He squats down in front of me and takes my hands in his. “You’re human.”
I shake my head. “Are you sure? I didn’t see that written on any bricks. I did see the usual slut, bitch, whore. I wonder …?” I look at him, and my voice goes low. “How would it feel to walk out of my house and have neighbors who smiled at me and waved. Or even asked me how my day was,” I say, getting up. My hands fall from his as his eyes just look into mine with a look that is almost pity and sadness. “I bet it would be amazing.” Turning, I walk into the bathroom and close the door behind me so he doesn’t see me cry yet again.
Chapter Eleven
Beau
I listen to the click of the bathroom door before I get up and sit on her bed. What the fuck? I knew that people were rough on her, and I knew that people were still assholes about everything that went down eight years ago, but she always just shrugged it off. Or at least made it seem like it didn’t matter to her, but secretly, she was hiding all this hurt. I rub my hands over my face when the phone beeps in my pocket. I take it out and see a text from Jacob.
Jacob: We need to talk when I get back. Now that you’re mayor, there are a couple of things you need to be aware of.
I put my head back, wondering what the fuck else is going on. I used to watch my father and think that this job was easy. Sure, he had to keep the people happy, but every time I saw him, he looked calmed and collected. Maybe I bit off too much. I hear the water stop, and then the door opens and she comes out. “I’ll be ready in about ten,” she says, walking to her closet.
“I’m going to make sure that someone is coming to board up the windows,” I say, and she just nods. I walk out into the hot humid air and grab my phone when I see one of Savannah’s neighbors outside watering his flowers. I walk over, and when he turns his head, I see him with his sunglasses and hat on, hose in his hand, and a cigar in his mouth. “Good afternoon, Harold. How are you doing today?”
He takes the cigar out of his mouth and smiles at me and nods. “Mr. Mayor.”
“There was some vandalism at Savannah’s house, and I was wondering if you saw anything,” I ask, and he turns to look at his flowers. “Someone threw a couple of bricks through her window.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you date all these men.” His words make my shoulders snap into place. “Could be anyone.”
“Did you see anything?” I ask. His front door squeaks open, and I see his wife coming out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Afternoon, Shirley.”
“Afternoon.” She smiles. “Would you like some tea?” she asks. I smile at her and shake my head.
“I was just asking Harold if he saw anything out of the ordinary today?” I ask, and she just looks at me. “Someone threw a brick through Savannah’s windows.”
“We didn’t see anything,” she says. “Maybe if she wasn’t so free with herself, these things wouldn’t happen. She has a child, and it’s not healthy to parade all these men in front of him. Different car in her driveway every other week. It’s no wonder that this happened to her.” My stomach sinks, and I have to walk away before I say something rude. “If you ask me, Jacob should just take her child away and be done with it. She is more and more like her mother.”
“Shirley,” Harold says, and she just shrugs.
“We both know that no men are paraded in front of Ethan,” I say, making both of them look at me. “We also both know that the only people who come over to her house with Ethan there is Jacob and me.” I don’t give them a chance to say anything. “You have a daughter. You wouldn’t want anyone to—”
“We raised our daughter better than that,” Shirley cuts me off. “Now if that is all, I’ll get back to my baking. You have a wonderful day, Mr. Mayor.” She turns and walks back into the house. Harold puts his cigar back into his mouth, and I know this conversation is over. I turn and walk back to Savannah’s house, and the whole time my blood boils. I make it up one step, and the door opens, and she comes out with a small bag in her hand.
“What were you doing over there?” She looks at me and then over at Harold.
“I was asking them if they saw anything,” I say, and she laughs.
“Last week, Shirley accused me of ruining the ozone layer with my truck.” She shakes her head, walking down the steps. “The whole ozone layer is my fault because I have a truck.” She stops in front of me. “Forget about the fact that they have a nineteen seventy Cadillac that sucks more gas than my truck.”
“I didn’t know …” I start to say, my voice low. “How much you put up with.”
She shrugs now, and when I look at her, I see that her shield is up, and her eyes are void of emotion. It’s like she locked it down and only opens it when she’s alone. “It is what it is. There is nothing I can say to change anyone’s mind.”
“But you aren’t that person,” I say, walking to the truck. “You aren’t the person who people think you are.”
She opens the back door to the truck and puts her bag in there. “I’ve never been the person who people think I am. Even before Ethan, I was labeled when I was fucking twelve and I got breasts. People assumed I would be like my mother. Flirt and sleep her way through the town. It didn’t help that I got pregnant and stuck around.” She closes the door now. “I can’t do anything to change anyone’s perception of me, so as long as they are polite to Ethan and he’s treated with kindness, I pick my battles.”
I think of her selflessness. I think about how it would feel to know that you aren’t wanted yet stay nonetheless. I think about the hurt she must feel, and I feel like a huge dick for not seeing it beforehand. “Has anyone ever told you how amazing you are?” I say, walking to her and standing in front of her. “Has anyone ever told you that?” My hand cups her cheek, and my thumb moves back and forth. “That you’re pretty amazing.”
She looks down now, and I can see that she’s embarrassed by this and not used to it. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she says. Her stomach grumbles, and she laughs.
“When was the last time you ate?” I ask, and she shrugs.
“Two days ago,” she mumbles and then turns around to the driver’s side of her truck. “It’ll be fine.”
“Two days ago?” I shout. “Two days ago?” I repeat, and she gets up and into her truck. “You go to my house,” I say through the open window on the passenger side. I reach in my pocket and hand her my key to the house. “I’m going to the diner and pick up food,” I say, and she leans over and grabs the key.
“What if one of your women shows up?” she asks, and I just glare at her.
“I don’t have women, and that was the first time anyone has stepped foot into my house.” She raises her eyebrows. “Not counting you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she jokes and starts the car. “You do know that I’m a bartender, right?” she says, and I just look at her. “You do know that I’m almost a shrink.”