Chaos and Control Read online

  She laughs. It’s not a delicate little laugh, but a loud cackling kind that shakes her shoulders and brings tears to her eyes.

  “I assure you, Wren, I am no one’s secret mistress.”

  I give her a suspicious look.

  “Would I lie to you?” she asks.

  “No. You know better.” She finishes her beer and motions for another. Coach delivers it without question. “Okay then. I’m going to get back to work.”

  I pick up empty glasses and bottles on my trip through the bar and mentally vow to look into a recycling program here. Sawyer and his group of buddies seem to get progressively louder and more rowdy as the night wears on. Some girls have joined the mix now, dispersed between the guys around their table, some sitting on laps.

  At midnight I check on Bennie again. She’s been knocking them back for a couple of hours now. Her glassy eyes and permanent smile give her away. I hear my name and look up to find Sawyer calling me over again.

  “What can I get you?” I ask, feigning indifference to the group watching me.

  “Wren Hart, your hair looks like an Easter egg,” one guy says.

  The group laughs, but Sawyer stays quiet.

  “And is that a stud in your nose?” he continues. “I bet your daddy had a fit when he saw you, huh?”

  “I wonder what else she has pierced,” another friend chimes in.

  “Oh my God, did that, like, hurt?” a brunette girl with eyes too big for her face says.

  “I bet it did,” a blonde chimes in. “Remember when we got our ears pierced? That was brutal.”

  “Yes, that’s a stud in my nose. And even if you were the last man on earth and the fate of the free world rested on you and me procreating, you would still never find out what else I have pierced. And, yes, it hurt a little,” I say, addressing each of the offending questions. “I’m here to get you drinks. If any of you assholes want to get laid tonight, I suggest you start buying these girls lots of alcohol. They’re going to need it.”

  Sawyer is the only one laughing now. “Twelve shots of bourbon,” he says.

  I nod and retreat to the bar before I say something else to get me fired. Lining up thirteen shot glasses along the bar, I pull out the most expensive bourbon we have and fill each glass. I add that to Sawyer’s tab and place the drinks on a tray. When I deliver the shots, each of them watches me carefully, like they’re waiting for me to do a trick. I ignore their gawking and pass out the glasses.

  “There’s an extra one,” one of the girls says.

  “No, there’s not.” I grab the last shot from my tray and throw it back, swallowing down the sweet bourbon. It creates a nice burn in my empty stomach and a smile on my lips. Sawyer tips me a twenty this time, and I take it with no hesitation. It’s the least he can do for subjecting me to this Midwest version of Dumb and Dumber.

  I drop the tray off at the bar and let Coach know I’m taking a quick break. Outside, the night air is a welcome reprieve from the stale atmosphere of The Haystack. I lean against the building and stare out at the parking lot. Preston is not in his usual spot yet. It’s still early. But I can’t deny the feeling of wanting him there, needing to see him.

  The door swings open, and Sawyer steps out alone. He gives me a hesitant grin and leans against the wall next to me.

  “Sorry about them,” he says.

  “No worries. Small town people are nothing if not predictable.”

  He blows out a breath. “Well, we can’t all be world travelers.”

  At this moment, I wish I were a smoker. I need that habitual action to keep my hands busy and deep lungfuls of oxygen and smoke to fill the awkward silence between us. It’s strange to feel uncomfortable around him. At one time, Sawyer knew me better than anyone in this town. Even though he hated it, he understood my need to run away. It was all I talked about back then.

  “Is Crowley everything you remember?” he asks.

  I turn to face him, leaning my shoulder against the wall. “It’s everything I remember, and some stuff I tried to forget. Not much has changed.”

  “You sure have changed, though,” Sawyer tells me. I shrug. “Not just the hair and the piercing, Wren. You’re different.”

  “Being out there,” I gesture to the vast fields and night sky, “makes you different. The things you see and learn, the people you meet, they all change you.”

  “So, why’d you come back if it was so great?”

  I look at my feet and then out at the dark parking lot. The confession sits in my mouth, burning like hot saliva. I picked the wrong guy. Dylan owned me. He hurt me. I ran. Instead of telling him, I swallow it down and let the fear and pain settle in my stomach. Sawyer watches me closely, waiting for an answer. I ignore the question.

  “You should try it, Sawyer. Get out of this place.”

  He shakes his head at me and grins. “I’m not that person. I like it here. I’ll probably stay in Crowley the rest of my life—get married, have a family, coach Little League. I never wanted you to leave, but I never wanted to go with you.” He looks away and back to my eyes. “Not that you gave me a choice.”

  I take a deep breath and blow it out toward my feet. The guilt of leaving him hits me for the first time. I didn’t just leave Bennie. I left Sawyer, too. At the time, the road in front of me was all I could see. I was young and selfish.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. We both knew it was coming.” Sawyer rubs at the back of his neck and pulls the baseball cap from his head. He curls the bill into its signature country-boy shape before placing it back on his head. “I would have done anything to keep you here, Wren. But I knew it was useless. I was crazy in love with you,” he admits.

  For a moment, I see beneath his charming surface and into the boy I once adored. He is vulnerable in this confession, and he waits for a reaction.

  “I loved you, too. You know that, Sawyer.”

  “But not enough to stay.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure anything could have made me stay back then. I just knew there was something waiting for me. Something bigger than tractor pulls and being a reverend’s kid.” I glance at my feet and back to his face. “I guess I was tired of being defined by this town. I don’t regret leaving.”

  Sawyer steps closer, his feet in between mine. This feels familiar, but not right.

  “Do you regret coming back?” he asks, his voice a raspy whisper that reminds me of escapades in the back of his truck.

  “I don’t know yet,” I say.

  I’m held in place by his hand that slides along my waist. The way he looks at me is the same way he looked at me three years ago. Sawyer tips his head down, his lips a breadth away from mine. My heart leaps into my throat, and I know this is something I don’t want to happen.

  The door slams open, and two of his buddies come stumbling out. We break apart, stepping in opposite directions. Sawyer frowns and mumbles a curse into the night sky. I feel nothing but relief.

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” I say over my shoulder before stepping back into the bar.

  I spend the last hour of my shift immersed in bar duties. Sawyer never comes back inside. Coach says he closed his tab before following me outside. I throw away empty bottles, collect glasses, and wipe down tables while Coach closes tabs. Bennie sits on her stool, her head laid down on top of folded arms. I’ve seen my sister drink, but never drunk. This is new and strange, and I’m not sure if I like how it looks on her.

  When the last customer is gone, Coach turns off the sign and gestures to Bennie.

  “Go on and get her home, Wren. I’ll finish cleaning.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask, not wanting to slack off during my first week of work.

  “Yeah. It’s not a problem. Just make sure she gets home safe.”

  He slides over my share of tips, and I throw it into my bag. On the other side of the bar, I place my hand on Bennie’s back.

  “Bennie? Let’s go home.” She raises her head and gives me a lazy g
rin. “Can you walk, Ben?”

  She slides off the stool, wobbles a bit, but then gathers herself. She takes a few steps as if trying out her feet for the first time and gives me a thumbs-up.

  “Of course, I can walk. Been doin’ it for a long time,” Bennie slurs.

  I lace my arm around hers and guide us toward the front door. She only stumbles once before giggling and straightening her posture.

  “You okay?”

  “I got it,” she says, this time more harsh with a frown.

  “Later, Coach.” I give him a wave. “See you next week.”

  Bennie leans on me, and I can’t wait to get outside and have Preston’s help with her. We push through the doors, and I scan the parking lot. It’s empty. Preston is not in his usual spot. No furrowed brow, no manic scribbling in his notebook, no strong arms to help.

  “Damn,” I say.

  “What happened?” Bennie asks.

  “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  Bennie keeps it together for most of the walk. She rambles on and on about the record store, our parents, and even Preston.

  “That boy is some kind of gorgeous,” she says, laughing at her admission.

  “Bennie. Are you crushing on Preston?”

  “Ha! No, Wren. Seriously? He’s like half my age. I’m just sayin’. I’m old, not blind.”

  We both laugh as I pull her along the road toward home.

  “Why was today a bad day, Bennie?”

  “Oh, you know. Nothing goes right. Everything is wrong. So unfair. Life’s not fair. Life! Ha!” She coughs and holds on to me tighter.

  Her vagueness bothers me, but I let it go for now. “I’ve never seen you drunk,” I say. “Since when have you given up smoking weed for drinking?”

  “I haven’t given up anything!” she shouts. I shush her and pull her through the park. “I am drunk,” she whispers. “Drunk, drunk, drunk as a skunk. Hey, that rhymes. And why would skunks get drunk anyway? Have you ever seen a skunk with a beer?”

  I smile at her silliness and let myself enjoy taking care of my sister for once. We pass under the water tower, and Bennie pulls out of my grip. She stares up at the ladder.

  “I always wanted to go up there,” she says. “Write a big ‘Fuck you, Reverend Hart’ message on the tower. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “It would definitely be something,” I answer, smoothing down her curly hair.

  Bennie whips her head toward me. “Look at us, Wren. The shameless unholy Hart children. The drunk and the runaway.”

  “Let’s get home.”

  “You left me, Wren.”

  Her voice is low, but her words hit me like a blow to the chest. Tears leave silver trails down her cheeks, and suddenly my eyes are watering.

  “You left me here alone,” she spits. “How would you feel if I left you? Huh? What if I just leave?”

  Tears ease out of the corners of my eyes as the guilt of what I’ve done takes hold. Bennie has always been so strong and independent. I had no idea my leaving would affect her this way.

  “I thought you’d be proud of me, Bennie.” I kick at a pebble and watch it go bouncing into the grass. “I wanted to find my independence, and I knew I’d never do it here. Not like you did.”

  “You left,” Bennie slurs. “And now you’re back. And all is forgiven.”

  She reaches for me. Her fingers brush my bangs to the side and slide down my face, wiping my tears. Snap. I hear a loud noise from the tree line and look into the darkness. The park lights don’t reach that far, so I see nothing but leafy blackness.

  “Come on, Bennie.”

  She wipes the tears from her face and starts walking. I follow behind her quietly, checking over my shoulder every few minutes. We don’t say another word to each other. I help her up the stairs and wait for her to unlock the door. I linger in front of Preston’s door and wonder what he’s doing in there, why he didn’t show up tonight.

  When we’re inside, I try to help Bennie to bed, but she tells me no.

  “Catch you on the flip side. And stay out of my room,” is all she says, closing the door in my face.

  Each footstep toward her

  A kid toward Christmas

  This new routine suits me

  Walk alone

  Wait

  Walk together

  Tonight I stand

  Toes at the edge of a gravel lot

  And see them

  Her and him

  A them that stops me dead

  I scroll through

  The list of known emotions

  And discover something new

  Filed right between

  Happiness and joy sits jealousy

  It covers me like a lead weight

  Sinking my feet into quicksand

  Her and him move closer

  And I cannot bear to watch

  My own execution

  - Preston

  Chapter Eleven

  Urban Cowboy

  I toss and turn most of the night. Dozing off just long enough for Dylan to make an appearance in my dreams. It’s not a nightmare reliving my time with him. It’s a new nightmare—one where he appears here in Crowley, chasing me through tall fields, a never-ending game of cat and mouse. Even after I wake, I can’t shake the sick feeling in my stomach.

  Around one o’clock, I force myself out of bed and into the shower. I pull on my clothes and rake my fingers through damp hair. In the kitchen, Bennie sits drinking coffee in her bathrobe. She looks miserable.

  I pour myself a bowl of cereal and get the milk from the fridge.

  “No church today?” I ask.

  She doesn’t look up from her newspaper. “What’s the point?”

  Grabbing my bowl and a spoon, I take a seat across from her. “I don’t know. What was the point?”

  “I guess I was looking for answers,” she says absently.

  “And now you’re not?” I take a bite of cereal and the crunching is so loud in my head that I don’t hear her mumbling response. “What?”

  “Sometimes the answer is not the one you wanted to hear.”

  “Okay,” I say, giving her a strange look. This Bennie is unlike the woman I left behind. There are pieces of the old Bennie in there, wrapped in patchouli and old Alanis Morissette lyrics. But the newer parts stick out like thorns. She keeps secrets, and I don’t like it.

  “Let’s do something fun today,” I say.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s go to the lake and get some sun.”

  “It’s late, Wren.”

  “It’s summer. The sun doesn’t set until after eight o’clock. Come on. You need to sweat that alcohol out of your pores.”

  “Fine,” she says, offering a flimsy smile.

  “Yes!” I hop up, dance around the kitchen, and head to my room. “Get ready, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

  “Bossy little shit,” Bennie mumbles before disappearing into her bedroom.

  Twenty minutes later, we are in Bennie’s car, driving out to Lake Loveless. It’s only a forty-five minute drive from here, South of Franklin. This time of year, there will be lots of families and kids around. Bennie and I used to go to the lake to escape the pressures of being Reverend Hart’s kids. We would lie in the grass and point out shapes in the clouds. Those were the best days. I used to pretend we were in Europe, picnicking on the bank of some river, sipping mimosas and eating caviar. In reality, it was too close to home, two-dollar wine, and gummy worms.

  When we get to the lake, it’s just as I predicted. There are kids chasing each other around picnic tables, men standing over hot grills cooking up lunch, and moms tending to toddlers in the shade. We walk away from the crowds and find a quiet spot. Bennie slips out of her shoes, lays her quilt on the ground, and takes a seat on one end. I shimmy out of my shorts and kick them off before pulling my shirt over my head. I’m wearing my bikini from high school. It’s a little small considering I’ve gained some weight back since returning to
Crowley, but still cute.

  “Holy shit!” Bennie says. “Let me see that.”

  I turn and let Bennie inspect my tattoo for the first time. I can see the appreciation and wonder in her eyes as her fingers ghost over the design. It’s a beautiful henna and floral image that starts on my right side and travels diagonally under my navel, stopping just above my pubic bone. It is mostly black and gray with splashes of pinks, purples, and golds mixed in.

  “I always wanted a tattoo.”

  “So, what’s stopping you?” I ask.

  She shrugs and looks out over the water. “Guess I’m too old now, huh?”

  “You’re never too old for anything. You should do it. We should do it!”

  “Matching tattoos?”

  “Hell, yeah! You want to?”

  Bennie gives me a grin. “Maybe.” Glancing back at the art on my body, she grins. “It really is beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I say, taking a seat next to her and stretching out on the blanket. “I dated a tattoo artist for a few weeks in Austin, Texas.”

  “He talked you into that in just a few weeks?” she asks.

  “He was very convincing.” I give her an exaggerated wink and slide my shades down over my eyes. The sun warms my skin as I stare up at a cloudless sky.

  Bennie pulls a book out of her bag and lays on her stomach next to me.

  “I’m sorry about last night, kid,” she says after a few minutes.

  “It’s no biggie. I figure you owe me a few of those. Remember when Sawyer and I got so drunk we passed out in the store? We couldn’t even make it up to my apartment.”

  She chuckles. “Yes. I found you two cuddled up on the floor by the front door.”

  “I swore off drinking that morning, but I guess it didn’t stick.”

  “Not many things stick when you’re seventeen.”

  I shade my eyes and turn toward her. Bennie’s face is serious, and she looks at me like she thinks I’ll be gone again tomorrow.

  “That’s true. I thought I’d be rich and famous by now.”