Chaos and Control(30)

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“Last night,” he says. Images flash through my mind, and suddenly we are on the same page. “I thought about it all night, staring at that wall that separates us.”

“Did you get any sleep?”

He doesn’t answer me. “What are we doing, Wren?”

I trace the rim of my glass with my index finger. “We’re having lunch.”

Angela returns to the table with Preston’s three plates and my macaroni and cheese. She places a glass of water—no ice—in front of him and leaves us with a wink.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says.

“I know that’s not what you meant. The truth is I don’t know what we’re doing. At first, I’ll admit, I just wanted to sleep with you. I mean, look at you,” I say waving my hand across his body. “Have you seen you?”

“And now?” he asks.

“And now I don’t know. You intrigue me, Preston. But you seem happy here, and there’s no way I’m staying in Crowley forever. But why do we have to think beyond this moment? Right now I’m just a girl, sitting with a boy, having mediocre food.”

The corner of his mouth lifts up, and he focuses on his meal. When all his plates are equal distance apart and lined up to the edge of the table, Preston finally eats. I dig in and am reminded how much I love this stuff.

“Okay, the mac ’n cheese is not mediocre. I forgot how good it is,” I say with food in my mouth. “I rarely had good food out on the road. It was garbage. Sometimes, literally.”

Preston stops chewing and looks up at me, a horrified expression painting his pretty face. His fork hovers above an empty plate.

“Why did you leave Crowley?” he asks.

“It was just something I had to do. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to know what was out there. I wanted to meet people who don’t look like me, or think like me. I just needed to discover something.”

He switches out his plates now, lines them up, and takes a bite. “Well, did you? Discover something?”

“Yes. I discovered religions that don’t weigh you down in guilt or shame. I discovered kids who have never known the comforts of a roof over their head. I discovered oceans at each coast and the Gulf of Mexico to the South. I discovered curry, alligator soup, tofu, and chilaquiles. Most recently, I discovered that it’s okay to come back home.”

Preston lays down his fork and takes a sip of water. His eyes search mine from across the table. He is quiet for too long, and I start to squirm under his gaze.

“You’re a complicated girl,” he finally says. “Complicated and confusing. And dangerously beautiful. You’re like a jigsaw puzzle that needs solving—sharp edges with twisting lines inside.”

Such pretty words from a pretty man. They only make me want more of his poetic observations.

“And what are you going to do about it, Preston-who-thinks-about-me-all-night?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

I finish my lemonade and leave money on the table before sliding out of the booth.

“Well, let me know when you decide.”

…

Tonight, I wear blue-jean shorts, a Haystack T-shirt, and comfortable flats. I’m three hours into my shift when Sawyer shows up with his gang of followers. In worn jeans and a threadbare T-shirt that hugs his biceps, he is a stark contrast from uniformed Sawyer. He waves me over when they have a seat near the pool tables.

“Hey, Wren. We need two buckets of Bud Light. And something for yourself.”

I roll my eyes when he hands over his credit card without even looking at me. Returning to the bar, I load up two tin pails with ice and stick six bottles of beer in each. I file Sawyer’s credit card with the other open tabs and return to deliver their drinks.

“Here you go, boys. Drink up.”

I drop the buckets on the table. They land with a loud bang, ice spilling over the sides. Sawyer’s friends watch him, waiting like little lap dogs. He takes one bottle, pops the cap off, and tilts it back. Watching him show off like this reminds me of our days together. He used to sneak his daddy’s beers out of the house, and we would get drunk on the dirt road behind Miller’s barn.

I turn to go, but suddenly feel a cold hand on my elbow. When I look back, I find Sawyer smiling up at me. He slides a ten-dollar bill into my hand and winks.

“Thanks, Wren.”

I pocket his tip and return to my spot behind the bar. Coach gives me a smile as he serves a couple of regulars. An hour later, Bennie comes in and parks herself at the same barstool she sat in last time. She orders from Coach and gives him a lingering look. One that makes me wonder again if there is something more between them than friendship.

After I check on my tables, I slide up next to her.

“Hey, Bennie. What’s up?”

“Nothing much, kid. Just had a rough day,” she says, staring down into her beer.

“Don’t you take half the day off on Saturdays? How bad could it be?” Bennie shakes her head. “Where do you go, anyway? Got a secret lover in Franklin? Is he married? Are you having his love child? Bennetta Hart, are you somebody’s dirty little secret?”

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