27. Laine
27
LAINE
I find Frankie, Cassidy, and Magnolia sitting criss-crossed in front of the living room fireplace. Frankie is wrapping homemade lavender soap bars in customized labels to give out as wedding favors. Cassidy is filling paper cones with dried flowers—their “confetti” for the first walk up the aisle as a married couple. Magnolia, meanwhile, is staring out of the windows, watching the storm rage outside.
“We’ve missed you!” Frankie says, her entire face brightening when she sees me.
“Yeah, I was just trying to get some work done. I’m behind schedule.”
Magnolia nods her head, as if reading straight through my jumbled thoughts. Cassidy attempts a smile.
At my request, Cassidy sets me to work on wrapping the soaps with Frankie.
“Thanks for all your help with the wedding,” Cassidy says, a seemingly genuine smile gracing her lips. Her red hair is piled into a high bun, but a few tendrils are free, framing her larger-than-life features .
“It’s no problem,” I murmur, my mind somewhere else entirely.
“Well, thanks. And thanks for coming to the bachelorette party, too. I hope we didn’t get too wild for you,” Cassidy continues. “It sounds like I said…some things I shouldn’t have. I don’t even remember much of anything, but whatever I said, I am sorry.” She pauses, unable to meet my gaze.
I smile weakly, only having the energy to half-listen.
When Cassidy speaks again, her voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “And thank you…” She pauses, and we all let her think out her words in the quiet. “Thank you for getting Sutton here. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy sell.”
Frankie nods. Then, almost to herself, she says, “I missed him.”
Magnolia holds both hands up to her chest, knotting them together. “Yes, thank you, Laine. I—we—needed him here.”
The three of them try to keep the conversation going for a while, but I don’t have much to say—an entirely new predicament for me. Soon, the others lapse into the same silence, until the thunder and crackling firewood are the only sound.
Eventually, there is a strike of lightning so bright we all pause our work to stare up at it. Soon after, it’s accompanied by a low, villainous rumble in the clouds. Without thinking, I jump to my feet and hurry to the window, staring out at the strobing light. I look for anything outside, beyond the streaks of rain, that could resemble Sutton.
“Do you think they’re alright out there?” I ask, my voice thick.
In seconds, Magnolia is at my side. “Want to watch for them from the porch?”
I give her a wordless nod.
Before leading me outside, Magnolia picks up a thick wool blanket from the couch, cradling it in her arm. I follow her to the porch swing where we both curl up, knees to our chests, and she drapes the blanket over us.
The air is cold and clear. And that smell . It’s like every tree, every blade of grass opened up to the rain, letting their freshness flow out. If Sutton wasn’t out in those mountains, facing that storm, I might see the light show as mesmerizing rather than petrifying.
“Should we have let them go out there in this weather?” my voice trembles as I scan the rain-soaked scenery, hoping that at any second I’ll see Sutton emerge from the tree line.
Magnolia wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in tight. “The storm wasn’t supposed to hit until later this evening. But they’ll be fine. All three of those boys know how to handle this weather. They're probably taking shelter somewhere up there, waiting for the worst of it to pass.”
Magnolia could say anything and I would find some solace in it, thanks to that melodic voice of hers. I wanted to cling to her soothing words. But with every lightning strike, my pulse hitches. And even though I’m warm, curled up at Magnolia’s side under our blanket, I can’t stop shivering.
Magnolia tries to shift the conversation toward lighter matters. “You know, Laine, I've never seen Sutton so happy. You do wonders for him.”
My stomach roils like the dark clouds above us, guilt seeping through me. After the last twenty-four hours I’ve had, the last thing I have energy for is digging myself deeper into our farce.
Magnolia’s watercolor eyes shine. “He really loves you.”
I try to laugh her words off, but the sound is strangled. After another thunderclap, I ask, “Did he say that to you?”
“No. He didn’t need to. But I see it. I see it in the way he’s constantly staring at you—and somehow thinking he’s being discreet about it.” Magnolia chuckles, tipping her head to the side so our foreheads touch. “And even before I saw it, I suspected it.”
I keep my eyes trained on the trees when I ask, “What do you mean?”
“Oh, Sutton thought he was being really subtle when he told me about you. But I saw right through it.”
“After the date auction?”
“No, after your first day in his class.”
I snort. “What could he even have said? A girl showed up late. She was very annoying and kept begging me to tutor her.”
“Sutton did mention the late thing,” Magnolia chuckles. “But you can’t blame a guy with a color-coded planner for that. That’s not what stood out to me, though. No. Instead, it was how, even when he tried to keep it brief, the way he spoke about you made it clear that you intrigued him. Excited him. And it takes a lot to get Sutton excited, as you probably know. You were special from the beginning.”
I chew on her words, wanting so badly to believe them.
“Sutton doesn’t enjoy depending on others. But he needs you. It puts my mind at ease knowing that he’s loved, even when he’s away from home.” Magnolia nudges my shoulder, a playful lift at her mouth. “Maybe before too long it’ll be your wedding we’re preparing for.”
When I try to smile, my cheeks resist, like I’m trying to push the corners of my mouth through stone. A gnawing pull in my chest begs me to come clean, to face the stupid lie I dreamt up. But when I open my mouth to do so, I see Sutton's face, the shame that would cross his features if the truth came out.
We stay on that porch swing for what feels like a lifetime. Magnolia continues on with her dreaming. She talks about how, maybe someday, me and Sutton might return—or even move just a bit closer. She asks about the possibility of coming for holidays. She dreams that, if we have children, we will bring them here for visits, show them the ranch. Eventually, the guilt becomes too much, and I excuse myself to go to sleep.
Attempt to sleep, at least.
In the guest room, I pull all the curtains closed. But even without seeing it, I can still hear the hammering rain, the relentless thunder. A chill runs through me, and I grab the nearest thing to bundle in—Sutton’s well-loved cable-knit sweater. I can still smell his cologne, its musky ginger and hints of floral, and I breathe it in heavily.
Before long, it’s clear my mind won’t be slowing anytime soon. Though I should rest, especially after my restless sleep at the lake last night, I already know I won’t be able to relax enough to do so. Not with the shame, worry, and uncertainty raging through me, just as violent as the storm. I reach for the closest entertainment in sight, Sutton’s childhood copy of Peter Pan , starting back at the first line: All children, except one, grow up.