of the way he touches it himself when he drifts off into his head to a place I haven't been able to pinpoint before now.
It's more than guilt or unworthiness. It's him fearing becoming like his dad.
He told me that the worst thing he could imagine is me with someone else. He has nightmares about it. But I'm positive the fear of being anything like Arlo is deeper and more pervasive than he realizes. I don't condone violence, but this wasn't violence. Far from it. This was self-defense, mentally, emotionally, physically. All of the above. Same as with Philip. He was playing a sport the first time and protecting me the second. I haven't had time to really process what Philip did, how he grabbed me, but the spike of panic made my throat close. The possibility of getting hurt terrified me, even if it was over before anything started.
Does Rusty think he crossed the line there, too?
Our food comes, and the Chicks take their leave. I jump up and give all three of them hugs. "Thank you for telling me what happened." I pull back and look at the emotion on their strong, lined faces. "And thank you for keeping an eye on him."
"You're a good one," Chick Parkinson says. "You earned our support, but even if you hadn't, we'd give it to you."
"Especially over that slick-talking Yankee."
"Thanks. That means a lot."
After they go, Lou and I stare at each other. She shakes her head and starts into her hush puppies and pulled pork. After a few bites, she asks, "How on earth did an angel like Rusty come from a monster like Arlo Fielding?"
"I have no idea," I say. "But I'm going to make sure Rusty knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is nothing like his father."
The miserable cuss.