29. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
GRETCHEN
I am not okay.
I’m wearing an oversized Wellingham PD t-shirt and pleather hot shorts, and I’m barefoot, because my choice of footwear last night was not appropriate for my brief incarceration.
By the time my father releases me from jail and drives me back to my parents’ house, I am rapidly deteriorating.
I need to talk to Brady.
But first, I need to talk to my mom.
We pull up into the driveway and I feel the tiniest bit of relief at the familiarity of the seashell gravel crunching beneath the tires.
Home, I am reminded by the sign on the porch, is where our story begins.
I suppose that’s true. It really all began with my parents falling in love and settling down in this house, in this town.
They had me, and placed all their hopes and dreams and wishes upon me, and I did everything I could to make them proud.
Until I didn’t.
I walk up the driveway straight to the back deck, where I open the slider to the kitchen. My mom rushes at me and wraps me in a warm hug. “Sweetheart,” he says, burying her face into my hair .
She begins to cry.
The weight of all my decisions, everything I’ve done this whole summer, all comes crashing down on me and I can feel myself crumble.
“Mom,” I whisper. My shoulders sag. I begin to sob in her arms, and she holds me up as the catharsis of letting go washes over me.
We stand there like that as my father enters the kitchen, and no words are exchanged as he wraps us both in a family embrace.
“It’s going to be okay, Gretchen,” my mom whispers into the group hug.
It takes a few minutes and several tissues for me to catch my breath, but I finally do.
My father is quiet. He excuses himself to go lie down.
Mom offers to make me breakfast, and I politely decline, but she starts cooking anyway.
It calms her nerves. She makes me a plate of bacon and eggs along with a fresh cup of coffee, and my body surprises me by gratefully accepting all of it. Turns out I’m actually very hungry.
“Baby, are you okay?” she asks me.
I sigh. “I thought I was.”
She nods, patiently waiting for me to go on.
“I made a mistake.”
Sitting across the table from me, she crosses her legs and sips her coffee. Then, she asks, “Honey, which part of it was a mistake?” The cadence of her voice calms me, reminding me that this is a safe space.
I inhale, appreciating the cacophony of scents that make up the airspace around me. Bacon, salt air, mom’s lavender essential oils. “Taking the job, I guess? ”
“Everything happens for a reason,” she says. “Do you believe that?”
I nod, swallowing a bite of scrambled eggs. “I do.”
“What did that job give you, besides money?”
A headache? Jail time? Possibly an ulcer? “Brady,” I say. “And self-confidence,” I admit.
“Tell me more about that,” she says.
“I know you probably think I must be some kind of slut for pole dancing –”
“Don’t assume, Gretchie.”
“I’m kind of good at it.”
“You sound surprised.”
I shrug. “I was surprised. It takes a lot of strength. Like, in your core.”
“Maybe you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
“Maybe.”
“No,” she corrects us both. “Definitely.” She places her hand on mine.
“I messed everything up.”
“How?”
“Daddy says I’ll never be able to get a job as a teacher.”
“It won’t be easy. Especially not in this area.”
“What am I going to do, then? I have my interview this week.”
“Talk to your advisor. Be truthful, and see what she says.”
At this, I nod. “I’m embarrassed, though.”
“Don’t be. We were all young once. She’ll understand. I promise.”
“Dad also said that he thinks I should move back home.”
“Do you want that? ”
I shake my head. “No. I felt like I was finally getting somewhere. Summer changed me, you know? I went from being some pub waitress who was basically just coasting through life to becoming someone with a serious boyfriend and actual career prospects on the horizon. It’s bad enough that this happened.
I don’t want to move back in like some baby who can’t handle her own life. ”
“Then don’t,” Mom says.
I smile, and it feels good. “I need to talk to Brady,” I tell her, squeezing her hand. “Thank you.”
“I love you, sweetie.”
I kiss her on top of her head and head for my old bedroom. Sitting down on my bed, I pull my phone out of my back pocket.
He picks up right away. “Finally!” he exclaims. “Are you okay?” Poor guy sounds like an unraveling fidget spinner of apprehension.
“Hi,” I reply.
“Where are you?”
“My parents’ house.”
“How’s your dad? How are you ?”
I exhale. “It’s been a long night. I’ve been better.”
“What can I do?”
“I’m not really sure.” Then, I remember that he bailed me out. “Thank you for posting bail, though. I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t even think twice about it. I just need you to be okay.”
“I’m okay, Brady. But I found something out. You won’t believe this.”
“What is it?”
“Miranda was the one behind the bust.”
“What? How?”
“Remember I told you about my ex-boyfriend, Keith?”
“The cop?”
“Uh huh. Well, apparently he’s engaged to Miranda.”
“Wow, really?”
“Yeah – and she was the one who told him that Cosmo was a shady establishment. So he launched an investigation. But I don’t think she cared so much about that –”
“Definitely not. That was a revenge move.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too.”
“I can’t believe her!” he says, agitation rising in his voice.
“It’s okay, Brady. Not worth getting upset over.”
“She got you arrested , Gretch. She put your whole career in jeopardy!”
“Yeah. I know. But I don’t think it was me she was after.”
“She was trying to get back at me for – for what, exactly? For not accepting her ridiculous advances?”
“For not dancing with her the way she wanted you to, I guess. For not making her feel like the only woman in the room.” Despite myself, my lips curl into the tiniest smile. “You really do have a way about you, babe. I imagine you’d be very difficult to get over.”
“I doubt that.” He shrugs.
“You said that she tried to apologize to you, right?”
“It was the most twisted attempt at an apology I ever saw, Gretch.”
“Well, I don’t know, then. Anyway, I just wanted to share that with you – that Miranda was the reason this whole thing happened. Thought you’d like to know. ”
“Babe, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” He sighs. “Jesus Christ.”
“No. I don’t believe that. Don’t do that.”
“Goddamn it. This is such a mess.” He pauses. “Are you coming home?”
“Yeah.”
“When?” he asks. “Do you need me to come get you?”
“Actually,” I realize, “I need to get my car.”
“Let me bring you.”
“Okay.”
“One thing, though.”
“What’s up?”
“Your dad – he kind of told me that I should give you some space. So, I’ll come get you, but I need you to just come outside. I don’t want to see him right now.”
“He did what?” I ask.
“I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Thanks. Yeah, come get me, please. I’ll handle him.”