Page 17 of Bring You Back

At the end of the day, that’s how it should be. Everything is wrong. I’m going to make it right.

Julian didn’t come back home last night, and he’s still AWOL this morning. Given what I know now, he wasn’t spending his time at the skate park.

He doesn’t even skate anymore, according to Tommy who came back over yesterday and caught me up as I made myself at home. Naomi assured me that I can stay as long as I need to. But I shouldn’t take advantage of her soft spot—as Julian would probably accuse me of doing now. It’s notadvantageto her. We’re still family.

I have goals, and I’ll stay under this roof until they’re achieved. I know how to work, pull my weight. Once I find out where exactly I stand with the others, I’ll figure out the rest.

Tommy didn’t bring up Caleb again. Or ask what I had been up to while I was gone. Aside from Julian, I’ve always liked Tommy the most.

I spent most of the day into the night setting up Grumbles with her own little corner of the guest room. I washed Banks’s house off my body and clothes. It should’ve triggered memories of all the times I’ve washed them here; instead, it triggered a memory from there, the apartment I shared with Caleb, where I washed the clothes he’ll never wear again before disposing of them all. I couldn’t sleep and had to use my sleeping pills again.

Naomi left the porch light on like I asked her to. It’s been a better morning.

She left for work a couple hours ago. My arrival has made her a busy bee. After putting away the groceries—including unexpected necessities for Grumbles, complete with litteranda box—we cleaned. We cleaned spots that didn’t even need to be cleaned. Just like I had done with Caleb’s apartment. You want to hold on to what you can until you just want to scrub it all away. Then vice versa. It’s a torturous, endless cycle.

But she’s up, she’s out of the house, she’s moving forward.

When the opportunity presented itself, I asked her what happened to their family. I obviously couldn’t ask Julian. He’d probably slam another door in my face or lie to me like he’s doing to Reyna.

She looked at me like she expected judgment for her role, and there was. But there was also surprise … concern … a sadness that I could reach, for them.

I’m sure everyone in this town who’s heard has had a field day with this one. Tragedy made to gossip. Something new to keep their jaws flapping.

Tommy walks in as I’m taking the last bite of my grapefruit, his hands hauling the bags of second breakfast from A Flying Grit. Hands down the best food joint in town thanks to the culinary genius of Sammy Vance. The food is typical of what you’d eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but Sammy has a special touch that other restaurants around here have tried to steal, i.e. offering him more pay to leave his beloved establishment and come cook for them. We, the blessed townspeople, would still get to experience his skills, but he would be making other restaurants more money. No dice. He’s thirty years too loyal to A Flying Grit. I’d say the name has something to do with it.

I’ve missed Sammy’s cooking, and I’m ready to eat.

The first thing Tommy says is, “Where’s Naomi?”

“Work,” I say as I lick honey off my fingers.

“Really?” He sets the bags on the island between us and lets out a breath with raised brows. “Wow. That’s good.”

Naomi’s the best accountant in town. The firm wouldn’t be able to survive long without her.

“Is this her first time going to work since. . .?” It’s an accurate assumption, considering the state I found her in yesterday morning, but I ask for clarification.

“Kind of.”

I stare, waiting for more, but more doesn’t come. I nod. “Thanks for the clarification.”

“No problem,” he says with such a serious tone that I laugh away my irritation.

Tommy eyes the grapefruit, the one he heard me ask Naomi for yesterday and the one he sees me now eating today, but he still doesn’t ask, or bring up Caleb. The same range of thoughts pass over his face that I’d seen pass over Naomi’s: remembrance, realization, sympathy. The first two I can handle, but if everyone is going to keep giving me the last one, they can at least say something. Or knock it off.

I drop the remains of first breakfast in the trash, the gutted fruit hitting the bottom with athud,then wash my hands, asking over my shoulder, “What do you got?”

“All the goods.” He flourishes the carry-out boxes, listing their contents as he pops the lids. “Eggs Benedict. Blueberry pancakes with extra whipped cream. And for the finale”—I chuckle as he beams with accomplishment—“Biscuits and gravy with extra sausage.”

“You remembered,” I tease as I dry my hands, making eyes at the biscuits and gravy withextrasausage. That’s key.

Tommy makes an exaggerated grimace like it was a near-miss and teases back, “You were gone so long.” His face changes at his statement, now thinking, as I am, how much things can change in a year’s time. How much thingshavechanged. Everything has changed.

I grab a utensils packet and hit it against the island to remove them from the wrapping. “So why’ve you been hanging out with me?”After what I didgoes without saying now.

“Someone’s got to,” he says as he unwraps his own utensils with his fingers. He’s partly teasing, but I don’t deny the possible truth that he could very well be all I have.

I slide the biscuits and gravy toward me with a smirk. “You’re just hoping my being back will get Julian away from Reyna.”

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