“I did. Then I spent the next month trying to make her think I wasn’t insane. But it was true, you know. I loved your mother the first time I ever saw her. I loved her even more the first time I ever talked to her. The day we got married, and the day you were born, it just got stronger. I still love her now, Alex. It doesn’t just stop because someone is gone. I want you to know that.”
“What about Caroline?”
“It’s complicated, you know. Your mother was the love of my life. When you feel that connected to another person, I think a part of you is just bound to them, even when they’re gone. And that’s ok. It’s how you know the feelings you had for them were real. But what I feel for Caroline is strong and I do love her. I give her all of what is left.”
“She’s ok with it?”
“Alex…my feelings for Caroline are more complicated than just a simple answer. Maybe we should save that part for another night.” He reaches over and grabs my hand. “I was just trying to help you.”
“I know.” I swallow hard; my tongue feels like sandpaper. “I stopped thinking about it for a while at least but it’s hard…I don’t know what I’m supposed to think. Or what I’m supposed to do anymore.”
“Maybe you should try praying for a miracle.”
“Don’t start with that tonight. I need facts and…and answers.”
“Sometimes we don’t have concrete facts and answers. Sometimes all we have is faith and hope and you just have to trust it.”
“So I ask for one of your miracles. What if I don’t get the one I want? What then? I get my hopes up only to have to experience this all over again.”
“You may not know why but you just have to accept the fact you got the one that needed to happen.”
“What about deserve?” I yank my hand free of his tight grasp.
“I don’t understand.”
“Maybe I did bad things. Maybe I can’t ask for something because I’ll just get what I deserve.”
“I don’t think it really works that way. Don’t give up hope, no matter how impossible it feels.”
“You believe in miracles. I believe in retribution.” Curling up against the window, I start to shake. I wasted so much time doing so many stupid things. I would do anything right now to get those days, months and even years back.
My shoulders shake as my body tries to hold back a sob. I think about my stupidity. I think about how I would do things different if given the chance. My thoughts hurt too damn much. The stars haunt me as I cry against the window.
Chapter 29
When I was nineteen…
A week after finals, I drove El Chigger to the luxurious swamp of Louisiana. My destination was just over the border in the middle of no man’s land, about fifty or so miles east of Beaumont. I followed a long, dirt road that stopped under a sign painted in red letters, Camp Rochellas.
Hesitating on the brake, I studied the area just through the gravel driveway. I was a little nervous coming to this place alone. Sprayberry had haunted my thoughts, like a comfortable memory, the entire drive here. Part of my soul yearned for another summer on the ranch. Caroline would give me a job in a heartbeat. My father would be thrilled. Jess would be…
It’s just a few months, I thought, letting my foot off the pedal. It was time to move forward and meet my new summer companions. Unloading my bags from the trunk, I walked across the worn grass path following the signs for the staff bunks. The room held a musty scent of old wood and moth balls.
A few people smiled with a hello but talked amongst themselves. I got the impression this was not the first summer for most of the staff. My teeth bit down on my chapped bottom lip. It’s just a few months, I reminded myself. I came to Rochellas to teach art. Therefore, I would focus on the students.
I began the first two-week rotation trapped in a room with children who preferred Play Stations over painting. The sweet and appreciative students proved to be few and far between. The majority of the kids bordered on obnoxious brats, banished away by their parents for the summer.
On the second day, while adjusting to the grueling hours of Rochellas, I met the first person who bothered to have a conversation with me. He didn’t have much choice. I literally crashed into him, knocking us to the mess hall floor in a red explosion of marinara and noodles.
“Shi….” I caught my words, trying to honor the counselor rules. I looked into a set of humorous brown eyes, resting under blond, scraggly hair. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”
“You have noodles in your hair.”
“Shi….” My face turned red as I swatted at pasta, hanging next to my ears. This day just grew increasingly better. I had overslept this morning and missed breakfast. Now, my lunch was on the floor and I was covered in marinara. My afternoon class started in fifteen minutes. Those little brats were brutal. Just a splatter of sauce would turn this group into an unruly, laughing riot until their parents picked them up next Friday.
“Here, let me help you. I’m Dutch by the way.” He held out a tan hand for me to shake. My eyes followed up his brown arm that led to a cut-off shirt sleeve.
“Alex.” I clasped his fingers for a moment then let go to grab a napkin.
“Alex, huh.” Dutch took the white paper from my hand and removed the sauce from my right thigh. He wiped in slow movements. “Those are some nice legs. Way too long and sexy to belong to some Alex. You sure it’s not Lexie?”
“Are you for real?” I blurted out laughing.
“How real do you want me to be?” Dutch stood up, flashing a grin that probably worked on most girls, or just life in general. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me up from the puddle of scattered food. “So what hellish activity did you get pegged with this year?”
“Art.”
“That’s intense, being cooped up with those rich brats in a room. You should try switching to the boats. You’ll get the best tan of the summer.”
“I like art.”
“We’ll see if you do at the end of the first session. I gotta run now. I’m a lifeguard. Poolside, not lake. See you around, Lexie.”
He sauntered off barefoot from the mess hall. I noticed his blond, surfer hair had lighter streaks from the sun, or maybe he actually highlighted it. Rolling my eyes, I contemplated the only person who had bothered to notice my arrival at camp. He was pretty as in pretty hair, pretty skin, and pretty damn self-assured. A combination I assumed got the attention of most enamored females, including me as I watched his ass disappear out the door.
That evening, I arrived alone in the mess hall for dinner. I heard a girl laughing before I even approached the rusted door. My stomach grumbled as I made a beeline for the food.
“Lexie!”
I stacked a small salad on my tray and something resembling meatloaf. I grabbed a bowl of macaroni and cheese. My stomach grumbled, so I grabbed a second one.
“Lexie!”
I turned around, hearing the voice again. At a table by the window, the blonde boy named Dutch waved in my direction. I walked over and hesitantly took the empty seat next to two other staff.
“Hey, you survived. I was afraid the little shitters tied you up in that hellhole.”
“Oh, um…no.”
“So Lexie, this is Darcy and Brecken.” I tensed at his use of my new nickname again. I wanted to correct him but held my tongue in front of his friends.
“The hot girl with the sexy name.” Darcy smiled and my face got red with her comment. She had full lips, accented with a tiny Cindy Crawford mole above the left side. “I’m just kiddin’. Well, not really. Isn’t that what you called her, Dutch?”
“Don’t be a bitch, Darcy.” Dutch glared in her direction.
She flipped him off then looked at me. “Don’t believe the crap Dutch says about us. This is my second year at Camp Hell-as. Dutch and Brecken’s third.” Her blond hair hung in damp waves around a cutoff yellow Rochellas t-shirt that covered her swimsuit. Looking closer, I realized it was her lacy, black bra cups poking out from the ripped neck.
“Ain’t she his new Hatchet House girl?” Brecken spoke up from his sleepy trance. The pupils of his eyes waved in and out above a full face of hair.
“What’s a Hatchet House?”