Unstable (11 page)

THE NEXT MORNING, I
wake on the couch with the sun blazing in my eyes, which I’m almost used to now, and a huge question burning in my mind so fiercely it eliminates room for any other thoughts.

I almost think myself deranged, my curiosity morbid, but I want to hear Gatlin’s account of that night too.

I want every possible,
bothersome blank filled with an answer. I can’t explain it, but I need as much closure as I can get.

Per my new usual, I shower, change, and grab a banana for myself and several slices of lunch meat for Bourbon, since I still haven’t spotted his bowl or figured out where the dog food’s kept, and head outside.

And there he sits, tail wagging in greeting.

“Here ya go, boy. I’ll go buy you some bowls and food today, I promise.”

He gobbles up the turkey so fast my heart aches with fault, so I immediately go back inside and grab my keys. The mere thought of venturing into town, especially having just seen everyone at the funeral, turns my stomach. But Bourbon’s is empty…and that’s motivation enough for me to suck it up, because my faithful dog deserves better than a cowardly owner that lets him starve.

“You wanna go with me?” I
ask
Bourbon, but out of nowhere, it’s Gatlin who answers me.

“Nah, I’ve got work to do,” he walks up the middle of the driveway, waving his arms as previously promised, wearing an easy smile. “How you feeling today, after everything? Noticed you got in kinda late.”

I open my truck door and move aside as Bourbon jumps in. “Yeah, I fell asleep at the gravesite. Never thought
that’d
be something I’d say.” I shake my head with a pained laugh. “Then I got caught up visiting with someone I used to know, who came looking for me.” I lift both brows for emphasis, and to hopefully add the unsaid—“unlike you.”

I don’t necessarily think Gatlin owes me anything, especially babysitting my every move, but you know the saying “dance with the one who brought ya?” I’m pretty sure that applies to funerals as well—
find the one you went with and…is now missing.

If I stay and we’re going to work together, there has to be at least a modicum of trust…as close as I can get to that anyway. Leaving me to sleep in a cemetery doesn’t bode well for building that.

He hears what I don’t say and his expression falls, a wounded shadow moving over his face. “I came back, Henley. I gave you the time you asked for, then started to worry when it seemed like too much time, and came back. You were gone. Where’d you go? ‘Cause I didn’t spot you anywhere in town. And believe me, I looked everywhere.”

So he
did
go looking for me. For a brief second, I think maybe I can’t fault him for not panicking, or say, maybe calling in a missing person’s report…‘cause I have been known to up and disappear from town.
But not since he’s known me.
So while I feel marginally better about this particular issue, it still stings a bit.

“I already told you, I was visiting with an old…acquaintance. He was telling me about the night my mom died, how he was there, tried to save her.”

I let my silence do the rest of my talking for me, waiting for him to volunteer information to explain away any lingering questions wringing tightly around my heart and stomach.
Did he see exactly what happened to her?

When he dips his head and says nothing, I’m forced to ask. “Will you tell me about it, Gatlin?”

“Why?” His head shoots up, agonized confusion in his tawny eyes. “You just said you already know.”

“Everyone takes in a different view of a scene. I…I just need to know everything I can.”

His exhale is heavy, as is the sag to his shoulders. “I guess I can understand that. I…I searched through the darkness, like everyone else, but…I didn’t stay as long as them. That, I shamefully admit. Once I saw my dad, watched them pull his body out, I just…” his heavy lament is too mournful and ashamed to be called a sigh, “couldn’t. I waited a while, on my knees, praying someone would yell out that they’d found your mom, alive.” All the color drains from his face and his voice cracks, “But every minute that passed by and that didn’t happen, and my father’s body laid there on the bank…I broke. Is that what you want to hear? I broke, Henley! I ran home, threw up, and cried like a baby ‘til I couldn’t cry anymore.”

His pain, remorse, is as familiar to me as it is acute, and I suddenly feel like the ass I am, making him relive it.

“Gatlin,” I mumble, unable to look him in the eyes, “I’m sorry I asked. I can’t imagine what that was like for you. And I
wasn’t
there,
haven’t been here
, so I’m certainly not judging you. I have no right to judge anyone. You didn’t do anything wrong, and you have nothing to be ashamed of.” I think it’s important he hears that. I just hope he listens, and
believes
it…something I spent far too long not doing.

“They…didn’t tell me they were going out there. Just left from the main house.” His head drops again and shakes from side to side. “Dad knows I’d have gone to help him, not your Mom, not out in a storm. They didn’t tell me.”

I take tentative steps toward him and, very unusual for me, slowly lift my hand to place a gentle touch on his arm.
The hands of the hurt attempt to heal.

“He just laid there, rain pelting down on his lifeless body. I know they were busy, but they didn’t even cover him up. And I couldn’t get across the river!” He tucks his chin further into his chest so I won’t see the tears I have no doubt accompany his sob-wracked voice. “To close his eyes, his mouth. To give him some dignity. It was awful.”

I feel her—the girl I once was—gradually clawing her way up from the deepest pits inside me where I’d long ago shut her away, and gaining ground, trying desperately to break free of her confines. And she cries…right in front of Gatlin, unashamed.

Tears for him. His dad. My mom. Tears for me.

When I have nothing left and gather myself, taking deep breaths in and out as I wipe my eyes, he speaks softly.

“It’s gonna be okay, Henley.
We’re
gonna be okay, both of us.”

“How do you know that?” I don’t believe him for a second.

“Because, it’s the only option. Life is fickle, ya know? It’s already short, and for some,” he swallows hard, “it’s taken from them way too early. The longer we waste the time we were given, that they were robbed of, it’s like we’re dishonoring them. Slapping them in the face with the fact we’ve been spared, sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves when we could be out doing all the things they wished they could still do.”

I absorb his words, trying to embrace them as my own, but anger still takes the forefront. I’m so fucking sick of people leaving me, but honestly, I left too. I left myself. And long before my mom did. She never gave up on me, that’s all on me. I just threw her away, the real Henley Calvert. I have to at least try to rectify that, because Gatlin’s right, there
has
to be reason I was the one chosen to be left standing. I need to figure out what that reason is, my ultimate purpose, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle the answer.

“Write the ending, Henley,” he murmurs.

All those damn therapists owe Gatlin Holt every dime they were ever paid, ‘cause he may just be making a dent in my armor.

THE TRIP TO THE
grocery store isn’t as bad as I was expecting, and I’ve got everything I need in the cart, heading for the finish line…when I crash.

My cart—straight into Merrick’s.

I manage to cut short my brittle laugh and ask, “What are you doing here?”

It’s an unexpected sight, Merrick, the fancy lawyer, strolling through the Buy-n-Bag in a business suit and tie, buying…

I look in his cart and see microwave dinners, all the makings for sandwiches, coffee, cereal and milk.
Guess he and Krista don’t live together?
What a shame.

“I’m shopping, same as you, Henley.” He juts out his chin and uses his “holier than thou” voice, which only pleases me further…because I easily recognize his enunciation as a veil for embarrassment.

“Oh, I can see that. I just figured you’d have Krista, or your all too happy to accommodate secretary do such mundane tasks for you.”

“Well you figured wrong. I’m glad to see you out and about though.” He smiles, genuine and warm. “Filling the cupboards, huh?” He glances in my cart. “Does this mean you’re staying?”

I shrug, not bothering with putting up a front. “For a while I guess. Still gotta eat until I decide for good though.”

“I…uh…” he shuffles his weight, muttering toward the ground, “moved some things around, so your bank note’s been paid this month. Gives you some time to think about things.”

I scramble for a response, beyond stunned. And frankly, I’m shocked at what falls from my mouth. “Thank you, Merrick. I appreciate that.”

“You do?” he blurts out, caught just as off-guard as me.

“Yeah, I do.” He basically just shuffled my money, but still, he didn’t have to do that. That warrants a “thank you.”

He grins. “Um, you’re…very welcome, Henley.” Something old, nostalgic, flits across his face before we both quickly look away, him clearing his throat. “Okay then, guess I better get going. But you take care, and let me know if you need anything, or what you decide. You still have a ton of papers to sign, but only when you’re sure, and ready.”

I nod, maneuvering my cart around his.

“Oh, and if you want to sell any of the horses, Mr. Parnell asked that I pass along his interest.”

Shit, the horses!
“I have to go! I’ll be in touch,” I call over my shoulder as I rush to the check-out.

I’d apparently put any horses out of mind, so obviously I haven’t dared go near, let alone enter, the horse barn. And seeing as how I still can’t even sleep upstairs, there’s probably no way in hell I’m going to be able to handle this…but they have to eat. And sell
some
? How many are there?

My foot’s tapping out a nervous rhythm as the check-out girl, still wet behind the ears, scans my groceries at the speed of
reverse
…but I force my impatient smile to remain in place.

Poor horses, they’re probably starving. I can only pray they’ve been turned out.

But I don’t know for sure. And I should.

I have
got
to either pull it together or pull out the white flag.

AFTER SPEEDING ALL THE
way to and through the feed store, not taking any chances on the supply, or lack thereof, of salt and grain at the house, I continue to mash the pedal to the floor ‘til I’m home.

Home.
The thought producing itself, and feeling “acceptable” this time.

I skid sideways into the driveway and Bourbon gives me a disapproving growl as he’s jostled all over the seat.

I drop him off at the main house, getting him set up with full bowls of cold water and food, then jump back in my truck and head for the horse barn.

But just as quickly as I’d hustled to see to the horses, I freeze outside the double doors.

It’s silly of me, this paralyzing fear brought on by the ghosts of many years past. Whiskey isn’t in there, neither is she…but the memories and images flashing through my mind of both are assailing me, as though it all happened yesterday, without having taken so much as a step inside.