I’m extraordinary. I’m extraordinary…
I didn’t want to feed into Tim because I didn’t care if he liked me anymore.
I didn’t care if anyone liked me.
I just wanted my mom back…
“I’d wished you’d disappear and never come back,” Tim hissed. “Like your stupid dead mom.”
And then, without thought, I snapped.
42
Grace
“Sheriff Camps, he doesn’t deserve to be behind bars,” I bellowed, blasting into the police station. The moment I heard about the fight breaking out and Jackson’s arrest, I headed straight to the station.
Sheriff Camps was dressed in his suit and tie from the gala as he sat behind his desk. “Yeah, well, I don’t deserve to be sitting here filling out this paperwork because it seems your two men cannot keep themselves from acting like damn monkeys in public,” he grumbled.
“Yes, but it wasn’t his fault! He did nothing wrong. And I think—”
“Time out. Which ‘he’ are we talking about?” he asked. “Which one are you here to save?”
“Jackson,” I stated matter-of-factly. “I’m here for him.”
“Good call. It seemed that Finn was the one who started the fight, which is a bit shocking.”
That wasn’t shocking to me at all. Not in the least.
“Can I go back to see them with you?”
He shook his head a bit. “I don’t know, Grace. We don’t really let people back there.”
“Sheriff Camps…it’s me. Lil’ Miss Gracelyn Mae. I just want to talk to them both, that’s all. I swear.”
He sighed. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt any. Come on back, but don’t tell anybody I let you, all right? I don’t need people thinking I’m going soft.”
I agreed to the secret, and as he walked us to the back, I felt my heart racing. When my eyes fell upon Jackson, I gasped a bit. He was cut up and black and blue all across his face. His tie hung around his neck, and he looked so defeated.
Jesus, Finn. What were you thinking?
“Hey,” he muttered.
“Hey,” I replied.
“It seems you got yourself a get-out-of-jail-free card, buddy, thanks to this little ole lady. Be thankful, too—I would’ve kept you sit overnight.” Sherriff Camps remarked as he fumbled with his keys before unlocking Jackson’s cell.
The moment it opened, I wrapped my arms around him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yeah, but still, I shouldn’t have engaged with Finn.” His voice was so low, almost a whisper. I could tell his mind was spinning, and I hoped he wasn’t slipping too far away from me.
Stay here now, Jackson…
“I’ll meet you up front in a second, okay?” I told him, rubbing his arm. He nodded and made his way up front. I walked over to Finn’s cell. He looked up at me, his face just as beat up as Jackson’s.
“I’m guessing you’re not here to bail me out, too, huh?” he joked.
I could hardly look at him. He felt so much like a stranger to me. “You’re still drunk.”
“A little.”
“You don’t get drunk, Finn.”
“Well, maybe you aren’t the only one who’s changed a bit.” He stood and walked over to me. His hands wrapped around the bars. “What are you doing, Grace? Running around with an addict?”
Wow, he was shooting low.
“He’s clean,” I told him. “He’s been clean for years.”
“For now. I mean, look what he did to my face. I told you he was dangerous.”
“You did the same thing to him, too, Finn.”
“Yeah but…” He sighed and turned away before looking back at me. “I love you.”
“Stop saying that.”
“No, I won’t because I do. We have fifteen years of history together, and I cannot stand by and watch you run into the arms of that asshole. I love you too much for that.”
“I prayed for you to say those words to me again,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I prayed for you to want me back, to come back to me, but that’s not what you wanted.”
“Yes, it is. I’m telling you right now, you’re who I want. I know things are messy but—”
“You only showed interest in me when another man did, Finn—that’s not love, that’s jealousy, and I don’t want to play that game. I don’t want to play any games. I just want you to let me go.”
“I’m not going to quit,” he warned. “I’m not going to give up on us, on this.”
“There is no us, Finn.”
“Because of that lowlife?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Because of you.”
*
“It’s fine,” Jackson grumbled as I pressed the warm cloth to his eye as he sat on his couch. “It’s not the first time I’ve gotten a black eye for sleeping with another man’s woman.”
“I’m not his woman,” I stated sharply, watching him wince as I pressed the cloth to his eye. “And he is not my man.”
He tilted his head up. “If you’re not his, then whose are you?”
“My own,” I said breathlessly, feeling my heart began to beat faster. “Before I am anyone else’s, I will always be my own.”
“Geez,” he whispered, shaking his head as he bit his bottom lip. “You have no clue how good it feels to hear you say that.”
I smiled at him and went back to tending to his eye.
“You’re doing it,” he whispered, placing his hand against mine to stop me from patting his cheek.
“Doing what?”
“Finding yourself.”
I grinned and wrung out the cloth. “I think you’ll live to see another day.”
“That’s good to hear,” he mumbled, looking down and fiddling with his fingers.
“What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you see when you look at him? What do you see when you see Finn?” he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.
I paused for a moment, lowering myself to the floor, and then I looked up at him. “I see my past. I see everything I was, and everything I was not.”
“And what do you see when you look at me?”
I swore there was a small spark in his eyes that healed parts of me that I hadn’t even known were broken. I ran my hand through my hair, bit my lip, and gave a slight shrug. “Possibilities.”
43
Jackson
I was shocked when Sunday morning rolled around, and Loretta Harris was knocking on my door. As I opened it, I noticed her in her Sunday best outfit with her big floppy hat and steamed dress. Standing there poised, she looked as southern as a woman could look.
I hated that her face matched her daughter’s. It made it harder for me to despise her.
“Shouldn’t you be on your way to praise that God of yours?” I asked her, leaning against my doorframe with my arms crossed.
She didn’t arrive with the same spitfire that she’d brought my way the first time she barged into my shop. She wasn’t barking demands or shouting at me. She was hauntingly calm and collected.
That brought about some unease.
“I haven’t spoken to my daughter in days,” she told me. “And the last time I saw her, I said things I regret.”
“Yeah, well, perhaps you should’ve thought things through before speaking. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” I began to close my door, and she blocked it with her arm. I cocked an eyebrow. She quickly dropped her arm.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…” She sighed and shook her head. “I saw her in town, and she looked away. She has this crazy red hair and tattoos, and this just isn’t who she is. She hasn’t even been attending church.”
“I wouldn’t either if the people talked about me the way they do her.”
“You think I enjoy it? Hearing what those people say about her?”
“No”—I shook my head—“I know you don’t enjoy it, but I also don’t think you try to stop it.”
She parted her lips but paused. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a check.
“I thought I told you I didn’t want your money,” I scolded her.
“Maybe you would if you looked at the price. It’s enough to give you and your father a good life. You could start over anywhere in the world.”