Page 40 of The Trust We Broke
I look to Butcher for answers.
“She came to see Greer. And we were just having words.”
The conflict in my gut is weird. A part of me is grateful for the way Butcher always has my back. And yet, I hate the idea she came here when she was scared, instead of running to me. “About?”
Butcher tips his head to Lucy. “As the counselor said, we don’t report to you.”
I run my tongue over my teeth. “I need to talk to you,” I say to Butcher. Then, I look to Lucy. “And can we just decide anything this side of town is mine, and anything the other side of town is yours? Because I sure as fuck am fed up with coming across you every time I turn around.”
I’m sure, later, likely over a fifth beer, I’ll dissect why I find myself simultaneously wishing she’d run to me while I also force her to agree to stay away.
Lucy folds her arms across her chest. “No. Absolutely not. We’re not childishly dividing the town and its inhabitants like it’s a packet of Skittles.”
“My friends and my clubhouse are no concern of yours.” I say the words before I properly think them through, and, Jesus, they do sound childish.
“Well, as you know, I haven’t been back in town for a very long time. So, excuse me for enjoying the company of the first friend I’ve made.”
“And Greer is a friend of the club who?—”
“Time out,” Butcher calls, stepping between us. “Look, the two of you can bicker here all day, but if you draw Greer into this, I’m gonna be pissed. Grudge, Lucy did the club a favor when she accompanied Greer to the police interview. She wants to be friends with Lucy; I’m not going to stop her. Now, I’m going to go inside. You two, come to some sort of fucking understanding. Grudge, just come on in when you’re done.” Butcher turns to look at Lucy. “Remember what I said.”
I used to think I had a strong personal constitution, but my stomach flips again when the wind changes direction and I realize she still wears the same perfume. The one with the glass bottle she used to say was the color of irises.
Never smelled anything quite like it since.
Butcher trudges up the steps of his log cabin, and I look beyond Lucy to the meadows. In summer, they’re filled withwildflowers and grasses, but now, they’re going dormant for winter.
Bit like how I’ve been living for the last decade.
“You don’t get to yell at me in front of other people,” Lucy shouts as soon as Butcher closes the door. “Yes, there is personal stuff between us, but do you really have to let it pour out everywhere like a leaking sieve?”
Her words are a verbal slap, and I return my gaze to her. “You know the easiest way for you to solve this? Go back home.”
She throws up her hands in exasperation, and I remember her practicing for some debate team meetup. I’d throw out random questions, and she’d get frustrated, throwing her hands up just like she did now.
There’s so much of who we used to be left in us, and yet, we’re completely different people.
“When couples divorce, they typically split assets, not towns. Stop behaving like a child.”
“A child,” I say. “A fucking child. I’ll tell you what a child does. They duck out of difficult conversations, they hate conflict, they want the easiest life possible. They run and hide. If one of us is a child, it certainly isn’t me.”
“You have no idea what leaving you cost me,” she says.
“Cost you? It cost you fucking nothing.”
“You have no idea what it did to me.”
But instead of coming up with another argument, I step forward.
Lucy steps toward me, her bag dropping to the ground.
Suddenly, I’m crowding her like I used to.
And she steps up onto my boots and throws her arms around my neck likesheused to.
It’s unclear who moves to make our lips meet. Maybe we both do.
But our whole life story tumbles between us as I kiss her like it’s the first and last time I’ll ever get the chance to hold her. My memories of how it used to feel to have Lucy De Bose in my arms are nothing compared to the reality.
