Cliff McAden hasn't been home in four years, and wasn't expecting to meet a woman as gentle and quietly beautiful as Annie Edwards when he finally came back. It's hard for him to believe anyone could be interested in a scarred, disheartened man like...
A one-man freakshow. That's what Cliff McAden had felt like the past four years, and today, he was reminded that it wasn't just a feeling--it was the truth.
When he was holed up inside his apartment with no one to see him but his pet cat, it wasn't so hard to deal with. But today he was out in the sunshine for the first time in almost two years, making the four hour drive to McAden Orchard to celebrate his sister's wedding. This was day one of a long, people-filled month, and so far it was going just about as well as he expected it to.
The staff at the car dealership had been polite with their words, but their eyes told a different story. Fear, questions, disgust, discomfort. He tried to tell himself he was just imagining it, but it was hard to believe when he could see the double-takes, the lingering stares, the quick turns away when he got the courage to meet their eyes.
Now, parked next to a gas pump at some random roadside gas station, anxiety was wrapped around him like the world's heaviest, itchiest blanket. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel. He had to get gas, but he didn't need to go inside--he could pay with his card right there at the pump and not have to face anyone until he made it to Red View.
The problem was, if he did it that way, he knew that was the end of the journey. If he couldn't face a gas station clerk, there was no way he could face his family, the wedding guests, the customers at the orchard. He may as well turn the car around and head right back the way he came and come up with another excuse, another lie.
The wedding would go on without him, probably for the better. Kenzie would send pictures, everyone would be beautiful, smiling, happy. He'd send them their wedding present in the mail. Life would go on.
Fritters meowed in the seat next to him, curled up in the sunlight, orange fur glowing. Those big yellow eyes looked up at Cliff and squinted, as if he could read his thoughts and was saying, "Don't even think about it."
With a heavy sigh, Cliff sat back and let his eyes fall shut. "I know. We'll go. We're going. Just give me a minute."
He did take that minute--and another one--to psych himself up before heading into the gas station. He kept his head down as the bell on the door jingled and went straight to the counter, sliding a fifty-dollar bill over to the cashier with nothing more than a quick glance at the man working the register.
Cliff's voice was just above a mumble as he dropped his gaze, keeping the left side of his face turned away. "Twenty on pump three, please."
The cashier said nothing, just took the money and started punching in numbers on the register. The door jingled again and Cliff shifted on his feet, wondering why he didn't bring a hat. Then again, trying to hide his face behind a hat would be like trying to hide an elephant behind a telephone pole.
Voices grew nearer, loud and boyish. Some kind of argument about what kind of chips Dad asked for, what kind of candy they should buy to share for the rest of the ride. Brothers, Cliff surmised, drumming fingers against the counter and wishing the cashier would hurry up.
What would his own brothers say when they saw him? What would they think? Jack would be short with him, most likely. From the phone calls and texts between them, Cliff could tell he was getting more annoyed with every passing year that he didn't come to visit. Dawson, on the other hand, would want to talk. Not only about his own life, to introduce his girlfriend and talk about the new wedding business at the orchard, but about Cliff. Dawson would have questions about his face, his job, his life in general. Always the curious one. Would he still want to talk when he got the answers?
He got the feeling Kenzie and his parents would mostly just be glad to see him. But again, he had to wonder if that feeling would last once the truth came out.
"Here's your change," the cashier's voice snapped him from his thoughts.
Without thinking, Cliff turned to accept the money. And the wide-eyed look of horror that crossed the young guy's face brought him right back to reality, heart thudding loudly, blood going hot with embarrassment.
His mind went blank, and all knowledge of basic human interaction left his brain. He was too out of practice for this, too far gone to pretend he knew how to be a part of society again. What was he thinking? He reached for the bills on the counter, tried to swipe them up with a shaking hand to put them in his pocket, and ended up brushing them onto the floor instead. "Uh. Thanks."
Kneeling, he reached for the ten, turned around to grab the twenty off the grimy floor, and looked up right into the eyes of a kid clutching a bag of gummy bears. A boy about seven with bright blue eyes that went even wider than the cashier's as he got a good look at Cliff's face. The kid lunged over to his older brother as he came out of the aisle next to them, knocking into his side and grabbing onto his jacket, stepping behind him.
Cliff looked away, tried to make his hair fall in front of his face, and stood as he tucked the money into his back pocket. A weight settled in his chest, a lump in his throat as he hurried back outside. Great. He could officially add traumatizing a kid to the list of things he managed to do before dinnertime.
He tried not to think about it, tried to focus on how nice it was to be outside again, how warm the sun felt on his skin, how the breeze made it easier to breathe. But that hurt too, because he knew he'd never be able to enjoy being in public like a normal person, and there was no point in pretending he could. If there was one lesson he should have learnt by now, it was that it was better not to fool yourself into hoping for unrealistic things. Sometimes it was better not to try at all, than to fail.
As he opened the gas cap he glanced inside the car to see what Fritters was up to, and was met instead with his own reflection. One side the normal, slightly older version of the face he had when he left home. The other side marred and monstrous, littered with long, deep scars and fixed into a permanent harelipped sneer. He didn't have any strong features for the scars to play off of, nothing to make the disfigurement look tough or mysteriously brooding. He just looked like a mess. He guessed the outside matched the inside.
Soon enough, he'd be faced with the reactions of his family. How he looked wouldn't matter to them, wouldn't make them love him any less, and he knew that. It was the truth about how he got that way, about how he'd been dealing with it, that had him worried.
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