Real Bad Things(40)

“Aren’t you Georgia Lee Lane?” a cute white gal with a button nose asked. My God, how’d she recognize her here? She prayed she wouldn’t recognize Jane as well. She was young. Probably hadn’t even been born yet when Jane had left.

Georgia Lee threw on a smile despite her desire to lie. “I sure am.”

“I thought so. I seen your face on posters all over town.”

“Oh, do you live in Maud Bottoms?”

“Yeah. I can’t find any work there.”

Nonsense! There were plenty of jobs if you knew how to look.

“That’s me!” Georgia Lee said to avoid further complaints about the lack of employment opportunities in Maud. Jane watched, amused. The way Jane didn’t drop her gaze made Georgia Lee uncomfortable. Her undivided attention was a lot more enchanting as a teenager. “I sure hope you’ll consider honoring me with your vote on November 5.”

“Oh,” the girl said. “I don’t even know if I’m registered.” Jane chuckled and yanked a handful of napkins out of the receptacle.

“You be sure to find out. Every vote counts, you know.”

“If you say so,” the girl said in that sarcastic teenage way that got under Georgia Lee’s skin. She had this conversation about once a day. People like this girl sat on their couches and complained about life, but when it came to actually doing something about it, they couldn’t be bothered to show up for five minutes to cast a vote. That’s all it took. Five minutes!

“Every vote counts, honey. And don’t you forget it.” She dug around in her purse for a flyer and a customized campaign pen and gave them to the girl. “November 5. Don’t forget.”

“Remember, remember, the fifth of November,” Jane sang as she examined her pizza.

The girl looked at Jane quizzically, along with Georgia Lee. “Hey, you’re Lezzie Borden, aren’t you?” Her face lit up. Georgia Lee’s stomach plunged. “Can I get a selfie?” She had her phone out and the picture snapped before Jane had a chance to consent. Right after she got her shot, her fingers danced across the face of her phone on her way back to the kitchen. She left an empty pizza pan and Georgia Lee’s flyer on the table. Didn’t even bother to carry it to the kitchen and throw it in the trash in private. She kept the pen, though. Heathen.

“If you had kept your mouth shut, she wouldn’t have even noticed you!”

“You’re the one who decided it’d be a good idea to go out in public together.”

Georgia Lee decided not to respond and rage ate her pizza, barely bothering with taste. Tear, chew, swallow. The sooner the pizza disappeared, the sooner she could drop Jane at Diane’s house and then go sit alone in an empty parking lot somewhere to scream. Jane was right, though. It had been stupid to go out in public. What was the matter with her? Why did she feel guilty and strange? It wasn’t her fault Jane had confessed. No one had forced her. She’d made those decisions for herself—for all of them, after harassing them about not saying a word!

From her peripheral vision, she noticed Jane examining the flyer.

“What?” Georgia Lee demanded. Good thing that girl had taken the pen. She had a mind to stab Jane with it. Inspection complete, Jane dabbed a slice of pepperoni pizza with her wad of napkins. As if that made any kind of difference. Orange blots blemished the paper. So much for saving the world by avoiding straws. Typical. “I know that look. You’re judging me.”

“I’m just looking at your flyer.” Jane took a bite and made a face. She doused the pizza in red pepper flakes and salt. Not to her exacting standards, apparently. “I’m a graphic designer. Was.”

“That’s nice. You were always doodling.” Georgia Lee bit into her pizza, grease and all.

Jane had spent hours, days sketching pictures of fields full of flowers with mountains in the background, dogs sleeping on rag rugs in the sun, blackberry bushes, and honeysuckle vines—all for Georgia Lee, who plastered them across her bedroom walls. She had planned to take the small honeysuckle drawing to a tattoo artist once she turned eighteen, place it low on her stomach for only Jane to see. After Jane had left town, she had ripped the drawings off her wall and thrown them in the trash.

Once again, silence. This time, Georgia Lee welcomed it. She brushed the hair out of her face and smiled at the server who offered her another slice of pizza.

When she left their table, Jane finally spoke. “Do you remember what you promised?”

The pizza went down hard and rough. Georgia Lee worried for a moment that she might need the Heimlich. Thankfully, it passed. She downed her drink. “I remember.”

Easy enough: Jane did it.

Alone.

End of story.

If that’s what Jane wanted, that’s what she’d get.

Seemingly pleased, Jane continued eating and glancing around them. “Why’d you go into politics?”

Georgia Lee considered the question. Instead of offering a stump speech out of habit, and as Jane no doubt expected, she said, “I didn’t like driving through Maud feeling like I had to lock my doors. And it was an eyesore. It’s as simple as that.” The words weren’t entirely true, but they weren’t entirely false. There was a meanness in her that came out when she felt judged. She forced another bite down her throat.

“At least you’re honest. I guess.” Jane pushed back from the table, one lone pizza crust on her plate. Her demeanor transitioned from not-so-playful banter to melancholy. As long as Jane poked at Georgia Lee, things could be resolved, controlled. When despondency descended, she acted rashly. Georgia Lee never allowed herself to despair. Jane’s lack of fight angered her, even as Georgia Lee harbored an odd, selfish glimmer of hope for herself. And all so no one would associate Georgia Lee with Jane. What a terrible thing to think.