21 #2
Fallon snorts. “Yeah, right. Critique me. No bullshit. I know you want to do it, and I can take it.”
She can. My tough little sister, who gets knocked around by nags and bucked off by broncs, can handle anything.
“The frosting is grainy. And the dough is gummy. You didn’t let it rise long enough.” I hold up a hand when she snaps open her mouth. “But you did well. For a first timer, I’m seriously impressed.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
“No way,” I say when she goes to clear my plate. “I’m finishing this. Eating for two, remember?”
“Please don’t poison your child on my account.”
I smile. “Squish.”
She wrinkles her nose, and after a second of hesitation, she sits on a stool across from me, elbow on the counter and chin in her palm.
I finish the entire cinnamon roll. It’s gloopy and overladen with sugar, but I’ve tasted nothing more delicious. My sister tried. She tried for me. For our store. That alone is enough to bring tears to my eyes.
A long, withering sigh. “You said you wouldn’t cry.”
“I’m not.” I sniffle. “I’m eating while quietly leaking.” As I do, I scan my eyes over her tattoos. Rose bushes up her thighs. Rope–ride on her knuckles. Cowgirls and butterflies on her forearms.
“You got a new one.” I point at her colorful forearm folded on the countertop.
“Annie Oakley.” She holds her grin close to her heart, looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “The pinup version.”
“You and your cowgirls.”
“You and your cupcakes.” She studies me. “You miss your bakery?”
It’s not my favorite topic, but I’ll take what I can get from my sister. “I do,” I admit on a breathy sigh.
She shrugs. “I remember thinking how much I never wanted this place when we were kids.” Her eyes flit to me briefly, then scan the kitchen. “I want to be like dad,” she says. “But I don’t want the store. I don’t want this town. I don’t want to die here.”
My chest clenches. I can feel her panic, her rush of words fighting against her confidence and cool.
“Fallon, you don’t have to do this alone.”
“It won’t be for long. That store down the block will put us out of business,” she says pointedly. “They’re better than us.”
I inhale a determined breath. “Maybe so, but we’ll figure out what our store needs and do it. And if that means closing it…” Fallon pales but hope flickers in her eyes.“I’ll be here. And we can talk to Dad together. You shouldn’t be stuck with it. And I’m sorry I took that away from you—leaving.”
She shifts on her stool, her shoulders tensing. Feelings make Fallon itch. Still, I go on. Even daring to stretch a hand across the table and squeeze hers. “Tell me what you’d do if you could do anything.” I smile. “One tiny, little secret.”
Her laugh is sad. “No one’s ever asked me that. It’s all just been…” She makes a fist and rubs a circle around her heart. “Here.”
She’s still for a long beat.
“I’d leave Resurrection. I’d find Mom. I’d go to Arizona.
” At my questioning look, she goes on. “There’s a camp down south where you can ride with wild horses.
Train with Vick Lavoie at his school.” A bright blaze of a smile illuminates her face.
“I want more than Resurrection. I want the wind. I want freedom.”
I stare at her, understanding cracking in my chest. My sister’s tumbleweed heart. She’s never had any settle down in her boots.
“You made your way. I’ll make mine.”
“I didn’t make my way,” I say with a toss of my head. “I built my entire life up only to burn it down.”
“No, you didn’t.” She leans in. “Starting over is okay, Koty. Being alone is okay. What is not okay is staying somewhere where you’re hurt or not happy or not safe.
” Flames dance in Fallon’s eyes. “ That is not okay. Someone hurting you is not okay. And if I ever see that worthless piece of dogshit, I’m going to pound his motherfucking face into the fucking concrete. ”
My eyes widen. “That’s…extremely murderous.”
“I only do murder to the extreme.”
Fallon cracks a laugh, and I join her. Wild, rebellious laughter, the kind we enjoyed as children.
When the chuckles settle, I grip her hand tighter, desperate for her to understand. “I don’t like this, Fallon. I missed you. You’re my little sister. You mean everything to me.”
“Then why—” She stops, bites her lip.
“Go on.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The look of confusion and despair on her face kills me. “You’re my best friend, Dakota. We talked all the time. And then you just stopped calling.” She looks down to pick at a thumbnail. “I would have helped you if I had known.”
“I know.” A deep ache wrenches my heart. “You’d have been there.”
“With pliers and a sock full of pennies.”
I sigh.
“Fuck,” Fallon suddenly blasts. “I’m an asshole. You don’t owe me or anyone an explanation.”
Even if I don’t, maybe talking about it, getting it out is exactly what I need.
My hands palm my belly. “It’s okay. I don’t expect you to understand. I don’t even understand it myself.” I pick the words out, pick them apart, still not used to talking about it. Admitting it.
“We were together for a while before it started. And when it did—it was survival. It was like living with a ticking bomb. I focused on work so I wouldn’t have to talk about what was happening at home.
To my body. I didn’t call because I was embarrassed.
” I wipe my face before the tears start.
“I didn’t know how to leave. But I knew how to stay.
It’s like when it’s late at night and you’re staring at that static on the TV, but you can’t make yourself get up to turn it off. ”
I cast my eyes down, then back up at Fallon. “But you’re right. You would have helped me. And I’m so—”
“No,” Fallon growls, cutting me off. “If you apologize, Dakota, I will poison your next batch of cinnamon rolls. He did this. Not you.”
A tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe my eyes.
“You don’t deserve assholes who hurt you.
You deserve cupcakes and rainbows and tight-jean wearing Marines.
” She inhales a shuddery breath and squeezes my hand.
“Leaving is powerful. And you are powerful. You had a path, and you made it happen, Dakota. Fuck, I can’t even tell Dad I don’t want The Corner Store. ”
I smile through my tears. “We’ll tell him together.”
Maybe our father was right. The Corner Store turned out to be the best kind of therapy.
I blow out a breath, feeling surprisingly purged, and reach for the tray of cinnamon rolls. “I think I need another cinnamon roll. And I’m going to shove it into my mouth like a lady.”
Fallon smirks and grabs a fork. “Fight you for it.”
I laugh and the two of us devour the mound of sugary mush.
Food is love. Food is friendship and healing and memory. In every bite, I remember my little sister and that summer our mother left. We still have so much more to say, but we have time.
The muscled body pushing through the saloon door makes Fallon jump. She drops her fork with a clatter.
“Jesus!” She turns her fierce scowl on Davis, who stands in the doorway, his cheeks red from the wind. “Lurk, much?”
“Everything okay?” Davis asks, studying me with his intense stare.
I hold up my fork. “Everything’s great.”
Fallon slips off her stool. “Gotta go.”
“Why are you limping?” Davis’s big body pivots to watch her as she passes him. His eyes narrow. “What’s wrong with your leg?”
“It’s an injury called none of your business .” Fallon pauses at the sink and dips to grab her duffel bag off the floor. The edge of something powder-blue and lacy peeks over the top of it. “I have practice. Close up, Dakota?”
Davis’s hand lands on my shoulder.
“You got it,” I tell her, a sweet happiness spreading through my stomach.
At the door, she glances over her shoulder. Gives a cavalier shrug. “I can’t take Dad to chemo tomorrow. So, if you want…”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “I want.”