Page 42 of Beneath the Stars (Sugarlake 1)

Maybe I’m the problem.

There’s a new normal in the Carson family home. The “normal” of starting the day with forced optimism. Today will be the day things turn around. But more often than not, it ends with a phone call from Johnny, down at The Watering Hole in Sweetwater, telling me Daddy is “causing a ruckus, again.”

This morning—like every morning—Daddy looks haggard and worn. His skin is sallow. Whiskey and heartbreak oozing from his pores. I plate his breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, placing it in front of him at the kitchen table. I pick up my steaming mug and take a sip, the aroma of the coffee waking up my senses.

“Daddy, when are you gonna stop this?”

He twirls his fork slowly, never looking up from his plate. Never responding. I’m used to his silence.

The first year after losing Mama was a blur.

Eli was drafted to play basketball in New York, shortly after Mama’s funeral. His new superstar life got too big for his small-town family. But then, he tore his ACL, ending his career before it ever really began. The selfish part of me was hoping he would come back home. But three years later, Sugarlake hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Elliot Carson. Just a monthly phone call to “check-in.”

Last time we talked, he was flying down to Florida. Some big interview for Assistant Coach at Florida Coast University. He was excited, talking about the possibility of being one of the youngest coaches in the division. I can’t find it in me to care and haven’t checked in since to see if he got the job.

In a curious twist of fate, Becca attends FCU. She left yesterday for her senior year. I can’t imagine she spends much time in the athletic department, so I haven’t bothered to tell her about the possibility of Eli being there, too. Still, it makes me smile to think of her giving him a strong tongue lashing and a kick in the butt.

Jax is still around. He’s steady working on his daddy’s dream and doing a heck of a job. He makes enough money restoring classic cars that he up and quit the shop. I’m not complaining, I like all the free time he has now to keep me company. But it doesn’t ebb the loneliness that slithers around the deepest parts of my soul.

Right now, we’re sitting at Mac’s Dive, like we do every week on my only night off.

“You know, I hear that’s a sign of sexual frustration.” Jax points his beer bottle at the shredded, soggy pieces I’ve torn apart on the table.

They’re all that’s left from the label of my bottle. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. I give him a half-smile, too worn out from the late night of wrangling Daddy back home to fake the energy for more. I haven’t told Jax about how bad Daddy’s getting. He’d rush in and take over, just to keep the burden from landing solely on my shoulders. He’s a dang saint. The best friend I’ve ever had. But I need to carry the weight of this one alone.

“You okay, sweetheart? You’ve been quiet all night.”

I squin

t my eyes. “You just think it’s quiet ‘cause we don’t have Becca’s loud mouth runnin’ nonstop.”

He throws his head back and laughs. I swear half the women turn toward the sound, breasts heaving, hoping to be his conquest of the night.

Jax is what you would call a player. It’s truly fascinating to watch. He only has to smile their way, and you can hear the panties fall to the floor. Between him and Becca, I feel like a dang nun in a monastery.

I’ve thought about it, of course—giving in to the chemistry between us. It would be so easy. Things always are with Jax. But the last thing I want to do is ruin our friendship. He’s the only one on Earth who has seen the darkest, ugliest moments of my life and held them as if they were precious. I can’t lose that. So at the end of our night, when he has a girl on his arm and asks if it’s okay that he leaves, I nod my head and encourage him to walk out the door. Even though I can see in his eyes he’s dying for me to say no.

I’ve always been freaked out by walking on the grass at cemeteries. Something about stepping over the bones of the deceased just seems downright disrespectful. But since there’s no other way to get to Mama’s grave, I grit my teeth and bear it.

I visit her once a week, and I always bring fresh tulips. They were her favorite, and I like to think she appreciates her remains being surrounded by things she enjoyed.

I crouch down, laying the bouquet in front of the marble slab. Reaching out, I trace her name, mouthing the words as my finger caresses the letters.

Gail Elizabeth Carson

Your life was a blessing, Your memory a treasure. You are loved beyond words, Missed without measure.

I lie down on the grass, staring up at the sky and pretend she’s next to me. If I strain my ears, I can almost hear her whispering secrets of how to navigate this thing called life. She was always good at that.

“Hi, Mama,” I breathe.

The breeze caresses my face and I smile.

“I miss you… so much. I’d give anything to have you here. You know, there’s still this hole inside me from the piece you took when you left. I don’t think there’s anything on this Earth that can fill it back up again.”

A knot forms in my throat and I close my eyes, tears seeping out of the corners. No matter how much time passes, the pain never fades. You just learn how to live with it inside you. Careful not to pick the scab.

“I don’t know if you’ve got any pull up there, but if you do… could you try and get Eli to come home every once in a while? We could really use him ‘round here. I’m sure you know Daddy isn’t doin’ so well since you’ve been gone.” I shake my head, chuckling. “I bet you’re sick of hearin’ me say the same things week after week. I’m just hopin’ one of these times you’ll give me a solution.”

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