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“How would you know?”
“Sheriff Colt called me and told me everything. He was worried about you and so was I.” She chews faster and takes another bite.
The law enforcement grapevine. It’s where all the salacious news starts.
And I’m tired of it.
Mom’s heels click on the linoleum from the dining room into the living room. It’s only seven steps in this small house, but it’sa roof over our heads and we’ve been without one of those once or twice in life, so I try to remember to always be grateful.
She holds my face, making sure I’m looking at her. “Kenzie, baby, I just don’t want what happened to me to happen to you.”
“And what exactly is that?” I cross my arms and shrug my shoulders when she drops her hands, closes her eyes, and purses her lips. “I’m waiting.”
It’s at times like these that I can see her age. She’s only seventeen years older than me, but at thirty-seven she looks well into her forties, maybe pushing fifty.
This life hasn’t been easy on Barbra Jo Miller, and I should be less hard on her.
She huffs. “My parents warned me about your father. They told me not to go out with him, that he would take what he wanted and leave me in the dust. And you know what? They were right.” The words come out fast but not furious.
There’s a sadness I’ve never experienced from her. She’s usually trying to be an optimistic mom. If we don’t have butter, but we have heavy cream, we shake a baby food jar of that until it’s creamy butter. She makes life fun. But this isn’t fun.
She continues, “I told him I was pregnant and he swore up and down he’d stand by me… and for you. But after you were born, one night, he just disappeared.” She cups my face. “Baby, I promise, I wouldn’t change a thing,” she tickles up my back so I react, “except that you keep slouching.”
She wraps her arms around me from behind and puts her chin on my shoulder. “You are a blessing. But please, please don’t go down the same dirt road that I did. It’s a dead end, Kenzie.”
I remember the dirt circling behind the car as we made our way to the overlook and my stomach drops.
Mom steps around me and puts back on her smile, but I see it differently now. It’s a mask. A mask of pain. “That boyis undependable. I guarantee it. Here today and gone tomorrow leaving only dust and a broken heart in his wake.”
I kiss her cheek and back away. “I hear you, Mom. I’ll be okay. Promise.”
But hearing and listening are two vastly different things.
5
Kenzie
The next morning things are sunny and bright in Storm Canyon. At least that’s the theory I’m going with. I thought about what Mom said and maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m playing with fire and getting burned, like she did, sounded and looked painful.
So I take myself out for a walk and end up at the Saturday Farmers’ Market. It’s the mountains, but if we don’t get out in the cold, we’ll never get out. It’s mostly meats, handmade goods, and some hydroponic vegetables. Not fancy, but the aisles are still bustling with town and mountain people hoping to find something to make their day a little special. There’s always someone I don’t recognize, and it kind of surprises me. After working at the café for four years, first as a plate washer and moving up to wait staff after just a few months, I usually see at least everyone in the community once a year, but there are plenty of people here who look new.
Or maybe the world just looks different today.
My brain keeps revisiting last night. And how much heat Dean and I produced. I’m afraid that if he’d asked to go all the way, I would have. I’m sure it’s the fact that he’s only a visitorhere, or maybe it’s because I’m just tired of the hum-ho my existence has been. Sheltered and protected by my mother. Not taking any chances.
I stop at one of my favorite stands. Harper Rose lifts her massive, brimmed straw hat and her red ringlets lilt on the breeze like little fireworks shooting from her head. The sun makes it feel warmer today, even if it’s barely forty in the sun, and probably thirty-five degrees out of it.
“Kenzie! How are you?” Harper says, reorganizing some of her handmade soaps, hands covered by fingerless gloves that I’m sure her sister, Dakota, knitted.
“I’m doing good.”
“I bet you are,” she mumbles with a smirk.
I still and tip my head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that the grapevine has reached the Rose farm and the news is that you were seen at the overlook and the windows of that car were steamed up.” Harper leans toward me. “Don’t get me wrong. Dakota says that this guy is quite the treat for tired mountain eyes. And, I mean, Larry Gouch? What was your mother thinking?”
This is the most that Harper has said to me since high school two years ago. She ran in the crowd of Briggs’ and Lowes’ — the rich kids. I ran with the Gradys and Winchesters— the poor to middle class kids. Even back then, our conversations were forced by group projects and clubs we both participated in. I think maybe she never got over the fact that I was selected for the lead role inMama Mia!instead of her. My musical prowess had the crowd on their feet… all thirty of them.
