Page 3 of Feels Like Falling
But they were happy, and I was trying like hell to be happy for them. They deserved it and so did I.
If my life had a theme song it would be “This Ole Boy” by Craig Morgan, and just thinking about the catchy tune had my boot tapping on the porch, the buzz of my phone adding to the soundtrack in my mind.
Smiling, I pull the device out expecting to see Ellison’s name, but my hopes are quickly dashed with one single message from my friend who lives with his brother on the farm in the cottage out back. And who thankfully helps around here from time to time.
MASON: Someone left the paddock open and we’ve got a couple cows in our backyard.
Well,hell, time to go to work.
2
ELLISON
“Are you sure we can’t get you to reconsider?” my mother asks as she picks an invisible piece of lint off the pristine white tablecloth.
“No,” I say firmly. “I gave my notice at work and I’ve accepted a job in Blackstone Falls.” My mother sniffs at the mere mention of the place I grew up. There had been nothing holding us there—we could have moved at any time. But for some reason we’d stayed, and then they’d followed me once I’d left for college.
My mother had been thrilled to leave Blackstone Falls even though I reminded her that I was a grown woman and didn’t need my parents micromanaging my life. Her undisguised hate for the small town never made sense to me.
Probably why I love it so much.
“But the academy has been so good to you, taking you when you were fresh out of college.”
It’s another reminder of how long I’ve allowed her to have her hand in my life. It didn’t take long to realize I’d been hired at the private academy, not based on merit—although I had the grades—but because of my mother’s generous donation.
And continued annual donations.
“You’ll stay at the house,” my father says, trying to offer an olive branch. “I’ll tell the realty company to cancel all reservations for the duration of your stay.”
“I’ve already rented a place,” I say with a shake of my head, causing my father to frown. I hate seeing him sad, but he’s out of his mind if he thinks I’m going back to my childhood home.
My father opens his mouth and then closes it while my mother takes another sip of her mineral water, her expensive salad untouched on her plate.
I look between the two of them and for the millionth time try to figure out why he’s stayed all these years. He wasn’t the best father, but he tried.
Especially while I was in high school. I decided to play tennis my freshman year, and he’d sneak away to watch me play at the away matches. Even in college, I’d turn around and find him sitting in a folding chair with the biggest smile and adon’t tell your mothershrug.
I wouldn’t dare.
It was the only time I felt like we were a team—like there wasn’t this mountain of unknown between us. In those moments, he was just my dad and I adored him. We’d go to dinner and justtalkabout the match, school, things we were looking forward to, but we never talked about my mother.
And those were the happiest childhood memories I had.
“I’ve set up a dinner at the country club for the Tuesday after you get back,” Mother starts as she dabs her smudge-free lipstick. “Dustin is so excited to see you.”
No she didn’t…
“Mother,” I say as calmly as I can manage at brunch time in thisverypretentious restaurant, “I willnotbe meeting Dustin for dinner. Or breakfast. Or lunch.” My voice rises with each word, and I have to take a couple of deep breaths before continuing. “After what happened…”
“Oh Ellison, that wasyearsago. Surely you’ve gotten over that by now.”
My father’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens to speak but I shake my head. He doesn’t need to be subjected to her reign of terror when I leave. His jaw clenches like he’s physically trying to stop himself from defending me, and just that small act of support gives me the strength I need to get through this.
“I will not be having dinner with Dustin oranyonefrom the country club. No dinners. No meetings. Once I leave Savannah, I will not be a part of this world.” I subtly motion around the room, and her only reaction is the slight flaring of her nose. “Please do not scheduleanythingfor me at the country club or elsewhere.”
“How could you be so ungrateful after everything I’ve done for you?” Her voice is cold, and short of getting up and walking out, there’s nothing I can do but placate her through the rest of this meal.
“Sherri Ann,” my father says gently, “Ellison is a grown woman and we need to let her?—”
