Page 3 of Tumbleweed Temptation
The arrangement was ideal, and the only way he’d get to go to college without drowning in debt for years, so he and his mother had eagerly agreed, signed all the paperwork.
Now he was tied to this town for the next twenty plus years, when all he wanted to do was take off and never come back.
But he wasn't sure what to do about the house. Sell it. Rent it out. Because he never wanted to live here again.
He was hauling out another black trash bag, ready to toss it in the truck, when a rust-colored old sedan pulled up in front of the house and Javi, Sofia, Ginny, Lacey and Poppy got out, like they were exiting a damn clown car. He’d been in Javi’s car. It wasn't that big.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, tossing the bag over the side of the truck.
“We came to see how you were doing,” Lacey said.
“And to help, if you need it,” Poppy said.
“What?” He rested a gloved hand on the side of the truck.
Ginny reached in the trunk and pulled out a bucket filled with rags and cleaning supplies.
“We came by to see what we can do to help.”
“What?” he asked again, not sure he understood, despite the visual confirmation.
“We heard you were cleaning up and we thought you might need a hand,” Lacey said. “Finals today, so we got out early.”
“Finals. Already.” He had been missing school more than he had expected, the routine of it, the noise, the way he could just lose himself in it. Time had gotten away from him.
“Yeah, this is the last week of school,” Poppy said. “We thought you needed all the help you can get.”
“Well, that’s true.” He tried to smile, but since he hadn’t smiled in weeks, his face felt weird. “You don't have to do it.”
“We should have been here sooner,” Poppy said, ignoring his comment and walking past him into the house. “If we were good friends.”
“You are. You’ve had a lot going on, too.” He didn't know how long before they’d gone back to school after the accident. He had seen the new bus, one bought or borrowed or something, from San Angelo. He didn't know who was driving it. He hadn’t wanted to know.
Ginny stopped short, and he thought he heard her pull in a breath. But then she charged forward. “Where should we start?”
“Um.” He thought about it a minute. “I can’t—I can’t go in my mom’s room. Her stuff.”
“Yeah.” Lacey put her hand on his arm. “Yeah, we can do that.”
He didn't know why, but the house felt more peaceful with the girls working in his mom’s room. They were pretty thorough, too. He watched them carry bag after bag of stuff out to the truck, until it was full.
“What about clothes? Do you want us to go through her clothes? Do you want—do you want to take them to the dump, or like to the thrift store?”
“The dump.” He didn't want anyone wearing his mom’s clothes.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to keep? To remember her by?” Poppy pressed.
“You think I’m going to forget her?” he snapped, and only when Poppy cringed and tears sprung to her eyes did he realize how harsh he’d sounded.
“No, of course not, but you might be sorry one day that you gave away everything,” Ginny said.
“I won’t. Get rid of it. Get rid of all of it.”
The three girls looked at each other, then went back into the room.
That night, he walked into the empty room, empty except for the mattress and dresser, some of the drawers not even pushed back in, but empty.
Empty. Empty. Empty.
