Note: Ah, I'm sorry! So sorry! See, I had this chapter all done and perfect, and then my laptop ate it weeks ago! I kept having trouble redoing it, and then…um, here it is. My bad, guys.

Chapter Fifteen:

Marlin

Everyone has limits they put on themselves, limits they swear they'll never breach. There's just so much that we say we'll never do. Like move in with your sister, for example. Fall in love with a girl too young to be on your radar. One day avoid said girl for as many minutes of the day as you can.

Life's just strange like that. You don't know what the hell you'll do until you actually do it.

"Give me a sec, Griffin; I need to finish putting my last curler in."

Muffy's voice carries in through the creak in the door, and I don't respond. In fact, part of me wants to run while I can, instead of degrading myself like this. It would take only a minute, maybe two. Run down the attic steps, dash out the Blue Bar's entrance, and Muffy'd never know what I'm about to do.

Yet, I knock again. "It's not Griffin," I tell her, and I hear a stifled gasp and a flurry of movement. Something crashes, and I cringe, wondering what on earth could be going on in that tiny room.

"Um, one moment!" Muffy shouts. "One sec, okay?"

The lock unlatches, and a head full of drooping curls meets my eye, complete with a robe hastily thrown around her pale shoulders. Her green eyes survey me up and down, and she frowns, red lips puckering.

"What are you doing here?" Muffy demands.

I shuffle my feet and shrug, wondering what on earth has possessed me to do this. I turn towards her for a moment and wince at her scowl. God, this is so strange. It's one thing to whine to her while the bar is open, but…there's something intrusive about doing it now.

"I need to talk to you," I grunt. "I guess…I need you to do something."

I might as well have told her that Murrey is long-lost royalty or Romana is an undercover spy, because I've never seen Muffy's moon-white face this stunned. She slinks out of the doorway and leans against the wall, arms crossed across her chest. "A favor, huh?" she drawls. "Well. That's a first for you, isn't it?"

My hand tightens into a fist. "Shut up."

"Those who want favors should use their nice voice," Muffy quips, and she raises an eyebrow. "Marlin, I'm deathly curious about why you hauled your overworked self over here this morning to my room. Because, honey, no one likes to see these curlers in action if they can help it."

God, this is so pathetic. "It's no big deal," I say, and I might as well have said the opposite, since Muffy knows my thoughts better, sometimes, than I do myself. "Vesta is just throwing Celia this—you know—birthday party. Romana's hosting it or something, and I…I need a date." I narrow my eyes in on her. "That's where the favor comes in."

Her mouth is a perfect, lipstick rimmed O as she stares at me, dumbstruck. I bristle at that; what, I'm not the ugliest man in Forget-Me-Not, and I have decent hygiene, and I only explode with rage every so often. She fiddles with a drooping curler and, to my utter astonishment, blushes.

"You…want me, Marlin?" Muffy whispers. Oh, God, no. That's not what I mean. Not Muffy.

Then I remember that's exactly what I mean.

"It's not what you think, Muffy." I run my hand over my face, and I can feel all the wrinkles left by the merciless sun. My voice has lowered, no longer angry, as I continue to beg on all but my hands and knees. "I can't be alone with her, Muffy. I just can't stand it anymore. I'm so confused, I—I feel like I'm in some game of hers, one that I don't know the rules to. I'm…losing, I think." I laugh: a hollow sound. "I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to win."

All the color drains from Muffy's cheeks. "Ah. Celia." It's strange, isn't it, that this name once could make my heart leap? That now it lingers like a shadow overhead, looming with unspoken dread. "Listen, Marlin, I don't like being used. I refuse to let myself be considered as some sort of object that—"

"Please. God, Muffy. Please."

I feel like a child, begging his mother not to punish him out of something stupid, like motherly love. He's guilty as hell, but all he wants is for one forgiving word, one blessing.

You don't need to deserve it, sometimes. Sometimes you just…need, period.

"You know, I've never seen you beg before, Marlin," Muffy announces. "I don't like it, I think. It brings you down a bit." A soft hand presses against my cheek, and immediately I sense how different it is from Celia's, from my own. It smells of something more exotic than soap and seeds and baby powder; I'd be willing to bet it's some fancy European brand of perfume. This is a hand that hasn't handled a hoe, or a sickle, or even a baby. Yet there's something so motherly about it, so gentle, that I find myself trusting Muffy even before she speaks again.

"This isn't fair to you, you know," she murmurs. "You shouldn't have to ask me something like this, not because of her. I've given up being used, Marlin."

"I—!"

"But if it'll help protect you from whatever Celia's intentions are now, I suppose it's not being used, is it? You need some sort of leverage in her game, some rules of your own." Her smile is blinding. "You lucky little bastard, I just might say yes."

You want to know something? I've always, always, considered myself bad with kids. I haven't the patience for dealing with spitting up and throwing food and dirtying diapers. I can't make adults laugh, much less babies. I'm not forgiving enough to parent.

Yet with Cassandra, everything's different.

Her tiny arms reach for me from the floor with all the trust in the world. She blinks her eyes at me, and a smile splits across her face as she heralds me with a wordless welcome. "What, you miss me?" I ask, and I tickle her belly until she squeals with laughter. God, she's so tiny! I'm afraid if I hug her too hard, she'll break in half.

"I see you've gotten yourself home," Vesta calls from the back. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, my sister adds, "Since when did you hear it'd be alright to leave me here with both the child and the crops to handle? I ain't a miracle-worker, Marlin. I can't tackle your responsibilities and mine, too."

I stop horse-playing with the baby long enough to glance about. "What about Celia? She can work, too."

"Oh, Marlin, you leave that poor girl alone. I wouldn't dream of making that child do anything she didn't ask to do." Vesta waves me away with a quick "tsk tsk."

Poor girl. Child. I'm frozen on the ground, not even caring that Cassie is using my mullet for a game of tug-of-war. When was the last time, I want to know, that I've thought of Celia as a child? It feels as if it was only yesterday I had been pining after her with the combined pity and anger of an adult at a petulant girl, but this evening, oh, child isn't the word coming to mind.

A child does not trick and deceive—manipulate—as she has. A child is something innocent: easily forgiven, easily forgotten. You can punish a child. Love a child. Can this bitterness, though, be harbored towards anything but a woman? Can I be this disappointed, or this regretful, towards any well-meaning little girl?

Cassie is a child. To my complete shock, however, Celia has finally grown up. And it's had nothing to do with her age, not as I'd always assumed as I waited for her eighteenth birthday with a fool's eagerness. Damn fool that I am, I never thought Celia could learn to be truly and deliberately cruel.

But we all learn, don't we?

"Where's Celia?" I ask despite myself. I stand, to Cassie's complete disappointment, and walk towards Vesta only to be greeted with a brief shrug.

"Last I saw, she was walkin' on to Romana's about the party. Kind old lady that she is, Romana's let her hold it at her mansion. I reckoned Celia deserved it, going through what she has."

It's incredible that she hasn't already drowned in the pity of the town already. How long does losing a husband let you get pampered and coddled, anyway? I'm disgusted, and a nagging voice in my head is telling me that Romana's been cheated by this girl-woman, just as everyone else has. Just as I have.

"I'm going out."

"Out?"

I let the swinging of the door answer her, my sights already set on the path ahead.

The whole walk, I'm steeling myself against what I know will come: the smell of Celia's hair, the infectious sound of her laugh, the vulnerable exterior that hides her inner self perfectly from view. I want to scream at her, but I know that the emotion eating me up inside, for once, isn't anger.

I want to understand. I want to be able to forgive her, even after all this. I want an excuse to validate my love of her all these years. Maybe, even, an excuse to keep loving her now.

"Marlin?"

I'm at the gate to Romana's manor, and already someone's called my name. The short little heiress, Lumina, waves at me from below her balcony and scurries over, my angel in tow. She can't be more than three years younger than Celia, and yet the difference between them is so striking: Celia's gown is dirtied with labor, while Lumina's shirt and pants are neat and crisp and childish. Her hand is on Celia's, and beaming, Lumina skips up to me.

"Did you come to see Auntie Romana's preparations for Celia's party?" Lumina asks, eyes aglow.

"Um, no." My gaze flits towards Celia. "I came to talk to the birthday girl herself, actually."

Lumina's hand flies to her mouth and I get the strangest feeling it should be gloved. "Oh! Alone! Of course!" Her cheeks have become a rosy pink, and as she stammers apologies and runs off, I begin to realize exactly why she's embarrassed.

Ha. A romantic meeting between lovers is hardly what's on my mind right now.

"Is something wrong?" Celia inquires. I'd been bracing myself for this, but her voice slowly unravels my defenses so that I can only look at her, waiting. How can someone seeming so innocent, so perfect, be this cold and unfeeling?

I force myself to keep staring at her. "You tell me."

"Tell you what?" A playful smile tugs on her lips; oh, no, this isn't a game, Celia. My hands clench into fists, and it's all I can do to refrain from shaking her in fury.

"Why you've been acting so damn nice all the time. Why it's suddenly your business where I grew up, what my favorite meal is, what my freakin' hobbies are. What I want to know, Celia, is why now? Why—?"

"Why what?" She blinks at me and furrows her brow, clueless. "I was just curious."

"You've had four years to be curious, Celia. This is pretty damn convenient of you to be holding back until now."

Just tell me, dammit! Tell me you're using me. Tell me you've changed. Hell, just tell me why. You don't even have to apologize anymore. Just admit it, for the sake of my sanity.

Yet she dares to stare up at me with those moon eyes and murmur, "I don't understand, Marlin. What's going on?"

You tell me, Celia. You tell me, and maybe I'll leave you alone to your lies, to your stupid manipulations and deceptions. Damn it, I want to love you.

Something pricks at my eyes and I turn away.

"I'm going to your party with Muffy," I state simply.

Something in her shatters; her voice is fading, pitch by pitch, as she tries to respond. "O-oh. I…I never knew you and Muffy were so close. She asked you?" Spring breezes play with the apron of her skirt, and she fights to hold it down and to keep face. I've stunned her; well, good. There's something gratifying about not being the one confused, for once. Liberating, even.

"I asked her," I correct. "I thought I should tell you. You and Muffy aren't on good terms, right?"

Honestly, the only reason I know this is because Vesta had been mentioning something about the two coming to blows or Muffy not coming anymore to the farm. Something like that. Anyway, Celia's ashen face tells me I've pretty much hit the nail on the head.

"N…not anymore, not really," Celia mumbles. She sucks in a deep breath, her fingers nervously playing with her hair. "I just…kind of…assumed we'd go together." She forces a smile. "Silly me." Half of me is moved by the sorrow in her eyes, shining with such candid emotion I want to press her close to me and apologize.

But I don't have anything to apologize for—no matter how desperately I want to be the one at fault.

"Well." I cross my arms and turn away, the sun already bleeding across the evening sky. "Why would I want to go with you now? We've moved on, haven't we? I thought you made that clear a year ago."

I, too, have grown up. Simply by glancing at this doll of a woman beside me, I can see where my words have drawn wet scars across her face. Her hand reaches up to catch them: easily wiped away but not so easily forgotten. I, too, have learned to be cruel.

"I'm sorry, Marlin," Celia insists, shaking her head. "You know that, don't you? I'm sorry!"

It's as I'm walking away, I realize I'm not even sure what she's apologizing for.