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Do I want Cole's forgiveness?
Of course I do.
I can't bear to imagine how my leaving affected him—if it tore at his heart the way it tore at mine. If he couldn't sleep, or eat, or even talk sometimes in the months that followed.
But there was more to it all than he knows. Things I wish so badly that I could tell him, but I can't.
I never can.
And so, I find it hard to believe Belle when she says I can earn his forgiveness, because even if I did, it wouldn't count. Because it would be based on lies.
But still, I nod. And she smiles like it was the right answer.
“Good girl, 'cause Mama Belle has an idea.”
It's an hour later by the time we're finally finished talking. Climbing into my car, I grab the box of sugar cookies from the passenger seat and hand them to her.
“I made these for you,” I tell her, a blush of self-consciousness staining my cheeks. “I don't know if you remember, but it's the recipe you taught me years ago. I baked them to say thank you. Ya know, for making Cole send me the flowers.”
“Sweetheart, let me tell you something.” She laughs and it's this light, tinkling sound that reminds me of the windchimes hanging in their backyard. “If my boy didn't want to send you flowers, then best believe he wouldn't have. No matter what his mama said about it.”
Her words leave me flummoxed. And I hang onto them as I drive the short journey back home, trying to ignore the way they pull at my heart with a sensation I have long forgotten. A feeling I haven't known since the day I left Tupelo.
Stupid, useless hope.
Mama has been enteringmy little sister, Clover, in beauty pageants since the day she was born. And though I've always thought that the tradition is kind of ridiculous, despite how entrenched it is in Southern culture, I can't pretend that I don't root for her to win each and every time. I might tease the shit out of her for the sparkly fucking dresses and stupidly blown-out hair, but the truth is, I'm proud of her. And she deserves every single tiara that she's won over the years.
Tonight, though, she's wearing an expression of defeat instead of a crown.
Luella Farrow beat her to the Miss Teen Magnolia state title. As Clover's fiercest competition, on top of being her best friend in the entire world, their relationship can often lead to envy-fueled arguments and awkward situations.
Like now, they stand at opposite ends of the room as half of Tupelo gathers together in the restored old barn on my parents' ranch to celebrate what was expected to be Clover's victory but is now Luella's.
“You did good, kid,” I say, throwing my arm around my little sister and ruffling her hair. “Second place ain't half bad.”
She scowls, shrugging out of my hold. “Piss off, Cole.”
“You talk like that in the pageant?” I laugh. “Now it makes sense why you lost.”
“I didn't lose, dickweasel. I came second, you just said it.”
“Tell your face that, then. You look like someone's just killed your dog.”
“We don't have a dog.”
“We should have a dog.”
She scoffs. “Say that to Mama.”
“Ha, she'd whoop my ass, you know that. Just wait until you move out and then you can get your own.”
“I can't move out yet, Cole. I'm seventeen.”
I shrug. “Nearly eighteen.”
“And anyway“—she sighs—“Mama ain't ever gonna let me move out. She treats me like a baby and I can't see that changing anytime soon.”
“It's 'cause you're her little princess.”
