When Cicadas Cry
Authors: Laura Miller
WHEN CICADAS CRY
-A NOVEL-
L A U R A M I L L E R
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Laura Miller.
LauraMillerBooks.com
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system.
Cover design by Laura Miller.
Cover photos © Irina Bg/Shutterstock.
Title page photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Dedication page photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Content page photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Quote pages photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Chapter headings photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Torn page photo © ba1969/rgbstock.
Torn page design by Laura Miller.
Acknowledgments page photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Author photo © NM.
To the Author of mortals,
For the greater dance
Time flies over us but leaves its shadow behind.
~Nathaniel Hawthorne
Prologue
Chapter One: Present:
Rem
Chapter Two: Past (2 Years Earlier):
Ashley
Chapter Three: Past:
Rem
Chapter Four: Present:
Rem
Chapter Five: Past (2 Years Earlier):
Rem
Chapter Six: Past:
Rem
Chapter Seven: Past:
Rem
Chapter Eight: Present:
Rem
Chapter Nine: Past (2 Years Earlier):
Rem
Chapter Ten: Present:
Rem
Chapter Eleven: Past (4 Years Earlier):
Rem
Chapter Twelve: Present:
Rem
Chapter Thirteen: Past (2 Years Earlier):
Rem
Chapter Fourteen: Present:
Rem
Chapter Fifteen: Past (1.5 Years Earlier):
Rem
Chapter Sixteen: Present:
Rem
Chapter Seventeen: Past (1.5 Years Earlier):
Rem
Chapter Eighteen: Present:
Rem
Chapter Nineteen: Past (1.5 Years Earlier):
Ashley
Chapter Twenty: Past:
Ashley
Chapter Twenty-One: Present:
Rem
Chapter Twenty-Two: Past (1.5 Years Earlier):
Ashley
Chapter Twenty-Three: Present:
Rem
Chapter Twenty-Four: Present:
Rem
Chapter Twenty-Five: Past (1 Year Earlier):
Rem
Chapter Twenty-Six: Past:
Rem
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Past:
Rem
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Past:
Rem
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Past:
Rem
Chapter Thirty: Past:
Rem
Chapter Thirty-One: Past:
Rem
Chapter Thirty-Two: Present:
Rem
Chapter Thirty-Three: Present:
Ashley
Chapter Thirty-Four: Past (1 Year Earlier):
Rem
Chapter Thirty-Five: Present:
Ashley
Chapter Thirty-Six: Present:
Rem
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Five Months Later:
Rem
Chapter Thirty-Eight:
Rem
Chapter Thirty-Nine:
Ashley
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Laura Miller
When I saw you, I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.
~William Shakespeare
Ashley
O
ne moment.
One moment can shape our entire life.
One deep breath.
One slow exhale.
The first time you feel soft grass on your bare feet.
The last time you fell in love.
One painted sunrise.
A note in a song.
One line in a poem.
Your first shot of whiskey.
One taste of forbidden love.
One word spoken too soon.
One word spoken too late.
Your first heartbreak.
One dance with a stranger.
One smile.
One look.
One thought.
One wayward memory.
One secret kept just a moment too long.
That’s all it takes.
My grandmother had a lot of little phrases she liked to say to my sister and me when we were growing up. Like when she’d catch us staring out the window too long—those times when she’d have to say our names at least twice before we’d answer—she’d always say:
If you want to know where your heart is, look to where your mind goes when it wanders.
I never had to look too far.
My heart is with him; it has been, since Day One.
But what I didn’t know when we locked eyes that first time was that every moment we shared was just another moment leading up to that one that would forever change the course of our lives.
It was the moment that I knew he
knew
.
It was just a hunch, a feeling, a soft whisper to my soul. But it was in that moment—that one, life-altering instant—that I knew I had lost him.
And so began our story.
Present
Rem
“S
orry, man,” I hear a voice say.
A guy turns into me and then backs off. I don’t say anything; I just keep pushin’ my way through the swaying masses of blue jeans and tee shirts and work boots. Hall’s is crowded tonight. The stools at the old, wooden bar top are full. The few tables scattered around the bar are also occupied, and the little space left is taken up by stragglers, craning their necks to get a glimpse of one of only two small TVs in the whole place. The game’s on—third game of the World Series. And that’s why I’d like to get my order and get the hell out of here. At least back home, there’s a TV screen that isn’t straight out of the 90s.
“Wait.”
I turn back toward the voice. It’s the man I just ran into...or who just ran into me; I don’t know. He’s staring at me, but I don’t recognize the guy. He’s got this funny grin on his face, and he’s wagging a finger at me.
“You...and Ashley Westcott...” He nods his head as if he’s just put two and two together.
“No,” I say. “Wrong guy.”
I turn back toward the bar even though I’m pretty sure he’s still starin’ and pointin’. Karen notices me and holds out a brown paper bag.
“Here ya go, Rem.” She gives me a motherly kind of smile. I know she heard the guy, and she probably heard what I had to say to him too, but I don’t care.
“Keep the change,” I say, handing her a bill.
I reach for the bag, but she keeps a firm grip on it and settles her gaze on me.
“It gets better.” She smiles and lets go of the bag.
I don’t say anything, and I try not to react either. I just tip the bill of my cap and head straight for the screen door in the corner of the bar.
Seconds later, my hand is pushin’ against the old, wooden frame. The door squeaks open and then slams shut behind me.
Outside, the October air is cool. I feel it sink deep into my bones, and at the same time, a shiver runs up my spine. And I’m not really sure if it’s the cold or the thoughts runnin’ through my head that cause it. Either way, it feels a whole hell of a lot better out here than it did in that crowded bar; that’s for sure. At least, out here, there ain’t anyone makin’ any assumptions. Out here, no one’s givin’ me sympathetic smiles or coverin’ up their whispers. The black night doesn’t care she’s gone.
I stop and rest my hand on the door handle of my truck, and I let my head fall back. The sky is darker than dark, but the stars are bright.
We had this whole town fooled. Every. Last. One.
Even now, they just don’t know what to think. Half of them constantly have a question on their tongues, but it’s as if they just can’t quite get it to leave their mouths. And I’m convinced the other half already has their minds made up—even though I’m pretty sure not a darned one knows the story.
I level my head and catch a star dyin’ out in the distant sky. In an instant, it’s there, and then it’s gone. I lower my head and laugh a little.
Just like us, huh?
Then I sigh and pull on the handle right before I toss the bag onto the seat and slide into my truck. But as soon as I get the key in the ignition, I stop, and I think about the guy in the bar. And I think about her.
Her
.
“Damn it, Miss Westcott,” I whisper under my breath. “I swear I can’t go anywhere without you. Everywhere I go, you’re always just a rumor away.”
I let a lungful of air fall onto the steering wheel as I put the truck in gear and let off the clutch.
You left, but then again, you never really left.