Authors: Laura Miller
When Cicadas Cry (17 page)
Past
Rem
I
pull up to her house. I had to see it for myself. I park my truck on the curb and step out onto the sidewalk. There’s a letter in my hand. But I guess she’ll never see it because that wind chime is gone and so is her love plant. It always used to sit on that desk right inside her front window.
I stop on the little concrete steps for a moment, replaying yesterday, remindin’ myself why she’s gone before I slowly make my way to the porch swing and sit down. Then I notice somethin’. That heart rock she found mushroom huntin’ is restin’ on the arm of the swing, almost as if she meant to leave it here—almost as if she knew I’d come back here sometime. I pick it up, turn it over in my hand and squeeze it against my palm. Then I put it in my pocket and focus on the letter.
I wrote it last night. I knew she was already gone, but there was a part of me that wished it were all just a nightmare or that she’d be back this morning.
I sit back against the wooden swing and unfold the page. Briefly, my eyelids fall over my eyes. I can feel the soft, late-summer breeze pushin’ over my face. The air is thick with the smell of freshly cut grass and dogwoods. I breathe it all in. The air fills my lungs, but the smell is dulled. There’s this fog that set in yesterday, and it makes everything feel less like it should. It clouds the scent of the grass and makes the leaves on the dogwoods look dry and dreary.
I unfold the letter in front of me. Everything I know is on this page. My eyes go to readin’ over it one last time. And I don’t know if I read it to force myself to feel somethin’—anything—or if I do it in hopes she can feel me sayin’ these words somehow. I don’t know why I do it, but I do it all the same.
My Confessions
Ashley Westcott, you are the most wonderful and special human being I have ever met in my life. Any guy would give anything and everything just to know who you are. I don’t fault my brother for this.
Ever since the moment I first saw you, I knew that there was something incredible about you. You made me feel something that I had never felt before. It took me forever to gather enough courage to ask you out. You were...are...so beautiful. And I think there was a part of me that thought there was no way that you would be interested in me. But I had to try. I had to know you.
And then you agreed to give me a chance. And soon after, I got this feeling inside of me that was stronger than anything I had ever felt in my entire life. And the only explanation I had for the way I felt was that I must be in love.
Ashley, you have no idea what you mean to me. You are everything I could ask for and everything I never thought to ask for. You’re smart and funny and sexy and gorgeous, inside and out. You’re the whole package, babe. And I already miss you. I miss holding your hand—just feeling your touch warms my heart. I miss cuddling with you on the couch on those lazy Sundays and some Mondays, too. I wouldn’t trade that for the world. And I miss the little things, like the taste of your skin, the sweet smell of your hair, the sound of your laugh.
And as I write this, I wonder if you’re thinking about me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking about you. The truth is, if you were here, I’d take you in my arms, and I’d hold you until you made me stop. I’m wishing... I’m wishing a lot of things right now. But mostly, I’m wishing I had met you first. And I know we can’t change any of that. And to be honest, I don’t know what that means for us. But I just wanted you to know that no matter what happens to us, you’ll always be a part of me and you’ll always have a place in my heart...always.
And...I’m sorry.
You deserve to know this.
~Rem
I finish readin’, and then I carefully fold the letter. And then I fold it again. And I close my eyes until the only thing I feel is my heart beating. Then I rip the page in half, turn it, then rip it in half again...and again...and again, until it’s just a bunch of little pieces in my hand. Then I squeeze the little bits of paper in my palm. And without another thought, I toss the pieces into the wind.
They hang in the air for a moment before gradually floatin’ to the concrete and scatterin’ every which way on the porch floor. I watch them for a few seconds dance in little circles in the breeze.
If everything were different, it would matter what I just did. But nothin’s different, and that’s not gonna change. My brother loved her first. And even if she doesn’t still love him, I just can’t do that to him. I just can’t do that to my brother.
Present
Rem
I
write the word. It’s only one word, but it means everything to me, and maybe it will mean everything to her, too.
I set the pen down and slide the page of the book into the envelope. Then I seal it, turn it over and let it sit on the counter as I stare at her address—the post office box number I found in the back of the book.
It’s not a novel; I didn’t write a story about our life in my perspective. It’s not a long letter explainin’ myself or my reasons. It’s not even a sentence. It’s just one little word. It’s just a simple answer—the answer to her question, the answer she needs to hear.
Present
Ashley
T
he return address on the envelope is his. Without hesitation, I quickly tear open its seal and slide the piece of paper out of the envelope.
It’s the page of the book where I asked him the question. I see the torn edges on one side, and then I see my handwriting, and I stop there. My heart is racing. I close my eyes. Every bone in my body is aching to read what follows those two little words—
Was it?
—and yet, every fiber of my heart is begging me not to.
I slowly count to three in my head, but when I get to
three
, I keep my eyes closed. A million scenarios are running through my mind. What if he said
yes
? What if he said
no
? What if he didn’t even answer?
I cautiously force my eyes open, and then I let them slowly crawl to the bottom of the page, until I see it.
It’s one word—in his handwriting.
A breath tunnels through my lungs.
The page falls to the countertop.
My hand covers my mouth.
And instantly, I’m fighting back tears.
Past (1 Year Earlier)
Rem
I
stop at his spot and stare at his grave. I’m havin’ trouble formin’ words. It took me a month to get back here. I haven’t seen him since I found Ashley standin’ here with his postcard. I just didn’t know what to say to him.
But today felt as if it were just as good a day as any to come out here. So, here I am. And after a while of just starin’ and thinkin’—about Ashley, about him, about my childhood, about how my life goes on from here—I push out a steady stream of air and then walk over to the milkin’ stool.
I take a seat and just sit there for a few more seconds. I can feel liquid formin’ behind my eyes. I clear my throat and rub both my eyes at once with my first finger and thumb.
“I’m sorry, buddy.”
I try to swallow down the ache in my throat.
“I didn’t know you and Ash...” I can’t finish the sentence, so I take a second and try again.
“You know I never would have even looked at her that way if I had known.”
I put my hand to my mouth and lower my head.
“I’m sorry, buddy.” My eyes fixate on the ground, and then on his stone. “I’m sorry you’re here. I’m sorry you can’t be with her. I’m sorry I didn’t talk you into playin’ golf...or chess or somethin’ a little safer than football. I’m sorry I ratted ya out to Mom that night you came home drunk. I didn’t know any better, and I sure as hell didn’t know anything about the brothers’ code back then.
And I’m sorry we didn’t name that dog Buster like you wanted to. It really was a better name than SpongeBob. I don’t know how Mom and Dad let us do that to that poor collie.
And I’m...I’m sorry that I didn’t show ya more that I loved ya.” I pause and let go of a long sigh. “I’m sorry for that, buddy.”
A drop of salty water escapes down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away and shift my weight on the little stool. And then I sit there in the quiet for a few minutes. The air is warm. The breeze feels nice. It pushes over the leaves in the tree next to us, makin’ a calm, rustlin’ sound.
“Owen, I’ve got a question for ya.” I tug at the legs of my jeans and bend my knees. “And this wouldn’t even be a question if this situation were different. And I’m sorry it’s not different. You know I wish it were.” I stop and take another breath. “But I guess it is what it is, and I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’m at my wit’s end here. I mean, I love her, Owen. I do. I can’t stop thinkin’ about her.”
I pause and inhale a healthy dose of air. “But, um...I’ll stay away from her...if you want me to,” I say, in my next exhale. “I’ll do it. It’ll be hard, but I’ll do it.”
I take a second to wipe away the damn liquid that keeps fallin’ down my cheeks.
“But if, uh...” I stop and bite at the inside of my lip before I go on. “If there’s still some way in this whole crazy mess we’ve made, where Ashley and I can still work... I mean, if that’s even possible...” I look down at my boots. “Will you just, maybe, send me a sign or somethin’? I mean, it doesn’t have to be a lightnin’ bolt or any
Ghost Dad
shit or anything like that. In fact, please don’t send lightnin’...and please, please don’t send a ghost.” I laugh a little at that before I continue.
“I don’t know,” I say, glancin’ down at his grave. “That’s probably crazy, right?” I sigh and rub the back of my neck. “Look at me, buddy. I’m goin’ crazy.” I laugh again and shake my head back and forth as I do it.
I’ve really got to get myself together.
I force out a breath and rest my hand on his stone.
“Buddy, I really wish you were here to help me through this. I could sure use some of your geezer wisdom right about now.”
I smile, but then it quickly fades away.
“But honestly, Owen,” I say, restin’ my forehead on the hand that covers his grave, “what I could really use right about now...is a brother.”