Summer Secret: Rose Falls Book 5

by Raleigh Ruebins

  And then after another few minutes more, slightly further past the university, we came to the quiet residential street that held this house. This house that couldn’t possibly have been where Owen grew up.

  “It’s so… normal,” I said to Megan.

  She nodded, looking back out at the house. It was two stories tall, with a few mature trees in the front. A rabbit hopped along the verdant front lawn, chasing after a butterfly. I half-expected a goddamn gilded unicorn to come trotting down the driveway, for Christ’s sake.

  “It’s like… a storybook house,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I expected Owen’s childhood home to be like, but somehow, this wasn’t it.”

  Megan and I were born and raised in New York City, had gone to college there, and neither of us had really left. We’d visited relatives in Connecticut and California throughout our childhoods, but nowhere other than the city had ever felt real to me.

  So how could Owen—crazy, wild, messy, outspoken Owen—be from this little, perfect town, and this little, perfect house? It had always seemed like he was born for New York City far more than I was. But somehow he’d come from this town with nothing more than a college, cow pastures, and cornfields.

  I felt Megan’s hand on my thigh. When I looked over at her, she was smiling lightly at me, her long hair frizzy from the humidity.

  “You ready to go in?” she asked.

  I took a deep breath, glancing back at the house. “I can tell by the way you haven’t turned off the car yet that you’re not ready, either,” I said.

  “I can tell you’re not,” she said. “I’m not the one who had a… falling out with Owen. Well, and, it’s hot as hell out there, and I didn’t want to turn off the air conditioning until I knew for sure you were gonna be getting out with me.”

  I puffed out a nervous laugh. “It’s… fine. I talked to Owen on the phone last week, and he’s been texting me nonstop about all these things he wants to do and show me once we’re down at the beach. It won’t be weird to see him again. It really won’t be weird at all.”

  I could feel Megan’s eyes on me, even though I wasn’t looking her way. “Are you sure about that?” she asked.

  With anyone else, I would have just said yes. But my sister had known me my whole life, and I knew I couldn’t hide a damn thing from her.

  “No, I’m not sure,” I said. “But let’s go.” I reached down and unbuckled my seat belt, opening the passenger side door.

  “Oh, Megan! And Max! So wonderful to see you two!” Ruth, Owen’s mom, greeted us at the door. She quickly rounded up our suitcases, taking them to the foot of the stairs. “How was the drive? Not too hot? I sure hope you’ve got okay AC in that car—did you make any stops? Did you grab any fresh corn along the way? They’ll sell it to you steamed and slathered with salted butter you know, right there on the side of the road. What can I get you? Water? Juice?”

  We made our way to the big, wooden kitchen table as Ruth rattled off her long greeting, never seeming to take a breath. Megan and I weren’t able to get a word in, but we smiled wide and nodded. The table had a big bowl of fresh fruit sitting in the middle of it, flanked by a small vase containing a few marigolds.

  “Water sounds great for now,” I said, and Megan nodded in agreement.

  “You have such a beautiful home, Mrs. Davis,” Megan said, looking around.

  “Oh, thank you, dear, and please call me Ruth,” she said as she brought over glasses of ice water.

  The house was a little quirkier once you got inside—it was covered in artwork, photographs and sculptures alike. There were plenty of well-tended plants and family pictures, too. It was like a slightly more interesting version of the kinds of homes I’d seen on sitcoms—full of color and light but also completely homey.

  “Jim is out helping one of the neighbors reinstall their deck, and Owen’s upstairs taking a shower. Oh, he’s been so excited for you two to come.”

  There was a nervous energy radiating from Ruth. I could tell she was genuinely happy to see us—overjoyed, even—but that she desperately hoped everything would be okay for us. I smelled the faint scent of orange wood cleaner, and I pictured Ruth scrubbing down the house that morning, anticipating our arrival. Her graying hair was perfectly curled and styled, and I wondered if she did that every day or if it was just for us visitors.

  “We’ve been excited to see him again too,” I said.

  As we waited a few more minutes for Owen to come down, Ruth and Megan launched into a conversation about the various art pieces that adorned the walls. I didn’t know a thing about art, and Ruth seemed more than happy to focus on Megan, so instead, I let my eyes roam to the pictures on the fridge. There were old ones, clearly school photos, of a young, lighter-haired Owen. There were much more pictures of another kid, which I assumed had to be his brother, Patrick. I noticed that there were modern photos of Patrick, but all the ones of Owen were old—had he told his mom he didn’t want to be in pictures anymore? Or since Owen had moved to New York City, had he just not been around enough?

  I didn’t recognize the Owen I knew in any of the older photos. Sure, he still had the same glint in his eyes, that mischievous look of pure potential energy. But I was used to an Owen with unruly hair, dark lashes, piercing green eyes. The kind of person that made you feel intimidated and yet you could never escape their magnetic pull. From day one, I had been equally wary of him as I had been protective of him.

  Of course, that’s what led to our falling out, many months ago. The scales had tipped too far in the direction of wary, and Owen had become someone that scared me more often than he inspired me. His partying had gotten so out of control that I knew it was best for both of us if I cut him out.

  It had been like cutting off one of my own limbs. I loved Owen as much as anyone could love a friend. But there were only so many times I could rescue him from random apartments while he was blacked-out drunk. Only so many times I could come home to find him passed out on the floor—sometimes in his room, sometimes in mine, once in the kitchen. Only so many times I could hear him apologize, only to do the exact same thing the next night. We were twenty-six now, not idiotic like we had been in freshman year of college. And I’d known it was time to grow up.

  But being without Owen for the last months had almost been harder than anything that had come before it.

  Megan and Ruth were deep in conversation about a local artist when I heard a door shut, followed by footsteps coming down the stairs. I glanced in the direction of the kitchen entryway, and my eyes fell on someone who looked like a stranger.

  Owen stepped in, smiling wide, giving a little wave.

  It was him, but it looked like not him: his hair was a little shorter, if still unkempt, and his skin was at least two shades tanner. He looked hardened, somehow, and there were now muscles where before had just been pale skin. It was Owen, but not quite the Owen I’d known in New York City. It was as if within the span of a few months away from him, the summer sun had transformed him, like he’d evolved into the next era of his life.

  It dawned on me: he looked healthy. And he looked fucking stunning.

  I tried to snap out of my momentary trance—I’d been staring at him dumbfounded while Megan had launched out of her seat to go give him a hug hello.

  His gaze was on me, though, even as she hugged him. I got up and walked over, meeting his eyes, holding out my arms. He had the same sleepy, dreamy look in his eyes that was always there, but somehow he seemed more… alive.

  “Hi,” I said. Why did it feel weird even to say hi?

  If Owen felt any weirdness, though, he definitely didn’t show it. “Come here,” he said, pulling me into a tight hug.

  Instantly, it was like a switch had been flipped. This—this was my Owen. The smell of the herbal shampoo he always used, the scent of his skin. I knew it so well. I knew it from nights where I’d fallen asleep on the couch next to him, and I knew it from nights where I’d had to carry him to his bed. This was m
y best friend.

  I filled with affection as he gripped me tight. His body even felt fuller, more muscled than it had used to. He didn’t feel like a little waif anymore; he felt like a man.

  I couldn’t let myself get distracted by that.

  “I’m sure you both are starving,” Ruth said, rising from her chair and heading to the kitchen counter. I’d practically forgotten she and Megan were there while I’d been steadily pulled back into Owen’s current.

  “Need any help?” Megan asked.

  “Well… sure!” Ruth said brightly. “How do you feel about shucking some corn for me?”

  “I am an expert at shucking corn,” Megan responded, following after Ruth.

  “I’d be happy to help, too,” I said. I wanted to be a good houseguest and also wanted to do something that would make me feel like I was on solid ground again.

  “What? No,” Owen said, “I wanted to show you something out back.”

  Ruth shook her head, smiling softly at Owen. “That’s my son. Stops for nothing, not even dinner.”

  “Fine, fine, you’re right; I’m being rude,” Owen said, leaning down on the counter. “What can we help with, Mom?”

  “Actually, I think Megan and I can take care of it,” Ruth said, waving a hand through the air. “There’d be too many cooks in the kitchen, otherwise. Besides, I want to catch up with her.”

  “You sure?” I asked. Spending time alone with Owen right now sounded both amazing and terrifying, like being at the top of a roller coaster and not knowing if death or elation is coming up next.

  “You two go ahead. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to catch up on. We’ll all have plenty of time together in Pearlview over the next two weeks, anyway.”

  Owen already looked like a kid who’d been told school was canceled. He glanced at me and gestured toward the back door of the house. “C’mon,” he said, disappearing out the door.

  I followed him out into the yard, which was yet another layer of understated beauty in the house. The trees were tall and numerous, and the summer sun filtered through them in shimmering patches of light.

  “Now that we’re out here, I can show you what I found this morning,” Owen said, bringing me over to a corner of the yard where the shrubs leaned up against the dark wood fence. He pushed aside a patch of thick leaves in a bush. “Come in closer,” he said, his voice hushed.

  I stepped close to him, so close that I could feel his warmth. I leaned in to see what he was looking at and saw a tiny collection of twigs and sticks. Inside were two of the tiniest birds I’d ever seen, letting out little cheep noises.

  “They must have hatched in the last day or so,” Owen said, smiling down at the baby birds.

  I looked up at Owen, studying his face. “Um,” I said. “They kind of look like little aliens. Alien-dinosaurs.”

  Owen shrugged. “At least one of those is almost factually correct. But they’re so cute. It’s precious, really.”

  Now I knew he was messing with me. “Very funny. So what did you really want to tell me—”

  Just then, a small head with a gray, messy bun on top of it popped up on the other side of the fence from us. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “Hello, boys!” the old woman called, grinning and squinting at us. She must have been at least in her late eighties.

  “Hi, Ethel,” Owen said, waving to her. He whispered to me, his voice low: “That’s Old Lady Ethel. She… pops in, from time to time.”

  “What are you getting your noses into today?”

  “Just showing my friend Max the baby birds I found.”

  “Oh, no, not more birds,” Ethel croaked. “Toby always brings them inside to me. The other cats seem to love it.”

  “I saw Toby roaming around our backyard this morning,” Owen said. “He’s a pretty little cat.”

  “Toby is my best baby,” Ethel said, nodding. “You boys aren’t up to mischief back here, are you?”

  “Wasn’t planning on getting into any mischief today, Ethel,” Owen said, rearranging the leaves on the bush to obscure the nest again. “Just talking to my friend after a long time being apart.

  “Okay,” she said, narrowing her eyes at us, suspicious. “I do remember the time I found one of your little liquor bottles in my backyard, dear. I told your parents all about it. Only sixteen, you were! Oh, I just couldn’t believe it.”

  “Yes, Ethel, we all remember.”

  “Well, do have a good dinner, dears,” she said, nodding again. “No liquor, remember.”

  “Never that,” Owen said, turning away from the fence and rolling his eyes at me.

  “She seems… charming,” I said.

  “She’s quite something,” Owen said, walking back into the main part of the yard.

  “So,” I said to him, keeping my voice low. “Why’d you really ask me out here? What do you have to show me?”

  “Huh?” he said, meeting my eyes. “That’s it. Just wanted to show you what I found this morning.”

  “You wanted to show me little birds?” I asked.

  He gave me a strange look as if to say, why is that weird?

  I let out a small laugh. “I thought for sure you just wanted to get away from your mom,” I said. “Y’know, tell me about some party you wanted to take me to tonight or show me a weed plant you started growing out here, maybe.”

  Suddenly, Owen’s face fell. It was strange—when we’d been living together, he was telling me about the next party he was excited for on a near daily basis. But now he looked as though I’d just slapped him in the face.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. He pulled his hands back, dusting them off on his jeans. “Just the birds.”

  I started to realize that it wasn’t just Owen’s looks that were different. Maybe since coming back to Rose Falls, he’d stopped partying as much. Or maybe he just didn’t want to go to any with me.

  Whatever it was, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to easily fall back into my old groove with Owen. It had taken enormous amounts of courage to even talk to him on the phone last week, let alone be here standing next to him—and now part of me felt like I didn’t really know who he was, now. We’d only been separated for about three months, so why did it feel like it had been years?

  Had I made a mistake, coming here? Should I have listened to my gut and stayed home in the city, letting my friendship with him die?

  Owen was gazing at a squirrel in the other corner of the yard, watching it nibble away at a small acorn. There was a glimmer of sadness in his eyes, a kind that I’d never really seen in him before. I’d seen Owen in some truly hard times—I’d been there for him while he’d woken up in hospital beds, twice—but I’d still never seen a sadness like he had now.

  It was new. It was different. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something Owen wasn’t telling me.

  Throughout dinner, Owen seemed relatively normal again. “Normal” for him still was still a relative term, but he was talking animatedly about all kinds of random topics, asking Megan about how all her friends in the city were doing, making sure to crack jokes any time the smallest crass thing was mentioned.

  But after dinner, he asked if Megan and I wanted to see his childhood room, and the sadness crept back into his gaze as he showed us the old pictures and books. The room seemed to fit him or fit a more innocent version of him: there were movie and band posters all over the walls, plenty of pictures tacked up, mementos from past girlfriends.

  “This is probably the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Megan said, pointing to a picture of him and a girl dressed in a tuxedo and a long pink gown.

  “That was senior prom,” he said, looking at the photo. “I almost didn’t get to attend because they caught me skipping school too many times, but at the last minute, I convinced them that I deserved to go. Of course, I snuck in a flask, and I don’t remember the entire second half of the night, but… I was told it was fun.”

  “Classic,” Megan said, bending down to inspect another
photo. “Oh my God! You played soccer?”

  Owen winced. “Very badly, and only for about two months,” he said. “Got kicked off the team for swearing too much.”

  “You’ve had such an interesting life,” Megan said, now looking at a batch of photos from what looked like a trip to Rome.

  Owen shook his head, sitting down on the corner of his bed. “When I look at all this stuff, I feel like I’m looking at the life of a different person. It’s like it’s not even me—it’s some other person, someone I used to know very well, and now is… really distant.”

  I nodded, crossing over and sitting on the desk chair across from him. “I know what you mean. When I look at old photos, I can’t believe I ever used to have a bowl cut. What were my parents thinking?”

  Owen snorted. “You did not.”

  I grinned, nodding. “Believe it. The only thing worse would have been a mullet.”

  “Pretty sure I had a mullet at some point as a kid,” Megan said.

  “Do you remember that Halloween party where the three of us got those awful wigs and tried to be the Beatles?” Owen said.

  “Of course,” I responded. “I was the best Paul McCartney the world has ever seen.”

  “I was a good Ringo, but that fake mustache hurt. Might as well have been waxing my upper lip when I took it off,” Megan said, laughing.

  “I wanted so badly to be John Lennon that I think I smoked more unfiltered cigarettes that night than one human should be able to.”

  “Hey, in the sixties, everyone smoked,” Megan said.

  Owen nodded, but the sadness was back again. It seemed like every time he brought up his past lifestyle, he got a little bit down. Clearly he was trying to stay away from that life—I hadn’t seen him smoke at all or have a single drink all night. I wondered if he was only doing it because Megan and I were here? Or had something more changed?