***
Ava
So far the first week of school has been good. I’m so glad to have my feet back on a campus, and even happier to have my nose back in the books. I’ve still got both jobs for now, partly because tips are so good at the restaurant, and the work level at the gift shop is so small, I find I’m doing homework, and I’m simply there to check people out at the register. Almost no work is involved, so it’s tough to give either job up. I’m saving up for a car, too, but in the meantime, Felicia drives me when she can, which is only to the one course I had to take at night, because it wasn’t available during the day.
Tonight, though, she can’t take me, because she’s got a late faculty meeting. It’s the first week of school, and the teachers always meet on the first Friday of the new school year. That’s in preparation for the PD Day that always takes place on the second or third Friday of the school year, for elementary students. So here I am, waiting at the bus stop, in the pouring rain, in a shelter that has a major leak. It’s so bad that it’s better to stand outside. That, and it stinks in there, because of the rain. I saw Gunner today, but we were on opposite sides of the hallway in the front corridor, so he went his way, and I went mine, and I only looked at him for a second. Same with him.
And as I stand there, in the pouring rain, with no umbrella, and only my sweater hood covering me, I see a pickup truck drive towards me, and I stand back, heart racing, thinking that maybe at night, this is some human trafficking corner or something, and I get ready to run.
…and then I hear his voice…
***
Gunner
My arm feels great. I’ve had a couple weeks of physical therapy, and I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things. Mama is even letting me do some more heavy chores around the ranch, especially since I told her that I’m allowed to, that the surgeon gave me permission, and my physiotherapist confirmed it. Which is great, because my book bag weighs a lot, with the heavy course load that I’ve selected. I’m ready this time. Being home has made the difference. In the beginning, when I went to Houston, I felt lost from day one. This is different. I’m catching on to class discussions immediately, feeling a connection with the teachers and with the theories and concepts. I think I got this one licked.
And then I saw her. Ava was walking down one side of the hallway, and I was on the other. She was carrying a ‘University of Houston’ sweater on her arm, with her bag draped over the other one. Her eyes were downcast the second that she saw me, and something inside me wanted to smile at her, but I didn’t. I can’t go down that road with her again, not with school being at the forefront of my concern right now. I don’t want to blow it this time. I don’t want to let my family down again. But most of all, I know I can do it, and I don’t want to let myself down.
It's pouring like hell outside, and I’m starved to death, sitting inside the library, working on a homework assignment that I didn’t want to take home, on account of the giant goddamn textbook that comes with the course. I can hear the rain pelting against the building as I head for the exit door on my side of the parking lot. And I’m grateful that I decided to stay back, as my bag weighs nothing, and I’ve only got about an hour of homework left for tonight, which I’ll take care of after I take care of the gnawing going on inside my stomach.
As I pull out of the parking lot, the bus shelter is on my left, and as I look to see if there are any cars coming from that direction, I see her. She’s standing outside the goddamn bus shelter. I know it’s her because all that she’s got to cover herself from the damn storm is her ‘University of Houston’ sweater. “Fuck…me.” I say under my breath, knowing that my mama’s voice is inside my head, screaming, telling me not to leave her there, freezing, in the pouring rain, when it’s dark as ink outside. I stop, and I see the water inside the bus shelter, and I realize that that’s why she’s outside.
“God…dammit.” I swear under my breath, in a battle with myself. I can’t leave her there. I just…I can’t. Hell, it could be a total stranger, and I probably couldn’t even do it then, either. One day I’m going to get knifed by a serial killer, I know, because I pick up strangers sometimes, especially when it’s raining, and give them a lift. I drive up the berm, where the bus would enter the area to pick up passengers, and I’m about to call out her name, when I see her start to run. “Shit.” I mutter. She thinks that I’m some serial killer, about to nab her. “Ava!” I call out. She turns slightly but doesn’t stop. “It’s Gunner!” I shout.
The rain is beating against my Stetson, but the hat is keeping the rain off my face. In the two seconds that I’m standing outside, I’m soaked through, and I can’t imagine how soggy she must be. Who knows how long she’s been out here. I nod to her, so she knows that I’m offering her a lift, and the hesitation tears my fucking heart out. She’d rather walk. In the freezing fucking cold. In the pouring rain. She’d rather suffer through that than face me. “Come on!” I shout to her over the rain. “You’ll catch pneumonia out here!”
“It’s okay.” She shouts, and I hear it. The crack in her voice. She’s fucking crying. How much of a heartless fucking asshole am I? How do I know that she’s not suffered as much as I have? I can’t even begin to understand. But if a girl would rather freeze to death than get into my truck, that’s saying something. I get back inside the truck and pull up closer to her, rolling down my window.
“Ava, please, get in here.” I half order, half beg.
“It’s okay, Gunner. I can take the bus. It should be here any minute.” She says, but I hear the gasp at the end of the sentence. She knows that I hate her. Her eyes are red with tears. She turns back to the shelter, and then I know that’s why she started running. I scared the shit out of her. She thought I was going to hurt her. Then I realize that I’d never do that. I’d never hurt her. It’s more that I’m afraid that she’ll hurt me again. I have to drive out of the berm to go back in her direction, and as I do, I see the bright lights of the bus coming.
My hazard lights are on as I remain pulled over, watching the bus come to a full stop. Ava gets on the bus, yet I don’t move. I watch her sit down, pull her dripping wet hood down off her face, and look at me.
…and I’ve never felt so much shame before in all my life.
***
“Are you still doing homework at this hour?” Mama asks, as she comes into the kitchen in her bathrobe. I’ve been reading the same sentence in the textbook for at least an hour now. Looking at my watch, I see that it’s almost twelve-thirty, and I have to be up at five. I can’t get her face out of my head. That sad, wounded, fearing face of hers. It haunts me. Literally. And I did that. That’s the part that I can’t shake off. I made her miserable. But she made me miserable, too, and that’s the hard part.
“Yeah, mama. I’m finished now, though.” I say, closing my textbook. “What are you doing up?”
“I had a bad dream.” She chuckles, putting a kettle of tea on. “Haven’t had one of those since your daddy was alive.”
With the mention of his name, I get a lump in my throat. Daddy would have talked all this shit out of my head, that’s for sure. He and I had that kind of bond, you know? He could see right through me like I was a piece of goddamn cellophane wrap. He’d a known what was bothering me months ago, and he’d a set me straight. That’s another hard part. Being at home is a doubled-edged sword. All the memories come flooding back sometimes, and it can be too much, especially after the hurt I feel over Ava.
But being home, after failing miserably in Houston, is bringing things all together. Everyone hurts after losing daddy. But everyone is also getting on with life, too, and that’s what matters to me. The minute that funeral was over I needed to get away. It was just something that I needed to do, and I did it. And now that I did it, I feel like it’s over. I got past that bump that I needed to get past on my own, you know? Maybe I needed to get away to fail and come home, who knows, but whatever the purpose was for my parting, it worked. I can see the light now.
Mama pours a cup of tea for me without asking if I want one. And I do want one. It’s like she read my mind. Mama’s good at that. Daddy was, too. I guess I’m lucky that way. Most people don’t have a good relationship with both of their folks, or even with one, but me, I’ve always been close with both of them. My brothers, too. Guess I forgot about that for a while. Lost my head. She hands me a mug and sits across from me. “What was your dream about?”
She waves before taking a sip of her tea. “It was just a silly one. One of them where y’all feel like someone’s in your room, watching you. But it wasn’t your daddy this time.”
“Y…you have dreams about daddy?”
“Sometimes.” She frowns. “But they’re all good dreams. Never have bad ones about him. When I dream about your daddy, it’s like he’s here, and it’s like watching a recording of something from the past. Like when you boys were born, when you started school, were in plays, things like that.”
“And you dream about him being there with you sometimes?”
