“Oh, Parrish. Honey—” Miss Sara reached out one gloved hand to pat my knee and shook her head.
“You know, the worst part is, I can’t even be mad at him like I was with Payne? Diesel never lied to me. Not even once. He’s been totally honest the whole time, Miss Sara,” I said solemnly.
Shockingly, she laughed—first a little snort, then a deep chuckle that forced her to set down her gardening tool and press a hand to her stomach.
I tried not to be too offended by this.
“Oh, God. Oh, laws. Oh, mercy. Parrish,” she sniffed. “I don’t think the two of you have said a single honest word to yourselves or each other since this whole thing started. You’re the lying-est pair of liars who ever lied.”
“W-what?”
Miss Sara grabbed me by the shoulders. “Listen to me closely now. Diesel Church is not Payne Whatshisname. And you’re not the same person you used to be either. You fell for Diesel because his feelings for you are genuine and always have been. He just hasn’t told you that, the same way you haven’t told him you have feelings for him. And the same way,” she added in a disapproving tone, “that you haven’t told him about Payne and the boys.”
I blinked at her. “How’d you know I haven’t told him?”
“Because if you had, he’d never have left you here to stew while he went off to clear his head.”
Poor, deluded Miss Sara. Her advice was usually so spot-on, but I supposed everyone had an off day now and then.
“He asked for space,” I reminded her. “From me.”
“I know, honey. Because he’s scared.”
“I know he’s scared! Heck, so am I, but you don’t ask for space from someone you care about.”
“Sure you do, if you’re Diesel. Think about it. Diesel’s parents died. His sister’s passed. The man who left him the junkyard—”
“Stix Yancey,” I supplied, frowning.
“Yes. He’s gone too. And I’m guessing Diesel’s dated once or twice, here or there, over the years?”
I shrugged. “I’d imagine so.”
“And where are those guys, Parrish? How many of them stuck around?”
“Well, but—”
“And his friends? How many close friends are looking out for Diesel’s best interests?”
“He’s got Ava! And Paul. And Mal and Brooks.”
“Sure, now. But that’s only the last few months or so. You know I love the Thicket with my whole heart, but it’s tough to find your place here when you weren’t a Fighting Bovine in a letterman jacket like Brooks, or a talented artist like Mal, or a sweet, harmless boy like Paul, or a golden girl like Ava. Hard to find your place anywhere when you’re tattooed to the gills and snarl meaner than a panther anytime someone gets close. And he did,” she insisted, when I opened my mouth to argue. “Not with you, maybe, which just goes to show how special you are, Parrish, but that man was like a dog who’s been kicked a time too many, craving love but not knowing how to get it, half-ready to run away, half-ready to bite the hand of anyone who came too close. I noticed it a long time ago, but I was never sure how to help him. Turned out, he didn’t need my help.” She smiled softly. “He needed you.”
“No. That’s… that’s nonsense. Diesel is amazing. He’s worth more than all the rest of them put together. He’s overcome so much. He’s lived. And every one of those tattoos is a story, a memory.”
“I bet. And I’m glad you know it. But remember, when you say you’re scared, you mean you’re scared you’ll lose your heart and feel like an idiot again. Diesel, on the other hand… Honey, he’s lost everyone who’s ever meant something to him. And then came you.”
The idea of that—the hope of it—was terrifying.
“But it was all a lie,” I whispered. “He can’t want me.”
“Why not? It started as a lie, but you want him,” she pointed out with ruthless logic. “So be patient with him. Talk to the man without making assumptions. And don’t give up.” She clapped her gloved palms together once. “And now, for the love of Peter, Paul, and Ringo, come help me plant these last few bulbs before it’s full dark out here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I scrambled up and took the hand rake she offered me. “I see what you mean about the gardening being helpful. I do feel better. And for what it’s worth, Garvey was an idiot if he picked some trophy wife instead of you.”
“Oh.” Miss Sara laughed again, and her cheeks turned pink in the twilight. “Well, as it happened, he didn’t. See, I was so sure a man like Garvey could never be happy married to a woman like me that I never thought to ask Garvey what he wanted. Fortunately, Garvey wasn’t the sort to entertain my bull puckey, so by the end of that summer, he’d wooed me back and showed me I was exactly the sort of person he’d be happy with. In fact, I was the only person he’d be happy with. And he was. For forty-two beautiful years.”