Chapter Eight
The weekend had already been more eventful than any in the last seven months because I’d already left my house— twice.
And it wasn’t even over yet.
Maggie and I had grabbed dinner and drinks on Friday night at our favorite little dive bar, The Coop, down on Main Street. I’d forgotten how good their chicken wings were; it had been way too long.
Despite Maggie staying at my apartment on Friday night, I hadn’t told her about my last encounter with Stetson.
I didn’t know why, but part of me felt like there was no reason to.
We’d run into each other at George’s farm, and that would be it.
But then there was a part of me that wanted to share every single detail because I was fascinated by the man.
Fortunately, Maggie didn’t bring him up.
She’d probably assumed I hadn’t seen him, which was fair, plus she’d been spending a healthy amount of time with Booker. She’d had a lot to share on that front, and I’d happily provided my opinions until almost two in the morning.
Saturday morning, unbeknownst to me, Maggie had signed us up for a Pilates class, where I was aggressively reminded how long it’d been since I worked out. But as everyone should, we treated ourselves to coffee and a pistachio croissant from Haddie Jo’s after.
“This weekend has felt good,” I said, as I laid out another option on my bed for my first day tomorrow. “It’s felt nice to just be out and about. To be Mags and Scar again and enjoy a low-key weekend at all our favorite spots, ya know?”
“I do,” Maggie said, smiling as she sat against my dark green velvet headboard.
“You’re going to be okay, Scar. You always are.
I know somewhere in that brain of yours you don’t think you deserve to be, because of something seventeen-year-old Scarlett did, but I’ll always be right here to shut down that damn voice that never seems to go away,” she insisted.
“But most importantly, remember it just takes time and a really good friend who will force you out of the house when things start to get questionable.”
“I can’t argue with you there,” I said, shrugging into a chocolate brown satin skirt before jumping to a new topic. “So, you’re telling me you’re just cool about this whole casual hookup thing with Booker?” I questioned.
“I am cool with this casual hookup thing, thank you very much.”
“Sure, you are.” I snagged the oatmeal-colored sweater from my bed and pulled it over my head. “When have you ever been okay with anything casual?”
“We’re just feeling each other out.”
“Oh, you’re definitely feeling each other out. There’s no doubt about that. But I know you’re a commitment kind of gal, and I’m not sure Booker knows the definition of commitment. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, that’s all.”
Her shoulders dropped. “I know. I love you for that. But I promise, right now, I’m actually okay with whatever it is we have going on. It works for us.”
“If you say so. Just be sure to tell him that if he fucks you around, he’s got me to deal with,” I said, swaying to my closet for some boots and a belt.
“Trust me, he knows.”
I pulled my brown suede cowboy boots up my calf, walking toward the full-length wooden mirror that hung on the wall across from my bed. My head tilted to the left—as if that provided a better view—as I wrapped a leather belt with gold hardware around my waist.
“Belt or no belt?”
“Oh. I like the belt. Damn, you look good. I thought you were just going to work at the Tribune?” she joked.
“I am, but I want to make a good impression.”
“I’m kidding. You look great. They’re lucky to have you.”
The reflection in the mirror made me giddy. I liked what I saw, and I was ready to start on this new adventure, even if it was just a small-town newspaper.
It was a start nonetheless.
“Speaking of Booker…” She held up her phone. “He just asked if I wanted to grab dinner later after he finishes up with Stetson.”
“Finishes up with Stetson?” I asked while fidgeting with the silky material of my skirt.
“They’ve been converting one of George’s old barns into a recording studio.”
“Wait, really? Well, I guess that adds up.” Maggie had a confused look on her face, so I continued.
“Stetson was at George’s the other day and I was confused how him and George knew each other, but if he’s letting them build a recording studio on his property, that would make sense why he was there. ”
“Excuse me?” She sat up, pushing herself off the headboard. “You’re just going to casually say Stetson was at George’s the other day as if that doesn’t need more of an explanation?”
I tugged my sweater back over my head, buying myself some more time.
“It’s not that serious,” I said, downplaying the situation.
I didn’t want her to think that I’d kept anything important from her.
And it wasn’t important. Honestly, I didn’t know why I hadn’t told her yet.
Part of me worried that if I talked about Stetson with Maggie, then it would mean somewhere, deep down, I was hoping for more.
And right now, I shouldn’t be hoping for anything other than another day off my couch.
“Spill it, Scar,” she demanded.
“I swear, it’s nothing. I went to George’s to tell him about the job, and when I got there, I was met with Stetson instead,” I said.
“And?” she pushed, scooting herself to the edge of the bed as though she was waiting for me to tell her something juicy.
“And nothing. We talked. George joined us. Then George left. Stetson talked me into going on a ride—”
“A ride? That doesn’t sound like nothing. That sounds like something to me.”
“We took the horses to the clearing and talked. That’s it.”
“Well, what did you talk about?” Maggie wasn’t very good at subtle. She’d pry and then pry harder until she squeezed everything out of you.
“I don’t even really remember,” I lied. I remembered everything we’d talked about. In fact, I’d replayed every word of our conversation in my head at least a hundred times.
Maggie raised an eyebrow and sat silently, awaiting a more acceptable response.
“Oh my god. I don’t know. We talked about the fact that I got left at the altar.
How spending a lot of his twenties in the spotlight wasn’t what he’d imagined when he dreamed of being a country singer, and how maybe he’s just a lost cowboy after all.
” The words flew from my mouth as if I’d just opened the flood gates.
I turned my attention to Maggie. Her mouth hung open, her eyes wide and her arms folded across her chest.
“I don’t even know how to respond to that,” she said.
I almost spoke in an attempt to defend myself, but Maggie beat me to it.
“You’re telling me you had a conversation with this man about one of the two major life events that has happened to you, he opened up to you about what his not-so-glamorous life has been like in the spotlight, and yet, you don’t think that qualifies as something that you should share with your best friend?
You’ve lost your damn mind, Scarlett Carson,” she huffed jokingly.
I released a sigh of relief after hearing her tone, signaling she wasn’t actually upset with me.
“I mean, it was just a conversation. It just sort of happened, and honestly, I think he needed someone to talk to and I happened to be there. That’s it,” I responded.
Maggie stood from the bed, pushing me in front of the mirror until our reflection stared back. Me in front of her, standing in nothing but a nude bra, my brown satin skirt, and boots. Her behind me, messy blonde hair plopped on top of her head and her hands resting on my shoulders.
She cranked her head to the right to get a better look.
“Scar, you do know that it’s okay…” She paused.
“It’s okay to move on and let yourself feel, I mean.
I’m not telling you to jump into anything with anyone, and I’m not saying that’s what you’re avoiding with Stetson.
I just mean to move on and experience life in whatever manner that looks like.
You’ve always had a way of holding on to guilt that ultimately hinders you from moving forward.
You think that if you stay sad, or angry, or if you refuse to enjoy life, then at some point, you’ll be forgiven, but the thing is, there’s nothing to forgive.
So while you’re waiting around, the years of your life are passing you by before you even know it. ”
My nose scrunched in attempt to gatekeep the tear that had swelled in the corner of my eye.
“But I’m not sure I should get to move on, let alone be happy. Not after everything.”
Her palms pressed firmly into my shoulders.
“You can’t punish yourself for things you’ve done or the decisions you’ve made.
And know that I’m referring to two different scenarios here because the one from all those years ago still affects every other one, but in regard to Zane, you have to understand that you don’t have anything to prove to anyone and you don’t owe anyone anything.
That means you don’t have to stay sad for a certain period of time.
You don’t have to stay alone for a certain period of time.
It’s your life, you get to make the rules.
So, if you enjoy having conversations with Stetson and he makes you feel good, then keep having those conversations.
Because at some point, you’re going to have to accept that someone else is going to make you feel good again, probably better than Zane ever made you feel, and those are feelings you deserve to have. ”
The tear fell free, streaming down my cheek.
“But are they?” I rotated around until I was looking right at her.
“Sometimes I wonder if bad shit happens to me because of the selfish decision I made when I was younger, and then when things start to feel…” I hesitated.
“Good? Hell, even normal, a cloud of guilt finds a way to permanently reside over my head,” I said, feeling flustered.
“The truth is that I see the failure of my marriage to Zane as a sign from god. A sign that I don’t deserve to get married. ”
“Scar, you can’t truly believe that. The wedding was a sign that Zane actually sucked and wasn’t the person you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with.
And I don’t mean Zane was actually a bad person.
I just think he was always your top priority, and that was never reciprocated.
Zane was Zane’s top priority and Scarlett came a few spots below that.
I’m not saying you dodged a bullet—actually, I am. ”
A soft laugh left my mouth.
“What’s so funny?”
“Stetson made that exact comment.”
“Hm. Is that so? Well, that man is full of surprises, isn’t he,” she said, smiling so big I thought she might burst.
I sniffed back more tears, swiping away a few stragglers while I pulled Maggie into my chest.
“I love you. Thank you.”
“I love you too.”
I grabbed my coffee from the center console of my Jeep and slammed the door shut with my butt. My hands were overflowing with shit that I probably didn’t need, but I wanted to be as prepared as possible. A laptop, a notebook, my journal, some pens, and a picture of Maggie and me.
Thinking back, a bag would’ve been helpful, but we’re past that at this point.
The sound of my boots on the concrete echoed through my chest, syncing with my faster than normal heartbeat. I was more nervous than I expected, but I wasn’t really sure what to expect and that thought alone made me feel like I was going to throw up.
“Good morning, Scarlett!” Ms. Hansen’s smile glistened as she aimed herself straight for me. “Here, let me help you with some of that!”
Ms. Hansen may have been older, but she was one of the best dressed women in this entire town.
Her style was impeccable. Today she was wearing a fitted, long-sleeve black shirt, layered with a beautiful fringed poncho in an oatmeal shade with black and tan markings.
She’d paired them with faded black skinny jeans tucked pristinely into a pair of stark black leather Lucchese boots.
How did I know that? Well, because they were the exact pair I’d been fawning over for years, and I could spot that intricate stitching anywhere.
“Thank you so much, Ms. Hansen. I probably should’ve brought a bag, but it was too late by the time I realized it.”
“No worries. But what did I say about Ms. Hansen? Please, it’s Donna.” She chuckled.
“Donna. Got it.”
“We’ve got your desk set up right over here in the corner. There is a nice window that overlooks Main Street. I thought you might enjoy the scenery, maybe even use it as a source of inspiration.” Her soft eyes made me feel welcome.
“I’m going to be writing?” I asked.
Her brow furrowed. “Isn’t that what you were hoping to do? I mean, I just figured it was, but darn it, I never asked. I’m sorry. Was there something—”
“Oh my gosh, no. It’s absolutely what I wanted to do, I just wasn’t expecting to get the chance,” I responded, beaming from the news.
“This is a newspaper, darlin’; you know that, right?” She grinned, showing all of her perfectly situated teeth while placing some of my belongings down on the chutney-colored wooden desk in front of us.
“Ha. Yes, I do.” I smiled. “I’m just really glad to be here and grateful for you taking a chance on me.”
“And we’re just as happy to have you. You’ll love the team. They usually don’t roll in until around nine or so. I figured you might want some time to get settled before everyone gets here, but feel free to start coming at nine after today.”
“That sounds great,” I answered.
“I’ll let you get settled, but please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. The bathroom is just behind that wall. We have a tiny little kitchen in the back with a fridge and microwave—nothing fancy, but it gets the job done.”
“That’ll be perfect, thank you,” I said, walking around to the other side of my desk.
My desk.
I was thirty years old and I’d never had a desk of my own—not in the traditional sense anyway.
This felt good.
For the first time in what seemed like my entire life, it felt like I had found the starting line of the right path.
I hadn’t quite shaken the stubborn guilt, especially in moments like this, but I tried my best to repeat what Maggie had said to me—You can’t punish yourself for things you’ve done or the decisions you’ve made—using her words as a tool to tuck it away.
Donna was going to let me write, and that was what I needed to focus on.