Chapter 50
Chapter fifty
Rhett
It’s a known thing among locals that there are twelves seasons in Roseville. After summer comes second summer or as my Meemaw used to call it: hell’s front porch. And as the middle of September approaches, we’re in the thick of it. Sweat runs down my jaw, dripping onto the instructions in my hands.
I hate instructions, I always have. They are insulting. It’s a dog door. If I can’t figure out how to install this on my backdoor, then what kind of carpenter am I.
After staring at the instructions for nearly fifteen minutes, with no progress to show, I throw them to the ground. The sound of an engine reverberates in the distance as Mabel's ears perk up, but she remains a puddle in the grass under the shade of the magnolia tree.
Before I can make it around to the front of my house, my mom comes flitting around the corner, a box in her arms, and smiles under her large sunglasses. It looks heavy on her small frame, so I wipe my brow and rush toward her, lifting the box from her arms.
“I didn’t know you were coming over.” I squint against the afternoon sun.
“Well, I didn’t think you’d be home in the middle of the day on a Tuesday,” she muses, making no attempt to hide the implication in her tone. “I’m just dropping off some veggies. I texted you last night letting you know.”
I usually have all my consultations on Tuesdays, and it’s busy season for the folks who want work done before the holidays. But I’ve had my phone off for three days now.
Good for business, I know.
But the temptation to call her has been strong lately.
I spent the morning pushing all her clothes into one closet, so I don’t have to look at them anymore.
I can’t even open my kitchen cabinets without seeing a stack of fancy mixing bowls.
It’s not like she asked to get anything back, but I couldn’t just throw it out.
Ky said I was torturing myself, but if that was true, so be it.
I never claimed to be the man who made all the right choices.
“I haven’t checked my phone Ma, sorry. Been busy, but I appreciate you bringing this all over.” She followed me as I led the way into the kitchen, resting the box on the island. I sift through the food mindlessly.
“You know it’s only me here, right? I can’t possibly eat all of this.”
“Well, I figured you could cook something if you have someone over or something…you know…” She scanned the kitchen, surely searching for a sign that Audrey was back. She hadn’t pried since I came back from New York. But her indirect commentary was almost worse.
“Party of one here. But thank you, I’ll figure it out,” I added quickly, guiding her back outside where I kneeled on the ground next to my project. “Sorry, I need to get back to this.”
“What are you trying to do?” My mom stood in the shade of the house, hands on her hips and feet planted solidly on the ground. I have a feeling she isn’t going to be easy to get rid of. Clearly, she has something to say to me.
The sun continues to beat down on me, my blue t-shirt sticking to my back, only adding to my agitation by the second. I push my damp hair back, feeling as disheveled as I probably look.
“I’m installing a dog door.” I know I'm being short, and I hate that. But I had my phone off for a reason. I want to be alone. I’ll be myself again by Sunday dinner, but right now, in the middle of the week, I just want to avoid responsibility and be an asshole in the privacy of my own home.
“I can see that. Well, it doesn’t look like you’re getting very far.” She points out the obvious and I bite my cheeks before I say something rude.
“Ma, is there a reason you stopped over? I’d love to chat more, but I need to concentrate.” I muster up a half-hearted grin, with the crumpled sheet of useless directions in my hand.
“Honey…it’s none of my business, but it’s clear you’re rattled by whatever happened between you and Audrey.”
There it is.
“Everything is fine. I’m busy with work, you know this is a busy time of year.”
She places her hands on her hips, cocking her eyebrows, unsatisfied with my bullshit answer.
Pushing myself up from the ground, I face her, staring into eyes that look identical to mine.
“It didn’t work out between us, okay? Sometimes things don’t work out.
” I sigh, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“We were just two people who crossed paths and had a thing. That’s it.
That’s all it ever was, all it was ever going to be.
I’m sorry if you and Desi thought otherwise.
” I turn away from her knowing eyes, done with this conversation.
Done thinking about this.
Done talking about it.
Done trying to get my heart to believe the bullshit my mouth is spewing.
“Do you really believe that, Rhett?”
My heart somersaults in my chest, but I stand there, stubborn and pissed off. Thinking about the closet full of Audrey’s stuff inside my bedroom, and how she should be here, right now.
“I think you loved her.” My mom looks pointedly at me, sighing softly. “And baby, she loved you, I know she loved you. Whatever she did, or you did, whatever happened…just make sure you’re willing to throw everything out over it.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” My voice is gruff as I start walking away.
“This is the last thing I’ll leave you with, okay?”
I’m forced to turn and face the woman who raised me, the one who sees straight through my angry facade.
“In life, you only get one great love. If you’re lucky, that’s the person you spend your life with.
And honey, life is short, so damn short.
” Her voice catches as she shrugs, and my throat tightens.
“You can be angry and hurt, but don’t waste time, Rhett.
You already know the answer. You know if she is the one for you.
That doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy.
It means all the stuff you have to sort out between you is worth it. ”
I don’t say anything back, the words caught in my throat, tearing away at every ounce of angry resolve I built up.
“Thanks for the food, Mom.”
“Love you, honey.”
“Love you, too,” I add, and she quickly kisses my cheek, pats Mabel on the head and heads back to her car, leaving me alone to stand next to my house in the blazing sun.
“Alright, Mabel, let’s get this damn door installed.” I kick aside the directions and grab the drill.
An hour later, there’s a hole in my door. Well, technically it’s a door. A swinging dog door I already know Mabel is going to abuse. This was never part of the plan either.
But a few nights ago, I found myself scrolling through my phone, when I came across photos of me and Audrey.
A random night in late July. We were rocking on the front porch swing, her legs across my lap, when she looked up at me and said “You know what would make me happy right now? Strawberry ice cream.” That’s all she had to say.
Minutes later, we were bouncing down the old country road to the pink ice cream stand my mom used to take me to after my baseball games as a kid.
Audrey got strawberry ice cream on a waffle cone, smiling ear to ear, as we sat at the edge of the field on the back of my truck.
I remember everything.
The way a summer storm came out of nowhere, soaking us in seconds. Kissing in the cab of the truck while the rain pelted the window. The white sundress, her hair falling around her face, the way her lips tasted like sugar. I felt like the luckiest man in the world that day.
We waited out the storm together, my arm lazily draped around her as she leaned into the crook of my chest. We drove home in a happy daze, only to find Mabel sitting on the front porch, soaking wet.
Audrey nearly jumped out of the truck before I could even put it in park, running across the front yard to Mabel, who was completely fine.
She probably rode out the storm under the porch.
But I should've known better. Audrey quickly became Mabel’s mother the moment she met her.
Minutes later, Mabel was on the kitchen floor, wrapped in towels as Audrey spoke sweetly to her, feeding her blueberry biscuits.
I said nothing because those two were in their own world.
‘Girls Club’, Audrey jokes. We spent the next hour sitting on my couch, researching the best dog doors, because god forbid Mabel ever get stuck outside again.
Audrey found one she thought was perfect.
It was high tech, way too expensive, and completely unnecessary.
“Rhett, you have to get this.” She’d shoved the phone in my face, her arm still wrapped around the sleeping hound dog.
“Mabel doesn’t need a seven-hundred dollar dog door.” Mabel lifted her droopy eyes my way as I said it.
Audrey set her phone down. “Okay, let me buy it for her then. You can install it, right?”
I stared at her with wide eyes. “Of course I can install it! But no, I'm not letting you spend your money on that. I’ll build her one, and it will be even better.” I wasn’t rolling in money, but business was steady over the summer, and I was comfortable.
But I still didn’t need to spend that much on a dog door.
And I never truly knew how much money Audrey had.
I knew it was a lot more than I’d ever see in my lifetime, but she didn’t talk about it, she never flaunted it, and I never asked.
She simply offered to pay for certain things, things she knew I wouldn’t spend money on, like a freaking dog door.
But I didn’t want her to do that; not when I could build it myself. Or so I had thought.
Because here I am now, two months after that conversation, and I ordered the expensive dog door she wanted. That’s the thing about Audrey. She plants herself deep, infiltrating every corner of your mind. Even when she’s gone.
“Try it out, Mabel. Go on, go inside, girl.” I instruct as my dog eyes the door skeptically, drool hanging from her jowls.
Out of patience, I step inside, grab a treat, and squat down on the other side of the dog door, calling her inside.
“Come on Mabel, I got a treat.” I hold out the beef stick treat in my hand. It’s a bit stale, I will admit, but it should do the trick. She’s a bloodhound, she should smell this a mile away.
Mabel cautiously pokes her head through the door, nose twitching, eyes locked on the treat in my hand. Eventually, all four of her clumsy and muddy paws are inside the kitchen, where she turns her nose up at the beef stick, and lets out a small huff.
“You too good for store bought now? It’s pure protein, it’s good for you.” I wave it around like a mad man trying to talk reason into my dog. I try to give the treat to her again, but Mabel lets out a loud bark, eyes locked on the tin on the counter.
The tin that’s been empty for two weeks now.
“Those treats are long gone, dog. It’s just me and my beef sticks. You’re going to have to deal with that.”
Mabel grumbles the only way a dog can, turning around and waddling into the living room, before she drops herself dramatically on the floor in protest.
“Whatever, you’ll get used to this. Things are going back to how they used to be!” I holler and toss the treat into the trash. Then I get in the shower, turning the water as cold as it can go to shock myself out of thinking about everything.