Southern Chance (Southern 1)

“Are you out of your mind?” he said once I shut off the chainsaw. “You can’t cut down this tree.”

I looked around. “Why not?”

“Well, for one, I think it’s against the law since it’s, you know …” He looked around now. “Not your property, and two, because it’s not a good fucking idea.”

“My name is on it”—I pointed at him, and he rolled his eyes—“so I think that makes it mine.” I knew I sounded stupid, and I knew that it was not my best idea, but I just wanted to bury another piece of us.

“Well, I think that Casey would not agree with you,” he said, and then I looked down and thought about it. I knew he was right, so instead of cutting down the tree, I cut my name off it. I expected to be gone before anyone saw us, but then I heard a galloping horse approaching. I saw him through the trees as he guided his horse toward us.

“What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?” he said as soon as he got the horse to stop beside me.

“Nothing.” Beau tried to calm the situation.

“I want my name off your tree.” I pointed at the tree.

“Did you think you would be able to cut down a fucking tree and me not notice?” he asked, shaking his head, then he looked at Beau. “Make sure he doesn’t cut more than he needs to.” He kicked his horse and took off.

“I’m right here,” I yelled at his retreating back, “son of a bitch.” I started the chainsaw, and in five minutes, our names were in little pieces on the grass. All that was there now was the light brown bark. My hands came out, and I traced it with my finger. Blank, fresh, new.

“Knock, knock, knock.” I hear the front door open, and I sit up, my mind coming back to the present. “Hello?” I hear my mother’s voice, and then she finally finds me. “There you are. Why are you in bed?”

“I was just lying down. I didn’t really sleep last night,” I say and avoid the sadness in her eyes. “What’s up?”

“I have a couple of errands to run, and I was hoping that you would come with me. Maybe we can have lunch.” She smiles, and I look at her.

“I was hoping to just relax,” I say, and she frowns at me. “But yeah, let’s go shopping. I need to get some things at the grocery store anyway.”

She claps her hands together. “Oh, goody.”

I get up and follow her out of the house, getting into my truck. “Where do you want to go first?”

“How about we go get something to eat, and then we can tackle the errands? I need to go to a couple of places.”

I smile at her and make my way to the town diner. The whole time, I try to forget about the memories that are suddenly crashing in on me.

Chapter Eight

Kallie

I knew coming home would be hard, and I have to admit I thought it was going to be bad. I wasn’t expecting to miss everything so much once I finally saw it again.

Just the smell of going into the church brought me back to my best memories of growing up. All those memories included Jacob, but it also included my memories. “How have I been gone for eight years, yet the town looks like it did when I left?”

“Things change,” my mother says, pulling into the parking lot. “It’s just not an apparent change.” I get out of the truck and wait for Olivia to get out of the truck and look around.

“I don’t think I’ve seen so much green in my whole life.” She smiles at me. “And not once did I hear a siren.” She puts her head back and smells the air. “And what is that fresh smell?”

“I can tell you it isn’t pollution,” I joke with her, and the three of us walk from the parking lot into the grocery store. My mother was right. Things change; they just aren’t apparent. The inside of the grocery store looks the same, but it’s not. They have a little section when you come in that has all the natural items.

“Oh, there is my section,” Olivia says, walking toward the one shelf.

I walk to my left to grab a cart, and I’m surprised that the metal carts have now been replaced with the red plastic ones. We go through the fruits and vegetables first. My mother picks up some apples, and then I grab a couple of things, putting them in the basket. We stop at the butcher counter, and the man shrieks when he sees me. “Well, I’ll be.” He smiles at me, walking over, and I recognize him except his hair is whiter now on the side, and the hair on top of his head is gone. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he says, and I look at him. His white jacket is just like he always wears with a big white apron on in front of him with blood stains.