Page 81 of Now to Forever

“There it is,” she says, tossing her hands in the air and walking out of the kitchen but continuing her tirade from whatever she shuffles around to do in the living room. “You can’t just let me be happy. Always have to cut me down and tell me about this and that. You ever think I am the way I am because of you. Hm? Hm?”

I bark out a laugh, which draws her back into the kitchen. I pluck her cigarette butt out of the sink, toss it in the trash, and start to rinse the mop. “That’s like blaming stink for shit, Glory.”

“Stink for shit.” She scoffs. “I’m out there doin’ somethin’—what do you do? You and your fancy clothes and your business and people sayin’ all this and that about how good youare and givin’ you a house. While you’re out there trying to be a trailer-park hero, you ever think about how ridiculous that is?”

Do not engage; three more months. Do not engage; three more months.

I swallow, very slowly, returning the mop to the bucket as she rattles on, something about me being alone because the blazer I’m wearing makes me look like a man. I’m ready to shove the mop right up her ass.

Do not engage. Do not engage. Do not engage.

“Well, Glory,” I say through clenched teeth and a death grip on the mop handle. “I’ll make it easy on you: I’m leaving in three months.”

She stills.

“To go where?”

I shrug, resume mopping, needing something to focus on other than the rage coursing through me. “Don’t know yet. Out west, I think.”

She’s quiet, scowling the entire time I mop the kitchen and then start scrubbing a dirty pan from the stovetop in the sink.

Three more months,I mentally chant. Threemoremonthsthreemoremonthsthreemoremonths.

“You runnin’ from the Callahan boy?”

I drop the pan with a clatter, not bothering to shut the water off. “What the hell does he have to do with anything?”

She chews her lip, hazel eyes narrowing as she looks me over before the angle of her lips curve from sheer amusement. “Shit, Scotty Ann.” She cackles like I’ve told the funniest joke of alltime, only stopping to take a deep breath and wipe a line of amused tears from her eyes. “You’reseeinghim.”

It’s not a question; she knows.Do not engage.

“You love him?”

Do. Not. Fucking. Engage.

She laughs again; there’s a cruel edge I’d recognize anywhere. Her verbal call to arms.

“He tell you he helped buy that car for me and got me the job at the VFW?”

He what?

I glare at the sink, gripping the edge of the counter until my knuckles go white. A fresh shot of rage pumps through me. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t . . .

She makes an amused sound. “Figures. You two and your secrets.” Her smile is sharp enough to cut stone. “Told me he’s carried all kinds of guilt with him. Making amends. Felt bad he tore out of here after Zeb couldn’t keep his nose clean. Now—” She shrugs; it turns the cheap floor beneath my feet to quicksand. She’s not lying; he’s told me as much.Making amends. The boys at the boxing gym. Helping me. I want to vomit. She shakes her head, mouth in a mock pout. “He helped me out. Now he’s helping you out. He’s notseeing you, dummy, he’s using you to make himself feel better about Zeb and your daddy dying. Sees you all alone trying to be someone else . . .” Her voice trails off with her impliedhe feels sorry for you.

All I can say is aweak, “No.”

Even though I’m leaving, even though deep down I knew this thing with Ford would end poorly, I can barely breathe. Can barely see straight.

She keeps talking, but it’s all the same bullshit. She calls me a fool. Tells me I’ll get what I deserve for turning my back on her. Laughs because I’m living in a hand-me-down lake house.

My ears start to ring; the small house gets smaller. I need to get the hell out of here.

I slam the faucet of the sink off and push past her to grab my purse. My chest squeezes.Is this a heart attack? I press a hand to my sternum, heart pounding.I refuse to die standing in this shitty trailer trying to help a woman who never bothered to help me.

“Guessing Ford don’t know about your dirty little secret either?” she asks, thin eyebrows high on her forehead as the wind gets knocked right out of me. I fumble for my keys; she’s either oblivious or fueled by the come apart I’m having right in front of her. “I thought of telling him but”—another casual shrug—“no need for me to go poking around in other people’s business. He’ll figure it out soon enough, I’m sure.” I brave a look at her; she gives me a pout. “I ain’t perfect, but at least I didn’t throw you away.”

Tears fill my eyes and fall down my face. I don’t bother to wipe them. This is what I get for showing up for a woman who has never once shown up for me. I let Glory Armstrong see my weakness, and she did what she does: stabbed me with it until I bled. I don’t fight her, there’s no use. She’ll win. She always wins. Heart shattered and in a furious haze, I leave without a word. In the Bronco, I can barely get the key in the ignition through the tremble in my hands.

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