When September Ends (2 page)

I will not let that happen.

September’s car isn’t in the driveway, and then I remember that this is one of the days she pulls a shift at her job.

“Where’s September?” Scout asks as she realizes her car is not here.

“She’s at work, baby. She’ll be home around eight, don’t worry.”

We grab our luggage and I unlock the door, stepping aside to let Scout in and instructing her to take her suitcase to her room and start unpacking.

“I have to pee first,” she hollers, taking off, and I feel a small shred of hope that our news just might be what Scout needs to get her out of the funk she’s been in since leaving Meridian and her mother behind.

Once inside the kitchen, I set my luggage down, and I don’t miss the fact that September’s cell phone is on the kitchen table. It’s not like her to leave for work without it.

I pick it up and quickly scroll through the recent activity and see there’s nothing on it except for the text messages I sent from Henry and Ruth’s, along with the missed calls I had made to her.

What the?

Everything else on her cell has been wiped. Did she get a new phone?

And then my eyes land on the set of house keys that had also been left on the table. The key ring had the dangling “S” on it.

“S” for September.

I quickly move from the kitchen, and head down the hallway to where her bedroom is located. I open the door, my eyes scan the room and it immediately registers that she’s gone. She’s left. As if I need further proof, I take the few steps to where the closet is located, and slide back one of the doors. Some empty hangers are all that’s left.

“Dad,” Scout says from the doorway, her voice sounds as if she’s ready to cry, “September is gone. She left a note on my pillow.”

And then the tears she hasn’t allowed herself to shed break loose as I turn and go to her.

“Let me see, baby,” I say, taking the piece of paper she has clutched in her hand.

I scan the note quickly.

Hey Scout,

I left for college and wanted to make sure you knew that I’ll miss you like crazy! I decided it would be best for me to live on campus so that I can make new friends here. As soon as I get situated, I’ll stop by to see you, okay? It might take me a little bit to get used to my schedule, so don’t think I’ve forgotten you because that won’t happen. I promise!

Love you,

September

Scout is sobbing now, and I’m pretty sure it’s more about September than it is about Libby, but I’m sure it’s a combination of everything she’s been through these past few days.

“Hush, baby,” I console, picking her up in my arms. “Everything is going to be fine, honey. I’ll find out why September decided she wanted to live on campus. I’ll fix this, I promise.”

Her face is buried against my shoulder, and I can feel the wetness of her tears soaking through my tee shirt. She nods and tries her best to quiet her sobs. “Okay, but Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“What if September doesn’t want to come back here to live? Will you make her?”

I have no answer to that question and, then I realize, I have no right to make promises to Scout like the one I’ve just made. How can I promise to fix something that I’m not sure can be fixed? I’ve no clue what prompted September to leave us like this.

That’s not the truth. Maybe it was the fact that I was dragging my feet with going public with our relationship that made her feel insecure.

I just needed for her to be patient. I just wanted to make sure everything was right before taking that step.

Seriously?

Even I don’t believe my lame excuse.

Scout is spending the day and night with her friend, Amber, from down the street. I had phoned Jeff, Amber’s dad, last night after Scout had gone to bed and asked if they could keep her due to some pressing personal business I had to handle. I provided no details.

I need to look for September and find out why the hell she’s gone. I’m not going to lose her. She’s mine. Maybe I hadn’t made that abundantly clear to her, but as soon as I find her, I will. There will be no doubt in her mind as to the depth of my love for her.

My first stop is the restaurant where she works. I wait impatiently as the hostess on duty had gone to get the manager. I’m not sure why the manager has to answer the question I asked. It seems simple enough to me.

When is September Dawson’s next shift scheduled?

I mean, what the hell?

Finally, a twenty-something dude comes out from the dining room and sees me standing by the cash register. His nametag reads Scott Winters, Manager. The name is familiar to me, probably because September has mentioned him in the past.

“May I help you?”

“Yeah, Scott. I was just trying to find out when September is scheduled to work again.”

“And you would be?”

Dude is starting to piss me off. “I’m Jesse Ryan.”

“Oh. Her stepdad?”

Fucker.

“Yeah.”

“September doesn’t work here any longer.”

“What? Why?”

He shrugs and takes on a bit of cockiness with me, which makes me wonder what exactly he’s heard about me. “She quit a few days ago. She didn’t bother to give notice. She just called in and left a message with Lisa, the night manager, said she was moving out of town. That’s all I know.”

“What do you mean, that’s all you know? She had to leave some information…what about her last paycheck?”

“She picked it up this morning.”

Fuck!

I leave the restaurant and head over to the U of A campus in Fort Smith. Classes aren’t starting for a couple of weeks, but I know September has been registered for the fall term since the beginning of summer.

Once inside the Registrar’s Office, it takes about five minutes of waiting before I finally get in front of the person working the counter.

“Yes, I’m Jesse Ryan and I need to verify that my stepdaughter, September Dawson, is registered for fall semester. I need a copy of her class schedule.”

The woman eyes me warily. “May I have her student I.D. number please?”

Double fuck!

“Oh shoot…I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t have that on me.”

“Her social?”

“Nope.”

I’m sorry, sir. We can’t access her information without confirmation of one or the other. It’s for the sake of privacy, you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, heading out.

Now what?

I head home and try to think of anyone else who might know where she’s staying.

Maybe that friend of hers. What the hell is her name?

Shayla.

Last name?

Fuck if I know.

As soon as I get home, I call my wireless carrier and, by the time I get through their automated “Press 1 for this and Press 2 for that, I’m pretty damn sure my normally textbook blood pressure has climbed a few notches. I order hard copies of incoming and outgoing calls and texts for September’s cell number for the past six months. They tell me it will take five to seven days to provide that information.

Afterwards, I’m at a loss as to what to do. I feel helpless and pissed off at the same time.

Helpless because I don’t know what to do next.

Pissed off because I should’ve known more about her life. I should’ve known Shayla’s fucking last name. I should’ve known where she lives so that I could speed over there right this second to find out what she knows about September.

I run a hand through my hair and then head to September’s room. I open every dresser drawer to see if something—anything has been left behind that could provide a clue. Every drawer is empty.

I check under her bed, on the floor of the closet and even lift the mattress on her bed hoping that something has been left behind, but there is nothing.

I go to my room and notice the rumpled bedspread where I’d tossed and turned last night, trying to get some sleep. I think of the happier times in that bed. Times when we would leave the bathroom still damp from our shower and burrow down under the covers, allowing the heat of our bodies to dry our skin.

I sigh. I rub my eyes trying to get the tired out, but it doesn’t budge.

What the hell am I going to do without her?

I slump down on my bed and bury my face in my hands. My doorbell rings, and suddenly hope seeps in that September has returned. She left her keys behind so, of course, she needs to ring the bell.

I leap to my feet, rubbing a hand against the five o’clock shadow that’s bristly to even my touch. I make a mental note as I head to the front door to shower and shave before I touch her.

I open the door, my heart pumping wildly to rejuvenate the rest of my body, because we will have this out. I will make up for whatever half-assed, poor excuse of a lover I’ve been to her up to this point.

That’s a fucking promise.

I feel my heart drop to my size eleven feet when I see that it’s not September standing there, it’s fucking Casey from next door.

Fuck me.

I open the door and see that she has a few pieces of mail in her hand.

“Sorry to bother you, Jesse,” she says, holding the envelopes up for me to take. “These were delivered to my mailbox by mistake earlier this week. You weren’t home and I didn’t want to just leave them in yours, so I kept them with me.”

Yeah, right.

But a thought occurs to me that possibly there’s something from September in that stack. I take them and leaf through the four envelopes quickly. All of them are bills. I sigh deeply.

“Is…is everything okay?” Casey asks, and a look of sincere concern washes over her face.

“Just some personal shit going on here,” I reply. No need to give her more fodder for her next Girl’s Night.

“Listen, Jesse,” she says softly, “I know we kind of parted on bad terms, and I get that, for whatever reason, you took September’s word over mine, but I want to set the record straight with you. I didn’t lie to you about any of that. She did ask me to help locate her mother. I wouldn’t have pried into your personal business like that, please believe me.”

I tap the stack of envelopes against my thigh. “Why are you telling me this now?” I ask.

“I guess because I was here when September packed her car up and they left. I figured maybe you had figured it out and maybe asked her to leave. Not trying to pry,” she says, holding her hand up, “I’m not about to nose into your business. I just wanted you to know, that’s all.”

She turns to leave my front porch, but stops when she hears my voice. “What do you mean when
they
left?”

She stops and turns back around to face me. “Well, I’m not sure who it was, I presume he was a friend of hers just helping out.”

“Whoa, hold up. It was a guy?”

She nods. “Yeah, a young guy, about her age, I guess. Nice looking. I didn’t linger in my driveway because, as you know, I’m no fan of your stepdaughter’s what with how she fabricated all of that stuff about me. It just looked to me like they were friends, maybe more. Who knows? They were laughing and trying to fit everything into that car of hers. I was out watering my plants on the front porch, and when I went around to the side of the house to fill my watering can from the spigot, that’s when I saw them going in and out of your house carrying boxes to her car.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks Casey,” I reply, totally blown away by this information.

“No problem,” she replies, walking down the porch steps. “Hey,” she calls back over her shoulder, “If you need anything, I’m still right next door. Just ask.”

“Thanks.”

I’m trying my damndest to get settled into my new efficiency, my new job and my new life. For the first time in my existence, I’m totally dependent on just me. It’s liberating.

But…it’s also scary.

I’ll be nineteen next month, but that’s not close to being an adult, especially for someone that’s pretty much done as she’s pleased for the first eighteen years of her life, and made a shitload of mistakes along the way.

Was Jesse a mistake?

No.

I am Jesse’s mistake.
I encouraged and seduced him into being something he clearly is not comfortable with, at least in public. I put on my Lolita fuck-me shoes and dug my heels in like a common skank.

I can’t excuse it by copping to youth. I need to take responsibility for it, learn from it, and move forward. My conscious isn’t quite clear with the way that I left, but the opportunity presented itself and I knew damn well it was the only way that I would have had enough guts to make a clean break.