Page 42 of Tell Me Again
He laughed and massaged his hand along the back of his neck. “Nothing. But that doesn’t seem to stop me. I’m jealous of every man who looks at you. Of every damned photographer who ever got close enough to take your picture. I hate the way people see you.”
She hated it, too—being famous for something was only a two-dimensional reflection of who she was. She’d won the genetic lottery. So what? She’d inherited her beauty from a father she’d never known and a mother who’d, from the time Sam could remember, traded on her looks to get jobs, men, booze—whatever Lorna had needed at the time.
“I’m just like her.”
Sam didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until Trevor asked, “Like who?”
“My mom.”
He shook his head. “I knew your mom, and you’re nothing like her.”
She wanted to believe she didn’t have anything in common with her mother, but her mom’s level of selfishness had been Sam’s only example of what a woman should be. Maybe it had seeped into her just like it had poisoned Bryce. She’d used her beauty to make it in the world the same way her mom had used her charms on men.
“Really? She used her beauty to get what she wanted. I made a career off mine. We’re the same; I just played the game at a different level. Mom was beautiful, and she never let us forget it.”
She set the carton on the counter, the sweetness suddenly too cloying on her tongue. “One Christmas she took us shopping with her rich boyfriend. She was good at landing the ones with money. He was one of the few who didn’t demand she pretend not to have kids. Downtown Tulsa was the biggest city Bryce and I had ever visited, and it felt so special. We had lunch at a restaurant with cloth napkins.” She pointed at him. “You understand what a big deal real napkins would have been for us, right? In Colby, a trip to the local drive-thru was a treat.”
He nodded. “Greasy fries were a big deal in Colby.”
“We were crossing the street after lunch, and Bryce dropped the doll she was carrying. Mom bent down to pick it up and... well, you know the length of the skirts she always wore... mini-minis. She caused a wreck. A man actually smashed into the bumper of the car stopped at a red light because she distracted him.”
“It could have been a coincidence,” Trevor murmured.
“He got out and came running over to tell her how beautiful she was. My mother actually stopped traffic.”
He inclined his head. “I imagine that could have happened to you on more than one occasion if you’d wanted it to.”
“That’s the point.” She tugged on the hem of the oversized T-shirt she wore as a pajama top. “I never wanted it to. I wanted to get out of Colby and away from her. I wanted that for Bryce, too, but never any of the rest of it. Mom broke up with that particular boyfriend right after Christmas because he didn’t want her to flaunt herself that way. She had a chance at a better life for all of us, and she couldn’t give up partying, drinking, and making a spectacle of herself. I got a few extra inches in height that helped me, but she never let me forget who was the real traffic stopper in the family.”
“That was her issue. It didn’t mean—”
She held up a hand. “I’m not asking for anyone to feel sorry for me. ‘Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful’ was a sad cliché even in the eighties. But I allowed her issues to become mine. Add Bryce’s problems to the mix and I was a hot mess. A hot mess with fame and money. I didn’t think I deserved any of the opportunities I got, so once Bryce died I did my best to sabotage them. No matter what I did,” she said, pointing to her face, “it never showed up here. I couldn’t ruin myself on the outside.” She bit down on her lip when it started to tremble. “So I ruined the inside.”
“Sam, don’t.”
“All those people are right, Trevor. I have nothing to offer other than my face. And I can’t even take credit for it.”
“It’s not true. Look at what you’ve done with Bryce Hollow.”
“Penance,” she whispered. “I hate the money I have, what it represents, what it did to Bryce and me. I started the camp because I needed something to wash me clean.”
He moved closer, traced his thumb over her cheek. “Has it?”
“Sometimes I think so. When the kids are there during the summer it feels like we’re making a difference. That’s important. Cleansing. But the rest of the time it’s just me and my twin sister’s ghost up there. It’s why the Hendersons live on site and not me. I don’t like to stay at camp alone.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, and this time she let the words wash over her. But they were too much, and she feared she might drown under the weight of the emotions that came along with them. What gave her the right to accept an apology from Trevor when she’d made so many mistakes herself?
“You don’t need to be sorry,” she said, plastering the brightest fake smile on her face. “I own the choice that gave me my reputation.”
“Isn’t it time you own that you’re not the woman you were back then?”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” he whispered and leaned in to kiss her.
She didn’t want him to taste so good or for his mouth to feel so right claiming hers. She didn’t want towanthim the way she did—deep inside like he’d been a part of her forever. This man was going to hurt her, or she was going to find a way to ruin what was between them and, in the process, her relationship with Grace.
Wasn’t that her history? Success and self-sabotage.
