Fallon
My mind careened violently out of the memory when a semitruck nearly drove straight up my tailpipe, and the driver pulled on his air horn.
“Your driving hasn’t improved much, I see,” Augusta Belle chimed in.
I grunted, casting her a glare before cranking up the volume on the radio, not giving a fuck what crappy, pop-infused country song was playing. Every mile closer we got to Memphis, the nearer I was to convincing myself a bottle in hand would make this drive a little easier. And then I got to thinkin’ turning the fuck around and droppin’ blondie off in Chickasaw might be my best idea yet.
“So…” She twisted the knob into the off position. “There’s something I need to tell you before we get to Memphis.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Got a lot of things you need to tell me, far as I can tell.”
“Yeah.” I could see her fiddling with her fingers out of the corner of my eye.
“Spit it out.”
“Right. Well, the reason I came to find you—”
And here it was. The reason.
The big fucking reason it’d taken her ten years to track me down.
I didn’t think I was prepared for it.
Didn’t think I could stand the wait a second longer.
“See, when Daddy died this summer, I knew I couldn’t stay in the house. It needs so much upkeep—”
“Fucking knew it.” I cut her off.
“Knew what?” She paused, waiting for me to finish.
“Money. You need fucking money.”
Her eyes flared before she licked her lips, bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, and then cocked her arm back and punched me solidly in the bicep.
“Ow. What the fuck?” I rubbed at the still stinging muscle.
“I don’t need money, you asshole. And the way you just said that makes me want to jump out of this godforsaken truck right now and hitch a ride back to Chickasaw Ridge with a long-haul truck driver!”
I grunted, realizing none too late that I’d missed my mark and spoken too soon.
Her words held a serrated edge this time. “Daddy leftyoumoney. I don’t know why—best I can recall, he never even liked you—but I think he knew… Well, he knew what you meant to me. I just came to track you down and tell you your share’s waitin’ in a safety deposit box in the Choctaw County Bank.”
“I don’t want it.” The words came out bitterer than I’d meant them. “Use it to fix up the house.”
“No.” She shook her head, voice softening for the first time all day. “I can’t spend a minute longer there than I have to, I have to get rid of it, and you have to help me. I hate it. Too many bad memories. Every time I try to remember the good times, you’re always in them.”
My heart stuttered to a slower beat, her words sinking in and melting away the barbed wire fences I’d built.
The cab hung heavy with silence for long minutes before I finally answered. “Why d’you need me to sell the house, Augusta?”
“Because.” She barely breathed. “Daddy left that to you too.”
TEN
Augusta—Eleven Years Ago
“Go be with your whore, then! Me’n Augusta’z bettah here anyway.” My mother’s Southern accent thickened in time with her intoxication. She was a few drinks in and freshly topped on her meds as far as the slurrin’ indicated.
