The Fable of Us (8 page)

“When did this happen, Clara Belle?”

My mother’s voice was so quiet, I wasn’t sure it was her who’d spoken. Only after realizing she was waiting for me to answer did I register who had asked the question.

“When did what happen?” I asked, stepping around Boone so I had a good view of everyone in the room again.

“You and . . .” My mom seemed almost scared to look at him, but she finally did. If only for a moment. “Boone.”

This was exactly why I wanted to save the big reveal for tomorrow morning: so I could have the night to work out some story. Some story that didn’t have anything to do with walking into a backwoods bar and offering an old flame ten grand to pose as my plus one.

“Not too long ago,” I said right at the same time Boone said, “A while now.”

Four pairs of eyes shifted between Boone and me.

“Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you give me a little warning . . . so I could prepare your father and myself for this?” My mom’s complexion had gone a few shades lighter.

I couldn’t remember a time I’d seen her so at a loss—other than the time after I’d told her about . . .
that
time. I shook my head and let go of that thought. That was the past, and a part of the past that was too painful to hold on to. I had to let that go for good somehow.

“I’m saying something now,” I answered. “Sorry if you needed a warning before finding out Boone was my plus one, but I just didn’t think it was that big a deal.”

“Yeah, why would Boone Cavanaugh snaking his way back into your life again be a big deal?” Charlotte said under her breath.

My reply wasn’t said under my breath. “Because that was eight years ago, and some people believe in moving on. Get over it already, Charlotte. I have.”

Boone gave me another one of those sideways glances. I pretended to ignore it.

“Your father . . . I don’t know how he’s going to handle this,” Mom fretted, glancing toward his study as if he was about to come out with guns blazing. “You know how he feels about what happened . . . how he feels about him.”

“
He
is right here. Ten feet in front of you, Mrs. Abbott.” Boone crossed his arms and seemed to stretch to his full height. “And
he
isn’t sure how he’s going to handle your husband either.
He
knows how he feels about what happened . . . and how
he
feels about Mr. Abbott too.”

“Then why are you here? Why come back when you know the way we feel about you and with the way you clearly feel about us?” Mom moved over to one of the decorative Parisian chairs at the bottom of the staircase and settled into it.

I hadn’t expected her to take this so hard. I hadn’t expected the ironclad Estelle Abbott to be dropped to sitting status a few minutes after finding Boone Cavanaugh back in her family’s life.

“Because Clara asked. That’s why.”

“I don’t know if Clara asked for what you gave her eight years ago. Nice of you to be so accommodating now. Maturity becomes you, Boone.”

Boone didn’t look at Ford, nor did he fire anything back. The muscles banding down his jaw tightened though. He could fool Ford into thinking that he didn’t give a rat’s fuck about him, but Boone couldn’t fool me. He’d never been able to.

“Then why did you, Clara Belle, ask Boone to come?” Mom continued, folding her hands in her lap then refolding them the other way. “Surely you had to know what a ruckus this would cause. Why would you invite this kind of dilemma during such a special time for your sister?”

I made myself count to five before replying because my gut response wasn’t so kind. “Because he’s my plus one,” I said slowly, each word more cursed than spoken.

Boone shouldered up close beside me, winding his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close. “Her boyfriend.” He grinned around the room like it was a proud moment.

Just enough so no one else would notice, I elbowed him in the ribs. He was in so much trouble. I couldn’t believe I’d offered him ten grand to throw gasoline on this fire that had almost burned out. Why couldn’t I have just come alone? Why was I so afraid of my family knowing I had no one? Why did I care that I would be the last to get married even though I was the oldest? Why did I care what they thought in the first place?

My headache started coming back, and this time I didn’t have a shot of tequila to dull it down.

“You fucked her life up once already, Cavanaugh. Didn’t get enough that time? Needed to do it once more?” Ford took a few long strides toward us, breaking from Charlotte’s hold.

Boone stayed in place, his arm still twined around me, not even flinching. The longer Ford stared at Boone’s arm draped around me, the wilder his eyes became. Before my eyes, Ford was morphing into that wild, savage animal he’d just claimed Boone was.

“You still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, McBride.” Boone’s arm tightened around me. “I’m tired of you pointing your finger my way when you should be pointing it your way just as much, if not more.”

“You can keep telling yourself you’re innocent on all counts, but come on, Boone, even a loser like you has to know better. You messed up Clara Belle’s life once, and I won’t let you do it again. You hear me?” Ford’s voice grew louder with each word, his last almost a shout.

“I messed up Clara’s life? Really? And who was the boyfriend dipping his stick in her little sister?”

Charlotte gasped, her palm lifting like she wanted to slap someone’s cheek.

“You need to figure out what waters you can and can’t swim in, Cavanaugh.” Ford pointed at Boone, waving his finger like he was scolding him. “You’re a piece of trash, and trash doesn’t mix with the Abbotts. Trash belongs with other trash, something there’s no shortage of in and around this town. So go fuck with some other piece of trash and make more trash, but keep your pollution to yourselves. You’re not welcome in this family.”

“Ford . . .” I growled, shaking my head at him.

Even my mom and Avalee looked shocked by what he’d just said. It might have been the unsaid belief among the wealthy families down here, but no one voiced it. Ever.

After a few seconds, everyone’s gaze shifted to Boone.

Waiting for him to holler something just as spiteful or throw Ford to the ground and start swingin’. We waited, knowing Boone wasn’t reputed for his peaceful resolution of conflicts.

Boone lifted his hand, his fingers curling into a fist.

And then . . . he covered his mouth and yawned—a loud, long one—followed by giving my shoulders a squeeze. “Sweetheart, it’s bedtime.”

My eyebrows pulled together. This was not the Boone I remembered. Everything else about him might have been very much the same, but walking away when tensions were at peak levels was not his trademark. This wasn’t the time to question it though, or to fight his suggestion.

Giving the most convincing smile I could, I waved at those in the room. “Good night.”

My mom’s face went blank. “He’s not staying here, is he? You’re not staying in the same room surely.”

Boone’s arm stiffened against my shoulders as we were about to head up the stairs.

“Why wouldn’t he be staying here?” I said. “Why wouldn’t we be sharing the same room?”

All four people in the foyer came around the stairs, following us.

My mom led the charge. “Because Boone lives here in town and can stay at his place.”

“Providing he has one that isn’t the bed of his truck,” Ford interjected, sneering in Boone’s direction.

And we’d officially hit peak bullshit levels.

“Let’s see, Ford lives in town. Sterling lives in town. Are they staying at their places this week, Mom?”

She held my stare, but she shifted her weight onto her other foot. “Well, no, they’re not.”

Of course they weren’t, because Sterling and Ford came from wealthy, well-to-do families. And because they dressed a certain way. And drove a certain kind of car. And had gone to fancy schools and had fancy degrees and had fancy-sounding jobs.

Boone had been treated like a second-class citizen as long as I could remember. No more. I was still pissed at him for surprising us all down here tonight and was more than a little conflicted about how he’d gone about everything in the past, but I was done letting my family take a shit on him whenever and however they could.

When I started to climb the stairs, Boone followed, keeping his arm glued to my shoulder and matching my ascent, step for step.

“Good night,” I said again when we were halfway up the stairs.

“Yes, good, we’ll talk in the morning.” From the sound of my mom’s voice, she was a few breaths away from hyperventilating, but no one chased us up the stairs. “Let’s just get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll work this all out tomorrow.”

I didn’t look back. I just kept going. This was where I’d failed before, but I wouldn’t this time. Keep going, don’t let them stop you. Don’t let them even slow you down.

“Can’t wait,” I said under my breath before taking the final step and setting foot on the second floor.

Boone stayed silent the whole time, only dropping his arm when we were out of sight of the onlookers below. I hadn’t looked back to see if they were all still down there, gaping at us with varying degrees of shock and disgust, but I could feel their stares aimed at my back through the wall, they were that intense.

As Boone and I travelled down the hall to one of the last doors, he hugged the wall, seeming to want to keep as much distance between us as possible. This was the first time we’d ever walked down this hall together, side-by-side.

Even when Boone had been nothing more than my childhood friend, my parents had barely allowed him onto the front porch, and when our relationship evolved into more, they certainly didn’t let him get anywhere close to my bedroom. They didn’t know about the dozens of times he’d climbed the tree outside my room, thrown himself onto the roof, and climbed through my window.

When I peeked at him striding down the hallway like he couldn’t get down it quickly enough, Boone almost looked uncomfortable. His forehead folded together and his neck tense, he picked up his pace when he noticed me studying him.

I had the urge to say something to comfort him or say something about letting what had been said and how he’d been treated in the foyer roll off his back, but I couldn’t find the words. The only words rolling around on my tongue were ones about him not listening to me, ones having to do with him betraying me when I’d trusted him . . .

I swallowed and pushed the past back into the recesses where it belonged. This wasn’t then. I wasn’t the same girl I’d been then. Boone probably wasn’t the same guy he’d been either.

Don’t project his mistakes from the past onto him now. Don’t let past choices define present actions.
Those were the phrases I repeated in my mind as we took the last few steps before pausing in front of my bedroom door.

Boone waited for me to open the door, and when I did, he waited again for me to go in first. Once I stepped inside, I turned and waited for him to come in and shut the door. I was still half-expecting the cavalry to come charging after us, and until that door was shut and locked, I wouldn’t be able to relax.

But Boone stayed in the hall, his hands buried in his pockets and his eyes staring at the threshold between my hall and bedroom.

“I’ve never seen you so undecided about coming into my room,” I said when I found him in the same place after I’d slid out of my shoes.

“That’s because I know better now.”

His words lodged a lump in my throat. I’d hurt him back then, but he’d hurt me too. So badly the scars I wore from what Boone and I had done to each other were ones I’d carry to my grave. But I didn’t want to play the blame game this week. I wanted to bury the past once and for all with him.

“Are you coming in or not? Because I’m tired, and if you’re going to stay out there all night, I’ll just toss you a pillow and blanket now.”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in? Beg and plead until I cave like you used to?” Boone’s voice was low and sharp.

“No, I’m not,” I answered, all emotion drained from my voice. “Because I know better now too.”

A huff came from the doorway right before he took his first step inside my room. After a few more, he closed the door, sealing us inside . . . and the air went from light to so thick with tension it felt stifling.

I pretended I didn’t even notice, continuing to wander about my bedroom. I unzipped my suitcases Boone had propped up over by my closet, and turned on the light in the bathroom that adjoined my room.

My parents had left my bedroom just the way I’d left it seven years ago. No doubt waiting for their prodigal daughter to return and snuggle beneath those lavender flower sheets, cuddle the stuffed bear on her nightstand they didn’t know Boone had won me at a carnival one summer, and get back to being their good, obedient daughter.

If that was what they were waiting for, it would prove to be a lifelong wait.

“Hey, thanks, by the way, for listening to me earlier and staying hidden tonight. Nothing like coming home to the firing squad that is my family and throwing you into the mix five minutes later.” I pulled out a pair of pajamas from my suitcase, but it was more for a distraction.

“No problem, Clara. Glad I could be of service.” Boone settled into one of the chairs in the other corner of the room and tugged off his boots.

The air might have been heavy with tension, but there was something else moving in and taking over. Anger.

“Why in the hell did you do that?” I said, my words feeling venomous in my mouth.

Boone’s boots bounced across the carpet as he tossed each one. Pulling off his socks, he did the same with those. He knew I was a bit of a neat freak when it came to my room, and this was clearly another way for him to try to ruffle me. “Because I’m tired of being your dirty little secret.”

I popped up, wringing the heck out of my pajamas. “I’m paying you, Boone—a hell of a lot of money too. All I asked was for you to stay here and be a ‘dirty little secret’ for tonight.”

“That’s right. Exactly.” He rose out of the chair, angling himself in my direction. “This is business. Which means I’m not some star-struck boy in love with a girl and willing to do anything for her. You might have been able to ask me to stay hidden in your room when we were kids, but I’m not a fucking child anymore, so stop treating me like one.”