Chapter 11 #2
I catch my reflection in the mirror, taken aback.
I haven’t seen myself in this room in nearly a decade.
Whenever I’m here, looking at that bed, I can’t help but remember Clay.
The first night he snuck in, the bed shook with his tears before he finally fell into a restful sleep.
That memory always leads to the next, which was the last time he was here.
The time he kissed me, then snuck away and pretended I didn’t exist afterward.
That should have been my first sign he didn’t want me.
Pushing those thoughts back, I consider that I’ve never seen adult Leni here. You’d think the differences would be subtle, but they’re jarring.
Where a flat-chested, little twig of a girl should be, I see a woman.
Thick thighs, the flare of my hips accentuated by my workout clothes, and man, my tits look huge here.
I didn’t get a chest until after high school.
Not sure why they didn’t come in with puberty, but the second I moved out, I suddenly looked all grown up.
Another thing that the boys probably hated was me coming home after a year, looking nothing like the scrawny kid they said goodbye to.
I shake my head and walk in the opposite direction, toward the bathroom, perks of being the only girl in the family. I had my own ensuite and walk-in closet.
The shower curtain and rug have changed to a soft sage green. It looks much better than the black and white zebra print I had chosen. The counter has little hotel toiletries, like Ma was hoping I’d come back. She has a million other guest rooms; I know they don’t use this for visitors.
The closet, to my memory, is also the same, stuffed full of outfits I wore in my teens. I pick up a pair of denim shorts that look like they’re made for toddlers. Double zero. Holy shit. Was I actually that tiny?
Holding them up to my hips in the full-length mirror, I have to smother a laugh.
Oh my God, these wouldn’t even make it up one thigh now.
I turn to the side, running a hand down my leg.
I used to be self-conscious about the weight I gained once I moved out.
Now, I kind of like my curves. I like the swing of my hips and the power I wield when a man shows interest.
I might not be the perfect picture of mental health, but at least I like my body now.
It helps on days when I don’t particularly care for the rest of me.
I should probably consider scheduling a video therapy session soon.
Being here, seeing Clay, it’s bringing up a lot of old shit that I thought I dealt with.
Moving down to my knees, I shuffle the shoe rack, cringing at the multiple pairs of platforms I have. I should sell these online; I bet I could call them vintage and make a decent little chunk of change.
I feel around by memory, finding the little hole in the wall where I stuffed a narrow shoebox. Pa would probably have a heart attack if he knew I butchered the drywall, but it’s hidden enough that no one will ever find it. Unless they clear everything out.
I run my fingers over the lid of the box.
A light and warm feeling consumes my belly.
To anyone else, these letters would be boring.
They’re mostly Clay talking about his day.
One of them is about the time he broke his toe while on a march.
Another about how the pears are always crunchy and never fully ripe.
Little details that made me smile and made me think I was important to him.
How wrong I was.
My shoulders droop, the lightness replaced with a heavy weight I can never quite shake.
He stopped writing after that summer. I offered to go back with him.
To help him sleep better. I realized then that I was in love with him.
That I’d happily give up any kind of future, if it meant I could help him not hurt so much.
When he left, it was the first time I realized that maybe he didn’t want me to. When the letters started coming in for Mercer or the others, but never for me, I realized I was losing him. I wrote him through the fall, until I turned eighteen and went to find him.
Somehow, I convinced myself that he did want me; he was just being noble.
Being honorable because I was still underage.
Turning eighteen was the catalyst I thought would bring us together.
Clearly, I’d been wrong. Shoving the box back into the hole, I shake my head.
There’s no use pining for something that was never going to happen.
For someone who was never going to let himself want me back.
I do a slow circle, standing in the middle of the closet, looking for something to do, some reason to stay. Dark blue sequins peek out of the back corner. Running the scratchy material through my hand, I pull the body con dress off the hanger.
I wore this on my twenty-first birthday.
Miya and I got a small group of girls from college together and decided to hit up a couple of nightclubs.
I was drinking, obviously, but not enough to impair my decisions.
Some of the girls were getting tipsy, but Miya wasn’t drinking at all.
We made a pact at our first college party that one of us would always stay sober to make sure both of us got home safe.
We were having a good night, the best night, actually. The five of us were dancing with each other, paying no mind to anyone showing interest in us. We were being safe, responsible even. It was shaping up to be one of my favorite nights, until it wasn’t.
Brooks and Ethan showed up and physically removed us from the club. They hauled a screaming Miya out of that bar with me, making such a scene that the bouncers came over to check if we were okay. Ethan gave them one look, lied to say I was his underage sister, and they let them haul us out.
None of the girls talked to Miya or me again.
They drove us back home, not to our dorms. They didn’t say anything on the car ride, not even letting us stop to pee.
Brooks waited until we were parked in front of the main house before assuming an intimidating position, with big arms crossed over his chest. The first thing he did was let us know how stupid we were for dressing the way we did.
When I asked what they were even doing in Benson, he said they came to celebrate my birthday with me.
Which is bullshit, because fall on the ranch is a busy time of year.
The prep for winter is intense and fast-paced.
Brooks wasn’t there to celebrate. He was there to make sure I didn’t have too much fun.
That’s the kind of shit they pulled, over and over, until I threatened to move across the country and never come home.
They conceded a little bit after that. They might not drive to Benson to insert themselves into my life anymore, but it certainly doesn’t stop them from running commentary about the choices I make whenever I am home.
From the clothes I wear to the state of my Jeep is apparently fair game. It’s maddening.
Shaking off the memories, I bring the dress with me, wondering what sequins look like when they burn. I snatch up two random books off my bookshelf and Speckles, heading for the door when footsteps come down the hallway.
I listen to the steps make their way down the hall. They keep going, and the breath rushes out of me when I finally can’t hear them anymore.
I’m about to celebrate my victory when my phone starts to ring. Loud. In my panic to shut the ringer off, I accidentally swipe to answer it. Mercer’s voice comes muffled from behind my palm as I try to listen to the background. Checking if anyone is around now, or if they heard the phone.
I don’t hear any footsteps, but I can hear someone banging around in the kitchen. Probably Ma, which limits my options for escape. Thank God, this part of the house is all ground level.
“Uh, hello?”
“Hey,” I whisper, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I ease the old wooden window open.
I peek my head out, checking to make sure the coast is clear before I step one leg through the opening.
I set my foot into one of Mom’s prized peony bushes.
“Oh fuck.” I keep my voice quiet, trying to right the stems while staying out of the kitchen window’s line of sight.
“What the fuck are you doing, Leni?”
“Hang on, D, I’m a little busy.”
He’s quiet on his end. The sounds of cows come through. Well, that’s good, at least I know the guys are still out. It takes a ridiculous amount of effort to coax the window back down, the wood swollen with humidity.
“Goddamn, fucking thing.” I rip my finger back, disgust churning in my gut when I see the inch-long splinter embedded in my index finger.
Mercer snorts into his phone. “You have the loveliest mouth on you, Sis.”
I can’t help but chuckle, still trying to keep quiet.
“What are you doing? Robbing a bank?”
“No,” I gasp. “That would be way cooler! Edna fell asleep in the living room. I’m trying to be courteous.”
“Courteous? That woman can barely hear with her hearing aids in, Leni. I doubt you’ll wake her up by talking.”
I crouch down, trying to keep my steps quiet, so Mercer won’t pick up on the gravel crunching beneath my feet.
Hopefully, the cows are loud enough that he won’t hear anything at all.
Counting to ten in my head, I sprint across the driveway between the main house and the big barn, cursing internally when one of the brood mares in the paddock whinnies at me.
“Was that a horse?”
“Yeah, I definitely heard a horse on your end.” I try to play it off, talking in my normal voice now.
“Why are you out of breath now?”
“I ran up the stairs.” I shrug, even though he can’t see me.
“Jesus, I thought I was out of shape.”
I scoff at him, indignation burning a path up my throat.
This is why I don’t initiate contact. No matter which brother I talk to, they always have something to say to me.
Something to point out that I’m doing wrong, as if making one mistake in high school makes me incapable of ever growing up and learning.
“Did you call me to insult me, brother?”
“No, I meant what I said in our text this morning. Life would be better, nay, perfect, if you would get your ass back home.”
“My ass is currently sitting in front of my laptop, watching old westerns all summer.”
“So, you’re just content to sit and rot for the summer while we languish away missing you?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re dramatic?” I glance up at the clear blue sky, my chest swelling with a peace I haven’t felt in a long time. I love the skies out here.
“Of course, it’s part of my charm.”
“None of you assholes have char—ahh!” I squeal as my toe sinks into the top of a gopher hole. One arm flails, the other arm gripping my phone tighter, trying to keep myself from eating dirt.
“You good?” Mercer sounds amused on the other end, if not a little sad. I bet he’s working too hard. I don’t know much about law enforcement, but I’m not sure Mercer has taken any real time off since he started four years ago.
“Yeah, almost fell off my bed.” It occurs to me how easily I can lie to him. I never lied to him growing up. Mercer was my best friend. We were inseparable before he met Clay, and I started spending every spare second with Miya. Guilt settles onto my shoulders, making me hate myself a little more.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Mercer’s voice goes soft, the one he reserves for weaseling out information. Mercer is a master at getting people to talk about exactly whatever it is he wants to know. It makes him a great sheriff, but it’s annoying as hell being the gullible sibling.
“I know, Merc, but there’s nothing to tell.”
“Is it money?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you need money to get back home?”
“No, Merc, I don’t need money,” I sigh, picking up my pace to the cabin. I want to get home.
“It’s just...I know you don’t want to take any from Ma and Pa, but if that’s why you’re not coming back, I could help.”
“No, Mercer, I…I don’t know. I’m not ready to be home, that’s all.”
“Because of Clay?”
“I don’t know, maybe. It was ten years ago; we’re both adults now. It shouldn’t be this hard, but I can’t force myself to rip the band-aid off yet.”
I’m going to hell, lying through my teeth like those bastard mechanics who up-charge you because you’re a pretty girl. That’s the level of hell I’m headed for.
“Then let me come see you.” The earnestness in his voice makes me pause.
“I—what?”
“Come on, Leni. You didn’t come home for the holidays. I haven’t seen you since last summer. Let me come visit. Edna won’t mind. She loves me.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. It’s true, Edna loved Mercer the one time she met him.
“I don’t know D…”
He sighs into the phone. “You know, now that the idea is in my head…”
He won’t drop it. I know that. We’re nothing if not consistently stubborn, the whole lot of us.
“Might as well pick a day, Sis. It’s gotta happen now.”
I groan. “That’s not how it works, Mercer. You can’t just—”
“Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!” Voices boom in the background, chaos erupting on Mercer’s end of the line.
“Gotta go, Leni!” He doesn’t wait for my reply.
I sigh, looking out across the open field between the main house and my cabin.
Blowing my bangs out of my face, I force my legs to move as I keep my mind focused on my pulse throbbing in my index finger.
Grounding my thoughts in the weird sensation to keep my mind from wandering too far.
I have a habit of assuming everything my family does is for some ulterior motive.
The chances that Mercer does miss me are more likely than him wanting to visit to get information out of me.
He has no reason to think I’m hiding anything.
He just misses me.
That’s all.