Page 63 of Untruly With You

27

LAINE

I find Frankie,Cassidy, and Magnolia sitting criss-crossed in front of the living room fireplace. Frankie is wrapping homemade lavender soap bars in customized labels to give out as wedding favors. Cassidy is filling paper cones with dried flowers—their “confetti” for the first walk up the aisle as a married couple. Magnolia, meanwhile, is staring out of the windows, watching the storm rage outside.

“We’ve missed you!” Frankie says, her entire face brightening when she sees me.

“Yeah, I was just trying to get some work done. I’m behind schedule.”

Magnolia nods her head, as if reading straight through my jumbled thoughts. Cassidy attempts a smile.

At my request, Cassidy sets me to work on wrapping the soaps with Frankie.

“Thanks for all your help with the wedding,” Cassidy says, a seemingly genuine smile gracing her lips. Her red hair is piled into a high bun, but a few tendrils are free, framing her larger-than-life features.

“It’s no problem,” I murmur, my mind somewhere else entirely.

“Well, thanks. And thanks for coming to the bachelorette party, too. I hope we didn’t get too wild for you,” Cassidy continues. “It sounds like I said…some things I shouldn’t have. I don’t even remember much of anything, but whatever I said, I am sorry.” She pauses, unable to meet my gaze.

I smile weakly, only having the energy to half-listen.

When Cassidy speaks again, her voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “And thank you…” She pauses, and we all let her think out her words in the quiet. “Thank you for getting Sutton here. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy sell.”

Frankie nods. Then, almost to herself, she says, “I missed him.”

Magnolia holds both hands up to her chest, knotting them together. “Yes, thank you, Laine. I—we—needed him here.”

The three of them try to keep the conversation going for a while, but I don’t have much to say—an entirely new predicament for me. Soon, the others lapse into the same silence, until the thunder and crackling firewood are the only sound.

Eventually, there is a strike of lightning so bright we all pause our work to stare up at it. Soon after, it’s accompanied by a low, villainous rumble in the clouds. Without thinking, I jump to my feet and hurry to the window, staring out at the strobing light. I look for anything outside, beyond the streaks of rain, that could resemble Sutton.

“Do you think they’re alright out there?” I ask, my voice thick.

In seconds, Magnolia is at my side. “Want to watch for them from the porch?”

I give her a wordless nod.

Before leading me outside, Magnolia picks up a thick wool blanket from the couch, cradling it in her arm. I follow her tothe porch swing where we both curl up, knees to our chests, and she drapes the blanket over us.

The air is cold and clear. And thatsmell. It’s like every tree, every blade of grass opened up to the rain, letting their freshness flow out. If Sutton wasn’t out in those mountains, facing that storm, I might see the light show as mesmerizing rather than petrifying.

“Should we have let them go out there in this weather?” my voice trembles as I scan the rain-soaked scenery, hoping that at any second I’ll see Sutton emerge from the tree line.

Magnolia wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in tight. “The storm wasn’t supposed to hit until later this evening. But they’ll be fine. All three of those boys know how to handle this weather. They're probably taking shelter somewhere up there, waiting for the worst of it to pass.”

Magnolia could say anything and I would find some solace in it, thanks to that melodic voice of hers. I wanted to cling to her soothing words. But with every lightning strike, my pulse hitches. And even though I’m warm, curled up at Magnolia’s side under our blanket, I can’t stop shivering.

Magnolia tries to shift the conversation toward lighter matters. “You know, Laine, I've never seen Sutton so happy. You do wonders for him.”

My stomach roils like the dark clouds above us, guilt seeping through me. After the last twenty-four hours I’ve had, the last thing I have energy for is digging myself deeper into our farce.

Magnolia’s watercolor eyes shine. “He really loves you.”

I try to laugh her words off, but the sound is strangled. After another thunderclap, I ask, “Did he say that to you?”

“No. He didn’t need to. But I see it. I see it in the way he’s constantly staring at you—and somehow thinking he’s being discreet about it.” Magnolia chuckles, tipping her headto the side so our foreheads touch. “And even before I saw it, I suspected it.”

I keep my eyes trained on the trees when I ask, “What do you mean?”

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