Chapter 3 - THE REARVIEW REFLECTION
The miles ticked by in a heavy,
electric silence that Emily didn't dare break.
Jaxson drove with a focused intensity,
his eyes scanning the mirrors as if expecting a fleet of police cars to appear.
Bellwood was shrinking,
becoming a dot on a map she had finally folded and thrown away.
Inside her clutch,
which was buried somewhere beneath three layers of crinoline,
her phone began to vibrate.
The sound was a low,
menacing buzz against the floorboards.
Emily didn't reach for it.
She knew who was calling.
Ryan would be calm,
asking her if she was okay,
telling her they could talk about this and make it right.
Her mother would be hysterical,
calculating the cost of the wasted catering and the social embarrassment.
The phone buzzed again.
And again.
Jaxson glanced down at the floorboards,
then back at Emily.
"You might want to kill that thing,"
he said,
"before I throw it out the window."
Emily reached into the silk folds,
searching for the clutch,
her fingers trembling.
She pulled it out,
the screen glowing with a photo of her and Ryan at a winery.
They looked happy.
They looked stable.
They looked like people who never ran.
She hit the power button and held it until the screen went black.
The silence that followed was even louder.
"Why were you there,
Jax?"
she asked again,
tucking the phone away.
"Ryan told everyone you were in California,"
"living in a van and avoiding your responsibilities."
Jaxson let out a short,
dry laugh that didn't reach his eyes.
"Is that what the golden boy says?"
"I’m an independent contractor,
Em."
"I was in the area for a job and heard the bells."
"Curiosity is a vice,"
"I should have known better."
Emily looked at his hands on the wheel,
noticing a scar across his thumb she didn't remember.
Ten years was a lifetime.
When Jaxson had left,
she had been eighteen,
just starting to date Ryan because he was the safe choice.
Jaxson had been the boy who taught her how to climb the water tower,
the one who told her she had too much fire to stay in Bellwood.
But Jaxson was gone,
and Ryan was there,
and the fire had slowly been buried under layers of expectation.
"You look like you're about to cry,"
Jaxson said,
his voice softening just a fraction.
"I’m not,"
she lied,
staring at her bare foot.
"I’m just...
I’m cold."
Jaxson reached into the back seat and pulled out a worn flannel jacket.
"Put this on."
"It’ll ruin the aesthetic,"
"but it’ll stop the shivering."
Emily took the jacket,
the heavy wool smelling of motor oil and rain.
She draped it over her shoulders,
the dark plaid clashing violently with the white silk.
She felt ridiculous.
She felt alive.
The truck hit a pothole,
jarring her teeth,
and she realized she was still wearing her veil.
She reached up,
tugging at the pins until the delicate netting fell into her lap.
She looked at it for a moment,
then rolled down the window.
The wind whipped into the cabin,
sharp and smelling of pine.
She tossed the veil out.
It caught the air like a ghost,
tumbling into the trees behind them.
Jaxson watched it in the mirror,
a small smirk playing on his lips.
"There goes the stability,"
he murmured.
Emily leaned her head back against the headrest,
watching the clouds gather again.
"Stability is overrated,"
she said.
May you like
Jaxson didn't reply,
but he pushed the accelerator down just a little harder.
