Damn it. I try to intercept those whenever I can, so that my parents don’t have to be reminded of how badly the debt has mounted up, but I must have missed this one. I need to check their mailbox more regularly.
“I made a payment last week,” I say, pressing down on the salad spinner.
“Jonah, you know you don’t have to do that.”
“I do have to,” I say. “It’s simple. We’re family, and I don’t want my money going anywhere else.”
“It’s not your responsibility, though,” she says, leveling a steely look at me. I ignore it and continue spinning the lettuce. “The salad is dry by now, Jonah,” my mom continues.
“Fine.” I turn to face her. “I get that you don’t want me to have to contribute to your medical bills because I’m your child, but dad is retired and you can’t work that much yet.” My mom is in remission, but the cancer took a toll on her, sapping her energy. Before she can say anything else or protest, my dad’s booming voice fills the kitchen.
“Smells good, Liz! I worked up an appetite tinkering with the car in the garage.”
My mom gives me a sharp look that says we’re not done with this conversation, but I just shrug. I won’t be swayed. Sure, my finances take a hit every time I make a payment to the hospital, but I manage just fine. I own my house, and the mortgage payments are fairly low. And there’s always more work to be had for a farrier in Star Mountain and the surrounding towns.
My dad claps me on the back and together we set the table, chatting about the various projects he’s doing around the house and my day at Holden’s ranch. My dad was a cowboy there, back when Holden’s dad was still in charge. And I practically grew up there, side by side with Holden on horseback. It’s where I fell in love with horses, and where I decided I wanted to be a farrier. I apprenticed with the old farrier Holden’s dad hired.
My mom finishes up the pasta she’s been making and then we eat. Dinner with my parents passes like it always does: relaxed and full of lame yet funny jokes from my dad and peals of laughter from my mom. Delicious food and easy conversation. Simple, quiet happiness.
If I squint hard enough, it’s almost like the last year and a half never happened. Like we didn’t almost lose her completely.Like we haven’t been buried under a mountain of debt just for keeping her alive.
3
WINNIE
After a few dayson the road, something strange happens.
I start to feel like I don’t exist.
I don’t speak to anyone except for the people who work at the motels I stay at, and when I do a grocery run for snacks, I use the self-checkout.
I don’t use my burner phone, or my regular phone. I don’t look at social media or text or mindlessly scroll.
Instead, I listen to the radio, or to the audio book on CD that the last person who rented this car left in the glove compartment. By a sheer stroke of luck, the rental company forgot to take it out. And it’s a good book, too—The Rake’s Brideby Laura Lightfoot. It’s a historical romance with a marriage of convenience trope, and the rake in question is a duke (obviously). I listen to it all the way through, and then immediately start it up from the beginning again. I enjoy the narrator’s voice and get lost in the rhythm of the words, which soon become familiar to me. It’s the only thing that keeps me from feeling like I’ve disappeared completely.
Like I’m now no one and nothing.
I’m not Winnie Grant, Miss Alabama 2023 and social media star, anymore. I’m not Winsome Grant, daughter of Melissa and Richard Grant, either.
I’ve been waiting a long time to escape both of those things, but without them, who even am I?
That’s the thought that circles around in my head as I’m driving from Memphis to Kansas City, from Omaha to Sioux Falls. I was ten when I did my first Little Princesses pageant. Ilovedit. The clothes, the performance, the drama, the audience—all of it. I was immediately obsessed.
At home, I was the only child who was left to her own devices and ignored. On stage, I had the audience’s undivided attention. And when my mom realized that I was actually really,reallygood up there, I finally got her attention as well. I finally had what I wanted, after years of hoping she’d notice me.
But I’ve never been an adult without pageants. I’ve never gotten the chance to know myself outside of the confines of the stage, and of judging myself against a hundred other beautiful, talented, practically perfect girls.
So yeah, the old Winnie Grant doesn’t exist. And I have no idea who’s going to take her place.
On the fifthday after I leave Alabama, I finally see the sign for Star Mountain Horse Rescue. I pull into the long, unpaved driveway and say a quick prayer for the rental car’s tires. And it’s suspension. And just about everything else. It’s just a sedan, and definitely not made for any sort of off-roading.
Every bump in the road shakes me in my seat and has me wincing, but as the horse rescue’s barns and paddocks come into view, as I spot the two majestic trees that flank the stables likeguardians welcoming me home, nothing else matters. I forget about my exhaustion and my desire for real food that doesn’t come from a convenience store.
I made it.
Tears blur my eyes as I spot my best friend Candice standing with the man who must be her new boyfriend Nathan in front of the stables. I press down on the accelerator and drive the rest of the way into the small dirt lot, coming to a screeching stop behind a large truck. I don’t bother pulling into a free spot because honestly, I can barely see through the tears right now.
I fling myself out of the car, and turn to see Candice running towards me, screaming my name.
