Page 66 of Trusting Blake
But even if Mom was able to reply, she has no chance to.
“I have wasted yearshatingyou, Everett. Years!” LeAnne erupts with a gesture of pure exasperation. “All because I was courageous enough to reach out to forgive you, out of human decency, nothing more.” She catches her breath, steadies her voice to a more neutral tone. “This entire time I believed you’d sent me that absurd, childish letter in response to what I believed to be a gesture of goodwill.”
All eyes turn to Mom.
“You have some explaining to do, Marnie,” Popeye says.
“I’m so sorry,” Mom splutters, desperately trying to grab Dad’s hand, but to no avail.
He turns to her, aghast. “No, Marnie. Explain.”
I watch as Mom makes a monumental effort to compose herself. “I got to the message on your phone before you did, and I didn’t. . . I didn’t want you to fix things with her!” Her voice is so broken I think she may actually burst into tears from the embarrassment of being caught after all this time. “I worried that if the two of you worked through things that. . . that maybe you would, I don’t know, miss her.”
“Missher?” Dad shakes his head fast and backs away from Mom. “Are youthatinsecure?”
“Of course I am! How could I not be? Think of how we met, Everett!” Mom appeals to him. “And I was so young, so naive when I sent her that letter. I was scared.”
“Marnie, you have some real nerve.Iwas the victim,” LeAnne snaps, “not you.”
“Come on, you guys. You really shouldn’t be listening to this,” Sheri whispers, nudging Blake and me, ushering us out of the room. She forces Popeye out with us too. However, despite her best intentions, we all hover by the door, intrusive eavesdroppers, not wanting to miss a single word.
“LeAnne,” we hear Dad say, his tone sincere, “I’m sorry for everything I put you through when we were young. I’m sorry we never got the chance to leave all this resentment behind.”
LeAnne must be rendered speechless, because she takes a few seconds to muster a reply. “Thank you. . . Everett.” Her voice is clipped but tinged with emotion, and then she clears her throat. “Marnie, is there anythingyou’dlike to say?”
Blake’s expression is strained as he catches my eye. Popeye’s hearing must be going, because he has his ear pressed up against the wall, blatantly tuned into the private conversation continuing on the other side, but he’s not the only one. We are all hanging onto every word.
“What did you expect, LeAnne?” Mom responds defiantly. “I was protecting my marriage. I didn’t want you back in our lives.”
Finding her iciest tone, LeAnne doesn’t hold back as she says, “You, Marnie,” with a pause for effect, “are one unbelievably selfish, manipulative bitch.”
Any response Mom might be able to muster falters, her voice drowning in sobs. And suddenly I can’t stand all this chaos anymore. Mom is falling apart – and, as much as this might be her fault, it’s not nice to listen to. I don’t know if Dad comes to her defense or not, because I’m already halfway up the stairs before I can listen to another word.
Blake is quick on my heels, reaching out for my waist as he follows me into my room, and my throat tightens as I fight back tears. It’s the first time Blake has been inside the house, let alone myroom,but he doesn’t even give it a second glance. He spins me around to face him and pulls me in close, enveloping me in a comforting hug. I squeeze him back, my face buried in his shoulder, and we hold each other steady until the dust settles on the feud raging downstairs, and LeAnne calls him away from me, only to drag him from the house.
26
Honky Tonk Central feels even more atmospheric than usual. It may be a Monday evening in August, but the excitement in this bar right now would fool one into believing it was the Fourth of July. All of Blake’s friends are here to support his honky tonk debut. I recognize most of their faces from the tailgate party and the bonfire weeks ago, all his Fairview High classmates, and the place is packed with teenagers. Minors are only allowed inside until eight, so Blake’s set is scheduled at seven. There are twenty minutes to go until his opening cover.
“Which one of you dares me to whip off my bra and throw it on stage?” Tori teases with an expression that’s just a bittooserious.
Savannah fans herself with the menu. “Stop.We just have to make sure we cheer really loud. He’ll kill you if you embarrass him, Tori.”
“Aw, but teasing Blake is my second-favorite hobby after teasing you!” Tori says, sticking her tongue out at Savannah.
I’m tuned out, my focus fixated on a spot on the floor as the current performer rocks out an old-school country ballad. All I can think is that I really am going home in the morning. The flight is booked, my parents’ IDs have been retrieved from the stables, and my bags are packed. I want to enjoy tonight more than anything, but I can’t relax until I get my imminent departure off my chest.
“Guys,” I say, lifting my head. My tone has enough of an edge to it that Savannah stops mid fry-throwing and Tori cocks her head suspiciously when she hears me take a breath. “This is actually my last night here in Tennessee. I fly home tomorrow.”
“No!” Savannah gasps. “What!”
“I’m lucky I even got to stay until now,” I explain, but the saddened look in both of their eyes makes me dread boarding that flight more than ever. “My parents wanted to go home last Friday, but I couldn’t miss tonight.”
“Okay, but. . . why didn’t you tell us?” Tori asks, offended. “Are yourelievedto get away from Savannah Bennett? Because I would be.”
Savannah gives her the stink-eye, then puckers her lower lip at me. “When are you coming back?”
“I’ve got my fingers crossed that we’ll be back next month over Labor Day weekend,” I say optimistically, even though so far Dad has only promised me that we’ll come back for Thanksgiving. But that’s in November, and I can’t wait three months to hear Savannah ramble, to laugh at Tori’s witty remarks, to feel Blake’s hands on my body.
