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“If by good you mean my chest feels like a bomb went off in it, then yes. It felt great.”
She chuckled, handing over my change, which I dumped promptly in the tip jar.
“I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I have a theory about what’ll happen next.”
“Do tell.”
“You don’t often see two people so well suited for each other, especially not two people who have suffered alone as long as you have. Whichever one of you ended things will figure that out and make it right, or I’ll eat every pie in this case.”
I chuckled, but tears stung the corners of my eyes. “From your lips, Bettie.”
“Have faith, Daisy,” she said without humor, just genuine care, her hand covering mine and giving it a squeeze that very nearly sent me into a full-blown sob.
“I’ll try,” I answered, turning my hand in hers to squeeze it back before reaching for my bag of pies. “In the meantime …” I lifted the bag in solidarity, and she nodded, laughing.
“Eat every bite, darlin’. It’ll be all right.”
We exchanged goodbyes, and I headed out, slipping into Daddy’s truck and turning over the engine, backing out of the spot through a sheet of tears I shed the whole way home.
And I prayed to God she was right.
27
EVERY MINUTE
KEATON
“Uncle Keaton saw Daisy at Bettie’s just now.”
Sophie’s smile was smug and her eyes all sly as we walked into the kitchen where my brothers milled around. Their eyebrows rose.
Surprising no one, I wore a mighty frown. “Traitor,” I said, closing the door behind me.
Sophie strutted in, her ponytail bouncing as she made her way around the island to climb up on a stool next to her father.
“She looked so pretty,” Sophie continued. “Bettie gave me cookies so Uncle Keaton would have to talk to her.”
“Cookies are mine now, squirt. You done messed up.” I held up the wax pouch and shook it.
She rolled her eyes. “You won’t eat them.”
“Won’t I?” I opened the bag slowly, maintaining eye contact. She met it, folding her arms across her chest in defiance.
I sighed and closed the bag back up, tossing it onto the island. “You’re no fun.”
She shrugged, reaching for the cookies as she spoke. “They both looked real sad. I told Daisy that Uncle Keaton missed her, and she said same.” She took a bite while everyone processed.
“It was no big deal,” I said, putting my back to them so I could empty out my pockets where the keys went.
“No big deal,” Cole echoed. “First girl you dated since Mandy, and it’s no big deal. You’re so full of—” Sophie shot him a look. “It,” he finished. “You’re so full of it.”
Carson nodded. “No way does anybody buy your whole It didn’t work out line. I just don’t get why you won’t tell us what happened.”
“Because you wouldn’t understand,” I argued, flipping through my wallet like I was looking for something so I wouldn’t have to face them.
“Try me,” Carson shot.
“Grow up,” I shot back.
“Tell the truth,” he challenged. “We’ve given you a week—it’s time you told us why you broke up.”
“Mind your own business.” I closed my wallet and slapped it onto the countertop. “I’m going out to the shop. Don’t follow me,” I warned. And though their eyes were all narrowed at me, they stayed put.
I stormed away from the house and into the workshop, slamming the door behind me. But as much as I thought I wanted to be alone, when faced with the silence of the room I determined I was wrong. Clicking on the radio at least produced sound enough to offset the noise in my brain. Looking at the projects strewn on the long table set the stone in my stomach sinking. Daisy was even here, in this sacred place. I felt her loss in every corner of my life. In every painful, waking minute.
I hadn’t seen her in a week, and while I’d once believed that seeing her might soothe me, I realized today just how wrong I was. The sight of her traced the edge of my wound, reminding me of the tear with a wash of pain so intense, I was surprised I was able to walk away.
The rocking chair sat on the table in pieces. I picked one of them up despite the pain and got to work. Maybe I enjoyed that pain, the reminder of the sacrifice I made. Because I could wish things were different, but they weren’t. Hurting was my reward for doing the right thing.
I shaved the wood down, slivers of wood curling from the blade, falling to the table to lay freshly cut on a pile of raw remnants. One for Mitchell, one for my father. One for our business, another for my family, one by one by one.
The rest were for Daisy.
