“And I knew . . . if you had the chance . . . you’d take her with you.” Her cloudy eyes look into mine, seeing straight through me.
“But you’re not takin’ her with you anymore, are you, boy?”
I blow out a breath and sit back in the chair. All the things that have been twisting me up, swirling in my head the last few days, have suddenly straightened out. So clear. Such a simple answer.
“No, ma’am, I’m not.”
Nana’s face relaxes a bit and she seems relieved to have the confirmation. “Some horses like bein’ penned. Belongin’ to someone, grazin’ on the land they know—don’t have the desire to venture out.”
And I think back to every late-night riverbank talk Jenny and I shared, filled with fire and dreams. Of different. And my mind’s eye sees what that seventeen-year-old boy didn’t—Jenny’s enthusiasm was always for me, but never for us. Because her heart was here, in this small town with its warm people. She didn’t have any need for more . . . and I was already gone.
“It’s important,” Nana says, patting my hand, “that a woman doesn’t feel like the ugly sister. The second, lesser choice. That’s a bitterness that won’t sweeten.”
I blink down at her. “How did you . . .”
“Jus’ ’cause I’m goin’ blind, doesn’t mean I don’t see.”
I close my eyes and it’s Sofia’s face that comes alive. Her smile, her laugh, that sharp mouth, those arms that can hold so tight and tender, I would gladly stay within them for every moment of a lifetime.
I cover my face with my hands.
Fuck me.
“I have screwed up, ma’am. Everything. Badly.”
“Well then, fix it,” she gibes. “That’s what men do—they fix things.”
“I don’t know where I’m supposed to start.” My hand rises. “And before you say ‘at the beginning,’ we’ve already begun. How am I supposed to show her that it’s always been her—when everything I said, everything I did, told her it wasn’t?”
A grin blooms on Nana’s lips. “My Henry, God rest his soul, was not a handy man. Bought me a gardenin’ shed once, to keep my tools. Came with directions in ten languages. Henry put it together—and it was the most pitiful thing I ever saw. Crooked walls, upside-down door. So . . . he took it apart piece by piece and started all over again. Took a bit of time, but it was worth it, ’cause in the end, that little shed . . . turned out perfect. You have to start all over again, too—from the beginnin’.”
I think about being back in DC. All the things I want to do for her, all the words I want to say . . . to start over. To show her. But it’ll have to be after the wedding. After things are settled here with Jenn. That way, Sofia will see with her own eyes that I’m past it. That what I share with Jenny doesn’t diminish what I feel for her. So she won’t have any doubts—and she’ll believe me.
Nana scowls. “Now, don’t you go tellin’ anyone what we discussed. It’s private. I have a reputation to uphold.”
I laugh. Both from Nana’s warning and because now I have a plan.
She points at the door. “Go on, then. Bring my daughter in here before she busts the door down.”
I lean over, take my life in my hands—and kiss Nana on the cheek. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome, boy.”
• • •
Back in the waiting room, I give June the go-ahead. Then I answer Jenny’s inquisitional stare. “She’s all right.” I squeeze her shoulder. “Don’t worry—that woman’s too goddamn mean to die.”
Jenny laughs, hugging me with relief. When we step back, I tell her I’m taking Presley back to my parents’ for the night. Then I put my arm around Sofia, and the three of us walk out the door.
21
Sofia
On Friday morning, I’m pulled from the deep sleep of the emotionally spent by sunlight on my face . . . and a tickling on my nose. My eyes crack open . . . and Brent Mason’s face, smiling as big as Pennywise the evil clown, is the first thing I see.
“Rise and shine, cupcake!”
“Ahh!” I yell, snapping back—hitting the back of my skull against Stanton’s forehead. Presley came back with us last night—and he tucked her into bed in Carter’s room across the way. Then the two of us came in here together, and promptly fell right to sleep.
What in God’s name is Brent doing here? In Stanton’s bedroom? In Missi-freaking-ssippi?
Stanton’s arm pulls me against him and his hand pushes my head back down on the pillow. “It’s a nightmare,” he murmurs. “Go back to sleep and they’ll go away.”
They?
I sit up. Jake Becker waves at me from the corner chair. “What are you two doing here? And more important—where the hell is my dog?”
Brent peers at Stanton’s football trophies. “Sherman’s fine—he’s with Harrison, they’re best buddies.”
Harrison is Brent’s butler. He’s an endearingly young, rigidly proper, twenty-one-year-old butler who comes from a long line of butlers. Harrison’s father is Brent’s parents’ butler—like a happy indentured servant family. Part of Brent’s life mission is to get Harrison to act like a normal twenty-one-year-old—just once.
“But why are you here?” I ask, my voice still scratchy with sleep.
Brent shrugs. “I’ve been to Milan, Paris, Rome—but never to the Gulf Coast. I thought it’d be interesting to see Shaw’s hometown for the weekend. Broaden my horizons. Jake’s visited before; he knew the way. And we missed you guys—the office has been lonely without you. You made it sound so great on the phone, I knew I had to come experience it for myself.”
Then Jake tells us the real reason.
“Brent’s parents are flying into DC for the weekend. He hauled ass like the running of the bulls was behind him.”
Brent turns to Jake with a scowl. “Don
’t judge me. My mother is a frightening woman.”
“She’s a four-ten, ninety-pound socialite who doesn’t speak above a whisper,” Jake scoffs. “Terrifying.”
“Two of my cousins just announced their engagement, and a third sent out birth announcements for their first child. My mother was going to show up with a list of debutantes and refuse to leave until I chose one. It would’ve been brutal.”
Jake stands. “Speaking of mothers, Momma Shaw sent us up here to grab you two for breakfast.” He throws a pair of jeans at Stanton’s head. “You might want to put pants on.”
With this wake-up call, I’m grateful to be wearing my more conservative pajamas.
“How’s Operation Wedding Destruction going?” Brent asks as Stanton and I climb out of bed.
I make my tone lighter than I feel. “Well, there was a tornado yesterday. That should throw a wrench into things.”
Stanton rubs a tired hand down his face. “No, it won’t.”
I turn my head—genuinely surprised. “Really? You don’t think so?”
He pulls a T-shirt over his head. “If there’s one thing citizens of Sunshine know how to do well, it’s make the best with what you’ve got.”
• • •
We fill Brent and Jake in on the tornado on the way into the house. In the kitchen, Stanton’s mother is setting down plates of food on the table and Marshall shovels oatmeal into his mouth, yelling up the stairs for his sister to hurry. Mr. Shaw had left hours earlier to tend to an outbuilding damaged in the storm. I close my eyes as I sip from a cup of much-needed hot coffee. Brent comments on the beauty of the ranch, and thanks Mrs. Shaw for her hospitality. Conversation turns to the summer weeks when Stanton was in law school and would come home to visit, and bring Jake with him.
Then, much to her brother’s relief, Mary comes skipping down the stairs, dressed for school in a beige skirt and pink tank top. She greets me, Stanton, and Jake—then her eyes light up like a jack-o’-lantern when they land on Brent.
“Why have I not been introduced to this piece of deliciousness?” she teases. She holds out her hand. “I’m Mary Louise . . . and you are?”
Brent swallows a bit of biscuit and shakes her hand. “Brent Mason; it’s a pleasure.”
As Mary sits in the empty chair beside him, she hums under her breath. “I’m bettin’ it will be.”
He looks at me questioningly, and all I can do is shrug back.
“You work with my brother?” Mary asks, leaning over.
“That’s right,” Brent says.
“That’s so interestin’.” She sighs, resting her chin on her hand. “Are you a college intern?”