Page 71 of Lighting the Lamp
I’m halfway to the doctor’s office when my phone buzzes in the cupholder, and I answer without thinking, a part of me hoping it’s Alise calling.
“Hey,” I answer, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“Beau Hendrix, did you sleep in your truck last night?” Momma’s voice fills the cab of my truck, sharp and full of worry. “You didn’t come home last night, and don’t lie. Your brothers ratted you out after I promised to make them cinnamon rolls for breakfast.”
“I would love to be angry at them for ratting me out, but we both know none of us can resist the promise of your cinnamon rolls.”
“I bring out the big guns when I need to. Now, please tell me that if I drive past your aunt Peggy and Alise’s house, I won’t find your truck parked in the driveway like a lovesick cow in the road.”
“You won’t,” I respond, not actively lying to my mother.
“Beauregard Ellis Hendrix, you better not have spent the night in that cold truck like some love-struck fool outside that poor girl’s house.”
I don’t say anything; the silence is more than enough of an answer for Momma because she gasps loudly. “You did, didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t outside her house all night.”
“Just part of the night?” she questions as I pinch the bridge of my nose.
My brothers might not have told Momma all the sordid details about my impromptu campout in front of Alise’s house, but if my aunt Peggy or anyone else has, she’ll know. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was already spreading through the family group chat as we speak.
I inhale deeply, deciding to tell her the whole truth. “Not the night, just most of the day.”
“Lord, you’ve been in love with that girl since you were what, thirteen?”
“Wait… what? No.” I blink, trying to think back to the moment I consciously knew I was in love with Alise Moore, but come up empty.
“Oh, please,” she says. “Ever since you rescued her at that birthday party when she was ten years old, you’ve been her silent protector. The first person to be there if she needed anything. You used to follow her around the house like a puppy. Even though you’re a Hendrix and you all fight over cookies like it’s a bloodsport, you always offer her the last one.”
I let out a soft, breathy laugh, more exhale than amusement. “That doesn’t mean?—”
“Beau.” Her voice drops, soft and certain now. “A mother knows.”
I don’t respond. I can’t because, deep down, I know it’s the truth. God, she’s so right it aches. I’ve been carrying this soft, slow, all-consuming kind of love for Alise since before I even knew what to call it. Since before I understood the way she’d carved herself into me just by being near. It’s lived under my ribslike something sacred, something patient and constant, waiting for the right time to bloom. And now it’s here. Raw, real, and unraveling in my hands, but I don’t know how to hold it and hold myself together.
“She still means the world to you, doesn’t she?” Mom whispers.
I nod before I remember she can’t see me, voice rough with emotion. “Yeah.”
“Well, that’s something. I’m proud of you for going after her.”
“I didn’t think you noticed.”
“Oh, honey.” Her voice warms like sunlight through a window. “I noticed the moment you stopped looking at anyone else. You never even tried to pretend, at least not with me.”
That breaks something loose in my chest. My throat tightens, eyes stinging as I blink hard and fast, staring out at the traffic like it might give me something to focus on other than the ache pressing against my sternum.
“You gonna be okay at the doctor?”
“I don’t know.” I swallow, gripping the wheel tighter.
“You want me to meet you?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
She’s quiet for a second, then adds gently, “You don’t have to be fine, baby. Just go.”
“I’m going.”
