If it weren’t for that blackbird, I would have thrown Scarlett out of my truck and took my chances on the votes. Maybe the pastor will be called on by God to vote for me. Maybe hell will freeze over and my uncle will believe I’m responsible by May. But I did see the blackbird. I felt that caw all the way to my marrow. That bird was a dull knife plunged into my chest, and it made me think of Gran.
Scarlett stays silent the entire ride to the Save Mart, holding on to the seat as I take turns at breakneck speeds. It’s her silent protest I’m going too fast. I am, but I don’t care. Being reckless makes me numb.
I pull into the Save Mart lot and back into a spot. Scarlett doesn’t bother acknowledging me as she jumps out and slams the door. I might as well go ahead and put a For Sale sign in the front of my trailer and have the land sold now for how well things are going between me and her. Even though I got her what she wanted, Scarlett’s a brick wall.
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel in an attempt to drain some of the annoyance from my muscles. The flowers I dug up need to be in the ground and rooting soon, or I’m going to lose them and then that will really piss me off. Gran’s urn is in the box on the floorboard, and the goal was to settle her ashes today near her favorite oak, next to my mom. At this rate, I’m not going to be able to start until after dark, which isn’t what I wanted. Not at all.
Scarlett weaves through the parking lot toward the store. Elegance, grace, beauty. Hardheaded, stubborn and every ounce of an ice princess. My gut twists with a flash of guilt. Ice princess. That’s what she called herself, and that’s my fault. What the hell is wrong with me that I feel bad for hurting a girl who feels nothing for me? V’s right. I do need my head examined.
Minutes pass. Cars come and go. People walk in and out. A shiny Beamer washed and waxed the way rich people pay others to do pulls in and that causes a raised eyebrow. Most wealthy people believe they’re too good for discount food.
That car’s familiar. Too familiar. A jolt as Mr. Copeland exits the driver’s side looking as happy as someone swarmed and stung by wasps.
My mind swirls at a whirlwind pace. Scarlett asked for help with a job, needed a ride and asked to be dropped off a quarter mile from home. One plus one means Scarlett’s dad doesn’t know she’s working here. Divide that answer by another number, and I’m betting that means Mr. Copeland might have been in the dark about her having a job at all.
I grab my cell then curse. I don’t have Scarlett’s number, never have, but she needs to be warned. There’s a bull on steroids with sharp horns on the warpath. My hand grasps the handle of the door as Scarlett steps out of the store with her purse in hand.
Her father says her name, her head jerks up and her expression of pure fear causes my heart to stop. I’ve seen that look before. I saw it on my mom, too many times, and I wasn’t fast or strong enough the last time.
Mr. Copeland’s mouth moves, and Scarlett’s eyes widen. He grabs her arm and my vision tunnels. His hand is on her arm, and it’s clear she doesn’t want it there. Mr. Copeland pivots on his feet, goes for his car and drags Scarlett with him.
My door screeches open, and Scarlett whips her head in my direction. My feet are on the ground, I step toward her and she shakes her head at me, violently, and mouths, no. I halt dead in my tracks, and I squint because there’s no way she’s telling me no. But she does it again. She shakes her head at me, her black hair flipping with the movement, and she mouths, Please don’t.
I’m paralyzed. Every ounce of me needs to intervene, but our eyes meet again and her fear practically creates a direct connection between us.
If I step in will it be worse? I know she can’t hear me, no way at all, yet she nods and that nod keeps me rooted on the spot.
Scarlett’s father releases her at the passenger side door. She’s slow to get in while he yanks his door open hard enough that if it were my truck the door would have fallen off the hinges. He starts the car, his engine too smooth to growl. He backs up without looking and slams the gas so hard that he probably hits forty before he reaches Main Street.
A glance at the bed of my truck. I have things to do, promises to keep to my gran. But I made a promise to Scarlett first, and it broke my gran’s heart when I reneged on that vow, which is why I’m guessing she made Scarlett one of the people responsible for the vote.
I thought you promised her you would always be her friend, Gran had once said to me.
“I did, Gran,” I mumble to the ground.
Then why’d you stop? Why did you hurt that girl? Hurting her is hurting you, and I don’t want to see you hurt.
The words in my brain aren’t real. Just memories of a conversation we had too many times to count. “You know why.”
Keep your promise to her, Jesse. You’re nothing if you aren’t a man of integrity. You’re nothing if you don’t know how to be a real friend.
“I let her go to save her.”
From who?
From me.
I want you to love.
“That’s the problem, Gran. That’s always been the problem.”
A blackbird lands a few feet from me, inches from a dead carcass. The bird looks at me. I look at him. It’s like staring into a black abyss. It’s a lot like looking inside myself.