by Laura Miller
WHEN CICADAS CRY
-A NOVEL-
L A U R A M I L L E R
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Laura Miller.
LauraMillerBooks.com
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system.
Cover design by Laura Miller.
Cover photos © Irina Bg/Shutterstock.
Title page photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Dedication page photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Content page photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Quote pages photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Chapter headings photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Torn page photo © ba1969/rgbstock.
Torn page design by Laura Miller.
Acknowledgments page photo © Africa Studio/Fotolia.
Author photo © NM.
To the Author of mortals,
For the greater dance
Time flies over us but leaves its shadow behind.
~Nathaniel Hawthorne
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One: Present: Rem
Chapter Two: Past (2 Years Earlier): Ashley
Chapter Three: Past: Rem
Chapter Four: Present: Rem
Chapter Five: Past (2 Years Earlier): Rem
Chapter Six: Past: Rem
Chapter Seven: Past: Rem
Chapter Eight: Present: Rem
Chapter Nine: Past (2 Years Earlier): Rem
Chapter Ten: Present: Rem
Chapter Eleven: Past (4 Years Earlier): Rem
Chapter Twelve: Present: Rem
Chapter Thirteen: Past (2 Years Earlier): Rem
Chapter Fourteen: Present: Rem
Chapter Fifteen: Past (1.5 Years Earlier): Rem
Chapter Sixteen: Present: Rem
Chapter Seventeen: Past (1.5 Years Earlier): Rem
Chapter Eighteen: Present: Rem
Chapter Nineteen: Past (1.5 Years Earlier): Ashley
Chapter Twenty: Past: Ashley
Chapter Twenty-One: Present: Rem
Chapter Twenty-Two: Past (1.5 Years Earlier): Ashley
Chapter Twenty-Three: Present: Rem
Chapter Twenty-Four: Present: Rem
Chapter Twenty-Five: Past (1 Year Earlier): Rem
Chapter Twenty-Six: Past: Rem
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Past: Rem
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Past: Rem
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Past: Rem
Chapter Thirty: Past: Rem
Chapter Thirty-One: Past: Rem
Chapter Thirty-Two: Present: Rem
Chapter Thirty-Three: Present: Ashley
Chapter Thirty-Four: Past (1 Year Earlier): Rem
Chapter Thirty-Five: Present: Ashley
Chapter Thirty-Six: Present: Rem
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Five Months Later: Rem
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Rem
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Ashley
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Laura Miller
When I saw you, I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.
~William Shakespeare
Prologue
Ashley
One moment.
One moment can shape our entire life.
One deep breath.
One slow exhale.
The first time you feel soft grass on your bare feet.
The last time you fell in love.
One painted sunrise.
A note in a song.
One line in a poem.
Your first shot of whiskey.
One taste of forbidden love.
One word spoken too soon.
One word spoken too late.
Your first heartbreak.
One dance with a stranger.
One smile.
One look.
One thought.
One wayward memory.
One secret kept just a moment too long.
That’s all it takes.
My grandmother had a lot of little phrases she liked to say to my sister and me when we were growing up. Like when she’d catch us staring out the window too long—those times when she’d have to say our names at least twice before we’d answer—she’d always say: If you want to know where your heart is, look to where your mind goes when it wanders.
I never had to look too far.
My heart is with him; it has been, since Day One.
But what I didn’t know when we locked eyes that first time was that every moment we shared was just another moment leading up to that one that would forever change the course of our lives.
It was the moment that I knew he knew.
It was just a hunch, a feeling, a soft whisper to my soul. But it was in that moment—that one, life-altering instant—that I knew I had lost him.
And so began our story.
Chapter One
Present
Rem
“Sorry, man,” I hear a voice say.
A guy turns into me and then backs off. I don’t say anything; I just keep pushin’ my way through the swaying masses of blue jeans and tee shirts and work boots. Hall’s is crowded tonight. The stools at the old, wooden bar top are full. The few tables scattered around the bar are also occupied, and the little space left is taken up by stragglers, craning their necks to get a glimpse of one of only two small TVs in the whole place. The game’s on—third game of the World Series. And that’s why I’d like to get my order and get the hell out of here. At least back home, there’s a TV screen that isn’t straight out of the 90s.
“Wait.”
I turn back toward the voice. It’s the man I just ran into...or who just ran into me; I don’t know. He’s staring at me, but I don’t recognize the guy. He’s got this funny grin on his face, and he’s wagging a finger at me.
“You...and Ashley Westcott...” He nods his head as if he’s just put two and two together.
“No,” I say. “Wrong guy.”
I turn back toward the bar even though I’m pretty sure he’s still starin’ and pointin’. Karen notices me and holds out a brown paper bag.
“Here ya go, Rem.” She gives me a motherly kind of smile. I know she heard the guy, and she probably heard what I had to say to him too, but I don’t care.
“Keep the change,” I say, handing her a bill.
I reach for the bag, but she keeps a firm grip on it and settles her gaze on me.
“It gets better.” She smiles and lets go of the bag.
I don’t say anything, and I try not to react either. I just tip the bill of my cap and head straight for the screen door in the corner of the bar.
Seconds later, my hand is pushin’ against the old, wooden frame. The door squeaks open and then slams shut behind me.
Outside, the October air is cool. I feel it sink deep into my bones, and at the same time, a shiver runs up my spine. And I’m not really sure if it’s the cold or the thoughts runnin’ through my head that cause it. Either way, it feels a whole hell of a lot better out here than it did in that crowded bar; that’s for sure. At least, out here, there ain’t anyone makin’ any assumptions. Out here, no one’s givin’ me sympathetic smiles or coverin’ up their whispers. The black night doesn’t care she’s gone.
I stop and rest my hand on the door handle of my truck, and I let my head fall back. The sky
is darker than dark, but the stars are bright.
We had this whole town fooled. Every. Last. One. Even now, they just don’t know what to think. Half of them constantly have a question on their tongues, but it’s as if they just can’t quite get it to leave their mouths. And I’m convinced the other half already has their minds made up—even though I’m pretty sure not a darned one knows the story.
I level my head and catch a star dyin’ out in the distant sky. In an instant, it’s there, and then it’s gone. I lower my head and laugh a little. Just like us, huh?
Then I sigh and pull on the handle right before I toss the bag onto the seat and slide into my truck. But as soon as I get the key in the ignition, I stop, and I think about the guy in the bar. And I think about her. Her.
“Damn it, Miss Westcott,” I whisper under my breath. “I swear I can’t go anywhere without you. Everywhere I go, you’re always just a rumor away.”
I let a lungful of air fall onto the steering wheel as I put the truck in gear and let off the clutch.
You left, but then again, you never really left.
Chapter Two
Past (2 Years Earlier)
Ashley
“The whole town already thinks we’re in love.” He bends down low and almost whispers the phrase into my ear. I don’t know what else to do but smile, so I do that.
He finds my eyes once more. I’ve been locking gazes with him from across this space all night, and now, my heart races. I don’t know if I expected him to come over here. I wanted him to, I think, but I also didn’t think he would.
Without saying another word, he holds out his hand and eyes the little dance floor. It’s just a little hardwood floor, surrounded by a sea of soft, cool grass and lit only by the stars and a couple strands of little white lights.
I look around and notice the eyes planted on the two of us. I don’t know how long they’ve been staring, but I can’t help but notice the ease at which their eyes roam over us. It’s almost as if their stares come as naturally as breathing. I feel almost like an exhibit at an art gallery, where everyone is trying to read into the meaning of every detail. But then I look back into his eyes, and the burden of being watched suddenly disappears. In this moment, this perfect stranger is all that matters.
“Well, let’s not disappoint them then,” I say, surrendering my hand.
He smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back. And as he stands there—his eyes never leaving mine—I study him. I study the way his lips slowly, but gradually turn up—in a way that lets me know he might be used to smiles from the opposite persuasion. I study the way his eyes stare back at me, as if we both share some kind of secret, and we both know it, but neither one of us is going to be the first to tell. And yet, there’s still something else about him that I just can’t put my finger on. And it’s that something else that makes me feel as if I can trust him. I don’t know if it’s on his lips or in his eyes or written somewhere on his face, but somehow, he’s got this way about him that makes me feel as if it’s all going to be okay. And it’s this way about him, I think, that makes me wish I knew him more...or at all.
He gently takes my hand and leads me out to the middle of the dance floor. I can feel the eyes follow us there. I can feel them as if they’re literally a weight on my shoulder. I sense them speculating, assuming. They don’t even know us, and it’s as if they’re already pulling for us...or against us. But little do they know, we’re not even an us.
“Ashley Westcott.”
My eyes immediately dart to his shadowed face as he turns to me, rests one palm on my lower back and gently draws me closer to him. “How did you...?”
“Just trust me on this one.” He smiles and then looks away. “It’s one of those things that by growin’ up here, you just know.”
“But I’m not...”
“I know,” he says, nodding his head. “That’s how I know your name...because you’re not from here.” His eyes meet mine, and this time, I take notice of their color. They’re this light kind of bluish green—the kind that makes you a little seasick just looking at them.
“So you know everyone’s name around here?” I ask.
He seems to pause as he drops his gaze to the floor. “Pretty much, but yours in particular.”
I laugh once. I don’t know if I’m nervous or flattered that this stranger knows my name. He finds my eyes again. And despite the fact that I’m still trying to figure him out, my lips involuntarily turn up. “Does my reputation precede me?”
He sucks in a big breath and then slowly nods. “I’m afraid it does.”
My heart instantly plummets in my chest. And I think it must show on my face because there’s a subtle shift in his expression. Does he know? I take a quick survey of the room. Their eyes are still on us, but now, I’m wondering if their eyes are really just on me.
“In a good way,” he clarifies. “In a good way,” he repeats.”
I search his new expression. He’s showing off his white teeth in a big smile, and from what I can tell, there’s not an ounce of hesitation in his eyes. I silently say a thankful prayer. He doesn’t know.
Several heartbeats pass between us, as I gently bite my bottom lip in an attempt to keep it all together. But all the while, I still manage to keep a watchful eye on him. Him. I still don’t know his name.
“Remington,” he says, as if reading my mind. “My name is Remington, but you can call me Rem.”
I start to ask the obvious question—how he knew I was thinking about his name—but it never leaves my tongue. Instead, I just smile at him. “Do you have a last name, Remington?” I glance down at our feet before finding his eyes again. “You know mine. I think it’s only fair that I should know yours.”
“Of course.” His grin slowly reaches his eyes. “It’s Jude. Remington Jude.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Remington Jude.”
He bobs his head once. “Likewise, Miss Westcott.”
I try not to blush. I hate it when I blush; it gives away everything I’m trying to hide.
Suddenly, I feel him pulling me closer. I don’t resist because I want this to feel normal, even though it doesn’t, even though it still feels new and strange and wonderful.
“I think we just made them believers, Miss Westcott,” he breathes into my ear.
I look up. There’s several couples surrounding us now, swaying back and forth to the old slow song, but most are only on the outskirts, and their hands are to their faces, as if they’re trying to hide the thoughts pouring out of their mouths.
“Is it always like this?”
“What?” he asks. “The curiosity?”
“Yes.” I laugh. “If you can call it that.”
“Yeah, pretty much.” His eyes trail to the people lining the dance floor before finding me again. “Most get used to it. You probably will too...if you plan on stayin’ awhile.”
I feel my lips turning up because I have no plans of leaving any time soon. I needed a change of pace. This place is a change of pace all right. And I needed a dance in a town I don’t know with a boy I really don’t know either. I needed this.
The slow song fades away, but he continues to hold me against his warm body. And he doesn’t just hold me. He holds me tightly, securely, as if he’s afraid I’ll run. His arms are strong—wide and muscular. It almost makes me dizzy thinking about how one of those arms is currently wrapped around my waist and how only a thin layer of fabric separates his skin from mine.
“Maybe next year,” he whispers in my ear, “we can give them an even bigger show.”
His raspy whisper surprises me and sends chills through my core. I look up and catch an older woman smiling at us from a table in the corner. “Oh,” I say, trying to sound unfazed by the hypnotizing way his sultry voice moved through me, “and what did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know.” He pulls away so that I can see his face and the sea-colored waves in his eyes. “Maybe we could actually come to the dance together, o
r at least, sit at the same table. That’ll get ‘em talkin’.”
I laugh once. “Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” I look away before finding his eyes again. “I mean, coming together is one thing. But sitting at the same table? That might be moving a little too fast for me.”
He chuckles a little. I like that I’ve made him laugh. He’s even cuter when he laughs.
“Well, maybe I can just settle for a table on the same side of the room then. Then, I wouldn’t have to dodge so many heads tryin’ to catch your glance.”
I lower my eyes and laugh softly to myself, as he backs away, still holding my hand. “It was an honor makin’ rumors with you, Ashley Westcott.”
I lift my gaze back into his eyes. “Anytime, Remington Jude.”
And even as I say the words, I know I mean them. For the first time in a really long time, I feel as if it might not be so bad to fall head over heels for a beautiful stranger. And maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel like a stranger at all, really. In fact, nothing about this town feels strange. It’s almost as if I was always meant to find myself here. I mean, this place isn’t anything like home—even down to the red clay stuck to the bottom of my shoes—and yet, I feel as if I don’t belong anywhere but here.
Chapter Three
Past
Rem
“So, I met the girl last night.”
“What girl?” Jack looks up from his phone, swivels around in my kitchen chair and faces me. “Ohhhh...the girl?”
I just smile and nod.
“Well, did she live up to your crazy fantasy?” He goes back to fiddlin’ with the screen on his phone.
“Even better,” I say, grabbin’ a can of soda out of the fridge.
“What? You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me?” He tosses the phone onto the table. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. She was at the dance, and she was wearin’ this short, little dress, but not too short...you know?”