“What?”
“You love that boy?”
I blink, unsure if I’m hearing him correctly. “Weston. Yes. I love him a lot.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I…I…” I don’t know what to say. “I had to leave or else his ex-wife was going to publish an article about him that made him seem unfit to be the county sheriff. It would have ruined his chances of winning, and he was so close. And besides…once he hears what I did—what I used to do—I don’t think he’ll see me the same.”
“So you’re running away with your tail tucked between your legs? I might not have raised you, but I know that’s not the type of girl you are. You have more Cooper blood in you than that.”
“I just…I…” I shake my head. Dad’s having a rare moment of clarity, and I’ve been honest all night. Why stop here? “I’m scared. Scared to hear him tell me he doesn’t want me. Scared to see the look of anger or disgust on his face when he sees me. I left to save his career but also to escape rejection.”
“I’ve been waiting to hear you admit that.” Wrinkles form around Dad’s mouth as he smiles. “I was scared to come back to you for the same reason.”
“Really?” I perch on the edge of the heater vent next to his bed. The air coming out is room temperature, which is why this place is so fucking cold.
“Yeah. I was sure you’d hate me.”
“I did hate you.”
“Only for a while.” Dad yawns and looks around the room. “What time is it?”
“Two in the morning.”
He yawns, and I know his mind is going to start slipping back into whatever fog it’s usually in. He’ll forget about our conversation in the morning. Memory is such a wondrous and confusing thing.
“You should get home. You have school in the morning. We’ll talk about the boy tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dad.”
“It will work out.” He nods and reaches forward to pat my shoulder. His balance is off, and I don’t want him to fall out of bed. I stand, moving closer. “If he’s a decent boy at all, he’ll see you for what you are.”
“I hope so,” I whisper and gently push Dad back down. I don’t know what I am…but I know what I want to be.
I want to be with Weston and Jackson. I want to go back to Eastwood. I want us to be a family.
I tuck my legs up under myself, trying to get comfortable. About an hour after I got Dad back to sleep, his roommate woke up and has been in bed hollering for pain meds nonstop ever since. The nurse came in, told him he’s not due to have any more for another few hours, and told me that he does this pretty much nightly.
Great. Just fucking great.
I put on my winter coat and folded up the blanket, trying to use it as a pillow. My suitcases full of all my possessions are cluttering up the room, and every time I see them my heart sinks even lower into my chest. It’s going back to that dark crevice it clawed its way out of, and it hurts more and more the lower it gets.
I thought about Dad’s words and see truth to them. But I’m still scared, both for myself and for Weston. I’ll take his anger and disappointment in me any day over the possibility of ruining everything he’s worked for. I’ll get over it. Somehow, someway.
I know Jackson will someday face adversity in his life, but if I can keep him innocent and carefree, I will. Weston does a good fucking job hiding his trouble and stresses from the kid. But there’s only so much he can handle. Having Daisy come back, finding out my dark past, and losing his job…nope. I won’t have it.
I doze off for about an hour and wake up with terrible cramps in my legs. I roll my big suitcase over and stretch out my legs, trying to get comfortable again. I’m so tired, physically and emotionally. I close my eyes and drift to sleep, dreaming that I’m back at Weston’s and everything is perfect.
Dad’s roommate wakes me up. He gets out of bed, and some sort of alarm goes off. And off. And off. Finally, I get up, pull back the curtain that divides the room in half and see the guy sitting on the edge of his bed, about to face plant on the floor.
“Hey,” I say to him, but it’s no use. He’s even farther gone than my own dad, and I don’t think I’ll get lucky with another moment of clarity. I duck into the hall, looking for someone to help me get him back into bed. There’s no one in sight. Grumbling, I spend the next fifteen minutes trying to get him to lay back down.
Once he’s down, I get my toothbrush and go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and come back to the room. I pull my messy hair into a bun and grab a new sweater to change into. Dad is still asleep and should be getting up for breakfast soon. My stomach grumbles at the thought of food. There’s a crappy diner that serves crappy food not far from here, and they open at six AM. I know this because I used to work there until I got laid off.
I grab my purse, shove my luggage into the corner of Dad’s room and hope no one steals it while I’m out, and step into the cold November air, keeping my head down as I walk the streets.
I make it to the diner with only a few catcalls and one offer to take a ride on some guy’s pogo stick. Not bad considering how hellish I look right now. I’m in no mood to talk to anyone I used to work with, and of course luck has it out for me again.
“Scarlet, hey!” Trisha, another waitress, says. “Haven’t seen you in a long time. How’ve you been, girl?”
“Good.” I put on my fake smile.
“You left for some fancy nanny job, right?”
“Right.”
She raises her eyebrows. “But you’re back. We’re not hiring, hun.”
“I’m visiting my dad. I just want breakfast.”
“Oh, gotcha. Sit in section one and I’ll get you.”
I force a smile. “Okay.” I slide into a booth, wishing for my phone to distract myself with. Instead, I pull out a paperback of a book that I’ve already read three times. It was at the top of my suitcase, and I didn’t want to rustle through my stuff for another. The floor in the nursing home is gross and sticky. Risking my clothes falling out onto it isn’t something I want to do.
I order tea, bacon, and French toast, and hunker down in the booth, not wanting to be disturbed by anyone or anything as I contemplate the next step in my life. After getting out of the slums the first time and living in the ritzy part of Chicago, it was hard coming back. It’s even harder after Eastwood.
I love that little town.
I have no job now, and with it getting closer and closer to the holidays, I probably won’t be able to find one. With Dad’s medical bills, I’m going to need money. So I guess it’ll be back to the old ways. Just the thought of it makes me feel sick.
Though I’m not as hungry as I should be, I force myself to eat every last bite of food on my plate. Who knows when I’ll get out for lunch, and if I’m going back to Old Scarlet, it’s going to take some time to get on my feet. I won’t have money to burn. Mentally groaning at wasting money on a hotel room for the night, I finish my tea and zip up my coat, leaving Trisha a decent tip.
I trudge my way back to the nursing home, using everything I have inside of me not to think or feel. How did I do this so easily before? Every step hurts, as every footfall reverberates through my heart, jostling the broken pieces. The sharp edges hurt all over again as they slice into me.