My mother would have yelled and lost her shit at a comment like that. But Nonna just sighed as if she couldn’t do anything with me and shook her head. “Always so blunt and to the point,” she muttered.
Yes, I was. And for the most part I was honest. Except when I had to lie about kissing Brady Higgens.
She waggled her finger at me. “I don’t think you’re a bad influence. You’ve just got healing to do over something that boy ain’t ever seen the likes of. He ain’t the kind that’ll ever understand.”
Although she was pointing her finger at me like I was a scolded child, her words helped. To know she didn’t think I was too terrible to be around Brady the golden boy. It was for reasons that concerned me. Not him. She was worried about me.
My chest eased, and my frustration faded away.
“I know. He’s a nice guy, but my demons are too dark for him.”
Nonna looked sad. I wished I hadn’t said that now. What I was thinking didn’t always come out right.
She walked over to me and took my plate and mug from my hands, then placed them on the small linoleum table with the yellow chair straight out of the sixties that was the centerpiece of the dine-in kitchen. Then she turned back to me and pulled me into a tight hug.
“I love you, my Willa. You made mistakes and suffered greatly for them. I’ll be here to help you heal. You’re never alone.”
Words a child expects from their mother. Words my mother would never utter to me as long as she lived. Words that reassured me that I was loved. My nonna was my safe place. She always had been.
“Thank you,” I whispered into her shoulder, biting back the tears. I didn’t need to cry anymore. I’d done enough of that.
“Why don’t you share that snack with me. Then I’ll fix us up a bowl of chicken and dumplings just the way you like them.”
When I was a kid and things got tough or I was upset over something, Nonna always made me chicken and dumplings with more dumplings than chicken for a comfort meal. Thinking about having that meal now made me feel as if it would all be okay. Because back then it always was. But back then I hadn’t suffered tragedy.
I didn’t think chicken and dumplings could heal that.
“That sounds good,” I told her instead of the truth.
She patted my back with reassurance. “Your momma don’t know how to love the right way. Not sure why, because Lord knows I loved her and so did her daddy. But something in her never clicked right. She always put herself before all others. And I’m sorry about that, Willa girl. I’m really sorry about that.”
Hearing her tell me what I already knew helped. It reassured me that it wasn’t me that was unlovable, but it was my mother who just couldn’t love me. I nodded, and she kissed my temple before pulling back and looking me in the eyes. “You’re a special girl. One that makes me proud. Don’t let life take that from you. Fight for it and prevail.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by all that, but it sounded hopeful. It sounded like she believed in me. I needed someone to. “I will, Nonna,” I promised her.
Later that evening as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling I realized a part of me was looking forward to going to school tomorrow. But when I tried to decipher what it was I liked most about school, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
The idea of seeing Gunner in the morning and our ride to school or facing Brady again and listening to him say things to me he shouldn’t. Both were pathetic, and I needed to stop pretending that there could be something like that for me.
Brady and his smiles that had made my heart go silly when I was a kid still caught me somewhere in the chest. He was so good and dependable. You could trust him and know he wouldn’t let you down. He also had a girlfriend he wasn’t actually claiming, so that was a strike against him. I wasn’t sure if what I felt in that kiss was the little girl with the crush bleeding through or something more.
Gunner was different. He frustrated me and calmed me all at once. I didn’t question his motives; I understood them. He didn’t go out of his way to be kind to everyone, but he also wasn’t leading any girls on. He was brutally honest. When I was with him, I got comfort I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Part of me actually needed him.
I’d had a chance at being a normal teen, and I’d ruined that. Demolished was a better word. My choices were the things nightmares were made of.
Closing my eyes, I thought of the days after that night and the times I had tried to wake myself from the living horror I wanted to be only a nightmare. If I could just wake up and Quinn and Poppy would still be alive.
If only second chances were real. They weren’t. They never would be. Not for me and not for Poppy.
My cell phone was tucked away in the antique maple dresser that sat directly across from my bed. It was there. I knew it was there. I just couldn’t touch it or turn it on. My mother might have had the service turned off by now. I wasn’t sure. I just knew I wouldn’t use it again.
That small, flat smartphone held the memory of the last phone call I had accepted. A call from Poppy’s mother. I never turned it back on again. I couldn’t face the text messages or anyone else trying to call and find out details while attempting to act as if it was sympathy. That was the worst of it all. The nosy way people fished for the specifics.
Then there were the memories of the Snapchats and texts that I’d done daily with Poppy. There was too much on that phone that I couldn’t see. I wondered if I’d always be this raw. Did a heart heal from something like this?