Page 12

CHAPTER 11

DAMAGE CONTROL

CASS

T he ride back to my house is silent. I spend the bulk of it staring out the window, wondering what the hell I’m doing.

I have yet to come up with a good answer when we pull up to the house. Mom’s car is in the driveway, and I sigh—not only do I have to explain why there’s a charred mess in the backyard, but I also have to try and explain the mess I’ve gotten myself into.

Wilder is still in his uniform and ball cap, smelling all sweaty and musky. I hate that I still want to lick his neck.

His exhaustion is so heavy, it looks like it’s dragging him straight into hell.

I hate that I feel bad for him.

I hate a lot of things, I’m finding.

When he catches my gaze, he has the decency to look cowed. One big hand rests on the wheel and the other pulls off his cap and puts it on again, a nervous tick I’ve seen a hundred times.

He’s not the same. You’re not the same. Just familiar. It’s not real.

I offer a halfhearted smile and reach for the handle. “Well, thanks I guess?”

“Don’t thank me. Not for anything.”

“Even taking care of my truck?”

“Nope. I owe you more than that. I’ll bring it by later.”

“Okay.” I hesitate, feeling like there’s more to say, not wanting to go into the house.

“Let me get some shit in order and I’ll text you. We can figure out details later.”

Anxiety wriggles around in my belly. “Yeah. Sounds good. Well, bye then.” I open the door, climb out, shut it. Stare through the window at him for a second. He stares back. Neither of us make a move until I raise my hand in the smallest wave and turn for the house.

He doesn’t drive off until I’m inside.

Mom’s stuff is in the middle of the foyer, and I hear noise in the kitchen. “Mama? You home?”

“In here!”

Nervously, I twist the curl of my ponytail, wondering how pissed she is about the yard. When I exit the hallway and enter the kitchen, she definitely doesn’t look happy.

My mother leans one hip on the island and crosses one arm over the other, holding a glass of white wine. Even annoyed, she is a beautiful creature. Her red hair has faded, but it’s still vibrant, with shocks of gray at the temples. Her eyes are big and green, and though she might have more wrinkles than she used to, she’s still somehow always the most gorgeous woman in the room.

Even when she frowns, which she’s doing right now.

“Cassidy Leigh Winfield,” she says in her pretty southern accent, “what in the world did you do to my backyard?”

The yard is the least of my problems, so I conjure up a smile and try to make jokes. “Well, funny story.”

One copper brow rises. “Does it involve the fire department?”

“Actually, it does.”

Now she’s frowning. “Wait, seriously? I was just kidding.”

I drag myself to a bar chair and plop into it, holding my shoulders up by my elbows on the surface of the island. “Well, Jessa and I thought it would be fun to burn Davis’s stuff in the burn pile.”

“Jessa thought it would be fun to burn things?”

“Okay fine, it was my idea. We might have had a little too much to drink and let the fire get a touch out of hand. Mrs. Crowley called 911. Really, the only damage is the fence!”

“And my begonias,” she adds, but her eyes are twinkling a little.

“And the begonias. I’m sorry. We tried to clean it up!”

“Well, I just have one question,” she asks, her lips flat and tone serious.

“What?”

A smile breaks out on her face, and she leans across the island toward me. “Was it fun?”

My laugh punctuates a flash of relief. “It was. I mean, until I got sad. And threw the clothes I had on in the fire. Right when the fire department showed up.”

Her face opens up in surprise. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Was Wilder?—”

“Yes. Yes he was.”

A string of giggles escapes her, her smile glorious. “Oh, Cass. That’s terrible,” she says like she does not at all think it’s terrible. “Did you just die?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I did. And Jessa scrambled around for something to put on me and came back with my bride robe. Can you believe her?”

She’s still laughing. “Oh my God. Were you totally naked?”

“My pants were tangled up around my ankles, but yes. Wilder grabbed me before I fell over.”

“Oh, honey. This is great.” Her cheeks are high and flushed and lovely. “I wish people still read Reader’s Digest. You could send that story in and they’d print it, easy.”

“I think I’ll keep my shame contained to the people who were there and you, thanks.”

Again, one brow arches, and she lifts her glass. “Does that have anything to do with why Wilder just brought you home?” With hard eye contact, she takes a sip.

My cheeks are feverishly hot. “No. No, that’s a whole other story.”

She waits expectantly. “Wait. Do you need wine?”

I don’t have to answer—she’s already moving for the fridge. But I say yes anyway.

Until I have a sip, I don’t say anything else. Mama leans on the island again, waiting, but I’m staring at the little air bubbles in the wine.

“It’s a lot,” I note. “You might want to sit down.”

“Well, then,” she says with a flourish, making a hoity-toity show of herself as she pulls one of the chairs around so she can stay in front of me. “Please, continue.”

I don’t even know where to start. What’s the least offensive thing I have to tell her? Maybe I can work up to the worst of it. In the end, I figure it’s equally shocking and decide to go with chronological.

“First thing is…well, I have a confession to make.”

“Oh, this sounds juicy. Should I make popcorn?”

“Mama!” I say, half laughing. “Stop it, this is serious.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll settle down.” She schools her face. “Go ahead.”

I take a breath and open my mouth. Then close it. Then open it.

“Oh, for God’s sake, honey—spit it out!”

“Wilder and I got married in Vegas on that trip.”

I watch her face stretch, her eyes widen, her lips part. She blinks once. Twice.

And then busts out laughing.

“Mama! What the hell!”

“I can’t help it. Oh my gosh, I knew it! ”

I gape. “You did not.”

“I did so!” She’s still laughing like a goddamn maniac. “I knew it! The second y’all said you were going, I knew you were coming back married!”

“We didn’t even know we were gonna do it!”

“Ah, but I did! ” To my great embarrassment she hops off her stool and dances around the kitchen saying I knew it, I knew it, I kneeeew ittttt.

I drain my glass while she gets it out of her system.

After a minute, she drops back onto her stool and picks up her glass. “Whew, damn that feels good.”

With a flat look, I ask, “Are you done?”

She pretends to think about it. “Maybe. I have a lot of questions. Is there more?”

“A lot more.”

“Oh. Well, let’s hear it.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

She smooths her hair and top, and sits up straight. “Yes. I’ll be good, I promise. Tell me what happened, honey.”

I could use more wine, but I can’t risk her getting up again or she might never sit back down.

Nothing left to do but spill the beans.

So I do, starting with Wilder not mailing the papers, which makes her giggle and kick her feet. There is also a brief interlude wherein she informs me that she never liked Davis and thought he was a stuck-up prick. Also, that she always wished Wilder and I had ended up together.

At this point, I ask her how much wine she’s had and she swears this is her first glass. What’s bad is that I believe her. Easygoing to a fault, Mama is, possibly with a side of ADHD.

To her credit, she does get more serious when she learns we’re still married and I didn’t know. By the time I finish telling her about Cricket and Ashley and Wilder finding out the whole thing, her smile is gone, and emotion creases her brow. And yet somehow, when I tell her about the plan to pretend to be married in front of the whole town, she doesn’t even flinch.

“I don’t know, Cass—I feel like it’s a good plan.”

I shake my head at her. “What do you mean? It’s a terrible idea!”

She stills, looks to the side like she’s thinking. “Wait, you don’t want to do it?”

“No! I mean, yes I want to help and all, but married ? To Wilder ?”

“Right. I don’t understand. Did you want me to disagree?”

“Well, kinda!”

“So you wanted to argue about it?”

“I don’t…I mean…” Did I? “I guess I just figured you’d say it’s irresponsible.”

She picks up her glass with a shrug. “You’re already married. He needs help. You told the little girl you were married to him, for Pete’s sake. That was some move,” she says on a chuckle. “It’s not like he’s a stranger to you.”

“That’s part of the problem, though, isn’t it?”

“Only if you let it be.” She takes a sip.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The glass clinks delicately between us when she sets it down. “Only that it sounds like you’re worried you’re gonna have trouble because you used to love each other. So, I guess what I mean is that you shouldn’t count anything out. Just let it happen, whatever it is.”

“Mama, I am not ready to ‘just let it happen.’ Davis just?—”

“Davis is a weenie and I hate him. He was never good enough for you. I know he hurt you, Cassidy. But don’t let him take any more from you than he already did.” She covers my hand with hers and squeezes. “Don’t let him be the reason you do or don’t do anything. Okay?”

“Okay. But listen—I am mad at Wilder. He lied to me. He nearly let me marry Davis knowing it was an actual crime. It’s not fair what he did, and it’s not fair that he put me in this position with Cricket. But I want to help. I’m not ready for anything with anybody, but we’re both adults—all this is just going to be for show. And you know what? He’d do it for me.”

“All great reasons. Did you still want me to argue with you?”

I groan. “Mama.”

“What?” she asks innocently. “I just want to help too. Did you need me to tell you you’re crazy so you can convince me—and yourself—that it’s not so crazy after all? I can, but it sounds like you have it all worked out.”

“God,” I say, laughing a little as I get off the stool and head for the stairs. “I think I’m good.”

“Okay, well I love you!” she calls after me. “You owe me new begonias!”

I don’t know why I thought she’d scold me—she’s this unserious about most things. But I feel better having told her, knowing she has my back.

But I cannot fathom the size of the mistake I’m walking into.