CROSSROADS
Randa Goode
CROSSROADS
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Copyright 2012 Randa Goode
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Thanks and glory be to God for giving me a story to tell.
This book is dedicated to my family and friends.
Thank you for believing in me.
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
~William Shakespeare
Chapter One
Why couldn't I be more assertive?
This simple weakness doomed me to another dreary summer with my grandparents in Oak Grove. And if I'd only found it within myself to protest another year of torture, I'd be basking in the sun right now. But my mother, Helen, the World-Champion Guilt-Disher, thwarted my feeble attempt of persuasion and I found it easier to just keep my mouth shut. She cherished her alone time too much to have me intrude. She needed me to come here so she could do the things single-mothers of seventeen-year-old daughters shouldn’t do. Things she thought I knew nothing about. Things that were best left unspoken.
“Are you ready, Alli-gator?” Grandpa called from down the hallway.
Was I ready? Ready for another endless day of forced bonding?
Not really.
Nonetheless, I plastered on the fake smile my grandparents craved and headed toward the kitchen. My footsteps thundered on the pier and beam floors, making a response to his question pointless. There they sat, Grandpa and Nini waiting on their only child's offspring. I sighed, wishing the walls had an off button - or at least a mute - to silence the cheeriness exuding from their brilliant yellow. I joined them at the kitchen table and then listened while Grandpa prayed.
I grabbed a biscuit and buttered it. Nini did the same. Through tired eyes, I stared at her. She was up when I went to bed last night and now she sat wide-eyed this morning. Did she ever sleep?
Sleep. My eyes grew heavy just from the word. This was the one indulgence I missed since arriving here. Before giving into the temptation of running back to bed, I shoved the last piece of biscuit into my mouth, then carried my plate to the sink.
“Just leave it,” Nini said, shooing me away. “You two better get going before the fish quit biting.”
I forced another smile and laid the plate in the sink.
The sun was still hidden and the air cool when we climbed into Grandpa’s old pickup. “So Alli-gator, how many fish do you think you'll catch today?” he asked, bringing me out of my semiconscious state.
This was his ritual question he'd ask each fishing trip and I was required by some type of unwritten law to answer in a predetermined way. I took my cue without further prodding. “I think the creek level might drop.”
“That's my girl.”
He gave me a wink as we pulled into the parking lot of their convenience store. I could have guessed we'd make a stop here on our way out. His whole life was spent either here, at church, or at home. There was never any variance from his routine. This 'spur-of-the-moment' fishing trip was probably planned months before my arrival. Nothing was unexpected in this placid little town. Even spontaneity was penciled in people's mundane schedules.
The bell rang when we stepped inside. John Whitman raised his head from the newspaper just long enough to nod an acknowledgment. It had been a year since I'd seen him, but he looked the same – still taller than everybody else our age with blond hair flipping out from beneath a baseball cap. Maybe he was less gangly than before, but basically unchanged.
I followed Grandpa to the back of the store and grabbed two sodas as he stepped through the entrance of the cooler, disappearing inside. I stood near the door, listening to overworked refrigeration and peeking over at John as I waited for Grandpa's return.
John failed to notice my stare now that he was back to reading some insignificant story. He had to be miserable here.
“Good morning, Smiley,” Grandpa said, taking John and me by surprise when he reappeared, holding a tub of worms.
The edges of John’s mouth pulled upward, the exact reason he'd been given that nickname. I laughed under my breath as he tried to control it, but it was useless. Smiling was too easy for him.
Grandpa wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Did you get us drinks?”
I held up two bottles as evidence of my compliance.
“That's my girl. Can you write these down for us, John?”
“Sure.” John jotted them on a clipboard next to the register and then sacked the few items we had.
“Well, Alli-gator,” Grandpa said, turning to me, “it looks like we're ready.”
“Y'all have a good time,” John said.
Conversation was non-existent after the store, which was fine. I rested my head on the window and watched images of the world pass in a blur. I was too awake now to sleep, but not enough to function.
We had driven this road thousands of times. I used to be excited about this trip when I was small, but I had grown up and the enjoyments of previous years had long passed away. Now this was just another event I was forced to endure because of my lack of a spine and their inability to see I'd changed. To them, I was frozen in time; destined to be six-years-old forever.
The pity-party, I'd come to know as my life, halted when we stopped at the crossroads near the river. Cars zoomed by in front of us while Grandpa waited for the light to change. He seemed so happy and content about our time together and if I could get past my resentment of being here, maybe I could find some enjoyment too. It wasn't his fault I wanted to be somewhere else. He was only a pawn in my mother's attempt to gain temporary freedom from motherhood.
“Thanks for taking me fishing,” I mumbled, trying to give a genuine grin.
“I'm glad you came along, Alli-gator.”
The light changed and he pulled forward. Horns blared. Glass exploded. Drinks erupted. The world spun out of control and then everything went dark.
Sirens blared, bringing me back to the smoke filled cab. Smudged images surrounded me and I wiped my burning eyes, pulling my hand away when stickiness lingered on my fingertips. Crimson blotches stained my hand while an unending stream of scarlet saturated my shirt. A trickle of liquid dribbled into my ear as I found my hair matted with the wetness of injury.
“He's pinned in!” someone yelled.
The noises flooded over me while the pain pulsated through my head. I couldn't focus. I searched for the release to my seatbelt, but my heavy head flopped to the side.
“This one's moving!”
My door flung open and the edges of everything around me faded.
“Is Grandpa okay?” I choked out.
“We're working on it.”
A blue light with odd shadows filled a room as strange noises told me I wasn’t home. I moaned as I tried to sit up. Mom jumped from a chair at the foot of the bed.
What was she doing here? What was I doing here?
“Allison?” She gripped my hand. My entire body ached and my arid mouth refused to form words. My eyes searched hers, but found only tears.
I vaguely remember moments of consciousness. I could have been out for days or weeks. The windows were dark when I awoke to find a nurse next to my bed and Mom asleep in a chair. I opened my mouth, but as before, no words came.
“Here you go,” the nurse said, handing me a cup of water with a straw. “Just drink it slowly.”
The cool water swirled in my belly and moisture in my mouth was wonderful. The words finally formed. “Is my grandpa okay?”
“He's still in ICU.”
Still in ICU? A thousand questions weighed on my brain, but I was too weak to ask them. My body was giving in to the sleep that wanted to claim me, but I needed answers. My eyes shot open. “Can I see him?”
She stared at me and then answered. “Okay, but for just a few minutes.”
I tried to smile, although I wasn't sure if it showed.
The simple act of being out of bed felt good, but painful. I tried to remember the details of the last couple of days, but my thoughts were too fuzzy and my head throbbed with every heartbeat. When we entered the elevator, my hand found the source and tears rushed to my eyes.
“Did they shave my head?”
“Just a small section to put in the stitches.” She moved my hand away. “In a few weeks you won't even see them.”
Stitches? I was a freak, a monster. I wanted to bury my head and cry until I awoke from this nightmare, but the anguish was too real to be a figment of my imagination. What if my deformity wasn't limited to only my scalp? What if I was scarred beyond recognition and that had been the true reason for the fear in Mom's eyes? I forced the thoughts away. I had to stay together long enough to see Grandpa.
The twinge of over-sterilization filled the empty hallway. Cracked doors revealed the edges of beds that held the victims of accidents and disease. I wondered what they looked like – maybe mutilated and deformed like me.
We came to the door of Grandpa’s room and the edge of his bed came into view as my head and stomach swirled. “Hold on.”
“What’s wrong?” the nurse asked.
I wasn't sure.
Staring at the corner of his bed, debating my next move, a whisper came on the wind. “Don’t be afraid.”
“What did you say?” I asked, turning to the nurse.
“I didn't say anything. Are you okay?”
The voice came again. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Did you hear that?”
Her eyebrows raised as she strained to hear and then shook her head. “I think this might've been a bad idea. Why don't we try this tomorrow?”
“No,” I said. “I'm okay. I want to go in.”
Grandpa lay on the bed with machines attached, tracking his heart beat. I couldn’t do anything but sit there and watch him.
“I'll be back,” the nurse whispered, leaving me alone in the room. I reached through the bed rail to hold his hand.
His hands, once strong and powerful, were now frail and weak. I rubbed my thumb over his skin, studying the wrinkles and gray hairs that covered it.
“Grandpa,” I whispered. “Wake up.”
Moments passed while I waited for something, anything to happen. If I could only speak with him again and let him know he wasn't the burden I'd made him out to be. I could be a better granddaughter. We could do things this summer. It'd be just like it was before, when I was young. If only he'd wake up.
These silent promises were made while tears continued their journey across my face. I'd ruined everything. If I'd had the courage to speak my mind, things would be different. I would be home and none of this would have happened. A moan escaped as the guilt attached itself to my skin.
“Hey there, Alli-gator.” Grandpa’s voice was scruffy and low as he squeezed my hand.
“Grandpa, are you okay?”
“I'll be fine.”
“I'm sorry,” I said as the tears spilled faster.
“About what?”
“All of this. If I hadn't come here this summer then ...”
“Don't be silly. You can't blame yourself.”
He was wrong. I did blame myself, but seeing him awake alleviated some of the crushing guilt.
“Love you, Grandpa.”
“Love you too, Alli-gator. And we'll go fishing just as soon as I get out of here. How many fish are you gonna catch again?”
My voice cracked. “The creek level might drop.”
“That's my girl.”
He shut his eyes as the nurse walked in. “He woke up,” I told her.
Her expression confused me. It wasn't a look of excitement, but one of sympathy. Did she not believe me?
“Honey, he's in a coma.”
“He woke up,” I told her louder than before.
“Okay, okay,” she said with an empty smile. “Let's get you back before your mother starts to wonder where you are.”
Grandpa's hand fell from mine. But deep inside I had hope that everything would be okay - even if she didn't believe me.
Mom awoke when we opened the door to my room. She got to her feet. “Where'd you take her?”
“We went to see Grandpa,” I said.
Her face fell. “Are you okay?”
“Mom, he woke up.”
Mom looked at the nurse, back at me, and then at the nurse again. The nurse gave her the same sympathetic look she'd given me. She didn't believe me.
“Mom, I know what I saw!”
The nurse didn’t argue as she helped me back into bed. Trying to get situated, I winced from pain.
“Are you hurting?” the nurse asked.
Of course I was hurting - no one believed me. I nodded as I pulled on the blanket.
“This should help you sleep,” she said, injecting something into my IV.
But I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to tell them about my visit. I wanted them to believe me, but the medicine overpowered me. My eyes closed and I began to dream.
The world spun out of control. Smoke invaded my lungs, suffocating me. My head slammed into the window and jabs of pain pulsated through my body. The blur of a man stood at the hood of the mangled truck, studying us both. I wanted to scream for help, but my body was useless.
He came into focus, blinding me with his brilliance. His calmness in this crisis was contagious and washed over me. A blink and he was at my side. The edges of his being pulsated with light, taking away the shadows that fought to surround me. An addiction to painlessness grew within me and I wanted the consuming peace to be everlasting. I wanted to cling to him and go wherever it was he belonged. Looking at me, his eyes pierced through the darkness of my entity, exposing my soul.
Grandpa stirred next to me, breaking the trance this stranger had on me. I turned my head and stared at my weakening grandfather. His eyes moved past me as he smiled at the man.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“An old friend,” Grandpa said, turning to me for a brief moment. His eyes moved back to the stranger. “Protect her, Alkon,” Grandpa pleaded.
The dark eyes that haunted my dreams had returned and lurked in the shadows around us. The visions that lingered at the edge of my subconscious; the stares I could never escape. They watched me. They taunted me. They hunted me. They wanted me.
Alkon closed his crystal eyes and his radiance expanded until the skulking eyes disappeared into the light and I was at rest again. Another blink and he was at Grandpa's side, laying his hand on Grandpa’s dull, frail skin, setting it aglow. Soon it matched Alkon's glimmer. The luminosity grew, casting away shadows and blinding me. My eyes squinted from the intense burst. I refocused, but the light was gone and so were Alkon and Grandpa.
Sobs awakened me, but I wanted to go back to sleep – back to the peace and tranquility – but it was too late. Their cries had made it to my ears and I knew. Burying my face into my hands, I let the guilt and sorrow devour every molecule in my body.
Grandpa was gone and I was to blame.
Chapter Two
Mom gathered my things into a small, black travel bag, awakening me with her failed attempt at quietness. She turned when I sat up in bed. “I'm just getting your stuff together,” she said, returning to her task. “I've brought you some clothes. After you eat, I'll help you get ready.”
I looked at the cold eggs and bland oatmeal on a tray next to me, leaving them where they were. “I'm not hungry,” I mumbled.
As she promised, she followed through with her motherly duties and helped me dress. The act left me exhausted and wondering if I would ever get my strength back. We both turned when the door opened. Nini walked in followed by John Whitman.
Her face brightened when she saw I was up, moving around. “Don't you look pretty.”
“Thanks,” I said, making sure the stitches were covered. I kept my head low. Even though my previous assumptions of mutilation were false, I still felt hideous.
Sitting next to me on the edge of the bed, she grabbed my hand. “Allison, it's okay. We know you've been through a lot.”
Embarrassment flushed my face when John smiled at me. I turned to Mom. “Can we go now?”
“I'll check.”
John leaned against the wall and twirled the keys on his finger. The constant jingle jangle irritated me. What was he doing here anyway? Didn’t he have better things to do? But then again, he lived in Oak Grove, so I would have to assume not.
The silence was unbearable. I needed to talk to Nini, to ask her how she was, but deep down, I didn’t really want to. I couldn’t handle the screams of anger or the cries of mourning, even if I deserved them. I was, after all, the one responsible for her husband's death. How was I to ever repay her for this transgression? How would I ever get over the guilt of leaving her a widow and all alone? Maybe in the next couple of weeks, I could find a way to make some type of right out of this terrible wrong.
Mom reentered and the look on her face announced bad news. Before I could ask, a nurse followed her in with a wheelchair.
“I can walk,” I said. “I don't have to be wheeled out of here like an invalid.”
“I'm sorry,” Mom said. “It's hospital policy.”
“It may be hospital policy, but I don’t have to like it.” I rolled my eyes and sulked over to the wheelchair. The nurse adjusted the footrests then pulled me into the hallway.
“May I?” John asked from behind.
Things were only getting worse. I turned my head and was mortified when he took control of the chair. I looked to Mom and Nini for some type of objection, but they were too involved in their conversation to notice. Even in complete humility, I couldn't find the words to express myself. I crossed my arms and sat there in quiet disapproval.
On our way back to Nini's house, I couldn't help but stare at the back of John's head. Why was he doing all of this? I knew this wasn't the first time he had volunteered to help my grandparents. Every time I spoke with them, they'd bring up John and what wonderful things he did. It made me sick.
Maybe that's why I didn’t want to be his friend. Maybe jealousy played a part too, but it didn't matter. People don't just do something for nothing. He had an agenda. It may not be clear now, but it was there, waiting to be discovered.
We pulled into the driveway and John put the car in park before rushing around and opening my door. I scooted out, only to have him grab my arm to help me stand. If he needed to put on a show for Nini, I was not going to be his assistant. Yanking my arm away when I was on my feet, I took the few steps to the porch.
A weight landed on my chest as the absence of Grandpa sank in. Tears rolled down my face while I stood there staring at the door - the unmoving, empty door. No longer would he rush out to meet us when we arrived.
John put his hand on my back. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied, wiping my face with the back of my hand.
He walked with me up the porch steps, keeping a hold of my arm and this time, I let him. He reached for the door handle and my emotions exploded. Now I was the one clinging to him.
“Let's get you inside,” he said, his voice rising with concern.
The sobs took over and I stumbled to the bench on the porch.
“Are you sure you don't want to go in?” he asked, sitting next to me.
“I can't,” I mumbled, hiding my face in my hands.
John sat there speechless while I broke down. I wanted to hold it all back and not look like a blubbering idiot in front of him, or anyone for that matter, but the gates were open and there was no subsiding it.
“I don't always understand God's will,” John said, breaking the building silence, “but it helps to know your grandfather's in heaven.”
I let his words roll off me, never taking hold. I didn't feel comforted; I felt hollow and alone. My grandfather was gone and I was to blame. My heart ached at this reality.
“Is everything all right?” Nini asked.
I lied again. “Yes.”
John stood and I followed. I took a deep breath before walking inside. It was impossible, but I still expected to see Grandpa sitting in his favorite chair. Instead, the silence and emptiness consumed me as I walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. The memories of that day rushed back. Nothing about that morning predicted the altering events that occurred. No glimpse. Nothing.
Stepping though the kitchen doorway, John placed my bag on the floor and turned to Nini. “Is there anything else you need, Mrs. Robinson?”
“No, John,” she said and gave him a hug. “You've done more than enough.”
My stomach twisted at the sappiness. He was the hero and I was the villain. I hated him even more.
Laying awake in the spare bedroom, thoughts of Grandpa ran rampant through my head. Every good memory now tattooed with the guilt of the accident. But I got my wish of not spending another summer here. After this, I was certain Nini would never invite me back, much less ever love me again.
I rolled to my side, trying to untwine the knot in my stomach. The never-ending sobs soaked the sleeve on my pajama top as I wiped at my face. I forced myself out of bed and headed toward the bathroom for tissues, peering into Nini's room when I passed.
Kneeling next to her bed, she clasped her hands in front of her. She was probably praying for God to strike me down. I could only hope for such a blessing – a way to make the pain stop. I left her to her petitions and continued to the bathroom, then went back to bed.
The night continued to drag as I stared at the ceiling. I knew my life had changed forever, but to what extent, I wasn't sure. Was I destined to carry this guilt forever?
I pondered that question until my eyes grew heavy.
A gray mist hovered in the field, hiding the grass beneath. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as the shadows grew darker. Something was out there, lurking and waiting. I crouched into the protection of the fog, hoping it would be enough. It had to be.
A low growl penetrated the haze and I gasped in the air around me. Whatever was out there was close. I could feel it.
The dismal light drained from the sky, leaving only darkness in its absence. Grass rustled behind me as the thick stench of death surrounded me. It was here.
I burst from my hiding place, rushing into the night, uncertain and uncaring of my destination. I had to get away from whatever was in the field. I had to find a way to escape.
The grass wrapped around my feet and fumbled my footing, bringing me down hard and pushing the air from my lungs. I lay there, gasping for precious oxygen, forcing my lungs to expand - to breathe.
That thing, still concealed by the murk, circled me. I covered my mouth to hide the wheeze, but it was too late. The noise stopped and it knew I was there. It was just waiting. Waiting for me to take my last breath or make a run for it. But where could I go?
I gritted my teeth. I wasn't going to just lie down and let it happen. I had to fight. From the pit of my stomach, I forced my fear paralyzed body to move. My hands clawed at the ground while my feet scrambled beneath me.
My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the sound of the rushing wind. My legs withered, but I kept going. With each long stride, I put distance between us.
“Turn around,” a voice whispered.
I kept running.
The voice came again. “Turn around.”
I stared into the night - whatever was back there wanted to harm me, of that I was confident, and now I was supposed to turn around? I kept running. Foot after foot. Breath after breath. Stride after...
The world tumbled around me, making no distinction between dark sky and dark ground. The footsteps that followed slid to a halt. I jumped back to my feet, scanning the shadows and finding nothing.
“Run!” the voice shouted.
This command I obeyed. My feet pounded the soft ground, cutting through the haze and grass. A single tree, my only salvation, stood in the distance.
Another growl shook the earth and my body. It was behind me again, but I didn't look back, afraid of what I'd see, afraid it was closer than I thought. I kept running as the air diminished from my chest, but I forced my legs forward.
Lightning flashed, awakening everything as terror rippled through me when my eyes latched onto the mangled carcass keeping stride. Fangs protruded from its gnarled mouth. Its yellow eyes glared while its nostrils expanded with each deep inhalation.
I forced my eyes toward the tree. It was my only hope.
My head snapped around when another snarl exploded from behind. There were more than one. My heart raced faster, threatening to beat out of my chest. I swiveled my head, finding two more running to my left.
The sky sparked to life again and two stood before me, waiting. I was surrounded. My feet slowed to a jog as my mind searched for another way out.
“Keep going,” the voice demanded.
But I couldn't. My feet cemented themselves to the ground and my body shook from fear and exhaustion. The creatures moved in.
“Keep going!”
“I can't!” I screamed into the night.
The monsters encompassed me and tightened the circle. The snarls and growls foretold the horrible things that were to come and their eyes declared it. I was not to survive this night. I would be ripped apart, piece by piece, by these creatures that longed for the taste of my flesh and blood. Their mouths watered in anticipation.
I tried to slow my heart, tried not to show the fear that resonated from deep within my soul, but my hands shook without reserve, canceling every bit of courage I had managed to gather. They could smell my fear. They could taste it on their black tongues.
One stepped forward. Patches of manged fur jutted between spots of puss filled flesh. Its dark eyes absorbed the light, pulling it deep into its gnarled body. It lowered itself, steadying and readying for the attack.
With one swift movement, the monster leapt into the air, keeping its eyes sharp on its victim – me. My legs threatened to buckle and I could only hope that the end would come swiftly.
Light exploded in front of me, pushing me backward and to the ground. The creature snapped as Alkon's radiant hands gripped its leprous flesh. It whimpered and yelped, begging to be released into the darkness and shadows where it belonged. Alkon thrust the beast back and then advanced, sending the others cowering into the sanctity of their dark world.
Scrambling to my feet, I stood in awe when the tree cut through the shadows. The bark shattered, exposing the light from a million suns and the leaves shook off the green, ripening into blood red. Alkon's glorious appearance paled in comparison, leaving his brilliance shabby and meek. My heart welled inside. I had to find a way to that tree.
I scanned the shadows and found only one creature still battling with Alkon. I raced into the night with disregard of the consequences. The tree was mine. It was home. It was hope. It was everything.
Alkon's light flashed before me, knocking another beast to the ground. He fought and I ran. Another flash. A scream. And Alkon wrapped me in his arms, pulling me into his light. All the monsters had reappeared, snipping and growling, glaring and salivating, surrounding us with only the light as a boundary.
Alkon spun me around to see into my face. The creatures bolted from side to side, but Alkon's stare calmed me. His crystal eyes pierced my soul again. I wanted to stay here; to be where he was and feel this addictive peace forever.
“We just want the girl,” a monster hissed through its fangs.
Leaning in, Alkon’s skin, perfect and flawless, felt electric against mine. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me so close that his golden hair fell on my forehead. “Beware, Allison Montgomery.”
Opening my eyes to the morning sun shining through the sheer curtain of the bedroom window, my pounding heart almost jumped from my chest when Mom thrust open the door.
“It's time to get up, Alli.”
She left just as fast as she appeared. Rolling out of bed, I headed for the shower as the dream replayed in my head. Beware.
Beware of what?
The water washed over my body as I pondered that question. Maybe it was just a random dream. Maybe my sub-conscience was manifesting Alkon and the beasts out of fear or guilt. Maybe these dreams were induced by the head trauma from the accident.
A bang on the door knocked me out of my reverie. “Alli, other people need to get a shower. Hurry up!” Mom yelled.
What was she so anxious for? We all dreaded today, regardless if we got a long shower or not. I huffed and got out. I didn't want to argue with her. Not today. Tomorrow would be a different story.
I opened the door to the spare bedroom and found a simple black dress hanging on the closet door. Mom had gone shopping for me - again. I hated when she did this, buy me girly items – dresses and pink things. I tried to explain she was wasting her money - that I would never be the little, blond, dress-up-doll she wanted me to be. I had my own style and idea of what I should wear – an argument waiting to happen. I liked jeans and T-shirts, she liked skirts and ruffles.
Pulling the dress off the hanger, I held it up to my body. Whatever. It wasn't like I was going to enjoy any part of today anyway. I might as well make it as easy on everyone else as I could. I was the reason. I was to blame. I should endure the punishment and shut up about it.
After I dressed, I found Nini standing next to the kitchen sink, rinsing plates. She turned when she heard me enter. “There’re biscuits on the table if you're hungry,” she said before returning to the sink.
Rushing forward, I threw my arms around her. I wanted to take away her pain and make things the way they were, but I couldn’t. I didn't even have the words to beg for her forgiveness. She sniffled then let go and wiped her eyes. She turned back toward the sink and I sat at the table and picked at a biscuit.
She left the kitchen without a word and my heart ached even more. She didn't forgive me. Not yet. But I would find a way to make it up to her. I had to.
The doorbell rang. “I'll get it,” I yelled.
I opened the door to find John standing there. He looked different all dressed up in his black slacks and white shirt. I didn't even know he had a full head of hair until today.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
His brow furrowed and then softened. “Um, I'm here to drive y'all to the funeral.”
Embarrassment radiated from my face while I thought of a way to apologize for the way I sounded, but I was speechless. I forced a smile and opened the door further so he could step inside. “Why don't you have a seat and I'll get Nini?”
“I'll just stand. Thanks.”
Whatever. I could just add him to the list of people that hated me. Maybe they had spoken about me and my role in Grandpa's demise. Maybe Nini couldn't wait until I went home so she could spend time with someone worthy enough to be her grandchild. Someone like John.
I left him standing, just as he requested, and walked down the hallway to Nini's room. She stood at the dresser, fumbling through her jewelry box. “John's here,” I whispered so soft that even I didn't hear it.
She didn't turn and pulled out the bracelet Grandpa had given her on their last wedding anniversary. Her fingers slipped with the clasp and I walked over to help.
“John's here,” I told her again, avoiding her eyes.
Sighing, her voice broke when she answered, “Okay.”
I hung my head and the tears spilled over. “I'm sorry.”
She knew there was more in my words than simple condolences.
“About what?”
“If I hadn't come here, none of this would've happened.”
She lifted my face to hers. “Allison, this isn't your fault.”
“Yes, it is.”
“How so?”
“I was the reason he was on that road.” The sobs heaved in my chest, making it hard to continue, but I had to. “He was taking me fishing because I was here.”
“You can't do that to yourself. The Lord called him home and someday we'll be reunited.” She pulled me toward her, resting my head on her shoulder. “We don't always understand God's plan, but I know your grandfather’s with Him.”
Pulling away, I wiped my eyes. She seemed relieved by that knowledge, but I wasn't. How did she even know for sure? How did anyone really know? “I'll go tell Mom we're ready to leave.”
I followed behind everyone as we left. John rushed in front of us and held open the door to the back seat, shutting it after Nini and Mom were in. I looked at Mom through the glass and then at John when he opened the front passenger's door.
“I'll just sit in back. Thanks,” I said.
Slapping down the lock, Mom said, “Sit up there with John.”
I hated when they did this. I didn't want to sit up front with John. We had nothing in common. We never have and probably never will. Every year it had been the same thing: Why don't you go play with John? Do you want us to call John over for dinner? You and John would have a great time together, if you'd get to know him.
Even now, they were persistent that I form some type of friendship with their favorite neighbor, John. He smiled and held the door open wider. I crossed my arms and made sure he heard the dissatisfied huff before I sat in the front seat.
The ride was silent. I refused to comply with their attempts of manipulation and strike up a conversation with John Whitman. What was I supposed to say, anyway? We were on our way to a funeral. Sighing to myself, I looked out the window. If I wanted to be friends with John, I would, but on my terms, not theirs. I would not be forced into this - by anyone.
We stopped at a red light and the roar of an engine invaded our soundless ride. I turned when a black Mustang pulled next to us. The music blared through its open windows and the bass bounced against my rib cage. The moment the driver looked over, my heart melted completely.
His dark hair fell across his forehead in perfect disarray. A small, seductive smirk flickered on his flawless lips and his onyx eyes locked with mine, sending my body temperature spiking. I couldn't look away. I was hooked.
Winking, he squealed his tires, shooting his car through the intersection. Cars stopped. Horns honked. And I was breathless.
I sat in limbo at the back of the chapel – unwilling to socialize with the mass of elderly people gathered in the next room and unable to walk the few yards to view Grandpa's body. My stomach knotted and kept me a prisoner in the pew. I didn't want to see him like that and forever have the image in my head.
“Can I sit down?” John asked.
I glanced at him and then at the thirty empty pews in front of me, hoping he would get the hint and sit somewhere else. He didn't. He stood there, waiting, making me uncomfortable and agitated.
“Fine,” I said, scooting over and giving him more than enough room.
My mind slipped back into the turmoil of my indecisiveness. Would I regret not looking at Grandpa one last time? What if the image haunted me every day?
“Have you seen him?” John asked.
The muscles in my back restricted as I squirmed. “No.”
“Do you want to?”
I wanted John to leave me alone, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. I ignored his question and asked my own. “What's in your hand?”
“Oh, I brought it for you. I thought you'd like to keep one,” he said, laying a paper between us.
I sat there, staring at my favorite picture of Grandpa. I loved this picture. This was how I wanted to remember him. A time when things were simpler - when all I wanted was to be around him. But somewhere along the way, I came to the conclusion that I was too old to be 'his girl' any longer.
Stupid.
I slid the paper over. “Thanks.”
The silence returned and my eyes moved from the picture to the casket and back again. The funeral would start soon and I was running out of time and still didn't know what to do. I looked to John and he stood. “Let's go see him.”
Tears raced down my face. “I don't think I can.”
He didn't argue or huff. He just sat back down. He didn't try to make me talk or attempt to fill the void with unnecessary words or insincere kindness. He just sat and let me be.
“You know my dad died when I was little,” I said, keeping my eyes from John's.
“Yeah, your grandma told me.”
He surprised me. He didn't offer the automatic - I'm sorry. The thing people said when they were uncomfortable and didn't have anything useful to say. He gave me a true response.
“I don't think I have any real memories of him,” I said, unable to stop myself from opening up now that I knew he was listening.
“What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “I try to remember things about him sometimes when I'm by myself. But then I look at this picture of Grandpa and I can feel that day again. I look at pictures of my dad and that's all I have. Flashes. I'm not sure if the memories are real or if I've just looked at the pictures so many times that I've created them in my head.” Grabbing a strand of my hair, I nervously twirled it while I continued to ramble. “Growing up without a dad would be hard, you know. But it never felt like that. I mean, I had Grandpa.”
The tears pricked at my eyes and my chin quivered. The bulge in my throat threatened to block my words, but I choked it back. “Grandpa was the closest thing I had to a dad and now he's gone.”
The dam broke and all the tears I'd ever stored, let loose. The guilt, the anger, the sorrow, all rushed out. Memories flickered in my head, sending me on another bout of sobs. I was out of control, incoherent, and a blubbering mess. I was embarrassing myself, but I couldn't stop. I had held this in for as long as possible and unleashed it on unsuspecting John, who only wanted to sit down.
He was probably gone. Leaving at the first wail. I didn't want to look and find I was alone again. I'd get my tears out and then cry about being by myself later.
A hand rested on my shoulder. I raised my head. John still sat there. Waiting.
He held a box of tissue. I yanked out two and wiped my face. The tears had subsided, but they were primed to return at any minute. I sniffled again, but kept myself under control. “I'm ready.”
He stood and I followed. The steps were slow, but carried me too fast. Tears fought to make a reappearance and I grabbed more tissues when we passed another box.
I didn't want to see the casket, but I couldn't look away. Memories. All the fun times gone. Our family's future changed forever. This was horrible. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want this to be true. I wanted things like they were. In all their discomforts and inconveniences, I wanted them back.
The strength to continue vanished and I stopped again. John grabbed my hand. “It's okay, Alli. I'll be right here with you.”
Looking at our hands, tears fell again. Why was he being so kind? I didn't know and I didn't care. I needed the assistance he was willing to provide. I clenched his hand tighter and we took the last few steps to the front of the chapel.
Grandpa lay in the coffin. His face pale and peaceful. His hair combed smoothly to the side. The hand I'd held days before in the hospital looked just as frail as it did then. It was Grandpa, but he was different; a shell of what he used to be. The warmth and happiness that once filled his face were missing, breaking my heart.
He was gone.
I covered my face as John pulled me toward him, wrapping me in his arms. “It's okay,” he said.
Staying by my side as others arrived, he ushered me back to the sitting area. There was nothing else said between us. There was nothing to say.
The funeral began and the director walked us to the front pew. The pastor stood and looked across the chapel. “Today, we've come, not to mourn Brother Owen, but to celebrate his life and his passing into our Father's kingdom.
“Let us begin with a prayer. Our Heavenly Father, we thank You for the time You allowed us to spend with Your servant, Owen Robertson. We ask that You welcome him home with open arms. We also ask that You hold his family close in their time of mourning and sorrow and give them peace in knowing that even though he is no longer alive on earth, that it does not mean he is no longer alive. He has passed onto Your kingdom and will dwell in Your house forever, because of Your Son, Jesus Christ. It is in His name that we pray. Amen.”
He continued with the service, but I couldn't get past his words and conviction that Grandpa was in heaven. How was he so certain? How was everyone so certain?
I sat there rolling these questions over in my mind when a bigger one came to the surface. Would I go to heaven?
The absence of an absolute answer frightened me.
Wandering into the kitchen, I found a group had gathered around the table, spurting loud conversation into the small room. A flow of visitors trickled in and out of Nini's house late into last night and began again early this morning. A constant barrage of sympathy poured from their mouths - mindless and meaningless condolences.
I poured a glass of water, listening to the garble of tangled voices. Mom's raised high above the noise when she let loose her cackle. It made my skin crawl. She was flirting. Openly and blatantly flirting. Did she have no shame?
“Allison,” she said.
Taking my time, I drank the last bit of water before answering. I knew what she wanted when she used my full name in adult settings. The charade. The 'our relationship is perfect and peachy' performance. A way to exhibit her worthiness, false or not. People – men – ate it up. They saw the single mom and a daughter that would go off to college soon. Someone who wouldn't cause any problems or have any hostility toward them for dating her mother.
I had to force the laugh from my lips. This spoof worked for three dates, at the most. The sharper individuals caught on much faster.
Setting the glass on the counter, I turned, wondering what the next victim, er, man looked like. Maybe someone tall, dark, and handsome. Maybe short, pale, and mediocre. Mom didn't care. She just wanted someone. Anyone.
Plastering on the too-fake-to-truly-believe-it smile, I walked over. Mom stood and scooted around the table, throwing her arm around my shoulder and pulling me into a sideways hug.
“Allison, this is Richard,” she said, pulling me in for another hug.
The man stood and stuck out his hand. “Hi, I'm Richard Holiday.”
Forcing the grin wider, I could feel Mom's eyes boring into me, but there was nothing she could do to stop the psychotic glee on my face. She wanted me to smile, but she couldn't tell me how to do it.
Richard sat back down, trying to keep from laughing at my ridiculous expression. He took a swig of coffee, and then turned to Mom when she resumed her seat next to him.
“Did you tell her we went to school together?” he asked Mom, then looked at me after she shook her head. “Well, we graduated together. We went to Oak Grove High and all four years I doted after Helen here, but she wouldn't even give me the time of day.”
Mom playfully swatted at him and rolled her eyes.
“Why didn't you just buy a watch?” I asked, my words dripping with sarcasm. I narrowed my eyes while I waited for the reaction.
And there it was - the glare from my mother. The undeniable tension that was between us.
Richard seemed nice enough. I thought I'd do him a favor and let him see through the smoke and mirrors that his beloved Helen held around her. What could my mother say without giving herself away? The sad thing is that she blamed me. For everything.
I was used to it. The sting of rejection had lost its potency long ago when somehow I became the one responsible for her relationships falling apart. Years of practice and I got it down to a science. I could push her date's buttons, sending either her or him into a frenzy and their budding romance into a fiery tailspin. If I was to blame, then I might as well do it.
“Can I go to the store?” I asked, knowing that even in her anger, she was too willing for me to leave to refuse.
A quick nod from her and I was out the door.
There wasn't anything I needed from the store, except the excuse to get out of that house and away from the grown-up world I was forced to endure while I was here. I could breath again. The weight on my shoulders lifted when the sounds of the house vanished.
The sun beamed down on me and I was transported to the lake back home in Franklin. Sand squishing between my toes, perspiration beading on my forehead, friends to talk to. It was perfect, but only a dream that I was forced to snap out of when I stood at the door to my grandparents' store.
The bell chimed and John glanced up from a newspaper.
“Well, look who's here,” he said.
I gave a quick smile to appease and then composed my face.
“What can I get for you today?” His easy grin, lasting too long for comfort.
I shrugged. “I, uh, came for some gum.”
His eyes narrowed. Did he know I was lying?
Walking around the counter, he studied the gum. “What kind are you looking for?”
“Just regular bubble gum.”
I could feel his eyes move from me to the gum rack and back. Finally, he crossed his arms and studied the options. “I could have guessed that. You look like a bubble-gum-flavor kind of girl.”
“What does a bubble-gum-flavor kind of girl look like?”
The embarrassment was unmistakable and without a word, he walked back around the counter. I chuckled to myself. I hadn't meant to embarrass him. It was a simple question, so I thought.
The bell on the door rang and the preacher from the funeral came in.
“It's good to see you, Pastor Frey,” John said.
“Hi, John,” he said, then nodded an acknowledgment toward me.
I went back to my supposed gum selection, wondering what I was going to do after this. I had to fill the hours with some type of entertainment.
The preacher placed his items on the counter, turned to me and smiled. “How are you?” he asked.
My grandfather died because I didn't have the courage to tell them I didn't want to come here this summer, my grandmother hasn't completely forgiven me, and my mother is addicted to flirting. How do you think I am? I gave him the automatic answer he expected. “Fine.”
He gave a preachy smile, not too big, but warm. “Good. How's everything going with you, John?”
“It's going okay.”
Of course it was. His life was perfect. Well, except living in this horrid little town. He had no problems. No guilt. No sorrow. Of course it was okay.
“Will I see you in church tomorrow?” he asked John.
“Bright and early.”
“And what about you?” Pastor Frey asked, catching me off guard.
“Uh, sure.” What was I saying?
“Okay, I'll hold you to it. Tell your grandmother I said hello.”
He paid for his items and left. John laughed when the door closed.
“What?” I asked.
“You're not a very good liar.”
“I didn't know he was gonna ask me that. What was I supposed to say?”
He shrugged and then smiled. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Are you really going tomorrow?”
“Uh, sure,” I said the same way as before.
John laughed louder. “You really aren't a good liar.”
“I might be there.”
“I'll make sure of it.” His answer was too quick and held too much certainty for my comfort.
“Whatever,” I said with a huff, realizing John was more cunning than I thought. A smile flickered on my lips, but I pushed it away, grabbed a package of gum and slapped it down on the counter. “I'll take this one.”
I paid for the item, popped a piece in my mouth and then offered him one.
“Thanks,” he said.
I grabbed the newspaper John had been reading, scanned the headlines, and depression set in. “How can you read this?”
“You don't read the newspaper?”
“Not really.”
“Why not? It lets you know what's going on in the world.”
“It just lets you know about the bad stuff. Why would I want to keep up with that?”
John shrugged. “You have a point, but it's still better to be informed than to pretend evil doesn't exist.”
Evil. I was only referring to bad news, not good versus evil. Not dark forces trying to take over the world, lurking in the shadows, waiting to jump out on an unsuspecting victim. Just bad news. Nothing more.
The bell rang again.
“Speak of the devil,” John said under his breath.
There he was. The perfect guy from the black Mustang. My heart stopped and then beat wildly when he smiled in my direction. I wanted to run and check my reflection, to make sure everything was in place and my hideous stitches weren't showing, but it was too late. He'd already seen me and flashed an amazing smile that nailed my feet to the dusty wood floors.
Even his walk was intriguing as he wandered down the aisles.
“Who is that?” I turned to ask John when I was certain Mr. Perfect was out of earshot.
John's demeanor changed. His jaw clenched. “Logan Tucker.”
The words sounded sour coming from John's mouth, but I whispered them back. “Logan Tucker.”
Logan Tucker. A name I would forever remember. A face I would never forget. And a question tumbled in my head: Where has he been during all my visits to Oak Grove?
His footsteps grew closer, raising my body temperature with each thud. He was coming our way. Closer and closer. Beauty and perfection.
I wanted to talk to him, but what was I going to say? You're the most gorgeous person I've ever seen in real life? That would sound just shy of creepy.
He laid a bag of chips and a bottle of water on the counter. Every movement pronounced muscles that hid beneath his taught black T-shirt. I wanted to reach out and touch him, just to make sure he was real, but I fought the temptation.
“Is that going to be all?” John asked, his voice so thick with animosity that it brought me out of the trance of being in Logan's presence.
A smile fought to contain itself on Logan's perfect lips. “How about a pack of smokes?”
“I don't think so,” John said.
“C'mon, man. What's the big deal?”
“The big deal is you're not eighteen.”
Logan snickered and then leaned over the counter. “Are you trying to impress your girlfriend here?”
“That'll be $2.57,” John said, ignoring Logan's question.
Logan turned to me. “You are his girlfriend, right?”
“I'm not his girlfriend,” I offered a little too quickly.
His smile widened and he glanced at John. “Well, this changes things, doesn't it?”
Stepping toward me, Logan made his dark eyes accessible to my gaze. The lights from the store bounced off the ebony, twinkling like stars in the midnight sky. I stepped back, knocking a few pieces of candy from a display. How could I be so clumsy? I wanted to shrivel up and disappear.
“Logan, you need to get out of here,” John said.
Pulling out three dollars from his pocket, Logan laid it on the counter, grabbed his items, and didn't bother waiting on the change. He strolled toward the door and then turned to me. “I'll see you later.”
My heart beat so loud I was afraid they could hear it. The door shut behind him and I stared at it for a few moments, wondering if all of that had really happened.
“Alli,” John said, as if reading my mind, “you need to stay away from him.”
I rolled my eyes and looked at John like he was crazy. “He wouldn't be interested in me anyway.”
“Just stay away from him, okay?”
Shrugging, I smacked on my gum. If a boy like that wanted to talk to me – me – then I would have to be an idiot or completely mad to ignore him. I couldn't stay away. I didn't want to. I had to see him again, but the only person I halfway knew in this little town was John. Maybe he would run into Logan again. Maybe I would be tagging along. Maybe this plan would work. It had to.
“So what do you have planned for the rest of the day?” I asked John, trying to make myself comfortable enough in my own skin to pull off this ruse.
He sat on a stool behind the counter and studied me. Was he seeing through my words? Did he know what I was up to? I held my breath and shoved the package of gum in my pocket, trying to relax.
“Some people are going out to Griffin's Park later.”
He paused. Was he not going to ask me to come along? Would I be forced to invite myself?
“Do you want to go?” he finally added.
I tried not to answer too quick, but I couldn't stop myself. “Sure.”
A laugh billowed from his throat as he pulled the paper back to himself and started reading again. “All right. I'll pick you up around seven. Be sure to change before then?”
Looking down at my clothes, I smoothed out the fabric on my shirt and shorts. “What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”
He glanced up and the edges of his mouth fought to contain themselves. “Nothing. Just wear pants and change out of those flip flops and you'll be fine.”
“Okay. I'll see you then.”
I left the store, happy to be in Oak Grove for the first time in a long time.
I barricaded myself in the spare bedroom until it was time to leave with John. The stream of people continued, interrupting my playlists with the dong of the doorbell. Why didn't they just leave the door open so they could come and go without the hindrance of bell announcements?