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Dropping to sit on my couch, I put my face in my hands. Fuck these stupid tears! Why does he have to look so good? His eyes were so open and pleading asking me to go to LA. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right about me quitting. Future employers won’t know what a conniving bastard he is. They won’t know how he destroyed the life of my sister without even looking back.
All they’ll see is I landed a plumb job straight out of business school at one of the top firms in Nashville, then I quit less than three weeks later. They’ll think I couldn’t hack it. Or they’ll think I’m a problem employee… In any case, it’s a red flag.
Exhaling a big sigh, I grab my suitcase and head for the door. I’m going to make Renée talk to me, and I’m going to force her to tell me the truth. I deserve to know what happened.
It’s almost nine when I’m pulling into Savannah. Following the old, familiar roads, I wind my way down through Wilmington to my parent’s old home in the tiny neighborhood where I grew up.
So much has changed since I was a child here. Most of the smaller, older homes are gone, replaced by million-dollar mansions and country club estates. Savannah has become a dream destination, as my sister keeps telling me, and the population is steadily growing as more people relocate closer to the coast.
I miss the days when it would be just us kids, running around the marsh lands, playing along the old piers, fishing with cane poles… Going with my daddy to WWE matches.
More tears are on my cheeks. I can’t help thinking how Patton had started calling me Rocky. It feels so long ago since we were in the mountains, since he held me in his arms, and all I could think was how good it felt, how much I wanted him.
No. I push those thoughts away. He doesn’t deserve my fond memories. He lied to me the whole time. He knew what had happened to Renée, and he never said a word about it—even when I asked him point blank.
He said he didn’t know how to tell me. Guess what? He could’ve told me the night I asked him. Shifting the car into park, I pause in front of the posh home in front of me. I have to double-check the number above the door.
Yep, it’s my parents’ old place, but it looks… different. Good different.
I’m out the car, and the grass is cut and the neat sidewalk runs around the front like always. But now I’m walking up new wooden steps to a pristine wrap-around porch. The exterior, which was formerly vinyl siding is now stucco, and large, dark-brown shutters line the long windows across the front, making them seem more like French doors.
Going to the life-sized ceramic sea turtle on the corner, I pat his head. “Hi, Crush.” Then I flip him over and shake, hearing the familiar clinking of the key hidden inside him.
When I get the front door open, I’m even more amazed. The wood floors have been redone. The wall that divided the kitchen from the formal dining room we never used has been removed, and now it has a big, open floor
plan.
Our three tiny bedrooms are still down the small hall directly across from me, but to the left, an entire room has been added with a large television and couches and chairs. Dropping my small suitcase, I walk around the new kitchen, taking a glass from the refinished cabinets and filling it with ice and water from the new Viking refrigerator.
“Renée?” I call, but I don’t get an answer. I’m starting to get worried until I walk down the hall to my bedroom, and I hear the sound of a shower running.
It looks like the bathroom my dad started off his and mom’s old bedroom—the one he never finished—has been finished. I go into my room, which now looks like a fancy guest room straight out of Pottery Barn and put my small suitcase on the bed.
A card on the dresser lists the wifi address and password, which makes me frown. Now I’m not sure what’s going on here.
Stepping into the hall again, the noise of the shower has stopped, and a voice is on the other side of the door singing “People Are Strange” by the Doors.
That is my sister.
Knocking on the door, I open it as I say her name, and I jump almost a mile in the air when she closes her eyes and screams bloody murder.
She screams so loud, my ears pierce. I wind up screaming as well out of pure shock. Once we stop, I fall back against the wall, clutching my chest.
“Jesus, Renée! You almost gave me a heart attack!”
“I almost gave you a heart attack?” Her voice is loud, and she’s gasping, clutching a towel to her chest. She’s wearing gray sweats and a long-sleeved pink tee. Her brown hair is wet, and it’s getting her shirt wet.
Then our eyes meet, and she starts to laugh. My nerves are completely shot and my emotions are so strung out… I start to laugh, too. We both laugh. We laugh so hard, I’m crying again, and I step forward to give her a hug, holding her a minute as she pets my head.
She steps back, squeezing the ends of her hair with the towel. “What the heck are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be working? Or whatever you’re doing in Nashville these days?”
Touching the tears from my eyes, I don’t miss the accusation in her question, but I’m past all that.
I simply shrug, acting casual. “I missed you. I haven’t heard from you in a while, and I wanted to check on you. Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”
She hangs the towel on a hook inside the bathroom and calls over her shoulder. “I’m sorry! I’ve been absolutely exhausted. I rescued two neonatal kittens, and oh my lord, Rocky. I have to feed them every two hours around the clock… I have to stimulate their little butts to make them go to the bathroom. The last two weeks have been intense.”
“You rescued baby kittens? What happened to them?” My eyes heat, and I feel so stupid. My emotions are so fragile. I’m going to cry over kittens?
