Authors: Laura Miller
When Cicadas Cry (20 page)
Rem
I
hold a postcard in my hand. It’s Saturday, June 22. Ashley is standing next to me. Her hand is in mine, and she’s rubbin’ my thumb with her own.
“Buddy, this is Ashley.” I look at Ashley and then back at his grave. “I think you two have met.”
I smile a little at that. Then I glance at the postcard again. The photo on the card is of the Grand Canyon. It’s not Fiji...yet, but I know he would have liked to see it, all the same.
Ashley squeezes my hand. I turn the card over. There’s handwriting on the back—Ashley’s handwriting.
The Grand Canyon was beautiful. We know you would have loved it. We miss you. Here’s to hoping there’s so much beauty in heaven that your eyes can’t take it. With all our love.
Ashley’s signature scrolls across the bottom of the card. Mine follows hers.
I wrap my arms around her waist and squeeze her against me before she takes the card and bends down to his grave. I watch her set the postcard against the stone, and then she returns to my arms.
“Sometimes I wonder,” she says, barely over a whisper, “if I would take it all back—if I could, if that were even possible. Sometimes, I wonder if I knew then what I know now, would I sleep in the day I was supposed to meet him?”
She looks up at me. Her eyes are bright but thoughtful.
“But it makes me sad to think of not knowing him,” she adds. “And then, it makes me wonder if I never would have met you.”
Somethin’ in the way she says her last words makes my heart swell. She squeezes my hand, and I nod because I agree with her. I want to tell her that I agree, but the words won’t form on my tongue.
“I know, baby. I know,” I manage to get out instead. And I do know. I know what she means. I’d take the pain every time, over not ever knowin’ him at all. And I can’t even imagine never knowin’ this girl in my arms.
Several minutes pass, and then Ashley pulls away from me and gives me a light kiss on my cheek. “I’ll let you guys have a moment.”
I nod and squeeze her hand. Then, I watch her walk back to the iron gates, her blue sundress blowin’ in the wind. And when she disappears into the parking lot, I turn back to Owen’s grave. And I just stand there in silence, until a small smile fights its way to my face.
“Well, I did always wish you could have met her... And I guess I did always want to know who your mysterious girlfriend was.”
I laugh a little under my breath as I shift my weight to my other leg.
“And I guess you already know she’s somethin’ special. I’m sorry I almost let her get away.” There’s a tear formin’ behind my eye now. I try to wipe it away before it gets anywhere else. “But I promise you, I’ll take good care of her, from here on out.”
I take a step closer to him and place a hand on his stone. “I miss you, buddy. I know I don’t always tell you that, but most days, I miss you like hell.”
I take my hand back and stare at his name etched in that sandstone-colored rock before I take a deep breath and then slowly let it go. “Well, I better get goin’. We’ll bring you another postcard of one of your places soon.”
I start to turn but then stop. “And buddy...” My emotions are gettin’ the best of me; I try to swallow them down, so I can get this out.
“Thanks for leading her to me.”
A silent moment passes between us, and in the meantime, a renegade tear slides down my cheek. But this time, I don’t bother to wipe it away.
“And don’t worry, big brother, I’ll make sure Jack takes care of
your
Kristen.”
Ashley
“M
ay I have this dance, Miss Westcott?”
He holds out his hand.
I don’t say anything. I just lay my hand in his.
“I could be mistaken,” he says, taking my hand and resting his other on the small of my back, “but I believe it was three years ago today that I shared this same dance with you.” I watch a wide smile slowly crawl across his beautiful face. “And this same song, too.”
“You would not be mistaken,” I say, giving him a small nod.
He draws me close to his body, and I gently rest my head on his chest, as we slowly sway back and forth to the music. I can feel his warmth. I can smell his crisp cologne; it reminds me that I’m home.
“And if I remember right,” he goes on, “I believe we made our first rumor together here, too.”
A smile forms without me telling it to. “I believe you’re right about that as well.”
Then I feel him press a soft kiss into my hair, and I lift my head from his chest.
“Would you like to confirm the rumors tonight, Miss Westcott?” He lowers his face to mine and whispers the words, his lips grazing my ear.
Before I even have a chance to process his question, he pulls away from me and takes both of my hands in his. And in one, fluid motion, he bends down and touches one knee to the hardwood floor.
I’m trying to wrap my head around this moment, but all I can see is his eyes. All I can see is him and the way he’s looking at me. It makes me feel as if we’re tethered together somehow, connected by some kind of imaginary line that runs between our hearts.
“First off, I think you left this with me a little while ago,” he says.
He holds out a rock in the shape of a heart—the same rock I found when we went mushroom hunting together so long ago. I start to reach for it, but he pulls it back.
“It’s yours, yes,” he confirms. “But I’m hopin’ you meant to give it to me.” He shakes his head. “And I don’t intend on ever givin’ it back.”
I just smile, while he stuffs the heart rock back into his pocket and pulls out a little black box. And I can feel my eyes grow wide as his next words come, honest and confident.
“Secondly, Miss Westcott, I fell in love with you here. I knew it. Miss Betty over there knew it.” He eyes an older woman with gray hair in the corner, and I notice, for the first time, that the dancing has stopped and that every eye on or around this little hardwood floor is on us now. “Everybody saw it,” he goes on. “I never recovered from that day. I’ve never loved another soul like I love you. I’m yours, Ashley Westcott, and everyone knows it. And if you’ll have me, I’d love to continue makin’ rumors with you for the rest of my life.”
I just stare into his eyes. And my mind goes back. It flashes back to a warm summer night and a boy I’d never met. In the memory, my eye catches his. I don’t look away. He asks me to dance. It’s only a dance. And he’s only a boy. But I’m lost. He holds out his hand. He doesn’t know he’s my rescue. I take it. And just like that, I rescue him back.
The memory fades, and when I come to, I’m nodding. I nod even before there’s a question asked.
He laughs and still asks the question anyway.
“Will you marry me, Ashley Westcott?”
I can’t stop smiling.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes! Of course, yes.”
He slides the ring onto my finger, and cheers erupt around us. Then he pulls me close and whispers in my ear the words I’ll never forget for as long as I have breath: “I’m happy I have
the greater dance
with you, Miss Westcott. And yes...you’re more than worth the scars those angels will someday see.”
Ashley
O
ne moment.
One moment can shape our entire life.
One moment; that’s all it takes.
But the thing is, that’s not the whole story.
The whole story is a little more complicated than that. For what really shapes our lives is more like a series of moments—one on top of the other. Like, it’s not just
one
sunrise that shapes us, but all the nights before it. Just like it’s not
one
cut to the heart that tears us apart, but all the memories that preceded it. It’s a look on top of a thought, on top of a word, on top of a smile. It’s a heart-pounding question, after a silent prayer. It’s a slow dance, in the midst of a storm. It’s a chance taken, even before you’re given it.
It’s a strange weave of tears and sweat and laughter.
It’s called life.
It’s about love.
And sometimes, it’s painful.
But every time, it’s worth it.
And the moments matter—the blissful and the painful.
Every. Last. One.
They are what make it
worth it.
The End