Page 31 of Save the Last Dance (Take the Backroads #1)

Ally ignored her buzzing cell phone as she drove through town to her grandmother’s.

Normally, she would have at least glanced at it to see who was calling so she could pull over if she needed to talk.

Tonight, she didn’t care. Her mother might be calling to say she was working late, which was her way of avoiding their house.

Or her father might call to say he had to help a family who was worse off than them, which was his preferred excuse for avoiding them.

And if it was someone from school, she definitely wasn’t interested.

She knew, without a doubt, Ethan would never call her again.

Not unless she told him her secret.

Which was impossible, since then he wouldn’t like her anymore anyhow because he’d think she was some kind of freak.

Basically, she had her pick of crap scenarios.

Have Ethan avoid her because he thought she was jealous of Rachel and because she kept secrets from him.

Or have him avoid her because he knew she was one step away from a psych center.

Happy times.

When she reached Finley Central—her father’s name for the private cul-de-sac where her grandmother, aunts and parents all lived—she passed her house and noticed all the lights were on and the front door stood open despite the fall chill in the air.

Both cars were in the driveway. Weird that they’d both be home, especially when she wasn’t.

Mildly curious, but too upset about her own problems to borrow trouble at home, Ally pulled into Gram’s driveway under the big red oak.

In the distance, she saw a single light on in the barn which meant Uncle Mack was home, probably doing restoration on the place.

Both of her aunts’ houses were dark, though.

Bypassing the front door, Ally walked through the wraparound porch to the side entrance.

The sunshades were pulled down in the screened-in outdoor room off the porch, but a nightlight helped her navigate the big rattan furniture.

Inhaling the scent of lemon cleaner and dried lavender from a nearby decorative bowl, Ally knocked on the old-fashioned wood door with a heavy lead-glass insert.

Inside, she could see a candle burning on a kitchen counter, the candlelight swirling in a prism effect through the lead glass.

“Gram?” Ally called, trying the doorknob. When it turned, she opened the door a crack and peeked in. “Gram?”

Her grandmother walked from the front room in a bright caftan and matching head scarf, her black felt slippers making an appearance with each step.

“Well, I did try to get to the door when you knocked.” Gram observed dryly, pointing a weathered finger with a heavy ruby ring. “I am more of a tortoise than a hare these days, you know.”

Ally’s heart lightened as she ditched her bag on the kitchen table and hurried toward her.

“I’ve missed you.” She hugged her grandmother carefully, her cheek as tall as Gram’s headscarf. There was no sign of gray in her hair, her platinum locks as blond as ever, if a little thin.

“I’ve had some bad days, to be honest,” Gram admitted, reaching for a nearby wall to steady herself as she attempted to turn around. “But then I hear you have, too.”

Ugh. Ally’s good mood evaporated as she stayed a step behind her grandmother while the older woman navigated the living room furniture toward her recliner. Like the rest of the house, the purple leather chair was as unique as Gram herself.

She’d been pissed when Ally’s aunts and uncles had bought her an “old lady chair” with an electric lift, so she’d hired a furniture maker and reupholstered the original brown fabric with a vivid orchid one. Or, as Erin called the color, Violet Vomit.

“I hear Audrey Hepburn is great for when you’re feeling down.” Ally didn’t hold out much hope she’d distracted Gram with the offer, but she had to try. “I can start the popcorn.”

“Sometimes when you’re feeling down, it’s better to discuss it.” Her grandmother’s brows furrowed. “They call it talk therapy, and the doctors today, they love it.”

Ally leaned closer to fold the hem of Gram’s caftan over her legs so it wouldn’t catch in the chair.

“That doesn’t sound like an endorsement.” She couldn’t picture Gram trusting doctors. She’d never put much faith in the ones that had treated her kidney stones or her knees, so Ally guessed she didn’t think much of the head shrinks, either.

“Only because it’s more fun to talk to people you care about than a clinician who is charging you by the hour.

But then, I guess those counselors do have a certain objectivity when it comes to discussing our…

quirks.” Gram rested her head on the cushion as the chair whirred up and back.

“Now why don’t you go get us some drinks and you can put your feet up, too.

Did you bring me any new nail polish? We can do our toes. ”

Twenty minutes later, their toes drying and their popcorn addiction eased, Ally sat at her grandmother’s feet and admired her handiwork.

“I think the daisies were a stroke of genius, Gram.” Ally hadn’t had come stocked with any new nail polish colors, but she did have some nail art stickers in her purse from the clearance rack at the salon.

So she’d used an older bottle of jade green on their toes and then put the daisy stickers on the big toes. “I may have to start charging you.”

Gram laughed. “I love them. Next time bring those zebra-stripe ones. I’ll reimburse you.” She set down her glass of cola, the ice cubes clinking on the glass. “Now show me the damage done on those wrists.”

Ally swallowed hard. Obviously, Gram knew more than she’d let on about the whole hospital thing.

“They’re so stupid.” Embarrassment burned. Not even her mother had asked to look at her arms after the nurses treated her that day.

“I beg your pardon?” Gram adjusted her glasses and squinted at Ally. “They are now a part of you, so they aren’t stupid. Let’s see.”

Tears pooled in her eyes, but she tried hard not to let them fall. She didn’t have the dark to conceal her feelings as she’d had in the parking lot. Rolling up her sleeves, she tugged at the bandages on one wrist and then the other, taking each one half off to expose the healing flesh beneath.

Gram pursed her lips but didn’t look surprised. “They need some air. Were you supposed to wear the bandages for this long?” She glanced up at Ally, her pale blue eyes keen despite cataract surgery.

And glasses.

For that matter, Gram could have her eyes closed and see right through people.

“They didn’t specify.” It was the truth. Sort of.

“Well I’m specifying. Wounds need to breathe once they’ve closed up.”

Ally peeled the rest of the bandages off and chucked them in the trash along with the discarded cotton balls from the pedicures.

“The bandages helped hide them,” she admitted.

“Our scars make us who we are.” Gram flashed her calf. “See that one? I got it when I shaved my legs even though my father said I couldn’t. I was so mad—and inexperienced with a razor—that I raked it up my leg and took off half the skin.”

Ally smiled. “That’s a funny story, though.” Her smile faded. “But it’s not the same. I shredded my wrists on purpose because I was upset.”

“My story is funny because of the way I tell it.” Gram crossed her ankles.

“But it was not a pleasant day in my house, you can be sure. One day, you’ll figure out the right story to tell about your scars, too.

You’ll be able to face the truth of a painful moment and not let it scar you all over again. ”

“I thought maybe a tattoo would be better. That way, I could cover them up permanently.” She was only half joking. When she left town after Harvest Fest, she planned to stop at tattoo parlor and cover up the ugliness on her arms with something pretty.

With any luck, she wouldn’t see her dad again until she was eighteen and then what could he say? Her stomach tightened. She hadn’t expected her time to leave would come so soon.

“A tattoo, eh?” Gram closed her eyes. “How about a picture of my scary face so the next time you looked at your wrist, you’d be afraid to scratch it.” She lifted her head and scowled at Ally, her sneer so ridiculous, Ally shrieked with laughter.

“Oh, my God, Gram, where’s my phone so I can take a picture?” Ally raced into the kitchen. “You have to do that again.”

“Never. Not until you’re in that tattoo shop.

” Gram grabbed her popcorn bowl and picked through the kernels.

She liked to crunch on the salty ones even though it was bad for her dentures.

“Honey, you’re a smart girl, same as me.

But you’ve got better medical options today than I did when I was your age.

I want you to be smart enough to use them. ”

Ally snapped a pic of Gram’s toes and the daisy stickers.

“What do you mean?” She brushed her hair out of her eyes and hoped she was a fraction as smart as her grandmother who had learned Latin in grade school and swore she read more books by the time she’d finished high school than any of her kids had by the time they graduated college.

“I mean. And just hear me out on this.” Gram set the bowl aside again.

“The doctors have much better medicines today than they did when I was a girl. More choices, too. And as much as I make fun of all that talk therapy, the truth is, treatment works better if you combine the meds with counseling. Some people need the help short-term. Others—like me—need ongoing help. My point is, if your hard days start getting harder and you can’t hold yourself back from the scratching, I want you to remember there are ways to deal with that pain other than hurting yourself. ”

Ally didn’t realize she’d started trembling until she set her phone aside and it rattled a little on the glass top of the end table.

“I don’t understand.” Even though she did. Gram thought Ally was crazy and should be medicated.