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REASON ONE
It ain’t the same without you.
WestClark,Texas.Population:18,736. Scratch that. 18,737.
The flashing orange gas light on the car’s dashboard had been taunting me for thirty miles. I’d put off refueling for the last twenty minutes, but as the mileage indicator dropped from a ten to a nine, I knew I’d already lost the battle.
The trip from Atlanta had taken thirteen hours. In that time, I’d only had to stop for gas once. Luckily enough, I’d found a full-service station in Mississippi where a surly man in oil-stained sweatpants topped me off. When he’d asked me if there were any other tanks that needed filling, I’d scowled at him and sped away. Two miles later, I realized I’d forgotten to pay. Stupidly, I’d turned around. Had I known those two miles would have been the difference between making it home or risking an impromptu panic attack, I would have just mailed him a check.
Six hours later, I pulled into Bernice’s Quick Stop on the outskirts of West Clark. I put the car in park and took a deep breath, holding it as I stepped out and jogged across the empty lot. As I walked into the store, a bell above the door chimed. The door hadn’t even completely shut when a woman’s voice called out to me.
“Well, Kent Fox, as I live and breathe.” Bernice Holden sat on a wooden stool behind the counter. She waved me over, her arms flailing in the air like she was slayed in the spirit. “Sugar, come on over here. Let me get my hands on you.”
My entire body tensed as memories of evangelicals rubbing anointing oil on my forehead while shouting ridiculous, made-up words of praise swirled inside my head. My expression must have given me away, because she held her hands up to her chest, trying to put me at ease.
“Honey, no.” She shook her head, her mountain of fried red hair somehow remaining structurally sound. “I didn’t mean it like that. Not trying to pray anything through, I promise.” She rose from her stool and hobbled over to me, carrying a bedazzled, hot-pink cane. The rubber was so worn at the end that metal poked through, clicking and clacking against the floor each time it touched down. The denim skirt she wore hung well past her ankles, and I worried she might trip on the hem and crack her skull against the gummy floor tiles if she didn’t watch her step. When she reached me, she pulled me in for a hug, but the scent of gasoline clung to her like cheap perfume, leaving me dizzied.
“Your momma told us all about you coming home. It’s so good to see you. Says you’ll be looking for work now that you’re home. I told her I didn’t have a spot for you here at the moment, but with your history, I’m sure you’ll find something real quick.”
“Mrs. Holden, I’m not—”
She rolled her eyes. “Goodness gracious, baby. You’re a grown man. No more of thisMrs. Holdenfoolishness. Just call me Bernice.”
“Well, Mrs. Hol—Bernice, I don’t plan on staying long. I’m just visiting.”
“Oh. Well, Catalina said you’d come home to stay. In any case, it sure is good to get a chance to see you. You’ve grown into such a handsome young man, haven’t you? Slimmed up real nice. Finally grew into that nose of yours. Have you run into anyone else yet? I know Kate will be glad to see you. The gals as well. Grayson lives out in Cobb now, but I’m sure you’ll—”
I didn’t hear a word she said after that. Not after she mentionedhim.
The scent of gas and matches was overwhelming.
“Well, sweetie, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” She frowned. “Not that I believe in ghosts. Nasty little demons that need to be driven out, all of them. Is that what’s got you so frazzled? Have you got yourself a demon?” She turned toward the counter, searching. “I don’t think I have a prayer cloth with me, and I’m all out of anointing oil.” She lifted her index finger to her face and tapped the side of her cheek. “I think we’ve got a bottle of Merlot in the stockroom. I don’t know if it’s strong enough to drive out a demon, but if it was good enough for Jesus, it’s gotta be good enough for you.”
“A demon?” If I still had control of my facial muscles, I might have scoffed. I’d seen my father perform more than enough exorcisms to know I would take no part in one. Particularly not at the hands of a wine-wielding maniac who was dressed head to toe in all denim.
“Still can’t believe you’re home. I was talking to Sister Collins the other day. She said Grayson was—”
Gray Collins. Stop talking about him.
I had to get out of there. Fishing a twenty out of my pocket, I flung it at her and made my way to the door. “Sorry, I just—Mom’s going to be worried if I don’t get home soon.”
The closer I got to the pumps, the heavier the pressure in my chest pressed down. Standing in the center of the empty parking lot, I tried to breathe, but it was like sucking air through a straw.
God dammit, Gray.
I scolded myself for renting a car. I could have just taken the bus—Ishouldhave just taken the bus. For God’s sake, I hadn’t even pumped gas on my own in almost a decade. What the hell made me think a seven-hundred-mile trip was a good idea? A year ago, this wouldn’t have even been an issue. I’d driven a Tesla for almost a decade to avoid situations like this.
I unlocked my phone and scrolled down my short list of contacts. Once I found my mother’s smiling face, I clicked the call button, praying to a God I didn’t believe in that she answered. It rang twice, and then the sound of running water and clanking dishes came through the speaker.
“Kent—”
“Mom. Sorry, I’m running late. Had to—I had to stop for gas.” I stared down at my feet, feeling like a toddler. A grown-ass man who couldn’t even smell gas without needing to be coddled.
The background noise died down and my mother assumed the role of therapist, just as she had every day for the last seven months.
“It’s gonna be fine, baby. Won’t last long. Just keep saying it, okay?”
“Won’t last long,” I repeated, unscrewing the gas cap. Another whiff hit me, and I reached for my shirt, bringing it over my face to cover my nose and mouth. I hit the grade selection and shoved the nozzle into the car.
