Don't Let Go (10 page)

I watched her with her old, wrinkled, heavily veined hands placing each piece in carefully. Her nails were still painted perfectly every time I saw her, hair always smooth and tidy. Even in the days surrounding my mother’s passing, she always looked her best, sitting at her daughter’s bedside day and night in full dress and makeup until the advanced cancer took her from us. So much like my mother in those little ways, and a complete opposite in others.

“What do you think Mom would say if she were still here?” I asked.

She didn’t look up, just finished her task. “She’d probably disagree with me,” she said softly. “But she always did have her own mind. Would swear the sky was green just to argue with me.”

“You miss those arguments, don’t you?”

Nana Mae met my eyes with a little wink before she looked away, but I saw the glimmer of emotion first. “Every day.”

• • •

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Harley lay curled in a half circle next to my chair as I got ready, her head resting on the bath towel I’d discarded. Her little eyebrows kept alternating up and down as she looked imploringly at me, devastated that I was leaving her alone on a Friday night. After all, I was always the steady one, the home body. It was usually she and I watching Lifetime movies on the couch on Friday nights, while Becca either went out with friends or had them over.

Now, as I sat putting on my makeup with a sulky dog at my feet, I recalled my nights out at her age and took a fearful breath. Not the time to think of those things. I knew what I was doing at seventeen, and it frequently involved steaming up the windows of Noah’s car. But I couldn’t put my indiscretions on Becca. My
questionables
.

She’d had boyfriends, but nothing that lasted long enough to get gropy to my knowledge. And most of her outings were with groups, so I always felt a little safer with that.

How could I tell her what I’d done at her age and ever expect any semblance of respect on that subject.

My cell buzzed on the dresser and I snatched it up to see Becca’s name.

Checking in, Sarge.

Cute.

Ha ha,
I texted back.

Then a picture text came in showing her in a royal blue strapless body-snug dress that fit her like a dream—if she were twenty-two and lived in New York City.

At the mall. Wnt this dress 4 prom. It’s on sale rt now.

I decided to put the phone down. Prom was still four months away, and I wasn’t about to get in an argument of wills over a hoochie dress I’d never buy at any price.

I finished up the last attempts at making my wavy mess look cool, pulling back the heavy sides so that soft pieces fell around my face. I sighed, remembering Shayna’s careless perfection, and wished I could be that fortunate.

Disgusted, I went to stare at my clothes. A dress? Jeans? I knew Ruthie would have some version of black going on. I could do the same and we’d blend together like Twinkies or I could be bold and go for color. I remembered the hot red dress Shayna had on the day they arrived, but I didn’t have anything that good.

And then I slammed my closet door, making Harley jump to her feet and look at me for her next move.

Damn it, I needed to stop! Here I was trying to live up to a woman more than ten years younger than me who I didn’t even know, just because she was with a man I no longer had.

“This is crazy,” I said to Harley, who wagged her tail uncertainly, not sure if we were going to war or if Mom just had a loony moment. “This is going out to eat with Aunt Ruthie, it doesn’t matter.” She took a step toward me and I scratched her soft head.

I pulled a pair of dark jeans from a drawer, a black tank top, and a red—yes, red—gauzy see-through long-sleeved blouse. Kinda sexy without being overtly so. I wasn’t looking to pick up anybody or find myself another Patrick. One was quite enough.

I grabbed my body spray and spritzed myself once and Harley twice. She didn’t see the humor in it and promptly ran downstairs. I zipped up my black low-heeled boots and took one last look in the mirror.

When you are really young, you think of the mid-forties as so ancient, and that of course all of life’s plans for you have long fallen into place. I twisted to see my backside and then back around to pose and pretend walking.

Okay, maybe I didn’t look ancient, thanks to good genes and hair color, but where were those life plans? Was I somewhere else when they were falling?

“Okay, Harley-bear,” I said when I made it downstairs to the door. “Stand guard.”

Which clearly meant something different in her language, because she jumped on the couch and wrapped her body around two pillows.

I was kind of envious of her evening.

• • •

The Grille parking lot was pretty packed when we got to the other side of Katyville. We were either at the happening place or all the other restaurants were closed. Circling around to the back, we managed to snag a parking spot. Music emanated from the walls as we approached the screened-in patio, a section clearly being avoided due to the cold.

“I can’t wait to get some jalapeño poppers,” Ruthie said as she swung one of the front doors open and the full volume of the music thumped into us.

“I just want a margarita,” I said.

“We can do that, too.”

The tables were mostly full, both high-stooled and regular, but the hostess wound us through them, past a large table of laughing women, to a small high table on the other side of the dance floor.

“This’ll work,” Ruthie said, settling herself on her stool. “Good view. Now, let’s get something greasy and some alcohol to wash it down with.”

She looked adorable, as usual. Her straight dark hair was pulled to one side and fastened so that it rested prettily over her shoulder. She wore black opaque tights with a fitted black tunic dress over them, and knee-high boots similar to mine. I knew it would be black. I hadn’t seen her in color in probably fifteen years.

“What’s Frank doing tonight?” I asked when our drinks came.

“Watching zombie movies,” she said, licking the salt from the rim of her glass. “He saves those up for when I’m gone because I won’t watch them with him.”

We ordered food and I watched the dance floor, trying to remember the last time I’d been dancing. When Hayden and I were married? Possibly. I know we used to tear up a two-step when we were dating, and probably did later too, but it was too far back to remember. I knew for a fact that I hadn’t danced with anyone I’d dated since.

“Good God,” I said. “I just realized I’m old.”

“Just now?” Ruthie said, snickering over her drink. “I realize that every morning as I groan my way out of bed. Now, if I were independently wealthy or owned my own business so I could maybe or maybe not go into work—maybe I wouldn’t have to groan so much.”

“Is that a dig?”

“No!” she said with a wink. “I’m just saying. I dream big.”

“What kind of business do you want to start?” I asked.

She waved a hand. “Oh, I have no idea, it’s just something Frank and I have always talked about. We have the money, but the right opportunity just hasn’t come bouncing along.”

“Well, you’d be excellent at whatever you bounce into,” I said.

“Why, thank you,” she said with a little mock bow. “So have you sent in your sale ad for the carnival flyer?”

I narrowed my eyes at her, wishing I had lasers to go with them. “Seriously? That’s what we’re starting with?”

She set her drink down and held out her hands. “What, it’s a valid question! One I get asked at least twice a day. I’m only asking you once.”

“You know what?” I said. “You take it on this year.”

“It was due today.”

“And if I know you, you already have something cooked up and designed on the computer,” I said.

She shrugged. “Just in my head.”

“Well, knock yourself out,” I said, sipping my margarita. “I pass the sales genius to you.”

She laughed. “You’re such a procrastinator.”

“I’m totally not,” I said, frowning. “I just—”

“Hate this festival,” she finished.

“No,” I said defensively. “I don’t hate it. It’s perfectly fine—and yeah, I’m lying, I hate it.” I laughed, holding up my glass.

“It’s okay,” she said, some of the snark leaving her expression. She looked at me lovingly. “I understand why you hate it. But you could just have fun with it like everyone else,” she said.

“It’s a fake snow parade in Texas, Ruthie. When’s the last time you saw snow?” I leaned my elbows on the table. “I can tell you all three times for me. Kindergarten, senior year, and five years ago when Becca was twelve and the school let them out to play behind the gym.”

“Exactly,” Ruthie said. “It’s rare, and therefore fun to be corny with it.” She leaned forward. “Be corny with it.”

I rubbed my temples. “I can’t.”

“That’s because the senior year instance was—”

“Ladies,” said a male voice from behind me, cutting Ruthie off and making me jump in my seat. I swiveled to see Patrick smiling down at me and Ruthie smiling up at him.

“Hello,” she said, tilting her head in amusement and darting a glance my way.

“Oh, crap, Ruthie—you haven’t met Patrick, have you?” I said, startled as I realized that. She wasn’t at the store the one time he’d come by.

“No, ma’am, I haven’t,” she said, widening her eyes with a holy-shit look. “I’ve heard the name, heard the stories—”

“Ooh, I have stories?” Patrick asked, managing to look completely wicked.

“Oh, most definitely,” Ruthie said, absently stirring her drink with her straw. “The—motorcycle trip alone was worth the time.”

Patrick laughed, a deep sound that had my senses stirring. A nice feeling, but I wasn’t there for that. I was out with Ruthie, for a girls’ night, not trolling for sex.

“So, you,” I said, attempting sultry. Sort of. By the look I saw pass over Ruthie’s face, I assumed I failed. “What are you doing out here tonight?”

He nodded toward the bar. “Just picking up some quick dinner, and then driving to Austin tonight.”

“Austin?” Ruthie said.

“My next job starts there on Monday,” Patrick said, his hand resting on the back of my chair. “Have to go get set up this weekend and get my guys ready. Make sure everything works and everyone is there.”

“You’re gonna be a while, huh?” I said, meeting his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, a soft look playing there that had me thinking naughty things. “Probably till mid-February. I’ll call you.”

“Well, yeah, you can have phone sex,” Ruthie said, her tone casual.

Patrick laughed and I stared at her. “Ruth Ann.”

“What did I tell you about that name, Ju-li-an-na?” she said on a laugh. It was meant as an inside joke, a nod to our childhood, but it brought Noah back to the forefront, and I felt my stomach tighten up.

“Maybe we will,” Patrick said, his tone half flirting with her, half promising me something hair-raising as he circled the subject back. He chuckled as he slid past my chair. “Be back in a little bit, beautiful,” he said in my ear, sending goose bumps down my back as he headed for the bar.

We watched him together for a second. “God, I’m such a damn easy lay when it comes to him,” I said.

“I can see why,” she said, and then she thumped me on the arm. “You didn’t tell me he looked like that.”

“Like what? Hot?” I asked. “Yes, I did.”

“No, I mean—” She circled her hands, looking for the right gesture. “Bad. Dangerous. Like he could—gnaw on raw meat or something.”

A laugh tickled me at the visual. “I’m pretty sure he likes his meat cooked,” I said. “Then again, it’s never come up. We had pizza once.”

“What kind?”

“Meat lovers.”

Ruthie’s look had me giggling like a schoolgirl. If a schoolgirl would be drinking a top-shelf margarita.

“So are you drunk yet?” Ruthie asked when we recovered.

“On half a margarita? God, I hope not,” I said on a laugh. “Why?”

She licked her lips and peered down into her glass before looking back up at me with a very contemplative expression.

“I have something I need to tell you,” she said, attempting a smile that I knew her well enough to recognize as placating.

“Is anyone dying?” I asked, remembering Becca’s question from the other night.

“No.”

“Okay then,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Anything else is minor. What’s going on?”

She took another swallow, and my skin tingled with anxiety I couldn’t even name.

“Becca asked me how to get on birth control.”

Chapter 7

I remembered being Becca’s age. All too well. I even remembered thinking how enlightened and cool I’d be if the subject ever came up with my own kid. I was a moron.

And all I could do with my decidedly uncool self was sit there and listen to my heart thumping in my ears. The music hovered in the background somewhere as I visualized Becca pregnant with her crooked hair, or taking an infant up to her room to feed it and losing it in the hovel that was her bed.

“Jules?”

My name broke through, and I felt Ruthie’s hand on mine.

“Jules, are you okay?”

“She’s having sex?” I said, my voice sounding scratchy.

“I don’t think so,” Ruthie said. “Not yet.”

“Not yet,” I echoed, covering my face. As I dropped my hands and met her eyes again, a different switch flipped. “Hang on, how do you know this?” I said, sitting straighter.

Ruthie tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, a telltale sign with me that she was uncomfortable. My head spun with the possible conversations.

“She stopped at the store today after school,” Ruthie began. “After you left. And we got to talking while I was cleaning up.”

Today. The day she flew in the door and got ready in a flash. Left with a group of girls. Wasn’t it girls? She just said a group. Shit.

“Okay.” The alcohol suddenly sat like acid in my stomach. The giant platter of loaded nachos and jalapeño poppers we’d decided to share arrived, and I grabbed one almost before it even landed on the table. I knew that feeling of curiosity and adrenaline and lust. And I knew where it could lead her if she wasn’t clearheaded about it. “She’s got a boyfriend? I didn’t even know she was seeing anybody.”