“That was the last picture I ever sent him, you know,” Quinn whispers from behind me, telling me something I already know to be true, thanks to Maverick’s own admissions earlier. She reaches down into the hat and pulls the well-worn picture from where it had been shoved behind the sweatband. You could tell that even though someone had taken the time to protect the photograph with a layer of lamination, it had been handled—often judging by the worn edges—many times over the years.
When Maverick spoke of this picture earlier, I had assumed that he’d gotten rid of it. He spoke so strongly about how it affected him that I never imagined he would have held on to it, let alone placed it somewhere meant to be close to him. It was because of that alone that I broke into a million painful pieces. I would gladly take the anger back if it meant I didn’t feel like I had lost everything I ever wanted all over again.
Quinn doesn’t speak again, but she doesn’t need to. Her point was made, and after she moves to pull me into her arms, she does what she’s done my whole life: picks up the broken pieces of my soul and helps me find a way to get them together again.
14
LEIGHTON
“Whiskey Lullaby” by Brad Paisley and Alison Krauss
Denial was the first thing that happened after discovering the significance behind Maverick’s stupid hat. I spent a solid day—my day off work—going over all of the things that it didn’t really mean. Cowboys are a superstitious bunch; everyone knows that, so I had convinced myself that it was nothing more than that. I came up with every excuse I could, but in the end, I knew deep down that I was casting lies to protect myself from pain.
By the time my Sunday had come to a close, though, that denial had quickly turned to anger. That anger was a powerful thing, and even Jana gave me a wide berth that day. I kept thinking about his stupid hat, that ridiculous crooked eight, and that damn picture. Every single time one of those would enter my thoughts, I ended up with a plate thrown against the kitchen wall. I was sure we would lose customers that day, but it seemed like everyone was itching for a show because we were packed all day—which, of course, just pissed me off even more. He did this. He made us the focus of this town’s rumors. Just by being back he had cast a spotlight on us while the townsfolk waited for more things to whisper about behind our backs.
I skipped the third stage completely. Realization that I seemed to be on the grief train dawned when I docked at the depression station. By the time I realized what was going on, I was begging for the anger to return. At least with that, I could still breathe without pain.
The pain of what could have been.
But what wasn’t.
And what now might never be.
So far, the deep depression that had settled over me hadn’t left for one aching second. Not even when I was asleep. I would wake up with tears streaking my face, gasping for air. It had been two days since that heaviness had settled over me.
I worked through it yesterday, keeping to myself and avoiding everyone. I could tell Jana knew something was wrong, but she didn’t call me on it. For once, she left me to my thoughts, coming back into the kitchen only when she needed to restock something we were out of. She allowed me my solitude in the kitchen while she worked the floor and dealt with customers, something I was grateful for.
But today I just don’t have it in me. I can’t fake my way through the day again, and to be honest, I just can’t find the will to get up from the bed. For the first time on a weekday since the PieHole opened, the closed sign would stay hanging over the purple door. It didn’t escape my notice that even when Buford passed away, the sign was flipped and the door opened, but all his son has to do is come riding back into town and everything had been overturned on its ass.
I sniff, rolling my body so that the sheets let my arm free, and grab one of the tear-soaked tissues balled next to my body, wiping my nose before reaching out and grabbing my cell off the table next to my bed. Earl starts purring from his spot above my head, laying one large paw on my nose when I turn again, thinking that it was finally time for his mama to give him some attention.
“Stop, baby,” I thickly say through the lump in my throat, swatting away his paw.
He gives a hiss of irritation that I’ve had the nerve to scold him before moving to the end of the bed. He gives me a look, his yellow-green eyes blinking once before he curls, lifts his leg, and licks himself.
My eyes water when I think that even Earl, the only faithful man that I have left in my life, has turned on me. It takes me a solid minute to calm down before I pick up the phone and call Jana.
“Good mornin’, beautiful girl,” she hums into the phone, her voice clear and cheerful despite it being only six in the morning.
I open my mouth, take a deep breath, and proceed to give a fake cough performance of a lifetime.
“Oh, good heavens, honey!”
I give a few good throat-clearing noises before I take the coward’s way out and lie through my teeth. “Hey, Jana. I was hoping I caught you before you headed in. We’re going to stay closed today. I’ve got something nasty and since I started feeling bad last night, I don’t want to chance that this could be supercontagious. Which means all the pies I prepped yesterday are being tossed. I don’t feel well enough to make more.” I pause and give a few deep coughs. “We’re just going to close for the day.”
“Honey, I can take care of things at the PieHole. All it needs is a good scrub and I can make up some new goodies before we even open the door. Don’t you worry about a thing. You get yourself all rested up and I’ll handle it all.”
I clear my throat again, this time more to ease the claw of emotional guilt that’s taken a choke hold on me. “Jana, let’s just take the day and keep things closed. You’re always after me to take a vacation, so looks like I’ll finally take one.”
“A vacation isn’t when you’re home sick, Leighton, baby.”
“And I’m not leaving you to run things all day by yourself, so if you insist on going in, I’ll just have to leave my bed to come too.”
“Nonsense. You get yourself better and don’t you even worry about a thing. I’ll take care of it all. If you don’t start feeling better, you call Doctor Baker, you hear?”
My mouth had just opened to argue when I hear the click of her disconnecting our call. The guilt taking a life of its own and only amplifying the fog that has been hanging over me for the past two days.
Blinking away the tears, I look over at the hat that is still sitting on my dresser—opening side up, stupid Quinn.
How could he do this?
How could he admit that everything I’ve ever thought, all the pain that has followed me around, has been a lie? Because of him I’ve been unable to move on, judging every man before giving them a chance, always finding them lacking of the high standards in which Maverick had me measuring them to. He ran off, leaving to live the high life, without a thought to the lives he was leaving behind.
He escaped.
And I stayed.