Chapter 41 Winnie
WINNIE
I’m hurled out into the cold air, and then my father releases his grip on my arm. I can already tell it’s going to bruise.
He looks exactly the same—dark hair and five o’clock shadow, khakis and sneakers, a sheepish expression on his face.
Like he doesn’t quite know how he ended up in the situation he’s in, and he bears absolutely no responsibility for it.
My mother hasn’t changed a bit either. She’s still whip thin and blonde, her tan, designer purse under one arm, her face set into harsh, unforgiving lines.
“I knew we’d find you here, as soon as I saw that this trashy bar was having an open mic night. You never could stay away from the stage for too long, Winsome. You’re too vain,” she bites out, giving me a nasty smile.
Not true. I’m not like that at all, I tell myself. But her words burn anyway, just like they always have.
“So I guess we’re not playing nice.” I make my tone as flat as possible, hoping that I fool them into thinking I’m not affected. Not scared.
“It wasn’t nice when you left home without saying a word to us.” This from my dad, who is now frowning at me.
“I left a note. Which was very clear about the fact that I never wanted to hear from either of you again.”
My mom just laughs. “Oh Winsome, please. We’re your parents. You belong with us.”
I know she actually means that I belong to them, not with them. It’s how they’ve always treated me.
“I belong here. In Star Mountain.”
“With Jonah Smith, right? Your new husband?” My mom smells blood and I’m not sure how to prevent a feeding frenzy.
“With everyone here—with my friends and at the horse rescue.”
It’s my dad’s turn to laugh. “Our little girl, shoveling horse shit in a field. I didn’t believe it until I saw the photos.”
Their P.I. is better than I thought, if they were able to get shots of me working at the barn. Maybe they used a drone or a very long range lens.
“You didn’t really think you could hide from us, did you?”
I say nothing, unsure how to answer my mom’s question. Because truth be told, I did think I could hide. I planned my escape carefully, and I thought I’d be safe in Star Mountain. I thought I’d outsmarted them.
“I wasn’t hiding,” I lie. “I quit my job and came here. I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“You cost us a hell of a lot of money, girl,” my dad lashes out.
Girl. The term he uses whenever he wants to belittle me—to let me know that I’m nothing to him. It’s not going to work anymore, though.
“I made you a hell of a lot of money.” I lift my chin and stare him dead in the eyes.
“And you only had a career because of me,” my mom says. “Don’t forget that.”
“I had a career because I worked hard. I was the one up on stage. I was the one in front of the camera. Don’t forget that,” I find myself snarling at her. I’ve never spoken to my mom like that before, and for a moment, I see shock register on her face.
But it’s gone in an instant. She snorts. “Looks like Winsome grew a spine while she was out here.”
“I did.” I cross my arms. “So either get to the point, or get the hell out of here. My friends are waiting for me inside.”
My mom reaches into her bag and pulls out a sheaf of papers. She shoves them at me and I grasp them by one edge, and tug them out of her hands. I skim read them.
“What am I looking at?” I’m pretty sure I know, though, and my heart is already starting to pound, blood already rushing through my ears.
“Divorce papers. For you and Jonah. All you need to do is sign on the dotted line, and you’ll be free.”
“And why would I do that? I don’t want to get divorced.”
“We know,” my father mutters.
“You’ll sign those papers and then you’ll come back to Alabama with us, because if you don’t, we’ll expose this sham of a marriage to the public.
We’ll explain how Jonah Smith, an impoverished farm hand with dreams of making it big in the music industry, coerced our poor daughter into marriage as soon as he got wind of her hefty trust fund.
” Ice cold fear grips my chest, but she keeps going.
“We’ll tell them how he took advantage of you when you were vulnerable and alone, without your family for the first time.
He got you to agree to the whole thing while you were drunk, and locked you into an abusive marriage.
You’ve never been able to hold your liquor, Winsome. ” My mom shakes her head.
“None of that is true,” I say through chattering teeth. The combination of the cold and the anxiety have me shaking.
“Yes it is. One, you and Jonah got married after an evening spent here. Two, you’d only known him for a few weeks at best. Three, it’s clear he needs the money, given the state of his home and his car and his musical aspirations. Not to mention his mom’s cancer.”
“Bitch,” I breathe. Their P.I. is good, if they were able to figure all that out.
My mom just stares at me.
“I still won’t sign them,” I protest, even though we both know she has me. I’ll do anything to protect Jonah. Anything.
“I think you will. Because you care about him. That much is clear from your little performance together tonight, and from the kiss you shared at the altar.”
My father gives me a nasty smile, as if to emphasize my mother’s point.
Jonah and I tried to make our marriage look real, and in doing so, we played right into their hands.
I thought it might protect us. I thought things needed to look real so that they wouldn’t be able to try and claim conservatorship over me, or argue with the trust over whether I’d truly met the terms. I didn’t think they’d go after Jonah.
But I was wrong.
“Just think, Winsome, if he wants a career in music at all, he can’t have something like this hanging over his head.
His reputation won’t survive it and he has nothing to fight us with.
” My mom says this like she’s trying to get me to see reason—like eventually I’ll come around to the correct point of view and agree with her. She’s so manipulative it makes me sick.
Still, I just nod. I carefully fold the divorce papers up and tuck them into my clutch. It’s going to kill me to do it, but I’ll sign them to save him.
“You’re coming with us, too. Don’t think—”
I cut my father off. “I know.”
Even though the thought of being back in that awful, awful house with them makes me sick, I’ll still do it. If it will keep Jonah and his family from being dragged through the mud, I’ll do it.
“Be at the airport at two o’clock tomorrow. We’re flying out of Bozeman and connecting through Denver. This backwater doesn’t have any direct flights to Birmingham,” my dad sneers.
I refrain from rolling my eyes, and just nod instead. I don’t say another word to them, and just turn on my heel and walk away. I paste a smile on my face worthy of the pageant queen I once was, square my shoulders, and walk back into the bar.