“Cade’s just overprotective sometimes, is all,” she said. “Everything that happened was a long time ago, back when I was in high school. You’re what, early twenties?” She didn’t wait for my answer, just continued. “So Elias is about your age. He’d only have been a toddler when it happened, I’d imagine. I didn’t know the Saints back then. There was an older brother - Mason - older than me by a few years, worked as a ranch hand for Cade’s dad.”
I listened attentively, all the time thinking how insular this town was, that everyone was connected in some way. I guess that could be comforting or frightening, depending on how you grew up in it. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for Elias.
“Mason and my sister had a thing going,” June said. “Even though he was a few years older. Everyone says he was a bad influence on her, and that might well have been some of it, but my sister was a wild child back then too. They were out at a party, Mason and my sister, and that’s when it happened.”
“What happened?”
“Mason and her drove back from the party,” June said. “He was drunk. My parents were out looking for my sister. There was an accident, head on collision, and my parents were killed. Mason, too. My sister committed suicide after that, couldn’t bear to live with the guilt.”
My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh my God, June,” I said, “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine.”
“Thank you for that,” she said. “But it was a long time ago. A lifetime. A lot of people carried around a lot of guilt for what happened, even though there was nothing they could have done about it, Cade included. There’s no use for it, either, all that guilt.”
“Is that what Cade was referring to, about the Saint family?”
“Yes,” June said. “I left right after it happened, but I’d heard the family took a lot of heat for it. The father didn’t have a good reputation to begin with, but after that, I’m not sure. I’d imagine it wasn’t easy for them here.”
I could imagine what Elias went through in this small town, being from a family like the one he was from. Golden Willow, Georgia wasn’t exactly like West Bend, not so small you’d know everyone and everything going on, but it was the kind of place where my mother’s reputation followed us. It didn’t help that we attracted attention - looks of disgust or pity, depending on who saw my sister and I-walking around in bare feet and tattered secondhand clothing.
If there’s one thing in life I understood, it was being a pariah.
I also understood the fact that the feeling of being an outsider never leaves you. It’s etched on your soul, into the very core of who you are. No matter how many fans I had or how much money I made, it was always there.
I wondered if Elias felt the same way.
Then I told myself it didn't matter. I didn't need to know Elias' story. He might have all kinds of reasons for being how he was, and I might have all kinds of chemistry with him, but that didn't matter. I was here for a few days, biding my time...and Elias was more trouble than I needed, with the kinds of wounds that didn't just disappear.
I already had enough complications in my life. I didn't need any more.
***
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ELIAS
“Mom?” I called. I stood in the doorway for a moment, not wanting to even walk inside, almost as if I stayed right here, I wouldn’t be sucked into whatever drama was going on. As much as I’d come home because I was lost, I knew I didn’t want to be rooted here permanently. I didn’t want to be taking care of her forever.
It sounded callous, I knew it did. Honor your parents and all that. And my mother wasn’t evil, not the way my father was. She was just… incapable. She had never been strong. It was one of the reasons I was back here, to make sure she was okay.
I just didn’t want to get stuck here in West Bend.
I didn’t want to end up like her.
She motioned for me to come inside, a lit cigarette dangling off the end of her fingers. “I was thinking of getting one of those holders, you know?” she asked, pointing to the unlit end of the smoke. “The way the actresses used to have, back in the day. Looks classy. Keeps your fingers from yellowing.”
I exhaled loudly. “Maybe you should quit smoking, mom,” I said. “It’s not good for your health, you know. Cancer and all that.”
She looked behind me at the television set, on mute but set to a soap opera. “Your father used to complain about that all the time, too,” she said.
“That was the one fucking thing in life we ever agreed on,” I said. Except that the asshole didn’t give a shit about whether or not her health was great. Fuck, he didn’t give a shit if she lived or died. He just fucking cared about not having to buy my mother’s smokes.
When we were kids, we used to pick up loose change for her, or ask people for a quarter, so she could get them when my father refused. Between the two of them, his booze and her smokes, it was a wonder my brothers and I ever ate.
“Your father did hate these,” she said. “He did care about me.”
I didn’t bother to correct her.