Page 71 of Cookout Carnage
Sherilyn: I just need a moment to process. Can you give me a moment?
Tris: Take all the time you need. I’ve got to go anyway and get on a plane. See you tomorrow, Hot Sauce.
The phone fell to the table with a clunk and Sherilyn started to shake. This could not be happening. Her breath came in stuttering gasps, her brain firing and misfiring as it struggled to accept a reality beyond its processing capabilities.No, no, no, no, noooooooo!Tears blurred her vision and she reached with trembling fingers to pull a napkin out of the metal holder on the table. It wouldn’t budge. She yanked. The holder slid and spun across the polished Formica top, straight into her glass, knocking it off the edge onto the floor. She scrambled to mop up the water, crashing into her plate as her limbs refused to perform basic motor functions. Each breath was an effort, her teeth chattering, her throat closing, her nose stuffed up with tears.
‘Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. Sit down, I’ve got this.’
A soft hand was on her arm, guiding her to sit back down. Sherilyn blinked her tears away as a familiar face came into focus.
‘Amy, I need to—’
‘Sit, hush yourself now. I got this,’ said the woman, putting her order pad into the front pocket of her apron. ‘Now scoot back and let me sit down. I think you’re having a panic attack.’
Sherilyn moved into the corner of the booth as Amy sat down and took hold of her shaking hands.
‘Just breathe with me, Sherri-Lynne sweetheart. Slowly in through your nose and out through your mouth.’
Amy’s grip was firm and Sherilyn held her gaze, her breath calming even though the tears still fell fast. Sherilyn remembered her as quiet and painfully shy, with strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a tight braid and thick glasses. Now it seemed she had developed enough confidence to talk Sherilyn out of a full-body meltdown.
‘What’s going on, Sherri-Lynne? Is this because of Fender comin’ back tomorrow?’
At the mention of her older brother’s imminent return from jail, Sherilyn’s sobs became louder. How could she ever bring Tristan into this?
‘Oh, Sherri-Lynne, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.’
Sherilyn shook her head, tears dripping onto their joined hands. ‘No, it’s only partly that,’ she replied. ‘It’s, it’s—’
‘You don’t have to say if you don’t want to, sweetheart. But you can cry the creek on me if it helps.’
Sherilyn realised with sudden clarity. She’d never told anyone how she felt about Tristan. The emotional highs and lows had been internalised and never shared. Now she couldn’t hold the weight of them back any longer.
‘I’ve fallen in love with a man I’ve never met. He’s from England and fancier than a prince. He thinks I’m Sherilyn Boden and I’m all fancy too, and tomorrow he’s coming here to meet me and my family. I might have fooled him in Chicago, but I can’t here, and when he meets Mama and Pa, Axle and Fender, he’ll run and run and never look back.’
Sherilyn started crying harder.
‘Are you sure he’d do that?’ Amy asked.
Sherilyn nodded. ‘My last boyfriend did. And when my folks came to town for a visit, my colleague laughed at them.’
An older man and woman appeared by the booth.
‘Sherri-Lynne, you okay?’ the woman asked.
‘We’ve got a bit of a situation,’ replied Amy.
The couple slid into the booth opposite and leaned forward in perfect synchronicity.
Sherilyn recognised the woman as Clara, a widow who ran the town beauty parlour, and Emmett, a local farmer who had never married.
‘Whatever it is, dear, we can help,’ said Emmett earnestly.
‘It’s impossible,’ Sherilyn sobbed.
‘Nonsense, honey,’ said Clara briskly. ‘We’re experts at removing the “im” from every impossible situation. What’s troubling you?’
Amy looked at Sherilyn, her eyebrows raised as if seeking permission to tell them. Sherilyn shrugged and Amy started talking.
When she’d told them, Clara and Emmett sat back, looked at each other and nodded. Their certainty in whatever plan they had just drawn up telepathically stopped Sherilyn’s tears.
