When September Ends (4 page)

An envelope. With my name handwritten, on the front, in September’s script.

I suck in a hard breath as I sit down on the bed and unfold the paper inside.

Dear Jesse,

I’m sorry that I left the way that I did, but I didn’t know how else to leave. Knowing that Mama is still alive should be good news, but I didn’t feel that way and I know how wrong that is! I should be happy for that but all I felt was angry and confused. I know how selfish that sounds. I need some time to figure things out. What we had seemed so right, but now I wonder if maybe we were both fooling ourselves. I hope Mama is doing well. I will miss you and Scout, but this is the right thing to do for everyone. I will stop by as soon as I stop hurting. I can’t leave Scout like this forever. But please, Jesse, give this to me. Let me stop hurting and get past all of this. You and I need to do what is right by Scout—and Mama. It’s what I want.

My Love, September

After I’ve read it once, twice and then three times, I fold up my ‘Dear Jesse’ letter and place it gently in the drawer of my nightstand. I switch the lamp off and crawl beneath the covers, feeling an emptiness seep in like nothing I’ve ever known.

I search my soul for some kind of relief, some confirmation that September is right about us, that we were, in fact, fooling ourselves, living some kind of an erotic, taboo fantasy.

But I don’t find it. Because I know it isn’t the truth. Oh, I can be patient. I can and will give her the time she wants to stop hurting, but I know in my gut it won’t matter. I will still feel what I feel for her, and I know that she will feel the same.

Being apart from one another isn’t right for anyone. I can see that and, I know eventually, she will see it as well.

I’m getting ready to head out for my first day of classes when my cell phone rings. I grab it from my pocket and see that it’s only eight-thirty. It’s Shayla. We haven’t talked for a few days.

“Hey,” I answer.

“September, Jesse got my number somehow and left a voicemail. He wants to know how to reach you. What should I do?”

Shit.

But I smile anyway. “Oh God, Shayla…I don’t know. If you ignore his message, he’ll just leave another. I hate asking you to lie—”

“Oh hell, don’t worry about it. I’ll call him back and tell him that I live out of state now and that I haven’t a clue where you live, which is the truth.”

“He’s going to ask more questions, you know?”

“Yeah, well I’ll lie if need be, unless you want me to tell him.”

“Nothing’s changed,” I reply. “Gotta get to class. Thanks, Shayla.”

“Talk to you soon,” she replies, “Hang in there, babe.”

Easier said that done I thought to myself as I headed out to my car.

I get through my first day of college classes, which mostly involves teacher and student introductions that I hate more than you can imagine. I don’t like summarizing who I am to a bunch of other people, whether students or faculty, I just don’t like it. And because of that, my voice generally falters and then I get really flustered, so I speak softer, which ultimately leads to the teacher asking me to repeat it.

Fuck that.

Luckily, I don’t have a shift tonight so I can go back to my apartment and chill for a bit, and then start reading the assigned shit on my syllabus for each class.

Lovely.

Just as I’m getting into my car, I hear a shrill whistle and a male voice shouting, “Whoa, September, hold up!”

I turn and it’s my neighbor, Brandon, jogging over towards where my car is parked. “Classes over?” he asks.

“Yeah, thank God,” I reply, nodding.

“Ah c’mon, was it that brutal? Let me see your schedule.”

And I pull it from my backpack and hand it over to him.

“Okay,” he says, after he’s scanned it, “You’re not in too bad of shape. I’ve had three of the five professors you have this semester. Let me clue you in. With Bartlett, you need to make sure you participate in class. He’s a big proponent of that. Whitacre will be drunk during most of his lectures, so don’t sweat it if it doesn’t make sense. And Byers? She’s a royal bitch and won’t cut you any slack, doll, because of the way you look.”

Rewind—what?

“What?” he asks, seeing my befuddled expression.

“Seriously, Byers won’t like me?”

He immediately laughs and, I’m not going to lie, I love the way it sounds. “So, I tell you that your English Lit teacher is drunk most of the time, but you’re worried about the blonde bitch Byers? That’s interesting.”

“Are you making fun of me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Not at all, babe. You are a breath of fresh air around here. Gotta go. Practice. Don’t forget, we’ve got a date for pizza,” he calls out once he’s already a half block down the street.

I rack my brain wondering if I ever confirmed with him and I know that I didn’t, but what the hell?

It’s just pizza.

Peeps gotta eat.

Fuck, I know that chick is lying to me. I would bet my next ten paychecks on it.

“Sorry Mr. Ryan, I haven’t heard from September. I’m in Chapel Hill, North Carolina now. I go to school here. You know how it goes. Once you leave high school it’s like your whole world changes. New places, new friends. But hey, if I do hear from her I’ll be sure and let her know you’re concerned.”

Yeah, right. That is what September’s friend Shayla had tried to pass off as the truth when she finally returned my call after I had left two subsequent messages.

Do I believe her?

Fuck no.

But her lies are the least of my problems at the moment. The most pressing issue is Scout and the way she isn’t dealing with September’s departure, or the fact that after talking to Libby/Sarah, she is totally out of sorts.

Scout starts school tomorrow and I sent her off to get a shower. I just couldn’t look at her sad face any longer. It’s not as if she verbalizes her feelings.

Fuck, she doesn’t have to because she wears her heart on her sleeve. I almost wish she would talk about it but¸ then again, there’s nothing I can say to her that I haven’t already said.

“Did you find September?” she had asked at supper tonight.

“Not yet, honey,” I replied. “I’m still looking.”

“Why did she really leave, Dad?”

“Because of me, Scout. She left because of me.”

I had braced myself for more questions because at ten, she had to have some, but they didn’t come. We had finished our dinner in silence.

There’s a soft knocking on the door leading out to the driveway. I peek through the kitchen doorway and see that it’s Casey standing there.

“It’s open,” I holler down.

“Hey,” she says, coming in and walking up the three steps that lead from the landing to the kitchen. “Jesse, I just want to offer you any help with Scout that you might need.”

I quirk a brow where I’m standing at the sink. “And why would you want to do that?”

She flushes a bit, likely embarrassed because I don’t mince words. There is no way in hell that I’m opening that door again. I’m not about to let her think there’s even a possibility.

“Look, I’ve got no ulterior motives, so relax. It’s just that Catherine and Scout get on so well, and I’d be happy to have her stay with me until you get home from work.”

I turn from the sink, crossing my arms and gaze over at her. She does wear a sincere expression, but what the hell? If I’ve learned anything it’s that women can be chameleons. Casey is no exception.

“I’ll take you up on that as long as you allow me to pay you just like I would if she stayed at Latchkey.”

“I won’t hear of it,” she replies quickly. “We’re neighbors. Neighbors help neighbors, right?”

“Casey—look, I don’t like to feel beholden to anyone, you need to understand that.”

She sighs. “Okay, how about this? I have some gutters that need replacing before winter. If I buy the materials, will you install them for me?”

I give it a moment. “That’ll work,” I reply. “We’ve got a deal.”

“Great,” she says with a smile. “So, you’ll let Scout know that I’ll pick her up on my way home? Just have her watch for me to pull up in front. My school dismisses before hers, so the timing is perfect.”

Yeah. Perfect.

“I’ll do that, Casey. And thanks.”

“You bet,” she replies as she heads back out the door.

After she leaves I wonder if I’ve somehow played into some intricate plan she has going to start things up again.

No way in hell.

I’ve survived the first couple weeks of college, and struck a balance between school, work and a fledgling social life even. Slowly, I’m starting to adjust to being on my own. I know it’s time for me to take the next step.

I need to call my grandparents. I need to check in with them because it’s just not fair to continue shutting them out. After all, they were the ones that raised me when Mama took off; and they were the ones that had always made sure I had the love and security I needed while growing up. None of this was their fault.

I pick up my cell and press the number I have already programmed into my phone. Gram answers.

“Hey Gram,” I say, “It’s me…it’s September.”

“Oh my God, September,” she says, her voice cracking. “Do you know how worried Grandpa and I have been not knowing where you’ve been or how you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry, Gram. It’s just that…well, things got really complicated and all—”

She cuts me off. “I know about it. Your grandpa filled me in after Jesse and Scout left. I don’t know what to say or even think about that, September.”

And I know my gram. I know she’s disappointed—maybe even ashamed of me, and definitely pissed off about it. But probably more at Jesse than at me.

“I won’t discuss that with you, Gram. No disrespect, but it’s my private business—it’s between Jesse and me.”

I can feel her frown over the phone. I’m familiar with it.

“You—you’re not still carrying on with him, are you?”

I sigh loudly. “Gram, I called to let you and Grandpa know that I’m fine and to give you my new number and my address. I’m out on my own, and I’m doing well. I’m in school, and I’m working. I would just appreciate it if you keep this information to yourself.”

“I see,” she says, “Of course, I will. You have no worries about that. Henry and I sure as hell don’t want Jesse getting access to you. I’m guessing that’s why you’ve made this request.”

I’m silent. She’s right, but the way she just put it makes me feel downright pissy with her.

“You haven’t asked about your mother,” she finally says breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“My mother left me five years ago. I’m sorry if I don’t feel the need to ask about her.”

It’s the truth and I know just how cold and unfeeling it sounds. But what am I supposed to feel? I wish someone would clue me in because, at this moment in time, all I feel is ambivalent.

“September, I know what she did to you and Scout was wrong, honey. There’s no denying that, but she’s not the same person that left there more than five years back. She’s Sarah now. She’s sweet and gentle and, in a way, she’s very fragile. But she’s back and we pray every day, thanking the Lord for that, but we also pray that eventually some day she does remember.”