Tumble (Dogwood Lane #1)(16)
“I’m just somebody you used to know that’s home visiting her mom.”
He scowls, unamused by my response. “It’s that simple, huh?”
No. “Yeah. It’s that simple.” My heart drops to my sneakers, panic filling the void. I need air. I need space. I need a lobotomy for even talking to him. “It was good to see you. Take care, all right?”
We exchange a tentative smile, one that neither of us truly believes.
With a nod his direction, I flip my cart in a one-eighty and finally head to the cashier. He doesn’t follow.
By the time I pull the oddball items I don’t need from my cart and place them on the conveyor, the knot in my stomach has grown. I can’t even remember why I came to the grocery store to start with.
My subconscious seems to be scanning the area on high alert for Dane’s presence. I chastise myself again as I swipe my credit card.
It’s that simple.
Yeah, right.
It’s never that simple.
CHAPTER SIX
NEELY
There you are!”
Aerial’s dark ponytail swishes as she propels herself across the gym. If the bright overhead halogens weren’t enough to light up the room, her smile would do it.
Banners from competitions hang on the opposite wall, stretching the expanse of the room. They’re visual proof of the excellent teaching staff. The other walls display motivational quotes, pictures of students in their glory, and a rack of trophies in all shapes and sizes. Couple all that with the faint smell of sweat and bleach, and it’s like coming home.
“Get over here and give me a hug,” Aerial insists, coming at me with arms wide open.
“How are you?” I ask as she pulls me in.
“I was at Mucker’s last night and heard you were in town.” She releases me but holds my hands in between us as she steps back. “I was going to swing by your mama’s tonight and rail at you for not coming to see me.”
“I’ve just needed a couple of days to myself,” I say, curling my nose. It’s a simple gesture, an automatic one, but it gives enough away for Aerial to pick up on it.
“Things not so hot in New York?” When I don’t reply, just slump my shoulders for her benefit, she drops my hands. “Does this mean you’re home for good?”
She starts along the edge of the mats toward her office, motioning me to follow. A few younger girls are stretching on the far side of the gym and wave in my direction. I lift my hand and move it back and forth, earning a giggle from the group.
There’s a lightness in my steps as I follow Aerial. I’ve padded across these mats more times than I’ve ever walked anything in my life. They’ve caught my tears, heard my cheers, listened to my frustrations, and absorbed my perspiration. No matter what was happening in my life, what I was worried about or scared of, the gym was my sanctuary.
Aerial’s office is a small, purple space that fits her to a T. She sits at her desk, and I slide into a chair across from her.
“Want to talk about it?” she asks.
“What? New York or the show?” I tilt my head toward a folder with SUMMER SHOW stamped across the front. “I heard you’re in the throes of the best one ever.”
“It’s going to be great,” she says, eyes twinkling. “The backdrops are overboard and totally too much in the best way. We somehow roped a band from Nashville to play after the final performance on Saturday, and someone from the mayor’s office—Trudy, you won’t remember her, she got here after you left—helped with the carnival. It’s going to be incredible.”
“I can’t wait.”
“So . . .” She sits back in her chair. “Any chance my star student could hang around and help out with it this year?”
My laugh dances through the room. “I don’t think I’ll be around for the actual show, but I’d love to help out until I leave.”
“The girls would love that. You’re kind of a legend around here.”
“They’re going to be so disappointed.”
“Hardly,” she says. “I bust out your Finals tape every year as motivation.”
Memories from that epic night flicker through my mind, raising goose bumps across my arms. The roar of the crowd, the electricity floating through the air, the excitement rolling off my teammates as I stood in the center of the mat and waited for the music to start.
“I haven’t thought about that in a long time,” I admit.
“If I pulled out a perfect routine on national television, I’d think about it every day.”
“I’ve had a lot of other things to think about, you know. Like rent.”
She laughs with me.
“Trials of adulthood,” she says.
“I’m really not enjoying adulthood as much as I once thought I might. It’s freaking hard, Aerial.”
She smiles softly. “It doesn’t get any easier. But at least you’re home for a bit. How does it feel to be back in God’s country?”
It’s not a loaded question, but it certainly feels like one. By the contented smile on her face, I know she expects an answer full of sunshine and roses. That coming back seems like a perfect fit and akin to a warm robe on a cool evening. Truth is, it’s not. Not completely.