“Yeah. Okay.”
“I’m really proud of you.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I replied dryly.
“Exactly.” He nodded. “You haven’t gone off track and fallen back into your old habits. I’m just proud of you, and if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
I shrugged. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, Jack-Jack.”
“Oh, and Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop calling me Jack-Jack.”
I went back to the break room and grabbed a few slices of pizza to take over to my dad’s house. When I walked into his living room, I found him passed out drunk on the couch. Sometimes, I pretended he’d passed out from exhaustion, but the truth of the matter was the whiskey lullabies were what put him to sleep most of the time.
I tossed the pizza into the fridge and grumbled as I cleaned up a bit. Dad stayed knocked out on the couch, and every now and then, I’d wander past to check that he was still breathing.
There had been a time in my life when I believed my old man would live forever. There had been a time when he was my hero, and I had thought he could defeat any villain in the whole wide world.
Funny how time had changed my hero into my worst villain.
Funny how life had destroyed my father’s soul.
* * *
After I finished at my father’s house, I walked to my cabin and went inside. Every piece of that place held a part of my father before the alcohol had overtaken his soul—the paint on the walls, the hardwood floors, the tiles in the bathroom. Everything about the cabin told the story of the man he once was before his life began to crumble.
I’d helped him fix up the place when I was a kid—before Ma left and before Dad found himself addicted to the bottle.
Each night, I sat there in the dark, looking around the space. In the corner of the living room sat an easel and art supplies, and in the spare bedroom, bookshelves filled to the brim with novels lined the walls. Throughout the whole cabin was framed artwork; no room went without one of Ma’s masterpieces. That was the last part of her I still held onto. The cabin was both a gift and a curse to me, reminding me of the past, contrasting sharply with and the present day. It was now a place filled with hollowness.
I welcomed the emptiness and I allowed loneliness to be almost all I knew, and then when it was all too much, I took on my hobby.
Alex didn’t know I already had something to keep me away from the drugs.
Over the past few years, I’d entertained different women in my bed almost every night. It wasn’t anything I was proud of, but it distracted me from my reality. Some I’d hooked up with before, but I usually didn’t remember that until they informed me. Others acted as if it was an achievement to get in my bed and just giggled like damn teenagers.
Sarah, Michelle, Jamie, Kay, Lisa, Rebecca, Susie…
Sky blue eyes, chocolate eyes, hazel, light brown, green, sable…
Each one helped me forget for a while.
Each one shut off my brain.
Each one became my new kind of drug, and slowly but surely, I became addicted.
No one ever stayed the night. I didn’t want them to stay; I just wanted them for a few hours to help me forget. It was the same thing every time: sex, no talking, leave. Sex, no talking, leave. The night Hazel Eyes was leaving, she told me we’d had sex before, and she liked me better when I was doped up.
“Yeah? Well, I liked you better when your mouth wasn’t running and was wrapped around my cock.”
“You’re such an asshole,” she exclaimed, acting as if she hadn’t been just as rude a moment before. “You’re disgusting.”
“Both sets of your lips didn’t seem to mind fifteen minutes ago,” I replied dryly.
It was her turn to flip me off, and I probably deserved it. I could be a real asshole sometimes. The thing was, it seemed people seemed to like the assholes more than the nice pathetic guys.
Hazel Eyes would probably call me up to fuck again soon enough. It was as if women had a magnetic pull to guys who treated them like trash.
Then when they left, I was alone again.
Well, not completely alone.
Tucker was older than before yet still so loyal. Each night, he’d slowly move in my direction, wagging that tail of his, and then he’d crawl into my lap on the couch. Sometimes, I had to help him into my lap, but he always came close to me.
Even on the nights when I felt as if I deserved to be alone.
But still, no matter what I did or said to him, he stayed. He was my friend. The only one I had, and the only one I needed.
Good boy, Tuck, I thought to myself, holding him closer. Good boy.
* * *
Jackson
Six Years Old
“Ma? Can I have a new name?” I asked one day, walking onto the front porch where she sat painting the sky again. She always painted the sky, and she was really good at it, too.
She tucked her paintbrush behind her ear and raised an eyebrow at me. “What do you mean can you have a new name?”
“Today at school someone told me my name was stupid, and that’s why they didn’t want to play with me.”
Ma’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes watered over. “Someone said that to you?”
“Yeah. Can I change my name, so I can make friends?”
That’s all I wanted.
I wanted the kids at school to like me. We’d only lived in Chester for a few months now, and I hadn’t made any new friends. Dad told me to give it time, but the more time I gave it, the more people told me why I couldn’t hang out with them. Tim Reeves was having a birthday party and invited everyone in our class except me because I was the weird new kid.
I just wanted to go to a party.
“Jackson, honey, your name is perfect. Anyone who tells you they don’t want to be your friend because of your name isn’t the type of people you want to be friends with, okay?”
“I’ll be friends with anyone,” I promised her. “Maybe if my name was Eric or something.”
Ma frowned. “Come on, love. We’re going to go have an art lesson.”
I groaned. I didn’t want to do art. Whenever there was a problem, Ma always used art to try to fix it—to teach me. I didn’t want to learn, though.
I just wanted friends.
“But Ma—” I started, yet she gave me a stern look.
“Jackson Paul,” she scolded, using my middle name. I stopped talking because whenever Ma used my middle name, I knew she wasn’t going to let me slide.
She gathered some things from the house.
Paints, paintbrushes, a white bedsheet, two long sticks, wire, and clothespins.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You’ll see. Come on. Let’s go out to the field.”
We walked through the trees in the back of our house toward an open lot of land. That was where Ma had me paint the sunsets with her at least twice a week.
I waited not-so-patiently as she set up her “canvas.”
She staked the two sticks into the ground with a bit of distance between them Then, she tied the wire to the top of each stick, connecting them. Next, she took the sheet and attached it to the wire with the clothespins.
She turned my way, smiling. “You know where your name came from?”
I shook my head.
She picked up a paintbrush and covered it with blue paint. Next, she splattered the paint against the sheet. She added a new color to her brush and did the same thing. It looked like a mess, but a nice mess somehow.
I didn’t know messes could look nice.
“His name was Jackson Pollock, and he was unique. He was known for his drip painting technique like this. Here, try it.” She handed me the paintbrush, and I started making a nice mess, too.
“He was an individual, Jackson, and he went against the norm. He didn’t try to make people like him by being something he wasn’t. He didn’t care what others thought of him. He was just
himself, and he was extraordinary.” She walked over to me and tapped me on the nose. “Just like you. Do you know what his original first name was?”
“What?”
“Paul.”
I grinned ear to ear. “Like my middle name? Jackson Paul?”
“Exactly. Your father and I named you that because you are extraordinary, too, honey. One day, the right people will show up, and they will realize how special you are. They will see you for everything you are and love every piece of it just like your father and I love you. They will be your friends. Okay?”
I nodded. “I guess until those friends come, I got you and Dad to hang out with me.”
“Yes, Jackson.” She pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead. “You’ll always have us.”
We went back to painting, and it was a lot of fun.
After we finished, I looked at our artwork. “Hey, Ma?”
“Yes?”
“You think I can be as good as you at art one day?”
“No, Jackson,” she told me, shaking her head, “you’ll be better.”
7
Grace
Growing up, my sister and I never really went without. We grew up on acres of southern land in a house that was bigger than it needed to be. Daddy never really cared about having a home that size, but Mama felt they deserved it. As if God put the money in their hands, and they did enough for the community, therefore they were allowed to swim in God’s blessings.
Mama was right about one thing—Daddy did deserve it. He worked hard to get to the position he was at, and he never took that for granted. He believed in the church more than anyone I ever knew, and for every acre of land he owned, he gave back to the community.
My sister and I had a certain role to play as pastor’s children. Mama always taught Judy and me that we had to act a certain way throughout all our lives. The Harris girls were always supposed to be proper, prose, and beautiful. Not just an outer beauty, but we were to hold beautiful spirits, too.
For the most part, we took those roles very seriously. People looked up to our family, which meant we had to create a world worth looking up to. We were blessed, which meant that we had to be other’s blessings.
That meant we always had to be perfect in public. There was no place for flaws. So, whenever we faltered…whenever the world hit us, and we’d stumble, my sister and I fell against one another.
I knocked on Judy’s front door, and the second she opened it, her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh my gosh, Grace! What’s wrong?! What’s going on?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for a reply before wrapping me into her arms.
I began sobbing uncontrollably onto my baby sister’s shoulder as she gently rubbed my back.
“Can I stay with you and Hank?” I choked out, unable to say anything else at all, but that seemed like more than enough for Judy.
“Always, Grace,” she whispered, pulling me closer to her body. “Always and always.”
* * *
I told her and Hank everything. The words poured out of me, and truthfully, so many of them were hard for me to believe. It all felt like a nightmare that I simply couldn’t wake from.
As we sat on the living room couch, Hank kept refilling Judy’s and my wineglasses. Hank was such a gentle man. I’d never once heard him raise his voice, and he never saw the bad in anyone.
Even when Judy and I slipped into our gossipy nature, Hank never spoke a word about a soul. His main goals in life were living it to the fullest and taking care of his love. And boy, did he love my sister. There were so many times I’d catch him staring at her when she wasn’t looking, and it would give me butterflies.
“I’m so sorry, Grace,” Hank told me, giving me a slight frown. “I can’t believe he’d do that to you. I can’t believe they’d both do that. I just…I can’t believe it.” He appeared stunned. Finn was one of his closest friends, and he just kept saying he couldn’t believe it could happen.
Me either.
We stayed talking for a while, and when the doorbell rang, Judy hopped up to answer it.
I turned to face Hank and crossed my arms. “Hank, can I ask you something?”
“I didn’t know, Grace,” he said as if he could read my mind. “I had no clue about Finn and the cheating, and if I’d known, I would’ve told you. I understand why you think I wouldn’t, seeing how he’s my friend, but you’re family, Grace. I swear on my grandfather’s grave, I would’ve told you. And truthfully, it’s hard for me to even realize who Finn is anymore, or how he could do this to you.”
I lowered my head and stared at their carpeted floor. “Thank you, Hank.”
“Always and always,” he replied, stating my family’s favorite phrase. Those were the words my family had always exchanged with one another since the beginning of time. Always and always. It was a promise that no matter what, we’d stand by one another—through the good days and the bad.
Every time I heard the words, I felt less alone.
“You have some nerve showing up here!” Judy barked, making both Hank and me jump up from the couch. Judy never raised her voice—ever.
“I’m sorry, Judy. It’s just…”
My skin began to crawl as I heard Finn’s voice. “Is Grace here?”
“That’s none of your business,” Judy snapped again. “You should go.”
Oh, sister, I love you.
“Yeah, of course, it’s just…” He paused, and I heard something moving. “She left her suitcases at Autumn’s place.”
It was painful when hearts stopped beating.
I listened to Judy pulling the suitcases into the house. “Fine. Now leave.”
He didn’t say another word, and I was certain he was walking back to go find Autumn.
“And Finley James?” Judy said, using his middle name. That was how you knew my sister was serious—when she used a person’s middle name.
“Yes?”
“You should be ashamed of yourself. Both of you.”
“Is she okay?” he asked, and it almost sounded as if he cared.
“She will be,” she swore. “Because she’s strong. She’s stronger than any betrayal you could’ve ever brought to her doorstep.”
Then the front door slammed.
It slammed.
Judith Rae never slammed doors.
As she rounded the corner, her eyes locked with mine. We could’ve easily been twins, she and I. She always said I had Dad’s crystal blue eyes, and I always said she had those bluest of blues. We smiled the same too, a bit of a lopsided grin to the left side. Our hair was long and naturally blond. Mama would’ve killed us if we ever dyed it—because one didn’t mess with God’s creation. Also, our hearts kind of beat in the same rhythmic pattern.
If sisters were soul mates, Judy would be mine.
“So,” she breathed out, giving me a gentle smile. “How about some more wine?”
* * *
I hadn’t slept a wink the prior evening. The next morning, the sun came up, and I watched it rise with a cup of coffee in my hands. I stood on the back porch, feeling the warmth against my skin. It amazed me how hollow I could feel, watching the morning light fill the sky. Dad used to always tell my sister and me that the morning sun was Jesus’ kisses against our skin.
As a kid, I never mentioned the scientific truths I learned at school about the sun rising and setting because it wasn’t really my place. Sometimes, people needed to believe what they needed to believe to get through each day.
That morning, I needed to believe in the kisses.
“You’re up too early.” Judy yawned, walking out of the house still in her pajamas.
“Just wanted to feel Jesus’ kisses,” I joked, taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air.
She walked over to me, took my cup of coffee, and sipped it. “How did you sleep?”
“I didn’t.”
“Makes sense. I didn’t sleep at all either. It took everything for me not to go into your room and check on you. I’
ve been so worried.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said even though I wasn’t certain I’d be okay, but I had faith. At least enough to get me to every next breath. “Everything always works out, right? Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re my sister, my heart, Grace. I’m always going to worry about you.”
I believed her. The same way she worried about me was the same way I worried for her.
“I just wish I could do something for you. I wish I could take away all your hurting. I’m just really sorry,” she told me, so truly sincere, “for what they did to you.”
We stood there staring out into the morning light, and as my hand rested on the porch railing, my sister placed her hand on top of mine. I didn’t know why, but her gentle touch made tears fall from my eyes as we stared out at the waking sun. For a moment in time, I felt less alone. Maybe that was the whole point of family—to make you feel less alone in a lonesome world. Sometimes, family got it wrong; sometimes, they said and did the wrong things because they were, after all, only human. Yet then there were those moments when they were right on time with their sparks of love.
Home is healing.
“Did you bring clothes for church service?” Judy asked, yawning again. “Or do you want to borrow some of mine?”
“I don’t think I’m gonna go. I’m not really in the small-town church mood today.”
Judy laughed, tossing her head back, and then when she stopped giggling, she looked at me and her jaw dropped. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Grace. You’re the daughter of the pastor, and you’re back in Chester. Everybody already knows you’re back. Do you know what it would do to Mama if you didn’t show up? She’d have a heart attack.”
“Mama will be okay,” I lied. I knew she wouldn’t.
Judy cocked an eyebrow. “I can already hear Mrs. Grove badgering Mama with questions of why you weren’t at service, which would lead to Mama badgering you. Do you really want to deal with that?”