Chapter 166 156 - Life Goes On

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3rd pov

After leaving her house, Mary didn't head for her car or the church.

Instead, her steps carried her straight across the yard—to Connie's place.

Their conversation wasn't finished. Not about Veronica.

Without knocking, Mary opened the door and walked in as if it were her own home. Her face was tight, brows drawn together, still echoing the words Connie had thrown at her before.

"Do you want to talk, or just interrupt my aerobics session?" Connie's voice called from the living room. She stood there in snug workout clothes, the television playing a fitness routine in the background.

Mary ignored the question. She walked over and sank onto Connie's sofa, her silence sharp enough to answer for her.

"Talk it is," Connie muttered, clicking off the TV. She padded into the kitchen, grabbed herself a glass of water, and drank before fixing her eyes back on Mary.

"I'm not a shrewd mother," Mary said suddenly, her voice firm, almost defensive.

"No, no, no…" Connie walked back and settled beside her, shaking her head. "You're not shrewd. You're a genius of a mother—brilliant, really. And just a little evil."

Mary gasped at the word, her eyes narrowing at her own mother. Connie never filtered her tongue, but hearing that sting out loud still made her chest tighten.

"I mean it, Mare," Connie pressed, patting her hand with a broad smile. "I admire you. I honestly do. You managed to pull this off without anyone noticing. Even me. That takes talent." Her grin widened. "But… it didn't work, did it? They're still at it. Still having sex like usual."

Mary's lips thinned. Her eyes burned with resentment as she glared at her mother.

"I should tell Georgie the truth," Connie said calmly and jokingly, but then, after a long pause, her voice dropped even lower. "But I think you are the one who should apologize to him."

Mary folded her arms, her jaw set. "I thought if Veronica started calling me Mom, Georgie would finally come to his senses. He'd see her not as some… temptation, but as family. As his sister. And then maybe…just maybe…this would all stop."

Connie blinked, then slowly leaned back against the sofa. A laugh, short and sharp slipped from her lips.

"Oh, Mare…" she drawled, shaking her head. "You really thought that would work?"

Mary snapped her eyes toward her, indignant. "It should've worked. Georgie loves his family; his little brother and sister mean the world to him. If he considers Veronica his family, then—."

"Then what?" Connie cut her off, her tone blunt as a knife. "You think Georgie's gonna look at that girl and suddenly forget how he feels about her? He's a teenage boy in love. Veronica calling you Mom isn't gonna turn off whatever's going on between them. If anything, it'll just make their little game even spicier."

"Oh Mom!" Mary hissed, scandalized.

Connie only smirked. "Don't give me that look. You know I'm right. You tried to twist the story, to steer Georgie into treating Veronica like a sister, but it backfired. He still loves her."

Mary's shoulders slumped, the fight draining from her voice. "Then what am I supposed to do? Just stand by and let it happen? You know I can't do that! I work at the church, for God's sake!"

Connie snorted. "And yet, the moment you accepted Veronica after they started having sex, I thought, finally you've become a cool mother."

"I am cool…" Mary shot back, but the words faltered halfway. Connie was right. She wasn't cool at all—not when it came to this.

When Missy once said she and Veronica looked like mother and daughter, Mary had beamed with happiness, thinking her plan was working. But Veronica? She'd only taken it as a sweet compliment.

Deep down, Mary felt bad about it. She didn't want Georgie ending up like her—married because of an 'accident.'

The first time she realized he and Veronica were sleeping together, without protection, she was terrified. She couldn't just sit by. But if she pushed too hard, Georgie would only resent her.

So she tried a different tactic. She told Veronica to call her Mom instead of Mary, hoping Georgie would start seeing her as family. For a while, it worked—mainly because Georgie respected her, and because Veronica wasn't exactly a 'reckless' girl. But Mary knew it wasn't enough.

Connie studied her face, then leaned in with a chuckle. "You know, Mare, I actually like that girl. The kids like her too. And you like her as well, whether you admit it or not."

Mary folded her arms, trying to look stubborn, but Connie caught the twitch in her expression.

"As a grandma and your mother," Connie went on, "I'm impressed with your tactics. But as a woman? I'm angry. If Darlene hadn't said Veronica like 'baggage', and you hadn't defended her, I wouldn't have noticed."

Mary gave Connie a long, knowing look before speaking again. "...But none of it matters now, does it? Georgie's already broken up with her."

Connie sighed, her expression hardening with disapproval. "Yes, you're right. Now get out—I've got aerobics to finish." She flicked the TV back on, the upbeat music filling the silence as if Mary's words meant nothing.

None of it mattered anymore. Georgie and Veronica were over. Both Mary and Connie knew it—Veronica hadn't set foot in the Cooper house since the barbecue night.

Mary remembered the phone call: Veronica's voice soft, apologetic, explaining she couldn't keep watching Sheldon and Missy after school. She'd asked how Veronica was doing, and in that moment, Connie had leaned over and whispered that Mary was "Evil Witch wrapped in luck."

Because the breakup hadn't come from Mary's scheming—it had happened on its own. That was the "luck" Connie spoke of.

"Don't tell Georgie about this." Mary muttered, standing by the door.

Connie didn't even answer. She just kept her eyes on the flickering TV, ignoring her daughter completely.

Mary stepped outside, her chest tight with guilt. She told herself she only wanted what was best for Georgie—that she only wanted to protect him from making the same mistakes she once had.

But deep down, she felt bad for Veronica. Very bad. She wanted to apologise to her, but she keep silent and adults don't always say everything. Some things are better left unspoken, carried as secrets.

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3rd POV

Days slipped by after the barbecue night, with Georgie still staying in Houston and often traveling around Texas to spread his name a little further.

They kept playing at honky-tonks, sometimes performing at small-town fairs or community events, and every now and then Georgie would be invited onto a local TV station for a short interview.

The schedule was exhausting—but necessary. Georgie knew he couldn't become a star overnight. He'd always known that; the talk of "making it big" had been mostly bluff when he spoke to Rosie and Fenley.

But Fenley and Rosie didn't see it that way. To them, Georgie's progress was undeniable. The songs, even if not yet widely known, only needed time before they broke through—spreading into cafés and radio playlists.

It was catchy, modern, honky-tonk, the kind of sound that fit right into any jukebox or weekend gathering. Music that could reach every crowd.

Both women believed Georgie's big break would come with the upcoming Hee Haw appearance alongside George S. They had already heard the song Georgie planned to perform with him, and they knew—it was the kind of tune that would hit both teenagers and middle-aged folks alike.

People were going to notice him. And soon.

Life moved forward for the Coopers too after that night.

Wayne returned to an empty apartment, cheaper and lonelier than the house he once shared with Darlene. She had taken that home—and more painfully, she had confessed who she'd cheated. Only once, she claimed. But she admitted there had been a spark with his best friend.

Wayne's anger burned hot. He knew exactly who she meant.

Missy, of course, caught wind of the gossip because she was there too and listened to their voices. She rushed to call Georgie with the story, only to have him shut her down with a firm of his voice to her ear.

"Missy," he told her, his voice calm but unyielding, "this isn't your tale to spread. If you want to grow up, if you want to be more than just the little girl you used to be—then you need to learn when to keep a secret. That's what makes a person mature."

She pouted, but Georgie wasn't trying to hide the scandal for himself. He wanted her to be responsible. To hold her tongue. Because in Medford, secrets never stayed secrets for long. People know each other like big family, and sure enough, someone is already talking about it.

Meanwhile, Sheldon clung to his routines with his usual discipline. The breakup between Georgie and Veronica disturbed him for a moment, but he followed Georgie's advice and treated Veronica the same as always.

To Veronica's relief, Sheldon was steady. He still welcomed her into the library for lunch, still dumped trivia or small info like he always does and frowned when she interrupted.

As for Veronica, what really annoyed her was how her decision to end things with Georgie had already caught the attention of the gossip hounds and hungry hyenas in heat. People started wondering why she no longer ate lunch with Sheldon in the library. To silence the whispers, she sometimes joined Sheldon again—and other times, she sat with her friends at the cafeteria.

But she always circled back to Sheldon, asking about Missy, asking about his family — but always, inevitably, about Georgie.

Sheldon answered without hesitation, giving her what she wants and never without answering her question.

Libby no longer joined them. Sheldon had told her flatly that he didn't want her around anymore. Tam helped smooth the break with his 'experience' at Houston, and in the end, Libby walked away without protest. There were no hard feelings or no feelings at all, really.

And yet, Sheldon filed it away in his mind: his first taste of heartbreak. Not grand, not tragic. But still a crack in the logical world he had built for himself.

He remembered what his mother had told him: he was still emotionally immature. He remembered Georgie's words too to remember these feelings very well, even his father's steady presence and worries in his face.

Yes. He would always remember this.