Late to the Party ✔

9. An oasis in the rearview

Jean had had to eat her words before. She'd sworn her friends this trip would be good for her. Life-altering. The final chapter of a book that should've long been finished.

They'd all been skeptical, and she'd dismissed them with a smile and a shrug.

"What if you see her?" Michelle had asked the night before her departure. She was hanging over the bar, leather jacket creaking with every movement, her date behind her on the dance floor.

She'd busied herself drying glasses that were already dryer than a truck drive through the desert and wished, for the first time ever, she hadn't stayed in contact with her exes. "I'm not gonna," she'd said. "She won't be there anymore."

Michelle had arched her eyebrow, her big hoop earrings dangling from side to side, catching the light reflected in one of the mirrors on the wall. "Yeah, but what if she is?"

She hadn't understood their concerns. She'd seen them grouped together, hunched over, discussing something in low tones, Nina throwing glances her way every two seconds. "Then I'll say 'hello,' put it behind me, and move on," she'd answered. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

Michelle hadn't looked too convinced.

Not even a week later, her friends were proven right. She ran home, once again wearing Mary Tucker's shoes, and kicked them off in the kitchen, stumbling towards the phone. Nina was the one to pick up. "She's here," she said, breathing unevenly, surrendering to the kitchen floor.

"Oh, honey," Nina said, and she could vaguely hear the murmurs of the others in the background, probably preparing for Thursday night's party. She missed them, then, more than she'd expected.

"You were all right, though," she admitted, dropping her head back against the wall. "She's not what she used to be. Into the Lord and all. Last thing I need in my life."

"Just come on home, then. Leave all that mess for someone else."

And she had considered it. Maybe it was time to give up on this house full of garbage and decay, say goodbye to her memories, and go back to where she belonged, sunny beaches and glamorous girls and no one stuffing dog shit through the mailbox.

She touched the bandage around her foot, neatly wrapped up, and tried to ignore how her stomach swooped at the memory of Mary's fingers handling her with such tender care.

Year after year, she'd squeeze her eyes shut and reach into the back of her mind, fumbling for details about the first girl she'd ever loved, the only one she'd managed to be captivated by for nearly a full decade.

Now she remembered. Stormy blue eyes, always a little surprised. Such soft hands, beachy blond waves, a shy smile that burned brighter than the plane they'd once seen careening from the sky.

With Mary, who'd read her stories from Little House on the Prairie, all squished together in her bed, far away from her thundering father, she'd felt safe.

She blamed that lingering feeling of safety for how things had played out today. Jean didn't fall easily, never had, but she'd taken one look at that beautiful face and that ridiculously proper dress, and swooned.

It'd been so easy to ignore the wedding ring, the mention of kids, the miniature crucifix hanging from her necklace. Mary still felt like the girl who'd rescue a litter of kittens with her, who'd defend her for everything even if she was the one in the wrong, who'd start singing out of nowhere, doing her funny dances without a care in the world.

Mary, however, had also needed something to obsess over, and it seemed that nowadays, that thing was Jesus.

After the camp, Jean liked to stay as far away from Jesus as possible.