When Cicadas Cry (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Present

Ashley

I
park my rental in front of his house. It feels strange being back here—being here where he lives. There’s a part of me that feels as if I shouldn’t even be in this town.

I sit behind the wheel for a few minutes, just trying to talk myself into this. The radio volume is down, but I can still hear the low murmurs of people talking. Down the road, there’s a girl riding a bike. It’s a pink, Barbie bike with training wheels. I had one of those when I was little. The image of the girl on the bike makes me smile briefly. But soon, I’m taking in a long, deep breath and feeling the air slowly escape my lungs. I wish my heart weren’t racing a million miles a minute, but it seems as though there’s nothing I can really do to stop it.

I follow with my eyes the girl on the bike, until she disappears behind a bend in the road. Then, for some amount of time, I stare at the tree line that follows the graveled path. There’s a soft breeze, causing the branches to sway in the wind. It’s almost as if they’re urging me to move.

“Okay,” I finally whisper to myself. “You can do this.”

I get out of the car and gently close the door behind me. The last thing I want to do is bring attention to myself.

I turn and look at the house. I look at its little white railings on its little white porch and at that same old swing that sways back and forth in the breeze now. That swing is almost identical to the one I had back here, which is no surprise. I swear everyone in this town owns the same porch swing.

I take a breath. I feel my heart pounding. I hear it beating against my eardrums.

You can do this.

I walk up the stone path, then I take the couple concrete stairs to his door.

I can do this.

I open the screen door, and then I hesitate momentarily before knocking twice on the storm door. It feels strange knocking, as opposed to just walking right in.

I step back then and let the screen door swing closed. There’s a moment where I consider running. But my feet never budge from his welcome mat. Instead, I wait. I wait for several, agonizing seconds before the knob on the door starts to turn and the door slowly pulls open. And all too soon, he’s standing there, staring at me. And all I can do is stare back at him.

“Hi,” he says, eventually.

I let go of a thankful breath. “Hi,” I say.

He opens the screen door and takes a couple steps back. I’m guessing that means he wants me to come in.

“Um...,” I start but then lose my words.

“I expected you,” he says, rescuing me. “I mean, maybe not today, exactly, but eventually.”

I smile, nervously. “I probably should have warned you,” I say, stepping inside.

He shakes his head. “Nah. Storms need warnings. Ashleys don’t need warnings.”

My nervous smile turns a little less nervous.

“You wanna sit outside?” he asks. “It’s a nice day.”

I nod. “Sure.”

I follow him out to the back porch, and he gestures for me to sit on the swing. I do.

He sits across from me on a lawn chair. It looks as if he hasn’t shaved in a week. His hair is longer than usual, and his jeans are worn and torn. And his skin—his face, his arms, the parts of his legs that I can see through the holes in his jeans—is still dark and tanned from a long, hot summer.
He’s beautiful
. But I try not to think about that.

“I guess I can assume you got my answer?” he asks.

I look up at him. “Yeah. You could assume that.” My eyes fall to my hands in my lap. One hand is gripping the other so tightly that I can see my fingers turning red. “And I guess I can assume you read the book?”

He just nods and smiles. “You could assume that.” His gaze stays for only a second in mine. Then he locks his eyes on something at his feet before returning his attention to me. “It was a good book. Though, I guess I might be a little biased,” he adds.

“Yeah,” I agree, trying not to smile, “you probably are.”

A few quiet moments pass then, where I don’t even hear so much as a bird sing. My eyes wander over to a dark circle in the floorboards. There’s a million words running through my head, but I can’t seem to put a single one into a sentence.

“Well, I guess you found your story then.”

In an instant, my eyes find his. “Yeah,” I say, starting to nod. “I guess I did.” And that’s all I say, but that’s not all I want to say because that’s not exactly the whole truth. The whole truth is that I wrote the book because I got tired of watching the sand of the hour glass drain out. I want to tell him that I wrote the book because I know now that the things we leave unsaid are the things that leave us the most broken. I want to tell him I wrote it because I was broken. I want to say to him that our fate might be set—that it might have been set all along, unbeknownst to us—but I needed closure. I want to tell him that I still need closure. I want to tell him all of this. But I don’t.

“Rem,” I say, instead. “I’m here because I wanted to say some things.”

For a good few seconds he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t even move—not even a blink. And I swear in that time my heart nearly stops beating. But then finally, he bobs his head. “Okay,” he murmurs.

I let go of an uneasy breath. “I...” I start but then stop to gather my thoughts. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry I never said anything. I don’t know why I kept it a secret. That was wrong of me.” I find that dark spot in the floor again before falling back into his eyes. “I didn’t expect to fall in love here.” I pause and try to tame down the ache rising up in my chest. I think all the words I never said are finally hitting me—hard. “And I think once I did, once I did fall in love,” I continue, “I was scared to tell you because I just knew you had to know him...some way. But I also think I was still praying that there was some tiny chance in this crazy universe that you didn’t.”

I try to read his expression, but I can’t. And that scares me. I could always read what he was thinking.

“Ashley,” he says, in a calm, rasping voice, “I’m...I’m not mad that you kept the secret. I mean, maybe I was at first, but...” He looks down at his feet and then back at me. “But I understand.”

I watch him refit his cap over his head. “And I didn’t mean what I said—that I never loved you,” he goes on. “I just thought... I just thought it might make it easier for you to hate me.”

“Hate you? Why would you want me to hate you?”

“I don’t know. I had just found out you were in love with my brother. I just... I thought you were freaked out, too, and I guess I assumed you would want an out. I thought it would be easier for you that way. I just... I didn’t know what to do.”

“Rem,” I say and then pause to suck in a quick breath. “I really liked your brother. And yeah, maybe on some level...” I feel my gaze wandering off to the tree line as my words trail off. “Maybe on some level, I loved him.”

He shifts in his chair, and it forces my attention back to him. I know he’s uncomfortable, but he’s going to hear this—this time.

“For four months when I was twenty-one,” I go on, “we spent a lot of time together.” It looks as if he tenses up even more. And I don’t know why I do, but I rest my hand on his knee, and thankfully, he lets me do it. “And yeah, he was hot-tempered and secretive and mysterious and quiet as can be. And I know you know that.” He seems to relax a little. “He was nothing like you,” I continue. “But I just keep thinking... I think I saw something in him.” I breathe in deeply and then slowly force the breath out. “Rem.” He looks into my eyes now as if he’s clinging to my every word. “I saw
you
...in him. There was this piece of you he carried around with him. He never talked about his family. I’d ask, and he’d freeze up. I think he missed you guys. I think he secretly missed home—this place. Even though he never said it, I could tell he loved it here. And even though he never mentioned you specifically, I could tell he loved you.”

I notice his Adam’s apple bob up and down, and I squeeze his knee. “Rem, there was a piece of you in him. It was his good piece.” I try not to tear up, but trying doesn’t do me much good. “And I think I just kept trying to find more of you in him.”

He swallows, and I think I notice his shoulders relax just a little more. Meanwhile, around us, the cicadas beat out a soft, slow rhythm.

“But I never loved him like I loved you,” I say. “And to be honest, I think the feeling was mutual. I think we were just connected by a common thread all along. And I think that common thread was
you
.” A small smile finds its way to my face. “It was you, Remington Jude. I was meant to find you. And I think Owen was meant to lead me to you.”

He keeps his eyes in mine, but his lips are even, motionless.

“Rem, I might have loved him. But I was never
in love
with him.”

He’s quiet. I can tell he’s thinking. His eyes are fixed now on something at his feet.

“Rem? What really went wrong with us?”

He looks up at me. “You mean, besides everything?”

I laugh softly but keep my eyes planted on him. “Did you mean it?” I ask. “The answer?”

He nods. “Of course I meant it.” There’s a hurt in his words; I can tell. I didn’t mean it to hurt. I just needed to know.

“Ashley Westcott.” He says my name and then drops his eyes from mine. I can tell his tongue is nervously playing with the inside of his cheek. But after a moment, his eyes return to mine. “I loved you more than I ever thought I could love anybody in this life...” He pauses for a second. “I loved you so much that when you left, I lost myself; I lost who I was.” He starts to chuckle quietly to himself. “I didn’t even know what bread I was supposed to buy anymore. And I didn’t know what I did on Monday nights. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with an empty passenger’s seat. Hell, I didn’t even know what drink I was supposed to order at that fancy coffee shop in Parkville.”

“You went there?”

“Yeah, once. But I got frustrated with all the words on the board I couldn’t understand, so I left.”

I press my hand to my lips and try not to laugh, even as my heart is breaking for him.

“But, Ashley,” he goes on before I even have a chance to say a word, “bottom line, it’s like I forgot how to be
me
...without
you
.”

Tears instantly start spilling down my cheeks. I don’t even know where they came from, and I don’t try to stop them, either. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

It’s as if he’s trying to hold back tears now, too. “Because you already knew.”

“No.” I shake my head. “No, if I would have known...”

“You did know,” he whispers. “I just hurt you too bad for it to matter.”

Another renegade tear slips down my check, followed by another, and another. I quickly swipe them away with the back of my hand. But then he reaches across the space between us and runs his finger along my cheek, swiping away some of the saltiness. And there’s a moment where he’s looking into my eyes—a moment that I would swear I only imagined if I didn’t know any better. But then it quickly vanishes like fog in the sunlight, and he sits back in his chair again.

“I’m sorry,” I say, brushing away the last of my tears. “I just... It’s nice to hear that.” I drop my gaze for an instant, but then just as quickly, I’m swimming in the sea in his eyes again. “And I understand if this is too much for you, with him being your brother... I just... I came here to tell you that I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are so fixed in mine that it makes me nervous. I can’t help but look down at the floor. There’s too much in his eyes—too much I can’t read, too much I don’t understand. But after a moment, I feel my stare gradually gravitating back toward his. And it might sound crazy, but it’s almost as if his eyes are spinning a web from his to mine now, so that I cannot look away. He must not know that I really don’t want to look away—ever.

But then, something changes. And suddenly, the space around us fills with a dull, eerie hum. It’s the cicadas. They’re crying.

The sound fills my ears. I want to block it out, but I can’t. And then, without warning, I see it. I see it scrolled across the whites in his eyes.