Reminders of Him

Part of me is still so mad at him for intercepting me at their house this
past weekend. But part of me feels a sense of hope when I’m around him.
He doesn’t seem to hate me. Yes, he regrets kissing me, but I don’t care
about that. I don’t even know why I asked him that question. I just wonder
if he regrets it because he was Scotty’s best friend, or because of what I did
to Scotty. Probably both.
I want Ledger to see the side of me that Scotty saw so that I might
have someone on my side.
It’s really fucking lonely when the only friends you have are a
teenager and a kitten.
I should have made more of an effort with Scotty’s mom when he was
alive. I wonder if that would have made a difference.
The night I met Scotty’s parents was probably the strangest night of
my life.
I’d seen families like theirs on television, but never in person before. I
honestly didn’t know they existed. Parents who got along and seemed to
like each other.
They met us in the driveway. It had been three weeks since Scotty had
been home, and they looked like they hadn’t seen him in years. They
hugged him. Not like a hello hug, but an I missed you hug. A you’re the
best son in the world hug.
They hugged me, too, but it was a different hug. Quick, hello, nice to
meet you hug.

---

When we went inside the house, Grace said she needed to finish up
dinner, and I know I should have told her I’d help, but I didn’t know my
way around a kitchen, and I was afraid she’d smell the inexperience on me.
So instead, I stuck to Scotty’s side like glue. I was nervous and I felt out of
place, and he was the closest to a home that I could get.
They even prayed. Scotty said the prayer. It was so earth shattering for
me to be sitting at a dinner table, listening to a guy thank God for his meal
and his family and me. It was too surreal to keep my eyes closed. I wanted
to take it all in, to see what other people looked like as they prayed. I
wanted to stare at this family because it was hard to wrap my head around
the idea that if I married Scotty, this would be mine. I would have these
parents, and this meal would be something I helped cook, and I’d learn how
to thank God for my food and for Scotty. I wanted it. I craved it.
Normalcy.
Something I was wholly unfamiliar with.
I saw Grace peek up right at the end of the prayer, and she caught me
looking around. I immediately closed my eyes, but at that point Scotty said,
“Amen,” and everyone picked up their forks, and Grace already had an
opinion of me, and I was too scared and too young to know how to change
it.
It seemed hard for them to look at me during dinner. I shouldn’t have
worn the shirt I had on. It was low cut. Scotty’s favorite. I spent the whole
meal hunched over my plate, embarrassed about myself and all the things I
wasn’t.
After dinner, Scotty and I sat out on his back porch. His parents went
to bed, and as soon as their bedroom light turned off, I breathed a sigh of
relief. I felt like I was being graded.
“Hold this,” Scotty said, handing me his cigarette. “I have to pee.” He
smoked occasionally. I didn’t mind it, but I didn’t smoke. It was dark out,
and he walked around to the side of the house. I was standing on his back
porch leaning against the railing when his mother appeared at the back door.
I straightened up and tried to hide the cigarette behind my back, but
she’d already seen it. She walked away and then returned with a red Solo
cup a moment later.
“Use this for your ashes,” she said, handing it to me out the back door.
“We don’t have an ashtray. None of us smoke.”

---

I was mortified, but all I could say was “Thank you,” and then I took
the cup from her. She closed the back door just as Scotty came back for his
cigarette.
“Your mother hates me,” I said, handing him the cigarette and the cup.
“No, she doesn’t.” He kissed me on the forehead. “The two of you will
be best friends someday.” He took a final drag of his cigarette, and then I
followed him back inside the house.
He carried me up the stairs on his back, but when I saw all the pictures
of him that lined the stairwell, I made him stop at each one so I could look
at them. They were so happy. The way his mother looked at him in the
photos is the same way she looked at him as an adult.
“What kid is that cute?” I asked him. “They should have had three
more of you.”
“They tried,” he said. “Apparently I was a miracle baby. Otherwise,
they probably would have had seven or eight.”
That made me sad for Grace.
We got to his room, and Scotty dropped me onto his bed. He said,
“You never talk about your family.”
“I don’t have one.”
“What about your parents?”
“My father is . . . somewhere. He got tired of paying child support, so
he bolted. My mother and I don’t get along. I haven’t spoken to her in a
couple of years.”
“Why?”
“We just aren’t compatible.”
“What do you mean?” Scotty sprawled out next to me on the bed. He
seemed genuinely curious about my life, and I wanted to tell him the truth,
but I also didn’t want to scare him away. He grew up in such a normal
household; I wasn’t sure how he would feel knowing I didn’t.
“I was alone a lot,” I said. “She always made sure I had food, but she
neglected me to the point I was put in foster care twice. Both times they
sent me back to live with her, though. It’s like she was shitty, but not shitty
enough. I think after growing up and seeing other families, I started to
realize she wasn’t a good mother. Or even a good person. It became really
hard to coexist. It was like she felt I was her competition and not on her
team. It was exhausting. After I moved out, we stayed in touch for a while,

---

but then she just stopped calling. And I stopped calling her. We haven’t
spoken in two years.” I looked at Scotty, and he had the saddest look on his
face. He didn’t say anything. He just brushed my hair back and stayed quiet.
“What was it like having a good family?” I asked him.
“I’m not sure I knew how good it was until just now,” he replied.
“Yes, you did. You love your parents. And this house. I can tell.”
He smiled gently. “I don’t know if I can explain it. But being here . . .
it’s like I can be my truest, most authentic self. I can cry. I can be in a bad
mood, or sad, or happy. Any of those moods are accepted here. I don’t feel
that anywhere else.”
The way he described it made me sad I never had it. “I don’t know
what that’s like,” I said.
Scotty bent down and kissed my hand. “I’ll give it to you,” he said.
“We’ll get a house together someday. And I’ll let you pick everything out.
You can paint it however you want. You can lock the door and only let the
people in that you want in there. It’ll be the most comfortable place you’ve
ever lived.”
I smiled. “That sounds like heaven.”
He kissed me then. Made love to me. And as quiet as I tried to be, the
house was even quieter.
The next morning when we were leaving, Scotty’s mother couldn’t look me
in the eye. Her embarrassment seeped into me, and I knew for certain in
that moment she didn’t like me.
As we were pulling out of his driveway, I pressed my forehead against
the passenger window of Scotty’s car. “That was mortifying. I think your
mother heard us last night. Did you see how tense she was?”
“It’s jarring for her,” Scotty said. “She’s my mother. She can’t imagine
me screwing any girl; it has nothing to do with you in particular.”
I fell back against the seat and sighed. “I liked your dad.”
Scotty laughed. “You’ll love my mother too. Next time we visit them,
I’ll make sure and fuck you before we get here so she can pretend I don’t do
things like that.”
“And maybe stop smoking.”

---

Scotty grabbed my hand. “I can do that. Next time, she’ll love you so
much, she’ll be pushing for a wedding and grandbabies.”
“Yeah,” I said wistfully. “Maybe.” But I doubted it.
Girls like me just didn’t seem to fit in with any family.

---

CHAPTER TWENTY
LEDGER
It’s been three days since she was in the bar, and three days since I was last
in the grocery store. I told myself I wasn’t going to come back here. I
decided I’d just start shopping at Walmart again, but after having dinner
with Diem last night, I spent the entire night thinking about Kenna.
I’ve noticed since she’s been back in town that the more time I spend
with Diem, the more curious I am about Kenna.
I compare Diem’s mannerisms to hers now that I have something to
compare them to. Even Diem’s personality seems to make more sense now.
Scotty was straightforward. Concrete. He wasn’t very imaginative, but I
saw that as a good quality. He wanted to know how things worked, and he
wanted to know why. He didn’t waste time on anything that wasn’t science
based.
Diem is the opposite of that, and I’ve never wondered if she got that
from her mother until now. Is Kenna concrete like Scotty was, or does she
like to use her imagination? Is she artistic? Does she have dreams outside of
being reunited with her daughter?
More importantly, is she good?
Scotty was good. I always assumed Kenna wasn’t because of that one
night. That one cause and effect. That one terrible choice she made.
But what if we were just looking for someone to blame because we
were all hurting so much?
It never once occurred to me that Kenna might have been hurting as
much as we were.
I have so many questions for her. Questions I shouldn’t want answers
to, but I need to know more about that night and more about her intentions.
I have a feeling she isn’t going to leave town without a fight, and as much

---

as Patrick and Grace want to brush this under the rug, it’s not something
that’s going to go away.
Maybe that’s why I’m here, sitting in my truck, watching her load
groceries into cars. I’m not sure if she’s noticed I’ve been lurking in the
parking lot for half an hour. She probably has. My truck doesn’t necessarily
blend in with its surroundings.
There’s a knock on my window that makes me jump. My eyes meet
Grace’s. She’s holding Diem on her hip, so I open my door.
“What are you doing here?”
Grace shoots me a confused look. I’m sure she was expecting my
response to be more on the excited side than concerned. “We’re getting
groceries. We saw your truck.”
“I want to go with you,” Diem says. She reaches for me, and I slide
out of the truck as I take her from Grace’s arms. I immediately scan the
parking lot to make sure Kenna isn’t outside.
“You need to leave,” I say to Grace. She parked in the row in front of
me, so I walk toward her car.
“What’s wrong?” Grace asks.
I face her and make sure to choose my words carefully. “She works
here.”
There’s confusion in Grace’s face before the realization hits. As soon
as she grasps who I’m referring to, the color begins to drain from her
cheeks. “What?”
“She’s on shift right now. You need to get Diem out of here.”
“But I want to go with you,” Diem says.
“I’ll come pick you up later,” I say, gripping the door handle. Grace’s
car is locked. I wait for her to unlock it, but she’s frozen in place like she’s
in a trance. “Grace!”
She quickly refocuses and then starts digging in her purse for her keys.
That’s when I see Kenna.
That’s when Kenna sees me.
“Hurry,” I say, my voice low.
Grace’s hands are shaking as she starts clicking her key fob.
Kenna has stopped walking. She’s just standing in the middle of the
parking lot, staring at us. When she realizes what she’s seeing—that her

---

daughter is just yards from her—she abandons her customer’s grocery cart
and starts heading in our direction.
Grace gets the doors unlocked, so I swing the back door open and put
Diem in her booster seat. I don’t know why I feel like I’m racing against
time. It’s not like Kenna could take her with both of us right here. I just
don’t want Grace to have to face her. Not in front of Diem.
This also isn’t the time or the place for Kenna to meet her daughter for
the first time. It would be too chaotic. It would scare Diem.
“Wait!” I hear Kenna yell.
Diem isn’t even buckled in all the way when I say, “Go,” and shut her
door.
Grace puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the parking spot as soon
as Kenna reaches us. Kenna passes me and rushes after the car, and as much
as I want to grab her and pull her back, I keep my hands off her because I
still feel remorse for pulling her away from their front door.
Kenna gets close enough to their car to tap the back of it and plead,
“Wait! Grace, wait! Please!”
Grace doesn’t wait. She drives away, and it’s painful to watch Kenna
debate on running after the car. When she finally realizes she isn’t going to
stop them, she turns around and looks at me. Tears are streaming down her
cheeks.
She covers her mouth with her hands and starts to sob.
It’s conflicting, being thankful she didn’t make it to us in time, but
also heartbroken for her that she didn’t make it to us in time. I want Kenna
to meet her daughter, but I don’t want Diem to meet her mother, even
though they’re one and the same.
I feel like Kenna’s monster and Diem’s protector.
Kenna looks like she’s about to collapse from agony. She’s in no shape
to finish her shift. I point to my truck. “I’ll give you a ride home. What’s
your boss’s name? I’ll let her know you aren’t feeling well.”
She wipes her eyes with her hands and says, “Amy,” as she walks
defeatedly toward my truck.
I think I know the Amy she’s referring to. I’ve seen her in the store
before.
The cart Kenna abandoned is still in the same spot. The elderly
woman Kenna was walking groceries out for is just standing by her car,

---

staring at Kenna as she climbs into my truck. She’s probably wondering
what in the hell all the commotion was.
I run to the cart and push it over to the woman. “Sorry about that.”
The woman nods and unlocks her trunk. “I hope she’s okay.”
“She is.” I load the groceries into her car and then return the cart to the
store. I make my way to the customer service desk and find Amy behind the
counter.
I try to smile at her, but there’s too much shifting around inside of me
to even fake a smile at this point. “Kenna isn’t feeling well,” I lie. “I’m
giving her a ride home. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Oh, no. Is she okay?”
“She will be. Do you know if she has anything I need to grab for her?
Like a purse?”
Amy nods. “Yeah, she uses locker twelve in the break room.” She
points to a door behind the customer service desk.
I round the desk and walk through the door to the break room. The girl
from Kenna’s apartment complex is sitting at the table. She looks up at me,
and I swear she scowls. “What are you doing in our break room, jerk?”
I don’t try to defend myself. She has her mind made up about me, and
at this point, I agree with her. I open locker twelve and go to grab Kenna’s
purse. It’s more like a tote bag, and the top is wide open, so I see a thick
stack of pages shoved inside.
It looks like a manuscript.
I tell myself not to look, but my eyes unwittingly land on the first line
on the front page.