Chapter Ten
Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me
“I knew I’d find you here,” I say, sliding into the booth across from Preston.
He closes his notebook and puts it away. “Already memorizing my schedule.”
“I’ve already memorized your everything, Preston.”
His left eyebrow raises slightly. He enjoys my flirting, and I love that he does. Angela approaches the table. After seeing her at the bar, it’s strange to have her back in this role.
“Hey, Wren. What can I get you?”
“I want a giant plate of mac ’n cheese and a lemonade.”
“You got it.”
She leaves to fetch my drink, and in the minute we’re alone there is nothing between us but silence. The clinking of forks to plates, cups to table, the static noise of conversations surround us. But here, in this booth, it is only Preston and me and enough sexual tension to choke us.
“Here you go,” Angela says, sliding my lemonade onto the table and disappearing again.
She has interrupted nothing and everything. I take a sip of my drink in an effort to cool my insides. Preston watches.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“Last night,” he says. Images flash through my mind, and suddenly we are on the same page. “I thought about it all night, staring at that wall that separates us.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
He doesn’t answer me. “What are we doing, Wren?”
I trace the rim of my glass with my index finger. “We’re having lunch.”
Angela returns to the table with Preston’s three plates and my macaroni and cheese. She places a glass of water—no ice—in front of him and leaves us with a wink.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says.
“I know that’s not what you meant. The truth is I don’t know what we’re doing. At first, I’ll admit, I just wanted to sleep with you. I mean, look at you,” I say waving my hand across his body. “Have you seen you?”
“And now?” he asks.
“And now I don’t know. You intrigue me, Preston. But you seem happy here, and there’s no way I’m staying in Crowley forever. But why do we have to think beyond this moment? Right now I’m just a girl, sitting with a boy, having mediocre food.”
The corner of his mouth lifts up, and he focuses on his meal. When all his plates are equal distance apart and lined up to the edge of the table, Preston finally eats. I dig in and am reminded how much I love this stuff.
“Okay, the mac ’n cheese is not mediocre. I forgot how good it is,” I say with food in my mouth. “I rarely had good food out on the road. It was garbage. Sometimes, literally.”
Preston stops chewing and looks up at me, a horrified expression painting his pretty face. His fork hovers above an empty plate.
“Why did you leave Crowley?” he asks.
“It was just something I had to do. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to know what was out there. I wanted to meet people who don’t look like me, or think like me. I just needed to discover something.”
He switches out his plates now, lines them up, and takes a bite. “Well, did you? Discover something?”
“Yes. I discovered religions that don’t weigh you down in guilt or shame. I discovered kids who have never known the comforts of a roof over their head. I discovered oceans at each coast and the Gulf of Mexico to the South. I discovered curry, alligator soup, tofu, and chilaquiles. Most recently, I discovered that it’s okay to come back home.”
Preston lays down his fork and takes a sip of water. His eyes search mine from across the table. He is quiet for too long, and I start to squirm under his gaze.
“You’re a complicated girl,” he finally says. “Complicated and confusing. And dangerously beautiful. You’re like a jigsaw puzzle that needs solving—sharp edges with twisting lines inside.”
Such pretty words from a pretty man. They only make me want more of his poetic observations.
“And what are you going to do about it, Preston-who-thinks-about-me-all-night?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
I finish my lemonade and leave money on the table before sliding out of the booth.
“Well, let me know when you decide.”
…
Tonight, I wear blue-jean shorts, a Haystack T-shirt, and comfortable flats. I’m three hours into my shift when Sawyer shows up with his gang of followers. In worn jeans and a threadbare T-shirt that hugs his biceps, he is a stark contrast from uniformed Sawyer. He waves me over when they have a seat near the pool tables.
“Hey, Wren. We need two buckets of Bud Light. And something for yourself.”
I roll my eyes when he hands over his credit card without even looking at me. Returning to the bar, I load up two tin pails with ice and stick six bottles of beer in each. I file Sawyer’s credit card with the other open tabs and return to deliver their drinks.
“Here you go, boys. Drink up.”
I drop the buckets on the table. They land with a loud bang, ice spilling over the sides. Sawyer’s friends watch him, waiting like little lap dogs. He takes one bottle, pops the cap off, and tilts it back. Watching him show off like this reminds me of our days together. He used to sneak his daddy’s beers out of the house, and we would get drunk on the dirt road behind Miller’s barn.
I turn to go, but suddenly feel a cold hand on my elbow. When I look back, I find Sawyer smiling up at me. He slides a ten-dollar bill into my hand and winks.
“Thanks, Wren.”
I pocket his tip and return to my spot behind the bar. Coach gives me a smile as he serves a couple of regulars. An hour later, Bennie comes in and parks herself at the same barstool she sat in last time. She orders from Coach and gives him a lingering look. One that makes me wonder again if there is something more between them than friendship.
After I check on my tables, I slide up next to her.
“Hey, Bennie. What’s up?”
“Nothing much, kid. Just had a rough day,” she says, staring down into her beer.
“Don’t you take half the day off on Saturdays? How bad could it be?” Bennie shakes her head. “Where do you go, anyway? Got a secret lover in Franklin? Is he married? Are you having his love child? Bennetta Hart, are you somebody’s dirty little secret?”
She laughs. It’s not a delicate little laugh, but a loud cackling kind that shakes her shoulders and brings tears to her eyes.
“I assure you, Wren, I am no one’s secret mistress.”
I give her a suspicious look.
“Would I lie to you?” she asks.
“No. You know better.” She finishes her beer and motions for another. Coach delivers it without question. “Okay then. I’m going to get back to work.”
I pick up empty glasses and bottles on my trip through the bar and mentally vow to look into a recycling program here. Sawyer and his group of buddies seem to get progressively louder and more rowdy as the night wears on. Some girls have joined the mix now, dispersed between the guys around their table, some sitting on laps.
At midnight I check on Bennie again. She’s been knocking them back for a couple of hours now. Her glassy eyes and permanent smile give her away. I hear my name and look up to find Sawyer calling me over again.
“What can I get you?” I ask, feigning indifference to the group watching me.
“Wren Hart, your hair looks like an Easter egg,” one guy says.
The group laughs, but Sawyer stays quiet.
“And is that a stud in your nose?” he continues. “I bet your daddy had a fit when he saw you, huh?”
“I wonder what else she has pierced,” another friend chimes in.
“Oh my God, did that, like, hurt?” a brunette girl with eyes too big for her face says.
“I bet it did,” a blonde chimes in. “Remember when we got our ears pierced? That was brutal.”
“Yes, that’s a stud in my nose. And even if you were the last man on earth and the fate of the free world rested on you and me procreating, you would still never find out what else I have pierced. And, yes, it hurt a little,” I say, addressing each of the offending questions. “I’m here to get you drinks. If any of you assholes want to get laid tonight, I suggest you start buying these girls lots of alcohol. They’re going to need it.”
Sawyer is the only one laughing now. “Twelve shots of bourbon,” he says.
I nod and retreat to the bar before I say something else to get me fired. Lining up thirteen shot glasses along the bar, I pull out the most expensive bourbon we have and fill each glass. I add that to Sawyer’s tab and place the drinks on a tray. When I deliver the shots, each of them watches me carefully, like they’re waiting for me to do a trick. I ignore their gawking and pass out the glasses.
“There’s an extra one,” one of the girls says.
“No, there’s not.” I grab the last shot from my tray and throw it back, swallowing down the sweet bourbon. It creates a nice burn in my empty stomach and a smile on my lips. Sawyer tips me a twenty this time, and I take it with no hesitation. It’s the least he can do for subjecting me to this Midwest version of Dumb and Dumber.
I drop the tray off at the bar and let Coach know I’m taking a quick break. Outside, the night air is a welcome reprieve from the stale atmosphere of The Haystack. I lean against the building and stare out at the parking lot. Preston is not in his usual spot yet. It’s still early. But I can’t deny the feeling of wanting him there, needing to see him.
The door swings open, and Sawyer steps out alone. He gives me a hesitant grin and leans against the wall next to me.
“Sorry about them,” he says.
“No worries. Small town people are nothing if not predictable.”
He blows out a breath. “Well, we can’t all be world travelers.”
At this moment, I wish I were a smoker. I need that habitual action to keep my hands busy and deep lungfuls of oxygen and smoke to fill the awkward silence between us. It’s strange to feel uncomfortable around him. At one time, Sawyer knew me better than anyone in this town. Even though he hated it, he understood my need to run away. It was all I talked about back then.
“Is Crowley everything you remember?” he asks.
I turn to face him, leaning my shoulder against the wall. “It’s everything I remember, and some stuff I tried to forget. Not much has changed.”
“You sure have changed, though,” Sawyer tells me. I shrug. “Not just the hair and the piercing, Wren. You’re different.”
“Being out there,” I gesture to the vast fields and night sky, “makes you different. The things you see and learn, the people you meet, they all change you.”
“So, why’d you come back if it was so great?”
I look at my feet and then out at the dark parking lot. The confession sits in my mouth, burning like hot saliva. I picked the wrong guy. Dylan owned me. He hurt me. I ran. Instead of telling him, I swallow it down and let the fear and pain settle in my stomach. Sawyer watches me closely, waiting for an answer. I ignore the question.
“You should try it, Sawyer. Get out of this place.”
He shakes his head at me and grins. “I’m not that person. I like it here. I’ll probably stay in Crowley the rest of my life—get married, have a family, coach Little League. I never wanted you to leave, but I never wanted to go with you.” He looks away and back to my eyes. “Not that you gave me a choice.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out toward my feet. The guilt of leaving him hits me for the first time. I didn’t just leave Bennie. I left Sawyer, too. At the time, the road in front of me was all I could see. I was young and selfish.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. We both knew it was coming.” Sawyer rubs at the back of his neck and pulls the baseball cap from his head. He curls the bill into its signature country-boy shape before placing it back on his head. “I would have done anything to keep you here, Wren. But I knew it was useless. I was crazy in love with you,” he admits.
For a moment, I see beneath his charming surface and into the boy I once adored. He is vulnerable in this confession, and he waits for a reaction.
“I loved you, too. You know that, Sawyer.”
“But not enough to stay.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure anything could have made me stay back then. I just knew there was something waiting for me. Something bigger than tractor pulls and being a reverend’s kid.” I glance at my feet and back to his face. “I guess I was tired of being defined by this town. I don’t regret leaving.”
Sawyer steps closer, his feet in between mine. This feels familiar, but not right.
“Do you regret coming back?” he asks, his voice a raspy whisper that reminds me of escapades in the back of his truck.
“I don’t know yet,” I say.
I’m held in place by his hand that slides along my waist. The way he looks at me is the same way he looked at me three years ago. Sawyer tips his head down, his lips a breadth away from mine. My heart leaps into my throat, and I know this is something I don’t want to happen.
The door slams open, and two of his buddies come stumbling out. We break apart, stepping in opposite directions. Sawyer frowns and mumbles a curse into the night sky. I feel nothing but relief.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” I say over my shoulder before stepping back into the bar.
I spend the last hour of my shift immersed in bar duties. Sawyer never comes back inside. Coach says he closed his tab before following me outside. I throw away empty bottles, collect glasses, and wipe down tables while Coach closes tabs. Bennie sits on her stool, her head laid down on top of folded arms. I’ve seen my sister drink, but never drunk. This is new and strange, and I’m not sure if I like how it looks on her.
When the last customer is gone, Coach turns off the sign and gestures to Bennie.
“Go on and get her home, Wren. I’ll finish cleaning.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, not wanting to slack off during my first week of work.
“Yeah. It’s not a problem. Just make sure she gets home safe.”
He slides over my share of tips, and I throw it into my bag. On the other side of the bar, I place my hand on Bennie’s back.
“Bennie? Let’s go home.” She raises her head and gives me a lazy grin. “Can you walk, Ben?”
She slides off the stool, wobbles a bit, but then gathers herself. She takes a few steps as if trying out her feet for the first time and gives me a thumbs-up.
“Of course, I can walk. Been doin’ it for a long time,” Bennie slurs.
I lace my arm around hers and guide us toward the front door. She only stumbles once before giggling and straightening her posture.
“You okay?”
“I got it,” she says, this time more harsh with a frown.
“Later, Coach.” I give him a wave. “See you next week.”
Bennie leans on me, and I can’t wait to get outside and have Preston’s help with her. We push through the doors, and I scan the parking lot. It’s empty. Preston is not in his usual spot. No furrowed brow, no manic scribbling in his notebook, no strong arms to help.
“Damn,” I say.
“What happened?” Bennie asks.
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
Bennie keeps it together for most of the walk. She rambles on and on about the record store, our parents, and even Preston.
“That boy is some kind of gorgeous,” she says, laughing at her admission.
“Bennie. Are you crushing on Preston?”
“Ha! No, Wren. Seriously? He’s like half my age. I’m just sayin’. I’m old, not blind.”
We both laugh as I pull her along the road toward home.
“Why was today a bad day, Bennie?”
“Oh, you know. Nothing goes right. Everything is wrong. So unfair. Life’s not fair. Life! Ha!” She coughs and holds on to me tighter.
Her vagueness bothers me, but I let it go for now. “I’ve never seen you drunk,” I say. “Since when have you given up smoking weed for drinking?”
“I haven’t given up anything!” she shouts. I shush her and pull her through the park. “I am drunk,” she whispers. “Drunk, drunk, drunk as a skunk. Hey, that rhymes. And why would skunks get drunk anyway? Have you ever seen a skunk with a beer?”
I smile at her silliness and let myself enjoy taking care of my sister for once. We pass under the water tower, and Bennie pulls out of my grip. She stares up at the ladder.
“I always wanted to go up there,” she says. “Write a big ‘Fuck you, Reverend Hart’ message on the tower. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“It would definitely be something,” I answer, smoothing down her curly hair.
Bennie whips her head toward me. “Look at us, Wren. The shameless unholy Hart children. The drunk and the runaway.”
“Let’s get home.”
“You left me, Wren.”
Her voice is low, but her words hit me like a blow to the chest. Tears leave silver trails down her cheeks, and suddenly my eyes are watering.
“You left me here alone,” she spits. “How would you feel if I left you? Huh? What if I just leave?”
Tears ease out of the corners of my eyes as the guilt of what I’ve done takes hold. Bennie has always been so strong and independent. I had no idea my leaving would affect her this way.
“I thought you’d be proud of me, Bennie.” I kick at a pebble and watch it go bouncing into the grass. “I wanted to find my independence, and I knew I’d never do it here. Not like you did.”
“You left,” Bennie slurs. “And now you’re back. And all is forgiven.”
She reaches for me. Her fingers brush my bangs to the side and slide down my face, wiping my tears. Snap. I hear a loud noise from the tree line and look into the darkness. The park lights don’t reach that far, so I see nothing but leafy blackness.
“Come on, Bennie.”
She wipes the tears from her face and starts walking. I follow behind her quietly, checking over my shoulder every few minutes. We don’t say another word to each other. I help her up the stairs and wait for her to unlock the door. I linger in front of Preston’s door and wonder what he’s doing in there, why he didn’t show up tonight.
When we’re inside, I try to help Bennie to bed, but she tells me no.
“Catch you on the flip side. And stay out of my room,” is all she says, closing the door in my face.