Magnolia Page 8

“Aww, honey, you know I don’t mean it like that,” she says. “But that reminds me. . . . No boys in the house while we’re away. Especially Patrick Hughes.” She stares at me sharply, one blond brow arched. “I had to listen to Cheryl Jackson yesterday going on and on about the two of you, about how surprised she was that I’m letting you see him.”

  “Ugh! Why do you listen to that woman? I swear, you don’t to have to worry about Patrick. Seriously, I know the rules. Anyway, between school and cheerleading and play tryouts—”

  “You’re trying out for the play?”

  “I figured I would. I usually do.” It’s something that Morgan and Lucy and I have always done together. Lucy always gets a good part, while Morgan and I are relegated to standing around onstage like scenery. Still, it’s fun.

  Mama nods. “Just don’t overextend yourself. Now’s not the time for your grades to slip.”

  “I know. I know. Sheesh.”

  The sound of tires in the driveway announces my dad’s return. I let out my breath in a rush, both eager for them to leave and terrified about it, all at once.

  My mom wraps me in a hug. “Oh, honey. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I repeat, a lump forming in my throat. “Just . . . take care of Nan, okay?”

  She releases me and steps back, wiping her eyes with the back of one hand. “Lou said she’d drop by and check on you every once in a while, but if you need anything, you know you can call me or Daddy anytime—day or night.”

  I just nod.

  “And if there’s a problem here at the house, call Ryder right away. He’ll come over and—”

  “But you said no boys,” I argue stubbornly.

  She gives me a pointed look. “Except for Ryder. Nan!” she calls out. “C’mon, Daddy’s back. It’s time to go.”

  “Coming!” Nan clatters down the stairs, her suitcase in tow. Looking at her, you’d never know she’s headed to the hospital to deal with a brain tumor. She looks all bright and cheery and healthy, her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

  Tears well in my eyes, and I fight to keep them from falling.

  Nan shoots me a stern look. “Do not start crying, Jemma. Seriously, if you do, I’m going to lose my shit.”

  “Watch your language,” Mama admonishes from the doorway where she’s wrestling her bag out.

  Nan rolls her eyes. “Just come over here and give me a hug, okay? No good-byes. I mean it.”

  I have to rise up on tiptoe to hug her. Her quick, staccato heartbeat belies her calm demeanor as she squeezes me tightly, then releases me. “Now, you listen to me,” she says as soon as Mama’s through the door and out of earshot. “I’ll kill you if you don’t apply to NYU, if that’s what you really want to do.”

  We’d had a long talk on Saturday morning, and I’d told her everything—about Patrick, about film school and Mama’s and Daddy’s reluctance to let me apply.

  “Don’t you worry about me,” she continues. “Be the person you want to be, Jemma. Don’t let Mama and Daddy make all your decisions for you, okay?”

  I nod, my throat aching as I continue to fight back tears.

  “Pinkie swear?” She holds out one hand, pinkie extended.

  I loop my little finger around hers and squeeze. “Pinkie swear.”

  I follow her out onto the front porch and lean against the railing, watching them load their luggage into the back of the rental SUV. I’d offered to drive them to the airport in Memphis, but Daddy didn’t want me driving back alone. He’d ultimately decided that renting a car made the most sense. After all, they have no idea how long they’ll be gone. No point in leaving one of our cars in the airport lot, racking up fees.

  Sadie and Beau lope up the porch stairs and sit on either side of me, their tongues lolling as I reach down and stroke their fur.

  “Okay, I think that’s it.” Daddy slams shut the back hatch and hurries over to me. He bends down and gives me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “Love you, half-pint. We’re just a phone call away.”

  “I know,” I say, sniffling now. “Love you too.”

  Laura Grace waves from the backseat beside Nan. “You take care, sugar! Call that boy of mine if you need anything, you hear?”

  “I will.” I wave back as Daddy gets in the driver’s side and closes the door.

  The engine starts up, and off they go in a cloud of dust. I just stand there watching until the car disappears over the rise. “Well, I guess it’s just you and me now,” I say to the dogs. “Plus the cats,” I add as Kirk struts up to the porch in a way that would make his namesake proud. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”

  Kirk just meows, stopping to arch his back.

  Not a care in the world. Must be nice.

  With nothing left to do, I head back inside and retrieve my video camera. The sun will be setting in an hour or so, and I figure I might as well film some sunset footage for my application project. Maybe I’ll drive over to the old covered bridge and film there. If nothing else, it’ll take my mind off the fact that my entire family is headed off to Houston without me, and that Nan—

  Stop. I can’t let myself go there. I take a deep, calming breath as I reach for my keys and head back out, herding the dogs inside before I lock up. As soon as I step outside, Ryder’s Durango pulls up. He cuts the engine and jumps out carrying a small floral quilted bag.

  “Did they leave yet?” he asks, sounding breathless.

  “Yeah, you just missed them.”

  “Damn. Mom left this on her bed—I’m pretty sure she meant to pack it.”

  It looks like her makeup bag. “Uh-oh. Maybe you could FedEx it to her?”

  “I guess. Do you know where they’re staying?”

  “With the Prescotts,” I say. Lana Prescott is one of Mama’s and Laura Grace’s sorority sisters. “They’ve got a guesthouse or pool house or something like that. Anyway, Mama left the address on the kitchen counter. You want to come inside and get it?”

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

  I open the front door and he follows me inside. Which, of course, makes the dogs go crazy.

  “Hey, you two keeping Jemma here company?” he asks, bending down to scratch them both behind their ears.

  Ryder loves dogs, but Laura Grace won’t let him have one—not even a yappy little lap dog. She swears she’s allergic, but I think she’s actually afraid of them. Beau and Sadie are as sweet as anything, but we have to lock them up when she comes over.

  “Here you go,” I call out from the kitchen. “On the bottom of the last page.”

  He steps into the room and takes the sheaf of paper from me. “Wow. Three pages, huh? That seems a little . . . excessive.”

  “Yeah, well. You know how my mom is.”

  He takes out his cell and starts entering the address. “I was surprised to see you at Josh’s party on Saturday,” he says, his eyes glued to the screen.

  “I don’t know why. Everyone was there.”

  “Yeah, but you know . . . with Nan home and all, I just figured that you’d want to spend time with her.”

  “I have been spending time with Nan, thank you very much,” I snap in annoyance. How dare he insinuate that I’d abandoned my sister? She’s the one who made me go, who swore that it would make her somehow anxious to know I was “missing out”—her words, not mine.

  “You and Patrick looked awfully cozy,” Ryder says, setting Mama’s note back on the counter.

  So I was right—he had been watching us.

  “So?”

  “So, nothing.” He shrugs. “Just making an observation.”

  “Yeah, you never just make an observation. Oh, and you and Rosie looked pretty cozy, too. I sure hope you’re not leading her on. You know she likes you.”

  A muscle in his jaw works furiously as he shoves his cell phone back into his pocket. “That’s the kind of guy you think I am? Seriously, Jem?”

  I swallow hard, unable to reply. Because the truth is, I don’t know.


  “I’ll see you later,” he says, his voice cold and clipped. He turns and stalks out.

  For some unknown reason, I follow him—down the hall, out the front door. “Don’t walk out on me,” I holler as he rounds the Durango and opens the driver’s-side door. “If you have something to say to me, then say it.”

  He gets in and slams the car door shut, but I throw it open again. “C’mon,” I taunt, motioning with one hand.

  I’m totally losing it now—white spots dancing before my eyes, tears streaking down my cheeks. I can barely catch my breath, like I’m about to hyperventilate.

  This isn’t about Ryder, I realize. It’s about Nan. The sudden realization hits me hard. What if I never see her again?

  My knees buckle, and I start to go down. Somehow, Ryder manages to catch me just before I hit the ground. “Shit, Jemma! What’s the matter with you?” He drags me to my feet and presses me against the side of his truck. “Take a deep breath. Jesus!”

  I do what he says. By the third, I’ve slowed my heart rate to something nearing normal. Only, my cheeks are burning with mortification now. This is the second time I’ve broken down in front of Ryder. He must think I’ve lost my mind—that I’ve totally gone off the deep end.

  “Just go,” I say, my voice shaking.

  He rakes both hands through his hair. “Are you kidding me? I can’t leave you alone like this.”

  “Go,” I repeat, more forcefully this time. “Just get in your car and leave, okay?”

  “C’mon, Jemma. You know I can’t.”

  “I swear I’m okay.” I straighten my spine and lift my chin, trying my best to look calm, collected, and reasonably sane. “Seriously, Ryder. I just need to be alone right now.”

  “Fine,” he says, shaking his head. “If you say so.”

  I step away from the car, feeling queasy now as he slips inside and starts the engine.

  But before he pulls out, he rolls down his window and meets my gaze. His dark eyes look intense, full of conflict. For a split second, I wonder what’s going on inside his head—if he’s judging me. If he has any idea what I’m going through. If he even cares.

  “She’s going to be okay, Jemma,” he says, then slides his sunglasses on and drives away.

  I guess he does get it, after all.

  ACT I

  Scene 11

  Five days later, I sit at my desk staring at my laptop as I wait for my video-editing software to load. I’ve managed to get a lot of new footage—good stuff, too. Pretty much all the county’s historical sites, plus Magnolia Branch’s important landmarks. I’m still not exactly sure what I’m going to do with it all—how I’ll frame the film’s narrative—but the project has turned out to be an excellent source of distraction these past few days.

  Because the news from Houston hasn’t been good. Nan’s tumor has grown at an alarming rate since her last set of scans. They’ve scheduled her for surgery—a craniotomy, which means cutting open her head—early next week.

  As if that isn’t enough, there’s an enormous late-season hurricane brewing in the Gulf. They’re not quite sure of its projected path, but there’s a chance it’ll hit the Mississippi coast as a category one or two and then move slowly inland, right over Magnolia Branch.

  Of course, my parents are totally freaking out. There’s no way to reschedule Nan’s surgery. It has to be done now, before any more damage is done. At first, Daddy was thinking about flying home for a couple of days, but with the uncertainty of the storm’s path, it’s just too risky.

  Instead, he’s been e-mailing me page after page of storm-prep guides, just in case. I’ve already gone to Wally World and stocked up on essentials like toilet paper, bottled water, and batteries, plus nonperishables like canned soup and SpaghettiOs. But now he wants me to go back and get stuff like plastic tarps and sandbags and oil for the hurricane lamps. It’s like full-scale panic mode around here, even though the storm is still several days out. I’ll have to brave the mayhem again tomorrow after cheerleading practice to pick up everything else on Daddy’s list. Maybe I’ll drag Lucy and Morgan with me.

  Anyway, I’m trying not to obsess about the storm too much. I mean, I do have the urge to watch the Weather Channel twenty-four-seven, but that’s pretty normal for me. What can I say? I like watching the Weather Channel. And okay, maybe I have a teeny-tiny crush on Jim Cantore. Doesn’t everyone?

  My stomach grumbles, reminding me that it’s way past my usual dinnertime. Lou dropped off a pan of lasagna a couple of hours ago—it’s probably cold by now. I should go pop it in the oven, along with the half a baguette left over from yesterday. I already have a cucumber from Mama’s garden sliced and soaked in vinegar, chilling in the fridge.

  I glance back at my computer screen and sigh. Seriously, what’s the point in finishing my application portfolio for NYU? It’s not like my parents are going to let me go even if I do get in. I’m just setting myself up for disappointment. I might as well accept my fate—state school, Phi Delta, and debutante balls. And then I’ll probably land right back here in Magnolia Branch. Heck, I’ll probably even inherit this house once my parents decide to follow in their parents’ footsteps and retire down on the coast. I know Nan doesn’t want it; she doesn’t want to be stuck here forever.

  There’s no way they’ll ever sell it—and honestly, I wouldn’t want them to. It’s a part of our heritage. I love this house and everything in it. It’s not that I don’t want to live out my days here. It’s just that I want the opportunity to . . . I don’t know . . . spread my wings and fly a bit before I come back home to roost, you know? If I end up back in Magnolia Branch, I want it to be because I’ve chosen to be here. Is that really too much to ask?

  The doorbell rings, startling me. I hurry downstairs, wondering who in the world would stop by unannounced at this hour. Not that it’s that late, but it is a school night.

  The dogs are going crazy, circling the front door. It takes me a minute or two to herd them away and get them corralled before I make my way back to the front hall.

  “Jemma!” comes a muffled voice, followed by pounding fists. “C’mon, open up. I gotta take a leak!”

  I unlock the door and throw it open with a scowl. “What are you doing here, Patrick?”

  “Well, hey there, Jem,” he slurs, leaning against the doorframe. Clearly, he’s been drinking. The beer fumes are making me woozy. “Um, mind if I use your bathroom?”

  I stand aside, gesturing for him to come inside. “Fine, but be quick about it.”

  I mean, my parents said no boys—especially Patrick. By nature, I’m a rule follower, not a rule breaker. He’s got to go.

  A couple minutes later, he stumbles out of the bathroom. “Tha’s better,” he says. His elbow clips Mama’s vase on the hall table, knocking it to the floor, where it shatters into a million bits. Great. Mama loves that vase.

  “Oops,” is all he says. And then he starts laughing hysterically, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

  “Okay, it’s time for you to go now.” I reach for his shoulders and steer him toward the door.

  “Nah, I just got here, Jem. The night’s still young. Let’s have some fun.” He traps me against the wall with his body, leering at me with an odd, cold look in his eyes.

  I duck out from under his arms. “Seriously, Patrick, you’ve got to go. No guys in the house while my parents are gone—I told you that. I’m going to be in enough trouble as it is about that vase.”

  “What they don’t know can’t hurt ’em, right?” He leans in for a kiss, but I sidestep away. His forehead bangs against the wall, and he remains there, leaning against it for several seconds, trying to steady himself. “C’mon, Jemma,” he says at last, reaching feebly for my hand. “This is the perfect opportunity. I can spend the night, and your parents will never know.”

  “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? You come over here drunk off your ass; you break Mama’s vase and don’t even offer to clean up the mess. And then you expec
t me to sleep with you?” I shake my head. “I’m really not in the mood for your bullshit, Patrick. Go, before Ryder sees your car in the driveway or something.”

  “Oh, you expectin’ Ryder?” he slurs. “He gonna ride in on his white horse like a knight and save you? Is that what your hopin’ for? Maybe tha’s why you been holdin’ out on me. You wanna give it to him instead.”

  His eyes are glassy, slightly unfocused. It’s obvious I can’t let him drive home like this.

  Shit.

  Ignoring his drunken little tirade, I reach for his hand and drag him into the living room, pushing him toward the velvet sofa. “C’mon, Patrick, you need to lie down. I’m going to call someone to come pick you up.” His legs buckle the minute they hit the cushions, and he crumples into a heap—half on the floor, half on the sofa. He starts to make a retching noise, and I hurriedly slip off my hoodie and shove it under his face. “I swear, if you puke on my sofa, I’m going to freaking kill you.”

  Mercifully, he doesn’t. Instead, he starts making a quiet, snuffling noise. Like he’s passed out cold. I run upstairs and grab my cell from my bedroom, trying to decide who to call. Obviously, Ryder makes the most sense, since he lives just up the road and can be here in a matter of minutes.

  But what if he mentions it to his mom? I mean, I can tell him not to, but then it makes me look guilty, like I’m trying to hide something. It’s not my fault that Patrick showed up on my doorstep unannounced.

  I run through the other options in my head. Calling Ben or Mason is about the same as calling Ryder. They’re his best friends. They talk. I could try Tanner. He is my cousin, so I could invoke some sort of family loyalty oath of silence or something. Only problem is, Tanner lives on the far side of town—about as far away from here as anyone can be and still live in Magnolia Branch. Which means leaving a passed-out, about-to-puke Patrick on my couch for a good twenty minutes, waiting for a ride.

  Nope. Not gonna happen. With a sigh of resignation, I dial Ryder’s number.

  Exactly seven minutes later, he knocks on the door. Ryder to the rescue. I resist the urge to look around for his white horse.