When September Ends (3 page)

I think of Scout constantly. They’re home by now. They’ve both read the notes I left for them but, in my heart, I know that Scout will not begin to understand my departure. How could she?

Jesse will understand. He will be pissed, of course, but at the end of the day, he will understand. Maybe he will even feel some relief in not having to be the one to state the obvious: it never could’ve worked.

Too many complications.

Too sordid.

Too unconventional.

My self-loathing, which I generally hate, right there along with self-pity is temporarily interrupted when there’s a tap on the door of my apartment.

My heart lurches, my hopes soar.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“Brandon—I live next door,” a male voice from the other side says.

I open the door a bit, peeking out into the hallway. And there stands a dude, about six feet, two inches, dark brown hair and smiling hazel eyes. He’s dressed in cargo shorts and a white tee, looking collegiate, muscular, and tanned from the summer sun.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling widely, “Welcome to the hood. You got a name?”

I nod, flushing, “I’m September. September Dawson,” I reply, holding my hand out.

He grins mischievously, “Well, September, you’ve just made my August.”

Seriously?

“How’s that?”

“Well, if you had met the former tenants of your apartment, you’d understand,” he replies, laughing. “Purple hair, black lipstick, pierced and tatted over every square inch of skin—get the picture?”

I smile back. “Yeah, but appearances can be deceiving I hear.”

“Not with those two. I swear to God, every full moon I could hear the howling of their animal sacrifices over here.”

“You’re just lying now,” I laugh. “You go to U of A?”

“Guilty. Third year pre-law.”

“Impressive.”

“And you?”

“Freshman. Major undecided.”

He smiles. “That’s the beauty of being a freshman. I think I’ve changed my major each year. Started out poli-sci, then humanities, but now I’ll be sticking with pre-law. Gotta follow in my old man’s footsteps if I want my tuition to be paid in full.”

“Not a bad career,” I reply. “Do you play sports?”

“Soccer, you?”

“No, not me. I figure between my classes and my part-time job, I’ll pretty much have zero time for anything else.”

“Well, you need to try to keep at least a few hours a week open for a social life. It’s more about the play than the work right now, September.”

I feel myself blush, and with a quick playful wink Brandon is heading down the hall towards the stairwell. “Maybe we can grab a pizza sometime,” he calls back, not bothering to turn around.

“Maybe,” I reply, but I’m not even sure he caught it.

I close the door to my apartment and lean back against it taking a deep breath. I’ve never considered the possibility that a guy might want to go out with me.

I’m not ready for that. At all.

I glance at the clock. Shit, I’m going to be late for my shift at Rudy’s if I don’t get my ass in gear.

I quickly change into my red and white Rudy’s Barbecue & Ribs tee shirt, along with the tiny navy blue shorts and head out for the afternoon.

Later, after my shift is over and I’m back in my apartment, I soak my tired and aching body in the warm sudsy bubbles of my old-fashioned clawfoot tub. Carrying heavy trays full of platters of baby back ribs and dodging the crowds of college students now back in Fort Smith that gather at Rudy’s is giving me a workout.

Tips aren’t bad though. I brought home fifty-four dollars tonight. I rest against the cool porcelain of the tub, and raise my right leg, squeezing the soapy stream of warm water from my loofah on it.

God, this feels good.

And it’s funny how little things like my evening bubble bath are expected to fill the void in me that Jesse has left.

After my bath, I call Shayla. I know if anyone will understand how I feel, it’s her. She’s already in Chapel Hill and her classes have started.

“Hey,” she says, “How’s it going?”

“It sucks, Shayla. How long will I feel like shit?”

I hear her sigh. “It’s different for everyone, babe. I still hurt at times. It helps being so far away. Have you thought about transferring to a different U of A campus? You know, September, Jesse is going to try and find you. He’s not going to let you go that easily. Not like Pierce did with me.”

I hear the resentment in her voice. Pierce let her go so easily. He had been relieved that it had ended and that he’d been able to keep his marriage intact, his wife none the wiser. That had to have hurt like hell.

I wonder now if Jesse feels relief. The thought of that crushes me!

And then I allow myself to break down. Because she won’t judge me; and she won’t tell me that he’s not worth my tears, or that I’ll feel better soon, or that I’ve done the right thing. She does what someone who’s been there does and consoles me, “I know,” she says, soothingly, “I know it hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”

It’s been four days since we’ve returned to Fort Smith. Scout’s still pretty much being quiet and withdrawn. We’ve gone school shopping for clothes and supplies, but even that doesn’t bring her out of the funk she’s in.

The only inkling of normalcy is when Catherine comes knocking at our door that evening after supper and invites her over to her house to play.

“Are you sure it’s okay with your mom?” Scout asks.

“Yep. It was her idea,” Catherine replies. “Can you?”

“Dad?”

“Go on ahead,” I reply, “But be home as soon as it starts getting dark out, you hear?”

“Yep,” she replies, taking off out the door.

I’ve been paying Amber’s mom to keep Scout while I work. She knows that September has gone off to college, so there’s been no need for any drawn out explanations.

My cell rings.

It’s Ruth.

“Hey Ruth,” I answer. “Sorry, I meant to call you before now, but things have been kind of hectic here.”

“Where’s September?” she asks, her voice is cold. Henry has apparently filled her in. Her disapproval comes across loud and clear.

“She’s moved out.”

“I’ve tried to call her,” she continues, “Her phone has been shut off. You do that?”

“No, Ruth, as a matter of fact, I didn’t do that. She did that before she left.”

“Why did she take off, Jesse? Was she tired of seeing to your
carnal needs
?”

Oh, hell no.

“Ruth, I don’t need to explain anything to you. Truth is, it’s none of your business. She’s an adult. I’m an adult, so I’ll thank you to keep your bible-thumpin’ opinions to yourself. Hey, you’re the one that called me. So what? Is this your way of harassing me for not bringing Libby back here?”

It’s quiet for a moment. “I’m simply worried about September. We still love our granddaughter. We figure it’s not her fault getting pulled into something like that. Do you even know where she’s gone?”

I try to curb my anger at her nasty insinuation. “No, Ruth, I don’t know where she’s gone, but I’ve been trying like hell to find her.”

“Hmmph. Sounds like maybe she doesn’t want to be found, Jesse. I expect she’ll be contacting us once she feels like we’ve forgiven her. You will call us if you hear from her first?”

“Yep. Will you do the same?”

Silence.

“Ruth?”

“I suppose so. Your wife is still upset, in case you’re interested,” she continues. “How is Scout dealing with all of this?”

I sigh heavily. “She’s been quiet. Withdrawn. More about September though,” I clarify.

“May I speak with her?”

“She’s next door playing with her friend. I can have her call you when she comes back in.”

“I would appreciate that, Jesse. We’re up until eleven. I’ll give Sarah your best.”

I start to reply, but I realize Ruth has hung up the phone. Add me to another shit list, I guess.

I leaf through the stack of envelopes on the coffee table that I’d brought in from the mailbox.

Finally.

A thick envelope from my cellular carrier is in the pile. I tear it open and immediately start scanning the text messages from Shayla to September, and then verify it with outgoing calls on her phone.

I pick up my cell and push the digits of Shayla’s number. It rings several times and then goes to voicemail.

Shit. How pathetic would it sound for me to leave a message? I decide against it. I’ll try her number again tomorrow morning.

There’s nothing I can do at the moment. This whole thing has zapped my energy. I can’t focus on work, on my business, on anything except September.

I rub my stubbled face. I haven’t shaved in two days. I haven’t slept in my bed because it seems too empty even though I never allowed her to sleep there unless Scout was out of the house. Even after I knew this thing with her was real and valid.

Shit.

What am I? Amish?

I get up and grab a beer from the refrigerator. It takes all of two minutes for me to guzzle it down and then grab another. I stretch out on the sofa, grab the remote and click on the television knowing that any type of noise will do so that I don’t feel so fucking alone.

I rest the bottle of beer on my stomach with one hand, and click the remote to channel surf with the other. I’m not picky. Anything that can distract me for ten minutes will do.

After I finish my second beer, I grab my cell and hit the redial for Shayla. Once again, it rings several times and then goes to her voicemail.

What the fuck? “Hey Shayla, this is Jesse Ryan. Wondering if you’ve heard from September lately? If you do, will you please tell her to get a hold of her sister? Scout’s been out of sorts after not talking to her for more than a week. Thanks.”

Am I a schmuck, or what? Sometimes even I piss myself off. I mean, why in the hell did I just put this on Scout?

I toss my cell back on the coffee table and finish off my beer just as Scout is coming in for the night.

“Get your shower,” I halfway bark at her and instantly regret it. “I’m sorry, honey, I’ve had a bad day.”

“Is it because of September, Dad?” she asks quietly. And she knows. There’s no doubt about it, she knows. And I’m not about to lie to her.

“Yeah, Scout. I miss her. I miss her a lot.”

“Have you found her?”

“Not yet.”

“Is she mad at us?”

“No, baby. I think she’s mad at me.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated,” I reply, because it’s the truth.

She rolls her eyes. “That’s the same thing that Casey said today when I asked her if she was still mad at you.”

“Huh?”

She shrugs and heads down the hall towards her bathroom. “I just asked if you guys were friends again or if she was still mad and she told me…it’s complicated.”

“Hey,” I holler after her, “Call your Grandma before bed. She called for you.”

“Okay.”

Later on, after Scout has talked to her grandparents—and to Sarah, I tuck her in, give her a goodnight kiss and tell her that things will all work out. I need her to believe that; hell, I need to believe that.

I shower and decide it’s time to sleep in my bed instead of on the sofa tonight.

I pull back the bedspread and there it is.