When Cicadas Cry (7 page)

She doesn’t say anything at first, but somehow I can tell her smile is sincere, and maybe it’s because her eyes are as bright as that dusk-to-dawn light we just passed. “Wow, that explains it then,” she eventually says, right before another pause. “I graduated from the University of Minnesota this past spring...”

“The University of Minnesota, huh?”

“Yeah,” she says.

I try to swallow.

“I’m twenty-three,” she says.

“Well,” I say, clearin’ my throat. “I can assure you, I’m the oldest twenty-one-year-old you’ll ever meet.”

She laughs and elbows my arm. I don’t miss the fact that she touches me—even if it was just her elbow.

“We’ll see about that,” she says, givin’ me another challengin’ smile.

I love that smile. God, I love that smile.

We walk a few more steps, side by side, and then all of a sudden, she stops.

“What?” I ask.

“Bamboo plants,” she says.

I look in the direction she’s lookin’. Rose Darren has been sellin’ these funny-lookin’ plants for decades here. There are rumors that her house is lined wall to wall with the things and that she even put the ashes of her late husband in one of the plants she sleeps with every night. But I can neither confirm nor deny the rumors because, honestly, when you hear that story as a kid, you tend to keep your distance. Hell, I didn’t even know what the funny-lookin’ things were called until just now.

I watch Ashley walk over to the stand and focus first on a plant with two long, green stems juttin’ out of a glass jar.

“Two stalks mean love...and luck,” she says.

I walk closer to her and give the plant a funny look. I always thought they looked like pigs’ tails the way they curl at their ends.
Love
or
luck
never came to mind.

I watch her as she moves over to a jar with three long, green stems stickin’ out of it next. And without even knowin’ I’m doin’ it, I memorize the way she gently brushes her fingertips over each stem. There’s a certain awe and tenderness in her movements. I’ve never seen anybody treat a plant that way. And I know it might sound crazy, but just like that, I gain this new admiration for her.

“Three stalks mean happiness, a long life and wealth,” she says, draggin’ me out of my thoughts.

I look up at her expression now. It’s soft and thoughtful. “How do you know all this stuff?”

She runs her fingers over the little leaves of the plant. “My grandmother loves these things. She knows what each one means.” She pauses on a leaf and then takes her hand back. “Every number of stalks means something different.”

I nod and smile, and at the same time, make eye contact with Rose, who’s sittin’ behind the wall of plants. She’s in a lawn chair, knittin’ something long and blue. She pretends to be a bystander to our conversation, but I know she’s secretly listenin’. I notice her look up and smile every once in a while. And I notice somethin’ else, too: She’s not nearly as scary as my eight-year-old mind made her out to be.

“I like the two stalks, I think,” Ashley says. “I mean, what good is a long life and wealth if you don’t have love?”

She looks up at me with the question still hangin’ in her eyes.

“Good point,” I say. “We’ll take the jar with the two...uh...”

“Bamboo stalks,” Ashley says, finishin’ my sentence, thankfully.

I reach for my wallet in my back pocket.

“No,” she says, touchin’ her hand to my arm. “You don’t have to get it.”

“But I want to,” I assure her.

I pull out a bill and hand it to Rose. “Plus, Rose would have never let me get away with lettin’ you pay for a love plant.” I give Rose a wink.

“That is true,” Rose says. The gray-haired woman gives me a stern look, but it’s quickly followed by an approving smile. And the smile doesn’t go unnoticed as I pick up the jar and hand the plant to Ashley.

“Your love plant,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says, taking the plant. She looks happy. I hope she is.

We continue walkin’ then, until we reach the park bench on the other side of Sunny Square, aptly named Shady Park, a few minutes later. The bench sits right on top of the levee and overlooks the river. It’s dark now, and without lights, it’s even darker on this side of the block. In fact, until my eyes adjusted, I couldn’t even see my own hand right in front of my face. But now, after a few moments, everything’s a little clearer.

I take a seat, and she does too, as my eye catches on her love plant she’s settin’ on the ground at our feet.

I smile, then I look up and see the stars are poppin’ out of the black sky now, and below, the water is flowin’ like thick, dark oil inside the river’s banks.

“So, what was your major?” I ask, lookin’ over at her.

“Literature,” she says, findin’ my eyes before returnin’ her gaze to the river.

“That makes sense—the children’s books.”

“Yeah,” she agrees.

“So you like it—what you do?” I ask.

She hesitates for a moment. “Yeah,” she says, noddin’ her head. “Yeah, I do...for now.”

I look over at her. “Then what? What big dreams do you have up your sleeve, Ashley Westcott?”

“Well...” I think I notice her inhale a little. “Someday, I’d like to write a book.”

“A children’s book?”

“Maybe...or maybe one for grown-ups. But that’s a long way off.”

“A novel?”

She just smiles.

“Wow, that’s some big stuff, Miss Westcott.” I look out onto the black water, takin’ in the way the tiny waves break, pickin’ up what little light there is to pick up from the moon and the stars. “The most I’ve ever written was a letter to my mom when I was in the second grade. It was a five-page dissertation on why I needed a dirt bike.”

She laughs. “Did it work?”

“No,” I say, lowerin’ my head. I listen as her voice continues to hitch in soft laughter.

“But you know,” I say, memorizing the way her laugh sounds to my ears, “it doesn’t have to be...a long way off? You could start your novel now, right?”

Her smile grows a little wider. She almost looks giddy, like her heart is just plain full. “Well, I don’t exactly have a story, yet.”

I nod. “Well, I suppose someday you will.”

“I hope so,” she says, lookin’ as if that dream is just plastered right on her eyelids, just out of reach.

“Come here,” I say, gesturing her closer to me. I don’t know where the bravery comes from all of a sudden. In that moment, she just looked so happy, so beautiful, so full of life; I couldn’t help but have her nearer to me.

She eyes me hesitantly.

“Come on,” I say, noticin’ her pause. “It’s only a limited-time offer. You refuse now, I’ll have to leave the offer open indefinitely, and then my credibility will be shot to hell.”

She looks as if she tries not to laugh right before she closes the gap between us. And when I feel her warm body press up against mine, I put my arm around her bare shoulder and squeeze her even closer. This feels right. In fact, this feels better than right.

“What about you?” She looks up at me with a playful, little look.

“What about me?” I ask.

“Oh, come on, Remington Jude, I know you dream. I can see it in your eyes.”

I laugh. “In my eyes, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says. “You ain’t foolin’ a soul.”

I look down at her nestled in the crook of my arm. “Where did that sweet, little small-town accent come from?”

She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe it just comes with the territory.”

“Aah, I see.” I feel myself chuckle a little more.

“Now, tell me your dreams, small-town boy,” she demands.

“All right,” I say, a smile playin’ on my face. She settles into my arm, and I take a second to gaze out onto the river. “I think I want to travel. I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot lately. I’ve been here my whole life, and besides Austin, I haven’t really seen too much. I’ve got these pictures...in my mind...of places I want to go. And I figure if I get to see even one of them in this life, I’d be pretty darn happy.”

She glances up at me with a pair of warm eyes, and it’s almost as if she gets lost there for a moment.

“What?” I ask. “It’s a stupid dream, isn’t it? I know it’s not about a career or anything. But I’m already happy doin’ what I do...”

“No,” she says, stopping me short. “I think that’s a nice dream.” She says her last word and then rests her hand on mine.

My gaze falls to our hands. The feel of her skin touchin’ mine makes me forget about everything but her touch. And slowly, my stare wanders back to her beautiful light eyes. And that private moment passes between us again
. I like you. I think you like me. I want you, and I think you want me, too. I don’t want this moment to end.

And then, without another thought, my lips are moving toward hers. And it’s as if my world just breaks open when our lips touch. I close my eyes, and I can’t think of anything better than kissing her, until she kisses me back, and then I can’t think of anything better than her kissing me back. Her lips are soft, and her kiss is hungry. I just want more of her. I take my arm from around her shoulders, and I gently touch my fingertips to her suntanned face. And she kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before. She kisses me like she knows me, even though this is our very first kiss and we’ve only really known each other for a week. It’s comfortable but also new and exciting, and I’m findin’ out fast that I just can’t get enough of her. I just can’t get enough of the sweet taste of her lips and the way her mouth moves along mine. It’s sexy and so damn addictive. But before too long, I need a breath. I try to fight it. I try to fight it with everything I have in me. But in the end, nature wins, and after a few lightning-fast moments, our kiss breaks.

I lean my forehead against hers. I’m smilin’, and I can hear my breathing. “Ashley Westcott,” I manage to get out, “you’re one hell of a kisser.”

I can feel the breaths from her soft laugh hit my lips.

“It must be part of my wild side,” she whispers, her siren-like voice slowly pullin’ me more and more in.

God, I want this girl so bad.

“It must be,” I say, laughin’ under my breath. “That frosted-flake lifestyle really did you in.”

I can’t see it, but I’m almost certain a playful smile fights its way to her mouth. “I guess it did,” she softly confesses.

She keeps her forehead pressed against mine for a few more seconds, and then she pulls away slightly, and her green-eyed stare carefully wanders back into my eyes.

“Don’t worry,” I whisper, “your secret’s safe with me.”

Chapter Ten

Present

Rem

T
he guys are over. The game’s about to start. This time, Mike went to get the cheeseburgers from Hall’s, and he’s not back yet, but Jack’s sitting on the couch playin’ with his phone, and I’m in my chair.

“I saw her,” I say, barely over a mumble. I’m not sure yet if I want him to hear it. I just know I need to say it.

He doesn’t look up. It doesn’t even look as if he heard me. I sit back in my chair and breathe a little sigh of relief. I said it. That’s all that matters.

“Wait.” Jack lowers his phone and looks up at me. “What did you say?”

His hawk-like stare makes me straighten up. “What?”

He cocks one of his eyebrows up and gives me a puzzled look. “You just said something.”

I shake my head. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you just said that you saw her.”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “You’re hearin’ things again.”

He narrows an eye at me. “First off, I don’t have a habit of hearin’ things. Second, damn it, I’m not deaf. What do you mean you saw her?”

“Damn it,” I push out, under my breath. “I saw her in the airport.”

“When?”

“When I was in the airport,” I say.

“Damn it, Rem!”

I laugh and run my hand along my thigh. “In St. Louis. She lives in Texas now.”

“Texas?”

“Yeah,” I confirm.

“Well, what’d she look like? What’d you say?”

“She looked...the same. And I didn’t really say too much. In fact, I really didn’t say anything at all.”

Jack sets his phone onto the cardboard coffee table and sits back in the couch. “Wow,” he says, his gaze straight ahead. He’s got this laser-like focus on the wall, all of a sudden. “All this time, and then boom, there she is.”

I nod my head. “Yeah, I know.”

“She was like a missing person.”

I nod again.

“So, she didn’t say anything about... You know?”

I drag in a long breath and then shake my head. I know what he’s gettin’ at. “No,” I finally say. “Nothin’.”

“Really? She never said nothin’ about why she left?”

“No,” I say. “Nothin’.”

“And you didn’t...?”

“Bring it up?” I ask.

He just blankly stares back at me.

“No, surprisingly, in the few minutes we talked, that subject never came up.”

“Well, I don’t know,” he says, shruggin’ one shoulder. “I was just askin’.”

I refit my cap over my head and catch myself starin’ in the direction of the TV. I think I’m secretly hopin’ it will distract me, or better yet, teleport me out of this room.

Jack is quiet. I don’t say anything either. I had waited until Mike was gone before I said anything in the first place, mostly because Jack is the only one who’d really care to hear about it. But now, I don’t really feel like talkin’ about it anymore.

“Well, damn.” He exhales or sighs or somethin’, and I watch as he grabs his beer off the box. “I bet that was like seein’ a ghost.”

I smile halfheartedly. “Yeah, it kind of was.”

“You all right?”

He gives me that same look he always gives me in situations like this. I’ve seen it at least a hundred times. We were seven when I got my first wild pitch—right to the eye. It turned black and blue on the spot. And I could tell he wanted to cry more than I did; but he didn’t. He just stared at me in my one good eye, gave me that look and asked: “You all right?”

I shift in my chair a little. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He takes a swig from the bottle and then swallows. “Well, is she still, uh...doin’ the publishing thing?”

“She’s actually writing now, evidently,” I say.

“Ha!” He starts to laugh. “You better watch out. She might end up writin’ you into one of her stories.”

I laugh to myself and sit deeper in my chair. “As long as she gives me better-lookin’ friends in the fiction version.”

Jack fishes a plastic soda bottle off the table box and throws it at me. “Shit, I ain’t so bad on the eyes.”

I deflect the bottle, and it goes flyin’ to the floor. Good thing it was plastic.

“Now, Mike,” Jack goes on, pointin’ the neck of his bottle in my direction. “Mike could use some groomin’.”

We both laugh just as Mike barrels down the stairwell, his long, shaggy hair trailin’ behind him. He thinks his mane, along with the beard that goes with it, is what attracts the women. Jack and I think he’s full of shit. But then again, there always seems to be a girl on his arm, so maybe he ain’t as full of it as we think he is.

“Got your food, suckers.” Mike drops the bag onto the box, pulls out a burger wrapped in white paper and falls into his usual chair in the corner.

“What’d I miss?” he asks, stuffin’ half the burger into his mouth.

“Nothin’,” I say, “it hasn’t started yet.”

“Well, what are you two Twinkies laughin’ at then?”

Jack looks at me and then back at Mike.

“Oh, Rem, here, was just complimentin’ us on how good we look.”

Mike raises a brow at me, and at the same time, tugs at his beard. “About time you noticed. I told you it’d drive ‘em crazy. Hell, even my dog likes me better this way.”

Jack gives Mike a puzzled look before he turns to me. I just shake my head and turn up the TV. The game’s about to start. Plus, this conversation is gettin’ a little too weird for my taste.

Mike eventually stops strokin’ his beard, and I grab a burger. But I can’t get her out of my head.
Damn it
. She’s not supposed to be there. She left. I forgot...or at least, I tried to. That’s how it’s supposed to be. She’s supposed to be forgotten.