My throat strains. “Healing for her, maybe.”
“You haven’t ever thought about what it would do for you? To see her back here after what happened now that you’re a free man?”
It feels too full in this small space with the both of us in here. My shoulders are tight, tucked in as I take a seat on the brown couch he’s got against the wall. He sits beside me, relaxed in a way I wish were possible for me.
“No,” I grunt.
He laughs softly. “I have. Things could go back to the way they were before everything went to shit, Rowe.”
“Nothing is the same. Not this place, or me, and definitely not your sister.”
“You’ve spoken to her that much?” he asks, turning his head so he can stare at me.
“No.”
“So, you don’t know how different she is, then. She might not be the same girl she was, but how could she be? Neither of you are. That doesn’t mean we can’t all learn to be friends again.”
It’s too hard to tell him he’s being a naïve fool. Too much damage has been done at this point to even entertain the idea of going back and what? Rebuild what we all had?
I wouldn’t want to even if we could.
Nothing good came from the friendships we all had. If anything . . . they made it worse for me when I went away. The knowledge that I’d lost them only intensified the loneliness I felt in prison, and I made a promise to myself that I’d never let myself get to that point again.
Even if meant letting go of the people I once saw as family.
12
TILLY
“How is the trailer?Should I come help you unpack? I could bring food. I’ve got banana bread in the oven right now,” Mom rambles on the phone.
I take one of my toiletry bags out of my suitcase and toss it onto the bed while a pair of heels fall to the floor. They hit a pair of boots and some dirt-stained sneakers. It’s hot in the trailer, and my shirt is sticking to my damp back. Even with the windows open, the heat is trapped, confirming that I’m going to have to learn to deal with it for the foreseeable future.
“Unpacking a suitcase isn’t really a two-person job, Mom.”
“Okay, well, at least let me bring you some food. The fridge is empty, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s settled, then.”
I don’t bother fighting her on it. With my sudden absence in the bedroom I had just started making mine again, she’s on edge. I should still be there, and I would be if Ash hadn’t intervened. Now, I’m the one dealing with Mom’s sadness. It’s the only emotion I seem to bring out of her these days.
“You can’t just drive up like you would somewhere else. You’ll have to ask someone for directions,” I warn, unfolding a sweatshirt and draping it over the others on the bed.
“That’s fine. I’ll ask a handsome cowboy for help.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t remember them being all that good-looking last time I was here.”
She balks into the line. “That’s because you weren’t paying much attention to them.”
“Whatever. You can come gawk at them all you want, but don’t be surprised when you get the ick. They reek like cigarettes and sweaty balls.”
I can imagine her rolling her eyes, trying not to tell me off for being judgmental. “Alright, sweetie. I’ll be on my way as soon as I’m finished up here.”
“Drive safe.”
Hanging up, I take a deep inhale. The phone falls to the mattress, bouncing out of sight as I continue pulling my clothes out, wasting away the minutes. Everything I brought with me is thin, made for hot weather in mind. I sold all of my winter jackets and boots after the snow melted, not wanting to have to pay to check another two suitcases for my flight here.
