by ANDREA SMITH
One thing I know is that I love her and I need to see her at least to talk things out. That’s the mature way of dealing with the obstacles, and I should’ve been the one to initiate such a discussion.
After my shift is over, I head home knowing that Scout will ask me the same questions she asks nearly every damn day: “Did you find September, Dad?”
I pull the mail from the box as I go into the house. I usually call and let Casey know that I’m home and to send Scout over. The first couple of times I went to her door to pick her up, I played hell getting away from her.
It’s always something—have some freshly baked cookies; or I made too much lasagna, let me send some home with you; and I’m helping Scout with her homework. Any excuse for me to linger, which fucking makes me feel uncomfortable.
I’m not about to head down that path again.
As I leaf through the stack of envelopes, my own handwriting catches my eye.
There it is.
I had mailed an envelope to September at this address, hoping that she had put a change of address through. I had marked the front “Do Not Forward.” The envelope had come back to me, with the yellow sticker on it with her forwarding address.
Gotcha.
I recognize the address as being over near campus—an older neighborhood with doubles and duplexes, mostly renting to college kids or faculty.
I call Casey.
“Hey, Jesse,” she says, using her sultry voice.
“Hey, Casey—listen, I have an errand to run, can you keep Scout a while longer?”
“Sure thing. No worries. I made some fried chicken so she can stay and eat with us, how’s that?”
“I really appreciate it. I won’t be too long.”
I grab a quick shower and change. As I head over to the address on the forwarding sticker, I feel nervous. I don’t even have a plan in my head. I mean, what the hell do I say to her when I see her?
My fucking palms are sweating and if the rearview mirror in my truck hadn’t shown me different, I would’ve sworn I was a sixteen-year-old pimply-faced kid going on his first date.
Fuck me.
I’m moving slowly down the tree-lined street, checking the house numbers. From behind, some idiot is honking at me, and as I glance in the mirror, I catch the one finger salute he’s giving me.
Bite me, asshole.
As I cruise on into the next block, I spot her red Honda parked at the curb at the second house from the corner.
It looks to be a four-unit apartment, with interior entrances.
Shit.
I turn the corner onto the side street, and then find a parking lot to pull into. Hell if I don’t feel like a creepy stalker at the moment.
It’s a pleasant early fall day. Still warm and sunny, but a hint of a breeze rustles the leaves on the maple trees that line the street. As I approach the corner on foot, the sound of her voice stops me in my tracks.
I back up a couple of steps, and then peer around the concrete half wall that borders the property on the corner.
There she is.
With a guy.
She’s laughing as she follows him to his bike that is parked diagonally at the curb. Right in front of her car.
What the fuck is this?
The guy is tall and well built. Kind of athletic maybe. He’s wearing dark shades and I notice his wavy brown hair is tousled. Maybe from riding his motorcycle over, or maybe from something else altogether.
I’ll kill the motherfucker!
He grabs the helmet that’s perched on the sissy bar in the back, and helps September fasten it under her chin. He wears no helmet.
How fucking macho.
He climbs onto his bike, and she’s right behind him. Fuck this. Her pussy is within six inches of his backside.
Unacceptable.
With a swift kick downward, his bike roars to life. September wraps her arms around his waist, and leans in against him. Her tits have to be brushing his back, and I wonder if her nipples have grown rigid and if he can feel them through the cotton tee he’s wearing.
Son of a fucking bitch.
He pulls out and heads north. I go back to my truck and fire it up quickly, pulling out and making a swift right turn to see where the fuck he’s taking my girl.
I manage to stay a few cars behind them. Dude drives like a maniac on that bike.
I feel the hard exhale as he heads to the edge of the city. He takes Route 64 headed west. It doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure out they’re going in to Oklahoma. Probably to one of the casinos on the res.
Fuck that shit.
I follow behind because I’m not cool with September getting into that scene. Maybe she is of legal age to be there, but she doesn’t understand the criminal element tied to those places.
And how I know all of this is beyond me since I’ve been there plenty of times. It’s just not an appropriate place for her. She’s…well, she…fuck, she just doesn’t need to be there! I mean, who the fuck is this dickhead anyway? How well does she even know him?
Did I mention he drives like an idiot on that bike?
Just as I had figured, that is exactly where he’s headed with her. He makes a wide right into the massive parking lot of Cherokee Casino, pulling around to the side lot.
I’m right behind him.
As he parks his bike, and shuts off the engine, I’m pulling my truck up right behind them. September sees me first, does a double-take and then a look of total surprise crosses over her face as her eyes widen.
I have no clue what I’m going to say to her. I decide I’ll just go with my instincts and hope like hell they’re not off the charts.
Chapter 8
Oh. My. God.
It’s Jesse and he’s here.
Right here.
As in the parking lot of the casino just as Brandon shuts off his bike and turns to help me with the helmet he had insisted I wear.
He catches my look of surprise, and turns to see what—or in this case—who has my attention. I’m feeling numb, which then morphs into stunned. How the hell does he know where I am?
“Jesse,” I start, as he approaches and I can see that he’s clueless as to what to say. Jesse is mostly a quiet man, well at times anyway. This seems to be one of those times.
“September,” he addresses me, shooting a quick mini-dagger look at Brandon. “I need to speak to you in private. I’ve got something to say.”
Brandon clears his throat, standing up and taking the helmet I’ve just removed. “It’s my stepfather,” I explain, feeling myself wince at my choice of words but, hell, it’s the truth, isn’t it?
My stepfather. That’s all Brandon needs to know.
“I’ll just be a minute,” I finish, as I step down from the bike and close the distance between Jesse and me. We walk over to the other side of his truck.
“Well?” I say, placing my hands on my hips, “Did Gram tell you where I lived or have you taken up stalking?”
“I haven’t talked to your grandparents lately. I have my ways, September. I think you owe me an explanation—other than the letter you left me. Sort of one-sided don’t you think, babe?”
I notice how the “b” popped when he called me babe. Jesse is pissed—no, more than that, he’s angry and he’s hurt, too. “You’re obviously pissed, why?”
“Aw, for fuck’s sake, September, why in the hell do you think?” His eyes are shooting sapphires at me, and his right hand rests on a hip, and I swear to fuck, he still affects me every bit as much as he did the day I walked out.
But he can’t know that.
“Look,” I say, glancing quickly over my shoulder to where Brandon is standing, looking puzzled and a bit impatient maybe, “now is not the time to get into this with you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of on a…date,” I finish in a whisper.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, quirking a brow, “Gee, what was my first fucking clue?” he snaps, his eyes darkening even more.
“Hey,” I snap, “
It’s not like you haven’t moved on, so don’t give me shit.”
His expression changes to one of confusion, but his eyes continue to bore into mine. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but how about you telling Dickhead over there that you’ll have to take a rain check. I’m not leaving here without you, September.”
The calm but steel-edged tone in his voice tells me that he means business. As much as I want to stand my ground with him, because fuck yeah I need to do that, now is not the time nor the place. I’m not about to make a scene and have Brandon get all judgy on me.
“Hold on,” I reply, turning from Jesse, and walking over to where Brandon is waiting.
“Are you okay?” he asks, looking me over.
“Yeah, it’s a family thing, Brandon. I need to go with him. I can’t explain it now. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, no problem. Family comes first. I hope everything’s alright. Check in with me later?”
“Sure,” I reply, managing a weak smile. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Jesse has the truck parked on a residential street, not far from campus. He shuts off the engine and turns to me. “Why did you leave like that, September? And, most of all, why did you hurt us that way?”
“Us?” I ask, staring right back at him.
“Scout and me, the ones that love you most.”
My head is resting on the palm of my hand. I’ve inched over against the passenger side door, my elbow braced against the glass. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but the fact is that I was hurting, Jesse. And I just couldn’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?’ he asks, his brow arching a bit, his eyes searching mine for some kind of understanding.
“Be your dirty little secret.”
I see his jaw twitch and I know I’ve pissed him off, but it’s the truth and I’m all about the truth these days.
“How can you say that?” he asks, moving closer to me, “Have I ever treated you like some dirty little secret? I fucking love you! How many times did you hear those words from my mouth?”
And then it’s my turn to flash some anger his way because that’s exactly how he made me feel when he allowed too much time to pass without showing me his love with his actions and not just his words.
I face him squarely. “How many times did you and I go out in public, Jesse? Huh? Out to dinner or to a movie, like the way you treated Casey when you were dating her? Or maybe a weekend getaway, or, hell, maybe just cluing Scout in like you promised months ago? Yeah, you think about that and tell me how I wasn’t your dirty little secret!
He rubs his hands over the stubble on his jaw. It’s all I can do not to fly back into his arms because, no matter what, I’m still so drawn to him that it’s painful to be so close and refrain from touching him.
“I know, baby,” he says softly, “I fucking know that, for whatever reason, I didn’t step up to the plate but, hell, it always seemed that the timing was off—or some shit was coming down that needed to take priority.”
“Yeah,” I scoff, “Like my mother showing back up? That kind of did it for me, Jesse, you know? You sure as hell made that a priority and that’s when I knew that you weren’t in this for the long haul, and maybe that’s best for all concerned.
“Now wait just a fucking minute,” he growls, “That wasn’t the case at all and you damn well know it! What the hell was I supposed to do?” His eyes are flashing deeper, but I don’t care.
“You were supposed to let me in,” I answer, “But you shut me out. Look, I get that you’re not one to open up easily, or to share your feelings, but Jesus fuck, Jesse, you needed to give me something—and you just…didn’t,” I finish, turning away to look out the window, so he can’t see the tears welling up in my eyes. “So, I moved on. It’s best for all concerned. So, how’s Mama?”
I feel his hand on my leg, and I turn to face him again. “Don’t,” he says sharply, “Do not bring her into this conversation. This is not about her, and you know it. September, baby, this is about you and me—it’s about us.”
“There is no us, Jesse. Haven’t you been listening?”
“Yeah, I hear you, but I don’t for one fucking minute believe you,” he replies dryly. “This is really about you punishing me isn’t it, babe?”
And for a second I kind of want to smack the smug expression he’s got going on. The best I can do is try and convince him that he’s full of shit because I won’t for a minute consider that he may be on to me. I mean, I have not set out to punish anyone; this is about self-preservation and maintaining some degree of pride.
“I’m not punishing anyone, Jesse. I simply don’t want to continue living the lie. It’s pretty evident that you’ve done your own version of moving on anyway.”
“Not following.”
“I see that things between you and Casey have gotten…cozy again. I know she keeps Scout after school. Pretty convenient setup isn’t it?’
“The hell? Are you serious?”
“I saw it with my own eyes,” I snap.
And then Jesse gives a quiet smirk. “Who’s the stalker now?”
“Whatever. I came by the house to see Scout one afternoon knowing you wouldn’t be home from work yet. I don’t want her thinking I’ve deserted her—”
“Too late, babe. That’s exactly what she thinks.”
“Anyway,” I continue, my voice getting a bit louder, “that’s how I happened to see Casey bringing her home to her house. No stalking involved.”
“Hmmph,” he growls, “Looks like someone put two and two together and got three. There isn’t anything happening between me and her—or me and anyone. It’s you that I love.”
And my belly tingles even though I’ve tried like hell to repress it. But I need to be strong. I can’t let his words change my mind because he’s said nothing about making any changes.
“So, who’s the jock on the bike?”
“Brandon.”
“Okay, sooo, who is Brandon? The dude that helped you pack up and move out of my house?”
“Say again?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “I just met Brandon when I moved into my apartment. He’s my neighbor…and a friend,” I finish.
“How convenient.”
“Whoa, hold up—who said anyone helped me move out?”
He gives me a look. “Casey,” he deadpans.
Of course she did.
“For the record, no one helped me. I did it all by myself,” I reply, shaking my head.
“Yeah, well, Casey isn’t the issue here, now is she? I’m not a teenager anymore, September. I don’t do games and drama. I cut to the chase. Are you coming home?”
“My home is about four blocks from here, and I would appreciate it very much if you’d drop me there, but if you won’t, I can walk,” I reply, starting to open the passenger door.
“Wait,” Jesse nearly shouts, pulling me towards him, “So, this is it? This thing between us is what? Over?”
His eyes are flashing deeper blue as my heart begins to fracture. His hand has my wrist in a vice-like grip. So, yeah, it’s up to me to end this with him, say the words that Jesse won’t say because…fuck, for whatever reason he just won’t.
“Yeah, Jesse. It’s over.”
“And I have no say?”
I look at him, and the words finally come to me that I hope will make him understand. “You’ve had your say up until now. You just didn’t know what to do with it.”
He releases my wrist, and starts the truck. I don’t look at his face again as he drives the four blocks to my apartment.
“I’ll text you with my cell number,” I say before getting out of the truck. “Please have Scout call me?”
“Sure,” he replies.
I close the door of his truck and climb the steps to the porch of the apartment building. I hear him pull away from the curb as the warm, salty tears that I’ve been holding back start rolling down my cheeks.
Yes, it hurts.
Again.
But it’s
the last fucking time I will allow tears to fall over this…fling that I’ve ended. It was the right thing to do for everyone concerned.
I love Jesse.
Jesse loves me.
But sometimes that’s just not enough when so many others are in the mix.
Chapter 9
It’s been two weeks since I last spoke to September; the day she informed me, in no uncertain terms, that it was over.
What was it though?
A fling? No.
An affair? Doubtful—I think at least one of the parties has to be married in order to qualify.
A mistake? Not in my book.
Voyage of the Damned? Possibly.
Her birthday had come and gone. I had sent flowers and a gift card to her from me and Scout. She had called Scout to thank her.
I had given Scout September’s old phone and had it activated with a new number, so that she could stay in touch with her sister without having me becoming their intermediary. Clearly, September was intent on avoiding me.
My construction business has been keeping me busy. I’ve got contracts for two commercial buildings and six rehabs that will take me into early next year. Thankfully, between that and still working my daily shift as the crew leader for Wharton Construction, I’m so exhausted at day’s end, the only thing I can manage is getting dinner for Scout and then falling into bed.
The next day, I do it all over again. It’s my own purgatory; but it beats Hell, I guess. At least I don’t have time to dwell on the hurt and the loneliness left in the wake of September, or continue kicking my own ass for reluctance in validating our relationship to the fucking world.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table, figuring payroll when Scout comes into the room, freshly showered and ready for bed.
“September called me just now,” she says, “She’s gonna come by tomorrow and she wanted to make sure we’ll be here,” she says quietly.
“We’ll be here, baby,” I reply, looking at her solemn face.