Leaving Amarillo(87)

At first I think he’s on the phone, but peering out the kitchen window I see the unmistakable red locks that belong to Robyn Breeland. She was at the funeral and hugged both mine and Dallas’s necks, but he stepped away. Thanking her for coming without actually looking at her. Nana would’ve yanked his ear clean off for having such bad manners, but I know better. I don’t know his exact reasoning because he’s never told me. But I have a strong suspicion that Dallas keeps his distance from Robyn because he cares about her, not because he doesn’t.

“If there’s anything I can do—”

“There isn’t,” he tells her, cutting her off and causing a wounded look to cross her face. “We’ve got everything under control. Thank you, though.”

At least he said thank you.

I sigh, knowing he doesn’t understand how hurtful he’s being. Or at least I hope he doesn’t.

“Hey, stranger,” Jaggerd says, surprising me in the kitchen.

“Hey, Jag.” I turn and smile, offering him a piece of pie, but he shakes his head.

“Can we sit a minute? I have something I need to talk to you about.”

“Sure.” I sit gingerly on a kitchen chair and fold my hands on the table. I feel like I’ve hardly taken a breath since arriving at the hospital only to learn that Papa had passed away in his sleep. And that was three days ago.

“So it’s not a big deal or anything you have to handle right away,” Jaggerd begins, a messy lock of hair falling in his eyes. He needs a haircut, but he’s the type that won’t get one unless a girlfriend pushes the issue. “I just wanted to talk to you about the RV and let you know that I’m happy to keep it for as long as you need, but my dad will expect the space to be paid for and you know what a dick he can be about—”

“RV?” I wish I had a cup of coffee to sip or something; as it is, I just work my cuticles down absently with my fingernails.

Jaggerd looks at me like I’m trying to be funny and he doesn’t get the joke. “Yeah, your grandparents’ RV. The American Coach Heritage?”

I shake my head because I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“They bought it right before you and Dallas moved here. They were going to travel the world but then . . .” He shrugs uncomfortably.

But then my parents died and they got stuck with two more kids after raising their own.

My chest compresses tightly with emotion and I try not to wince.

“You didn’t know about this?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well it’s a nice rig. Probably could get close to a hundred grand or so for it. It’s been sitting in a spot your granddad rented out in the garage behind the shop for years. I take it out every now and then and flush the fluid lines and change the oil.”

“Um, okay. Thanks . . . for that.” I don’t know what else to say. They were going to travel the world and Dallas and I kept them from being able to.

“Their map is still in it. They planned all these possible routes, circled the places they wanted to go. You can come see it anytime you like. Just let me know, okay?”

I nod, understanding for the first time what it means to be floored. I am floored.

“If you decide to sell it, I can probably find you a reliable buyer through the garage.”

“Okay,” I say for what feels like too many times. I force a smile and stand, ready for this conversation to be over so that I can be alone with this information about my grandparents.

Jag takes the hint and stands. “I’m sorry, Dixie. About your granddad and everything.” The flecks of gold in his bourbon-colored eyes darken as he takes a step toward me. “And by everything, I mean acting like a jealous jackass when we were together. You didn’t deserve that. You deserve a hell of a lot better than that.”

I smooth the plain black dress I’m wearing and then finger the pearls that belonged to my grandmother. “Thanks . . . and it’s really okay. The past is . . . the past.”

“If you’re going to be in town for a while, I’d love to take you to dinner. I know I missed your birthday.”

Am I going to be in town for a while?

“Yeah, thanks. That sounds . . . nice.”

Jag reaches an arm out and gives me a friendly hug. Someone clears his throat, and I straighten. Jaggerd tightens his grip for a brief instant before letting go.

Gavin stands in the doorway holding an empty coffeepot, his jaw feathering with tension. “You’re out of coffee. Want me to make some more?”

“I can make it,” I say, stepping away from Jaggerd and over to the coffeemaker.

“I’ll call you,” Jag says, his eyes darting to Gavin on his way out. My brother chooses that moment to enter the kitchen and I feel like I’m watching a very strange soap opera.

“Okay. Great.” I toss Jag one last look of gratitude, hoping he won’t mention the RV or my grandparents’ plans in front of Dallas before I’ve had a chance to process it myself.

“Dallas,” Jaggerd says, shaking my brother’s hand and offering his condolences about Papa. “Hope to see you under better circumstances next time.”

“Definitely.” My brother walks him out and then returns to the kitchen just in time to see me spill coffee grounds all over the counter. Gavin tries to help clean it up and sets the coffeepot next to me, so of course I knock it off into the floor with my elbow and it shatters at my feet.