When Cicadas Cry (19 page)

Our fate is sealed.

My heart sinks to the bottom of my chest, as I anxiously search for words.

“I probably should get going,” I say, my voice becoming shaky.

His gaze falters, and he nods.

Tension hangs in the air, and I hate it, but I don’t know how to make it go away. I stand up and try to smile at him, but I don’t think I’d even buy it.

“It was nice seeing you again, Rem.”

He stands too, but still, just nods.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself.

And then I turn to leave.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Present

Rem

“O
h,” she says, stoppin’ and turnin’ back toward me. “I almost forgot.” She reaches into her jeans pocket and pulls somethin’ out. “Your key.”

She sets the key onto the arm of the swing. “I know you really trusted me with this, even if you never locked your doors.” It looks as if she tries to smile. “But that really meant a lot to me—that trust.” Her eyes drop to the key before lookin’ back up at me. “There are just some things in this world you don’t take for granted. And that’s one of them.”

Instantly, somethin’ makes my breathin’ stop short.

“What did you say?” I ask.

I watch little wrinkles form on her forehead.

“Your key,” she says, eyein’ the key again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize I still had it.”

“No,” I say, shakin’ my head. “Not that.”

I recognize just then that I probably sound crazier than a thunderstorm in January right about now. But all I can think about is that afternoon—that one afternoon, almost forever ago—when Owen said that same thing. I don’t even know how I remember it. But he said:
There are some things in this world you just don’t take for granted. And that is one of them
. And I know it sounds crazy, but all of a sudden, I get this peaceful feelin’ inside of me.
Is this your sign, Owen?

I snap out of my thought, and Ashley’s starin’ at me, like she doesn’t know whether she should stay and help me or just run and save herself.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say, tryin’ to shake it off as best as I can. “I’m fine.” I let go of a wide smile, and I can tell she doesn’t know what to think of that.

“Well, okay,” she says. “I’m, um, gonna take off then...I guess.”

She turns to leave for the second time.

“Ashley, wait.” I reach out and grab her forearm, forcin’ her to turn back toward me. This all might be a stretch, but I can’t shake it.

I stare into her light green eyes. I don’t know what I’m doin’, but then, I know exactly what I’m doin,’ too.

Moments tick away, and we’re still in each other’s eyes. There’s a thick coat of uncertainty in the air, and there’s no expression on her face whatsoever, so I have no idea what she’s thinkin’. And I have no idea what she’s feelin’. But it’s her eyes. There’s something in her eyes that gives me hope. And finally, I open my mouth.

“So, what are the reasons then?” I ask.

“Reasons?” she asks. Those little wrinkles return to her forehead.

“Yeah,” I say. I take a step closer to her, and we both lower our heads. Now, I’m so close that I can smell the sweet, familiar hue of her perfume. It makes me think of her soft lips and the taste of her skin, and it takes me back to cool, lazy mornin’s and long, hot summer days. I breathe it all in and try to hold it hostage in my lungs.

“What are the reasons we can’t be together?” I ask.

And just like that, her eyes dart to mine.

“It’s been a year,” I go on, “and I haven’t come up with a single one.”

I notice her breathin’ first. I hear it. I can almost feel her chest movin’ up and down with each breath, but somehow, I can’t tell if she’s breathin’ fast or normal or slow.

“Are you married?” I ask.

It takes her a second to answer.

“No,” she softly says, still lookin’ into my eyes.

“In a relationship?” I ask.

She slowly moves her head back and forth. “No,” she whispers.

“Have you fallen out of love with me?”

She inhales sharply, and then her eyes leave mine for some spot off in the distance.

“Ashley,” I say, regaining her attention, “have you fallen out of love with me?”

There’s a moment that passes. Her chest inflates, and then she slowly breathes out. I’m scared to death of what she’s about to say.

“No,” she whispers. “No,” she says again, briefly glancin’ down before findin’ my eyes. “I’m still in love with you, Rem.”

In the next heartbeat, my arms are around her. I gently press her head into my chest, and I just hold her. I hold her so tight. I want her to realize that this spot in my arms is hers—for the rest of our days here. And I can’t help but notice that this doesn’t feel strange or wrong, either. This just feels right. And soon, my lips are on her forehead, and I can feel the burnin’ ache in my throat tellin’ me that Owen gave me his sign. It all feels like a dream. I’m prayin’ that it’s not.

“I thought I had lost you.” Her words are muffled in my chest. “I thought I had lost you, Remington.”

I feel my voice channeling through my chest, long before I hear the words. “You never lost me, Miss Westcott. I was always here. I was always here...just waitin’.”
Waitin’ on a sign
.

I pull her even tighter into my arms and press my lips into her hair. “I’m yours, Ashley. I’ve always been yours.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Five Months Later

Rem

“T
ell me somethin’ about my brother.”

It’s the middle of May. Ashley’s head is restin’ in my lap. The sun is dippin’ low on the horizon, leavin’ a stream of watercolors behind. And it seems as if the world is slowly fallin’ asleep.

“You know the story about the cicadas and why they cry?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“He told it to me once—when we were in college.”

I smile and then let her words sink in for a minute.

“I know I told you I didn’t remember who I had heard the story from,” I confess. “But I did remember. I
do
remember.”

She looks into my eyes.

“He told it to me, too—when I was seven,” I go on. I push her hair back from her face. “My mom told him that it was his dad’s favorite story. And I think because of that, it became his.” I stop to smile a little. “And because it was his, it became mine.”

We’re both quiet for a moment, as I rest my fingers on the soft skin of her stomach—the part that isn’t covered by her tee shirt.

“He said that the cicadas want what we have,” she says, as if reciting his very words. “They want to feel fragile, breathless, alive. They want to feel the laughter in their chests, the pain in their hearts and the words on their tongues—even if those words will eventually fade away forever.” Her gaze trails to the painted sky, and I follow it there as she goes on. “They want mortality because they see it as the greater dance. See, without
time
, the moments cease to be precious. And the moments matter—the blissful and the painful. Every. Last. One. They are what make it worth it.”

I swallow down a laugh. “Damn, he was always more eloquent than me.”

I can tell she tries not to laugh, too, as I go to strokin’ her pretty, long hair. “Can I tell you somethin’ you probably already know?” I ask.

“Shoot,” she says, lookin’ up at me.

“I wasn’t always the best at tellin’ you how I felt.”

She lifts her brows, as if confirming my statement.

“But can I tell you somethin’ you probably don’t already know?” I ask.

“Okay,” she whispers.

“I loved you with everything I had. Even when I said I didn’t—even as I was saying the words—I loved you.”

She draws in a deep breath and then slowly releases it. I watch her chest rise and then gradually fall as she does it.

“Ashley Westcott, there wasn’t a day my heart didn’t go back to you.” She smiles, and I just keep going. “There wasn’t a day I didn’t smell your perfume in the air and think of you or see a little, white Chevy and think I should chase it down. But I was just scared, I guess. I was scared I was betraying Owen. I was scared you still loved him. I was scared you’d never love me like you loved him.”

I pause to collect my thoughts. “But as the days drew on, none of that really made any sense anymore. And in all of the fears that haunted me, I had forgotten one little fact: I loved you.” I smile down at her. “I. Love. You.”

“And maybe I’m too late to be your first,” I go on. “But right now, I’m preparin’ myself to be your last.” With my fingertips, I trace a gentle line on her skin from her shoulder to her wrist. “I figure you should know that.”

She keeps her eyes trained on mine as she finds my hand and presses it firmly to her heart. “I know that,” she says, before she goes to nuzzlin’ her cheek against my jeans. “I think there’s a part of me that always knew that.”

I laugh. “Then why’d we waste so much time?”

She looks up at me and smiles. “Because we’re only mere mortals, my love.”

I tuck another strand of her hair behind her ear. And then it’s quiet, except for those cicadas cryin’ in the trees around us.

“Rem?” Her voice is hushed.

“Yeah?”

“I think I know something else about your brother.”

Her words sound almost like they’re a confession.

“What?” I ask.

“I think he was in love with Kristen Sawyer.”

My eyes immediately cut to hers. “What? How do you know?”

She shrugs a little. “A girl just knows.” Then I watch her pink lips turn up at their ends. “After I came here,” she goes on, “I sort of put it all together. He had mentioned her once. And beyond the fact that he had mentioned her at all, he had also had this look in his eyes when he said her name.”

I stare off into the distance, turnin’ over her words. I mean, I guess we kind of guessed that, but I don’t think I ever really believed it.

“It’s just another reason,” she says, “why I knew deep down that your brother and I would never really be anything more than just two people who shared a piece of this life for a little while.”

I find her pretty eyes and gently rest my hand on her arm.

“I don’t understand, I guess. I mean, he could have had her if he wanted her.”

She shakes her head in my lap.

“No, he couldn’t have.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kristen’s in love with Jack,” she says. “Always has been,” she adds.

“Huh,” I say, in a sort of reflection. My head tilts back in deep thought. I knew Jack had a thing for her. I even suspected Kristen had a thing for him, but I guess I just didn’t realize how deep it went.

I level my head again. “And Owen knew that?” I ask.

She just nods.

“Wow,” I say, still taking it all in. “Too bad Jack doesn’t know it.”

Immediately, her voice hitches in soft laughter. “I’m sure they’ll figure it out someday.”

“Yeah,” I agree, laughing too now. “I’m sure they will.”

I slowly run my thumb down her arm. I just can’t get over how soft and delicate her skin is, and I’m sure I probably never will.

“Rem?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“The mushroom hunting?” she asks. She looks serious now. “You didn’t only go with your dad, did you?”

Instantly, I feel my chest inflate. “No,” I confess, shaking my head.

“He was with you, wasn’t he?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“It’s your favorite memory because it’s the three of you. Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I confirm.

“Why didn’t you mention him?” she asks.

I look off at the sky in the distance and follow the blue as it fades to pink, and I think about her question. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “Maybe for the same reason he never mentioned me. I missed him. ...I miss him.”

I look back at her, and I notice a look in her eyes that tells me she understands—that maybe she feels the same way, too.

Her gaze eventually wanders off to the horizon. I follow it back there, and I stare at that big, orange sun bein’ swallowed up by the earth. Then, I remember somethin’.

“Why did you leave the postcards?” I ask.

She turns away from me and onto her side. I can’t see her face anymore, but I hear her smile. “We talked about traveling around the world and seeing all the beautiful places. We said we’d do it someday. But until we got to
someday
, we would just stare up at that big sky, like two big kids, and we’d act like we were on a beach in Fiji or climbing some mountain in the Alps.”

I let the words sink in before I open my mouth. “We are still talkin’ about my brother, right?”

She laughs. “He was sentimental...at times.”

I sit back in the bench and rest my hand in the curve of her waist. She’s wearin’ one of my old tee shirts. She’s swimmin’ in it, but she couldn’t look any more beautiful.

And we fall quiet then, hypnotized by the cicadas’ lethargic hum, pourin’ through the trees and fillin’ our ears.

“Rem, why do they cry?”

I eye the shadows underneath the canopy of the big oaks in front of us, and I smile.

“Because they want what we have,” I say.

There’s a pause, and then her voice comes out soundin’ playful, yet somehow, I can tell there’s a hint of soberness to it, too. “I’d still much rather be immortal.”

I chuckle, and at the same time, squeeze her shoulder, right before she twists around and looks up at me. And I can almost see that Fiji ocean on that postcard in her eyes. “They want what we have,” I say, tryin’ to convince her of somethin’ I know she already knows. “And that’s why they cry,” I whisper.

She takes her hand and starts tracin’ little circles on my forearm with the tip of her finger. The way she does it is so sweet and comforting that it makes me want to hold onto this moment forever. But then, suddenly, her finger stops.

“Rem?”

Her eyes are starin’ straight into mine.

“You’re right,” she softly says. “If I were them, I’d be jealous of us, too.”

I smile and pull her closer to me. She laughs and scrunches up her nose. “You know, baby,” I say, “this love thing we’ve got goin’ on here sure hasn’t been easy.” I kiss her sweet, soft lips. “And it sure ain’t painless,” I whisper into her ear.

She nestles her head deeper into my lap, then twists around again and looks off into the sunset. “But it’s worth it,” she says, into the wind. I can hear the smile in her voice. “But it’s so worth it,” she whispers.