Page 1 of Love Me Boldly

ONE

HOLLY

Then

Freedom.

The glittery blue word was the only bright thing in this run-down trailer. It didn’t matter how often I scrubbed and cleaned, the lingering odors of beer, marijuana, and other scents I not only didn’t recognize, but wouldn’t think about, remained.

“Looks good,” Tracey said. Her stance mirrored mine, with our hands on our hips. A ghost of a smile crinkled her eyes as she surveyed our boards.

Vision boards. Her suggestion. I’d rolled my eyes at her.

Hers boasted of ocean pictures and the University of Tennessee, where she wanted to go to grad school for a masters in software engineering. Hot guys with chiseled abs in swim trunks made a strong, third showing.

Successwas her chosen word. In complete contrast—and not surprising because we were one hundred and eighty degrees different—mine was more realistic, less “get me a hunky guy” dreamy.

An apartment building. Graduation cap. Picture of an open highway.

I wanted to get out of this trailer, into my own place, and for the first time in my life, finally find some freedom from the life and family I was born into.

Tracey’s board was hot pink and lavender. Mine was dark blue and silver, and only silver because black clashed with the blue.

Tracey insisted I go for something brighter. I caved because it wasn’t worth arguing about, but now, with the canvas drying and propped on my television stand in front of the broken TV, the blue was harsh.

Happy. Bright. Shiny. Out of place in the dark cesspool of a home I’d lived in for far too long.

Not forever. I had a few memories that reminded me of a time when life was different. A lifebefore.

Thankfully I had Tracey to pull me out of the muck and mire, and she’d done it again.

“Thanks again for coming,” I whispered. I hated the vulnerability in my voice.

I didn’t mind being alone. I was used to it. But being alone for your first holiday break because your drunk of a father was in prison was an entirely new level of loneliness.

When Tracey showed up at my door with a suitcase at her feet, arms laden with plastic bags and hugging two large art canvases to her chest, I’d burst into tears.

“You’re my BFF. Where else would I be?” She took my hand and squeezed.

We were entirely different, practically from two different worlds. She came from happy parents with a happy marriage, was equally happy herself, and had three little brothers she treated like they were her children instead of siblings. Her family took two vacations a year—one to the beach and one somewhere else in the country—and an Instagram feed full of smiling people with affection and joy and all the normal things I could only envision.

I had a mom who took off. A father in prison. At some point, I’d had a chance of having Tracey’s life, or something similar, but that was before Mom’s surgery. Before the addiction. Before she took off to chase her high and Dad crumbled to his knees while hugging a case of Natural Light.

I had an aunt and uncle who did their best to fill in the gaps my parents created, and I had Tracey.

Some days it wasn’t nearly enough.

Today, like others, it was more than I deserved.

“What now?” I asked, looking at the canvases. My dream of freedom. Get my degree, get out of this town. Get a job, a home of my own, and leave Deer Creek and all its horrific memories behind.

Tracey’s wine-deep red fingernail tapped the fireworks on my vision board. They were meant to celebrate graduating college after this last upcoming semester. “We celebrate. You made it through a crummy year, the worst of the worst. Your best is on the horizon. Which means…we have some hotties to find.”

I groaned. “You have hotties to find.”

“Nah.” She shrugged and reached for her purse. While she pulled out her ID, bank card, ChapStick, and car keys, she continued. “You need a hottie in your life, too. Remember what my grandma always said?”

“Marry a rich man. They’re just as easy to love, only harder to find.” I repeated the words in a robotic tone. Tracey’s grandma, Mary, repeated that so often I had dreams about it.

---