Gravel Road by Walls Stephie

Author:Walls, Stephie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

The front door creaked behind me, and the stilted sound of footsteps approached. I swiped at my cheeks to remove the visible signs of my distress. Before I turned around, I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders.

My sister waited at the top of the steps. “Wanna come inside?”

I didn’t. Hiding sounded like a much better option. Or packing. That would be an excellent precursor to a flight back to New York. It had been stupid to come here and even more foolish to believe I could escape without harm.

Sarah waved her hand to encourage me to take the first step. Somehow, it seemed more significant than simply dodging my embarrassment. The men behind me had dispersed, yet the trail into the house still felt like a walk of shame. If this was anything like the talks Sarah and I’d had in the past, or better yet, lectures, I couldn’t handle that on the backside of Austin humiliating me.

When I reached the top of the steps, I pleaded with Sarah. “Please don’t make this any worse than it already is.”

She smiled, and it reminded me of my mom. The way I remembered her when she still loved us. It was gentle and kind. And most importantly, it reached her eyes. When I was in high school, I’d always sensed anger or resentment. Sarah hadn’t wanted the role she’d been dumped into any more than I wanted her to be in it. Yes, she could have handled it with a bit more finesse…so could I. A piece of the wall I’d erected when I left Mason Belle crumbled with that admission.

“Come on. I’ll get you some tea, and we can talk.”

I accepted her peace offering and followed her into the kitchen. It seemed as good a place as any to chat about whatever Sarah had on her mind. The stools had been replaced since I’d left. I couldn’t say that I was a fan of the new ones. Saddles were made for horses, not sitting at a bar.

“Lemon?”

I stopped appraising the seat and stared at my sister. “Huh?”

She set a pitcher on the island, along with two glasses filled with ice. “Would you like lemon for your tea?”

“Sure.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sweet tea. I quit asking for it shortly after I got to New York. A packet of sugar and a glass of cold tea did not equate to what I was accustomed to. I tried to explain to a waitress that it needed to be mixed before adding ice. She didn’t care, or she didn’t understand. Either way, I had quit drinking it.

Sarah went to the fridge, and a wave of nostalgia hit me. With age, she’d become more and more like Mama. Her grin, her mannerisms, the way she played hostess even when she wasn’t supposed to. “Are you hungry? I can whip up something for you.”

I wasn’t. “No. I feel like puking.” The scene in front of the house didn’t just knock the wind out of my sails; it ripped them from the masts and sent them flying out to sea.

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