Chapter 35
On Sunday evening, I send Amy an email telling her I’m going to take about a month off before starting another contract and ask her to send me any listings that begin after the new year.
She emails back immediately saying, Good.
She’s not much for chit chat, but this makes me smile.
A good from Amy is the equivalent of a speech from anyone else.
I also spent the day looking for a place to stay, and when I saw that the ranch I worked on in high school built vacation cabins on the property, I called up my old boss and asked if I could rent one for a couple of weeks.
He was ecstatic to hear I’m back in town and invited me and Evan’s family over to dinner next week.
He told me he’d block off a cabin for me for as long as I like.
The next few weeks unspool in front of me, the longest stretch I’ve taken off from work, and it feels good knowing I have nothing on my calendar for the foreseeable future. I can relax, spend time with my brother, and when I gather the courage, visit my mom’s grave.
I just need to tell Evan I’m staying.
Monday morning, Evan and I drop Clara off at school, a rare treat since she usually takes the bus, before heading to a twenty-four hour diner in the middle of downtown.
It’s in a squat building, and there’s a blinking neon sign out front that reads Cowboy Diner.
We didn’t eat out much growing up, but when we did it was almost always here.
The floors are sticky and the red gingham cafe curtains have seen better days.
There’s always a layer of dust on the windows, diffusing the light.
The faux leather booths are cracked and peeling, and I have distinct memories of them leaving an imprint on my thighs in the summer as a kid.
The speckled countertops are always damp from the wet rags they use to wipe them down between each customer, and the whole place always smells like frying bacon.
It feels as much like home as the apartment we grew up in.
When we walk in, a bell above the door jangles announcing our entrance, and Betty—a woman who is old as dirt but looks the exact same as when I was a kid—lets out a whoop when she sees me.
“Jack Sullivan, ya old bastard. Get over here and give me a hug.”
Laughter tumbles out of me as she lifts the counter and comes out from the back, wrapping me in her embrace.
Her arms band tightly around me, and I breathe in the scent of her strong hairspray that somehow manages to defy all odds and keep her beehive-style hair in place.
She chomps her nicotine gum loudly in my ear, squeezing me and tipping us both side to side, her tall hair just managing to reach my chin.
“Hi, Miss Betty.”
She pulls back, patting my cheek with her cold hand. “It’s been too long.” Her fingers grip my chin, turning it this way and that to examine my appearance. “Handsome as ever.”
“Thank you,” Evan says from behind me.
Betty shoots him an exasperated look over my shoulder.
“We have the same face,” Evan retorts.
“And yet you cover yours up with that mangy beard.” She pats my arm. “Go on and sit. Breakfast is on the house.”
When I turn around, Evan’s eyebrows are raised. He mouths, pointing at his beard, “Mangy?”
I shake my head, and we take our usual booth by the window.
A bittersweet melancholy grips me as we slide into the seats across from each other.
It feels wrong. We always used to sit side by side, bumping elbows as we ate, Mom across from us.
She’d scold us as we bickered and let us steal sips of her coffee when we were too young to have our own.
“Feels wrong, doesn’t it?” Evan asks, reading my mind.
My eyes connect with his. “Yeah,” I agree. “Is it still hard for you?”
His brows pinch together, confused. “What do you mean?”
I trace my thumb over the ridged, stainless steel lip of the table. “Missing her?”
Evan stares at me for so long I think he isn’t going to answer, but then he says, “Of course, it is, Jack. Do you really think I don’t miss her?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “No, I know you do. I just—for so long, I couldn’t…” I trail off, swallowing against the lump rising in my throat. It’s hard to speak around it.
My brother watches me, then his face softens in understanding. “Is that why you’ve stayed away for so long?”
I blink, eyes stinging. “It was just so hard to be back here without her, you know?”
“Yeah, I get it,” he says, nudging my foot with his beneath the table.
When we were little and shared a bed, he used to wake me up in the middle of the night just like that when he had nightmares. I would tell him stories until he fell back asleep. I’m not sure when he became the one comforting me instead.
“Is it still just as bad?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, I was expecting it to be worse, but it’s…nice. To be back here. To remember all the things we used to do, the places we used to go. I still miss her so much, but being back here makes me feel close to her, too.”
I thought it would, but I thought it would hurt. I thought her presence would feel like a ghost haunting me, but it doesn’t. It feels like she’s smiling at us, here in this booth, in one of the places the three of us loved so much.
“It was hard at first, especially with you being gone,” Evan says, and it feels like a kick in my gut, even though I know he doesn’t mean it to.
“But it got easier. I avoided a lot of our spots for a long time, but when I started going back, that’s how it felt.
It was nice to be back in the places we made so many good memories.
” He lets out a small laugh. “The apartment was vacant a few years ago, and I convinced the custodian to let me in. I just sat there on that nasty, stained carpet and talked to her. I felt closer to her there than I ever have at her grave.”
My chest squeezes. “I should have been there with you.”
He nods, but there’s no malice in it. “Maybe next time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agree, my voice a rough scrape. I squeeze my hands together under the table. “I was actually thinking about staying for a bit, if you wouldn’t mind having me around. I talked to Clint, and he told me there’s an open cabin at the ranch I could stay in for a few weeks.”
Evan’s eyes spark. “You can’t get enough of me, huh?”
I roll my eyes. “That’s exactly it.”
He nudges my foot again. “It’d be nice to have you back for a while.”
Betty shows up with two mugs of coffee to take our order, smelling of the cigarette I’m sure she took a break to smoke outside.
They slosh onto the table as she sets them down then pulls out a worn spiral notebook stained with coffee and syrup.
After we order, she turns, yelling it back at the cook, and heads for another table.
I don’t recognize the cook, but I’m sure I will after another few weeks here.
“So tell me about this girl,” Evan says.
I lift a brow, although my heart races. “Who?”
“Stevie,” he says with a smirk.
“What about her?”
“Well, you’ve very intentionally left her out of any and all conversations about your time in North Carolina, but I heard you talking to her on the phone the other night, and I saw you texting her yesterday.”
“You’re spying on me?”
His eyes roll hard enough he must give himself a headache. “Just answer the question, shit stain.”
I shrug. “There’s nothing going on.”
“Mmhmm,” he says over the lip of his mug.
“There’s not, really. We both wanted something to happen, but neither of us were interested in something casual, and it couldn’t go anywhere.” The truth tastes bitter in my mouth.
“Why not?”
A sigh heaves out of me. “Because she’s not interested in leaving North Carolina.”
“And you’re not interested in staying in North Carolina?”
My gaze locks in on his, determining if he’s serious or not.
“What? Is that a crazy question?” he asks.
“I mean, kind of. I’m a travel nurse. I can’t just stay somewhere.”
Evan stares at me. “I smell bullshit.”
Defensiveness claws at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shakes his head, pushing his coffee away.
“Jack, you took that job because you wanted to be far away from here. If you wanted to stick around somewhere, you could quit. Find somewhere else to work. Your job has always been your excuse, and if you’re not careful, it’s all you’re going to have left. ”
I want to protest. I want to tell him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
But before I can find anything intelligible to say, Betty returns with our food.
She sets it on the table in front of us and launches into a story about a time we were here with our Mom, just kids, and how we pulled some prank on her I can’t remember.
She stays while we eat, refilling our drinks, and the conversation drops.
Evan doesn’t bring it up when we leave, and neither do I. But his words still rattle around in my head, seeping into me like a fever I can’t quite shake.