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Shutter sounds and flashes fill the lawn space around me.
As we all applaud and get caught up in the moment, muse over how many mouths that generous donation will feed, I make a mental note to slip Magnolia some money for my plate. I haven’t paid them yet.
When everything dies down and the Feeding Henry County ladies totter off with their big check, Magnolia thanks everyone again for their participation, this couldn’t have happened without them, and then asks them to stick around after their meals for a ‘big announcement’.
The woman knows how to politic, I’ll give her that.
The second half of my meal is like a tranquilizer dart to the neck. Farrah excused herself to talk to a relative three tables over, and Frank to the left of me is more interested in his food and making odd grunt noises than paying any attention to the underdressed blonde beside him, so I set my napkin on the table and head into the house for a pretend bathroom break.
And to hopefully find another mimosa.
And, honestly, see what Jake is up to during his free time.
The kitchen is less chaotic, and when my bare arms hit the warm inside air it causes a burning sensation, like dipping frozen toes inside bathwater. I took my jacket off halfway through the meal because as the mimosa kicked in and the sun rose, so did the temperature. But it still must have been a lot cooler than I realized. Or maybe it’s hotter in here from all the cooking. Or both.
As I pass the kitchen island, I casually grab another drink from a silver tray and head for the other end of the house. Slowly drift from one room to the next and pay close attention to the pictures. Magnolia has a lot of Ruby and Jake, I notice, but not a whole lot of Harris or Preston. Or the other sister, Rose. I read her obituary last week when doing some research. She died nine years ago, a year and one month, to the day, after Harris’ stroke. A mere twenty-five years young. But it never said how, and I couldn’t find any articles. What remained of her social media accounts had been stripped clean. Drugs? Suicide, maybe? Because she couldn’t live with the guilt?
According to Meaghan, Rose was the one driving that night.
According to the police report, it was Connor, the friend. The friend who had died on impact.
I stop at a picture of Rose and Ruby in the living room. They look about four and fifteen, Ruby being the oldest. A little blond infant is sprawled across a quilt in the background wearing gingham overalls. The corner of my mouth twitches. Jake.
I then wonder if he was closer to Rose. He must have been, since they were closer in age. She would have been twenty-one when the wreck happened. He was seventeen. Maybe she bought them all booze. “Cool older sister,” I whisper to the picture.
Not sure my sister could say the same about me. I’ve always been more of a momma hen.
The sound of Jake’s voice pulls me from my musings and I look down the hallway toward our room. I scan around to see if a barefoot butler is around, but there doesn’t appear to be.
As quietly as I’m able to in these booties, I sneak my way to the closed door and hold my breath as I listen, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
Why am I nervous?
“Thanks, man,” Jake says.
Something in my chest releases when I know it’s not another woman he’s talking to. I allow myself to breathe again.
“Yeah, of course,” he continues. “Thanks for answering my questions. Sorry I couldn’t chat long last night.”
I rack my brain. Last night? The call by the lake, maybe? Connor? Colton.
Colton and Rylee.
I still need to research them.
“Tell Rylee I said hi. And thanks again for connecting us. I haven’t seen her in years.” A pause. “Yeah, sure. Let’s do it. After I finish this season out, I look forward to changing lanes.” A laugh. “Pun intended, I guess.”
My face pinches in confusion. Finish the season out? Well, that’s a tone change. I guess he’s thinking this article won’t affect him to that extent, but those haven’t been the vibes he’s been giving off. Or…
Or maybe he’s confident of something else. Something I’ve already suspected—that he’ll get me to change my mind and have Claudia pull the story.
I run a hand through my hair, a blonde sheet falling over my left eye. Swallow hard against the frustration. Whatever it is, his new, confident attitude has me rattled. Do I want him to lose everything? No. That was never the goal. Do I want Meaghan’s voice to be heard? Of course; it’s part of why I’m doing this. It’s just until now, I wasn’t sure there was a middle ground there. Which should relieve me, I guess—that maybe there’s a scenario I haven’t thought of yet. One that allows for both: Her side of the story to be told and Jake to not simultaneously lose a career he loves…
Then, why doesn’t it?
Probably because he’s also been coming onto me every chance he gets. Because he invited me down here in the first place. Because he insists we sleep in the same bed. And he always seems to forget how to clothe himself.
I roll my eyes, ignoring the ache between my legs and think of what Stephen said. Dick blind.
I’ve been dick blind, and it’s prevented me from seeing things clearly. From truly comprehending what Jake is up to. And something tells me that it doesn’t involve Meaghan’s side of the story being told.
