When September Ends (11 page)

And then I remember that Scout is an old soul, and that is simply what they do. “You’ve got it, sweet girl,” I reply with a smile. “Let’s do this.”

Once inside, Scout grabs me by the hand and pulls me into the kitchen where she is, standing in front of the stove, stirring something in a pan, humming a tune I don’t recognize.

“Sarah,” Scout says, and she turns quickly, staring over at me, “This is September.”

As I watch my mother’s face, it’s difficult to know whether she truly doesn’t recognize me or if she chooses not to for her own sake. It’s almost as if a flicker of recognition passed over her before she turns back, lowers the heat under the burner, and then wipes her hands on the apron tied around her waist and faces me again.

“Hello, September,” she says softly, giving me a meek smile. “I’ve heard tons of things about you from this one,” she continues, smiling down at Scout who is once again beaming. “I know that I’m your mother, just please bear with me as my memory banks have been compromised, for now anyway. In time, things might come back, but there’s no guarantee.

“No, it’s fine,” I interject, taking the hand she’s offering, “You’re Sarah to me.”

A flash of coldness appears on her face but, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced with quiet innocence. She pulls her hand away, and runs it through her hair that is tied back. “I’m making chocolate pudding to fill a pie crust I baked earlier. Scout says chocolate cream pie is one of her favorites.”

“Yes, yes it is,” I confirm, “Jesse’s too.”

“Oh really? Well, she didn’t tell me
that
. Hope you like it as well.”

“Can I help?” I ask, looking around to the assortment of bowls and utensils lining the countertop.

“Scout and I pretty much have it under control. The chicken is roasting in the oven, and Scout made the salad earlier, so thanks, but we’re good.”

I look around. “Where’s Jesse?”

“Oh, he’s out in the garage fixing something on his truck,” Scout pipes up.

“Okay—well, I think I’ll go out and say hi to him if I’m not needed here I guess.”

“No, you’re not needed so go right ahead,” Sarah says as she continues stirring the pudding. “Tell him dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes, will you?”

“Sure,” I reply, bristling inside at how she seems to have taken over my kitchen, and the fact that she’s confirmed I’m not
needed
here.

Scout is already busying herself with setting the dining room table, so I turn and leave the kitchen, going through the laundry room and down the steps towards the landing that leads to the side door to the driveway.

Just as I step out into the October chill, I spot Casey taking a bag of trash out to her garbage cans.

Fucking. Lovely.

She hasn’t spotted me yet so, hopefully, I can make my way to the garage door unnoticed.

“Well, well,” her voice comes floating over to me. She doesn’t bother to hide the snarkiness in it. “Looks like this is gonna get real interesting.”

I start to respond, but she’s already turned her back to me and I decide not to waste my energy on the bitch. At this moment I realize just how much I’ve been fooling myself—how much both Jesse and me have been fooling
ourselves.

This can
never
work.

What the hell had we been thinking?

The truth is we hadn’t been thinking with anything other than our raging hormones. It’s time for a reality check, and if Jesse can’t be the one to initiate it, then for fuck’s sake, I will.

I enter the garage just as he’s shutting the hood of his truck. He sees me and immediately his face lights up.

Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.

“Hey, baby,” he says, coming towards me, “I’m so glad you’re here, believe me.”

“Stop,” I say, my voice finding the harshness it needs to convince him what I’m about to say is the truth. I’ve outstretched my arm as if to further halt him in his tracks.

It works. He cocks his head to the side, trying to figure out what my deal is. “Baby…what’s going on?”

“You need to listen to me, Jesse. I’m not staying, I can’t.”

“What? Why?”

“I only came by because we’ve been missing one another on the phone all week. Plus, well—what I have to say to you should be said in person and not over the phone. That would be just,
tacky
.”

“I don’t understand,” he says, starting to come towards me again.

Think fast, September.

“Remember when I said I needed time?”

He nods.

“Well, I took that time, and I need to let you know that I don’t want this
thing
between us any longer.”

“Thing?” he says, eyes flashing. “I thought this
thing
was love?”

I’ve hit a hot button and that’s good. That’s what I need to do. Again and again until he believes this lie. Because it’s the right thing to do for everyone.

“I know that’s what we both
thought,
” I continue, “But for me, well, I think it might’ve been more of a sexual awakening than anything else.”

“What the fuck are you saying?”

He’s good and pissed. You can do this.

“I mean that there’s someone else.”

And now he’s got a sardonic grin on his face. “Yeah, right. In the course of a
week
you’ve fucking found someone else and are kicking me to the curb? I don’t believe you, babe.”

“I don’t care whether you believe me or not, Jesse. And I’ve known him longer than a week. Just because you don’t know about him doesn’t mean it’s a lie.”

Jesse studies me and his eyes are saying it all. “I’m listening,” he says, a cold steel edge to his voice. “What the hell is going on, September?”

“Uh…it’s Brandon,” I say, “Remember him from the casino?”

“Yeah, you’re neighbor; the one you claim is
just
a friend, right?”

“Yes, that’s him. The thing is, Jesse, that friendship has kind of turned into something else, you know? And the fact is that, well…he’s closer to my age, and we seem to have so much in common. “I can’t stay because I left him asleep in my bed at the apartment and I need to get back before he wakes up.”

I watch as his face grows cold; his eyes are nearly black when what I’ve said to him sinks in. “He’s in
your
…bed?”

I don’t miss a beat. “Yes, yes he is.”

He’s deadly quiet. And then the question I know he will ask comes out. “Have you fucked him?” It comes out like an accusation more than a question. I don’t want to lie to him, but this needs to happen. It’s the right thing to do.

“Jesse,” I plead, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, so please…
please
don’t make me lie to you.”

I can tell by his expression that he takes that as a “yes.”

“Go,” he barks, “Get the hell out of here then.”

I run from the garage, the chilly October wind whips around me as if to punish me even more. I pull my keys from the pocket of my jacket and as the tears start to spill, I manage to get into my car and navigate the ignition.

I don’t remember driving back to my apartment. I pull my car in front of the duplex, and I know that I need to pull myself together before I go inside or I’ll be playing twenty questions with a hung over Brandon.

I lock the car and walk across the street, heading over to the park that is just a couple of blocks down. It’s quiet there on a Sunday afternoon. I wipe the tears from my cheeks as I grab one of the swings and sink down onto the black rubber, feeling it come up around my hips and tighten up to keep me from falling out.

I spend the next hour in silence, swinging on that swing, looking at the falling leaves that continue to swirl around my feet and somehow convince myself that I have done the right thing.

I’m not sure how long I stood in the garage after I ordered September out, smacking the wrench I had in one hand against the open palm of the other until the pain of what I was doing finally registered.

Fuck me.

No. Fuck her!

I toss the wrench in my open toolbox and slam it shut with my foot, cursing under my breath.

“Where’s September?”

I turn abruptly, unaware that anyone had entered the garage.

Libby.

“She left,” I reply with a shrug.

“I know, but why?”

“Uh…she said she had company back at her apartment.”

“But she didn’t even say goodbye to Scout or me.”

She’s not gonna let this go, I can tell.

“Look—Sarah,” I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “I can’t speak for September’s manners. She left, okay?”

Her eyes mist up at the harshness I failed to hide.

“Listen,” I say, my voice calmer. “Maybe it was my fault. How about I go and see if she’s okay?”

She nods. “Okay, Jesse. Maybe my being here has upset her…”

I quirk a brow at her, as I pick up my toolbox and place it back on the workbench where it belongs. “Why would you think that?”

She shrugs, wrapping her arms around her waist as if she’s chilled. “Scout said that September used to live here and pretty much ran the house—the way that I’ve been trying to this past week, and I just figured maybe she feels like I’ve encroached on her space.”

I frown. “No, she left to go to college. I’m sure your being here isn’t an issue. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Okay, then. I’ll keep dinner warm.”

My mind races as I head towards September’s apartment. How could things have changed so quickly? After last Sunday, I was certain that we were moving back in the right direction, and then she drops this bombshell on me?

What the fuck?

In a week’s time, she and her horny neighbor move from friendship to something more?

I don’t buy it. Not for one minute. Something else is at play here, and it has to do with Libby being here with us.

I’m an idiot.

A fucking idiot.

She simply fabricated that story to piss me off, to make it easier for her to leave because this situation is difficult for her to handle. I can understand that, but running isn’t the answer.

By the time I pull up to her duplex I have relaxed a bit. I’m relieved to see her car parked out front. We’ll talk this out. I’ll call her out on her fabricated story, and we’ll figure out a way to get through this together.

I lock the truck and head up the steps to the front porch. The door leading to the inside stairwell is unlocked, so I quickly ascend the steps and knock on the door to her apartment.

I wait. It’s quiet inside, so I knock again, harder.

She can’t stay in there forever. I’m not leaving until she opens the fucking door and hears me out.

I pound on it now, with my fist.

The door is finally wrenched open and there stands over six feet of well-muscled male, some impressive ink adorning his biceps and triceps since the only thing he’s wearing are cotton boxers.

He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and my first instinct is to kill the motherfucker. I can feel the twitch in my cheeks as we both assess one another.

I’m obliterated; destroyed. Here I was, thinking September was lying for some reason, when, in fact, she was being blatantly honest with me. The truth is standing right in her doorway, looking as if he’s been there before and is quite comfortable in his underwear.