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I start to turn away, but he stops me, hand on my arm. “Have a seat, Samantha. You’re burning the candle at both ends too. How’re those Garretts doing?”
How can he even ask that question, in his calm way? “Not well,” I say.
“Yeah. A tough break.” Clay picks up his wineglass and takes a casual sip. “That’s the thing about a one-man business…all riding on luck.”
“Why do you even pretend to be sympathetic about this?” I ask, my voice unexpectedly loud in the quiet room. Mom twitches in her sleep, then snuggles her head into the pillow. “Like what happened is some sort of act of God, not something you were involved in? Like you even know what they’re going through?”
“Y’all don’t know much about me, do you?” He takes another swallow of wine, reaching down to stroke Cory’s head. “I know better than you ever will what it’s like to be poor. My daddy ran a service station. I did the books. Our town was so small, you hardly needed a car to get from one end to the other.
And folks in West Virginia are what you might call naturally frugal. A lot of months he didn’t make enough to pay his employees and draw a salary himself. I know all about being broke and having your back against the wall.”
His eyes are suddenly intent on mine. “And I’ve left that far behind. Your mom’s the real ticket, with a bright future. I won’t let some teenager with a grudge take that away from her. Or me.” Mom stirs again, then curls up, almost in a fetal position.
“You need to distance yourself from that family,” Clay adds, his voice almost gentle. “And you need to do that now. Otherwise things are going to come out that shouldn’t come out, hormonal teenagers not being known for their discretion.”
“I’m not my mother,” I say. “I don’t have to do whatever you say.” He leans back against the chair, blond hair falling across his forehead. “You’re not your mama, but you’re not stupid either. Have you taken a good look at the books for the Garretts’ store?” I have, we all have, Tim and me and Jase, working on them. Math-challenged as I am, the numbers don’t look good. Mr. Garrett would be clicking his pen furiously over them.
“Did you happen to notice the contract from Reed Campaigns? Your mom is using Garrett’s for all her yard signs, her billboards, her visibility flags. That’s a helluva lot of lumber. She wanted to go with Lowe’s, but I told her picking a local business looks better. That’s steady cash flow for the store, straight on through November. Not only that, but the Bath and Te
“What are you saying? If I don’t break up with Jase you’ll, what, pull those contracts?” In the glow of the light, Clay’s blond hair shines angel-fair, nearly the same color as Cory’s. He looks tidy and i
He smiles at me. “I’m not saying anything, Samantha. Just stating the facts. You can draw your own conclusions.” He pauses. “Your mama’s always telling me how smart you are.” Chapter Forty-four
Early in the morning the next day, I cross the short distance from my yard to the Garretts’ to find Jase.
As I walk up the driveway, I can hear him whistling. It almost makes me smile.
His tan legs and worn Converse are visible first, sticking out from beneath the Mustang. He’s lying on his back, Duff’s skateboard under him, working on the underbody. I can’t see his face, and I’m glad. I’m not sure I can do this if I can see Jase’s face.
He recognizes my step, though. Or my shoes.
“Hey, Sam. Hi, baby.” His voice is cheerful, more relaxed than it’s been in days. He’s at peace, doing something he’s good at, getting away from everything else for a while.
I swallow. My throat feels thick, as though the words I have to say have snarled into a choking ball.
“Jase.” I don’t even sound like myself. Kind of appropriate, since I’d rather not think this is me at all. I clear my throat. “I can’t see you.”
“I’ll be out in a sec. I just have to tighten this up or all the oill will drain right out.”
“No. I mean I can’t see you anymore.”
“What?” I hear the crack of metal against bone as he sits up, forgetting where he is. Then he slips out from under the car. There’s a smudge of black oill on his forehead, an angry red spot. It’ll bruise.
“I can’t see you anymore. I can’t…do this. I can’t babysit George or Patsy or see you. I’m sorry.”
“Sam—what is this?”
“Nothing. I just can’t do it. You. Us. I can’t do it now.” He’s standing close to me, so tall, so near I can smell him, wintergreen gum, axle grease, Tide-clean clothes.
I take a step back. I have to do this. So much has already been ruined. I have no doubt Clay meant what he said. All it takes is remembering the look on his face when he talked about leaving his past behind, his implacable voice telling Mom to back up and drive away. If I don’t do this, he’ll do whatever it takes to ruin the Garretts. It won’t take much. “I can’t do this,” I repeat.
Jase shakes his head. “You can’t do this. You have to give me a chance to fix whatever it is I’ve done.
What have I done?”
“It isn’t you.” The oldest, weakest breakup excuse in the world. And, here, the most true.
“This isn’t you! You don’t act like this. What’s wrong?” He takes a step toward me, his eyes shadowed with concern. “Tell me so I can fix it.”
I fold my arms, stepping farther away. “You can’t fix everything, Jase.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t even know it was broken. I don’t understand. Talk to me.” His voice lowers. “Is it the sex…did we go too fast? We can slow down. We can just…Anything, Sam. Is it your mom? Tell me what you need.”
I turn away. “I need to go.”
He wraps his fingers tightly around my upper arm to stop me. My whole body seems to shrink, as though I’m folding smaller into my skin.
Jase stares at me incredulously, then drops his hand. “You, like, don’t want me to touch you? Why?”
“I can’t talk anymore. I have to go.” I have to get away before I can’t do this, before I blurt out everything, no matter what will happen about Mom and Clay and the store. I have to.
“You’re just going to walk away—like that? You’re leaving it this way? Now? I love you. You can’t.
…”
“I have to.” Every word feels like it’s strangling me. I turn away and head down the driveway, trying to walk calmly, not to run, not to cry, not to feel anything at all.
I hear quick steps as Jase follows me.
“Leave me alone, ” I toss over my shoulder, picking up my pace, racing to my house as though it’s some refuge. Jase, who could easily catch up or outrun me, falls back, leaving me to wrench open the heavy door and stumble into the foyer, and then curl into a ball, pressing my hands to my eyes.
I expect to be called to account for this. Alice ringing my doorbell to beat me up. Mrs. Garrett coming over with Patsy on her hip, angry at me for the first time ever. Or George showing up, big-eyed and bewildered, to ask what’s going on with Sailor Supergirl. But none of that happens. It’s as though I don’t make a ripple as I drop off the face of the earth.
Chapter Forty-five
I’m not the one who was hit by a car. I’m not the one who has eight children and is expecting another.
I’m not Jase, trying to hold it all together while thinking of selling the thing that gives me peace.
Waking up every morning and feeling like pulling the covers over my head gives me a kick of self-hatred. I’m not the one this happened to. I’m just some girl with an easy life and a trust fund. Just like I told Jase. And yet I can’t get out of bed.