Broken, page 12
I walked around to my side of the Jeep, repeating to myself: Friends, all Annie wants is a friendship. That’s all it will ever be.
I climbed in, not sure what my next move should be. Should I talk, hold her hand, ignore her?
“Clay,” she said, bringing my attention back to her and the small smile touching her lips. “It was a lovely thing to do. No other guy has ever opened a door for me before.”
I nodded. “You deserve to have the door opened for you. But I understand. We need to draw a line. You know with this friend thing and all.”
I pulled out of the driveway and headed toward my granny’s. Annie didn’t say anything else. Instead, she seemed to have been focusing on some unseen image in the windshield. I flipped on the radio, trying to stop staring at her long, lean legs. She crossed them, making her skirt ride up. Annie had great legs. They were runner’s legs. I should have asked her if she ran. She had the body for the sport.
“Bob got me a job at some gala this coming weekend. Some outstanding young person thing.”
I’d forgotten about that. They had scheduled me to escort Kate to that event for over a year. How would that make Annie feel? Hell, I know. She would smile and say that’s wonderful. Because she’s that wonderful, and the last thing she would’ve wanted to do was to hurt someone else. Another reason she was too damn good for me.
I would save that tidbit of news for another day. Today was about proving I wasn’t a universal dick.
“You’ll make a ton in tips.” Because you’ll be the prettiest thing there. I put the truck in park. “We’re here.”
Chapter 17
Annie López
Only two streets from my present home was a tidy, little shotgun house. I had walked by it numerous times and admired the large elm tree in the front yard and the overabundance of azalea bushes. It was well-loved and tended to home, but I would’ve never believed that the matriarch of the Carter clan would live in such a simple place.
“This is your granny’s home?”
“I guess you can say that. She has a big house she shared with my grandfather, but she has always preferred this place. To be honest, she has never cared for my grandfather too much.”
Clay gripped my hand when I got to the front of the truck. The idea he wanted me there made me ridiculously happy and I almost forgot that his family knew my mother.
“Does your grandmother know we’re coming?” I asked.
“Yeah, I think she is looking as forward to this as I am.” Clay swung open the door and hollered in the way of a greeting, “We’re here. Hope you have lunch cooked.”
“In the kitchen, Lucky,” she said.
“Lucky?” I asked as I followed Clay through an immaculate but cozy living room.
“She’s lucky to have me.” He winked. “Don’t you agree?”
“There they are,” his grandmother said when we rounded the corner into the kitchen.
I paused, jerking Clay still. It was the lady who resembled death in the old newscast. She had aged, but it was no doubt the same lady.
“Not what you were expecting?” Clay whispered in my ear.
She was nothing like I thought she would be and how I thought she might have been.
“Granny, my Annie,” Clay said, and motioned to me. “Annie, my Granny Ann.”
I mentally calculated Ann’s age to be somewhere in her seventies, and she seemed to be one of those ladies who didn’t come into her looks until she was older. Her face was classic: the kind a painter would use for inspiration. She had white hair, curled against her head. She was in great physical shape, but I expected that from what I heard about the Carters. Her physical appearance was almost the image I had in my head, but the ebullient expression on her face took me by surprise. She was jumping up and down when she saw us.
Clay never let go of my hand, not even when his grandmother stopped battering the chicken. Wet sticky flour covered her fingers, but it didn’t prevent her from hugging first Clay then me, all the while holding her fingers out not to get us dirty. I felt safe in her arms and wanted to protest a little when she finally let go.
“I’m fixin’ chicken. It was one of your mother’s favorites,” Ann said, as she leaned back from hugging me.
Hope settled into my gut as I closed my eyes and let her words sink in. No one had mentioned my mother before. Much less told me some trivial facts about her. She loved chicken. So, did I. Matter of fact, Pawpaw used to laugh at me as a child because I never ordered steak at a restaurant, always chicken.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s my favorite.”
“Good, mine is better than Bob’s,” Ann said and winked.
Clay laughed. “Yours is better than everyone’s.”
Clay finally let go of my hand and walked over to pour himself a glass of sweet tea. Ann’s house was immaculate, all polished and scrubbed. She had knick knacks on every flat surface. I shoved my hands into my back pocket, and for once, I wasn’t sure why, but I finally felt at home in Carterville.
“Have a seat,” Clay instructed, as he sat down at the head of the table and patted the chair next to him.
I wiggled my butt in the chair beside Clay and watched as Ann went back to dipping her chicken first in buttermilk then flour. It was how Mimi made chicken when I was little.
“Mrs. Ann, can you tell me more about my mother?”
“Call me Granny. It’s what Clay calls me.” She placed the last piece of battered chicken into a pan of hot grease and washed her hands under the kitchen faucet. She took her time scrubbing her nail beds and stared out the window above the kitchen sink. “Let me see, your mom,” she finally said, as though she had drifted back from some dream. “She didn’t work for us long. She was full of life and made you happy just being in the room with her.” Ann finally turned around to face me. “She was beautiful. A lot like her.”
“Really, I always figured I had a lot of my father in me because I don’t look like a Mexican.”
“Sweetie, your mom wasn’t Mexican. She was Colombian.” Ann’s warm hand reached out and took mine in hers with a gentle squeeze. “She was very proud of her heritage.”
My chest felt heavy making it hard to breathe. Joy. Happiness. Sorrow. Guilt. Loss. It all swirled together in a mayhem of emotions. Elated at finally learning something about my mom and sad at how little I actually knew, tears stung my eyes. Clay covered my hand lying on the table with his. The warmth was just what I needed to process the information.
“Did you know who my dad was?” I asked, and prayed she knew the most important of facts.
“I didn’t know about you until two weeks before you were born. I still remember Evie’s smile and the way she stroked her stomach. She loved you. If I could give you anything, I would give you the ability to know how much we wanted you.”
The tears finally started to flow but were easy to handle with Clay and Ann each holding one of my hands.
“Why did she wait so long to tell you?”
“My husband was an ass of a man who thought the only people worthy of anything were people like him. He never thought Evie was good enough because she wasn’t a white elitist, but your mother was more precious than any of us. I’m sorry we couldn’t keep you and love you and tell you every day how special Evie was. I wanted, too.” Ann’s eyes watered, but she didn’t even try to stop the tears from sliding down her face. “Clay has been my greatest joy in this life but my second is having him bring you back where you belong.”
“Okay, enough of the heavy. You’re letting the chicken burn, and I’m starving,” Clay said and cocked his head toward the stove.
“Oh,” Ann squealed, and hopped up to rescue the chicken.
Clay winked at me and stroked his finger against my palm.
Ann placed the chicken on the platter and scooped the corn out of the pot it had been simmering in.
“You look like her,” Ann said from behind me.
Even beneath the tears, I couldn’t have wiped the gigantic smile off my face if I tried. To finally have someone to talk about my mom with, to tell me crazy facts about her was a million prayers come true.
We ate, laughed, and I learned so many little tidbits about Evie López. She came to America after her mother died from cancer. She never knew who her father was either. The American language was still new to her, and she would replace a word in a sentence with the Spanish equivalent and never even realized she was doing it. She loved to dance and had taught Wes how to Salsa dance. Ann said they looked like a graceful gazelle and clumsy monkey trying to mate when they danced together. She had eaten so many strawberries when she was pregnant; they were sure I would come out red. Her favorite piece of clothing was a Members Only jacket Courtney had given her.
Learning about my mother after all those years was almost euphoric, but I still had one giant piece missing from the puzzle of my life — who my father was. I asked Ann one more time if she had any idea who he was. Once again, she didn’t answer. She told me about the time Evie caught the oven on fire. I was my mother’s daughter after all.
****
Clay Carter
Most of my happiest memories had been with my granny and at that house. To see Annie there, laughing with my granny was the happiest one of all. To have been able to give her a piece of her past not only thrilled her but me. She had to see not all of me was a jerk.
“Are you going to the big cookout tomorrow?” Annie asked.
I’d forgotten my granny even mentioned that. Why the city of Carterville even pretended to hold an election was a fraud within itself. The only officers in the whole county were members of families where the roots on the old family tree ran deep in the Carterville soil, and the money ran even deeper. But to keep up with the facade of a real election, the candidates held a giant cookout for the entire population of the town the weekend before every county election.
“I don’t think I have much choice. I’ve got to be the proud son.” Even I noted the sarcasm in my voice. Proud and son were never two words my brain wanted to connect. However, pretending had been the one trait my father had taught me.
“I take it you don’t like your dad?”
“He’s not in my top ten of favorite people.”
“Your granny is super.”
“Yeah, she is.”
Granny was the best part of my family, but I couldn’t see how Annie felt that way. It was no doubt she knew who Annie’s dad was and made a conscious decision not to tell her.
Chapter 18
Annie López
Election Day in Carterville was a bigger deal than Super Tuesday in a highly contested primary race for president.
Mr. George Goldberg won the mayor’s race for the eighth time. Mike Tracy won the office of sheriff in a twelve-person race. It was his first election, but on a side note, his dad held the office for the last thirty-six years. In addition, Wes Carter once again won in a landslide the office of county judge. The race proved that a newcomer wasn’t the most welcome commodity in town.
With every candidate and the entire election board emptied out in the Downtown Cafe, Bob had me work the kitchen for the first time in weeks. Which, first, I was thankful for — it kept me in the shadows once again. Secondly, it kept me from running into any Carters. Except for Clay who made a thirty-minute appearance and spent fifteen of those minutes in the back with me.
“Hey, chickadee, you want to help me clean up out here? You would think the town had a party or something.” Will slid a tray of empty glasses down the steel counter, letting them land into a sink full of soapy water, splashing me.
“Only if you promise to load the dishwasher. All this dishwashing is killing my manicure.”
I held up my hands and wiggled my fingers to show my lack of any kind of manicure and laughed.
“Is that fancy manicure how you got the golden boy to come back and wash dishes for you earlier?” Will asked and turned his back to me with the excuse of wiping off the top of the refrigerator.
Will still had a touch of jealousy where Clay was concerned. But he had gotten over the hurdle of him seeing me as anything other than a friend, and I’d learned what a bright and capable future Will had.
Will had a thirst for anything newsworthy and had a book in his face. Books were his escape from reality. That and devouring anything political. He was majoring in political science and dreamed of being a political analyst for a top news channel one day.
We were discussing the latest presidential scandal when I noticed Will’s eyes kept drifting over to the only table still occupied. I glanced over my left shoulder to see a table of girls; all I’d seen hanging around Clay. One girl was plainer than the other five with her mousy-brown hair pulled up in a tight bun. She wore glasses, which was going for her. She had that sexy school librarian look. I halfway expected her to stand up and toss those glasses across the room before breaking out in some sexy striptease. That one girl was making bedroom eyes at Will.
I turned back around and started back stacking dirty glasses onto a tray. This had to be the worst part of my job. People could be repulsive, and the way they often left the dining area only emphasized that fact. I picked a fork out of a full glass of tea and French fries. This from the highfalutin members of Carterville. People were gross.
Mousy Brown turned to take something out of her purse, and I elbowed Will. “Hey, Will, Miss. Sexy Librarian over there has been eyeing you. You should try to hook that one.”
His cheeks flamed brick-red as he scooped up the last glass off the Formica table-top and placed it on the tray. “She's a country club, and in case you didn’t notice, I’m not.”
I smiled, aware that they both had been checking each other out for the past twenty minutes. “Country clubs are overrated. Plus, in case you didn’t know, you’re no slouch either.” I picked up the tray and winked. “And some of us girls prefer the latter.”
The two pink splotches on his cheeks deepened, and he cut his eyes over to Mousy Brown. “You prefer country clubs.”
“Since when?” I asked, and tapped his hip with mine.
“Clay Carter is the epitome of country club.”
“That is why he’s been friend zoned.” I glanced back at the girl. “Talk to her, Will. I know she will probably say yes.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Did Will not see what a catch he was? Why do people always see the worst in themselves and the best in everyone else?
I slammed the tray down on the nearest table. “You’re a great guy, and she looks like a nice girl. What do you have to lose? You talk to her; she says yes or no. If you don’t talk to her, it’s a no by default. I think your chances are better with a ‘hey’ myself.” I hauled the tray up to my hip. “If you ask me, she’s the lucky one. I heard country club boys suck in bed. All money, no dick.”
I turned to leave when he laughed.
I started to open the kitchen door when I heard them. I should have turned and not listened, but my mad eavesdropping skills had me hanging onto every word.
“Thank you for keeping her in the back tonight.” It was Wes Carter talking. Was he talking about me? Did Clay and I cause that much revulsion in him?
“It wasn’t for your benefit, believe me,” Bob answered. “She deserves more.”
“It hurts so damn much to be near her. She’s just like her,” Wes said and rubbed the corner of his eye.
“She sure as hell is. I sometimes wonder if God isn’t giving us a second chance to get it right. E would want us, too. She would be proud of her,” Bob said.
“Yeah, she would.”
“How’s she doing?” Bob asked.
“Not good. The pneumonia has taken its toll on her this time. She’s back on a vent again.”
Who the hell was he talking about? Did it matter? However, it was breaking Wes in two. I peeked through a crack in the door. Wes Carter, the man who commanded the room earlier, stood against a table, a hollow shell of himself. There was no joy in his eyes, no happiness, no brightness. He appeared mired in the very center of this thick, choking misery that didn’t seem to have an end.
“You should tell her. She deserves to know the truth,” Bob said.
“What if she hates me? I know I deserve it, but she’s the only happiness I’ve had the last twenty years. She’s the only good in my life.”
“Clay needs a father, too. You promised Courtney you would be that.”
“We both know I’ve sucked in that role.”
I became mesmerized by a single tear running down Wes’s cheek, evoking me to drop the entire platter of dirty dishes.
My heart rate slowed as my muscles ceased to move. Both Wes and Bob looked over at the door. Bob was at my side, but my eyes stayed glued on Wes. He was drinking me in and seemed to grow more lost every second.
“Annie …” Bob shook my shoulder, drawing my attention from Wes. “I’ll clean this up. Why don’t you leave it and meet me in my office? I need to talk to you about something.”
He was telling me in not so many words it was time for me to crawl back into my little world. I wasn’t welcome into the world of the Carters, and my eavesdropping had crossed a line I might not backtrack from.
I crisscrossed my arms over my chest and looked down at my feet, not sure looking at either of them was a clever idea and couldn’t take the stares they both were leveling in my direction. I’d had enough. I spun around and headed for the safety of the break room before the tears welled up in my eyes and broke free.
I washed my face and gathered my stuff together to head into the office. Bob and Wes stood in the dining area in what looked like a heated argument when I walked out. They didn’t even notice me.
I glanced down at my watch. The time crawled by at a snail’s pace. It had only been twenty minutes, but it seemed more like hours had slipped by.
The door clicked open, and I stood to face Bob. He appeared his usual calm self and even managed a smile. It gave me the courage to smile and retake a seat.
“Relax. First, whatever you thought you heard in there, you didn’t. Wes and I go back too far, and sometimes the past comes back to haunt us.”
