“You are a far better mechanic in your fifth year than I was.”
He looks back at me, blinking in what can only be described as utter fucking confusion. “What?”
My eyes hold his, and my tone doesn’t waver. “You’re a great mechanic in the shop, but you’re good in there, too. And I never had that,” I say, pointing to the front office and showroom. “Don’t let someone make you doubt yourself,” I say, finding my fingers curled into him as I impart some of the most important words I never got to say to my sister. “You get that? You’re good as you. Don’t let anyone talk you into bein’ a mild version of someone else.” I tip my head forward. “Even for pussy.”
His cheeks flare as I drop my hand away and feed my arms into my hoodie, one at a time.
“Thanks,” he says, sounding embarrassed. But I didn’t lie to Goldie. I don’t get embarrassed. It ain’t often I’m asked point blank what I think about someone, so it ain’t often I’m spilling my guts. But I’m not scared to do it.
“I’m headin’ out. See you tomorrow, man,” I raise an arm up over my head, not bothering to turn around.
“Later, Atticus,” he calls after me, sounding dazed. His girlfriend dumped him a few months ago. She told him he’d never be able to give her the lifestyle she wanted as a mechanic. I told him she’s a fuckin’ bitch. If you care about someone and love them, it shouldn’t matter what problems they have or their weaknesses.
She was a snake, and I’m glad she dumped him.
But he’s been moping and dragging around ever since. The poor kid will figure out that this chick leaving him was a gift.
The same way Beck’s unwillingness to rely on Beau initially brought Goldie and me together. We showed up at her house after a weekend where she ghosted Beau, and she and Goldie were there.
If that hadn’t have happened, we would have surely met by now. I’d like to think. But who fuckin’ knows, really.
When I get in my truck, I head straight to the market near Gull Road. After picking through their outdoor bins, I choose a bunch of wildflowers wrapped in Kraft paper, pay the woman, and head toward the cemetery.
A few cars are parked along the curb, and I see in the distance a fresh burial has taken place recently. The canopy is still hovering over, casting darkness onto an already dark moment. Two people remain in chairs in front of the mound of dirt, solemnly staring at it in silence.
My chest tightens and I can taste sickness at the back of my throat. I puked when I learned about Mere. Everywhere. I cried and I puked, and I know just how those two people staring at the dirt feel.
But I’m here for Mere, so I edge around the other plots until I’m at hers and lie flat on my back after putting her flowers in the cup.
“I’m feeling things Mere. And I think for once, I’m doing it right. I’m being honest with her, and she’s fixing her shit, and… we’re getting good so we can be good together.” I smile up at the darkening sky, relieved it ain’t snowin’.
“Part of me getting good is wrapping my head around it all, finally.” I swallow hard around the knot of emotion and heat clogging my throat. That knot has been there for years, but surfaces with a vengeance as I talk to my little sister.
“I want to tell them the truth, Mere. I don’t think I can be righteous and good in one part of my life and hold onto this truth in another.” I worry at the inside of my cheek, biting the softness until I taste copper.
“Don’t hate me if I tell them, okay?” I ask. Then I lie there, on my back, staring up at the darkening sky, wondering if Mere had told me what was going on at school—really told me in no uncertain terms—what would I have done? Not as me now with the beauty of hindsight but me then. Young, inexperienced, nothing bad will happen to me.
The truth ain’t easy, but here it is: I don’t fuckin’ know. And I’ll never know.
And the other truth? Mere made a choice, and no matter how hard I punish myself, it doesn’t change the outcome. And if our roles were reversed, the idea of Mere not thriving because of my absence kills me.
When I finally peel myself from the cold, hard Earth, there’s not much light left. I’m not in a big hurry to get to my empty house, and Mom and Dad aren’t home tonight. So I sit in my truck at the cemetery and reread some text messages between Goldie and me from a week ago. I stop mid-conversation, finding my chest tingling as a private smile takes over.
Goldie:Oh, that would be your favorite TV show! Total guy show
Atticus:Not true. Home Improvement is classic family TV.
Atticus:Plus, the rivalry with Tim and Bob Vila? Funny as fuck
Goldie:OMG, I forgot about that.
Goldie:OK, that was pretty funny
Atticus:I know Tim Taylor is no Betty White but he was still pretty good
Goldie:Rose Nylund, that was her character’s name
I smirk to myself because my Mom fuckin’ lovesThe Golden Girls. And I fuckin’ love Goldie’s reaction to me telling her that. My stomach twists a bit in anticipation, knowing what’s coming in the convo.