The Best I Could (12 page)

I nodded.

“You didn’t do anything to stop him,
Tansy.”

My shoulders slumped. I started the van and
inhaled. “No,” I whispered. “I guess I didn’t.”

Eli

Jonathan cornered me as soon as I stepped
outside the boxing club.

Mouse, whose technique—after our initial
introduction—had continuously impressed me throughout the day,
leaned against the building, his mouth open mid-word. Jonathan left
him in the lurch, whatever conversation they’d been having
completely forgotten.

“What’s going on between you and Tansy?”
Jonathan asked.

Mouse grinned, his gaze
ping-ponging between us. “The punk girl who came into the gym with
her angry sister?” No one in Rebels had missed
that
show. “She’s hot.”

“Head out of the gutter.” Jonathan glowered.
His gaze found me. “Well?”

Pulling a cigarette from my pocket, I lit it
and bit out, “Not a damn thing.”

Mouse coughed, his gaze zeroing in on my hand
and the smoke rising from it. “You got another one of those,
man?”

“How old are you?” I eyed him.

“Seventeen.”

I flicked him a cigarette.

He caught it. “Just don’t tell my uncle. This
shit’s not as good as the weed I get from my cousin, but it’s
something.” He stuffed it in his pocket.

Jonathan scowled. “You’re going to hurt her,
Eli. I know you!”

“I’m not even seeing her,” I protested. “How
the hell am I going to hurt a girl I barely know?”

“She’s too young for you.” He stumbled over
the words, acid seeping into the sentence.

“But not for you, right?” That was
mean-sounding. Worse, it was true. “Is that what this is
about?”

“Where did you take my car last night?”

I stuffed the cigarette in my mouth, the butt
bouncing against my lips when I growled, “Drop it, brother.”

“Where?” he persisted.

Ignoring the question, I extracted the
cigarette and exhaled. My eyes narrowed in on the smoke, Jonathan’s
interest bugging me more than I wanted to admit. “I got nothing for
her, Jon, but even if I did, it’s not worth having a girl come
between us.”

Jonathan winced. “She’s not interested in me.
She’s not sending out vibes like that, but she seems like a nice
girl.” Sliding his hands into his blue jean pockets, he brought his
shoulders up to his ears. “She’s obviously hurting.” He glared.
“So, don’t break her, okay?”

Walking off, he climbed into his Porsche.

Mouse sidled up next to me. “Nice car, but it
must suck ass to have to bum rides.”

I glared daggers at him. “Watch the shit you
put into your body if you plan on having any shot inside the boxing
ring.”

Mouse grunted. “Says the alcoholic.”

“Don’t label people you don’t know.” Dropping
the cigarette, I ground it into the pavement beneath my feet and
followed my brother into the Porsche.

Jonathan gripped the
steering wheel, his lips pressed together. “I’m not upset that
she’s not into me,” he said into the car. “Hell, I’ve only had a
few brief conversations with her, but you don’t need this right
now.” He glanced at me. “This is about
you
. You’re stuck in the past, Eli,
and this summer is supposed to be about you escaping that. Not this
chick.”

My hand gripped the door. Too tightly. “Take
us home, Jon.”

“You went to see her last night, didn’t
you?”

“Yeah.” I leaned back. “Is that what you want
to hear?”

“No,” Jonathan started the car, “but it’s
better than the alternative, I guess.” He gave me a baffled look.
“You met her on a roof. I don’t get it. Did that make you instant
buddies somehow? You aren’t the type to get involved in other
people’s shit.”

“I’m not involved in anything.”

“You can lie to other people, brother. Not
me.” Pulling out of the lot, he tapped his thumbs against the
steering wheel. “She had to find out you were working here somehow,
and you wouldn’t have told her about it if you didn’t want to see
her. Pretend all you want, but that’s interested.”

I closed my eyes, choosing not to engage. He
was right. Something about the girl dug at me.

It wasn’t romance. It was
her. The way she carried herself, the way she took things in and
gave them back to you different. For someone who
should
be broken, she
seemed too intact. Her sister had virtually accused her of murder,
and there’d been little reaction. From bloody toes and a sadly
relieved expression on a rooftop to a room full of strangers and an
expression full of calm defeat. As if she
deserved
her sister’s
anger.

Maybe the years watching my mother cry had
made me emotionally sadistic. Tansy had thrown me off my game.
Where were her tears? Tears I understood. Anger I understood. This
quiet suffering disturbed me.

She was like a volcano, beautiful on the
surface but simmering below. What would it take for her to
erupt?

“You’re not going to leave it alone, are
you?” Jonathan asked.

I opened my eyes. “I blame Pops for taking my
apartment and sending me to this godforsaken town. There isn’t shit
to do here.”

“So it’s out of boredom then?”

This felt too deep for me. Like a regular
conversation. “Shut up, Jon.”

We rode in silence, the town blurring past
the window. From buildings to fields to trees. Gray and green and
blue. Brushstrokes of color. Long dirt roads, dust flying. Sun
dappling old farm buildings left to rot on land with new, more
modern construction. Past and present. Old and new.

Jonathan pulled into the orchard, guiding the
car up the lane and into the grass next to the main house. “You’re
going to have to talk to Mom at some point,” he said, changing
tactics.

“I will,” I lied, but the promise sounded
good.

Heaving a sigh, Jonathan left the car.

“Take your keys!” I yelled after him.

He left them dangling in the ignition.

I stared, started to reach for them, and then
let my hand drop. “Fuck it!” I shoved out of the car.

A shower. An hour spent lying on my bed
staring at the ceiling, my thoughts on the dangling keys and roof
girl.

Rubbing my hands down my face, I rolled out
of bed, pushed my feet into my tennis shoes, and went for a
walk.

It didn’t help.

Tansy

Deena sulked the rest of the day, spending
most of it either curled up in front of the living room TV watching
reality shows or closed off in her room. Hetty’s cats slunk after
her. Deena kept hissing at them, but rather than deter the felines
this seemed to encourage the behavior.

A symphony of purrs and curses followed.

Deena didn’t speak, or hiss, in my direction,
and I didn’t force a conversation.

I communed with dirt, muttering at the soil
outside Hetty’s house, my fingers channeling through sediment. The
sun beat down on me.

Dig. Mumble. Dig.

Snow, Hetty’s golden retriever, joined me,
having pushed through a doggie flap in the kitchen. She sniffed,
pawed the ground, spun, and plunked down beside me, tongue
lolling.

“Nana should have called you piss,” I told
the dog.

She panted.

I mumbled.

An hour later, Snow left, ambling off toward
the house. Which was just great. Now I bored dogs. Or depressed
them.

Dig. Dig. Mumble.

My hands needed the
activity, and my mind needed the distraction. I needed to think
about anything other than Eli Lockston and his parting
words,
“What would it take to make you
cry?”

He was a lunatic. A messed up lunatic.

An uncaring, asshole lunatic.

And, damn it all to hell, an easy to talk to
lunatic.

My fingers froze in the dirt, the sun having
passed over me, the shadows growing longer. I’d moved to the side
of the house, leaving turned over soil in my wake.

Weariness gripped me, pulling my shoulders
down with it.

“It’s looking good!” a cheerful voice
exclaimed.

Hetty came at me from the front of the house,
a wide smile plastered on her face.

My back stiffened, my expression evening out.
“You’re a good liar,” I called, shading my eyes. “It’s not supposed
to look good at first. I’m just getting it ready to do something
with.”

Her smile drooped, going from wide to real.
Relief slunk across her face. “I wasn’t worried at all.”

Oh, yes you
were
.

She shooed off a fly and squinted at me.
“You’re getting baked out here. Go in, Tansy. Some boxes I had
shipped from the Atlanta rental house came into the clinic today.
It’s not much, but one of them had your craft stuff in it. I put
them in the house.”

I thought about the unfinished knitting
project I’d been working on when Dad passed, and my heart sank.

“It went well at the boxing club,” I said
suddenly. “I put the paperwork on the kitchen bar. I think Deena
will like it.”

Hetty’s eyebrows drew
together. “I’ll look it over. She needs
something
, I guess.” Her gaze dropped
to mine. “Frankly, I’m more worried about you.”

“Me?”

“I may not like Deena’s attitude, but I get
it.” She frowned. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Tansy.”

My ears roared, my heart fluttering. “I’m
fine.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“Really,” I insisted. Standing, I brushed my
hands down my shorts, smearing dirt. “I think maybe I just need to
think, you know.” Giving her a reassuring smile, I added, “Maybe
take a drive to the cemetery?”

I had no intention of going to my parents’
graves, but I could tell the thought made my grandmother feel
better.

She flashed me a comforted grin. “You do
that. That would be good for you.” Stepping up to me, she squeezed
my shoulders. “Take your time, but don’t be back too late.”

I took the firm look she
gave me to mean she was giving me a curfew without actually
giving
me a
curfew.

“I know you’ve gotten used to running things
these last few years,” Hetty soothed. “But maybe it’s time for you
to take it easy for a bit. Be young.”

The roaring in my ears grew, enveloping me in
tsunamic waves. “Yeah, okay. Everything’s fine, Nana.”

She nodded, seemingly pleased, and backed
away. “All right, then,” she clapped her hands, “you go do
that.”

I got left standing in the yard. With the
dirt.

Pulling out the keys I’d shoved into my
pocket, I trudged to the van. Antiseptic, animal stench cloistered
me.

Starting the vehicle, I rolled down the
window, eased out of the drive, and drove. Aimless. The road spoke
more than the world, the getting somewhere less important than the
going.

Late afternoon sun slanted golden rays over
concrete and neon signs. Wind pressed in through the window,
beating me up.

Traffic crawled, pulled back by road work.
Flag men ushered vehicles through an intersection. My foot tapped
the brake, slowing and stopping.

A road worker peered at me, his sun-weathered
face full of crevices. A million stories in a web of wrinkles.

I nodded at him. He nodded back.

Rolling past, I pulled into a rundown gas
station, throwing the van into park in front of the pumps.

“You okay?” a woman behind the register
asked.

I didn’t remember going in.

My mouth moved, my eyes widening at the words
that left it. “Do you know of any Lockstons that live around
here?”

I was the lunatic I’d convinced myself he
was.

The woman, her red hair freshly colored,
perused me, her gaze falling over my soiled clothes. I stared at
her forehead, at the splotches of ruby left behind by the dye she’d
used on her hair. Like blood. I saw blood in everything red. I
hated red.

“Only Lockston I ever heard of is an
orchard,” the woman answered. “Named after the family, I think. You
have to get off the main strip here. Take a left off the highway
two stoplights down. You’re going to drive for a bit after that.
Should be a sign, but it ain’t very noticeable.”

I stared without blinking, and the red stains
on her face danced.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

My hands gripped the steering wheel again,
the woman inside the gas station watching me from the window.

Open road. Spinning wheels.

The world was paint on rough canvas. Trees
sneered at me. Flocks of startled birds swooped in fields.

Cars honked, clicked on their blinkers, and
then roared past, throwing me dirty looks as they veered around
me.

My van crawled, my eyes scanning the side of
the road.

Vines hugged the sign, protecting it. Hiding
it.

I didn’t miss it.
Lockston Orchard.

Swerving, I rolled the van into the drive,
the vehicle bumping and jumping as I guided it off of the road and
into an overgrown alcove. It wasn’t hidden in the least, but I
didn’t care.

Stumbling from the driver’s seat, I stood in
the grass, my heart thudding. My gaze rose to the winding lane.
Bugs buzzed around my head. Some of them nipped at my skin, tasting
me. I was in a storybook, a dream. A beautiful world that didn’t
belong to me.

My legs weren’t listening to my brain. They
carried me down the path, hiking up and over hills. Keeping to the
trees, I snuck from one trunk to another, on and on until an
impressive colonial house rose up from the ground like a stunning
apparition.

Orange covered the world, shadows
lengthening. Reaching, reaching. Light glared at me from the
windows. Lace curtains fluttered. Figures moved within.

My gaze tracked the shapes, my body frozen,
keeping its distance.