“What does his Hollywood debut have to do with anything?” I force out, despite the tremor in my voice.
“Because it meant he would now be in the spotlight,” LeAnne says. “He was worried I would speak to the press and sell them the story of how the heartthrob that is Everett Harding once cheated on his faithful, hardworking fiancée. No one likes a cheater, do they? Such negativity. Imagine. . .” She relaxes back against her seat again, and for the first time tonight, her energy shifts from offense to defeat, mixed in with a tinge of sadness. “Your parents tried to pay me off, Mila. A man by the name of Ruben Fisher wanted to send me a big fat check in exchange for a non-disclosure agreement. Naturally, I have more dignity than that, and for the sake of my own career I have no intention of making my history with Everett Harding public.”
“This isn’t. . .” I shake my head fast and rub my eyes, hoping that when I open them again I’ll be anywhere else but here. “I can’t make sense of anything you’re saying.”
“I think you can. Mila, I’m not telling you this to upset you. I’m telling you this because it’s the kind of backstory that means our families really shouldn’t mix, and I’m sure your parents would agree with me,” LeAnne says softly. She pushes a button, and the passenger door opens, signaling that it’s time for me to get out. Then, gripping the wheel, eyes set firmly on the road ahead, never quite looking at me again, she adds, “I hope for everyone’s sake, Mila, that you’ll get to go home soon.”
And I step out of the car, defeated.
19
We don’t go to church that Sunday morning.
Popeye is tired, so Sheri decides it’s best if the three of us stay home today. She doesn’t realize how much of a relief this is – I don’t think I could face the Averys so soon after last night’s bombshell revelation.
It’s mid-afternoon and I’m back in my room after washing the dishes after lunch, sprawled out on my bed, and staring blankly at the ceiling. My phone is turned off and shut away in a drawer. The whir of the rotating fan on my wall is oddly soothing as the cool air brushes over my skin every five seconds. I don’t have the energy to move. Even justthinkingfeels like too much effort. It feels as though I’m carrying the weight of a thousand bricks inside my head.
All my life, I thought my parents connected naturally at school and fell in love in that perfect, old-fashioned sort of way. But how could LeAnne know that my parents met at Belmont if what she told me wasn’t true? How could she know Ruben’s name?
Well, all that information canbe easily found on the internet, I tell myself. But yet, I know somewhere deep within me, in that same part of me where I hold on to the resentment of feeling second-best to Dad’s career, that LeAnne’s words aren’t vicious lies.
I feel shaken to the core by the idea of Dad cheating on someone, not even on an early girlfriend, but on hisfiancée,and that Mom was complicit. And then Dad was so worried about his career, about the consequences of what he’d done, that he attempted to buy LeAnne’s silence, even though she didn’t need any convincing to be quiet. If the past month has taught me anything, it’s that there are seemingly no limits to the lengths to which Dad will go to remain adored by Hollywood – and squeaky clean in the eyes of the public.
“Mila?” Sheri says, knocking on my door and then pushing it open anyway.
“What?” I say without bothering to tear my eyes from the ceiling.
I don’t mean to be abrupt or cold with Sheri and Popeye, but today I can’t help it. It’s obvious they know the truth – how could they not? – that’s why Sheri was clearly uncomfortable and encouraged me to speak to my parents, not her, about LeAnne Avery. I don’t want to tell them that it was, in fact, LeAnne herself who told me the truth as to why us Hardings and the Averys can’t be friends. If I discuss this with Sheri. . . It would be like I’m admitting that I believe LeAnne’s story. Admitting that my parents have lied to me about how they met. And admitting that I honestly don’t know who Dad is anymore.
“You have a visitor,” says Sheri, flipping a dish towel over her shoulder and folding her arms. She leans back against the door frame with a sigh. “Blake buzzed the gate. I let him in.”
“You did?” I pull myself upright and blink at her in surprise. “Why? I thought you told me you didn’t think it was a good idea for Blake and me to hang out together.”
“Well, it’snota good idea,” she says, and then she smiles in her usual soft, warm way that lets me know she’s on my side. “But I’m not going to stop you from seeing a boy you like.”
I rise from my bed and slip on a pair of flip flops, then brush past Sheri with an embarrassed grin. And as I run downstairs, I realize that for the first time I didn’t argue the point of Blake being a boy who I like.
Outside in the blistering heat, he waits.
The gate is shut again, but Blake’s truck is parked next to Sheri’s van, and at the foot of the porch steps Blake stands with Bailey’s leash wrapped tightly around one hand and the other slid into the pocket of his shorts. Bailey sits on his haunches, tail wagging and tongue hanging out. The sight of the two of them immediately eases the tightness I’ve felt in my chest since last night. They areso cute.
“You weren’t at church, and you weren’t replying to my texts,” Blake says as I skip down the porch steps to meet them. “I got worried. I thought. . .”
I kneel down to rake my hands through Bailey’s fur. “You thought. . .?”
“I thought you packed up and went home,” Blake says, looking down. He’s changed from his church slacks to a Tennessee Titans jersey, and he fiddles anxiously with the hem. “After what my mom told you.”
Oh.He knows.
I mean, he alreadyknewabout his mom’s history with my dad. But I didn’t expect him to know that LeAnne told me the truth last night. It’s a relief, I guess. It saves me the discomfort of having to tell him what happened.
Still, I have no idea what to say in response. I just stare into Bailey’s huge glossy eyes and continue scratching behind his ears in silence. My face burns.
“How about a walk?” Blake suggests after a minute.
I hesitantly nod. After our kiss last night, I should be thrilled to see Blake again. We should be giddy and shy, but LeAnne’s revelations have ruined everything. How am I supposed to feel excited and flirty around Blake when I feel like my head might just combust from the pressure that’s mounting inside it? This isn’t how the morning after is supposed to be.
I straighten up and follow Blake back to the gate where I let us out. We head out onto the empty country roads together, the two of us side-by-side, while Bailey tugs on the leash to sniff at the grass overgrowing from the surrounding fields. Our steps are slow, and neither of us says anything for the first few minutes. We just stare ahead, squinting into the sunlight and mulling over the different thoughts inside our heads.
