“My closet wall?” I ask, trying not to sound overly panicked, even though that’s exactly what I am – especially now.
Mr. Carter nods a confirmation. My closet wall.
“Probably some kids, if I had to guess,” Mr. Carter says. He shakes his head, as if he’s disappointed in them although he doesn’t have a clue who they are. “This place has a history, and now that it’s occupied, people are curious. That doesn’t justify breaking and entering, but it looks like they were just snooping around.”
“Then why would they put holes in my wall?” I ask.
I know why. I know exactly why. This wasn’t some kid snooping around or wanting to leave their mark on the historic home. Whoever broke into our house was on a mission. They knew exactly what they were looking for, and now they know that it isn’t there.
Mr. Carter shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he says. “The wall was already being torn down, so they probably just wanted to add their own vandalism. Like I said, dumb kids making dumb decisions.”
He excuses himself to talk to my mom while we wait for the police to arrive and assess the scene. I’m sure this will be a topic of discussion amongst the coffee tables at Waterfront Café in the morning. Cop cars at the Calloway Cottage. I want to crawl under a rock.
“Let’s walk over to my house,” Rooks says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “Your mom can handle the police statement.”
We stroll across the yard to his house in silence. When we reach his front porch, I sit down on the third step and set my beach bag down next to me. Everything this burglar was looking for is right here beside me, and I know they won’t give up this easily. A few blue lights won’t keep them away if these letters hold the secrets that this town has kept buried for fifty years.
“They were looking for the letters,” I say, as certain as my mom’s hatred for deer heads. “There’s no other reason someone would break into this house, not touch a thing, and only bother to tear my wall apart.”
Rooks shifts next to me, as if he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. Maybe he’s afraid of talking about it out loud. Whoever broke our window may be lurking in the shrubs.
“Maybe they really were just goofing around,” he says. “It’s the Calloway Cottage. Everyone’s curious, you know?”
“You can’t tell me your mind didn’t go directly to the letters,” I whisper.
He shrugs but refuses to admit it. If they were looking for the letters, it means someone else knows that they exist. And that they’re gone.
Rooks exhales and runs his hands through his hair. “I’ll be right back,” he says. “I’m sending you home with a baseball bat tonight.”
Seth’s Letter
I honestly didn’t think you’d agree to meet up with me. I was sure you wouldn’t show, even after you agreed. I just knew the moment I saw you riding on that camel that I had to meet you. Maybe it was the lights or the way you were laughing, but I knew you weren’t like any other girl I know. It was just something about that moment. Something about the lights and the smell of hot dogs. Something about the breeze off of the water.
I can’t really capture it in words, but it’s played in my head over and over like it was on the screen at the drive-in. I can’t stop watching it. I knew it was only a moment because you were with your friends and I was with mine. We wouldn’t cross paths. We’d never speak. So when it all played out and actually happened, it was like fate worked its way into my life.
Everything fell in place as it should be. I was mesmerized. Mesmerized by the way you talked, the way you danced in circles, the way you ate your cotton candy. I can’t believe people like you even exist in this world. I have to see you again.
Her Reply
I don’t think I am completely sold on the idea of destiny and fate. My family has been through so much to get we where are now. Maybe some would say that destiny brought us here, that fate had a hand in it all, but I just don’t know about that. I do believe there is more to life than this, though. I just don’t know how to catch it, how to reach out and grab it. It’s like that ‘moment’ you wrote about.
I feel like there’s more, like a ton of falling stars, and it’s up to me to reach out and catch one before it hits the ground and fizzles out. But I was never trained in the business of catching falling stars. It’s like something needs to change, maybe small and subtle changes, to make big things happen. Like choosing to ride the camel on the carousel instead of a pretty horse. Or putting mustard on your hot dog instead of ketchup.
Maybe that moment you witnessed was another falling star that I didn’t manage to catch. Or maybe I did. Maybe that star was you. This scares me. I can’t lie. But I’m too intrigued to turn around and run away.
Chapter Nine
“How’d you sleep last night?” Rooks asks, leaning against the railing on my front porch.
I shoot him the best evil glare I can, but it’s probably not very effective with my puffy, sleep-deprived eyes. If I hadn’t been born with my mom’s vanity, I would’ve skipped makeup altogether today because my eyes feel like someone has built sandcastles in them.
“I didn’t,” I say, even though I did grab an hour or so here and there. I walk past him and sit on the porch step. I wish I’d grabbed some sunglasses. The sun is too bright this morning.
“They’re not coming back,” Rooks says from behind me. He sits next to me on the step. “Whoever it was, they’re not coming back here. They’ll be too scared. And if I’ve learned anything about your mom, she’ll have a state-of-the-art alarm system in place by the end of the week. You know that.”
The truth is, he’s right. Mom was Googling local security businesses while brewing her coffee this morning, mumbling all the while about how no one will dare break her windows again. That’s how I knew she meant business. She was in business mode before her first sip of black coffee.
“I know,” I say, following up with a heavy sigh. “Mom is already working on it. But she’s also freaking out about ‘that atrocious piece of wood’ that’s serving in place of her window.”
Rooks laughs. He shields his eyes from the sun when he looks toward me. “My dad’s already on that job,” he says. “He knew your mom wouldn’t want to risk anyone dropping by and seeing it.”
“After the flock of blue lights outside last night, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone drops by today to give their condolences and welcome Mom back to town,” I say. “You know, pretending to care when they just want to be nosy.”
Personally, I feel safer with the wooden panel than I do a glass window. So what if it doesn’t let in any natural light? I can handle the darkness if I don’t have to deal with ghosts from the past leaving holes in my walls.
“So, any updates on the great Coral Sands love story?” he asks.
When he dips his head to avoid the direct sunlight, a streak of light glides over his blue eyes like a rippling wave in the ocean. I wish I could tell him that I want my own great Coral Sands love story, and I’d prefer he play the love interest, but just the thought of saying such a thing makes my cheeks flush with a sunburned kind of warmth.
Instead, I just nod stupidly. “I think this was the beginning of their story,” I tell him. “They met by chance, like they weren’t already together when the letters began. He thinks they met by fate, like it was destined to happen. She’s not so sure, but she’s too mesmerized by him not to pursue whatever it is that they have.”
“Scandalous,” Rooks says. He raises his eyebrows for dramatic effect before laughing. “At least we know it worked out…sort of. Damn. Never mind. I was headed somewhere with that, but given their ending, I’m not even going there.”
Maybe Seth and Hanna aren’t so much a tragedy. Taken before their time, sure. Unfulfilled dreams, yes. But maybe they were each other’s true loves and they were together until death did them part. Maybe they were a true Romeo and Juliet story. Young, tragic, in love, and not meant to be in the eyes of everyone else.
But
that can’t be true. They were the golden couple when they died. So why weren’t they accepted in the beginning? Scandalous may be more true than Rooks realizes.
“There’s something else,” I tell him. I wish I had Hanna’s letter with me. “She doesn’t sign her name. He does. She doesn’t. It’s like she didn’t want to put it in writing in case someone found it. Instead of a name, there’s a symbol. It looks sort of like a flower.”
“Let me see,” he says, looking around us to make sure no one is around.
“It’s inside,” I say. I push myself up from the steps. “Come on. I’ll get it.”
I push the front door open, but Mom calls my name from the kitchen the instant I step inside. Rooks follows behind me as we make our way toward her and Mr. Carter.
“I want you to come with me today,” Mom says, setting her white coffee mug on the counter. “We need to pick out furniture for the rest of the house, and we need to stay out of the way while these gentlemen work.”
Mr. Carter clears his throat and says he’s going to step outside and call a friend of his to see if he has a glass pane that will fit our broken window.
“Go get what you need for the day,” Mom says to me. She reaches for her mug again and takes a sip. “As soon as I finish this cup, you and I are headed out.”
Rooks tells me that he’s going to go see what he can do to help his dad and leaves out the back door. So much for showing him Hanna’s letter. I debate leaving them in his possession today so he can steal glances on water breaks, but the thought of leaving these letters here, away from my safekeeping, is too much. I can’t leave them in this house when every instinct I have says that someone is looking for them – and knows they’re missing.
Thirty minutes and another cup of coffee later, Mom stands in the doorway tapping her shoe against the floor. That’s her way of telling me to hurry. It’s annoying, but it’s one of her personality quirks, and I’ve learned to overlook it for the most part. I’m just glad she’s not wearing heels today.
“We lucked out,” she informs me. “Mr. Carter knows a local guy who’s a retired carpenter, and he had a window pane that will fit. Free of charge. He’s going to help the Carters install it today. This is just another thing I love about small towns.”
I tell my mom that I’ll meet her outside and immediately retrieve Seth and Hanna’s letters before we leave. I wedge them deeply into my purse, like a greedy pirate who wants to bury her treasure so far into the ocean floor that no one could possibly find it. I slip on my flip-flops and hurry outside so Mom won’t come back inside searching for me.
Mac waits in our wrap-around driveway when I walk outside. He wears old man khaki shorts and a T-shirt from a local seafood restaurant. The colors have faded, but I recognize the logo from Walk The Plank.
Mr. Carter and Rooks help unload a large pane of glass from the back of an old truck. Rooks shoots me a smile before disappearing around the house with his dad.
“Mr. Crawford, thank you so much for helping,” Mom says, standing next to her car. The engine is already running. “I thought I was going to have to spend my day chasing after window panes.”
Mac laughs. “It’s not a problem,” he says, shaking his head and slicing the air with his hand. “I have all kinds of gadgets in my shed that I’ll never use, so I’m more than willing to contribute to your new home. And please, call me Mac. Mr. Crawford was my father.”
I open the passenger side door and drop my purse onto the floorboard but don’t get in the car just yet.
Mom exhales a sigh. “It’s nice to see someone contribute something to this house aside from gossip and rumors,” she says. “After the police were out here last night, I can only imagine the tales that are spinning throughout the town.”
I reach into the car and turn the air down a notch so I can get in but still hear what they’re saying. It’s a hundred degrees of hell outside, and the sunshine is proudly blazing among the clouds. I wish it’d just rain instead today. I’m sure it’d halt the remodel of our house, and Mom would have a meltdown, but this Florida heat has to give.
Mac says the same thing about how our intruder was probably just some kids snooping around, except he says it to Mom instead of me. I wish I could leap out of the car and say, “That’s what you think!” but I can’t. Mac doesn’t know about the letters, and neither does Mom. They can believe it was a group of teenage idiots all they want, but I know better. I know someone out there has the key to unlock this mystery, and I have to find it before they find me.
After the twenty-minute drive beyond the outskirts of Coral Sands, Mom pulls into the parking lot of a furniture warehouse. It’s a huge yet plain building. No fancy signs. No pretty logo. Just a warehouse. I can’t believe my mom would shop here for her ultimate interior design.
“Kind of dull, isn’t it?” I ask as I step out of the car. I squint my eyes behind my sunglasses. I glance around for a sign, in case I missed it when we pulled in, but I can’t see anything that even remotely hints to this being a furniture store.
“Well, the building has been here forever. Not exactly the fanciest of places but they have nice furniture,” Mom says. “Come on.”
A rush of air greets us as we step in the doorway. A bell dings overhead. Before us are rows of recliners, couches, tables, chair sets, dressers, and beds. It’s almost a bit overwhelming. I can’t focus on what my bedroom will look like. I can’t focus on anything other than Rooks Carter and the love letters in my purse, which aren’t even from Rooks Carter.
“Welcome to LQ!” a girl in a dark blue T-shirt shouts from behind a counter with a register. She waves but doesn’t leave her post.
“LQ?” I ask Mom.
“Limited Quantity,” she clarifies. “These pieces aren’t something you can just order in a store. If you see something you like, point it out. If you love it, we need to have them put a ‘sold’ sign on it. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”
I follow Mom around the store while she chats with a salesman about the multiple ideas she has for our house. With every idea she rattles off, the man instantly has “just the piece” for her. Mom eventually settles on a neutral-colored couch, a bright blue puffy ottoman, and blue pillows to match. She sticks with simple white bar stools for the kitchen.
“Now the dining room,” she says, moving toward a section of tables and chairs.
This is what’s going to take ages. Mom has changed her mind on centerpieces and décor for the dining room twenty times a day since we got here. She’s certain that if she has the right dining room, people will take her seriously as an interior designer. If not, she’s doomed.
“I like this one,” I say, running my fingers along a gray washed wood table.
It’s the same washed out color as the stones outside of Shark Island, like a rain cloud but not quite a storm. Faded and weathered, like it’s been able to survive the elements, but still dark enough that you know it’s been through a few battles.
“You know, I kind of do too,” Mom says. She walks around the table, studying it from a few different angles. “It’d match a lot of color schemes, and it’s not stark white either.”
She discusses the price with the salesman and tells me that she’ll meet me near the beds and dressers. She already has an idea of what she wants for her bedroom and office, but I don’t have the first clue. I should be more excited about picking out new furniture for my new room in my new awesome beach house, but I’m not.
Replacing my bed and changing my dresser are both permanent. Decorating my room with new things is permanent. Right now, it’s still somewhat surreal to be in a new place with new things and a new life. But the novelty will wear off. Even if the town doesn’t get over the Calloway Cottage quickly, I will. It’ll become normal for us. It’ll be where I wake up in the mornings and brush my teeth and eat breakfast before going to school. It’ll be where I come home and have to do homework every night. It will become home, even if it’s not Tennessee.
I sit down on a red
couch with black and white chevron pillows. I grab my phone from my purse and scroll through Facebook. By graduation, these people will be complete strangers to me. They may comment on a random picture here and there or pop up with an “I miss you” on my birthday, but eventually, it’ll be as if I were never there.
Life is going on with me already – the pool parties, the cook outs, the mud riding, the weekends at the lake. I stare up at the ceiling and blink away the urge to cry. Then I take a deep breath, ignore the photos, and scroll up to the search bar. I type in the name Rooks Carter.
I don’t even fight the stupid smile that dances onto my face when I see his photo pop up. I select his profile picture, which is a shot from a baseball game. 237 friends. I instantly request him and hope he has his phone nearby so he can approve number 238 soon. If nothing else, at least my friends back home will see that I’ve added a hot guy to my friends list since moving here.
They don’t have to know that I’m setting myself up for heartbreak. It’s a lot like Hanna’s letter to Seth. I don’t know if I believe in destiny either, although the idea of it is beautiful. I don’t know why fate would bring me here, introduce me to this really cool guy, and then snatch him away from me. I can’t even enjoy the moment because I know the end is lurking around, watching and waiting for me to reach for those falling stars and never catch one.
But I get it. I’m too intrigued to step away. Rooks may have become my friend anyway just by working on our house, but those letters are what sealed the deal. Those letters were our destiny, and just like Seth and Hanna, we’re doomed.
“Did you give up?” Mom asks, plopping down on the couch with me. “This is more draining than I expected. I’ve had to measure every piece we’ve looked at to make sure they’ll fit in the spaces we have. How about we pick out the last few pieces and call it a day?”
The Summer of Lost Wishes Page 7