Chapter Six

Angela

Though I’ve managed to survive the first week of the summer session, I feel like I need a drink. Instead of heading home after class, I duck into the Haystack, promising myself that I’ll just have one and head home. And I honestly believe that, until I see Logan Sawyer’s truck parked out front. The racing of my heart tells me I’ll stick around a bit longer.

The bar is the same scene as every other night. There’s a haze in the air, making the lights over the pool tables glow. A slow country song sings from the old jukebox, and Crowley’s regulars all play their roles brilliantly.

I spot Logan at a table near the back as soon as I walk in and immediately duck my head. I then curse my natural reflex to do that. Before I can chastise myself too much, I notice that the bartender is none other than Wren Freaking Hart. I suppress an audible groan as I slide onto a barstool unnoticed. Why is she here? Why now? And why is Logan looking at her like she hung the damn moon? The whole town knows that she broke his heart when she left, but from the looks of things, I’d say he forgot and forgave.

“Angela Louise, right?” I snap my attention to Wren as she places a napkin in front of me. “Nice rack,” she says, motioning to my boobs.

I check my cleavage and tug at the neck of my shirt. I’m not sure whether I’m offended or flattered.

“Thanks. It’s just Angela,” I say. “Millie thinks it gives us that small-town feeling, including our middle names on our name tags. I think we sound like damn hillbillies.”

Wren laughs and it’s unfair how pretty she is. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll take a Stella.”

“I’m not sure we even have that,” she says, scanning the coolers.

“You do. Coach stocks it just for me.”

I grin as she finds my beer, snaps the cap off and places it in front of me. “You must be a loyal customer.”

“Well, there sure aren’t any other bars fighting for my patronage,” I answer. I take a sip of my beer and swivel around to check out the Thursday night crowd. “Same people, different day. I bet you could take a photograph and in ten years, nothing will have changed.”

“I won’t be here,” Wren says with pride.

I tip my beer in her direction. “Now, that I believe.”

“I found you in our senior yearbook.”

I drop my face into my hand. Just what I need—to relive the horrendous days of high school. “Oh, God. The frizzy hair, the braces, the band uniform—what a horror show.”

Wren taps the bar and my eyes meet hers. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Wren, my best friend in high school was Mr. Simmons, the janitor.” My brain sends up a flare, red lights flash. Why am I telling the enemy this?!

“The janitor? No way.”

“Way,” I confirm.

Wren seems to ponder this for a few seconds, a tiny smile pulling at her lips. “Well, look at it this way. I’d say you’re most improved.”

I grin and nod, surprised at my enthusiasm for her approval. “Yeah. Most improved. I’ll take it.”

My eyes slide to him so often, I do it without even thinking. This time when I find Logan leaning against the jukebox, he’s looking back. His gaze holds me and he doesn’t look away. Immediately, the blush creeps into my cheeks and I wonder what he’s thinking. Eventually, one of his friends grabs his attention and I am released. I exhale the breath I’d been holding and spin back toward the bar.

The next hour seems to be a constant loop of torture for me and my insane crush. Though he and Wren keep their distance, I find Logan staring at her when she’s not looking. It’s a longing look that I recognize. It’s one that hurts my jealous heart.

When Wren drops off my third beer, I just can’t help myself.

“Looks like you’re back on Logan Sawyer’s radar.”

She rolls her eyes. “I won’t be reliving my youth.”

A glimmer of hope sparks inside me and I press on. “On to bigger fish, right? Preston?”

Wren remains quiet, giving nothing away.

“Well, that’s a shame,” I say. “Every girl in this town from eight to eighty wants to land Sawyer.”

“Even you?” she asks, one perfect eyebrow raised.

“Only since third grade.” I avoid her gawking and pick at the label on my new beer.

“What is it about him that makes every woman go crazy?” she asks.

I sense that she’s being genuine but I don’t understand how she doesn’t see what I do in Logan, especially after being with him for so long. I spin on my stool and watch as he leans over a pool table to take his shot. “He’s sexy in that effortless way,” I say, before turning to face Wren again. “He’s nice to everyone, charming, and seems sincere. He’s loyal to his friends.” I pause, contemplating how much I should give away. My mouth decides to go on without my brain. “He likes to have fun, but he works hard, too. I also think he’s a bit of a secret nerd, which is so hot. Did I mention that body, and how good it looks in uniform?” I feel my cheeks flush and give a shrug—nothing to hide now.

“Wow. All that, huh?” Wren asks.

“I’d only kick him out of the bed to do it on the floor.” I take a swallow of beer, needing the liquid to cool my insides.

Wren laughs—not a ladylike giggle, but a loud guffaw that attracts the attention of other bar patrons. “Been there. Done that,” she says. “Stole the John Deere T-shirt.”

I raise my beer bottle in salute. “Ha. I didn’t know you were so funny, Wren Hart. I guess time away from this place has done you some good.”

She gives me a grin and slides down the bar to help the next customer. I glance back at Logan and hear Audrey’s words echo through my mind: “Put your big girl panties on and finally land Logan Sawyer.” Hope sparks inside as I celebrate that Wren is definitely not interested in rekindling anything with Logan. My spine straightens and I grin at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. If I get Audrey involved, there’s no telling how this will go. It could be a disaster, but if I never try, then I’ll never know.

I’m going to do it. I’m going to get Logan Sawyer. I won’t make my move tonight. Even with this newfound determination, I’m not strong enough to do this in front of all his friends. Making a move on Logan is one thing. Doing it in front of an audience feels like a nightmare I had when I was sixteen. But one day soon, I will make him see me. Whether he’s still got feelings for Wren or not, this is the time to show him who I am: most improved.

…

To celebrate the end of my first week of summer school, I complete a new painting. This one is full of light and hope, flow and movement, a stark comparison to my last piece sitting in the corner like a punished child. I sign my name in the corner and leave it to dry while I clean my brushes.

Just as my hands are in the water, my phone buzzes. I shake my head, knowing it will have to wait. When I’m done with cleanup, I eat dinner alone and head to bed early. I’ve got the morning shift at the diner and that means being there before the sun comes up, even on a Saturday.

It’s not until I’m lying in bed that I remember the text on my phone. The screen lights up like a beacon in my dark room. Two words across my phone.

Call me. - Mom

I bring up her contact and press the button to call her.

“Hello?” she answers after one ring.

“Mom, why did you text me to call you? You could have just called and eliminated a whole step in this process.”

“I just thought that’s how you kids do things.”

“So, what’s up then?”

I hear her sigh. I’ve learned that this sound is foreshadowing for something I don’t want to hear. “I received a call today from Charlie.”

It feels as though my heart stops in my chest. Charlie was the private investigator my mom hired when she wasn’t satisfied with the Sheriff Department’s work on my father’s death. She always needed more answers than anyone could give her. Maybe that’s what broke her.

“And?” I force out.

“He says, after four years, he’s closing the case on his end.” She sighs and the line goes silent. Seconds that feel like hours slide by and I can’t wrap any particular emotion around this. Charlie did what he could. He worked so hard for a grieving widow. But he never came to me. Maybe if he would have asked me something—anything—I would have spilled everything I know. No one thought to ask shy, awkward Angela a thing.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “I know no news is usually good news, but this doesn’t feel good.”

“Are you okay?” I counter.

Another sigh. “Yes. My head knows that it was probably an accident, but my heart needs closure. But my heart also misses your father so much.”

“I miss him too, Momma,” I say, my stomach twisting into a knot.

“I just pray he didn’t suffer. Even if someone else was there, and even if it was their fault, it’s almost a blessing that your father wasn’t alone. No one should leave this world alone.”

I nod even though she can’t see me. It’s strange to hear Momma talk like this. She usually avoids talk of my father’s death altogether. Sure, she brings up happy memories and sometimes even refers to him like he’s out in the fields, due back by suppertime, but never that he’s actually gone. It’s jarring and refreshing at the same time, like a step in the right direction.

“You’re right.” A yawn escapes my mouth and I stretch across my bed. The hardest part about all this is having to keep this secret, because I don’t know if my mom is strong enough to handle the truth. So I tuck everything away and vow to deal with it on my own. Just like I’ve been doing for four years now.