by Mia Sheridan
"Rusty is a rat-faced motherfucker," she said.
I blinked at her and tilted my head. "Yeah," I agreed. "He really is."
She gifted me another brown and yellow grin, stuck her hand up and gave me a thumbs-up sign, and then plastered the magazine back up to her face. I left the store.
I started walking back toward home, lost in my own world, trying to decide what I'd do today. Marlo was working and then she had plans with some guy she'd met at Al's. I really wished she wouldn't have anything to do with the guys she met there—most of them were far from worthy of her. I thought Marlo and I had good reason for distrusting men, but while I had sworn them off, Marlo had decided that dating lots of guys she didn't care about meant she was the one in control.
Marlo had opened her heart once, and things hadn't gone well.
A few years before, she had met Donald, a young, handsome executive in town for some big corporate meeting at the mine. He'd come into Al's every night for a week just to sit in my sister's section and watch her work, talking about fate and destiny, which swept her right off her feet just like he was her prince charming come to rescue her from her dreary existence. As if any prince was ever named Donald—that should have been her first clue right there.
She kissed him up against his shiny, red BMW and he made all sorts of promises to her about moving her out to his condo in Chicago. Then three minutes after she'd given him her virginity, he drove her to the base of our mountain and dropped her off at the side of the road. When she asked him what happened to the condo in Chicago, he laughed at her and told her he'd never bring an ugly, bucktoothed hick home with him. And then he'd sped off, splashing mud up on her new, white sweater, the one we'd walked six miles into the Evansly Wal-Mart to buy, the one I could tell made her feel pretty. At least up until then. After that, Marlo never seemed to feel pretty, and she'd started laughing with her hand over her mouth to hide her teeth. Truth be told, they were sort of bucked, but not in a way that was ugly, in a way that showed off those full movie star lips of hers, in a way that was sweet and endearing. In a way that was Marlo.
Whenever I thought back to the day we excitedly walked through the aisles of Wal-Mart, talking about how her night would go, squirting testers of perfume on our wrists, and spending the last of our money on a sweater for her date, it made me so angry. Angry that we'd allowed ourselves to include Donald in our dreams, that we'd spent even one second giving him the power to dash our hopes. And most of all, that Marlo had given something precious to a loser who didn't deserve it.
Marlo had told me the story of Donald that night when she'd come into our trailer, muddy, shivering, and defeated. She'd cried in my arms and I'd cried, too, for her, for me, for dashed dreams, for the pain of loneliness, and the deep hope that someone would come along and save us. And the fact that no one ever did. Of course, we both should have known better after what happened to our mama, but I guessed the promise of love is about the strongest pull there is. I didn't blame Marlo. Our father had been the first one to teach us that men were ultimately selfish and uncaring and would put themselves before anyone else, regardless of who depended on them. And even still, for me, it was so hard not to dream that somewhere out there, there was someone strong and gallant who would dance with me under a starlit sky and call me his beloved—and mean it.
"Hey."
I let out a small scream and jumped back, dropping one of my bags, my groceries rolling out onto the ground. When I looked up, it was Kyland. "This is funny to you, isn't it?" I asked.
He held his hands up in a surrender gesture. "Sorry, sorry. I swear, this really is a coincidence. I was walking back from Evansly. I saw you come out of Rusty's." He bent down, picked up my bag of groceries, and then gestured for me to give him the other one. I almost resisted, but then I decided he should at the very least carry my bags after giving me a mini heart attack for the third time in a week.
"Hmm, likely story," I said, cocking an eyebrow.
He grinned when I handed the bag over and some sort of strange tickling feeling moved through my ribcage. I frowned.
"Still holding strong, huh?"
"It's been quite the effort, let me tell you," I said.
He laughed and my stupid heart flipped. Evidently I was kind of bad at this swearing off men thing—a few smiles and I had a full-blown crush. Truthfully, he hadn't even worked that hard to get me to this point. How completely annoying.
"How's the ever-charming Rusty?" he asked after a minute, moving his head backward to indicate the store.
"Rusty wasn't there. Dusty was."
"Oh, well how's Dusty? In-bred as usual?"
I laughed, but sucked it back in. "That's mean." I paused. "Dusty, she's all right."
He chuckled. "I know. I'm just kidding. I mean . . . mostly." We walked in silence for a few minutes.
I looked to my left when I heard a car engine approach and watched as a black Mercedes drove slowly by. I averted my eyes quickly, turning my head away and toward Kyland. He furrowed his brow. "You know Edward Kearney?" he asked.
I kept looking at him until I heard the car drive past us. I shook my head. "No. Not really," I said, blushing slightly as I watched the back of his car move away—the car that cost more than the yearly salary of three miners. Kyland didn't need to know my family's dirty laundry. I wondered what Edward Kearney was doing driving through this town, though—there was nothing here that would interest him. I should know.
"They found all kinds of safety infractions at the old mine," Kyland said, his eyes still on the back of the car. "After the collapse, Tyton Coal paid a fine. A fine," he repeated bitterly.
"I know," I said. "I heard that." I couldn't blame him for being bitter about that. He'd lost so much. We walked without speaking for a while, the birdsong in the trees ringing out around us, filling our silence. After a few minutes, the mood seemed to lift, Kyland's shoulders relaxing.
As we were about to approach the trail that led to the cliff where Kyland had followed me a few days before, he said, "The sun's about to set. Should we catch the show, Princess?" He winked and my hormones went a little wonky.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "Well . . . I was going home to soak in our multi-jet hot tub, maybe eat some bonbons, but . . . Oh, sure."
Kyland smiled and steered me onto the damp trail. "By the way," he said, "if this is your way of luring me into the woods so that you can take advantage of me, I want you to know, I'm not that kind of boy."
I snorted. "Oh, you're exactly that kind of boy."
He looked behind him, pretending to be offended. I laughed. "And you're the one luring me, by the way. This was your idea."
His glance was quick this time, his cocky smile just a shade darker. "You can trust me."
I laughed. "Doubtful." As we walked, I wondered, though—he'd never seemed wanting of female company, so what was he doing with me? Why did he keep showing up where I was?
We came out on the other side and settled ourselves on the same rock we'd sat on before, Kyland placing my grocery bags next to him on a rock that was mostly dry.
We sat for a minute, looking out at the sunset that rose red and orange above the line of fog as if the whole top of the sky had lit on fire. Our thighs touched, his warm against mine. The smell of the rain was still in the air and raindrops glistened in the trees around us.
We had been joking and laughing a few minutes before, but suddenly, the mood between us had shifted once again. I glanced over at Kyland and his face was tense. What was he thinking when he suddenly started brooding like that?
"So you never told me what that Silas dude found that changed his life," he finally said.
I squinted over at him. He was staring straight ahead as if he didn't care what my answer was.
"Why don't you read the book?" I offered.
"Pfft. Just what I need. To waste my time reading about someone else's sucky life."
"Then why are you asking about it?"
"Just making
conversation."
"Oh, right." I said, raising one eyebrow.
We were both silent for a few moments before I asked, "So, what colleges have you applied to?" I knew that like me, he must have if he was hoping to apply the scholarship to one.
"All schools on the east coast," he said, still looking out to the sky. After a second, he turned to me and said, "Mostly schools in or near New York City. All my life, I've just felt like . . ." he paused as if searching for the right wording, "I was meant to do something, you know? Something." His voice had become animated as he was talking and he suddenly looked embarrassed. "What about you?"
I cleared my throat. "I applied to a couple around here and a couple in California."
He looked at me. "California?"
I shrugged. "I've always wanted to see the ocean."
Kyland kept staring at me, finally nodding slightly. "Yeah," he said simply. I stared back at him, my eyes darting down to his lips and suddenly, something ignited in the air—something unseen, but real all the same. I felt it and I knew Kyland felt it, too, by the way he startled very slightly. He adjusted himself where he sat. I felt my cheeks flush and was surprised at how hard it was to breathe properly. There was something intense and almost pained in Kyland's expression. He moved just a little bit closer and up close like this I could see a light sprinkling of freckles on his nose, under his tan—as if his childhood sat just beneath his skin. And the outer rim of his gray eyes was a soft blue, like sunny days were just off in the distance.
"Kyland—"
"Tenleigh." He leaned toward me, his breath just a whisper away, his voice strained. I breathed in his scent, a thrill racing down my spine. He smelled like a mixture of clean, pine-scented mountain air and something that must just be him—something that whispered to me in an intimate, secret way. Something I didn't need to analyze to understand. My eyelashes fluttered. I glanced down at his lips again. God, his lips were nice. And they looked so soft. Would they be soft on mine? My heart beat wildly in my chest as I waited for him to kiss me. He moved a centimeter closer and I held my breath.
"You been kissed before, Tenleigh?" he rasped as his hand went to the side of my head, his fingers weaving into my hair.
"No," I whispered, my body swaying toward him. No, but I wanted to be. Oh God, I wanted to be. I felt practically drunk with expectation. Would he touch me while he kissed me? Would his hands move over my body, under my clothes? A jolt of electricity raced up my thighs and ended between my legs.
I liked him so much. He was a boy who was sweet, but would take charge. My blood was buzzing, racing through my veins.
His eyes gazed into mine for several frozen seconds until he squeezed his eyes shut and pulled away from me. I let out a huge breath as I tipped toward him and caught myself, pulling back suddenly, too.
Kyland stood up and spun away from me, breathing hard. "You shouldn't give your first kiss to me."
What the . . .?
I blinked, feeling stunned, almost as if he'd just slapped my face. Humiliation engulfed me. I made a chuffing sound in the back of my throat and wrapped my arms around myself.
He narrowed his eyes at me. "Why haven't you ever kissed anyone?"
I shrugged, feeling hot, my skin prickly. I lifted my chin. "Never found anyone I wanted to kiss before," I said, going for nonchalance. But in actuality, it was pretty true.
"And you want to kiss me?"
I snorted.
Conceited asshole.
So not only was Kyland not going to kiss me—he was going to make me feel embarrassed and inexperienced? This was the exact reason I had sworn off men. "Not anymore." I stood up, grabbing my grocery bags and moving past him. But I was caught up short when he grabbed my hand and tugged. I whirled back around. "Let go of me," I hissed. "You're right. I don't want to kiss you. I'm going to go away to college, and I'm going to let a real man kiss me, not some stupid hillbilly who thinks his lips are God's gift to Kentucky girls."
Kyland let go of my hand, looking truly insulted. "That's not what I think."
I made a sound of disgust and kept walking. I felt flushed all over and I was shaking, trying in vain to dismiss my deep sense of hurt and disappointment. "Well good, you shouldn't. You don't have anything every other man doesn't have, too, Kyland Barrett," I called, and raced back toward the road and fast-walked all the way home. I had no idea if Kyland followed me or not and I told myself I didn't care.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tenleigh
The following week, on a blustery Sunday, I walked with Marlo down the hill. She was headed to work and I was headed to the Dennville Library.
"Don't stay long, okay?" Marlo said as we prepared to part ways.
"I won't. I just need a few new books." We tried our very best not to ever leave our mama alone for long in the trailer. Not that she would do something rash if she were taking her medication properly. But it was difficult to know if she was—we couldn't exactly force it down her throat, and counting pills hadn't worked. She knew well enough to hide the ones she wasn't taking if she decided to go off her medication. But either way, our mama was what I guess you would call delicate. If she wasn’t sleeping, she didn't care for being alone. Frankly, it was exhausting, but it was the hand we'd been dealt, and we did what we had to because we had no other choice.
I often wondered what it was like to have parents that cared for you, rather than the other way around.
As we stepped onto Main Street sidewalk, a man looking down at the phone in his hands was walking toward us. "Oh God, turn away!" Marlo hissed.
"Huh?"
Suddenly the man looked up. "I'm so sorry," he said, brushing my shoulder and taking a big step to the left. "Oh, hey. Tenleigh, right?"
I swore I heard Marlo let out a small exasperated groan. "Yeah. Hi, Dr. Nolan?" I glanced at Marlo and she had a small, phony smile on her face. I hadn't met Dr. Nolan before, but I had seen him and I knew he was a dentist who had set up a practice in Evansly. Apparently, he was here to save the Mountain Dew mouths of Appalachia—a valiant intention, maybe he could brighten a few smiles. I couldn't help but cringe every time I saw a baby sucking down a bottle full of pop. Needless to say, I cringed a lot. And evidently, most of his clients, if they could pay at all, paid in things like homemade moonshine. And yet, he was still here. And surprisingly sober.
The other thing I knew about Dr. Nolan was that Marlo had had a one-night stand with him a few months back when he'd come into Al's for a Sunday afternoon beer.
And that she'd ignored him since.
"Call me Sam," he said, glancing around me at Marlo. "Hi, Marlo. How are you?" he asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose. Frankly, he was adorable in a Clark Kent sort of way. His hair was parted too severely, he wore black-framed glasses, and a shirt buttoned all the way up to his throat. But he was handsome despite all that, and he looked fit. I glanced at Marlo, raising my eyebrows.
"Hi, Sam. I'm good. How are you?" she said, giving him a big, bright smile that was completely fake.
If a man was capable of swooning, he did. "Uh, I'm good. I came by Al's a couple times, but you weren't working," he said, his cheekbones flushing with color. Adorable.
I grinned over at Marlo.
"Oh. Sorry to hear I missed you, Sam. You must be busy with your practice." Marlo was speaking slowly with exaggerated formality. I squinted my eyes, trying to get a better read on her face.
"Oh, uh, yeah. I'm swamped." There was an awkward pause that he jumped in to fill. "You know tooth decay in Appalachia is a real epidemic." He glanced back and forth between Marlo and me. "Of course, your teeth are beautiful. You must take good care of them. Oral health is so . . . You must floss well, which is great. It's mostly the soda that's the problem, though. Or pop as you call it here. And a bad diet, of course . . ." He grimaced as if he was pained by the conversation.
I held back a grin. "We've observed the problem. What you're doing is very admirable."
He shook his head. "Oh no, I get more ou
t of it than anyone. To see a twelve-year-old come into my office with a mouth full of rot and then send him walking out with a beautiful smile, well, it's hard to explain that feeling. I have the ability to change someone's life, you know?" His eyes brightened and his voice was filled with enthusiasm. "There's nothing that compares to that." Clearly he was passionate about his endeavor. Adorable.
"Where are you from, Sam? You have an accent."
He chuckled. "I'm from Florida. To me, you have accents." He glanced at Marlo. "I love it."
Oh geez.
I glanced at Marlo who seemed unmoved. "Well," she said, "I need to get to work, so you have a good day, Sam. Tenleigh, I'll see you at home."
"Oh. You're going to work?" Sam asked. "Well, let me drive you. I'm headed back to Evansly anyway. I was just dropping off my card to some homes in this area, letting people know I'd see them free of charge if they were interested . . ."
Marlo hesitated and I jumped in. "Great! What a stroke of luck, Mar. I'll see you at home."
She widened her eyes at me, but smiled over at Sam. "Okay, great. Thanks, Sam."
They turned to walk to his car, Sam waving at me, and Marlo widening her eyes in a “we'll talk later” way. I turned around and headed toward the library, chuckling to myself. Either Marlo was trying really hard not to like Sam, or well, she really didn't like him. If I had to guess, I'd go with the former. I'd seen Marlo with guys I knew for a fact she wasn't interested in, and she didn't act like that. She also didn't cover her smile in front of Sam. I liked that most of all—he made her feel pretty.
I pulled the door to the library open—really nothing more than a small one-room shed with several bookshelves inside, holding as many books as could fit. I had helped one of the teachers at my high school take up a fund to set it up several years ago and folks had donated what they could. The budget had been small and didn't buy many books, but it was better than nothing. And it was usually empty. So I was surprised to see someone standing at the shelf on the back wall leafing through a book.