Vanessa didn’t contact me. I called Victor’s and apologized, and they kindly said it was no problem, they had plenty of people waiting.
Finally, at seven forty-five, she texted. Had to go back to Boston unexpectedly. Brad and I talked. More later. Sorry about dinner.
That was not a good sign. That was not a white knight on horseback. That didn’t sound like the wrath of a mother.
The next day, Vanessa emailed me to say she was so very sorry, but she and Charles had decided not to take sides, even if they didn’t approve of the way in which Brad was conducting himself. He was their son, and I would always be the mother of their grandson, but it would be best if they didn’t get involved.
Vanessa, who had swooped in when I lost my daughter, who had known just what to do, bringing over homemade mac and cheese, sending Brad and Dylan out for the day, letting me cry unfettered. Vanessa, who told me a thousand times that I was a remarkable mother. Who thanked me for making such a beautiful life for her son and grandson. The woman who had taught me firsthand what motherhood should be like.
She was ditching me, too. It almost hurt more than Brad.
CHAPTER 4
Melissa
Missy Jolene Cumbo was thirteen when she realized her looks were going to take her places—specifically, out of Wakeford, Ohio, tucked in the Appalachian Mountains, spitting distance from West Virginia, and the second poorest town in the state.
The gym teacher, Mr. Lambert, had brushed up against her, and she’d felt something odd . . . his erection, she realized. Ew! But also, like, interesting? Mr. Brent, the history teacher, called on her, and she thought there was a difference in his voice. Like, he totally wanted to hear what she had to say, even though she got Cs in his class. Leesa, the so-called smartest girl in their class, gave her a filthy look as Missy was getting her backpack out of her locker, then whispered something to Nicolette, and they laughed, glancing at her, then laughed some more.
Jealousy? Interesting! She’d never had any use for Leesa and Nicolette, since they thought they were all that, but their mean laughter told her something.
Later that week, she went to the Dollar General to test her newfound power, and there it was. Shane Lewis’s daddy gave her a long gaze, then jerked his eyes away when he realized it was her, same age as Shane. She got a gross smile from the pervy guy in the pickup, who was drinking beer in the bed of his rusty truck. Dirty old men, she thought, but with a little hint of pride, too.
She walked home and went straight into the bathroom, closed the door and wedged the board under the handle, since the lock had been broken all her life. She stared in the mirror. Missy-Jo might come from a long line of hillbilly white trash, as her father proudly proclaimed them, and she wasn’t exactly book smart, but that mirror was telling her something. She was pretty! She was . . . hang on a sec . . . oh my word! She was beautiful! She had always known she was prettier than Mama, and （sorry, sis） prettier than Kaitlyn, but thunderation! All of a sudden, pretty had gone and grown into gorgeous. Holy heck.
The face in the mirror had high, defined cheekbones—she’d lost that baby fat in the past year or so; clear, pale green eyes; naturally blond hair （a little dingy, but she could work with it）; and a full, Kardashian kind of mouth （the Cumbos might have their electricity shut off a few times a year for not paying the bills, but they sure as heck had cable）。
Suddenly, the world held new possibilities. Even at thirteen, Missy-Jo knew she wasn’t going to stay in this loser town. Wakeford wasn’t even a real town, just an unincorporated blob, filled with moldy trailers and rickety farmhouses, rusting cars, stray dogs, a garage that was open when the mechanic was sober and the Dollar General store. Missy-Jo had never left Ohio. The furthest she’d ever been was Portsmouth, and only because she’d broken her arm when she was nine.
Anyone with half a brain would want to get out of there. Very few did.
But she would.
Maybe she could be a supermodel! But dag nab it, she’d have to be discovered, and who in their right mind would come to Loserville to look for top models? Shoot. Maybe if she was somewhere else, like . . . like . . . Dayton or something, she could get discovered in a mall, have photos taken and whatnot. But dang, she was only five foot six and a half, and she’d pretty much stopped growing. Even so, she made her sister take pictures of her and sent them to some of them fancy New York agencies, but she never even heard back. Rude.
That left college as the means of her escape. She wasn’t great at school, but then again, no one tried real hard to inspire the students. They were too busy breaking up fights and telling kids not to deal drugs or have sex in the building. Mama and Daddy would disapprove of her leaving, so she kept her plans to herself.