Page 4 of Third and Ten

“I don’t know, Ten. I’m pretty sure I can tell by now. I do have plenty of practice, after all.”

My eyes sting, and I swallow hard. “He’s not drunk,” I repeat, more harshly this time. “And having a mom who can’t stay sober for more than a day at a time doesn’t give you the right to assume the worst about everyone else’s parents.” I bite my lip as soon as I say it, unable to face her.

“Wow. Tell me how you really feel, then,” she replies, her voice breaking.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not the only one with family stuff, you know.” I turn and keep my eyes trained on the floor.

“Actually, I don’t know. Because you never said anything,” she whispers.

“It’s hard to get a word in when we’re always talking about your problems.” I cringe because it’s mean, and I feel terrible already. But it seems like the only way to get her to drop the subject.

I cross my arms over my chest and glance up at her. Her eyes are wide and glistening, as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing, and she looks so sad that my chest aches.

“I didn’t realize I was such a burden to you,” she says through a quiet sob, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. “But don’t worry. I’ll stay out of your way from now on.”

She inhales deeply and collects her overnight bag before she turns to march out. I open my mouth to say something, but it’s too late. She’s already slammed the door behind her.

And I don’t allow myself to chase after my best friend, because deep down, I know she’s better off without me.

CHAPTER 1

TENLEY

I grimace at the speaker of the drive-thru when I hear, “Sorry, ma’am, we don’t do salads anymore.”

“Oh, well, what about a grilled chicken wrap?”

“We have a crispy chicken burger,” the voice crackles. Because grilled anything would be way too much of an ask.

Mais la.

I sigh, figuring I might as well do it big if this is turning into a cheat meal. “Just give me a cheeseburger with fries. And a Coke.”

There aren’t many fast-food options back home since Cajuns believe good food isn’t cooked until the chef finishes drinking, so I’ve opted to grab something before I leave civilization, knowing this is the first of many conveniences I will miss after living in an actual city for the past decade. As soon as I’m back on the road, I hit a huge pothole and spill half of my soda. I grumble to myself and scarf down the disgusting bag of junk as I drive the last fifteen miles or so to my hometown, the main highway cutting through an endless progression of rice fields until I reach the city limits.

Welcome to Camellia, Louisiana

The sign I pass on my way in looks a bit more faded than I remember, and I glance at the familiar storefronts lining Main Street as I pull up to the lone traffic light, noting a few changes. The only sound is the click of the light switching back to green, until a set of loud truck pipes approaches.

I finally arrive at the modest Acadian-style home on the outskirts of town and slowly pull into my parents’ driveway, parking beside an older-model pickup truck. My heart constricts as I look over at the well-loved F-150 with a faded fleur-de-lis sticker on the back glass, knowing its owner likely hasn’t been in the driver’s seat in a while. I force myself to bury the stinging remorse as I grab a couple of bags from the trunk of my new Audi, which I only bought to ease the transition.

My nephew swings the door open and greets me with a smile as soon as I reach the front-porch steps. “Aunt Ten,” Ethan acknowledges me with a light kiss on the cheek and slides a duffle bag from my shoulder, lightening my load in an instant. He looks at least an inch taller since I saw him last month, and his dark-green eyes are even more striking than I remember. But I figure overnight growth spurts are the norm for a fifteen-year-old boy.

“Any more bags in the car?”

“Just a few, but we can get the rest later.” I’m planning to keep most of my luggage packed for now, optimistically hoping to secure my own place as soon as I can. Although I’ve resigned myself to a new job and an extended stay back home, I’d like to maintain some of my independence until I return to my real life back in Waco, Texas.

My mother’s wearied appearance on the front porch draws me back. Raising a teenager and nursing a terminally ill adult have been taking their toll. “Hi, Mama,” I say and accept another cheek kiss. My family is an affectionate one, but that’s common here. She squeezes me tightly before leading me inside with a hand on my back.

“Is Daddy awake?” I ask after dropping my bags unceremoniously in my old bedroom and returning to the kitchen. Another cultural norm in Louisiana: most of the living happens in the kitchen, because food is life.

She sighs heavily. “He’s been finding it harder to rest at night. I’m sure he’ll fuss me about letting him sleep through the day, but I can’t bring myself to wake him when he finally gets some relief.” She glances at the clock on the stove. “It is time for his medicine, though.”

“Let me get that,” I say quickly.

She smiles softly, handing me the spiral notebook serving as my dad’s chart. It’s been a while since my mom last worked in a clinical setting, but her notes still reflect her decades of nursing experience. According to this schedule, my dad’s care has really become a full-time job. I swallow hard, ashamed for selfishly thinking I would come home to help and expecting to live apart from them. The gravity of his condition weighs on my heart again.

Ethan returns and briefs me on more of the basics while my mom busies herself around the kitchen, and I finally make my way into the living room to wake my dad. He’s resting in his recliner. A twin-sized hospital bed is stationed nearby, which I know he hates. This isn’t the first time we’ve been through this—he survived a bout with throat cancer when I was a teenager. By the time he’d made it into remission, my older sister passed away unexpectedly, just after giving birth to Ethan.

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