The Construction of Cheer - Liz Isaacson Page 0,66
when he brought his boyfriend into our house.”
Bishop gasped, his whole body tightening and tensing next to hers. A moment later, he released it all. “I’m so sorry, Montana.”
“He didn’t fight me on full custody. He doesn’t talk to either me or Aurora. I know it hurts her, and I don’t know how to heal it.”
“You don’t have to heal it.”
“I think I might hate him,” Montana said. “I’m not supposed to hate people, right?”
Bishop didn’t answer, and Montana regretted telling him that she might hate Johnny. But she did. So many times, when she really thought about how she felt about what her ex-husband had done, it came down to hatred.
“I can’t answer that, sweetheart. People inflict wounds on us that take a long time to heal.”
“It feels like it will never go away,” Montana said, everything open now and about to gush out. “I don’t like my sisters. I don’t ever want to see them again. I came here, and I fit here with my aunt and uncle, and it’s always been enough. Then all this stuff happened with Micah, and I just feel like I’m not meant to ever have more than what I do now. It doesn’t feel fair. I work hard—I have worked so hard. I have more training than Micah Stupid Walker. I should be the one designing and building million-dollar houses in Three Rivers. Not him.”
“I know.” Bishop rubbed those circles on her back, but they didn’t comfort her the way they had a few minutes ago.
“And now my daughter’s dating a Walker? And I was doing so good with you, and I like you so much, and now you know all these horrible things about me, and—” She cut herself off and shook her head.
She had to leave. Now.
She stepped out of his arms. “I’m sorry, Bishop.” She wiped her face and pressed her palms against her eyes. Horror filled her at all she’d said. “I have to go.” She strode away from him, her breaths coming in great gasps now.
“Montana, you don’t have to go.”
But she did. She ran the last few steps to the barn door and slid it open easily, using those muscles she had. She didn’t bother closing it, which only allowed Bishop to catch up to her faster.
“Please don’t go,” he said, latching onto her arm as she reached his truck. “I’ll drive you to the cemetery right now.”
She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t speak. The strength of his fingers around her arm meant she couldn’t leave either.
“Montana,” he said.
“I can’t,” she said.
“You can.” He gently put his hand on the side of her face and guided her attention to him. “I do not think badly of you for how you feel. Not even a little bit.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said since she’d said everything else she’d been hiding.
Bishop blinked, as if no one had ever spoken to him like that before. “You’ll have to work on that too, then. It’s not your fault the things that have happened to you.” He wore a fierce look in his eyes. “Come on. Let’s go to the cemetery.”
Montana wanted to tell him no, but she didn’t have the energy. She let him lead her around to the passenger side of the truck and help her up. He got behind the wheel and drove to the cemetery. She let him lead her to where his father and his uncle lay side-by-side, with several other graves in the small family cemetery.
He held her hand in his and told a story about his father and how he’d once ran his hand through the table saw.
“I was only fourteen,” Bishop said. “I had no idea what to do. There was blood everywhere, and just me and him in the shop. I panicked, like panicked, and all I remember was rushing over to my dad with the only towel I could find, praying out loud the whole time.”
Montana just listened, her emotions almost numb again. She preferred the numbness, actually, though she knew that was why she hadn’t been able to let go of any of the negative things she’d been carrying for so long.
“My dad looked me in the eye, and said, ‘Son, keep prayin’, but get my fingers, and go get Mother.’” Bishop gave an unhappy chuckle. “He said, ‘You’re going to have to run as fast as you can. Get them on ice, and come get me. Have someone call the hospital. You can do this.’”