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“Well, too bad,” I reply, trying to be strong for him. When I took off six years ago, everything dropped on Brady and my father. We were scheduled to help take over the whiskey production as well as the bar, but now it’s all Brady’s. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Sounds good.” I can hear the tiredness in his voice, and the guilt of not helping him just adds to the guilt that lingers in my soul. “Call me with the details.”
“Will do.” I look up when I see Mildred walking into the room with a smile on her face that fades as soon as she takes one look at me. “I love you.” It’s something I’ve done in the last eight years, after that fateful night. I never, ever get off the phone without telling him I love him.
“Love you too,” he replies and disconnects as my hand slowly lowers from my ear to place the phone on the desk. My eyes are on the phone in a trance.
“Hey.” Mildred comes to the side of my chair and squats down beside it. Her white hair is perfectly styled and pulled back at the nape of her neck in a ponytail, which is probably tied with a ribbon. It’s the same style she’s had for the past forty years. Her warm hazel eyes watch me. “What happened?”
“It’s my dad.” The words come out of my mouth in a low tone. She puts her hand on top of mine. “He’s not doing good.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her voice is filled with kindness. She was the first friend I made when I moved here six years ago. I drove through the town and stayed a couple of nights at the local motel, which had the sweetest man running it. I didn’t know where I fit in, but I knew here in the middle of nowhere, no one knew me. No one knew my story. No one looked at me with hatred or anger or pity. I was just Autumn, the new girl in town. One day turned into three, and on the fourth day, while having a piece of pie at the local diner, Mildred walked in. She oozed confidence in skintight jeans and a tight top, and her silver hair made me do a double take. Truth be told, if I had her body at her age, I would probably have been dressed the same. She got on the stool next to me, and we started talking. She ran the local bar in town and was down a server, so I figured, why not? Now, six years later, I help her run it by doing her books and working side by side here on the busy days. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother figure.
“I have to go home.” The thought alone makes me want to throw up. In the past six years, I have never had the pull to go home. Do I think of home every single night right before I go to bed? Yes. Is it a good memory? No. It’s what nightmares are made of. It’s the reason I’m breathing through life and not actually living. In reality, I died eight years ago. My heart is the only thing that didn’t stop that night. Everything else did.
“Time to face those demons.” My eyes fly back to hers. Even though we are close, she has no idea about the accident, and I wasn’t going to tell her. To her, I was just Autumn, the lost girl who wandered into this small town and stayed. She loved me for who I was, the Autumn who smiles because she has to. The Autumn who laughs and then feels the immense guilt that I’m laughing. The Autumn who wakes every single morning with a burning hole in her stomach and wondering when her heart is going to put her out of her misery. “I knew you were running from something. You are a shell of a person.” She squeezes my hand. “Stop running.” She gives me a sad smile. “Trust me, I ran and wish I hadn’t.” I knew she held secrets; she knew I held secrets. I think that’s why we bonded. We both hold those secrets so close to our hearts that no one is ever going to be let in.
“I’m coming back,” I tell her, “so don’t think you're replacing me.” This is my home now, the only home I want.
“I could never replace you.” She gets up and kisses the side of my head that eight years ago was laced with twenty-seven stitches. It was the least of my injuries.
I inhale deeply, looking down at the papers in front of me. “I’ll finish this and then make my arrangements,” I inform her, and she shakes her head.
“No, you won’t.” She grabs the papers from the desk. “You will go upstairs, pack your shit, and go to your father.” I tilt my head to the side.
“Being mean isn’t you.” I try not to laugh at her, but I can’t help it as she glares.
“Do you want me to get the bat?” She mentions the baseball bat she keeps behind the bar in case someone acts up, and she has to stand up for herself. It’s hard being a bar owner who is also a woman. She makes sure that everyone knows not to fuck with her.
“Fine, I’m going.” I get up out of the chair. “When I come back, I’m bringing a cushion for that chair.”
“Hmm.” She shakes her head. “If I take you back.”
I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh, clapping my hands. “You love me.”
“Love is a strong word, my girl.” She softens when she says my girl. “Now get out of here and go to your father.” Her eyes fill with tears. “You call me if you need me, and I’ll come.”
“He’ll be pissed as hell if you show up,” I tell her. “He wants you to think he’s macho.”
Now it’s Mildred’s turn to laugh. “He’s about as macho as it comes.” She shakes her head. Over the years, he’s come to visit me, and he and Mildred would always be trying to best each other. Even down to drinking, which he would win because he had a hundred pounds on her.
I walk out of the office, opening the side door to head to the wooden staircase that leads to my studio apartment above the bar. I let myself in, going to the bed and sitting on it. “You can do this,” I tell myself. “You have no choice.” My legs move up and down as I have a one-sided conversation. “Get up and go.” I put my hands on the side of the bed and stand. “I have to do this.”
Twelve hours later, I’m driving past the town sign, the dread rearing up so hard and fast my hands grip the steering wheel. My heart speeds up to an abnormal pace, and I feel like I’ve just completed a marathon. My chest rises and falls as I try to swallow down the bile that is rising. I take a deep inhale and puff out, then breathe through my mouth, the radio playing so softly that my breathing drowns it out.
The darkness is almost too much to bear as I drive down the road where the trees look like they hide the monsters inside them. I should have stopped five hours ago and continued my journey tomorrow, but I thought it would be okay. It’s not. I never, ever drive at night anymore. It’s why I live upstairs from the bar where I work. The memories are just too vivid, the panic attack that rails from it too strong to take. The last time this happened, I pulled over and slept on the side of the road. From that day on, I drove when it was daylight and only daylight. Sometimes when it started to get dark, it was okay, but as soon as nighttime would hit, I was not driving.
I’m so in my thoughts that I don’t even notice I’m driving down the road I never wanted to be on again. I’m so in my thoughts I don’t notice the tears running down my face. I’m so in my thoughts that I don’t even notice I’m at the accident site.
I stop the car on the side of the road where my life changed. Putting the car in park, I look across the road at the tree that stopped the truck from going even farther into the forest. My hand shakes as I open the door and put one foot out and then the other. I take three steps onto the road and look around. The memories of that night come rushing back, and I see where the other vehicles were. I feel like the road is spinning under my feet, or maybe I’m moving my feet in a circle, as if I’m watching it replay again in my head.
My feet move toward the tree, the night silent, without even a cricket making noise. It’s like the world stands still as I step from the road to the grass, getting close enough to see the white wooden cross planted right next to the tree. A green wreath hangs around it. I put my hand to my mouth, thinking that I’m going to be sick. I close my eyes at the same time I hear the sound of twigs breaking. My head flies to the side, and I see him come out of the darkness. “What the fuck are you doing here?” The venom in his voice cuts my breath off again. I take a second to look at him. Eight years changed us all, but Charlie looks almost the same, except for his haunted eyes. His frame is bigger, as if he’s been working out, and the scruff on his face makes him look more rugged.
There is no mistake; Charlie Barnes holds me accountable for what happened that night. Little does he know, he’s not the only one. “Hello, Charlie.”
Chapter Five
Charlie
