“He and some of the guys are heading out for a week to keep a close watch on the cattle now that they’ve been moved higher up and farther away. They’re always a bit finicky when they get to a new pasture, so some of the guys set up camp for the first week or so.”
“Oh.” I shifted on the bed. Note to self: don’t wear tight jeans to bed. “When’s he leaving?” I wasn’t sure if he was ready to see me yet, or if I was ready to see him, but if he would be gone for a week, something needed to be said.
“He’s already gone,” Lily replied, lifting a shoulder. “He wasn’t really himself this morning. He was . . . grumpy almost. He couldn’t seem to get out of here soon enough.”
I didn’t need twenty guesses to know why Jesse couldn’t get away soon enough. So he was upset, but not so much that it had stopped him from making me breakfast. I’d hurt him, but not so much he hadn’t stopped himself from leaving water and pills on my nightstand. So much about the situation wasn’t making sense.
The longer I thought about it, the more my head hurt, so I shelved the whole working-it-all-out thing and grabbed the buttered toast. “What time is it?” My phone was over on the charger, which meant Jesse had done that, too.
“Time for you to go back to bed and get some rest,” Lily replied, sounding so much like Rose I checked the door to make sure she hadn’t joined us. “Mom’s orders.”
Rose . . . I hadn’t come home last night. I’d turned my phone off so no one could get ahold of me. Why wasn’t she in there shouting at me I was grounded for the rest of the summer?
“Is everyone . . .” I swallowed and looked down into my lap. “Disappointed with me?” I didn’t know why I bothered asking rhetorical questions, but I couldn’t seem to kick the habit.
“Why would anyone be disappointed with you?” she asked, giving me an odd look. “Jesse told us you’d fallen asleep out in one of the fields and couldn’t seem to shake that headache you told mom you had yesterday. It’s a good thing he found you before it got too late. You wouldn’t believe how many field mice are out there.” Lily shuddered like one was scurrying down her back. “And don’t get me started about the garter and bull snakes slithering around out there eating those mice.” When she shuddered again, it was more of a violent shake.
A tongue gliding up my neck flashed to my mind. It was my turn to shake. “I think I might have run into one of those snakes.” I popped the last bite of toast into my mouth. The grease and fat was doing its job, and the water and medicine was starting to work its way into my veins. I felt tired. Exhausted, really.
A guilty conscience had a way of tiring out a person. Jesse had covered for me. Lied to his family for me. Because I’d messed up the way I’d been born to do. Dammit. The day couldn’t get any worse, and I’d only woken up five minutes earlier.
“Thanks for breakfast, Lily,” I said, burrowing back down into my blankets. “If you’re sure it’s all right with everyone, I think I will rest for a little while longer.”
“That must be one nasty headache, Rowen,” she said gently before heading toward the door.
“It’s a nasty one, all right.” I threw the covers over my head and tried to shut out the world.
That next week, I tried not to think about Jesse, which was another way of saying I failed at not thinking about Jesse.
When I emerged from my monster “headache,” no one asked me any questions or suspected anything. Rose gave me a hug, said she was glad I felt better, and we got on with the day. It was such an odd concept to me: being trusted. People in my life just assumed that when I opened my mouth, a lie was about to come out. My mom had been the first one to take away the trust card, followed by teachers, counselors, friends . . . you name it. Most people in the past five years had found some reason to not trust me.
I wasn’t saying I was blameless in the whole denial of trust thing. Plenty of people had plenty of reasons to distrust me. What I’d grown tired of was everyone automatically assuming that because I’d done it before, I’d do it all the time. When people started expecting everything coming out of your mouth to be a lie, you just stopped trying.
But that’s not the way it was at Willow Springs. I was given the benefit of the doubt. I wasn’t labeled a liar because I’d been caught telling one. I wasn’t labeled a good many of the names I’d been called before. I was given a fresh start.
Maybe that’s why I made a vow to never tell another lie to another Walker. Or let one Walker lie to another Walker because of me. I wouldn’t repay their faith in me by disappointing them.
I didn’t know what the end of summer would bring, or what the kids at my new school would think of me when I showed up, but at Willow Springs, I was Rowen Sterling. Nothing else.
In one week’s time, I’d kept that vow. I hadn’t lied once to any of the Walkers, although I’d come close. Instead of answering Rose when she asked if I knew why Jesse had been so out of sorts the morning he’d left, I’d pretended my cell phone had just rung and dodged out the back door to take my imaginary call. Honesty through omission. It wasn’t the best case scenario, but it was a far cry from the worst.
Between chores and sleep, I spent my free time drawing. Anything. And everything. Rose’s hands as she kneaded bread dough in the morning, the hat wall beside the dining table, the girls picking strawberries, hell, I even sketched Old Bessie . . . I drew it all, but mostly, I drew Jesse. I never meant to, but halfway into my sketch, I’d realize his eyes were shining back at me, and even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t scrap it and start again. So I finished those sketches, and then I had a book full of Jesse. It made the week without him pass a little faster.
It was Saturday night, and I was anxious about that for several reasons. One, because it was the night of the big dance and barbecue everyone had been talking about nonstop. Two, because it was the night Jesse was scheduled to come home. And three, because I didn’t want Rose to freak out when she saw what I’d done to her three daughters who were the very definition of natural beauty.
We’d been stowed away in Lily’s room for a couple of hours, spraying, swiping, and curling the heck out of each other. Well, I’d been doing the spraying, swiping, and curling. The girls, except for Clementine, had managed to sit still and endure it.
“Curly or straight?” I asked Lily once I finished powdering her nose and highlighting her brow bone.
Lily made a face as she considered it, trying not to smear her pale pink lipstick. She looked older but not offensively so. When Lily mentioned that morning she wasn’t super excited to go to the dance, I of course asked her why. She said she felt ordinary and overlooked whenever she went to one of those things. She said she didn’t feel like she fit in. After giving her a hug and telling her she should have her head examined, I suggested we turn her bedroom into a makeshift salon so I could give her a few makeup and hair tips.
Once Hyacinth and Clementine saw what we were up to, they refused to be left out. Clementine was easy, except for her bouncing around like a rabbit on speed. I curled her hair and let her slick on a coat of lip balm. Done. Hyacinth was a teenager, but just barely, so after doing her hair, I let her talk me into some mascara and lip gloss and prayed Rose or Neil wouldn’t skin me.
Since Lily was sixteen, I took a little more time with her eyes and added a touch of blush. I found myself chuckling a few times as I anguished over using a light hand with the girls’ makeup. I usually used the opposite with my own makeup.
Lily’s face flattened as she finally made up her mind. “Curly.”
I almost sighed. The Walker girls had some long, thick hair that took forever to curl.
“Rowen!” Clementine called to me as I grabbed the curling iron. “Will you put some of that eyeliner stuff on me, too?”
“I most certainly will not,” I replied as I wrapped the first chunk of Lily’s hair around the iron. “If you keep bouncing like that, those curls are going to bounce right out of your hair.” I tried to give her a stern look as she bounced on the end of Lily’s bed, but it didn’t work. Staring sternly at a little girl with perfect little ringlets bouncing up and down in a dress that was five sizes too big for her was impossible.