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“And you have. Look at where you are now.”
She shook her head so hard, strands of her hair came loose from her ponytail. “No. Miss Adeline has supported me all this time. I’ve never contributed anything but my time.”
“Dedication. Hard work. Heart. Maybe what Miss Adeline needed from you wasn’t money.” I hated she felt she’d brought no value to their relationship when it was obvious how much she had.
“I saved what little I had,” she choked out. “And I let someone steal it from me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Pepper
For years,I refused to think about any of my past.
Now the memories were on top of me like an avalanche.
The sympathy on Teague’s face was almost too much to bear. Knowing where he’d come from, he couldn’t understand what life had been like. Cope was about the size of this block. People survived there. They had for generations. And I’d been naïve enough to think a little bit of money was all I needed to live well.
Even before I’d been homeless, I’d never craved much. I had my backpack, a blanket my grandmother made, and a notebook with my plan for how I was going to take the small farm and make it better.
A simple life was enough for me.
Teague’s sympathetic expression turned hard. “Then it seems like this letter from a lawyer should be going in an opposite direction.”
Embarrassment tingled at the base of my spine. No matter how many years separated me from the past, that feeling was as fresh as it was back then. I imagined for most people anger would be the dominant emotion, but I’d always blamed myself for what happened.
I hung my head. “I started saving when I was a little girl in a box that belonged to my father.” That box had been in my life from my earliest memories. It was always there.
I rubbed my thighs as my shame grew more prominent. “Every nickel I got from the time I can remember, I put in there.”
It started out with mostly coins. Eventually the dark bottom was covered. And by the time I went to college, it was stuffed to the brim with ones and fives and tens and an occasional twenty.
“It was my emergency fund,” I said quietly. My aunt and I had always gotten by with what little we had. As I grew older, I began to understand that things could and would go wrong. Our refrigerator went out when I was twelve. We couldn’t fix it. Our neighbor couldn’t fix it. And we couldn’t afford even a used one.
I hated the uncertainty. And I’d promised myself that I’d never worry about money. I didn’t want to be rich. Just comfortable.
Teague stayed next to the dresser like he was giving me the space he thought I needed. I appreciated that he let me talk when I was ready and didn’t bombard me with a million questions. These were memories I’d just assumed stay buried.
“By the end of college, I had a little over ten thousand dollars saved.” I could still remember the feel of the dark wood under my fingers when I opened it every night. The smell of the old bills hit me as if they were really in front of me again.
“Before college, I’d done odd-and-end things for the people around town, but the amount grew faster once I got a job at a barbecue restaurant in college.” I paused, drawn back to the past. “It’s funny when I look back on it now, but I used to count the money every day. Eventually, I forced myself to only do it once a month on the last day before I went to bed. Owning something, even something so small, meant so much to me.”
I didn’t know how to articulate what life had been like to Teague. If he went to Cope, he’d probably be as shell-shocked as I was the first time I set foot in New York City.
“I was quiet, especially around people I didn’t know, and pretty awkward too.” I looked down at my mismatched clothes and realized I probably was still awkward. I just had enough love and support that I hardly ever felt that way anymore.
Teague appeared like he wanted to object, or maybe he wanted to take up for me, but he kept his mouth closed.
“I met a guy in my last semester of college.”
A scowl came from his direction.
“He’d come by the restaurant. And he was nice to me. Didn’t treat me like I was invisible.” I’d never had much of the good kind of attention. I preferred to be a shadow; people forgot I was around. Then they couldn’t say and do hurtful things.
Teague’s expression turned so hard, I wasn’t sure I should keep talking. But I’d started and the words seemed to want to come out.
“We went to a few parties, but I wouldn’t call it dating.” I shrugged. “I guess it wasn’t really friendship either.” I realized how that sounded and scrambled to explain. “We weren’t intimate,” I said quickly as my face flamed.
He balled his fist and ate up the short distance between the dresser and the bed. The bed dipped when he sat beside me. He twined his fingers with mine.
