When Cicadas Cry (10 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Past (1.5 Years Earlier)

Rem

“O
kay, so the holler’s the best place to find ‘em,” I say, stoppin’ the truck near the silage pit.

“Holler?”

“Uh, yeah.” I point with my eyes straight ahead.

“What is a holler?”

“You’re in it, sweetheart.”

“Oh.” She looks around, like she’s examinin’ the place. “Well, I don’t think we have anything called a holler in West Omaha.”

I just stare at her with what I’m sure is a pretty damned amused look on my face. “Girl, you’d think you grew up in New York City. I know you’ve got corn fields all around Omaha. Surely, you’ve got somethin’ you call a holler.”

She sucks in a quick breath through her teeth and just shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Really?”

“I mean, yeah, we might have a lot of corn fields,” she says, “but just because you’ve got girls hangin’ all over you, it doesn’t make you an expert in them, now does it?”

“Well...” I cock my head to the side. She just laughs. “All right. All right. You got me,” I concede.

“But seriously,” she goes on, “people might think Omaha’s not such a big place in the whole scheme of things and that corn is all we know, but to be honest, I’ve never even been in a corn field. And I sure don’t know what a holler is.”

I just look over at her and smile. “Well, okay, city girl, get your cute butt out of this truck because I’m about to give you a lesson in country.”

She giggles and slides off the seat. I get out too and meet her at the front of the truck.

“Okay,” I say, pointin’ straight ahead. “This here is the holler. There’s not much here anymore. My grandpa used to have hogs down here. But now, it’s pretty much just some old outbuildings and a lot of trees—good for findin’ mushrooms.”

“But what’s it mean? Holler?” She says the word again, rollin’ it off her tongue as if it’s a foreign language. Actually, I’ve never heard
holler
sound so sexy. And I’m tryin’ to push that thought to the back of my mind when I notice her starin’ up at me.

“Oh,” I start. “You know what?” I cover my mouth partially with my hand. “Well, it’s supposed to mean a valley, I think.” I look around. “But you know what? We’re not really in a valley, are we?”

She looks around, too, and just smiles. “I don’t think we are.”

I’m earnestly stumped. “My grandpa always called this place the holler. My dad did, too. But in all that time, I never asked why.”

Her soft laughter distracts me for a second. “How are you supposed to teach me all this stuff if you don’t even know why it is?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I say, givin’ her a confident grin. “That’s the beauty of livin’ out here. You’ll learn pretty quickly that things—and words—just get passed down. Around here, not many people question things. Now, as a kid, you might try to ask why. But not many people will give you a straight answer. And I don’t know if that’s just because they never knew the answer to begin with or if they just don’t want to tell ya or if they just plain forgot.”

A smile stretches across her pretty face. “I don’t know if I should laugh or cry at that.”

“As I’ve said, we’re a simple people, Miss Westcott.”

Her voice starts to hitch again. I listen to the way it hangs in the air, and at the same time, I try to hold onto every piece of it.

“Okay,” I say, once her sweet voice starts to fade, “so we’re lookin’ for the ones that look like little Christmas trees.”

“Christmas trees,” she repeats. “Got it.”

We shuffle our feet over the soggy leaves that layered the ground all winter. The sun is high and peekin’ through the trees now, and there’s a fresh smell of spring in the air.

“Now, this is an oak tree.” I stop and touch my hand to a tall, thick trunk. “If you see one of these, it’d be a good idea to look around it. Oaks like sun. So do morels.”

“Oak. Sun. Mushrooms. Got it.” She shuffles around the back of the tree. I just watch her. I know she’s excited. She gets this look when she’s excited. It’s as if she’s tryin’ her damnedest not to smile, but she’s smilin’ anyway. And her eyes get this spark to them, like she’s seein’ everything for the very first time.

“Rem!”

I’m jolted out of my train of thought as I round the backside of the tree to find her. “You find one?”

“No, but I did find a cool rock.”

“A rock?”

“Look.” She holds it out to me. “It’s a perfect heart.” She turns it over in her hand. There’s that happy glint in her eyes.

“You sure you didn’t just chisel that right now?” I ask, examinin’ the rock.

“Well, I suppose I haven’t told you about my excellent chiseling skills yet.” She laughs and catches my gaze. We grow quiet then, and all I want to do is kiss her. I move closer to her, but before I get to her lips, I notice her eye catch on something.

“Wait, is that one?”

I look to where she’s pointin’. “Well, I’ll be. I think you just found your first morel, Miss Westcott.”

She smiles wide, and then shortly after, I notice her grin slowly startin’ to fade. “Now, what do I do?”

I try to swallow down the laugh formin’ in my chest and movin’ up my throat. “You pick it.”

She looks at the mushroom and then back at me and then at the mushroom again. You would have thought I had just told her to pick up a copperhead or somethin’. But eventually, she moves closer to the mushroom, bends down low to the ground and slowly forces her hand toward the morel.

“Is it bad that I’m afraid to touch it? It looks kind of...squishy...and weird.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “It is squishy and weird! But it tastes good, and it’s not gonna bite ya.” I rock back on my heels. “Though, I did have one sting me once.”

She pulls her hand back faster than a cat jumpin’ out of a tub of cold water.

“I’m only kiddin’,” I say.

“Rem!” She smacks my pant leg and lets out a puff of air.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop,” I promise.

She playfully rolls her eyes at me, and then in one swift motion, plucks the mushroom from the ground.

And as she holds it out to me, I settle in her arresting stare. She looks so proud...and so happy. And all that’s runnin’ through my mind is: I love this girl, I love this girl, I love this girl. I lean into her and kiss those happy lips of hers, and when our kiss breaks, I squeeze her against my chest and give her a peck on her head.

“Okay,” I say, breathin’ in the sweet scent of her hair, “so let’s find a handful more, and then we’ll go make the best sandwich you’ve ever tasted.”

“You mind if we fry ‘em up at my parents’?”

“Your parents’?”

“Yeah, it’s closer. Plus, I’m almost positive that I don’t have eggs...or flour...or a fryin’ pan.”

She laughs, and it makes me laugh, too. I could have gone and bought all that stuff before today, but I think there’s a big part of me that wants my parents to meet Ashley. I think it’s a I-just-want-to-show-her-off-to-the-world kind of thing.

“But I’m not really dressed for meeting the parents.” I watch her look down at her blue jeans and pink tennis shoes.

“Horse shit,” I say. “You look beautiful.”

Her eyes instantly rush to mine. She’s got this big, surprised look on her face, like she’s never heard anyone say
horse shit
or call her beautiful before—and I know that last one ain’t true.

“Okay, then,” she concedes, breathing out a smile.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

She presses her lips together and closes her eyes. “Maybe a little.”

“Of my parents?”

“I don’t know. Yeah?”

“You don’t have to be nervous of them. They’ll love you. And if it makes you feel any better, my mom’s a teacher. And she’s even got a soft spot for the kid that tries to eat rocks on the playground every recess.”

“Am I like the kid that eats rocks?”

“Not quite,” I say, with a straight face.

She puts a little pout on.

“I’m kiddin’, baby.”

“Baby?”

I alternate my eyes between her and the road. I took a risk with the “baby” thing. Maybe she doesn’t like it. Seconds draw on. She’s really makin’ me sweat here. And just when I’m about to take it back, her questioning stare gives way to a smile, and I let go of a thankful breath.

I watch her over there in the passenger’s seat then, as she watches me. There’s somethin’ in the way she’s lookin’ at me that’s drivin’ me wild. Damn, this girl’s really got a hold on me! I’d pull this truck over right now if it weren’t daylight...and I had a place other than the ditch to pull it into... Shit! What the hell!

I bring the truck to a quick stop—right in the middle of the road. And just like that, her pretty stare turns challengin’. It’s as if we were both thinkin’ the same thing.

And then without another thought or even so much as a word between us, I slide closer to her. She meets me halfway, and instantly, our lips collide. And before I know it, one hand’s pressin’ against the small of her back and one’s tangled in her hair. And I don’t miss the fact that she’s twistin’ the hem of my tee shirt into one of her hands and pullin’ on my neck with the other.

I press my mouth hard against hers. She hungrily moves her lips along mine, and with that, our kiss deepens. I’m used to slow and gentle kisses with this girl. But this one is all fire and passion and heat, and I’m lovin’ every second of it, until somethin’ stops us right in our tracks.

It’s almost as if a damn wreckin’ ball just comes and plows right through the cab. A loud, dull horn startles us apart. Our eyes quickly move toward the sound only to find a jacked-up pickup truck that I don’t recognize sittin’ right behind us.

“Damn it,” I breathe out. I gently press my forehead against hers, and I don’t know how, but a smile finds its way to my face.

She lowers her eyes and starts to laugh.

Another honk.

“Damn it to hell,” I say again, shaking my head. If the road were wide enough, I’d just wave him on.

“Can we pick this up later?” I ask her, her hair still wrapped around my fingers.

Her eyes meet mine, and she just smiles and then nods.

“Okay,” I say, almost as if I’m givin’ myself a pep talk—tellin’ myself that I can, in fact, leave this girl and get my ass back behind that wheel, even though I’m already kickin’ myself for even thinkin’ about it.

“Okay,” I say again, right before I reluctantly climb back into the driver’s seat and put her into gear. And just like that, we’re moseyin’ down that gravel road again. It seems to pacify the guy behind us. But I’m not too worried about him. In fact, I think I’d still be silently cursin’ his name—whoever he is—if it weren’t for her. I look over at Ashley. She’s runnin’ her fingers through her hair and pressin’ her lips together when she catches my gaze and smiles.

Damn it, I love her...and her soft lips and her smooth skin...and her long, tangled hair.