Tilly #2
I climb in and pull the door shut, and I don't reach for the key. I put both hands flat on the wheel and wait, but nothing comes. I expect tears, or panic or rage.
I'm bone dry, my eyes are clear, and my hands on the wheel don't shake at all.
That's worse than any amount of crying would be, because tears would at least give me something to feel besides the facts.
Without them, all I've got is betrayal and disappointment from everyone in my life.
He knew the whole time, and he held me anyway, and he made the same decision again every day after.
I take stock of what's actually in this car with me, because that's a question I can answer.
The duffel from Friday's reef crew is still in the back. I can smell it from here, all boat and salt and old shell. My laptop's in the bag on the seat. My charger is coiled up in the cup holder.
I start the car. The engine catches on the first turn now, thanks to him, and I don't let myself sit with that either. I back out and wind down the ramp and out into the white afternoon.
On Claiborne, I pick up my phone and click on Jo's name. I put it on speaker, not even occurring to me to call my sponsor until Jo's phone is already ringing. Getting high hasn't entered my mind, either.
On the second ring, she picks up already talking.
"So the shell guy says Thursday, but you know that means Friday. I told him if it's Friday again I'm going to lose my whole—"
"Jo, where are you? I need you."
"I just got home. I can come to you."
"I'm okay, and I need to come to you. Can I come to your house?"
"Absolutely, come right now."
"I found out what happened with Oak Moss."
She doesn't pause for a second. "Come on."
I hang up. The light at Napoleon goes green. I put on my blinker and turn off Claiborne, toward Jo's.
Audubon slides away behind my shoulder. I don't look at it.
Jo opens the door before I knock. Without a word, she steps back and lets me in. Then she goes to the counter, pours me a glass of water, sets it down, and turns to the sink to rinse a large plastic bowl.
I stand at her counter and hold the glass and don't drink it.
"Rhodes made the call that froze Oak Moss," I say. She already knows everything that has been going on. Only, like me, she didn't know why.
Jo turns off the water. She wipes her hands on the dish towel slowly.
"Holy shit. Why?"
I tell her enough to make her stop drying the bowl.
"I'm just floored. I'm so sorry he did this."
"And the worst part of it is, I cried to him on Friday, and he didn't say a word. Everything feels like a lie. I'm just such an idiot, and ashamed. I don't even know how to put all of this into words."
"You don't have to."
"Can I sleep on your floor? A night. Maybe two."
She goes to a closet and pulls down a comforter, then we walk up to her room.
"You're not sleeping on the floor. My bed's big enough for the two of us. But you do have to have your own comforter. I draw the line there."
"Fair enough."
"Do you know what you're going to do?"
"I have to go to Charleston," I say. "I have to talk to Grandbank and my dad."
"Will you tell them what Rhodes did?"
"He told me how to fix it. I'm going to call to verify when I can get my mind functioning again. If it's true what he said, then I have to get my grandfather to write a letter."
"What will they say when they find out Rhodes did this? They are going to want to know why he would do this."
"I think I'm going to say I did it." I worked it out on the way over here.
"Why in the world would you do that?"
"If I tell them I called the firm because I thought a review would give me leverage for the trust plan, that I didn't understand what I was starting, they'll be angry, but it won't open me up to more questions about my bad decisions." I shrug.
"That's not fair."
"I'm not doing it for him."
Jo looks at me.
"I'm not protecting Rhodes. I'm protecting myself from having to explain Rhodes. Does that make sense?”
She's quiet. I look over her shoulder at the collage of photos from the fall. There are pictures of us out on the boat, some of her with her intramural lacrosse team, her mom and dad.
"I could tell the truth," I say. "But the truth means telling them I've been sleeping with Coop's best friend since Italy and hiding it from everybody. Then Rhodes becomes the story, and suddenly every decision I’ve made for the last two months gets looked at like maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
I look at her, then shake my head. “No. Oak Moss stays about Oak Moss."
“I don’t like talking to my family about who I’m sleeping with either, so I get it. Why do they need to know that, anyway?”
“Exactly. And if I tell them Rhodes made the call, then suddenly he becomes the story instead of Oak Moss.”
“Yeah. Okay. I get why you’d do it.”
"Once they think it's me, I can steer it. Grandbank holds the title. Grandbank has to ask in writing to close the review. That's what needs to happen. The rest of it isn't necessary to get him to do that."
We talk about it for a while longer until my throat hurts. I've had enough. She offers to get me water and for us to find something to watch to take our minds off all this.
There's nothing that will take my mind off Oak Moss and fixing this and how Rhodes did all of this. But I happily agree to a show so we can stop talking about it.
While she is downstairs getting water, I open the airline app and book a flight to Charleston for Thursday, after my lab, because I want one clear day between his face and my grandfather's.
This weekend, I'm going to sit across from Grandbank and Daddy, and tell them I started something I didn't understand at the time. Daddy will believe it because he's already said as much.
That hurts more than I'd like to admit, but it is what it is.
I'll be exactly the girl they already think I am long enough to clean up this mess.