20. Nicolette
Nicolette
I had butterflies in my stomach the day before the Godot Family Field Days and I didn’t know why. I had only volunteered to piss off Katie and prove I wasn’t just some self-centered outsider. But somewhere along the line, doing a good job with this stupid carnival began to mean something to me.
Ihaddone my due diligence on the class action lawsuit.
Itwasstillwrappedup in courts and after a quick trip to the Center to talk to Miriam, sheconfirmedthat everyoneaffectedwasalready aware and theywereall on the list of award recipients if the lawsuit everclosed.
It would be years, but it would be something.
It wasn’t just the radon that did the damage.
The building company had cut a lot of corners.
The reason they were so profitable in the beginning was because they never paid for supplies .
They repurposed old building materials that contained lead paint, asbestos, you name it.
The radon just accelerated the problems.
There was still the mystery of Chimera but I hadn’t heard back from Dr. Moore’s DEA colleague so I was running out of leads.
Beyond that, Ihada hard time finding a reason to stay in Godot after these Field Days.
For a fleeting moment, IconsideredMelody’s original assignment.
Ihad some additional information that could yield enough of a personality profile for the Beyond Bizarre episode.
But none of itresonatedwell, and Iberatedmyself for entertaining it.
So, here I was, a bruised heart, a broken ego, and no story to be written.
Itwasbest for me to stop Riot’s apology because when Pastor Blackwellhadmentionedthe class action, my storywasdead in the water and therewasno reasonleftto stay in this town.
I would leave after the Field Dayswereover.
And I didn’t need to open my heart up to any morehurt.
The auto garagehadsaidmy car would be ready by Monday and once thatwassettled, I would be able to go.
As resolute as Iwas, each time Iremindedmyself of that, the hole in my chestgotwider.
Before I left for the final walk-through of the Field Days, I stopped at the main house to grab a bottle of water.
I spotted a newspaper on the kitchen island.
It was a copy of last week’s Huntington Herald.
It was folded open to the article I’d written.
I had forgotten about it after I’d submitted it.
There was a sticky note next to my name.
“You should be proud. I know Iam.”
My heartclenched, and Iclutchedthe paper to my chest.
I think it’s just been a really long time...
I reminded myself that I was leaving. But I kept the note as proof that something had been real here.
The final walk-through made sure all the rides, games, A/V, and vendors were all set up.
I gave an interview to one of the regional TV stations and the buzz around the event was surprising to all of us.
The planning and last-minute setup had all gone so smoothly that it was hardly an hour before I returned to Riot’s house.
I pulled a fresh shirt on and caught a glimpse of him inside his work tent, with the flaps pulled back, letting air blow through the space.
He was holding a drill, sweat dripping from his forehead and a small darker stain trailing down his back.
He was reaching up, twisting a bolt into what looked like the blade of a ceiling fan.
His biceps flexed under his tan skin and my mouth went dry. It hurt to even look at him .
Making a quick decision, I grabbed two beers out of the fridge and let the screen door to the lanai slam shut to let him know I was coming.
He looked up, that signature scowl on his face, squinting into the sun. When his gaze landed on me, I could have sworn I saw his eyes soften just a bit, but I shook it off, chalking it up to the sudden cloud that drifted in front of the sunlight. I appraised his work.
“This is incredible… what’ll it be?” I asked.
He almost cracked a grin and gave one of the fan blades a little spin.
“Not quite done yet.”Ihandedhim a beer, and hetookit with an appreciative nod,sluggingdown almost half of it in one gulp.“Everything teed up for the big day?”he asked, wiping his hands on a rag.
I nodded, relieved we were settling into a comfortable, albeit mundane, conversation.
“Surprisingly, yes. I’m a little nervous, waiting for the other shoe to drop or something but, knock on wood, everything is ready to rip. Are you selling this piece?” I noticed his booth was still empty during the walk-through.
“No,” he said, turning his gaze on me. “I’m not letting this one go.”
His eyespinnedme with a hard stare and Isuckedin a quick breath. He didn’t elaborate, so I didn’t push.
Igavehim a tight-lippedsmile. It stillbuggedme that he didn’t feel like he could sell his own art. Ihadn’tthoughtabout what he might do with the Farmer’s Market booth when Iwasgone, and a remorseful sorrownestledin my gut.
Shadingmy eyes, Istudiedthewhirling metal. It was a beautiful shell. Compiled of imperfect pieces, arranged to come together for something incredible. But itfeltabsent of something. Like its heartbeatwasmissingand justneededone last contribution to make it come alive.
“I’m going to bring the load over shortly,” he said. He hesitated, meeting my gaze. “Want to come with me? Direct me to the booth?”
Iwantedto say no, but maybe thiswasthe ideal time to talk to him about my moving out.
“Yeah, happy to.” I nodded, and I saw one corner of his lips twitch.
The ride overwassilent. My handsitchedto turn on the radio but I didn’t want to riskhearingthat stupid “One Headlight” song again. I don’t know if mywastedheart could take it. As soon as weparked, Ispilledout of the truck,needingspace.
As we unloaded his pieces, I was viscerally aware of his body moving around mine like we were dancing. We worked together harmoniously, and I was reminded of the way we worked in tandem, washing dishes at the Center.
At one point Imovedright, hemovedleft, and we did that awkward dodge where we bothtriedto move in a different direction. Iletout a chuckle, coming to stillness in front of him. Withoutthinking, Iputmy hands on his hips andspunus 180 degrees.
Something in his eyes jumped when I touched him, and a bolt of electricity shot through my body. Our eyes met and my lips parted, trying to suck in more air, feeling lightheaded. But that only brought back the smell of sweat, musk, and metal filling my lungs.
Shit, he still smells good. Like man and machine and safety and sturdiness. My chestconstrictedand a warmthspreadbetween my hips. The airbeganto feel thick.
Iwasstruckwith a need to make things better between us.
With my departurelooming, itwasthe right thing to do, the least I could offer us both.
The idea ofleavingwithout some kind of resolutionseemedwrong.
All the while, a part of meyearnedfor the wayhe’dwovehis fingers through my hair during that“mistake”of a kiss.
He broke our gaze as if just realizing something and moved to shut his tailgate.
I busied myself with arranging and rearranging the artwork on his table.
He needed more display materials. The pieces sat haphazardly on the table and ground.
I made a mental note to grab some of the old crates and burlap that I’d come to use for displays at the Farmer’s Market .
Maybe I could load them in Riot’s truck and we could go to the carnival together. Thethoughtmademy heart leap. Like a date? No, that would be ridiculous. But still, I did want to grab those crates, and I certainly couldn’t carry them on the bike.
My heart thudded in my chest, an adolescent insecurity gripping my throat about asking him for a goddamn ride.
“Would you, maybe, want to head over in the morning? Together? Like, in one car, I mean,”Istammered, my facereddening.
Riotturnedtoward me and Ihada hard timelookinghim in the eye. Why did I feel like a pubescent teenageraskinga boy out for the first time? Something I didn’t recognizeflashedbehind Riot’s eyes, something soft andamusedand happy but then uncomfortable.
“Oh, um... I—”heshifted, and I could tell hewasoff balance.“I kind ofpromisedKatieI’dgive her a ride tomorrow.” The words rushed from his lips like a confession.
A stale sensation spread somewhere between my ribs. I should have known. But it still hurt. Probably because I was a grown-ass adult with nothing but a fucking bicycle who was bumming rides off her convict landlord who’d let her stay out of pity.
Iwaveddismissively.“Oh, of course, no worries.”Iturnedaway to move toward the passenger door, eager to get out of his line of sight.
Riot took a step forward. “I’m sorry; she asked a while back. I don’t mind dropping you off early. Or I’m sure she wouldn’t care if you rode with us.”
I pressed my lips together, failing to dodge his words, each one hitting me harder than the last. I suppressed a laugh and offered a tight-lipped smile.
“It’s okay, Riot. Really.”Therewassomething in his eyes that almostlookedlike regret or guilt and the injury justkeptpilingon top of the insult. Igavehim my best genuine smile andpulledthe car door open.
Silencehungin the truck like stale air.
Itwasaloadedsilence, one teeming with quiet humiliation.
It shouldn’t bother me that Riotwastaking Katie to the carnival.
I’dheardher little three-year plan. Still, the image of her sitting in the very seat Isatin nowchurnedmy stomach andmademy throat feel a little hollow. Ipickeda piece of fabric on the seat.
I could feel Riot’s gaze on me. His jawworkedup and down, at a loss for an appropriate topic of conversation. Unwilling to share my disappointment, Ikeptmy gaze out the window. He didn’t need to feel guilty. Katiewasa nice girl. Iwasglad that hehadher.
Glad. That was it.
When we got back to his place, Riot broke the steely silence at the door. “Hey, thanks for… tagging along,” he said with too much phony enthusiasm. “It was a big help. It would have taken me way longer without you… So, thank you,” he finished, and his expression faltered.
I suppressed another dismal laugh. Tagging along . God, I felt pathetic. I was nothing more than the annoying little sister who tagged along, inserting herself where she wasn’t needed or desired.
I wanted to slap myself across the face.
You are Nicolette fucking Parker. You have brought down billion-dollar companies and exposed corrupt government officials and you’re feeling sorry for yourself because a hot convict asked your arch-nemesis to dance.
I scoffed at myself. I took a breath, resigned to pushing it far from my mind.
I had to focus on my future and that meant coming clean with Melody about my failure to write anything usable.
As Imademy way through the main room toward the lanai, Riot didn’t close himself in his bedroom and slam the door like usual. Instead, hedroppedhis keys on the table andmadehis way to the kitchen, idlyleafingthrough the mail thathadbeensitting on the counter since Iarrived.
I walked through the main room to the sliding door to my lanai.
“Want one?” Riot’s voice startled me. He stood with the refrigerator door open, holding a beer with a glint of hope in his eye.
“There’s a boxing match I might stay up for.
If you’re interested, I mean.” His eyes darted to the living room TV, which had remained notably dark since our evening Jeopardy! games came to a halt.
Again, my throat twisted. I wasn’t fooling myself; he didn’t want to hang out with me. He just felt guilty. Why he felt guilty was beyond me. The man owed me nothing. I looked at the beer in his hand for a beat and then into his eyes.
“No, thank you.I’mgoingtowrap up some work.”Ijerkedmy head in the direction of the lanai and although his expression didn’t change, he deflatedthe tiniestbit.
“Oh, okay,”his deep voicesoundedsofter, and Iwantedto press my ear against his chest to hear it resonate.“Good night, Nicolette.”
My stepsfalteredat the sound of my name and it did unwelcome things to my insides.
Be fucking cool , I scolded myself. I turned on my million-watt smile and nodded once. “Good night, Riot.”
I didn’t work on anything. Instead, I curled up in my bed and let the deep melancholy I’d been keeping at bay wash over me.
I pictured Riot getting ready in the morning, brushing his teeth, styling his hair, picking an outfit, and then getting in his truck to go pick up a different girl for their date to the carnival.
I pictured him winning her some obnoxious stuffed animal, his arm thrown around her shoulders.
WhywasI doing this to myself? I should get up. But just like the night after our first kiss, our first and probably only, Iallowedmyself to dwell in miserable self-pity for just abitlonger.