Page 105 of Good Directions

Leaving Hickory Hills as fast as I did—and in the state I was in—was not my finest moment. Actually, nothing about how I handled that situation was particularly becoming. I can’t be sure, since it’s a bit of blur, but I’m pretty sure in my mess of tears and anger I said some things to Miss Belle about her son that were not very kind. Anton deserved every one of them—and more. But no mother needs to be on the receiving end of outbursts where their child is referred to as a heartless jackass.

The choice to come home to Hurricane Shoals, though, rather than back to Atlanta, was more surprising. Then again, it wasn’t so much a choice as I was past the point of no return when I realized where I was heading. Crisis-mode autopilot had me driving toward the comforts of home, I guess.

I pick up my Coke, taking a long sip. “I dunno.”

Eliza stops what she’s doing, turning to me, hands planted on the bar. “Want to talk about it?”

No.

I haven’t wanted to talk about it since I got here. What makes her think this is suddenly going to be the moment I want to spill?

To be fair, Eliza is the only one who even knows the real reason I’m here. Everyone else in town, my parents included, thinks that I made a surprise visit to “burn some PTO and relax before my big interview.” A damn good excuse if I do say so myself.

Not that my parents have been around much. They managed to squeeze me in for lunch the other day, in between tours, and actually did sound interested in hearing about my potential promotion. A pleasant change from the last time I visited. Still a far cry from Auggie and Miss Belle though.

“That’s it.” Eliza slams her open palm down on the bar, the loud noise barely registering over the noise from the crowd. She twists just enough to holler over her shoulder, her face contorted into an expression that means business. “Jack, watch the bar. Sawyer and I are going for a walk.”

“What? No, we’re not.”

She rounds the bar in no time flat, grabbing my elbow and hauling me off the stool. “Oh, yes, we are.”

Thick, sticky summer air hits straight in the face as Eliza shoves me out a side door, the temperature spike from the nice, air-conditioned bar to the alley a shock to the system, despite the sea breeze. I stumble, my legs unsteady underneath me, feeling like a drunk being kicked out rather than the completely sober hot mess that I am.

“Alright, Sawyer Brown.” The door slams behind her, the harsh noise punctuating the statement that it’s just the two of us now. “You are my best friend, the sister I never had, and I love you more than anything. But you show up, unannounced, and all you’ll say is ‘Anton Hayes isn’t what I thought’ and here we are, a week later and that’s still all I got. So, out with it. Or I’m going back in there, firing up the karaoke machine early, and making you sing that song you hate.”

Some Girls Do…

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes and I slam them shut, trying to hold them in. I do hate that song. Except when Anton sings it. No, especially when he does. The thought of him humming that tune makes my stomach churn, my anger firing up all over again.

“We should walk to Licks and grab some ice cream. It’s a long story.”

Eliza nods, looping her arm in mine and leading the way. I launch into the story before we round the corner, starting right from the beginning with the fruit stand and pulling over looking for directions. Some of it is a repeat—it’s not like we haven’t talked all summer—but I add in plenty of details I’ve left out via our texts, and toss in some additional background that’s helpful for understanding the whole picture. She listens, although she also doesn’t hold back with her own commentary and jokes about the irony of how we met and what I would later ask of Anton. Looking back as I tell her the whole tale from beginning to end, had I realized that those wouldn’t be the first set of directions that Anton was going to give me, and that his help in facing my anxiety over sex would lead us here, I would have kept driving.

“Know what the worst part of this is?” I ask sarcastically as we finish up our ice cream. “I didn’t get my letter of recommendation.”

Eliza stops dead in her tracks, the sidewalk reasonably empty for the middle of a Saturday, but still busy enough that she clogs traffic.

“That’s the worst part? That’s the worst part? You’re standing here half heartbroken and the worst part of all this is the lack of a letter of recommendation?”

“That letter would go a long way in helping me land this job. A deal is a deal. He promised.”

“Even though you’re not about to uphold your end of the deal either,” she points out.

Touché.

I purse my lips, stepping out of the way of a stroller, letting them pass as I digest the accusation. Because she’s right; I’m not. I’m not in Hickory Hills getting all dolled up for a wedding tonight. Instead, I’m standing on a sidewalk in a small beach town, my hands sticky from the remnants of an ice cream cone.

“Not the point.”

“I know,” she says, looping her arms through mine again. “And you know what I think? I think you don’t need that letter. You’re a badass all on your own and you’re going to show them that on Thursday.”

Damn, I hope she’s right.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I reach for it, checking to make sure that it’s not something important. I’m halfway to dismissing the notification of an email from my boss—it’s Saturday for crying out loud—when I see the subject line. Sawyer Brown Letter of Recommendation

My heart stops. I know these damn devices listen to us even if they claim they don’t, but that’s a little weird. Is the universe fucking with me?

I click on the email, holding my breath.