This Much is True - Tia Louise Page 0,48

back. “Tonight?”

“I’ve got unfinished business, and if I don’t get back—”

“So that’s it? You’re leaving me here?”

I can’t tell if she’s angry or hurt. Or both. And I hate it.

“Hope…” My chest tightens. “We knew from the start it would end this way.”

“End?” She blinks fast, and the mist in her eyes guts me.

Reaching forward, I pull her to my chest. Her body is tense like she’s fighting me. Still, I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight to my heart.

“If I could change things…” My voice is rough.

We don’t speak, and gradually she starts to relax. Her hands are on my waist, her cheek against my chest. I want to kiss her…

Releasing her, I step back, sliding a hand in my pocket. “Your dreams don’t deserve to wait on me and my shit.”

Her head is bowed, but she squints up at me. “This year has taught me I can wait on a lot of things.”

This girl. “Hope Eternal… You’re always so positive. So wise. How do you do it?”

Shaking her head, she blinks away from me. “I have a dream. I just hold onto it.”

“What is it?”

She looks across the top of the car at the blue sky. “It’s doing what I love. It’s being with someone who loves me as much as I love him.”

Her words resonate in my soul. The truth of what she and I have shared is undeniable, but is it possible?

Stepping forward I grasp her waist, drawing her to me. I can’t resist her. I lower my mouth to hers, parting her lips.

Her arms wrap around my neck as our tongues slide together, and her body presses against mine. It’s magnetism and chemistry and friction. It’s all the elements coming together. It’s completion.

I kiss her cheek. I trace my lips to her eyebrow, inhaling one last time at the top of her head. I’ll never forget her scent.

Lifting my chin, I focus on the blue sky above, the only thing we have for sure. “Goodbye, Hope.”

“Goodbye?”

Taking her hand, I look into her eyes. “I said I’d never lie to you. I can’t make a promise I can’t keep. I don’t know what’s coming next, but if there’s any chance—”

She steps forward, placing her fingers lightly to my lips. “I’ll wait for that chance.”

Jr

I park GA’s ancient Chevy pickup outside my father’s grand estate. It’s a beat-up old orange step side, but my grandmother says a truck is the most useful vehicle on the road. When I suggest she could at least upgrade to a more recent model, she accuses me of ageism.

“I know all this ole boy’s quirks. I’m too old to start over with a younger model.”

Who am I to argue with her?

It’s a conversation that soothes the gaping hole in my chest. Hope refused taking money from me. She said her phone had Apple pay, whatever that means. She’ll find the envelope of cash I tucked inside her teddy bear coat.

She climbed in that Impala and drove away, and I felt like a chain had been hooked to my heart, my lungs, my stomach. All three were ripped out, dragging along the road behind her like beat up old tin cans.

Now I’m standing on the front porch, waiting to confront my dad. Three days ago, this moment was the only thing on my mind. She’s right… this year has taught us a lot.

The door opens, and Becky crosses her arms as she surveys me. “So you’re back.”

It’s not a question. She’s dressed in mom jeans and a green sweater. Her straight, white-blonde hair is smoothed into a high ponytail, and even though it’s a young look, that severity in her eyes makes her look so cold. I can’t help wondering… Did I ever love her? I loved Jesse from the moment I saw him, purple and red and screaming his head off.

But her?

“I’m here to see my father.” My voice is flat.

“He’s not seeing people right now. He’s working on the books.”

“He’ll see me.” I’ve lost too much getting to this point to walk away.

Her hip cocks to the side, and her eyebrow arches. “He said he didn’t want to be disturbed.”

Consequences be damned, I push past her into the foyer. We grew up in this house, but it was never decorated like this. It looks like something out of one of those British movies. The ones with those old ladies in frilly dresses with pinched up faces squawking about tea time.

“Dad?” I shout, looking up the polished-oak staircase. “Dad?”

“Stop shouting,