Southern Chance (Southern 1)

“Mr. Johnson.” I smile back at him. “It’s so great to see you.”

He nods. “You were very missed,” he says, looking over at my mother who stands there beaming with pride. She puts her hands around my shoulder. “Especially by that lady.”

“I know.” I look down at the brown floor. “But I’m back.”

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and then he looks at my mother, who places her order with him. “Why don’t you guys go do your shopping, and I’ll bring this to you when I’m done?”

We go through the aisles, stopping every second step as someone I know welcomes me home. I get so many hugs it feels like I’ve been gone forever. “How does it feel?” Mrs. Henderson asks, and I look at her. “To be back home. Especially after everything—”

I don’t make her finish. “It’s great to be back.” I cut her off because I don’t want to feed into the gossip mill.

“I’m sure it is, dear,” she says, patting my hand on the cart. “You just need to gain a few, and you’ll be good to go.”

“It was so nice seeing you,” my mother says with a tight smile. “See you Sunday at church.”

“See you then,” she says, pushing her cart and walking away.

“Well, that wasn’t bad.” I laugh to my mother and start to walk forward when I stop in my tracks, and I want to crawl into a hole. My mother stops next to me, not sure, and then she looks up and sees Cristine, Jacob’s mother, walking down the aisle looking around. When she finally spots us, her smile drops from her face, and in its place is a stare of death.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she says loudly, and I look around now, wondering just how big this showdown is going to be. I see that it’s just the three of us, and I have to wonder if it’s because people know and are avoiding this aisle.

“Crissy, don’t you dare,” my mother says, stepping in front of me to shield me.

“Don’t I dare?” She pushes her cart closer to us, then she walks around and comes face-to-face with us. I hold my mother’s hand and stand beside her.

“Don’t I dare?” I say now. “Don’t I dare?” I point at myself.

“You,” she hisses and points at me. “You left without so much as a second thought. Do you know how broken you left him?” She says the last words, and I feel as if she slapped me in the face. I flinch back.

“He wasn’t the only one who was left broken!” my mother shouts, and people around us now look at us. “You have no idea what she went through.”

“How would we know? She never told anyone,” Cristine says.

“Tell you?” I say softly, putting my arms around my mother. “I needed to tell you how your son destroyed me.” I blink away the tears that are threatening to come no matter how much I fight them.

“She wasn’t the one who changed anything, Crissy,” my mother says, and she doesn’t hide the tears. “I lost my daughter that day. You still have your son. Your son who is always around. You have your son and your grandson.” I pull her closer to me, ignoring the pain when she says grandson. “So don’t even think you got the short end of the stick.”

“What the hell?” When I hear his voice, my eyes look up, and I’m stuck in place. My chest aches, my stomach falls, and my knees tremble. It’s everything bombarding me at the same time—hatred, sadness, anger, and then love. The fucking love that I’ve felt for him for my whole life.

The tears that I fought so hard to hold back deceive me. One falls out, and I brush it away, hoping no one says anything. I look away from him, away from the way he looks at me.

“We were just leaving,” I say and look at my mother. “Let’s go.” I’m about to turn around when I see Olivia looking around frantically and then calling my name.

“Kallie,” she says, her chest rising and falling, and I notice her hands are shaking. “Our place was ransacked.”

“What?” I ask and grab her hand.

“That was a detective. He called to let us know that someone had broken into our place and trashed it.”

“Oh my God.” I look at my mother. “We have to go.” I look back at Olivia, who looks around her to make sure no one is pointing a camera at us.

“Let’s go,” my mother says. I turn to walk away, and then I feel his hand on my arm. I know it’s his hand because I would know his touch in the dark. Glancing down at his fingers, I stand here for longer than I care to until his hand drops, and my mother looks back at him.