Brianna turned around and walked back to the car. Then, because the pain was more than she could bear, a welling wall of agonizing unfairness, she screamed into the open air, yelling at the fields across the street.
It didn’t make her feel better like she’d hoped, and she was starting to think she needed to pick up a bad habit like the Morettis were apt to do, because their lives were just too excruciating to endure without an escape, and the pain seemed to burn anyone who got close enough to care too much. She got into the car and let out another sob, burying her face in her lap as she cursed the day in ballet class when she befriended the loud Italian girl who was too short and a little too brash to succeed at being the graceful dancer her mother was trying to mold her into.
But even as she thought it, knowing without a doubt that all the most painful things in Brianna’s life were attached to taking Carina under her dancing wing, Brianna had to admit all the most beautiful things were also connected to that one defining moment in second grade.
Carina got into the car and reached past Brianna, letting her cry as she opened the glove compartment and fished out a bottle of Chanel lotion. She put it on, making the car smell like the dark, heady scent Brianna always associated with her best friend. Then Carina asked, “Do you want breakfast, sweetheart?”
“Fuck breakfast,” Brianna whispered into her hands. “And fuck my life. You lied to me. He was supposed to be happy all this time.”
“Okay.” Carina tossed the lotion aside and started the car. “Kentucky it is.”
Chapter Three
It wasn’t until they crossed the Kentucky state line that Brianna started to panic over seeing Tino for the first time in four years.
It didn’t help that she looked like hell.
She picked up some concealer at one of those travel stops while Carina filled up the tank. Then Carina met her inside and grabbed more supplies, things Brianna hadn’t thought of in her frazzled state.
Travel kits.
Snacks.
T-shirts. One was a University of Kentucky shirt. The other simply said Y’ALL in big block white letters printed across the blue material. “I guess they dig blue here,” Carina said as she tossed the Y’ALL shirt at Brianna. Then she picked up one that said, Kentucky Born and Breaded, with a picture of a chicken wing on it. “Yes?”
“Are you serious right now?” Brianna asked with a glare.
“When in Rome.” Carina put the Breaded T-shirt back but picked up a camouflage hat and stuck it on her head. Then she helped herself to a pair of cheap, gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses that swallowed her whole face. “I’m buying these.”
Brianna just shook her head, letting Carina do what she needed to do, until she had a whole stack of things on the counter. She had swapped out the green camouflage hat for a pink one in the pile and was still too attached to the aviators to take them off.
Carina grabbed a tank top hanging by the register and held it up to Brianna for size. Written on it was the claim, Straight Shootin’ Country Girl.
“Yes,” Carina announced and tossed it on top of her other merchandise. “You think my boobs will fall out of that thing if I buy myself one?”
“How would I know?” Brianna shrugged. “I’m not blessed with that problem.”
“What do you think?” Carina turned to the guy at the counter, who looked down to the V-cut shirt Carina was wearing beneath her open jacket, showing off a set of tits half the male population of New York City had catcalled at one point or another. “I’m a lady who’s gotta wear a bra, and this tank top has a T-back. You think that’s sorta tacky? Or will I blend?”
“It’s not like Armani. He doesn’t know,” Brianna said in disbelief. “He’s selling tourist stuff.”
“I think it’ll look fine,” the guy behind the counter agreed. “First time here?”
“Yes, it is,” Carina said as he started ringing her up. “My brother lives here. Family business.” She looked at another tank top; this one was pink and stamped with, Trucks, Cowboys & Country Music. “Oh, I need this one too. I like country music.”
Brianna snorted. “Since when?”
“Bob Dylan is practically country. Folk rock. It’s almost the same.”
The guy behind the counter frowned, as if he might argue, but then he eyed Carina’s tits again and obviously decided he wanted to stay on her good side.
Carina wore her new pink camouflage hat and aviators out of the store after the cashier kindly cut the tags off. They clashed spectacularly with her designer jeans, high-heeled boots, and fitted black leather jacket, but as usual she didn’t seem to notice or care she was out of place.
She stopped to look at herself in the reflection of the BMW, tucking her short, bobbed hair behind her ears as if she was pleased with the overall effect even though she looked patently ridiculous.
Brianna laughed. “Why are you crazy?”
Carina gave her a smug smile. “Got you to laugh, though.”
“Anyone would laugh at that,” Brianna assured her with another snort of disbelief. “Do you see yourself?”