“I knew it. There’s always been something about an older woman.” He holds up whatever he’s been fidgeting with, and it turns out he’s turned the square of pink paper into a rose. The smile he offers just about takes me out at the knees, and I thank everything above that I’m already sat down.
“Less of the old, thank you very much,” I laugh. God, everything is just so easy with him. Truths. Secrets. Laughter. I feel like I could share just about anything with Everett, and he’d still offer me that heart-stopping smile and tell me that as long as I’m happy, everything else will fall right into place.
He could tell me that, and I’m pretty sure I’d believe every word.
Chapter ten
Everett
It’s the first afternoonfor at least a week that I haven’t spent hours talking to Ruth. It’s wild how much I miss the sound of her voice. In such a short space of time, she’s taken over my mind; my day exists only in the countdown to when I get to speak to her again. But when she texted me earlier, she said she’d be spending the evening with her best friends. She’s told me all about them. There’s Amie, who is the mother of Ruth’s little goddaughter, Maisy. Katy is the sweet one, and Paloma is the crazy one. They all sound like a hoot, and I can’t wait to meet them.
Am I going to meet them? Is that where this is headed?
Fuck… I hope it is.
I rub a hand over my hair, pushing the unruly curls back from my eyes. I really need to head into town soon and get it cut; it’s far too long, but I just never seem to be able to make the time.
No, that’s a lie. I have plenty of time. I just seem to manage to find all the possible ways to avoid it. It’s not like it’s a long drive; the ranch is only twenty-five minutes out of the small town of Skillett, which itself is about an hour and a half north of Austin. But heading into town means driving past the crematorium, which is the last place Grandaddy’s soul was with us before we set him free.
And heading into town means acknowledging all the people I’ve neglected to stay in contact with since his funeral.
It’s a little after two in the afternoon. My ranch chores are done for the day, and without Ruth, the rest of my day looks pretty bleak. I’m just about to climb into the cab of my Silverado when my phone buzzes in my hand.
ROO
Evvvv my friends want to know if you’re a serial killer
are u a serial killer evvvvvv
Everett
might be? Who’s to say?
I’ll be anything you want me to be
maybe not a donkey
but anything else is fair game
ROO
okayyyyyy ill let them know
Everett
Ruth… are you drunk?
ROO
o can neither confirm nor deny
I set London up on my world clock app a couple days ago, and when I check the time, I see it’s after eight at night. It’s a perfectly reasonable time for Ruth to be drinking with her friends. I pocket my phone witha smile at the thought of Ruth having fun, turn the key in the ignition, and swing my Chevy out onto the dirt road.
I make the drive on autopilot. I’ve known the route since I was tall enough to see out of the window, and I’ve been driving it since the day I first sat behind the wheel. But today, it feels different, somehow. It feels lonelier. Even though I’m still driving Grandaddy’s rusty Silverado, with an old, half-empty pouch of tobacco still in the glove box, because I can’t bring myself to toss it out. Even though his old tool box is still stashed under the passenger seat. Even though his scratched and battered keychain still hangs from my key in the ignition.
By the time I swing the truck into a parking bay outside Miss Celia’s—the diner she’s been running for nearly forty years, with the best damn milkshakes in all of Texas—I’ve resolved to get over my pity party for one. It’s been nearly a year since Grandaddy passed, and I’ve avoided everything—everyone—for long enough.
I don’t know what it means, but the thought of Ruth is what’s giving me the strength to open the door and hop out of the cab. My boots barely make contact with the asphalt before I hear my name being yelled from the other side of Main Street. Bootsteps thud towards me before a large hand claps me on the shoulder as I lock the truck.
