Okay, shit just got real. “Buy into my shit?” I repeat, not forcing or faking the offense in my tone. “You don’t even know me.” I’m actually seriously offended by this hairy armpit of a man.
“You lied.” He lifts his hands as if he can’t help but play by the rules. “That’s shit.” He rubs them together as if he’s purging himself, and my blood boils. “I ain’t buyin’ it.”
Anger soars through me, filling my limbs, flooding my fingertips, and taking flight in my ribcage. Every inch of me is red hot and angry, wanting to scream.
I’m not even angry at Atticus. I’m angry that I’ve become the person that I am, and I don’t know how to be anyone else.
I wave a hand through the air. I’ll die before I admit defeat, but I don’t have the energy to argue, either. The wind is already out of my sails. Anything else and I’ll fucking capsize. “Whatever,” I say, really hating how the word rolls off so smoothly, like I mean it.
“Brat,” he snarks after a dark chuckle. Like my personality flaws are comical to him. Um, who the hell is he to pick on me anyway?
“Oh, I will take that criticism to heart; I mean, it’s gotta be true, considering it came from a human germ.”
He chuckles, surprising me. The sound of his laughter is loud and overwhelming, and it rumbles through my belly and into my veins. I find myself smiling too.
“See?” his smile drops away as our eyes lock. “Brat.”
I feel like a brat, too. And before I can apologize or argue or do whatever off- the- cuff and definitely wrong thing I was about to do, the lock on the front door twists, making our heads turn.
“Hi again,” Beck says, using her quiet mom voice.
“We’re back,” Beau adds as he trails in behind her.
“That’s clear,” Atti says, pushing to his feet. He doesn’t give me a second look as he beelines to Beau. They shake hands, and he tips his head toward Beck. “I’m taking off. Later.”
“Tomorrow,” Beau corrects as Atticus pulls open the door and slips out into the night. “See you at the shop tomorrow,” he calls after him.
I report to Beck that all went well, inquire about their evening and then gather my things and go. And the entire drive back to my apartment, I can’t ignore how much I hate that Atticus thinks I’m a brat.
What he thinks or says should not matter. But it does.
Because I know he’s right.
six
atticus
Can’t deny I like the brat attitude, just a little
“Didn’t havethe ones I usually bring you.” I use the hem of my henley to swipe the edge of the metal cup. I know it’s resting in dirt, and it’s gonna get dirty. But when I come to visit, I make shit look nice because it’s what she deserves. “Got sunflowers instead.” Arranging the long stems in the cup, I don’t stop until my cellophane is empty and the in-ground vase is full. “Looks beautiful. Just like you.”
I stay on my knees a bit longer, using my shirt to wipe the headstone clear of dirt and grass clippings. When I’m done with that, I reach back and get my pocket knife out, scraping off some of the limestone build-up before hitting it with the ends of my shirt again. While I work, I talk to her.
“I miss you a lot lately, kid.” There’s never been a day that I didn’t miss her. And there’s never been a day when I didn’t think about just how much better life would be if she were still here. Time may take us away from that immediate, sharp blade of pain, but the ache, the way the blade has sliced me so irreparably deep–thatdull pain never ends. Never even lets up. All these years later and I still feel nearly fatally wounded. But in a fucked up way that makes me drag my bloody body around and keep livin’ when all I wanna do most days is succumb.
Finally, I sink down onto my ass and stretch my legs out in front of me before lying back, hands behind my head, elbows out. The sky ain’t nothin’ special today. Gauzy clouds floating in pale blue. Still, I wish she were here to see it.
I close my eyes. “Mom’s on me again. Tryin’ to fix me up.” I scratch my chin, where there’s more rough hair than normal. I stopped shaving a few days ago. I don’t know why but I haven’t started again since. A small beard is already taking root. “Nothin’ new there.” I stroke the beginnings of my beard a few more times. “I don’t need anyone. Especially not anyone who’s got more pain and shit than I do.” Why I’m saying this and thinking of that brat, I don’t know.
She was canned and moved to Oakcreek. That’s as much as I know about Goldie. But the way she talks shit. My lips twitch, but I fight the little grin, even though I’m all alone. I don’t need to be grinning over some brat.
Can’t deny I like the bratty attitude, just a little.
Also can’t deny that brattiness stems from some deeper shit, and if my broken old ass had to take a stab, I’d guess she’s got demons too.
“We all got demons. That’s life,” I say to my little sister, and fuck, I must be tired. I’m here to visit, and I’m thinking abouther.
But the fact that my attention was diverted while I was here makes me feel so fuckin’ guilty; I just pack up right then and go. I tell my sister goodbye and drive my truck to Wrench Kings like I’m transporting a spinal injury with a time limit. I’m mad at myself for thinking of anything but my sister during our visit.