Meant To Be

Chapter fourteen

Ronnie found a running route into Bell Buckle that fell short of three miles and with little potential for a wrong turn. Locking her phone, she put it into the zip pocket of her shorts and took up a slow jog that seemed too fast coupled with the heat. Within seconds, her skin was layered with sweat as the Google Maps woman made herself known. She told Ronnie to take a right at the end of her lane as she ran over random tuffs of grass that marked the middle, giving it the tint of an Irish back road.

On the verge of Bell Buckle, the traffic picked up. Drivers and passengers gawked at Ronnie as they drove by, recognising a stranger. She felt like she stepped back into a 1950's western film, revamped with a bit of colour and some slight modernisation. Bell Buckle was like a charming antique. A part of America nestled away in Tennessee aging at its own accord. There were no big buildings or bullying crowds pacing the sidewalks. But there was character and contentment, and time too, seemingly plenty of it. No one appeared to be in a rush to anywhere.

Stalls selling flowers, and fruit and veg dressed the main street. Ronnie stopped and bought a banana. The man asked her where she was from. Ronnie said Ireland. He said his name was Denzel like the actor, his smile taking over his face. Ronnie thought it was beautiful, filled with lifelines that had no definite starting point. She humoured him about how the heat was choking her. Denzel's advice was to stop running and before she got away from him, he added that the bar down the street did good cold Guinness with a wink that was full of craic.

Ronnie went into the neighbouring store and bought a bottle of water and roll-on deodorant. Wandering further, she visited an old antique shop with perfumed smells, lavender the most prolific. It reminded her of Lucy's smelly stuff that sat on top of the utility room toilet. She passed a bar called Beer Barrel with cool frosty windows assuming it was the one Denzel had mentioned and found the dance hall at the far end of the town. It looked like a big white chicken coop with hexagon shaped wire placed over the windows and Christmas lights hanging from the flat roof. Beside it, a hardware shop. Ronnie went inside and found the isle with outdoor paint. She scanned the list of tins on the shelves, every colour of browns and greys until she came to the whites located at the far end. She read the fine print, trying to figure out which one would be the most hardwearing and considered a light shade of pink for something different – quirky. But despite its freshness, it didn't fit the image concreted in Ronnie's mind. She picked two tins of brilliant white paint taking one in each hand and walked up to the counter.

"Two secs," said Ronnie. She darted down to the back of the shop again, grabbing two paint brushes with dark wooden handles and returned to the till. "These two please."

The teenager with plaits dangling over her shoulders and braces smiled. The till bleeped. Ronnie handed over her credit card and said thank you on getting the receipt, thankful that she didn't have to uphold another conversation about where she was from.

*

Zac took the mug of tea from Casey. A slim candle in a light green cup sat in the centre of the stretched-out kitchen table, looking odd and unneeded. Zac glanced up at the space behind Casey where Jesus used to hang in his red robes. He still hadn't got use to the brightness of the place. Every wall painted a meaningless, modern white.

Casey ripped a rag nail that had been bugging her for days off tight at the corner. A blob of blood blistered. She rubbed her finger on the hem of her t-shirt. It stained a darker grey, her finger throbbing, grounding her in the room. "Where did you tell Helen you were?"

"Counselling."

Casey glanced down at her finger. The blood was beginning to clot, thick and solid. "So you haven't told her that you're coming here instead?"

"This is my counselling."

Every bone in Casey's body tightened, making it feel like she didn't have enough skin. "Does Jacob know?"

Zac said no and took a sip of tea. Casey copied needing something to be at. She zoomed in on the radio blithering in the background, a song she didn't recognise.

"How did things go at the hospital?"

"Stiches are out."

"Yeah, I see that," Casey said, reviewing the light scar that ran up across his forehead. His skin no longer a colourful abstract. "It healed pretty well." Zac's eyes darkened. Casey shifted in her seat noting it as the wrong thing to say. Why, she wasn't sure. "And how was today?"

"It didn't start very well. Didn't sleep a wink last night."

Casey nodded like a counsellor might have done in her situation, as if she could make sense of that. "Are you tired now?"

"Wide awake."

"Do you think maybe it's drinking tea so late that's keeping you awake?"

Zac's snarl bled with cruelty. "Somehow, I don't think tea is the problem Casey."

Casey said she needed the toilet like she was in a stranger's home. In the bathroom, the futtery latch wouldn't lock. She took a swing at the door but stopped before her hand hit the wood, conscious Zac would hear. She folded her arms and laid them on the door, her forehead resting on top. Closing her eyes, Casey stood quiet, counting to thirteen. She flushed the toilet and washed her hands, drying them with precision. She folded the towel and threaded it over the rail, making it even on each side. Standing with her hand on the knob, she waited like something would come.

"I used to think about it all the time. After you left," said Zac as Casey walked back into the kitchen.

"Think about what?" Casey worked hard to maintain her plain exterior. It gave her something to focus on as she waited on his mouth to move again.

"About how much I must have hurt you."

And then it slipped away from her like the thread of a balloon through a child's hand. So easy, almost graceful. Casey wished to be taken away. She thought of San Diego often. The flight ticket useless in her inbox. It always came to the fore before Zac arrived. When he was here. "We hurt each other Zac." Casey sat down and lifted the teapot, refilling her cup.

"Why are you doing all this for?"

"Zac it doesn't-"

"I need to know."

Casey heard the gush of the river. The earth squidging as she jumped down. Belittling an almost fall with laughter. It made her arrogant. Zac watching from the tree didn't help either. Setting the teapot down, she tied her fingers together, hiding them in her lap. "Do you remember that time you saved me from drowning?"

"So what, you think you owe me or something?"

"Course not." Casey tutted, but hearing her raw throwaway return, her expression softened. "You didn't so much as hesitate even though you hated being in deep water. You didn't even like swimming."

"We were friends back then."

"And there was me thinking we were still friends now."

Zac pushed into the back of the chair. A boiling canal forked into Casey's bloodstream. She blamed it on her period.

"Why did you make me chose for?" asked Zac.

Casey's shoulders lifted, her teeth digging into her lower lip. "Because I didn't think you would." She tried to make light of it, bearing a smile, but it was too unstable, so she deleted it. "After you ditched me for prom, I just wanted to teach..." Casey changed the shape of her lips. "I wanted to teach you a lesson."

Zac stared at her, as if reviewing her answer, scoring it out of ten. "Can I've more tea."