Never Doubt Me (7 page)

There’s no doubt in my mind that my baby sister would be alive today if it hadn’t been for Doug Wilson and his acts of stupidity.

“Kay?” Chase cups my cheek when I sway a little. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I look up at the man I love, the man who keeps me together, the man who steadies me at times like these. “To answer your question,” I continue, “my mom said Doug’s coming into town to help his mom. I guess he has vacation time or whatever.”

Doug’s mother was in a serious car accident recently. Doug was in Harmony Creek directly following the accident, but he had to return to where he lives now—Columbus, Ohio, same as my parents—because of work.

I was glad he left town so quickly, as it meant no chance of running into him. But if Doug remains in town longer than a day or two, the possibility of my running into him increases exponentially, especially if he’s striving to make that happen. Personally, I don’t care to come face-to-face with Doug Wilson ever again, not for the rest of my life. It might be unavoidable, though, considering the other thing my mother told me.

“There’s more,” I say to Chase.

“What?” He eyes me warily.

I breathe in deeply, then exhale slowly. “My mother said I should be on the lookout.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Chase narrows his blues, and I’m reminded why I once christened the color of his eyes gunmetal blue.

In times like these, when he’s upset or angry, the gray flecks in his eyes become more apparent, making his gaze cold and hard. But his reaction is not directed at me. Chase’s ire is solely focused on my ex-boyfriend.

I continue, though I know, in doing so, Chase’s irritation will increase tenfold.

“I guess Doug has it in his head that he needs to seek me out, so he can, like, apologize in person.” I roll my eyes. “He’s about four years too late, right? Besides, I have no desire to hear his lame apology anyway.”

I finish speaking and sigh, relieved to have everything off my chest. Chase remains quiet, his lips pressed together. The look on his face makes me think he may have plans for Doug Wilson. I should discourage my boyfriend from violence. But, like with the junkie situation, a part of me yearns for Chase to kick the shit out of my ex. Sure, I want to be a good person, and for the most part, I am, but I can’t deny there’s a level of darkness in me, just like there is in Chase. Our good
and
bad bind us. Chase almost killed a man in my defense, the junkie who attacked me not so long ago. But instead of being appalled by the level of violence Chase meted out on the guy—and it was substantial—I was pleased, not to mention turned on. So now, instead of making Chase promise to leave Doug alone, I request nothing. I keep my mouth shut and think,
Let the chips fall where they may.

Chase’s eyes meet mine. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he must find it. He nods and then heads back over to the mural.

When he starts closing up paint cans, I ask, “What are you doing? I thought you wanted to work through lunch.”

He shakes his head and continues to clean up. “No, this can wait.” He stands and turns to me, holds out his hand. “Let’s get out of here for a while.”

I place my hand in his. “You sure?” I ask.

He nods and that’s that. We go to lunch down at the diner. We eat and talk. My worries leave me and we have fun, just like we always do.

My make-everything-better guy brings out my best.

Consequently, when I return to the church grounds, I’m in a far lighter mood than before we left. Chase deposits a light kiss on my cheek, and we go our separate ways.

Unfortunately, when I reach the church office, the bright mood I’m hanging on to by a thread snaps. Or more succinctly put, it’s snipped away when I see who’s waiting for me in the chair next to my desk.

“Missy Metzger,” I mutter to myself. “Oh, yay.”

Missy can’t hear me through the glass doors, but she glances up nonetheless and gives me a little wave.

I wave back, taking in her attire. Her clothes snag my attention, since they’re so vastly different from what she’s usually wearing.

“What a change,” I whisper.

Missy is dressed in conservative clothing, a long navy skirt, a light-blue blouse buttoned up snugly over her substantial cleavage, and plain flats. Her dishwater blond hair is pinned up tightly and her makeup is minimal.

I sense something has changed in Missy’s life. I sense that’s why she’s here—to give me an update.

“Might as well get this over with,” I mumble, before I push open the double doors and step into the church office.

My approach to my desk is hesitant. This is the closest I’ve been to Missy since I found out she shared an intimate encounter with my boyfriend one night back in early June. She and Chase hooked up (not all the way, but enough) behind the Anchor Inn.

I’ve successfully avoided Missy since the night I overheard her and Chase arguing about their encounter at the church carnival. Their intimacy happened before I met Chase—like a day before—but it still feels awkward every time I see Missy. Anyway, the week after the church carnival I got lucky and only saw Missy at Mass. I’ve never been so happy that Missy sits in the front of the church as I was that Sunday. I used to sit there, too—right between skinny Missy and her far-from-skinny mom—but, nowadays, I sit with Chase where he feels most comfortable, in the back pews.

So the first week of Operation Avoid-Missy was a breeze.

The following two weeks, right up until today, running into Missy wasn’t even a concern. She was down in Virginia visiting with her dad. He moved away years ago, following his breakup with Missy’s mom.

But clearly, my successful run of avoiding Missy has come to an end. She’s obviously back from her trip out of town. And it’s not like I can turn around and run away, even though I long to do exactly that. And I don’t do anything of the kind.

Instead, I offer up a cheery “Hey, Missy” as I slip around the opposite side of the desk from where she is seated.

I put my purse in a drawer, sit down, and with a fake smile in place, inquire, “So, how was Virginia?”

Missy fidgets nervously with the scalloped-edge of her blouse sleeve. “It was good,” she drawls, eyes down. “Dad’s doing okay. Still loves to bitch about Mom, of course.” She glances up and gives me a little roll of her eyes. “You’d think after all the years that have gone by, he’d move on. But…guess not.”

I really don’t know how to respond, so I just nod once.

Silence descends and the awkwardness between us increases tenfold. “Uh”—I move some random papers around on my desk—“I really have a lot to do this afternoon, Missy. I’m glad you’re back and all, but I should probably—”

“Look, Kay,” she interrupts, “I know you hate me now that you know about the…stuff that happened between me and Chase.”

I flinch, thinking,
Stuff?
This woman blew my boyfriend, and he fingered her to orgasm, twice. Ugh.

“But we still have to work together,” Missy continues, oblivious to my thoughts. “The rummage sale is coming up in August. And Father Maridale has already said he expects us to work on it together.”

“I know.” I sigh, resigned.

What Missy is saying is true; we do have to work together. Maybe it’s time I get over my jealousy, especially with something that occurred before I even knew Chase. I can hold on to this forever, or I can move on. I feel like I’ve been making progress on the forgiveness front, so I let it go.

“For the record, Missy,” I say, “I don’t hate you.”

Missy plucks at a wrinkle in her skirt. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” she mumbles. “I should have told you when you first started dating Chase. I guess I just didn’t know how to bring something like that up. If it helps, the things he and I did that night meant nothing, I swear.”

I cringe. I may be up for forgiving her, but that doesn’t mean I care to rehash the details of what she and my boyfriend did to each other, even if it was before I met him.

“Just let it go.” I wave my hand around, swishing the air. “I’m over it, okay?”

Missy looks doubtful, but I really am trying.

I tell her that, and she replies softly, “Well, since we’re putting it all out on the table, I also need to apologize for the night you and I were at the Anchor Inn. I swear, Kay, I never would have hit on Nick Mercurio if I’d known you two used to date. All I knew that night was that he was your boss last summer when you worked at Pizza House. I honestly didn’t know you two ever had a thing.”

“He was my boss, yeah, but we never really had…a thing,” I reply, floundering with discomfort.

How do I explain I never had sex with Nick?

I go with, “He and I were never
involved
-involved.”

Truth be told, I only went out with Nick a few times. And it was
mostly
platonic, apart from a few chaste kisses. Oh, and one night, we messed around in the back of his car. But we didn’t go too far, just some groping. I’ve always known Nick would’ve liked much more, though. He’d been crushing on me since we started worked together.

Right now, though, I just want to end this line of conversation with Missy. I clearly recall the night she and I were at the Anchor Inn. It was a girls’ night out, and we ran into Nick and his cousin Tony.

To say Missy, Nick, and Tony hit it off would be a major understatement. The three of them hooked up, and I ended up overhearing their threesome in a back stairwell at the bar.

Despite my repeated attempts to squelch the conversation, Missy insists on explaining the Nick-Tony thing. “Kay, you need to know I never had sex with Nick.” Missy is emphatic. “I mean, sure, we messed around some, but I was only with-with Tony.”

“Whatever, Missy,” I snap.

And that’s when she starts crying, like bawling.

Shit, now I feel bad. I’m not upset with Missy, not really. I think I’m just overly emotional this afternoon, what with worrying about Doug, my mom—just everything.

I touch the edge of Missy’s sleeve, the one she was toying with earlier. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She shakes her head, while big tears roll down her cheeks. “It’s not you, Kay,” she sniffles.

Truth be told, I am a little worried about Missy. This outburst isn’t like her. She takes things in stride; she has a thick skin. Something is dreadfully wrong for her to be this upset.

“What’s really wrong?” I ask. “Did something happen in Virginia?”

She takes a tissue out of her purse and dabs at the corners of her eyes. “No, Virginia was fine, just like I said.”

“Then what’s going on?”

Missy hesitates, twists the tissue in her hand. After a beat, she blurts out, “I’m pregnant, Kay.”

“Oh…God.”

A million things run through my mind:
Does Missy know who the dad is? How far along is she? She’s not still doing drugs, is she?
But ahead of all those thoughts, I’m just thankful Chase never stuck his dick in Missy. I’d die if there was a chance he was the father of her baby.

“Don’t look at me like that, Kay,” Missy snaps when she catches me staring her way. “I haven’t been with as many guys as you’re thinking. I know who the father is.”

“Tony?” I venture, since she just told me she and Nick never had sex.

Missy nods. “We used protection, but I guess it’s true when they say condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective.” A tear trails down her cheek, and she swipes it away impatiently.

“Have you talked to Tony yet? Does he know?”

Missy scoffs. “No. I’ve only told my mom—and now you.”

“How’d it go with your mom?” I inquire, genuinely interested in the answer.

I guess my feelings for Missy are softening already. She was my friend at one time. Not a close friend, but still, enough of a friend that my heart now goes out to her. In the situation she’s in, she faces a rough road ahead.

“My mom was pissed as hell,” Missy says. “That’s why I’m in no hurry to tell the father the”—she coughs sarcastically—“happy news.”

I lean forward and put my hand on her arm. “But, Missy, you have to tell Tony. He has a right to know.”

She doesn’t answer, and I whisper, “Unless you’re thinking of—”

“No,” Missy barks out, and even more vociferously, she adds, “I’m keeping this baby, Kay. And I will tell Tony. I just have to get the nerve up, okay?”

Any leftover anger I was harboring towards Missy evaporates. I can’t fathom what she’s going through, so I say as comfortingly as I can, “Yeah, Missy, I get it. Just talk to him when you’re ready.”

Missy seems so, I don’t know…deflated, maybe. She’s clearly a little broken. Maybe she thought her wild behavior would never bear any consequences. Speaking of which, I carefully inquire, “Um, you quit all the drugs, right?”

Missy narrows her eyes at me. “What drugs?”

“Missy…” I impart a “come on” kind of gaze in her direction.

“Chase,” she spits. “I should’ve figured he’d tell you I was using the night we—”

“Yes,” I interrupt in a rush, “he told me you had cocaine in your purse that night.”

Missy sighs and averts her eyes. “I did have cocaine with me,” she whispers, “and, yes, I snorted a bunch that night. He told you the truth.”

Before I can respond, hers eyes meet mine, and she says, “I’m not doing that shit anymore, though. I quit everything, Kay. I plan to be a good mother. I want to be the kind of mom my kid can look up to.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I just want him or her to love me, you know?”

There’s so much yearning and hope, even desperation, in Missy’s voice. And it’s then that I realize all she’s ever wanted was to feel loved and accepted. I am no different—no one is. I can’t condemn Missy for desiring the same things we all ultimately crave.

“Hey.” I place my hand on Missy’s hand. “I’ll be here for you—that is, if you want me to.”

She nods, prompting me to go on.

“You’ll get through this, Missy. And you’ll come out stronger. You’re going to be a great mom, I know it.”

She looks surprised. “Do you really believe that?”

I think about it, and I realize I really do. I think Missy has had goodness in her all along. She’s never done anything to hurt anyone, only herself. But she seems to have conquered those demons.