Conviction Page 13

  “Anyway,” she said, “I don’t actually much feel like talking right now. So, I’m sorry if you feel like you made a trip out here for no reason. If you want to come back some other time, you can, but don’t feel like you have to.”

  “I really don’t mind,” I said. “Have you seen Jackson?”

  “Not lately. I’ll probably be taking a trip up there in the next couple weeks. Maybe you should come with me.”

  “I don’t know if I want to go back there.”

  “Can’t say I blame you.”

  I stayed and sat with Paula for a while longer, most of our time spent not even talking. I didn’t mind it though, I really didn’t. When I got up to leave, she smiled, and I could tell that she felt better that I’d stopped by, and I told her I’d come back again soon.

  When I got back to the ranch, Keith was there, talking with Ryan. I parked the truck and headed down to the barn, but then I heard someone calling my name. I stopped and turned.

  “Hey, Keith,” I said, waiting for him to catch up. He was red in the face and breathing hard.

  “You give any more thought to what my father talked to us all about?” he asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about it a little bit,” I said. “It’s a pretty big decision to make.”

  “It is.” He squinted at me. “But I figure it’s probably a pretty easy one to come to. Why the hell wouldn’t someone like you take it? It’s practically a gift from god. You get out of prison, and get a job offer just like that. Not even a job offer, but the opportunity to take over the whole damn place, if you so choose. Almost kind of suspicious, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with this,” I said. “I had no idea your father was going to be there to pick me up. And I certainly didn’t have a clue that he was going to offer taking over the ranch. You think I had something to do with it?”

  Keith shrugged. “Any reasonable person would. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. And I really didn’t. I tried to consider it from his point of view. Thing was, he’d never shown any interest in the ranch whatsoever. I knew for a fact if he had, Garrett would have included him in his offer.

  “You don’t know,” Keith repeated. “Well, since you don’t know, let me make it to clear to you. Most everyone around here thinks you’re a piece of shit for what you did, and the only reason word hasn’t spread even further about you is because I don’t want to hurt my father’s business. But trust me when I say you’re nothing more than a waste of space, and my brother and I are going to do what we can to convince our father to change his mind about this whole ridiculous idea of you ever having control of this ranch. Which has been in my family for generations. My family, not yours, regardless of what you think.”

  He didn’t wait for me to respond, he just walked off, though I didn’t know what the hell someone was supposed to say to something like that.

  What I did know was that I shouldn’t let his words get to me, but they did. I’d planned to work with Ditto some more before I went to go meet up with Wren, but it would be a bad idea to work with a horse like that when I was feeling like this. Maybe in the back of my mind, I’d thought that Keith was right, that the people who knew tolerated me but that was about it.

  15.

  Wren

  When Ollie walked through the door, I knew immediately that something was wrong.

  “Hey,” I said, tossing the rag down that I had just been wiping the counter with. “What’s wrong?”

  He looked around, seeing if the place was empty.

  “We’re the only ones here,” I assured him. “Lena just left. Here, I’ll even lock the door.” I came out from behind the counter and went over and locked the door, flipped the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed.’ “Are you feeling okay? Do you want to postpone our plans? That’s fine, if you do.”

  “Are you saying that because you don’t want to see me?”

  “What? No. Of course I want to see you. I’m just giving you an out in case you wanted one, because . . . well, because you look like shit. No offense.”

  “I guess I look like shit because I just feel like such fucking shit, about everything,” he said. “No, I feel like I am a huge piece of shit. And it’s an awful way to feel. But all I seem to do is cause pain for other people, if not directly, then certainly indirectly.”

  I went over to him and wrapped my arms around him. I put my hand on his back, felt the smooth, supple muscles underneath his shirt. “That’s not true at all.”

  “But it is. You just don’t know the truth of it. Or maybe you do. I mean, I know this is a small town, and I’m sure you’ve heard people talk about what I did. I appreciate you being so nonjudgmental with me; not everyone’s been like that. I don’t hold it against them.” He took a deep, ragged breath. He sounded completely defeated. “I had this dream the other day, where I was living somewhere else, somewhere completely new where no one had any idea who I was. And it was such a good feeling. It felt so good to be somewhere and not to think that everyone knew about me.”

  “It was just a dream, though,” I said.

  “I know it was, but it felt like it was the right thing. It’s hard to explain. I have these dreams sometimes . . . where I’m back in prison, or I’m not in prison, but I’m trapped somewhere, and sometimes the setting changes but the feeling never does. It’s that same horrible feeling that I wake up with every time. Except this time was different. It was nice. So, maybe that’s how it would be in real life, too, if I just moved somewhere else.”

  “You could do something like that,” I said, “but that would make it a lot harder for us to see each other.”

  “Is it really that big of a deal? I’m sure a girl like you wouldn’t have a hard time finding a guy.”

  Did I think I could just keep this from him forever? Especially now that we had slept together, and that I was hoping it would be more than just a one-time thing?

  Of course I needed to tell him. But aside from Allison, and Dr. Mike, I’d told no one this, and I couldn’t help but feel nervous. This wasn’t really about me right now, though—it was about Ollie. If there was anyone to blame for this whole thing, really, it was me. Because if I hadn’t gone out that night, none of it would have happened to begin with.

  “I have something to tell you,” I said. “Something that I think might make you feel better.”’

  Well, I didn’t know if it would make him feel better. But I could hope.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I took a deep breath. “It was me,” I said. “I was the girl you saved that night.”

  Part 3

  16.

  Ollie

  What had she just said?

  I blinked, certain I’d heard her wrong.

  I was the girl you saved that night.

  I cracked a smile, even though I wasn’t amused. “Ha ha,” I said. “You’re funny.”

  But Wren wasn’t smiling back; she had a somber, almost sad expression on her face. “It’s not a joke,” she said. “I wouldn’t joke around about something like that. It really was me.”

  I had thought about her before, the faceless girl who I had seen but hadn’t, whose face I couldn’t recall if my life depended on it. I never imagined that I’d see her again, though I had wondered if she found out what had happened that night, after she managed to get away. What she thought. If she had felt any guilt, which I hoped she did not, because my actions were not her fault.

  And now here was Wren, telling me she was that girl. Was that even possible? Maybe she had read about it in the newspaper, or heard it on the news. People did that sort of thing sometimes. Well, a certain type of person. A crazy person, seeking fame. Not that she would get much fame from this.

  “I’m really sorry to be telling you this now,” she said. “I know how odd it must seem.”

  “It does,” I managed to say. “It does seem strange that you’re telling me now, instead of, say, when we first met. I mean, that seems lik
e it’d be kind of important.”

  “I felt like that at first, too. I actually didn’t realize who you were at first, when you came into the restaurant. We’d been talking and then it dawned on me, and it freaked me out, so I went into the kitchen, but when I came back out you had left.”

  I thought back, vague recollections of the day surfacing in my mind. She had disappeared abruptly. And then I’d left.

  “I probably would have told you then, if you were still there. But then again, maybe not because it’s not really something I’d announce to the whole restaurant, you know?”

  I nodded, still not believing her. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m telling you now because I want you to know that you’re not this shitty person that you seem to think you are. That you shouldn’t go anywhere else, unless you want to, not because you think other people don’t want you around. Because that’s not true. I want you around. And if you hadn’t been around that night, who knows what would have happened.”

  We were both quiet for a minute. I was waiting for her to say that she was joking, even though it sure as hell wasn’t that funny. And maybe she was waiting for me to say that I believed her.

  Except I didn’t.

  “I can tell you still don’t believe me,” she said. “Which I guess is understandable. But I wouldn’t make this up just to mess with you. I wouldn’t. What can I say to make you believe that it was me? It was at the Watering Hole, in the parking lot. He had me up against a car. I actually don’t remember a whole lot from the night. A lot of it is a blur. And, to be honest, I try not to think about it too often.” She paused and looked at me. “You were wearing a pink shirt. I remember that.”

  That pink shirt, the one my mother had gotten me for my birthday, that she’d given me before I’d gone out that night. What the hell had happened to that shirt? Not that I’d want it back even if I knew where it was.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I was wearing that shirt. My mother had given it to me as a birthday present. My eighteenth birthday.” It sounded like a lifetime ago, and in a way, it was, because I was a different person now than that kid who sat with his cancer-stricken mother and blew out candles on a cake she’d labored all day to make.

  “We were both in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Wren said sadly. “I always wanted to tell you how sorry I was.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  She laughed, a bitter sound. “But of course I do! I ruined your life. You spent seven years in prison because of me.”

  “It wasn’t because of you. Please don’t think that. It really depends on how you look at it. We were both in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe not, because if it hadn’t happened, would we have even met each other?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t, either. And the thing is, the past is in the past, there’s nothing we can do to change it.”

  She reached over and took my hand. “It means a lot to hear you say that. I don’t know if I’d be able to be as gracious if it were me in your position. I’d probably be pissed. I mean, I am pissed—at myself, mostly, for getting into that situation to begin with.”

  “It’s not like you wanted to. And I was able to help. I do wish that he hadn’t died. I was never planning on that.”

  “I know you weren’t. Which is partly why I’ve always felt so guilty about it. You just went out that night, minding your own business, not planning on any of that shit happening.”

  I squeezed her hand. “Listen,” I said. “I want you to stop thinking like that. I did what I did, and honestly, I’d pretty much do the same thing all over again. I wouldn’t hit him so many times, and he wouldn’t have died, but that’s about the only thing I’d change. He was trying to do something to you that he shouldn’t have.”

  “Well, I do appreciate you saying that.”

  “It’s ‘cause I mean it. And you know what?” I asked. “You did make me feel better. Thank you.”

  17.

  Wren

  A food critic coming into the restaurant wasn’t what it once used to be. Sites like Yelp let everyone be a critic, qualified or not. And besides, we always strived to provide the best food and service, regardless of who it was sitting at the tables.

  But there was a rumor floating around that one of the writers from the Food Network Magazine was doing an article on diners, specifically small-town diners and how we were a dying breed. Word on the street was he was in our state, stationed in Boulder but venturing out on day trips to visit these small-towns and their diners.

  “I think we have just as good a shot as any at being included,” Lena said. She fluffed her hair. “Do you think they’ll take pictures?”

  “Maybe,” I said, though I couldn’t be quite as optimistic as she was. We had a website, which I’d kind of let go to the leeway; in fact, if you were to go on our site, it would be difficult to ascertain whether or not the restaurant was still open.

  But maybe the writer had other ways he or she would decide on what places to visit. If it was through word-of-mouth, then we stood a pretty good chance. We also had a decent number of five-star reviews on Yelp, so maybe the writer would check that site out, too. If it didn’t happen at all, though, I wouldn’t be too upset; I didn’t particularly like the idea of someone coming in and judging us solely for the basis of an article.

  I shouldn’t have worried though, because he came right up to me and introduced himself. He had curly, sandy-colored hair, a goatee, and black-rimmed glasses. “My name’s Hunter,” he said, “and I’m doing a story about diners across America. I’ve heard good things about this place. I was told you’re the owner?”

  “That’s me.” I held out my hand and we shook. “Wren Davis.”

  “Great to meet you Wren. So—I’m famished. What do you recommend?”

  We sat at one of the empty booths and he looked over the menu, while I extolled the excellence of the blueberry buttermilk pancakes, the chef salad, and the bacon cheeseburger on the honey-wheat bun.

  When he finally made his decision, Lena took his order and then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Mind if I record our conversation?” he asked.

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Okay. Great.” He tapped at the screen and set the phone down, then started asking me general questions about the place: How long we’d been here, what the customers were like, what I envisioned for the restaurant’s future.

  I was just about to say that I hoped the restaurant would be around for a long time, and that I’d be working here with my future grandchildren, when the door opened and Ollie walked in. I waved from across the room and he ambled over and sat down next to me.

  “Hey,” he said, as I leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. Hunter smiled; I could tell he was pleased that a real authentic cowboy had just strolled in out of nowhere and sat himself down with us.

  “Hey,” I said. “Ollie, this is Hunter, from Food Network Magazine. And Hunter, this is Ollie. My boyfriend.”

  I glanced over at Ollie’s face to see what his reaction would be; we hadn’t had the discussion yet as to what our official status would be, but if he wanted, I’d be more than happy to be his girlfriend.

  “Hey, nice to meet you,” Hunter said. “Glad you could join us—Wren was just filling me in about this place. Now, Ollie—” He glanced down at one of the menus and then looked up at me. “So, is this name a coincidence, or did you name your restaurant after your boyfriend?”

  Ollie and I exchanged looks. Hunter raised his eyebrows. “I sense an interesting story,” he said.

  “Can I tell him?” I asked.

  Ollie nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “Now I’m really curious.” Hunter leaned forward onto his forearms.

  “Well, I did name the place after Ollie. Except . . . we didn’t really know each other back then, when we first opened,” I started. “And I should mention, that some of what I’m about to tell you isn’
t common knowledge.”

  “I’m all ears,” Hunter said. He really did look as though he couldn’t wait to hear what it was I had to say next.

  “I named this place after Ollie because he basically saved my life one night. Well, maybe not saved my life, exactly, but definitely saved me from having to go through what probably would have turned out to be a pretty shitty situation.”

  Hunter nodded. “Okay . . . .”

  “I had just moved up here and had gone out to this bar one night, met a couple guys, went out with one of them into the parking lot. He tried to take advantage of me, but then Ollie was leaving and he ended up intervening. I ran off. The guy was not so lucky.”

  “What happened?”

  There was a pause, because I didn’t know whether or not I should answer.

  “I killed him,” Ollie said. Other than a slight jump of his eyebrows, Hunter did not react. “I didn’t mean to. I should have stopped hitting him before I did, though. I ended up serving seven years in prison for it.”

  “Basically, I named the place after him even though he had no idea who I was. Most people still don’t know that it was me that night.”

  “And now you two are together,” Hunter said slowly. “Wow. That is quite a story. Tell me more.”

  We spent the next two hours talking, both of us filling in Hunter with details about what our lives had been like over the years, what they were like now. It felt good to talk about it, to get it all out of there.

  Hunter stayed for about an hour and a half, and then he had to go because there were other diners to visit.

  “I’ve got your contact info, so I will most definitely be in touch,” he said. “Thanks so much for everything.”

  After he left, Ollie and I stayed in the booth and he ate a turkey club. Lena sat down across from us.

  “So, how’d it go?” she asked. “I think he seemed impressed with the place! He looked like he was enjoying himself.”