Chapter Twenty-One
Maladjusted
Thursday morning Bennie and I have breakfast together. She heads down to the store, and I promise to show up later. Spending the entire day yesterday being tortured by my seesawing emotions was enough to make me want to hide away.
I’m furious with Preston. I’m devastated at the sickness that will eventually take Bennie from me. It’s a cycle that circles back around to disappointment in myself. Tears fill my eyes, my natural reaction to any kind of heightened emotion. Now I’m angry that I’m crying. There are too many feelings swirling around in my head, too much chaos to nail anything down. After all that time on the road, all my lonely nights, I finally feel completely alone.
Of all the times not to have someone to lean on, now is the worst. It’s another thing I blame Preston for. I want him to hold me and tell me that everything will be okay, that he’s here for me. But that would just be another lie. Everything, most certainly, will not be okay.
Instead of going to the store, I decide to take a walk around Crowley. Thoughts of Dylan cross my mind, but even I know he wouldn’t try anything in broad daylight. I vow to stick to populated streets.
I pass the diner and give Angela a wave through the front glass. Outside of the hardware store, I run into Coach. He gives me a hurried hello as he loads bags into his truck. I end up at my parents’ house. I don’t know why I come here, what I am looking for, but it does bring me some comfort. Maybe it’s because I know that they are the only other threads connected to Bennie. Whether we like it or not, we are family. Losing her will hurt us all.
The windows are closed, so I know they aren’t home. I take a seat on the porch swing and revel in the silence of this place. If only my mind would be silent.
I can’t stop the hammering thoughts in my head—Bennie and her cancer, Preston and his betrayal, Dylan and his threats, Crowley and my roots. All these things have me out of sorts, like I am a ghost floating above the earth and watching all this happen. I feel so separated and yet, so buried by everything. A breeze whips over me, drying the sweat from my skin. It brings me back to myself, and I’m thankful for it.
On my walk home, just as I turn onto Main Street, I hear a siren blast behind me. I jump and spin to find Sawyer smiling through the windshield of his cruiser. He pulls next to me as I glare.
“What’s the matter, Wren? Did I scare you?”
“You know you did, jerk.”
He laughs, showing off that megawatt smile. “Well, I like to keep things interesting around here.”
“Oh, yes. Crowley is super interesting,” I deadpan. I lean down and cross my arms on the edge of his rolled-down window.
“Hey, just last week Jude ran off the road into Mr. Tibb’s mailbox.”
I roll my eyes and smirk. “Whoa. Alert the newspaper. Wait. There is no paper.”
Sawyer puts the car in park and leans back in his seat. “Something big will happen one day, and I’ll be ready. You’ll see.”
I look out at the road in front of us and back to Sawyer. Bennie’s words come back to me, all the worry about Dylan. I should tell him.
“You may get your wish,” I say.
Sawyer’s eyes widen. “Why? What have you heard?”
“There’s this guy…” Looking at his face makes me hesitate. For some reason, I find it hard to share this with him.
“And?”
The words come out fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Well, he’s a guy I dated in New York. And he was kind of abusive. And I kind of drugged him and stole some money from him to get home. And he’s been sending me things in the mail, and he called Bennie’s apartment one day, and I’m scared he may be coming here.”
“Wait. What?” Sawyer straightens in his seat. His eyes search mine. “Wren, are you serious?”
I nod and scrape my teeth over my bottom lip. “Unfortunately.”
He shakes his head as his grip on the steering wheel tightens until his knuckles turn white. “Why haven’t you made a report?” Sawyer’s smile is gone. He is dead serious.
“Report what? That he sent me things in the mail? He hasn’t done anything to report. It’s just a feeling, you know?”
He nods and places one hand on top of my stacked arms. “You can definitely report weirdness, Wren. But, he isn’t really breaking any laws, so there’s not much we can do. Is he dangerous?”
“He can be,” I answer, wincing at the memory of bruises and aching ribs.
“I’ll step up patrol around Bennie’s and The Haystack. Give me his name so I can run a check on him.”
“Dylan Watts from Buffalo, New York.”
Sawyer pulls a small notepad from his front pocket and a pen from his visor. He scribbles the name down. When he tucks the notepad away, he turns to look at me. We are silent as he stares into my eyes. I’m not sure what he’s searching for, but I feel like he sees me again, like when we were kids.
“Be careful,” he says. “And thanks for telling me.”
Though it’s nothing official, I feel a huge relief telling Sawyer about Dylan. I nod and give a wave as he drives away. When the cruiser disappears from view, I cross the street to the diner. There’s room at the front counter, so I take a seat and wave Angela Louise over.
“Hey, Wren. What can I get you?”
“I need a super jumbo size piece of pie and a water, please.”
“Super jumbo, huh? You want to talk about it?”
I give her a pleading look and shake my head. “Nope. I prefer to just eat my feelings like normal people. Thanks.”
“Pie and water, coming up.”
Angela disappears into the kitchen, and I play with the salt and pepper shakers in front of me. The place is bustling with the lunch crowd, and I do my best to drown out all the noise. The bell over the door rings, and I turn toward it. Preston’s gaze connects with mine, and he gives me a cautious grin.
I turn away and drop my eyes. “Shit. It’s Thursday.” I curse myself for not remembering his schedule.
“Super jumbo pecan pie and a water,” Angela announces, dropping off the plate and glass in front of me. “Anything else?”
I shake my head.
The noise in the diner fades to almost silence. It’s not abrupt. It’s a slow wave of quiet, like turning down the volume on a turntable. Preston slides onto the stool next to me, and I can’t help but look up at him. His shoulders are tense, the muscles in his neck and jaw tight, but his eyes are on me.
He’s beautiful in his optimism, waiting for me to respond. All I can do is stare. His usually perfectly coiffed hair falls out of place. The beard covering his face is longer than normal. White-knuckled hands clutch each other on top of the counter.
“I’m so sorry, Wren.”
I glance around, and most of the diner is watching. Some whisper and point, while others just stare, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. These people have seen him as a creature of habit for two years now. They are shocked and curious. When I look back to Preston, he takes a deep breath and exhales. In this moment, he is so strong, and I am so proud.
“Everyone is looking,” I say. My voice is weak and surprises me. I don’t like it.
Preston shakes his head. “The only thing I care about is how you are looking at me.”
I tilt my head and can’t fight the lift to my lips. Then I remember his lie. It hits me with such force that it knocks the smile from my face. As much as I’m drawn to him, as much as I want to let him wrap his arms around me and protect me from this hurt, I can’t forgive him.
I pull away from the counter and hop up off my stool. Without a word to anyone, I push through the front door and practically run all the way back to Vinyl.
With each footstep, my pulse pounds in my ears, and it feels a little harder to breathe. It’s all so overwhelming. As soon as I enter the store, Morrissey serenades me into a calmer state. Until I see Bennie’s worried face.
“You got another one,” she says.
A pale-yellow envelope sits between us, my name and address scrawled on the front. There is no return address.
“I don’t want to open it,” I say.
“You have to.” I shake my head and take a step back. “Wren, this one is postmarked St. Louis. That’s only eight hours from here.” I shake my head again as panicked thoughts tumble through my brain, but I can’t voice them.
“I can’t,” I mumble. “I feel like my whole world is crumbling, Bennie. You, Preston, and this shit with Dylan. I can’t.”
“Wren,” Bennie pleads. Her brows are heavy over worried eyes, pink lips turned down in each corner.
I place my hand over hers and squeeze. “I’m not running away, Ben. I just need some space. Promise.”
I take off through the front door and turn left on the sidewalk. I need to clear my head and get a grip on reality. My feet lead me to the park long before my brain recognizes the path. At the bottom of the water tower, I start up the ladder. The midday sun beats down on my shoulders, and the metal is hot beneath my hands. By the time I get to the top, my arms are shaking and my muscles burn from the climb. When I take a seat on the platform, the wind whips around me, fluttering my shirt in the breeze.
I close my eyes and lift my face toward the sky. I feel free up here, lighter and hardly anchored to the town below. After a minute or so, I open my eyes and look out over Crowley, such a neat little package in the middle of farm country.
Up here there are no heartbreaking truths staring me in the face, there is no beautiful man stealing my resolve, there is no threatening mail. It is just me and graffiti confessions scraped into the paint by others who have occupied my refuge. Sawyer is the only other person I know that has been up here, but suddenly I feel a connection with them all, each person who has made this climb. Whether they still live in one of the houses below or they’ve moved on, they each left a little piece of themselves up here.
I call Coach, tell him I’ll be late, and stay up in the water tower for hours. When the sun dips closer to the horizon, I move around to the other side so I get an unobstructed view. The sky fades from its familiar blue down to an intense orange glow. With nothing but fields beyond Crowley, the crops—painted by the setting sun—look like flames. They sway and move beneath the wind, and it looks like the earth is on fire. I smile at the idea of watching it burn.
When I can’t take the growling of my empty stomach anymore, I throw my legs over the edge and climb down the ladder. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I feel heavier, weighed down with all the burdens that couldn’t reach me at the top. But they are my burdens. I square my shoulders and vow to deal with them all tomorrow.
The Haystack is busy for a Thursday night. There are plenty of locals and even a group of kids from Franklin. Sawyer and Angela come in together and join his gang of friends near the back of the bar. She gives me a wave before taking a seat at the group’s table. I return her wave and make my way over. The guys introduce themselves while the other ladies just give forced smiles.
“So, Angie, you and Sawyer bumpin’ uglies yet?” one guy asks from across the table.
“Excuse me?” she says, giving him a completely deserved crazy eye.
“You know. Hidin’ the sausage. The horizontal two-step. Bashing the beaver,” he replies, laughing.
“Are you special?” I blurt. “I don’t mean like gold-star special, I mean one-too-many football-concussions special.” The guy stares, unblinking. “Unless you are a third member of their relationship—which would never be an option until you learn to breathe with your mouth closed—what they are doing with their uglies, sausage, and beaver are none of your damn concern.”
Angela presses her lips together and drops her gaze to the floor. She looks shocked but amused by my outburst.
“Oh, snap!” Sawyer shouts, getting the group’s attention.
Angela laughs as Sawyer puts his hand on her knee. She answers with a nervous smile.
I take their order and deliver their drinks, accepting another generous tip. The rest of my night flies by, and I appreciate how work keeps my mind occupied. Though my problems don’t leave me completely.
As Sawyer tells his buddies good-bye, Angela takes a seat at the bar.
“Hey, are you all right?” she asks.
I spin to look at myself in the mirror behind the bar. “Why? Do I not look all right?”
Angela laughs. “No, Wren. You’re gorgeous, as always. You just seem distracted.”
I lean on the bar across from her. “You have no idea. I feel like I’m stuck in a melodramatic Lifetime movie right now.”
“Small-town life a little more complicated than you remember?”
“You could say that.” I pour myself a glass of water and swallow down half of it.
“Well, if you ever need to talk, I’m around. That is, if you can stand being seen with a band nerd.”
“Hey,” I say, pointing at her. “High school does not define us for the rest of our lives. It’s crazy how we think that time is so important. In the grand scheme of things, those four years were nothing.”
Angela raises her eyebrows, seeming impressed.
“Wow. Check out the wisdom from Miss Hart.”
“I’m definitely not ‘Most Likely to be a Celebrity’ anymore,” I tease. “So, how are things with Sawyer?”
“Didn’t you tell mouth breather earlier to mind his business?”
I laugh and slap the bar. “I sure did. Sorry for asking.”
Angela smiles and gives me a grin. “I’m kidding. It’s still very new, you know? We’re great, Wren. He’s great. I’m great.”
“Sounds great.”
We both chuckle as Sawyer wraps his arms around her from behind. He places a kiss on her cheek, and Angela’s entire face lights up. Her joy and nervous energy remind me of my own infatuation with Preston.
“Good night, Wren,” Angela says as she makes her way toward the door.
“Later.”
“I’ll be there in a second,” Sawyer tells her. Angela nods and leans against the front window, checking her cell phone for something to do.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I checked out that Dylan guy.”
“And?”
“He’s got a pretty long rap sheet, Wren. What the hell were you doing?”
I roll my eyes. “Spare me the lecture. That’s history. Where is he now?”
“Well, as of three days ago, he’s locked up in St. Louis on a drunk and disorderly charge.”
“Good. At least he’s in jail,” I say, exhaling.
“For now,” Sawyer answers, giving me a stern look. “I’ll keep an eye on him and let you know if anything changes. Call me if you need anything. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, snapping off a salute. “Thanks.”
Sawyer gives me a nod before heading out. I can’t help but feel relieved knowing where Dylan is at the moment. That little bit of comfort lets me focus on finishing up my work.
When the place is clean and I’ve collected my tips, I tell Coach good-bye and step outside. Preston stands in his usual spot, leaned against the building, his thick arms crossed over his chest. The sight of him makes my chest ache. I miss him, our conversations, his touch, the way he counts out kisses. But the nagging lie sits on the forefront of my brain, and I can’t let it go.
He greets me with a cautious smile and steps toward me. The grip on my bag tightens, and in this dark, quiet night I’m glad he’s here. I don’t say a word as I step into the parking lot and head for the street.
Preston seems to be okay with walking in silence. He follows behind me, giving me the room he knows I need. My mind is at war, wanting to fight and wanting to keep quiet. His gaze on my back unnerves me until I can’t stand the space between us. I feel my frustration growing and growing.
A block from Vinyl I spin to face him. Preston stops in his tracks. He looks so unsure of himself, eyes downcast, hands tucked deep into his pockets.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“To make sure you get home safely.”
“I don’t need an escort.” My voice is harsher than I intend.
“Bennie told me you got another envelope today.”
I exhale in a huff and prop my hands on my hips. “That doesn’t give you the right to follow me around like some lost puppy. I mean, what are you going to do if Dylan shows up?”
I glare at him, waiting for a response. Preston looks out at the road past me.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
“Would you even be able to touch him?”
My words are harsh, and I instantly want to take them back. Preston’s face is an open book, and the blow I’ve just delivered hit its target beautifully. I stomp into the back alley, through the back door and up the stairs. When I’m in the safety of Bennie’s place, I throw my bag down and take a seat at the kitchen table. The yellow envelope waits for me.
With bitter and regretful tears in my eyes, I rip it open and turn it over, but nothing falls out. Digging into the envelope, I find a photo tucked inside. My body starts to shake as I see Dylan and me at Niagara Falls. The beautiful scenery in the back, our smiling faces up front. Only, he’s taken a pen and scratched my eyes out. Harsh indentations and furious lines of black mark out the top half of my face.
The chair I’m in falls over when I jump up. I throw the photo and envelope in the trash and retreat to my room. Leaning against the closed door, my eyes search the space just to make sure I’m alone. When my sights land on the Niagara Falls snow globe still sitting on my windowsill, I see red. I stomp over to the window and push it open. Picking up the snow globe, I shake it one last time, letting the good memories of our trip try to surface. But they don’t. I pull my arm back and let the souvenir fly. In the darkness, I don’t see where it lands, but am satisfied by the sound of breaking glass.