“Cletus and Duane went to your parents’ house this morning and picked up some of your things. Your momma packed your bag, but she wants you to call her. Don’t worry, Duane made sure there were no yellow dresses in the suitcase.” Sienna pulled a phone from her pocket and held it out to me.
It was my phone. I gaped at it and then I gaped at this movie-star angel sent from Heaven to deliver only good news.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at her like a gaping moron.
She flashed a smile then moved to the door, spinning back to me at the last minute. “Also, I believe the Donner Bakery was supposed to make my wedding cake and I believe it cost something like two thousand dollars if my memory serves. Which means you were supposed to make my wedding cake. I’ve called the bakery and cancelled my order. I figure, let’s just cut out the middleman. I’ll add it to your lemon custard cake retainer fee. Assuming your feet will allow it, do you think you could use the kitchen in the carriage house? It has two ovens. And once you tell me exactly what you need, I’ll make sure you have whatever top-of-the-line equipment you require . . .”
Without waiting for my response, she left. I stared at the door for a long moment. Her energy was . . . intense. I liked her, and not just because she was one of those people who are impossible to dislike. She clearly had a good heart. I decided I would take her up on her offer, but one day I’d pay her back. With interest.
The phone in my hand buzzed, demanding my attention, and a text flashed on the screen. It was from Cletus and the sight made my heart lurch and twist, a pining ache stealing my breath. As I scrolled through my notifications, I noticed several texts.
Cletus: I’m sorry. I was wrong, you were right.
Cletus: I just realized you probably don’t have your phone.
Cletus: I think I’m going to make myself useful by retrieving your phone.
Cletus: I just left your parents’ house. I have your phone.
Cletus: Clearly I had your phone, if you’re reading these messages.
I was smiling—grinning like a love-sick fool would be more accurate—by the time I got to the last message. But then my heart twisted and I was gripped by a ferocious wave of sorrow. He might have recognized his error, but he still didn’t trust me to be strong. I didn’t want to be pitied.
I refused to be pitied.
Sighing, I placed the cell on my lap and stared at the ceiling.
I missed him. I hated being angry with him. This state of longing for Cletus hurt, because I wasn’t ready to forgive him.
He needed to prove that he trusted me, not just for me, but for him. Without trust, we had nothing.
I needed to prove my independence and strength, not just for him, but for myself.
And on that note, I called my mother.
I sat up in the bed, leaning against the headboard and testing my feet. They smarted just a tad, but not much.
My mother picked up after the second ring. “Hello? Jennifer?”
I gathered a deep breath, prepared for recriminations and hysterics. “Momma.”
“Oh thank God. What were you thinking? Leaving the house like that? And you didn’t take your phone. I had no way to reach you. You weren’t at the bakery. You weren’t anywhere. I was about to call the sheriff. And then those Winston boys show up and say you’re at their house. What am I supposed to think?”
He didn’t tell her he kicked me out? What a coward. A flare of disgust for my father had me shaking my head.
“Slow down. Just . . . give me a minute to respond.”
I heard her huff a watery sigh. “I’m just so sorry. I think . . . I think I must have driven you away. I keep thinking about that conversation we had on Friday. You hurt my feelings, and things were getting worse instead of better, so I talked to Reverend Seymour about it and he says I need to let you go. I need to let you fly like a bird.” She sniffled, then added on a wobbly whisper, “I don’t know if I can do that.”
Tears pricked behind my eyes. I blinked them away. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“I know. Well, I know that now. In retrospect, I guess, I haven’t been a very good listener. I just . . . I just wanted better for you than what I had. You know? You have so much talent and you’re so darn pretty, you’re everything I wished I was when I was your age. Your granddaddy was a selfish man, God rest his soul, and he neglected your grandma and me. I only want what’s best for you, what I never had.”
“But you’re not me. I’m me. And you don’t always know what’s best for me, because you don’t really know me.”
She was quiet for a stretch, then I heard her soft crying. I shook my head and sighed, my forehead falling to my hand.
“Momma, please stop crying.”
“I’m a terrible mother,” she wailed.
“No,” I rolled my eyes, “no, you aren’t. You’ve meant well, and have done the best you know how. But now it’s time to let me be my own person.”