Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
I turn to her, and for the first time in months, no—years—I am thoroughly and royally pissed off. “I’m going on a flight back home in five hours, and I expect you to join me. You have an annual contract with Calypso Hall. I don’t give a shit about your mental state, just like no one gives a shit about mine. Contracts are meant to be honored.”
“Or what?” Her face hardens. Sweet Winnie Ashcroft is sweet no more. Maybe she was never that bundle of innocence and oatmeal cookies people pegged her to be. Or maybe she is simply growing up right in front of me, and she will no longer be pushed around by anyone. Paul. The world. Me.
“Or . . .” I lean forward, a mild smirk tugging on my lips. “I’ll sue you, and you’ll have to come back, anyway.”
A second ago, I didn’t think it was possible for me to hate myself more than I already do. But I was gravely mistaken. Because the look on Winnifred’s face makes me want to vomit my inner organs and then feast on them. For the first time, disappointing someone means something to me.
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Then opens it again.
“You mean to tell me that after everything we’ve been through together, you’re going to sue me because I skipped town and your theater has to make do with a temporary actress, for a role that had over two thousand women auditioning for it?”
“Yes.”
“This is how little everything that’s happened to me, to you, means to you?” She searches my eyes. She is not going to find anything there. I perfected the art of not showing any emotions decades ago.
“Oh, gosh.” She steps back, shaking her head on a dark chuckle. “You really don’t care, do you?”
I say nothing. How am I the bad guy here?
She is the one who left without even saying goodbye.
She is the one who quit on her role.
“You’ve given up,” I reply mildly. “What was the point of this entire journey? Of us meeting? Finding out the truth? If you refuse to stay and fight for what you came to New York for? You just ran back to your mommy and daddy. To rainbows and pies. To the place you know damn well is too small for you, too uninspiring for you, too wrong for you.”
“Our needs change as we get older.” She throws her arms in the air. “It’s okay to settle for comfort!”
“It is terrible to settle for anything,” I grit out. “Comfort is the last thing an ambitious, talented twentysomething woman should be feeling. You shouldn’t even be within a hundred-mile radius of comfort.”
She stares at me with bone-deep frustration.
“I’m not coming back,” she says, finally.
“Of course you are. You’ll finish your post; then you’ll leave. Don’t worry, I’ll be happy to pay for your ticket back to Shitsville.” I glance around, scowling.
She presses her lips together, closing her eyes. “Maybe you’ll never understand, and that’s okay. Every person’s journey is different. But I should’ve done this months ago. Come here, sort out my thoughts, make sense of everything that’s happened to me. I’m sorry I ignored my responsibility. I know it isn’t fair to Lucas, the cast, and you. I wish I could turn back time and not take the role.”
I cannot believe I’m feeling disappointed. I never feel anything about other humans’ actions. Putting your faith in someone else goes against everything I taught myself over the years. I want to scream in her face. To tell her it isn’t fair.
She sighs, looking down at her slippers, which are now covered in dust. “A big part of why I took it was to get closer to you, anyway. But I can’t go back. Not now. Maybe not ever. This is my time to put me first. No matter the price.”
And so, on the side of the country road, and for the first time in my entire life, a girl ditches me.
She turns around and walks away, leaving me in a cloud of yellow dust.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WINNIE
The next morning I go to the local OB-GYN and get lots of tests done. Ma and Georgie are there to hold my hand. They are also there afterward to drag me to Cottontown for brunch and some retail therapy to keep my mind off the results, which should arrive in the next four weeks.
It’s when we browse through dresses that Georgie parts a rack full of garments between us like it’s a confession-booth window, staring at me wide eyed. “I need to tell you something.”
“I know you were the one who stole and destroyed my favorite dress Memaw made for me senior year,” I say tonelessly, tugging on a price tag of a cute yellow sundress.
Georgie shakes her head. “Oh, Winnie, I’m denying destroying that dress until my last breath. It’s not about that. I need to tell you something I never had the guts to. Ma knows. Lizzy does too.”