Chapter 23 Past
My eyes flew open, disoriented for a second. My heart was pounding—caught somewhere between sleep and memory.
Then came my mom’s voice, soft but firm, followed by a knock that wasn’t quite casual.
“Bristol Ann?” A hint of concern threaded through her tone. “When did you get home?”
I froze—the weight of last night crashing down all at once.
The sheets were twisted around me, still warm from when I’d crawled in at dawn. My skin smelled like Paul—faint traces of his cologne still clinging to me. His voice echoed in my head: “I think I love ya, honeysuckle.”
I sat up too fast. The room tilted slightly.
“Uh—early,” I called back, clearing my throat. “Molly dropped me off. She was heading to her aunt’s.”
A lie.
But it was the best I could manage in my current state—room spinning, pulse racing.
There was a pause—just long enough to make me worry she wasn’t buying it.
Then her voice softened:
“Okay. Breakfast is ready.”
She bought it—or at least I hoped she did.
Relief crept into my voice as I called out, “Thanks, I’ll be down in a minute.”
I waited until I heard her footsteps fade down the stairs.
—another lie.
I let myself sink back into bed and closed my eyes.
A minute turned into three hours.
My dreams drifted in and out—his smile, the hot summer sun, the sound of my mom’s voice in the distance...
But that last part wasn’t a dream.
I woke up just like before—wide-eyed, heart pounding.
My mom was standing beside my bed, gently shaking my shoulder.
Her touch was soft, but her expression was tight with concern.
“Bristol Ann, honey, wake up,” she said quietly. “Molly is on the phone.”
The name hit me like a slap. Molly was an integral part of my alibi.
I sat up quickly—pretty sure a bead of sweat slid down my face. Trying to act casual, I steadied my breathing.
“Good,” I said. “She must’ve made it to her aunt’s.”
I honestly couldn’t remember if that’s where I said she was going, but I took the chance. Luckily, it seemed to work—
I think.
Mom, trying to hide her hesitation, cleared her throat. “Yeah,” she said. “I told her you’d be right there, so don’t keep her waiting.”
Then, with a half-smile: “Even calls from Tennessee are long distance.”
She gave a slight grin as she headed toward the door.
As soon as she was out of sight, I moved fast—no more pretending to be casual.
I got into a tug-of-war match with my sheets, trying to free myself from their rosy pink grip.
Once I was the clear victor, I stood up—though the floor felt like it was rocking beneath me.
I paused to steady my feet and catch my breath.
Then, once I’d regained my composure, I headed straight to the phone in the sunroom.
It was the only place I could get some privacy—
and I needed it.
Molly had to know everything that happened last night.
“Molly?” I said into the receiver.
I could hear her on the other line—along with music, Mom’s singing, and the clinking of dishes in the background.
The kitchen phone must still be off the hook.
I called out to my mom from across the house, “Mom, can you hang up the phone? I’m on the one in the sunroom!”
She didn’t answer, but a soft click followed, and the sudden silence—no more pots, pans, or humming—meant she’d heard my request.
Still, I waited to open the floodgates.
I had to make sure no one else could possibly be on the line.
“Molly? You there?”
Molly, in her sweet Southern drawl, said, “Yep, what’s going on? Your momma thanked me for bringing you home this morning…”
She cleared her throat, and her tone shifted—from Southern belle to proud, accusing best friend.
“Bristol Anne Thompson, if you weren’t at my house, and you clearly didn’t sleep in your own bed… whose bed did you stay in last night?”
My face burned—thinking about where I’d woken up this morning, whose arms were wrapped around me, whose scent was entangled in my hair.
In a hushed, almost whispered voice, I answered her question with two words.
“Paul Newsome.”
An audible gasp came through the line.
Leaving Molly Stoll speechless might go down as one of my proudest accomplishments.
The moment was short-lived, quickly followed by a string of questions that blurred together.
“What?”
“When?”
“Tell me everything.”
“Did y’all…”
She paused, not saying the rest—but I knew exactly what she was implying.
The questioning shifted into playful scolding.
“One day. I’m gone for one day, and now this?”
“Bri Thompson, you had better not leave out a single detail.”
I chose my words carefully—just in case an uninvited guest had joined the conversation in the middle of Molly’s impromptu interview.
Still keeping my voice low, I said, “Let’s wait until you’re home… this is much more of a—” I paused, searching for the right words. “—face-to-face topic.”
Her voice oozed with a mix of excitement and frustration.
“Bless it!” she let out a huffed sigh. “Tomorrow can’t get here fast enough.”
I matched her sigh. “I know! There’s so much to tell.”
A small giggle escaped as the memories drifted through my mind—warm, tangled, and still a little unreal.
Our hushed conversation was interrupted by the sound of my mom calling from the kitchen.
“Bristol, you girls don’t stay on that phone too long—I wasn’t kidding about that long-distance thing!”
As much as I wanted to relive every detail of my day and night with Paul—and watch Molly squirm with excitement for me—I was somewhat relieved to have an excuse to hang up.
Somewhere deep down, a part of me wanted to hold on to it a little longer—keeping it just between myself, Paul, and the four walls of his bedroom.
Molly snapped me from my thoughts.
“I’ll be home tomorrow — I think around lunchtime. Meet me at the diner. You can fill me in on all the…”
Her thought was cut short by the sound of someone picking up another line.
Molly’s Aunt G—her accent thicker than a slice of Mrs. Betty’s cornbread—cut in.
“Hello?” A short pause.
“Molly, I need to call ya uncle, shoog. I need him to run to the store and grab my cigs and some lemons.”
Molly sounded a bit more Southern than before.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m hangin’ up now.”
She redirected her focus back to me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bri.” She paused, then added with a grin in her voice,
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
She hung up the phone, her mischievous laugh still hanging in the air.
I stood there for a moment, the receiver still in my hand, the sound of the dial tone humming softly.
I rolled my eyes and let out a sigh—one that intertwined with both a quiet sense of pride and a smile.