“Well,youdokindawork too hard,” I mentioned lightly. Mama and her best friend, Connie, ran abeauty salon together in downtown Red Ridge five days a week. When they weren’tworking, Mama was at home, cleaning the house or baking something. The womandidn’t know how to slow down and take a deep breath. That’s where I came in, toforce her to come out with me a couple of times a week and enjoy herself. “Butyeah. Just you and me.”
Mamagrinned from ear to ear. “Well, let me just get my—oh, damn.” Her face droppedwith sudden clarity as she turned from me and hurried to the kitchen. “I forgotmy cookies, baby. Hold on a minute.”
“Ofcourse, there’s cookies,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“What’dyou say?”
“Oh,nothin’, Mama.” I laughed lightly as I moseyed inafter her. “Can I do anything to help?”
“Oh,shoot.” She ignored my question and stopped her bustling, scanning the kitchenwith wandering eyes. “My Tupperware. You know the big, flat one?”
“Yep.”
“Ijust remembered I left it at Connie’s last night.” She shook her head. “I tooksome of my butterscotch chip cookies over and told her I’d pick up theTupperware today. Then, I went and forgot beforebakin’a fresh batch.” A hand laid over the top of her head as she sighed disappointedly.Mama had a habit of making herself feel like a failure for the silliest things,and I saw the self-degradation in her eyes as she turned to me. “Baby, wouldyou mindgoin’ andpickin’it up for me?”
Mystomach knotted instantly. “From Connie’s?”
“That’swhat I said, yeah.”
Theexcuses of why I couldn’t go over there came barreling forward through my mind.Yet, the only one I settled on was, “Mama, it’s a couple houses down. You can’tgo over there yourself?”
Shecocked her head and dropped both hands to her hips. “I have to get changed,pull these cookies out of the oven, and at the very least, dosomethin’with this hair of mine before I can goout to lunch. So, if you want me to go, I’d really appreciate you just walkingover there to grab it for me, okay?”
“Mama,your hair is fine,” I insisted weakly.
“Irepresent a salon, Molly! I can’t go outlookin’ likeI’ve beencleanin’ all dang day!”
Ichewed my bottom lip. “Maybe I can ask Hank—”
“Molly.”Mama’s flat, business tone shocked me into standing straight and nodding.
“Yes,ma’am,” I uttered begrudgingly, standing up from the table. I swallowed thenagging anxiety as I shuffled my way back toward the door and onto the porch,where I found Hank snoozing noisily, swaying gently in the old rocker.
Itook a moment to gather my bearings. It’d been years since I’d had a reason togo to Connie’s house. I saw her regularly enough—she and Mama worked together,after all—but it wasn’t her I was nervous about seeing.
Itwas her son.
Iremembered Chad Wilcox the way you remember an old favorite blanket—fondly,until you linger on the memory for too long, then all that’s left is sadness,relentless longing, and the question of what the hell had happened. Becausesometimes, you lose that favorite blanket. And sometimes, you lose your bestfriend.
Westill saw each other from time to time, life helped with that enough. And forthe most part, we’d never purposely avoided each other. But ever since highschool, we had become ships in the night, separated by our social circles, orlack thereof. Andlater on, life did its part inkeeping us separated. We had gone to different colleges, and after graduation,I moved out of town and he joined a successful band. The distance anddifferences between us grew until, sooner or later, we became nothing more thanfamiliar strangers, connected only through our mothers and the rare socialmedia post.
Still,I couldn’t help missing him at times, and the very awful reality that he mightnot miss me, made me feel a little sick to my stomach.
Isucked in a breath of air and headed down the porch steps with determination tojust go over there and get it over with. I was an adult, dammit. If I looked athim and didn’t see the same nostalgicsadnessI feltreflected back, then so what? And Hell, I might not even see him at all. I knewhe lived there still, but the guy did have a life. So, bearing that in mind, Ibrought myself to a place of security and marched my way to Connie’s place,until I turned to walk up the long driveway and was stopped in my tracks.
Thesculpted definition in his back was plain as day. The bunching and stretching ofmuscle worked alongside his spine, bringing to life the tattoos covering nearlyevery inch of his visible torso. I could’ve spent all day marveling at theartwork etched into his skin, but what struck me deeper, more with concern thanawe, was how thin he’d become. I wouldn’t have described him as gaunt, but itworried me that I could make out every line of his ribs and every bump alonghis spine, as he hunched over and pushed the mower.
Chadhad always been an athletic guy. He’d always been fit and strong, and hecertainly appeared to be still. But I wondered about the weight loss, if it’dbeen on purpose or it’d been caused by something else.
Thethought of it being something else tightened the knots in my gut.
Witha turn of the mower, he was suddenly facing me. His chest appeared as though itwere etched from stone, and the titanium piercing through his nipples caughtthe sunlight, attracting my gaze like moths to a flame. I found myself gapinglike a damn fool. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him without ashirt on—certainly not within the past decade—but I knew for a fact he hadn’tlooked likethisthen.
BeforeI had a chance to compose myself, the mower had stopped and his arms weredraped over the handlebar, while his blue eyes squinted beneath the bill of hisold, black Rangers hat.
“CanI dosomethin’ forya?” hecalled to me, and at the sound of his deep, graveled voice, I was pulled frommy stupefied trance.
“O-oh,yeah. Sorry.” I nodded and stepped forward. Closer. “Mama wanted me to—”
