Nowhere but Home (12 page)

A band takes to the stage and the twang of country music floats through the town square. Couples take to the floor. Country western dancing's roots are firmly held in the waltz and polka genres, but there's an elegance and effortlessness to it that belies any modern take the dance could have. Couples move as one, and the older, more experienced couples barely touch the floor at all. Men in cowboy hats hold their women tightly as they guide them across the floor. Shuffling cowboy boots leave scuff marks on the wooden dance floor as the sun finally dips below the horizon and the day finally begins to cool down. The dance floor is awash in light from the red, white, and blue lanterns as the couples drift and sashay. Merry Carole and I sit, slightly buzzed off the champagne we drank too quickly because of the heat.

“I think I'm going to head home,” I say, standing.

“Well, we sure appreciated you coming out today,” Merry Carole says.

“I'm going to see what you've got around the house and throw together something for supper, if you're interested,” I say, smoothing my skirt down in the back.

“Oh sure,” Merry Carole says, taking out her cell phone.

“Are you checking in with Cal?” I ask, just about to head out.

“Oh . . . no, I'm sure he's off somewhere with the team,” Merry Carole says, covering her cell phone.

“So you're not going to tell me who you're texting?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“I'm going to assume it's a man and that you're passionately and quite secretly in love,” I say, standing over her. Merry Carole just rolls her eyes and continues texting.

“Just go on now,” Merry Carole says, shooing me away.

I walk across the park past the food booths that have been set out on the street at the edge of the town square. I think about the day, about Cal standing up there holding that sign over his head:
WAKE.
I trot across the main street in a happy haze, reliving it all. I turn the corner by the post office.

Everett.

“Oh hey,” I say, caught completely off guard.

“Hey,” Everett says, just as startled.

We stand there frozen once again. The live music floats throughout the town.

“Well, good seeing you. Hey, say hi to your folks for me,” I say and continue walking down the street. I can't be alone with him. I won't set myself up for that. I have to get away from him or else—

“Queenie, it's just us here. Can we—,” Everett says, turning around.

“Just how you like it, right?” I call, not looking back. My voice is breathy and desperate. The pain of being without him is fueling my anger.

“You should be real proud of Cal,” Everett says, calling after me. I whip around.

“I am. He's an amazing kid,” I say. Everett is slowly but surely, inch by inch, backing me up into an alley in between the post office and an antiques shop. The old brick walls of each building rise high above us as the dusky night becomes an inky black. I can hear the music in the distance, the occasional crack, crack, crack of a firecracker.

Everett is quiet. He leans forward mere centimeters, just as he did last night but without the safety of the bar, and the crowds of people in it. I feel outside of myself. My breathing quickens as he bends his head low and tilts it just enough for my entire body to react to him. His eyes are fast on mine and my heart races to catch up with the fantasies of what the next few moments might bring. I make my hands into tight fists, hoping this will keep them from reaching for him. His face is now inches from mine.

“An entire town is lit up just over there and we find the—,” I say, my voice an intimate whisper.

“I've missed you,” he says, taking his hands out of his pockets.

“Don't,” I say, willing my voice not to break and catch.

“You look beautiful.” Everett steps closer, his hand lacing around my waist and pulling me in.

“That's not helping,” I say, my body restless and shaky.

“Be still.” Everett just looks at me, his eyes washing over every part of my face. I slide my hand around him and hold on. He leans down and kisses my neck. I bring my other hand up and grasp him. I'm losing my balance—always a problem around him. My hand grips his shoulder, feeling his shirt shift and tighten over the sinewy muscles just beneath. I slide my hand up and let my fingers brush his glistening neck. Goose bumps dot his olive skin as I run my hand farther up and explore the curls at the nape of his neck.

“You're finally back,” Everett sighs, whispering in my ear.

Stillness. The air around us waits. Even the music in the distance takes a breath.

“Everett, I—” Everett covers my mouth with his and I can feel his breath quickening. I feel alive for the first time in years as the fireworks crack and pop high above North Star.

“Please . . . just—just give me a minute,” I say, trying to catch my breath. He tilts back, but only slightly. Something's different. I can't breathe. He kisses me again and I feel claustrophobic. He's too much. This is too much. I've been running from this feeling for years and now with each kiss I can feel it bearing down on me. It: the pain of knowing we can never be together. With each kiss he peppers down my neck, I am forced to admit that the love of my life will never really be mine. It's one thing to run from ghosts, it's quite another to let them catch you. My eyes dart around the darkened alley and I catch the glint of his belt buckle.

“I can't believe you still have that,” I say breathlessly, pointing at the belt buckle. He looks down at his crotch and arches an eyebrow. My face flushes red and I clarify, “The belt buckle, I mean the belt buckle.”

“Why wouldn't I still have it?” he asks. I study him. The man I once knew so well that I could draw a map of his freckles from memory. I gather myself. Everett tucks my long bangs behind my ear. He covers my mouth once more with his. The cracking and popping of the fireworks light our faces in the colors of the rainbow. Flecks of red and blue color the side of Everett's face as he watches me.

“I thought when you married Laurel that—”

“That what? She had nothing to do with us.”

His words hang there just as the smoke from the spent fireworks hangs over the town center. Something is different. I'm different. I
am
older. I
am
smarter. And most of all, I
am
stronger. The haze begins to lift. This isn't going to work. No matter how badly we want it to. In this age of princes marrying “commoners,” it's easy to think that the days when one's social strata dictated who you married are behind us. As much as I hate that Everett is loyal to his family, it's why he's the man I've loved since I was five years old. Asking him to turn his back on them would mean eroding the very character that both mystifies me and makes me believe in better things. Maybe if I can believe I'm not my mother, Everett has to learn he's not his parents.

And maybe I need to let him.

I said I would come back to North Star on my terms. Maybe my terms start right here. With Everett.

“I can't do this again,” I say.

“What?” Everett says. With the firework spectacular over, the live music has started back up. The citizens of North Star are beginning to wander out into the town square.

“I'm different now. Maybe I was always different, but just—”

“I don't understand,” Everett says, reaching out to me. I step back. He immediately tenses.

“I didn't come back here to pick up where we left off.”

“Why did you come back?”

“Because I had nowhere else to go.”

“So you're off to the next city then,” Everett says, folding his arms across his chest. His chin is high and defiant.

“No, I'd like to stick around and watch you marry another suitable woman who's not me,” I say, stepping toward him.

“That was a mistake.”

“A mistake I paid for.”

“You're not seriously insinuating that I wanted that.”

“You're a grown man, Ever.” His brow furrows and I can tell my offhanded use of his pet name has shaken him.

“A grown man with responsibilities. It was the right thing to do at the time. My father was very clear about that.”

“Always the good little soldier,” I say, my eyes darting around the dark alley.

“It's probably hard for you to understand what it's like to have consequences for your behavior, or any responsibilities, for that matter.”

“What?”

“Someone tries to be the boss of you and you what—quit? Get fired? Move on? That's how it works, right?”

I am quiet. Shaken. The thing about someone knowing you better than you know yourself is that you can't shut off their knowledge when it hits too close to home. He's right, of course.

“I never moved on from you,” I say.

“No, you just left,” he says.

“The night before you got married to Laurel. You couldn't have expected to . . . Could you have watched me walk down the aisle with another man?” I ask, stepping closer.

“No.”

“You broke my heart, Ever,” I say, laying my hand on his chest. He covers my hand with his and holds it tight. He dips his head and can't look at me.

“I did what was right by my family. You have no idea how . . . I tried to honor the family name. Shit, Queenie—my parents made it perfectly clear that the future of Paragon rested firmly on my shoulders. Dad would never let Florrie near the business, and Gray's turned into some idiot playboy. And . . . I mean, this all would be a whole lot easier if I didn't love my parents and love Paragon, but I do.” Everett's voice catches and he turns away from me. He continues, “But I fell in love with you and I didn't know how to handle that,” Everett says, pacing around the alley.

“You didn't know how to handle that? What am I—a disease you caught?”

“What? No!”

“I knew your parents saw me as trash, but I never thought you did.”

“I don't.” Everett pulls me close and says, “I don't.”

“Then why do you treat me like I am?” I ask, freeing myself from him.

Everett is quiet. He turns away from my gaze.

“Don't you think we get to be happy, Ever?”

“We're happy right now,” he says, kissing me again.

“Are we?”

Our shared pain is palpable and yet I can't help but hold on to him. Even still.

I continue. “I'm taking a job over in Shine. I've decided to stay for a while,” I say.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I want you to stop me from walking away by yelling that you love me. I want you to sweep me up on one of your beautiful Paragon horses and let the entire town see how we feel about each other. I want what I've always wanted,” I say, taking his face in my hands.

“Which is what?” Everett says.

“For you to be proud of me, proud of us. I want you to not be able to contain yourself and let everyone know that you're my man,” I say, and it hurts. It hurts to say it out loud. It hurts to admit it.

“I am your man,” he says, letting his forehead fall onto mine. His voice is low and frantic.

“Prove it,” I say, pulling away from him and taking in the people streaming past us on their way home. Everett is quiet. Still. Tortured. I continue, “That's what I thought.” I turn and finally walk away.

I don't look back.

I burst through Merry Carole's front door and straight into my little guest room. I strip off all of my clothes and wrap a towel around my body. I put Merry Carole's dress and all of my undergarments into the washing machine, measure the detergent, twist the knobs, and close the lid. I don't let myself think. I don't let myself stop. I press my lips together and try to erase the taste of Everett still on them. I walk out of the laundry room and into the guest bathroom, turning on the shower. I lock the door behind me and let the towel fall to the ground. My mind races with thoughts of Everett. I try to stay ahead of them as I step inside the shower, letting the water fall over me.

I feel light. The weight of loving Everett had held me so tightly for so long, it's all I knew. I feel a sense of panic move through my body. I steady myself on the tile wall.

“What am I going to do without him?” I whisper, the sobs finally coming. I let the water wash over me as I think of a life without Everett. No more fantasies. I need to see the reality of what we have become. We're not happy. Whatever momentary joy we have can never equal the love that's felt when you commit yourself to someone and decide to live out your days together. The peace of mind that comes from building a future with someone is not even in the same ballpark as the scraps we've been living on. Time. The promise of time is something we never got. What kind of future would we have based on a past and present filled with stolen moments?

The truth is, I came back to North Star because I left something here. And it wasn't Everett. Or Merry Carole. Or Cal. Or even my mother. I didn't leave it somewhere in high school or even as I sat at that blinking red light at the edge of town just before getting on that first highway that took me anywhere but here. No, I lost this when I was a little girl. And now I want to find it.

I want to be happy again. Be happy for the first time.

Maybe the first step is doing something just for me without judging it or fearing the consequences.

I shut off the water and step out of the shower. I wrap the towel around my body, grab another towel for my hair, and walk into my guest room. I find my cell phone and dial.

“Shine Prison, how can I help you?”

“Warden Dale Green, please?”

“Who may I say is calling?”

“Queen Elizabeth Wake.” The woman puts me on hold and I settle on my perfectly made bed. The prison has music playing while you're on hold, which I find odd. As I try to towel-dry my hair, I find myself singing along with Johnny Cash's “A Boy Named Sue”: “
Well, I grew up quick/And I grew up mean . . .”