Page 25 of Salvation
After my phone call with Brecks, I let myself break down. I’ve grieved my daughter for years, and she’s been alive this whole time.
If I thought I hated my grandparents before, it’s nothing compared to my feelings now. The hatred is all-consuming, and it’s what pushes me out the door the next day because if I were to stay in that house a minute longer, it’s possible I would have burnt those white walls down right along with me.
So, I pick myself up off the floor, put on my makeup, and walk out the door.
After last night, I don’t know where my relationship stands with Brecks. It was teetering on the edge before, but now it feels like it’s been shoved off a cliff without any wings to fly.
None of this is fair to him.I’mnot fair to him. I’m being selfish, but I need a few days to process one life-altering event before I move on to the next one.
I don’t put on my ring when I walk out the door, and this time, when I walk into the coffee shop, I have my head on a swivel, looking for a pair of bright blue eyes that easily steal my breath anytime they are pointed in my direction. I used to chalk the intensity I felt around Campbell up as teenage infatuation, but I’m long past being a teenager—and it still feels like I’m being shocked with a cattle prod each time he looks at me.
But there’s something different about his eyes. I noticed it on my first day in town and every time I’ve been in his presence since then. It’s like the life has seeped out of them. Instead of shining bright like the eyes in my memories, they are dull. Lifeless. Something about Campbell has fundamentally changed since I left, but who am I to judge—so have I.
There is nothing funny about the situation we are in, but the thought causes me to snort anyway. It’s derisive and crude, andmy grandmother would hate it. So I do it again out of spite, not caring that several eyes dart my way as I walk to the counter to place my order.
It’s empty, but I can hear noises coming from the back. So I settle in and wait, giving myself time to take in the place. There was never a coffee shop when I lived here before, but if there had been, this is the kind of place I would have wanted to hang out.
Benton Falls has a lot of old buildings, and the brick walls and open ceiling in this one appear to be original. A metal sign that reads “Benton Brews” hangs on a wall to the left of the door. Those elements, combined with the natural wood bar top and black-accented decor, make it just edgy enough to be inviting.
“Hi.”
I’m still looking around when a small voice speaks from beside me, startling me. I curse under my breath, then blush when my eyes land on a little boy who looks to be around four. He’s watching me with wide eyes, and it’s clear he just heard the word that slipped past my lips.
“That was a bad word,” I say. “Don’t repeat that.”
The boy watches me for another second, and then shrugs. “My dad used to say a lot of bad words.”
Something about the kid makes me nervous. Maybe it’s the way he watches me with intelligence far beyond that of a kid his age, or maybe it’s that I’ve spent my life avoiding kids because it hurt too much to be around them. Either way, I feel way over my head here.
Looking around, I search for his parents, positive that a kid his age shouldn’t be here alone, but when I come up empty, I turn back to him.
“Is your dad here?”
“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and keeps staring at me like I’m a puzzle to figure out. “I like your curls.”
“Uh—thank you?”
I’m thrown off–kilter, unsure what to do in this situation.
“You’re welcome. My sister—Maci—has curls like yours, but hers are always crazy cause she hates brushing them. I’m Mason.”
He babbles, changing from topic to topic, making my head dizzy. I’m about to offer him my name in between one of his breaths, when a woman darts out from the back, a frazzled look on her face. Her blonde hair is tied up in a bun, but some of it falls into her face. She huffs, pushing it back as her eyes fall on the little boy, relief and frustration playing in equal parts across her features.
Mason dunks under the counter, hiding out of view of who I assume is his mother, since they have the same colored hazel eyes. It’s too late, though. She’s already spied him.
“Mason,” the woman says, practically lying on top of the counter to see her son. She’s yet to notice me; her attention is zeroed in on the boy, hiding behind my legs. “You’re supposed to be upstairs in my office with your sister. What did I tell you about coming down here?”
The kid peeks out from around my legs, looking at his mom with all the innocence of a child. I melt a little at the sight, but his mom remains firm, staring down at him with pursed lips and a raised brow.
“I wanted to help you, Momma,” Mason says, a plea in his voice.
The woman lets out a long sigh. “I know, kid.”
The pair stares at each other for a moment, something significant passing between them that I can’t understand. When it stretches on for another minute, I clear my throat, starting to feel like an intruder on an important parental lesson.
The woman jumps, clamoring off the bar top she’d been sprawled across, and swipes her hand down her apron.
“I am so sorry. I—uh—I was zoned in. Mason—upstairs,” she says with a snap of her fingers. Mason darts from behind me and through the doors leading into the back. I let out a soft chuckle when he stops right before disappearing and wiggles his fingers under his chin in a goodbye wave. The woman notices and rolls her eyes, shaking her head in a light-hearted exasperation before turning back to me. “Again—I am so sorry.”
