Closing my laptop, I get up from my bed and then wander the halls. It’s five p.m. and I’m spending another evening alone.
Another night in an empty house.
Unc’s off “handling club business” which could mean anything from actual Steel Kings stuff to drinking with his buddies. Moses is still in Colorado for another three days at least; he hasn’t called or texted, so he’ll probably be gone even longer than that once the bike show wraps.
I have the place to myself. Hours upon hours to get stuck in my head.
So I grab the script from the Pulsboro community center’s upcoming spring production calledMoonshine & Magnoliaand start practicing. Auditions are coming up, and I need to nail this. It’s the only thing in my life that feels like it could lead somewhere, even if it’s just some small town play only a couple hundred people will see.
Right now, it’s the only thing taking my mind off Saturday night.
I stand in front of my full-length mirror and draw a deep breath, channeling Magnolia and her Southern belle sass and charm.
“Now I know you think you’ve got it all figured out, Samuel Hayes,” I begin, putting on a slight drawl. “But there’s more to this town than moonshine and gossip. There’re dreams here. Big ones. The kind that could swallow you whole if you’re not careful. You think I’m just another pretty face in a Sunday dress, don’t you? Well let me tell you something?—”
I go from looking at myself in the mirror to looking up at Kel. His face floats above me, swimming in and out of focus like I’m looking at him through water.
Everything’s tilted wrong, the sidewalk pressing against my back now instead of my palms. When did I end up on my back? Did I fall again?
His hand extends toward me, huge and distorted.
“Damn, down again, Lana?” he says, chuckling lightly. “Don’t worry. I got you.”
There’s still laughter, the sounds faraway and close by all at the same time. I shake my head and reach up to take his hand, barely able to sit up, let alone speak properly.
Slurred words leave my lips. Words I’m not even sure you can call part of the English language.
Kel merely chuckles again, then wraps his hand around my arm and pulls me up. I catch a whiff of his cologne—way too strong, so strong mixed with the potent smell of liquor in the air that my stomach rumbles in warning.
I feel like I might throw up.
“See,” Kel says once I’m back on my feet. “Told you I’ve got you.”
My eyes slip closed, and I’m back in front of the mirror in my room. My hands are trembling, twisting the script into rolled up paper.
Kel helped me.
He was there when I needed someone. I should feel grateful. Relieved that he was the only one who helped me up and seemed to care.
…so why does remembering his hands on me make my skin crawl? Why does nothing about Saturday night feel right?
I try to get back into character, lifting the script again. “You think I’m just another pretty face in a?—”
But I can’t. I can’t disappear into another character when I’m breaking up on the inside and can’t even explain why. It sounds so dumb, yet it’s how I feel as I turn from the mirror and drop onto my bed, eyes on the ceiling.
I’m not sure how much longer I can go on like this. How I can go on with a chunk of my memories missing…
Kel shows up outside the house, honking his horn to let me know he’s arrived. I finish penciling in my eyeliner, then grab my purse on the way out.
I’ve dragged my feet even getting ready for this date, which is insane to think about considering how long I’ve crushed on him. But I’ve been dreading it so much I almost texted him to cancel.
I haven’t been in the mood for the movies. Or much of anything the past few days.
Kel’s grinning when I slide into the passenger seat.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, buckling my seatbelt.
“Nothing,” he says, a note of humor in his tone. His gaze drags up and down me in a way that makes me want to shrinkinto the leather seat. “Just that you look cute. I like your sweater.”
