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“I’m really glad you’re back,” she says, hushed. “He hasn’t been the same since you left.”
“That’s what Cash said the other night too …”
“I think it really took a toll on him—losing his daddy and you being so far away and breaking things off. In some ways, it’s like we really lost him after that.” She toys with the silver and turquoise cross pendant on her neck, staring into the distance.
“Renata, you know he stopped talking to me, right?” I ask.
Her thin brows knit. “I don’t understand.”
“Yeah. One day we were talking and counting down the days until Thanksgiving break, and the next day, none of my calls would go through. I waited … and waited … thinking I’d hear from him eventually. I even had my dad try to call him, but my dad said his call wouldn’t go through either.” I’ve replayed that period of my life in my head a million times since then, wondering what I could’ve done differently to get a hold of him. I even thought about asking my dad to go to his door and tell him in person to call me—but if that truly was Wyatt’s way of breaking things off, I didn’t want to look crazy or desperate. And no one wants their dad meddling in their love life anyway.
Renata’s lips purse together. “He told me the two of you ended things so you could focus on your studies … I was under the impression that it was mutual.”
Crossing my arms, I say, “I don’t know why he would’ve lied about that.”
“Me either.” She drags in a ragged breath, and I find comfort in the fact that I’m not the only one completely stumped by all of this.
“He said he never moved on. Is that true?”
Renata shakes her head. “Not to my knowledge. He’s yet to bring a girl home. Had myself wondering for a while if he was possibly playing for the other team, if you catch my drift. But my gut tells me no.”
I hadn’t considered that given how vigorous our sex life was and the way the littlest things I did (a tender kiss behind the ear, a teasing show of cleavage, the trace of my fingertip along his arm) would make him rock hard—but literally anything is possible at this point.
“You’re coming back tomorrow, yes?” she asks.
“That’s the plan.”
“Good,” she says, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Whatever you do, just don’t give up on him.”
“Renata, I’m not trying to rekindle anything … I just want to know why he ghosted me.”
Her mouth forms a flat line. “I understand.”
Without hesitation, she wraps me in a tight hug.
“Maybe someday,” she says, ever the hopeful spirit.
I won’t hold my breath.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I say when she lets me go.
Standing back, she watches me leave, kissing her fingertips before waving from my rearview mirror.
Maybe someday …
But probably never.
14
Wyatt
* * *
I wait for Blaire to leave before heading outside, and I take the back door to avoid Mama. Blaire’s only been back in town for a handful of days, but judging by Mama’s newfound enthusiasm, her hopes are high that we’ll be picking up where we left off.
I don’t want to disappoint her.
Also don’t want to answer any questions.
She still thinks Oliver Abbott is a saint. Telling her the truth would shatter her world in more ways than one. Knowing her, she’d march up to his office and tell him off in two seconds flat. There’d be no talking her out of it. And in the end, she’d still lose the farm because that’s the kind of evil son of a bitch he is.
I’ve seen the way he looks at my mother when we run into him in town. He’s still in love with her, but in a vengeful sort of way. I don’t get the sense he intends to leave Odette and start anew with his old flame—I believe he only stepped in and did what he did to keep me from his daughter … and to pour salt in my mama’s wound by reminding her she chose the wrong man.
If she would’ve chosen Oliver, she wouldn’t be a widow, she wouldn’t be working herself to the bone, and she sure wouldn’t be counting mason jars full of quarters when it was time to refill the propane tank.
Mama’s never expressed any regret over choosing my father over Oliver—not out loud at least. To her it’s akin to saying she regrets having her children, and she would never utter those words in a million years.
I manage to make it to my truck without being seen. I throw the lunches on the passenger seat next to the coveralls Blaire wore all morning, and I head out to the field to bring the guys their lunch.
A trace of her perfume lingers in the cab.
