"This is beautiful,"I say, looking around in wonder.
The scenic vista provides an unadulterated view of the Sonoran Desert, nearly all the way south to Tucson. Mountain after mountain juts up in the distance, majestic peaks and orange and red hued valley walls. To the west is the olive mill, to the east, nothing but desert, on and on until New Mexico.
"I would've brought you here," Penn says, smiling from where he sits beside me on the hood of his truck. The air temperature is a perfect seventy-two degrees, the breeze just enough to lift my hair from my shoulders every so often. "If I lived in Olive Township when I was sixteen," he amends. "And if I had a vehicle. I would've asked you on a date, and I would've brought you here."
"I would've said yes," I tell him. "I would've spent hours picking out my outfit, and making Vivi curl my hair."
"In another life," he murmurs, and I know what he's thinking.
If I weren't marrying Duke. If my mom weren't dying. If I didn't feel like it was my responsibility to make sure she sees her daughter get married.
"How did you find out about this place?" I ask, looking out. It's stunning, the way the bright mid afternoon sun pierces the mountains. Sunset is probably even more beautiful.
"My mom used to bring me out here. Before she got bad."
I remember a time when Penn's mom was simply Ms. Bellamy with the kind eyes and infectious laugh. Penn loved watching baseball games, but she didn't have the money to take him to Phoenix to catch a game. When it came time to watch the World Series, she drew us both tickets to the game, plus a handful of fake money, and sent us to stand in their front yard. She opened the front door like a seating attendant, hollering "Peanuts, popcorn, CrackerJacks!" We filed in, handing her our tickets, and 'paying' for a soda and snacks.
I never forgot that day. Never forgot the love she showed Penn, how she made a way for him to get the feel of a ballpark when there wasn't money to attend a game.
If she'd always been a bad mom, it would've been easier to write off her behavior when she fell so deeply in a dark depression. Penn's dad had returned for a year, and when he left again, Ms. Bellamy was never the same. She stopped smiling. Stopped shopping for groceries. Penn went to the grocery store, but with Ms. Bellamy rarely getting off the couch to go to her house cleaning jobs, the money eventually ran out. Penn never told me, but I knew he was trying to make it to her biggest job, the house where she earned the most money.
The Hampton home.
It's another piece to a puzzle that still won't fit together. Penn admitted he hates Duke. Duke showed animosity toward Penn, and I still don't know why. Something lies in their history, something Penn doesn't want to talk about. I'm torn between demanding answers, and letting sleeping dogs lie. If I'm being honest with myself, I'm scared of the answer. Scared that whatever it is may have the power to alter the present. And even, the near future.
"She was a really good mom, Penn." I reach over, give his shoulder a squeeze.
"She was," he agrees. "And she got better, too. After we moved. She found a place where she could heal. She got on the right dose of meds. Learned ways of coping. And it helped that my dad didn't know where we'd went. I think it would've always been impossible for her to get away from him. He was toxic, you know? She was incapable of escaping his web."
"So you leaving was good for you? For her?" My voice wobbles. I'd always wished for Penn to be happy, wherever he was, but I hadn't thought about what it would take for him toreach that point. The healing that would be required of both him, and his mother.
"Yeah, it was. She needed a fresh start, and an awakening. She called it a 'Come to Jesus.'" He rubs a hand over his face. "Our relationship was never quite the same after the bad years, but we tried. Some things are just"—he shrugs—"not fixable. It's hard to come back from what her illness put me through."
"Do you think you've grieved her?"
He sighs. "Probably not. Have you already begun grieving your mom?"
I look at my hands, folded in my lap. My nails are painted carnation pink. My mother's favorite color. "I think that's why I'm doing something so crazy. Marrying Duke, when I'm not in love with him. I keep telling myself it's about making her dream come true, and in some sense it is, but it's also about making sure I was the best daughter I could be for her. She wanted a big family, and they were only able to have me. In a way, I guess it's really about control. This is my attempt to control how sad I'm going to feel." My voice cracks. Did I know I felt this way? I didn't. These thoughts, these emotions, they've been buried so deep. "If I go out of my way to make her happy, if I marry somebody I don't love just so she can see me walk down the aisle in her dress, then I'll know I did my best to make her happy. I won't have to feel guilt, or resentment, or other emotions I'm really fucking scared of feeling." A plump tear rolls down my cheek.
Penn leans over, reaches for me. He pulls me in close, until we're almost nose to nose. I look into those blue eyes flecked with gray, fringed in dark blond lashes, and see how torn he is. For all my salacious teasing of him the past few days, I'm not usually forward. And because he said he wouldn't touch me while I wear the ring that is still very much on my finger, I will not be the one who makes a move right now.
"Ball's in your court, Sailor," I remind him on a whisper. The very last thing I want is for him to regret our first kiss as adults. If he's going to kiss me right now, I want him to know what it is he's going back on.
He's quiet. Still. Sucks his lower lip in between his teeth, where he bites down gently. I moan at the sight of it, a sound I did not mean to make.
This is what breaks him.
His hands extend, gripping my hips, turning me to face him. I push up on my knees, gathering the fabric of my skirt to mid-thigh, and swing one leg on the other side of him. I'm straddling him now, and his thumbs dig into the skin around my hip bones.
"So beautiful," he says, his eyes an angry storm roaming my face.
My legs open wider, knees sliding on the hood, until I'm fully seated on his lap. A lusty exhale steals up my throat.
He groans, and I move over him. Grinding.
"Sunshine," he groans, fingers flexing over my hip bones because he still hasn't moved his hands.
"Is that apology I hear in your tone?" I should go still, but I don't. My hips no longer belong to me. My vagina is in charge now, and that bitch is bossy.
