Through tears, he fumbled over his words. “I feel like such a hypocrite. Junior started talking about Carter’s and how it was going under. He said he and his dad had been making meth for years. It’s how they kept the family business going. It’s so fucked up. That money we earned growing up was drug money. Tainted.”
I took his face in my hands and forced him to look at me. His eyes were fixed on the wall behind me. “Look at me now, Jackson. We were just kids, collecting eggs. We earned that money and we didn’t know any better. And what choice did we really have in a town like this? Look at us. We’re stuck now. I don’t want to be stuck anymore, and I don’t want you selling drugs so you can pay some asshole to use his truck. You will not go back there—I won’t let you.” I was crying too now.
“What if he tells people?”
“Jackson, you are smarter than this. Junior will never tell because he’ll go to jail. They’re making the drugs, not you. You could put him away yourself, you know.”
“I don’t know, Em.”
“If you don’t, I will.”
He looked panic-stricken. “No! You can’t. They’ll send you away.”
“Don’t you care what he and his father are doing to this town?”
“This town?” He squinted at me.
“To you, to us, Jax. Don’t let our circumstances affect your integrity. Even if you stop selling drugs, Junior will just find someone else to do it. I know who you are. You’re not going to let that happen.”
He leaned in slowly. I saw a faint smile tugging at his lips. He kissed me and then pulled away and took a deep breath. “I don’t deserve you, Em.”
I laughed and it lightened the mood a bit. “Well, that’s true, but at least you appreciate that fact. I better get in there and take a shower. Are you gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll be here when you get back. Don’t leave any evidence.”
“I know.”
Jackson’s house hadn’t changed over the years—same stained couch, dingy carpet, and cigarette stink. In the bathroom, the frosted shower door had a rusted track and mildew caked on the tub lining. I undressed quickly and jumped under the cold water, shivering until it warmed up.
I cried for Jax. I couldn’t hold on anymore. Face-to-face, I could be strong for him—he needed that—but once I was alone, I cursed the whole goddamn universe. I cursed Leila, the whiskey monster, that asshole Cal Junior, the Kellers and their stupid rules, and I even cursed dead Brian for leaving us. Then, when all I could taste was the salt from my tears, I sank to my knees under the scalding water and cursed my mother.
Flush it all away. Neeble and the monsters who live here, the stench of death, the drugs, the abuse, the blood and the bodies floating in the river, and all of the unloved children. Just flush it all away, god.
I cried and cried, and soon the water turned cold again. My arms were wrapped around my legs and my head was resting on my knees when the shower door opened and the water was shut off.
“Stand up, Em,” came Jackson’s soothing voice.
He instantly wrapped a towel around me and held me to his big body as my sobs turned into sporadic hiccups. I reached for my clothes and felt a trickle of blood run down my leg. I held the towel to my body, took a step back, and looked down. I had forgotten to ask god to flush away the whole period thing. I looked up at Jackson through my puffy eyes and smiled. “Being a woman sucks.”
He laughed. “You used to brag about it.”
“Not anymore,” I said.
“I’ll give you a minute. Just hurry. My mom will be home in an hour.”
“Okay.”
I cleaned up all traces of Emerson in the house and bathroom, and by the time I made it out to the fort, the sun was coming up. Jackson was asleep on the cot. I curled up next to him and he instinctively opened his arms so I could rest my head on his chest.
That night I slept more soundly than I ever had in my life.
SOMETIME THE NEXT day, when I woke up, he was gone. My period was over, thank god, and Jax had left me a bowl of dry Cheerios and a note.
Morning, Em. Sorry for the dry Cheerios. Mother of the Year hasn’t gone to the store in a few weeks. I took her car to school. She’s inside the house with some dude, so keep a low profile. Sorry about last night, too. I shouldn’t have put that on you. Junior is not your problem, he’s mine. I’m done with the drug thing. I should be home by three thirty. I love you.
I looked at the stack of books on the small table and then beyond it to the black leather-bound journal sitting under a brass candleholder. My hand shook as I reached for it. I picked it up and held it to my chest. My fifteen-year-old brain wanted to open it so badly, but my heart wouldn’t let me disrespect Jackson that way. Holding it to my chest, I stared out of the small shed window to the tree line and thought about our life so far. I tried to predict how the story would end, or even what would happen to us after that day, but I couldn’t figure it out. We were just kids.
There were footsteps coming toward the shed, and then I heard Jackson whistling. I opened the thin, wooden door. “Welcome home, honey.”