Chapter 41
VANNA
T he warm spring breeze carries the sweet aroma of honeysuckle, which is growing all around the perimeter of the woods behind the farmstand and along the cornfield.
Ace helps me open up the farmstand, though customers usually don’t begin showing up until after their church services. We have time to do a little foraging for ourselves.
“Do you want to pick some berries?” I ask Ace.
“We might get lucky and find that raspberry patch again, too.” I know exactly where the lone bush grows, down the trail that leads to the old farmhouse next door.
When I lived there, I would stroll the little dirt path to Dean’s blueberry and blackberry orchards and pick a few of those, too.
“We can make jam!” Ace smiles excitedly at first, but then his little brows scrunch, and he hurries to his art table.
“Can I bring this for Miss Meg?” He holds up a slightly crinkled paper with both hands.
He’s been hanging onto this particular drawing for weeks, since the last time we ran into Meg.
“This is me, and this is you, so she remembers us. And this is Daddy and S’reen,” Ace says, pointing to each scribbled figure.
I crouch to his level and run my fingers through the top of his hair. “I don’t think she’s home anymore, sweetheart. Remember? Miss Meg said she was moving, and we haven’t seen her car in the driveway in weeks.”
“But… I promised ,” Ace says, lower lip about to wobble.
“ Okay ,” I cave instantly. “How about this. We’ll walk down the trail to her house and leave it on her front porch. She might be back, and if so, she’ll find it and know you kept your promise.”
“Yeah!” Ace enthusiastically agrees and bounds out the door. I follow after him, grabbing two baskets from the counter as I pass.
The trail behind the farmstand is shaded and cool, a blessing in what is shaping up to be a very warm, late spring morning. Birds rustle and chirp in the branches above us as we stroll along together, and Ace hums tunelessly beside me, drawing clutched in his little fist like a treasure map.
As we wander, so do my thoughts about everything that happened last night.
I know Legion thinks he’s in love with me, and I don’t know how to convince him he isn’t.
He can’t be. And although I have come to care about Legion, I love my family.
I love my husband . And after all the strain we’ve weathered, Dean is finally coming around.
We aren’t out of the woods yet, but for the first time in months, I feel like we’re finally back in sync.
Still, I can’t help but wonder if Dean’s change of mind has anything to do with Legion and his willingness to be or give anything I ask of him.
I push the thought aside as Ace darts ahead. “We’re almost there!” he declares, rounding the curve where the lone raspberry bush sits beside the trail.
I can just make out the old farmhouse through the foliage, sitting tucked between two aging maples. The neglected yard beyond the back patio has been taken over by long grass and wildflowers, the old weeping willow’s branches tangling within them.
Ace stops before the clearing and waits for me. “Can I take a dragon home?” he asks, peering up at me. I’m fairly certain the house is vacant, but I’m also sure Meg wouldn’t mind. She never did in the past.
“Let’s deliver Meg’s picture and then we’ll go pick some dragons,” I smile at him.
The screen door creaks in the breeze as we venture around the side of the house to the front porch, its frame gently tapping against the wood trim.
There’s no car in the driveway. No flowerpots on the steps.
No cushions left behind on the rocking chairs, but the porch swing still hangs crookedly from its chain, swaying like someone had just left.
“Where should we leave it, so it doesn’t blow away?” Ace asks as we climb the steps.
“Is it okay if mommy folds it? We can probably tuck it into the knocker and shut the screen door all the way.”
He nods and solemnly hands me the paper to do just that.
“There, now she will see it if she comes back,” I say, pushing on the frame of the storm door once more for good measure. The light breeze doesn’t affect it this time.
“I hope she likes it,” Ace sighs.
“She’ll love it,” I smile at him. “Now, let’s go get some dragons and berries!”
S he’s usually here by now, especially with Keegan elbows deep in an engine in his shop, too busy to ride home for a lunch break…
Or is he?
Are they avoiding each other? Did our dance instigate a fight between them?
It’s well after noon... By this time, he’s either already returned from home to finish the day, or Vanna’s been here, checking in on things, dropping off lunch, playing with Ace on the little playground while they wait for Keegan to take a break.
Just here, smiling at whomever is around like she isn’t the only fucking reason this place ever feels remotely like a home.
My eyes drop to the empty cigarette pack sitting on the patio table before me. I pull a long drag off my last cigarette, inhaling the smoke like it might fill the emptiness I feel whenever she’s not around. On a sigh, I watch the smoke dissipate into nothing.
A cigarette can convince your body you aren’t starving, make you feel like you have control over the emptiness.
What started out as survival turned into routine, then addiction, then comfort.
In the beginning, each drag felt like a middle finger to everything that had its hands wrapped around my throat…
every belt…every chain… I’m not sure at which point I began counting on it to kill me. Slowly, sure, but inevitably.
Vanna saw it…and it bothered her.
I reach into my pocket and retrieve the mullein tincture she gifted me, the cobalt-blue glass warm from my body. I stare at it, recalling the concern in her eyes when we spoke on her front porch, and the way she wrapped her arms around me.
She wants me to quit… to be better … Perhaps I’m capable of the change she believes in…
But there’s an ever-present darkness in me that doesn’t quit…
I shove the bottle back in my pocket and grab the empty cigarette pack as I stand. I crush it in my fist, the cardboard soft and useless, and toss it into the ashtray.
Maybe that’s what love is for someone like me. Just another way to slowly die.
“Where is she?” I ask the moment I find myself standing in Keegan’s shop.
He doesn’t look up from the bike he’s got on the lift. “You don’t get to ask that.”
“Is she alright?”
“Not your business, either.”
I suck in a long breath through my nostrils, filling my lungs with the scent of oil, leather, and cold steel. “ I made it my business long before last night.”
Keegan finally lifts his gaze to shoot me a glare and steps around the bike, grease on his hands, jaw tight. “ Maybe she needed a day without you in it.”
To my surprise, that one lands.
“I want you out of the clubhouse,” he adds. “I have to take this bike for a test ride. I want you gone by the time I get back.”
“Very well.” I’m surprised he’s tolerated my presence here as long as he has, but my compliance without argument seems to anger him further.
Keegan moves to the workbench and grabs a rag to wipe off his hands while he studies me. “Were you hoping your stunt would cause us to fight?”
“Why? Did you witness something between us worth fighting about?”
Keegan’s disdainful gaze narrows. “If she knew the depths of your depravity, she’d be disgusted by you.”
“Are you referring to my little fuck doll?” I shrug.
“If you truly believed that, you would have told her by now.” He visibly tenses, and I can’t help but grin and go on.
“Astute of you to realize doing so would backfire on you. Perhaps initially she would be shocked and repulsed… But then she’d think about it …
Imagine it… How deeply I crave her and all the things I’d do to her if given the chance…
Disgust can easily warp into desire… She’s a hot-blooded woman, Keegan…
and women love to be desired… even the ones who don’t suffer from a compromised self-esteem. ”
“ Watch it.” Keegan growls, practically bristling like a wolf.
I raise my hand in a placating gesture. “I mean no offense to our sweet Vanna.”
“You think you’re so clever. Untouchable.
You’re so neck deep in your scheming, so caught up in finding the chink in everyone else’s armor, you don’t even realize how obvious yours are.
” Keegan scoffs and takes a step closer to me.
“Allow me to enlighten you on a few things. When a person fixates all of their love on someone who doesn’t reciprocate, it denotes a high probability you’ve had to imagine love where it didn’t exist in order to survive. ”
I fight to keep the grin stitched on my face, but I don’t think he missed the slight twitch in my left eye. He goes on, emboldened…
“I’m gonna bet that started for you in childhood.
Whether you didn’t get stable love or were straight-up neglected, you’ve survived by creating fantasies where a person actually has feelings for you.
I see that you’re hurting, that the origin of this pain inside you predates your fixation with my wife.
And if you’re not willing to acknowledge this, consider another angle…
You don’t actually love her . You don’t actually want her.
Not beyond a fleeting physical relationship, which, let’s be honest, if that’s all anyone has going, it’s doomed to fail.
You don’t want a relationship. And I’ll tell you why that is, too. ”