Chapter Two
Planet Waves
“Aww. You painted. I loved that color,” I say, stepping through the door into Bennie’s kitchen. The mint-green wall color is gone. In its place is a pale yellow color that seems to make the walls glow like sunshine. Other than the color change, everything is exactly as I remember. Her vintage appliances are still pristine and tucked into their respective corners. The wood table with my name carved underneath sits in the front window nook. Daisy placemats and a large candle decorate the top.
“Yeah. I just needed a change one day.”
“Well, I think you should have kept it.” I let my bag fall off my shoulder. It hits the floor with a thud and rolls over.
“Well, you lost your vote when you left Crowley.”
I flinch at her jab and lean against the fridge. “Ouch.”
“Since Preston is in your old apartment, you can take my extra room,” Bennie says. She fills a teakettle with water from the faucet and places it on the stove but doesn’t turn on the burner. “The sheets are clean.”
“Thanks, Bennie. I won’t be in your way. Promise.”
“It’s no problem. I have a few boxes of stuff you left behind tucked away in that closet.” She pulls out a chair and takes a seat, gesturing for me to do the same. I sit and kick up my boots on the chair across from me. “I just have a few rules.”
“Let’s hear them.”
“Keep out of my room and my bathroom. You know I need my space.”
“Yeah, I used to think you were meditating or something else admirable. But, I know you’re really reading romance novels and hoarding Mint Milanos.”
Bennie raises both hands, palms toward me. “It’s true. You’ve discovered my secret. Still, stay out of my room. Got it?”
I sit up tall and give her a salute. “Aye, aye, captain!”
“Now, why don’t you get settled in and we’ll go for a birthday drink later.”
“Uh, your birthday isn’t for three months, Ben.”
“Not mine. Your birthday, kid. I missed twenty-one. The least you could do is let me buy you a drink now that you’re legal.”
Grabbing my bag from the floor, I give her a grin. Of course she wants to celebrate that. No more sneaking berry-flavored vodka in water bottles or letting me steal a beer or two from her fridge.
“I wouldn’t dream of denying you that. Let me unpack and take a shower. I’ve got three days of road dirt covering me.”
“That’s disgusting,” she says, wrinkling her face. “Be ready by eight.”
“You’re so bossy.” I stick my tongue out at her before stomping to my room.
Bennie chuckles as I close the door and lean against it. My room smells like incense and fresh laundry. Cream-colored walls display vintage concert posters. The bed is the one I left behind three years ago. It is a heavy wrought iron, painted white, with a homemade quilt for cover. It’s homey and quaint, and exactly what I expect.
It feels so strange and familiar being back here. I never thought I’d step foot in this town again, and here I am. Three years is a long time to be on the road. I found myself in plenty of sticky situations and plenty of fun. I always thought I was invincible, strong enough to take on anything. It turns out, it only took one possessive, abusive boyfriend to show me just how little I am in this world. Coming back to find my apartment taken, my job taken; it’s a little surprising. I guess I figured Bennie would handle things on her own. Still, it’s comforting to know that no matter what, she still has a place for me in her life.
I slip out of my boots and try not to cringe at how militant and out of place they look on the beige rug. They stick out like I do in this small town—hard edges and beat to shit, but still worth something. Dumping my bag out on the bed, I sort through the clothes and pick out what’s clean. My little glass snow globe from Niagara Falls rolls off the mattress and hits the floor. I drop to my knees and pick it up, inspecting it for damage. The snowflakes dance around in the water, eventually settling over the miniature boat at the bottom.
Memories flood my head, pictures of that day appearing behind closed eyes. A smile pulls one corner of my mouth up as I remember the sound of crashing water, the mist on my face, and meeting the stranger who would eventually send me running back home. Before my thoughts turn dark, I stand and place the snow globe on my windowsill. The orange and magenta light from a Kansas sunset shines through, turning the snow into gold flakes.
In the bathroom, I start the shower and let the steam fill the room. I peel off my clothes and study myself in the full-length mirror. The last couple of months have taken a toll on my body. I am thinner now—too thin. I’ve lost the nice round curve of my hips and the fullness in my breasts. I cup each of them and hate how they feel light and unfamiliar. When I release them, they don’t even jiggle like they used to. I frown at my reflection as the shadow of a bruise catches my eye. The blue-and-purple mark taunts me from its place on my ribs. I try to piece together the story of its beginning as I run my hand over it, feeling the heat beneath my fingertips just as the mirror becomes foggy and erases me completely.
By eight o’clock, I am dressed in my favorite jeans and a too-big T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder. I stole it a while back, from some boy in some town a thousand miles away. I tie a knot in the bottom, letting it hug my waist, and step into my only pair of flats. They are shiny black with silver studs, showing just a little bit of attitude.
“Wren, let’s go!” Bennie shouts from the kitchen.
“Coming,” I answer. I grab my wallet and join her near the front door. “I’m assuming we’re going to The Haystack?”
Bennie turns and gives me a smile that I know will immediately be followed by bullshit.
“No, hon. Someone opened a great new place just up the road. They play indie music and hire local bands.”
I roll my eyes and step into the hall, laughing at the absurdity of anything new or cool happening in this town. Preston is there, his key in the doorknob to his apartment—my apartment.
“Oh, hey, Preston. We’re headed for drinks. Want to join us?” Bennie asks.
His eyes stay on the door, and he shakes his head. “No, thanks.”
His voice is so deep and scratchy; it seems to vibrate through me. It’s what wet dreams and bad-boy fantasies are made of. I have a vague recollection of our conversation in the store earlier, but this feels like the first time I am truly hearing him. I want more.
“Do you need help with that?” I ask, stepping closer. I can see now that he’s dirty and covered in what looks like sawdust. I inhale and find the scent of sweat and wood completely appealing. “Sometimes you have to shake the knob and lift up at the same time.”
Preston freezes when I stand next to him. He keeps his head down, his shoulders tense.
“I’ve got it,” he says.
He pulls the key out and pushes it back, jiggles it twice, and repeats this process three more times. I stare at his profile unashamedly. He’s so handsome and manly looking, a definite fittest-of-the-fit in the gene pool.
“Let’s go, Wren,” Bennie says. “Good night, Preston.”
The muscles of his forearms tighten as his hand grips the doorframe. He nods as Bennie pulls me away. Once we’re on the street, walking toward the edge of town, I turn to Bennie.
“What the hell was that?”
“What?” she asks, feigning ignorance.
“He’s so weird—fucking gorgeous, but weird. Why does he have an aversion to me? Did you tell him something?”
She stops walking and props her hands on her hips. “And what would I tell him? I haven’t seen you in three years. I didn’t know you were coming back, and I doubt I even know you anymore.”
I frown, hating the doubt in her voice.
“I’m still me. Same old Wren. I’m the girl who stole gum out of your purse all the time. The one who busted you making out with that creepy mustache guy in Daddy’s shed. And the one who tripped in church, landing in the aisle with my skirt up around my waist.”
She grins and shakes her head. Grabbing one of her hands from her hip and pulling, I get her to start walking again. Bennie lets out a huge yawn.
“Are you sure you want to go? You seem tired.”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you get my postcards? I tried to send one from every place I went.” Bennie nods and crosses her arms. I don’t like how nonchalant she is about my only effort at communication while away. “Good,” I say, because I have nothing else, and now things feel awkward between us.
We reach The Haystack and step inside. In a town this small, everyone knows you and your entire family, so I was never able to sneak in while underage. My first look at the place is not surprising. The air is a bit smoky, creating a haze where large lights shine over pool tables. Country music plays from an old jukebox near the back of the room.
“Let’s sit at the bar,” Bennie says, parking herself on a stool there.
I hop up next to her as she waves the bartender over.
“Hey, Bennie. Who’s this?”
The man looks at me like I’m on display at the zoo. His face is familiar, but I can’t pin down how I know him.
“Wren, you remember Coach Johnson, right?”
He was the football coach at my high school. I didn’t exactly attend games back then. While the rest of the town was ravenous for team sports, I was more drawn to one-on-one activities.
“Wren Hart? Well, I’ll be. Didn’t recognize you,” he said, waving nervously at my appearance. “Are you old enough to be in here?”
“I turned twenty-one last month.”
“Well, all right! First drink’s on me. What’ll you have?”
“Two shots of tequila. And not that cheap stuff that’s been on the shelf since the nineties.”
“The usual for me, Coach,” Bennie chimes in.
“You got it.”
I face Bennie and stare at her profile. “The usual? How often do you come here? I thought you like to drink alone?”
“Things change, Wren. After you left, alone was too alone.”
I cringe, guilt tugging at my heart. “I was alone, too, you know. Most of the time.”
“Yes,” Bennie says. “But that was your choice.”
I frown and drop my eyes to the two shot glasses and beer dropped off in front of us. I slide one over to Bennie and hold up the other. She gives me a half-hearted smile and lifts her shot.
“To homecomings and never being alone,” I say. We clink our glasses together and throw back the shot. The alcohol burns my empty stomach and warms my skin immediately.
“So this is the big nightlife in Crowley, huh?”
“This is it,” Bennie answers. “Sometimes a fight breaks out when the boys get too drunk, but other than that, it’s pretty tame.”
“How’s business, B? I was kind of surprised to find the store still open. Figured you’d be abandoned in the digital age.”
“Business is good, actually. The college kids in Franklin keep me open. Apparently, records are making a comeback. Plus, Preston is really good with marketing ideas. He says the hipsters will keep us afloat for a while.”
“Sweet. It’s about time people appreciate the pure perfection of The Smiths on vinyl.”
“Who said anything about The Smiths?” she asks, taking a sip of her beer. “They’re buying old Johnny Cash and Rage Against the Machine.”
“Well, I’m not mad at that.”
A loud chorus of greetings rings out near the jukebox, and I turn to see what’s causing the commotion. A group of guys, complete with graphic tees and ripped jeans, are huddled together over a table. The storyteller of the group has their undivided attention. His arms wave around, gesturing wildly while everyone laughs. I watch as he slaps one of them on the back and turns toward the bar. My pulse spikes, and my breath gets caught in my throat. Suddenly I’m very thirsty.
“Coach, another shot,” I yell.
He nods and goes to fetch the bottle. Meanwhile, Sawyer spots me. When our eyes meet, his jaw drops open and his lips silently form my name. He finally closes his mouth, swallows, and gives me a brilliant smile. It’s that charming smile that knocked my panties off at sixteen, and I’m sure it still reels in the ladies.
“Wren,” he says, sliding down the bar so that we’re a couple of feet apart.
“Sawyer,” I answer.
“Wow. You look…”
“Yeah, different. I know.”
He takes a seat on a barstool and leans toward me. “I was going to say beautiful.”
“Oh,” I answer, surprised. “Well, thanks. Looking good yourself.”
And he does. He is the epitome of an all-American yearbook photo. My tequila appears in front of me. I grab the glass and throw it back, not even bothering with the salt and lime. Sawyer’s gaze never leaves me. He’s staring, and it’s unnerving.
“Do I have something on my face?” I ask, my fingers swiping at my cheeks.
“No,” he says, chuckling, finally looking away. “I just never thought I’d see you again.”
“Well, here I am.”
“Yes, you certainly are,” he muses, grabbing the beer Coach places in front of him. “You go see your folks yet?” I shake my head and look away. “Well, let me know if you want me to tag along. I know you hate going alone.”
“Yeah, sure.” His worried look is authentic. Before we were anything else, we were friends, and his concern reminds me of that.
“How’s Mr. Cuddles doing?”
Sawyer blanches, his eyes shooting to Bennie and then returning to me.
“Come on, Wren. I’m a grown man. I don’t need a stuffed bear around anymore.”
“So he’s good?” I tease.
“Yeah,” he answers. “Safe and sound.” We both laugh as Sawyer shrugs in resignation. “Never could hide anything from you.”
“Like your Ghostbusters memorabilia or your comic books?”
He rolls he eyes and drops his head. “Yes, like that stuff. Which, before you ask, is also just fine.”
“Good to hear. Hey, at least I kept your secrets safe.”
“That you did. You sticking around for a while?” Sawyer asks before taking a long pull from his beer. I watch his lips and throat and everything else that moves as he swallows.
“Not sure yet,” I confess. I feel Bennie stiffen next to me. “The plan is to make no plans.”
“For what it’s worth, I hope you do.” He tips his baseball cap at me and winks. “Good to see you, too, Bennie.”
She raises her beer in his direction as he rejoins the group of guys. Now that I look closer, I recognize most of them from high school. The same old people in the same old town, still treating Logan Sawyer like he’s a god. It’s no wonder he never left.
“Thinking of revisiting some old ghosts?” Bennie asks, bumping my shoulder with her own.
I watch Sawyer and his friends start a game of pool. Every few minutes his eyes connect with mine. He smiles just for me.
“I think that ship has sailed,” I say. “But he looks good, right?”
“Even Mayor Tuttle’s wife flirts with him.”
We both laugh and fall into an easy silence. Bennie finishes another beer, and I have two more shots before we decide to call it a night. The night air is cooler now, and it feels good against my flushed cheeks.
When we get back to Bennie’s, we each retreat toward our rooms.
“Catch you on the flip side, kid.”
“Good night, Ben.”
I crawl in between clean, soft sheets for the first time in weeks. The mattress sinks and holds me as I stare up at the shadows on my ceiling. As I drift off to sleep, the sweet sound of Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young” plays from the apartment next door, and I fall into dreamland with a smile on my face.