“Yes, it is. I’m telling you right now, you’re who I want. I know things are messy but—”

“You only showed interest in me when another man did, Finn—that’s not love, that’s jealousy, and I don’t want to play that game. I don’t want to play any games. I just want you to let me go.”

“I’m not going to quit,” he warned. “I’m not going to give up on us, on this.”

“There is no us, Finn.”

“Because of that lowlife?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Because of you.”

*

“It’s fine,” Jackson grumbled as I pressed the warm cloth to his eye as he sat on his couch. “It’s not the first time I’ve gotten a black eye for sleeping with another man’s woman.”

“I’m not his woman,” I stated sharply, watching him wince as I pressed the cloth to his eye. “And he is not my man.”

He tilted his head up. “If you’re not his, then whose are you?”

“My own,” I said breathlessly, feeling my heart began to beat faster. “Before I am anyone else’s, I will always be my own.”

“Geez,” he whispered, shaking his head as he bit his bottom lip. “You have no clue how good it feels to hear you say that.”

I smiled at him and went back to tending to his eye.

“You’re doing it,” he whispered, placing his hand against mine to stop me from patting his cheek.

“Doing what?”

“Finding yourself.”

I grinned and wrung out the cloth. “I think you’ll live to see another day.”

“That’s good to hear,” he mumbled, looking down and fiddling with his fingers.

“What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you see when you look at him? What do you see when you see Finn?” he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.

I paused for a moment, lowering myself to the floor, and then I looked up at him. “I see my past. I see everything I was, and everything I was not.”

“And what do you see when you look at me?”

I swore there was a small spark in his eyes that healed parts of me that I hadn’t even known were broken. I ran my hand through my hair, bit my lip, and gave a slight shrug. “Possibilities.”

43

Jackson

I was shocked when Sunday morning rolled around, and Loretta Harris was knocking on my door. As I opened it, I noticed her in her Sunday best outfit with her big floppy hat and steamed dress. Standing there poised, she looked as southern as a woman could look.

I hated that her face matched her daughter’s. It made it harder for me to despise her.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to praise that God of yours?” I asked her, leaning against my doorframe with my arms crossed.

She didn’t arrive with the same spitfire that she’d brought my way the first time she barged into my shop. She wasn’t barking demands or shouting at me. She was hauntingly calm and collected.

That brought about some unease.

“I haven’t spoken to my daughter in days,” she told me. “And the last time I saw her, I said things I regret.”

“Yeah, well, perhaps you should’ve thought things through before speaking. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” I began to close my door, and she blocked it with her arm. I cocked an eyebrow. She quickly dropped her arm.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” She sighed and shook her head. “I saw her in town, and she looked away. She has this crazy red hair and tattoos, and this just isn’t who she is. She hasn’t even been attending church.”

“I wouldn’t either if the people talked about me the way they do her.”

“You think I enjoy it? Hearing what those people say about her?”

“No”—I shook my head—“I know you don’t enjoy it, but I also don’t think you try to stop it.”

She parted her lips but paused. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a check.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want your money,” I scolded her.

“Maybe you would if you looked at the price. It’s enough to give you and your father a good life. You could start over anywhere in the world.”

I took the check and ripped it in half. “I don’t care about your money. You’re not gonna run my father and me away from our own land. Besides, what does it matter? Grace is going back to work in a few weeks.”

“Yes, but she’ll be back for holidays, and you’ll still be here. Then she’ll make weekend trips to visit you. Then she’ll find a job closer by. Don’t you see? You’re messing with her mind, making her think she could someday fall in love with you. You don’t see it, do you? The way she looks at you?”

How?

How did she look at me?

“I don’t want any trouble,” I told her. “You should leave.”

“Jackson, please, you must be realistic. Gracelyn has already been through enough, and on her path to finding her footing, she doesn’t need distractions that might knock her off-kilter. I know you’re trying to help her, but you’re really hurting her, and yourself. I’ll write a new check,” she said, going to dig into her purse.

“Again, I don’t want your money. Plus, Grace is a grown woman. I’ll let her make the choice of shutting me out.” I went to close the door, and she shouted my way, making me come to a full halt.

“It was my Samuel!” Loretta shot my way.

I cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

“It was Samuel.” She cleared her throat, and a few tears fell from her eyes as I watched her body tremble. “It was my husband—the man who your mother loved. Samuel was the one she was leaving to be with that night.”

My hands formed fists, and my mouth grew dry. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you lie about something like that?”

“I’m not lying. I found out the night of the storm. Samuel told me about how he’d fallen in love with a woman who he was leaving me for. Though, he didn’t tell me her name.” She narrowed her eyes and shook her head back and forth as she studied the wooden porch. “Before your mother, the women were just an escape. He never developed feelings for them, and he always came home to me. Because even when he faltered, I was still his end game. I was the one he crawled into bed with each night and whispered ‘I love you’ to. I was his forever, and he was mine.

“Then one day, a new family bought property in this here town, and a woman with eyes that matched yours walked into our church. She was beautiful, and Samuel noticed, as did I. I didn’t take offense to it because, at the end of the day, he’d come home to me. We had that arrangement. Out of respect and loyalty, he’d come back to me. But then, he’d end up working later each night. Some nights, he’d come home so late, I swore I’d see the sun rising through the blinds. He’d stopped saying I love you, and I could smell her all over him. Honeysuckle and raspberries.” She closed her eyes as more tears fell down her cheeks. “I had my suspicions about who the woman was, but it became very clear once the news came out that your mother was killed in a car accident. I’d never seen a man truly mourn until I watched my husband fall to the ground and cry out for your mother.”

“You’re lying,” I choked out, stunned.

“I’m not, and I think you know it.”

“Get off my property,” I barked.

“Why do you think your father attacked the church all those years ago, Jackson? Why do you think he’s so hell-bent on hating my family?”

“I said leave.”

“Fine, I will. But tell me this… Can you really be with my daughter—the woman whose father is the reason your mother left all those years ago—and fully love her? Can you give yourself to Grace without resentment and anger? Can you stare into her eyes that match her father’s and not attach her to that horrific event? I know I couldn’t do it.”

I didn’t reply because I didn’t have a clue how to gather any kind of words. I marched straight into my home and closed the door behind me as her words invaded every inch of my being.

*

“Is it true?” I barked, barging into Dad’s house. He was sitting on the couch with his eyes half-open as he watched the morning news. The place was once again trashed even though I’d just cleaned it a few days back.

He looked like a zombie. Heavy bags under his eyes, greasy hair, filthy clothes. Nothing about my father resembled life.

“Well?” I badgered, tossing my hands up in annoyance. “Is it true?”

“What are you talking about? Is what true?”

“Was Samuel Harris the man Ma was having an affair with?”

The way his brows lowered and his lips slightly parted made it apparent to me that it was, indeed, the truth.

“Are you shitting me right now? Are you telling me this whole time you’ve known Samuel Harris was the man pretty much responsible for my mother’s death, and you didn’t find the need to tell me?”

“I told you to get that car out of my shop. I told you to stop fucking with that girl. What more did you want?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fucking truth, Dad? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was none of your damn business, boy,” he told me, picking up his whiskey bottle and taking a swig. “You had no right to know.”

I snatched it from his hand and threw it across the room. “I had every right to know.”