Destiny

The mid-morning sun beat down on the top of my head, searing right through my black dress. Summer in Houston was unbearable, but I’d forgotten how miserable Kansas’s summers could be too. Sweat beaded at the nape of my neck, my hairline, and Toby’s hand in mine was even worse.

We were standing front and center, listening to the pastor begin my grandmother’s funeral service. I’d debated about whether or not to bring Toby back to my hometown for this, but he deserved the closure in saying goodbye to Tillie, too.

I’d prayed all morning that no one would recognize him and that no one would figure out my lies. I prayed that the long-time locals had learned some manners and how to bite their waggling tongues since I left.

But shit. Those that hadn’t, those with long memories…my name would be on the tip of their tongues. If the truth ever came out, I was going to be hated, despised more than I was before.

This time, they would take it out on more than me…they’d take it out on my boy.

We just had to get through this service. We’d stay here for a few days, long enough to get Tillie’s things in order, her house cleaned up and ready to sell. Then I’d head back home to Houston where we lived.

Somehow, I had to do all that work while avoiding almost everyone in town. The stress of it had me in tears, although it wasn’t purely from that.

I’d been crying so hard all morning I kept my sunglasses firmly planted on the bridge of my nose. It’d started as soon as we walked into Tillie’s house last night and saw the stack of papers and her funeral information left on the kitchen table.

I had no idea who left it, but as soon as I read the newspaper article, it was clear Tillie had made her plans with me in mind, knowing…or more likely, hoping, I’d return home for this. In reality, my grandmother’s funeral would be the only thing I’d return to Carlton for.

There was no viewing service at a funeral home where I’d be expected to stand in a line and thank everyone for coming.

The only service she requested and planned was a burial service at the cemetery, beyond the small Methodist church where she’d been a member of her entire life.

Tillie was my life force. My only blood relative. She took me in without question when my mom abandoned me. She did her damnedest to help me ignore the whispers and gossip and disappointed and unwelcome looks I always received from the majority of people in this town.

And good Lord, how I disappointed her, as much as it killed me to do so.

She still, always had my back. Always trusted me. Always poured out her love not only in unending measure to me, but to Toby as well.

We hadn’t seen her since her visit last summer.

I hadn’t been here, to my home, since I was eighteen.

This was where the best things happened to me before Toby arrived.

This was where the worst things happened to me.

This was where I fell in love.

This was where I destroyed that love with a cowardly lie.

Everything I was, everything I wanted to be, was left in this small town, and unfortunately, even with Tillie’s help and love, nothing had changed. I’d become exactly who everyone had predicted.

A liar. A thief. A horrible, rotten person.

Exactly like my mother.

The whispers started halfway through the service, tittering and weaving through the crowd until they made their way to my ears.

I can’t believe she came back.

There’s no ring on her finger.

How old is that boy?

Just like her momma, that girl is, always was, always will be.

Eventually those whispers filtered down to Toby’s ears. His back went straight, his jaw hardened, and his hand in mine tightened. With each passing moment, the urge to scream and claw at all the church-going Christian miserable gossips almost reached my breaking point.

Until I heard the one word that almost made my heart completely stop.

I wonder if Jordan knows she’s in town?

I hissed in a breath, my eyes darted through the small gathering to see if I recognized who asked that question. In my hand, Toby’s grip was so hard he risked crushing my knuckles.

I held him back tighter, grabbed our linked hands with my other one, covered them both, and held on tight.

“We’ll be done soon,” I whispered, glancing down at him. “Hang in there.”

“Mom,” Toby said, and I knew without looking he was gazing up at me.

He’d caught that name, too. Damn it. I should have had him stay in Houston with my friend, Allison.

He nodded. His tan face now ashen. He’d heard, and my kid wasn’t dumb.

In front of us, Pastor Emmerson continued speaking. He was giving a message on one of Tillie’s favorite Bible passages, a short teaching moment telling those not to cast the first stone.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Neither were all the moments she told me the same thing.

Never cast that stone, girl, unless you can look in the mirror and find yourself faultless and pure. Those biddies who talk too much haven’t looked in a mirror in far too long and you pay them no mind.

You are destined for great things. The good Lord tells us that.

She was wrong. And so was that good Lord she loved so much.

I wasn’t destined for anything except following in my mother’s footsteps, drug abuse aside.

“Few more minutes, baby.” I caught the tears in his eyes and his hardened jaw now jutted in my direction. “Hang in there.”

“They said—”

“I know.” I nodded and squeezed his hand. This was not the time, but his shoulders had started shaking. “Few more minutes. Okay?” I dipped my chin low so he could see my eyes, wet ones that mirrored his, above the frame of my glasses. “Please, honey.”

His nose scrunched, black brows furrowed and he jerked his head back to the pastor.

“Ashes to ashes….” The voice of the pastor trailed off, muted to my ears.

I lifted my head to turn it back toward Tillie’s casket, covered in her favorite spray of pink roses and caught my eyes on him.

He was there. The edge of the crowd, black suit, black dress shirt, black sunglasses, all black from his shoes to the top of his head.

His lips were almost non-existent he had them pressed in such a tight line.

He wasn’t paying attention to the pastor. He was staring at me. The force of his glare behind those frames was so tangible he might as well have had his hands wrapped around my shoulders, pinning me to my spot.

It catapulted me back to that summer.

That day.

The day I’d shouted at him all the lies I could conjure where he’d shaken me, that same glare, that same tight jaw that was currently on my own son’s while I threw away our future and our dreams to provide something better for myself and the boy next to me. It hit me with such force I gasped in a breath.

Toby’s head jerked to me. “What’s wrong?”

Everything. Absolutely everything was wrong.

Him. Jordan Marx. He was here. Why was he here? A tremor rolled through my body and I squeezed Toby’s hand so hard he hissed in pain.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “So sorry, honey.”

I dropped his hand and pulled him in front of me. My hands went to his shoulders.

The pastor finished.

The crowd departed. A few dropped their own single pink rose on Tillie’s casket. Most I recognized, some I nodded toward, but not a single person stepped up to me. No one offered their condolences.

Why would they? At one point, I’d been the most hated female in Carlton.

Born from trash, left like trash, raised by a woman who loved Jesus and didn’t give a hoot what people said about her. Then I’d gone and fallen in love with the golden boy from the Marx family, which only elicited more hatred flung in my direction. I figured the entire town would love me when I broke up with him and disappeared.

How wrong I’d been.

Toby and I stayed in our spot. He must have known I needed that because he didn’t fidget once. We stayed there until the crowd dispersed. Cars started pulling out of the long line in the distance, and Pastor Emmerson walked toward us, a sad, gentle smile on his face.

“Tillie will be missed by everyone who knew her,” he said.

“Thank you.”

To my side, a shadow was looming, moving closer.

Emmerson lifted his head and he grinned in that direction. “Jordan. I’m sorry for your loss as well. Thank you for all you’ve done for her.”

What the hell? What did that mean? My shoulders tightened as Jordan’s steps, now audible, grew louder. Fight or flee battled in my blood and it was pure will that kept my gaze on the pastor.

His smile turned soft as he turned back to me. “Take all the time you need here. I’ll give you some time alone with her.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, my lips barely being able to form the word. They’d gone dry as the desert and it had nothing to do with the heat.

It had everything to do with the man still standing behind us.

I’d always been able to sense him. Always knew when he was near. I’d perfected my Jordan Marx radar before he ever knew I existed. He’d been the only other person in town besides Tillie who gave a shit about me. He’d protected me, cared for me, loved me with a love harder than any I’d had since.

I’d adored him.

But right then, at my grandmother’s burial, back in Carlton, the son he didn’t know he had, in my arms, I didn’t adore him, and I most definitely wasn’t happy to see him.

I was terrified right down to the depths of my soul.

“Didn’t think you’d have the guts to come back here.”