Page 78 of Play Me
She looks at me like I’m full of shit.
“I mean it,” I say, entertained by her reaction. “Mom used to bring jugs out here and fill them up a few times a week. She swore it was healthier than tap water because we got minerals and shit from it. Hartley and I turned out fine.”
She makes a face. “That’s debatable.”
I laugh, bumping her shoulder with mine as I press the gas once again, and we ride along quietly for a while. Astrid points out the buzzards circling a clearing in the trees, and two deer jumping the fence before darting into the forest. Her eyes twinkle as she takes everything in, and I wish we had more time for me to show her the barns and fields.
“Your mom seems pretty cool,” she says out of nowhere.
“I don’t know about cool, but she was a great mom.”
Astrid leans back in the seat and turns her head to me. “Did you have a good relationship with her?”
“Yeah. We all had a good relationship, really. Mom and Dad were strict with us, but we had a lot of fun, too. We’d play euchre together, we had fun traditions for every holiday, and they never missed our games or school shit.” I pilot the machine down the hill on a path that’s only faintly still visible. “What about your parents? Did you get along with them?”
It’s a touchy topic. She’s told me enough to paint a clear picture of her upbringing—specifically with her father—but I don’t want to dig and ask the pointed questions I’d like to have answered.
Where was her mother? Was Astrid neglected? Abused?
My jaw clenches at the thought of a baby Astrid being in pain and having no one give a shit.
“My mom died in childbirth,” she says just loud enough to be heard over the motor.
Fuck.“I’m sorry.”
She shrugs helplessly. “You didn’t know.” She takes a breath. “My grandma lived next door to my dad and me until I was eight, but then she had a heart attack in the front yard while she was taking her trash to the road. I found her after school.”
My God.My heart aches for her. My fingers itch to grasp her shoulder and pull her into my side—to offer comfort that I doubt she got from her father.
“My dad was a sonofabitch.” She bristles, tensing again. “And that’s all I have to say about that.”
I should keep my mouth shut. It’s not my place to say anything more, or to inject myself into her private world, but I can’t help it. I have to say something.
“As much as you’ve annoyed me over the past couple of weeks, you’ve also been impressive,” I say, swallowing througha constriction in my throat. “I hate to think that your strength comes from necessity, especially at such a young age.”
The corner of her mouth lifts. “I’m glad it did. Otherwise, I would’ve been a statistic in one way or another.” She side-eyes me. “Instead, I’m just a heartless bitch.”
I blow out a breath, embarrassed. “I’m really sorry I said that to you. It was wholly unfair.”
She shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Where are we headed?”
I don’t want to change the subject. I want to apologize until she hears it and believes it, because the locker room ordeal now makes perfect sense. Before, I was sorry for being mean. Now I’m sorry for being unknowingly cruel. But as I start to speak again, I remember something my therapist once told me: an apology is for whoever I hurt, not for me.
If I’m truly remorseful for what I said, then I must prioritize what she needs over what I feel like I need.
So I have to let it go for now.
“I thought you might like to see Sugar Creek,” I say, ducking as a strand of thorns whips at me from the side.
“It runs through your property?”
“There’s a joke that the creek touches everyone’s property somehow. But, yeah, it runs just a little way down this path.”
She shifts in her seat. “There was a time not long ago when this would’ve been dangerous.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because I would’ve wanted to drown you in the creek.”
