Page 9 of Best of Me

Nate: Nine at Jenny’s old place.

Me: 10-4. See y’all then.

I wouldn’t say I’m looking forward to spending yet another weekend helping someone move, what with it being hotter than Satan’s ball sack outside by lunchtime most days, but it sure as shit beats being here alone, drowning in thoughts of the life I was supposed to have.

I’m on my way to meet Nate and Jenny when my phone buzzes in the cupholder with an incoming text, but I pay it no mind. There’s too much traffic to not give the road my full attention. Two more messages come through before whoever’s trying to reach me gives up on texting and calls. Twice.

I still drive the same truck I drove in high school; it’s one of the only things from my life with Val that I didn’t give up. The memories in this beast are far too precious, even if they cause me pain. However, an old-ass truck means no fancy Bluetooth, so whoever keeps calling is just going to have to wait for me to find somewhere safe to pull off.

About a mile or so down the road, I pull into the Piggly Wiggly parking lot and check my phone. All three texts and both missed calls are from Valorie’s dad, Darryl. “Fuck,” I groan, spearing my left hand through my hair. “What now?”

Valorie’s parents, her mother especially, have never been my favorite people, but since her death, things have been worse than ever with them. At least two or three times a month, Darryl calls me to come out and help him manage his wife. To say she’s handled her daughter’s death poorly would be an understatement. I try my damndest not to judge her though, because her pain must be tenfold what mine is. Only instead of at least trying to cope, Nancy drowns herself in prescription pills and booze.

With great trepidation, I return Darryl’s call. He answers on the first ring. “Duke. Can you—”

I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white and my nails bite into the leather, trying like hell to keep my frustration to myself. “I’m on my way.” I hang up before he can reply and immediately dial Nate.

“‘Sup, brother?”

“Nancy,” is all I say.

And it’s all he needs to hear to get it. “Shit. What now?”

“No clue, but I’ve gotta go. Sorry to bail.”

“You’re good, man. I’ll let Jenny know, but be prepared for her to give you shit.”

Rolling my eyes, a small smile tugs at my lips as I imagine Nate’s little five-foot-nothing spitfire of a fiancée reaming me out for canceling. It’s like what that Shakespeare dude said…she’s little, but damn she’s fierce.

“Tell her to go easy on me, yeah?”

Nate barks out a short laugh that saysdon’t count on it.“Keep me posted with what happens with Nancy and let me know if you need backup.”

“Will do, brother, will do.”

I make the fifteen-minute drive to Darryl and Nancy’s house in Orchard Grove in a little over ten, worry over what I’m going to walk into churning in my gut like the ocean during a storm.

Judging from the outside of their meticulously kept ranch-style home, you’d never know anything was amiss, which isn’t surprising since appearances mean everything to the Parsons.

Warily, I exit my car and head up the paved path leading from the driveway to the front door. I give two loud knocks before trying the knob; it’s unlocked. “Darryl? Nancy?” I holler both of their names as I step into the house.

The house is quiet—too quiet; my senses immediately go on high alert. Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering, followed by an ear-piercing wail, reverberates through the house. Instinctually, I take off toward Valorie’s childhood bedroom at the back of the house.

As I draw nearer, I realize the commotion is actually coming from the one room in the entire house I’ve never been in—Mallory’s room.What in the hell?I pause just outside of the door, listening for any clues about what could have set her off this time, because while these breakdowns aren’t anything new, they’re always over Valorie.

Hell, no one’s seen or heard from the other Parsons daughter since the day they graduated. Mallory collected her diploma, packed her shit, left, and hasn’t been back since—not even for her own sister’s funeral.Some twin she was, I think bitterly, recalling all of the times Val talked about her sister after she left, all the times she cried over her, how much she missed her. I know shit between Mallory and Nancy has always been strained, but that’s no excuse, at least not in my book.

Then again, Valorie and Mallory were never all that close—they definitely weren’t the stereotypical twins you see in movies, finishing the other’s sentences and shit. I mean, for the first four months of our relationship, I assumed Mallory was her younger sister, not her fucking twin. Talk about a shocker when I showed for their Thanksgiving dinner and met her…I’m pretty sure my jaw hit the floor.

Nancy’s broken sobs penetrate through the door and into the hall where I’m still lingering. I move to open the door when something heavy hits it from the other side. “It should have been you!” she screams, bitter pain and cold resentment lacing her every word.

“Nancy!” I punctuate her name with two loud knocks. “I’m coming in.”

The room is a total disaster. The bedding appears to have been torn from the mattress and tossed around the room. The curtains are ripped from the wall. There is clothing strewn haphazardly through the small space along with little rips of paper.

“Nancy,” I say her name softly, hesitantly, as though I’m approaching a wild animal. She looks up at me, her eyes red-rimmed and glazed. “What’s going on?” I ask, still not entering the room.

She stares at me blankly before returning to…whatever it is she’s doing, muttering under her breath all the while. “Stupid. Worthless. Never should’ve been born.”

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