My Heart for Yours Read online

  I watched Tobin all night. I know he watched me, but I was careful. I didn’t really think anything would actually happen between us. It’s hard to wrap my mind around how wrong I was.

  He opens the door of the same old Ford pick-up truck that he was always working on and perfecting.

  “She looks good.” I touch the door before climbing in.

  “Uh…thanks.” He rubs a hand over his blond hair, leaving it ruffed up in all the right places.

  This is so awkward. His eyes are the same. His voice is the same. It’s the sameness, and the newness and the differences and all the stuff between us—the good, the bad, the horrible and the selfish. The last two were mostly me. Then came the anger part—that was mostly him. And now? Now I’m just a girl here probably messing with his head in a way he doesn’t deserve. The thing is that I don’t even know what I want from him. Is there any chance of us even being friends?

  Being away from home allowed me to not think about Tobin. About how in the end it was almost like we tried to destroy each other. It still amazes me late at night when I let myself think about it. Like grandma said all the time—you make love with the same passion that you make war—or something like that. At any rate, that was definitely true for Tobin and me.

  Every building in this town looks like the trees want to swallow them up. There’s a tint of rust on everything metal, and it’s all smaller and more worn than I remember. Even though it’s dark out, we don’t pass a single vehicle where the driver doesn’t pause to wave. And because it’s just what you do here, we both give a small wave back without even thinking about it. The truck bumps along on the beat up road. The roots from the magnolia trees that have been here since the beginning of time have waged a war with the asphalt of the road and left it full of craters and lumps. No pretenses here. What you see is what you get. That’s one part of Crawford I’ve really missed.

  Crawford passes by fast, even though Tobin’s driving slow. His thumb taps the steering wheel to the local station quietly playing in the background. I glance around at the vinyl interior. There are too many memories in this truck.

  ***

  I lay cradled in Tobin’s arms as he leaned his back against the driver’s side door.

  “What do we do?” I asked still in shock. My heart pounded so hard. Dad had gotten his senate seat after another Louisiana Senator stepped down. Odd circumstances, but it didn’t make my dad any less proud to be there. He was winning the Senate race at the time anyway. All I could think about is how the senate seat he just got ran out in two years, and Dad would be back on the campaign trail rampage.

  “We’ll be okay, Delia.” Tobin’s voice didn’t have the certainty I wanted, but his hands didn’t stop touching me, trying to calm me down.

  I pulled his arms more tightly around my waist. “I can’t believe I’m moving.”

  “I know.” He kissed my head, but didn’t say more. Didn’t tell me how we were going to make it better. I started to panic, but breathed in the familiar smell of Tobin and the old truck and relaxed again.

  Tobin had never let me down before. I knew he’d take care of everything. I didn’t know that night was only the beginning of the mess that would tear us apart.

  ***

  Tobin sighs next to me, breaking the memory.

  “Sorry,” I whisper. “Been a while since I’ve been home.”

  “Is this home?” There’s almost a hard edge to his voice, but he might just be tired.

  Or he might hate me.

  I don’t know. I don’t know where home is. Right now I want home to be in this truck a year and a half ago, but is that just because I’m here? I wipe the tears from my eyes and re-cross my legs.

  Tobin’s eyes glance down, just briefly, and I can’t help but feel good that he still sees me. Notices me. Which, really, shouldn’t matter. I don’t need him to notice me. Shouldn’t want it.

  “This is still home.”

  “You’re staying at the house, right?” he asks.

  “Where else would we be?” His question doesn’t make sense.

  “Well, I figured I would have heard if you sold it, but since none of you have been back for so long…” he trails off, and all I can think is how I love his voice. Tobin’s always had the best kind of southern accent—the kind that makes everything sound smooth, sexy.

  “Busy. Dad’s always busy. Mom’s busy. I’m—”

  “Busy?” he tries to do a Tobin thing and pull up a brow, but there’s too much grief on his face for me to buy it.

  “Yeah.” Busy. I’m insane busy. Showing up at the right places at the right time and planning senior picnics and helping Mom with charity fundraisers, and appearances with Dad, well, and with Weston. His dad’s a long-time senator from Tennessee, so Weston has the routine down. I’m starting to have the routine down. All of the crap I’m involved in now wouldn’t matter to Tobin at all. He hated the very few political dinners I dragged him to.

  “Seeing anyone?” He stares at the road, and his hands tighten.

  I nearly answer, Weston. I’m seeing Weston. I love him. He loves me. We’re a good match. He was good to me when I was new. He knows the game with our parents, and helped me learn to play it. But I can’t say any of those things. Instead I open my mouth, not sure what should come out.

  “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head. “Never thought I’d be sharing this truck with you again, Delia.”

  For a second, I wonder if that means he’s shared the truck with some other girl since I left, but just hearing my name from his lips makes me swoon a little. I have got to get my head back together. I’m a mess. And it’s still so weird seeing Tobin not only dressed in a suit, but to see him without his brother. “Yeah.”

  He pulls into the parking lot of the diner and climbs out.

  Guess we’re going to do this in front of strangers. Whatever this is. At least he’s not yelling at me. I don’t think I could take that. I want to ask him about the times that he called me after I moved. The times that he didn’t say anything, just sat on the phone in silence. But I guess it doesn’t matter what he was calling for. Even though the caller ID showed the number as Private, I knew it was him. I could tell just by the sound of his breathing, which was familiar after all of the times we stayed on the phone in silence, not knowing what to say, but neither one of us willing to hang up, leading up to the day I left.

  The familiar smell of burgers and pie surrounds me as Tobin holds open the door. The large L-shaped diner looks the same. Same dark, cracked vinyl on the booths. Same stools at the long counter. This place reeks of my childhood. I remember coming here for lunch after church every Sunday. Now we have a chef to do all of our cooking for us. That is, on the nights when we’re actually home.

  “DEAL-YUH GIN-TREE!” Missy pulls me into a hug that shoves her enormous boobs in my face as she laughs and squeezes me a few times. “Lord, girl, I wasn’t sure if we’d EVER see you again!!”

  Right. We’re in Crawford. Thinking I’d get to talk to Tobin in front of strangers was a ridiculous thought.

  I pull back to see her bleach blonde hair high on her head, pen behind her ear, and gum smacking in her mouth—she couldn’t fit the stereotype of a half-manager/waitress if she tried. She even has the uniform—red with a white apron and collar.

  “Hey, Missy.” I push my hair back off my face, and it’s the first time that I’ve seen Tobin smile—at my expense no less. Missy is the beginning and end of most of the gossip that circulates through Crawford, and is always inappropriately affectionate.

  “And you.” Missy frowns, and Tobin stiffens.

  I’m sure she’s about to say something that’ll just make him feel awful. Or maybe just give the guy more sympathy than he’d want right now.

  “We’re starving.” I drag him to a table before Missy can go further, but once we’re there, I realize I’m holding Tobin’s arm. I’d wanted to touch him earlier, but now that I am, I remember I don’t get to touch Tobin anymore,
and probably shouldn’t want it.

  “Sorry.” I let go and step back, heart pounding, and still having no idea how I feel about being here, or if I should be.

  Missy’s greeting someone else who’s just come through the door.

  “You saved me from Missy’s bosoms, I should thank you.” And Tobin actually has to hold in a smile, but his eyes are still hollowed out.

  I don’t know if the overwhelming sadness is because of me, or because of Eamon, but I hate seeing him this way.

  My phone buzzes in what has to be the millionth text today. I pull it out as we sit. I start to type a response that’ll be vague enough to keep Mercedes off my back, but realize that I’m sitting across from a guy who just lost his brother. I’ll call Mercedes later. I’m here for a funeral. I’m sure that’ll push at least some of her holier than thou attitude away.

  “Sorry,” I say as I turn off my phone and set it in my purse.

  When was the last time I did that? Just turned it off? It feels good. Better than good.

  I rub my hands down the fabric of my dress, and wonder again how I thought it wouldn’t be too much. And my heels. Probably part of me forgot, and part of me wanted to show up back here and be looked at. Part of me wanted to look beautiful for Tobin. Like he’d care about something like that right now. Now I just feel a bit stupid, selfish, and petty.

  Tobin doesn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. He’s in another world right now. One I really shouldn’t want to be a part of, but that I feel like he needs rescuing from. I don’t know what I expected would happen when I saw Tobin again. Nerves hit me as soon as I left D.C., but I was more worried we’d yell at each other. I didn’t expect this…confusion.

  Five

  Tobin

  I weigh the salt and pepper shakers in each hand nervously. Girls never made me and Eamon nervous. Making girls sweat was our job. Delia was a completely different story. I don’t know what the point of me asking her here was. We don’t have anything left to say. There’s nothing left between us but a bunch of scars. Whatever used to be is long over. Buried. Like my brother will soon be.

  “Just coffee,” I say to Missy. She can’t stop staring at Delia and me—grinning like a giddy fool.

  “Same.” Delia smiles politely. Polished. Perfect.

  “So…” I let my voice trail off, unable to come up with anything to complete the sentence. Missy sets the two stained coffee mugs down and pauses again to smile before leaving us to our awkwardness.

  “Look, I’m sorry I showed up without calling,” she says.

  I toss two packets of sugar toward her, because I know things like that—how many sugars Delia Gentry takes in her coffee. Useless information.

  “I was afraid if I did, you’d tell me not to come,” she says.

  I exhale loudly.

  “So why are you here? I thought you were never coming back to this hell-hole.”

  Her head jerks against the back of the booth in surprise.

  “Geez, Tobin. I loved Eamon, too.” She blinks several times like she does when she is trying to keep the tears from forming and her cheeks redden. She goes back to blowing on the steaming liquid, looking wounded.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” I say.

  We sit in silence for too long for it to be comfortable. It was stupid to ask her to come with me. Eamon would definitely kick my ass for sitting here right now. I stir my coffee, though it’s black and has nothing to mix in, and Delia folds her napkin into pyramids and fans and whatever other fancy shapes she can come up with.

  “Is that your best party trick out there in the big city?” I ask with an attempt at a coy smile. Something has to change this awkward mood between us.

  “Hardly!” She laughs. “You know my best trick was always…Never mind,” she says. The rosy color returns to her cheeks, she has to be thinking what I am—of those nights out at the cabin, just the two of us. Yeah, I know.

  “Do you remember the first time I met you and Eamon?” Delia asks. She’s trying to change the subject.

  “He made such a fool out of himself that day, huh?”

  She laughs. “True story. Complete and total ass.” I love when she accidentally lets her southern twang slip into the conversation. When she isn’t trying so hard to be nothing more than a perfect senator’s daughter.

  I sit back in the booth, a little more comfortable now, and allow myself to really look at her. I search her face for the girl at the boat launch that Eamon and I met that summer afternoon. It feels like a lifetime ago.

  ***

  “You’d better slow down,” I told Eamon. He looked over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot as the waves lapped up over his jet ski.

  “Stop being such a pussy and keep up,” he yelled back.

  It wasn’t that I was afraid, but we’d been drinking and Eamon was sure as shit not paying attention well enough to be going that fast.

  I spotted them on the dock at what must have been the same moment that Eamon did, because he took off even faster, pushing the jet ski to its limits. I kept up the best that I could. I was the one with the ice chest full of beer that was tied to the back of jet ski, bobbing behind me. Two girls. Two fucking gorgeous girls. Say what you will about the South, but I think we have the market cornered on beautiful women.

  Eamon continued full speed toward them. I watched the looks on their faces change. They must’ve been wondering if he was going to stop. He would. This was typical Eamon. He was most likely just going to wait until the very last second. When I got in close enough to see that one of the girls was Delia, I slowed almost to a stop. Watching her. Her eyes wide with what should have been terror at the sight of Eamon barreling toward her and her friend on the dock. Instead, there was a hint of something behind them. Something that looked like it was begging for excitement. Daring him to keep coming. And he did.

  He tried to veer away at the last second, but misjudged how close he was to the dock. The jet ski hit the edge of the wooden platform at a such a high speed that Eamon went airborne before landing on the wooden planks. When I got to him, I saw that his leg was full of splinters and cuts.

  The son of a bitch just laughed, even though Delia’s friend was screaming that Eamon had broken her dock.

  Even with the feisty look in her eyes, I expected Delia to freak from the blood. Instead, she kneeled beside him and pulled off the tissue paper thin tank top she wore over her bikini top. She used the shirt to dab the blood that was slowly dripping from his cuts.

  “Am I going to live?” he joked.

  “You’re lucky I’m not going to have to pull splinters out of your ass. What the hell was that stunt?” Delia asked him.

  “I’m so sorry. We’ll fix the dock,” I said before Eamon could answer, though I wanted to laugh at her serious tone with Eamon. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. The sun kissed shoulders dotted with tiny freckles. Her eyes were a shade of gray I’d never seen before.

  And Jesus Christ that tiny top that left just enough to the imagination and had me wanting to take her right there, that instant. I had seen girls wearing much less, but this girl was something else.

  She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.” Her friend started to protest but the narrowing of Delia’s eyes told her to let it go.

  “Are you going to be okay to walk? My car isn’t far,” Delia said. “We really need to get this cleaned up. You should get it checked out at the hospital.”

  “Bull shit,” Eamon said. “I’m going to pass on the hospital, but why don’t you lovely ladies let us take you out for a drink?”

  “I don’t think so,” Delia’s friend said. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest in annoyance, which only meant Eamon was going to push even harder to get her to go out with us. The bigger the challenge, the more he’d want her.

  Delia and I had locked eyes minutes ago and she hadn’t released me yet.

  “Yeah, we’d better not,” she finally said.

  I felt myself deflate. I di
dn’t know what else to say, so I decided I’d better just help Eamon up and get us out of there. When I reached down to offer him my hand, she was so close that I could feel the heat radiating off of her sun drenched skin. I would’ve given my left arm to touch her right then.

  “Look, we’ll get this fixed up tomorrow,” I said. She leaned in. I held my breath.