Page 152 of Ripped & Shipped
“Okaaayyy.” I draw out the word, feeling even more uneasy than when we first turned up the driveway and I saw the cars of half the town here.
Chris leads me toward Aiden’s barn. The doors are open, and the closer we get, the more the sound of conversation drifts out to us.
When we’re standing right in the middle of the barn entrance, heads start to turn. Slowly, the conversation lulls and Chris says, “She’s here.”
A whoop goes up from one side of the barn. That’s Duke.
He shouts, “Welcome home, Ella Mae!”
I look over at Chris and whisper, “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this right now.”
He whispers back, “You’re the strongest person I know. And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Jayme walks up to us. “Ella Mae, we’ve got a seat for you right up here. How was your flight?”
“Um. Good. It was fine.”
She smiles at me and leads the way toward the front of the barn. A microphone is set up with a free-standing speaker. Two chairs are off to the side, facing toward the back of the barn with a view of the mic.
Once we’re seated, Jayme steps toward the microphone and starts talking, her eyes trained on me.
“Ella Mae, we owe you an apology. And that’s what this is. A good friend taught me years ago that sorry is as sorry does. Words are cheap. Action is what really matters. So, this is a little bit of both. But it’s just a beginning.”
Jayme looks at me intently. “I’m sorry.”
Then she pauses and wipes a tear from her eye. I feel my eyes threaten to leak as I watch her.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been a good friend to you. If it weren’t for you and your brilliant scheming, I wouldn’t have the publishing deal that put my books on the map. You dropped everything and took on my dream as if it was your own. And then when Grant and I were struggling and our relationship was hanging on by a thread, you pulled off one of the biggest grand gestures in the history of this town to get us back together.
“I never thanked you enough. And I never treated you like the friend you are.”
She looks over at me with such remorse written across her face.
I mouth the words, “It’s okay.”
She shakes her head and mouths, “No. It’s not. But it will be.”
Chris grasps my hand and places our enjoined hands on his thigh.
The rest of the women from that group of friends get up one by one: Laura, Lexi, Em. And they each tell me they’re sorry they’ve ignored me and excluded me.
Lexi says, “You’re welcome to come to girls’ night, Ella Mae.”
I lean over to Chris and say, “I’d rather hang with you.”
He chuckles and says, “Me too.”
Shannon gets up and tells me how good I am for Chris, and how she wants to treat me more like a sister. I can’t believe my ears. She tells Chris she’s sorry too.
People get up, one by one, and each one shares something I’ve done or said to them over the years that blessed them or made a difference. I can barely sit still through it all.
I left on Thursday feeling like I wore the scarlet letter and I was one situation shy of being burned at the stake. Coming back to this radical of an about face only four days later feels like more than I can absorb in one sitting.
Cherry Blanchard stands up in her spiky red heels and a pair of red shorts to match. She’s got on a white bandeau top. She stands out, as usual.
“Ella Mae, you give the best fashion and makeup advice. I don’t know where I’d be without your tutorials.”
Chris chuckles and I elbow him in the ribs.
