Page 19 of Bourbon and Secrets

I look down at my tank top, not remembering what I’m wearing. And then I say, “I remember you too. You must have good taste. This is one of my favorites.” I pluck at my shirt. “Freddie Mercury was fabulous.”

I glance at Lily, who’s focused on a collection of rocks in her palm. “Did you find those or buy them?”

Nodding, she holds each one up. “Agate, calcite, and I’ve been trying to find celestite.” She holds up a larger one. “Geodes are my favorite. I found this one in a gem shop.”

“Beautiful,” I say as she hands it to me. I turn it over in my hand. The craggy inside of purple crystals is sharp, but the outside is smooth, brown, and gray.

“That one helps keep away negative energy. Mrs. Davis, my science teacher, says that rocks don’t have that kind of power. That they’re the product of ‘pressure and time,’ but I really just think she needs one of these in her pocket.” She smiles, waving her hands. “Too much negative energy.”

I can’t help but smile back.

Lily nods to the one I’m holding. “My mom gave me that one.”

Lark mumbles out, “Lots of good that did for her.”

A small pink rock gets tossed her way. “Hey, captain of the attitude team, hold that one and give it a rub.”

She throws it back to Lily, but instead of either of them getting mad or dwelling on any of it, they both laugh lightly, and Lily puts it back in her pouch. I remember when it was easy like that with my sister. Get mad, fight it out, move on. It was so simple back then.

Lark asks, “Did you ever see that movie about the guy who built the baseball field in his cornfield?”

The question throws me off. I glance at my phone—just after ten in the morning means I’ve gotten less than five hours of sleep. But I know exactly what she’s talking about. Kevin Costner, before he was a rancher, was a farmer in Iowa building a baseball field, believing that if he did, the greatest baseball player of all time might show up and play on it.

“I have. A few times, actually. Seems like a bit of an old movie for you.” I study the way she stares into that field, resting her chin on her knees. “Did you like it?”

“Parts of it,” she says. “That if you believe in something, listen to your gut, it’ll work out in the end.”

I feel those words—listen to your gut. It’s not often I’m in the presence of kids to have these kinds of conversations. I don’t lead the kind of life where I’ve been around very many of them, and I definitely wouldn’t expect for one to say something that hit as hard as that.

“My mom used to say that to me.” I peek over at her. “To do what feels right and that it’ll all work out.” It’s not lost on me how ironic that is, considering how things unraveled for her. For us.

“I liked your mom. Shelby,” she says with a smile as she plays with the ends of her sleeve. “The horses always listened to her, and she made Griz laugh so hard that he would turn red.”

Maggie leans against the screen door and interrupts, “Hey, little Foxx ladies, want a smoothie?”

They both dart their attention to each other, and then glance at me before Lily hides her face and makes a barfing sound.

“What kind of smoothie?” I ask curiously, chuckling at her reaction.

Maggie barks out a laugh and says, “Fuck off, Faye.” She takes a sip of her smoothie and then mumbles, “The offer wasn’t meant for you.”

That’s the most words I've gotten out of Maggie since I dropped my bag inside the front door, and she realized I was serious about staying here. She’s doubled down, really leaning into being an asshole. Maybe the silent treatment was better.

Lily clears her throat. “That’s five dollars, Maggie,” she says without even looking up.

Lark whispers to me, “You don’t want the smoothie. It’s green and smells like feet.”

Maggie huffs, walking away from the screen, and I can’t help but crack another smile. A woman in her mid-twenties having temper tantrums is nothing if not entertaining.

“Aren’t the two of you supposed to be in school,” she yells from inside.

I look between them.

Before I can ask any more about it, the loud slamming of a truck door has the three of our heads whipping toward the driveway. “Lark and Lily Foxx. You’ve got to be kidding me. I watched both of you get on the bus for school thirty minutes ago. And then I catch sight of two girls about the same age as my two girls over here. One of them has a pink puffy jacket, and I say to myself, that can’t be Lily Bernice Foxx. She’s in school right now. Who could the other, older and more mature one next to her be? Definitely not her sister, Lark. That would be impossible.”

His sarcastic tone has me biting back a smile and my stomach swooping as if I’m in trouble too. It’s the same feeling I had when I saw him the other night.

Lark mumbles, “We’re in so much trouble.”

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