Auden gives me a hopeful look. “Do you like it?”
“It’s…very romantic,” I say. Too romantic? I knew Auden was intense, but I wasn’t prepared for a spread like this.
He laughs and then motions to the table. “Would you like to sit down?”
It’s an invitation, not an earnest inquiry, yet I consider for a moment. I’m not sure why my feet resist, but I sit down despite my nerves.
Auden senses my hesitation and busies himself with serving the food. Plates of lasagna and french fries, my two favorite foods. A glass of chilled Dr Pepper on ice. He sets out the meal, then sits across from me.
“I hope you like it,” he says again.
“It’s a really fancy first date.” I touch the lilacs lightly.
“It was summer,” Auden says. “Our actual first date. July seventh. You’d just gotten back from a Fourth of July lake trip with your family. You still had a little bit of a sunburn on your cheeks.”
I remember that lake trip. Blake rented a boat, hoping we could water ski or that it could pull us around on a tube. But Mama doesn’t like water. She stayed on the shore the entire time, sipping beer and gossiping with Aunt Nancy and Uncle Jim.
I don’t remember a romantic candlelit date three days later, of course. I examine a french fry and drop it back onto my plate. My stomach churns. I don’t think I could eat if I wanted to.
“How did you know I like all of this stuff? We weren’t dating yet.”
In the candlelight, Auden’s eyes look darker than ever. Almost black.
“I knew it because I wanted to know it. I wanted to know everything about you from the first time we met.”
The violin music soars along in a romantic cadenza. Auden watches me. I shift under the intensity of his gaze.
“So…on our first date, we ate and stuff?”
“We can dance if you’d like.”
My brow furrows. “We danced?”
“Well, not exactly, but…”
“I don’t want to dance,” I say cautiously.
Auden nods. “That’s fine.” He looks down at his plate for a minute, and then his gaze shifts. He stands and grabs a small cardboard box from under the serving table. “I have something I want to show you.”
Reaching into the box, he pulls out a little stack of pictures. Some folded sheets of paper. Old greeting cards. Some artwork—crayon stick figure drawings, from the looks of it, and a pencil sketch of a face. My face.
My throat tightens.
“You wanted proof,” Auden says. “I have lots of it. I kept everything. Pictures. Gifts you gave me.” He sets a hand on the folded sheets of papers. “Every valentine and love note we wrote to each other.”
I reach out and slowly take the top picture from the stack. Closing night of Our Town. I recognize it immediately. Auden’s sitting on the kitchen table set piece. He’s talking to someone outside the frame of the picture, his eyes bright. I’m sitting in his lap, dressed in my costume and stage makeup, gazing at him with untempered adoration.
Everything about the picture is familiar except him. And that look on my face.
My pulse beats in my throat. I nudge the photos, fanning out the stack. Two pictures display sequential kissing selfies. We’re laughing through the kiss in the first one and lost in passion in the second. The sight of it almost makes me push out of my chair.
It reminds me of that scene in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban when Harry is borrowing the Time-Turner from Hermione and she warns him not to let his past self see his future self. I cover the pictures and lean back, struggling to calm myself.
“This is one of the first letters you wrote to me,” Auden says, lifting one of the folded papers. “You should read it.”
The smell of lilac seems to choke me. The violin music sounds loud and shrill. The sight of the lasagna makes me queasy.
“I don’t want to look at all of this stuff,” I say.
Auden’s brow lowers with concern. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted you to see I’m not making this up.” He unfolds the letter. My handwriting glares back at me. “I couldn’t make this up, Shelby.”
“I know.” I press a hand to my temple.
“I just wanted you to remember how much you loved me,” Auden says. He points to the letter. “Look. Auden,” he reads. “I’m not going to fight it anymore. I love you. You have made a mark on me. A mark that won’t wash out. I don’t think it ever will. I love you, and I want you to be in my life forever.”
“Stop,” I say, scooting back my chair. I feel dizzy.
“Shelby—”
“No.” Words come with difficulty through the tightness in my throat. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”
“But…”
“It’s too much, okay?”
Auden shakes his head. “What do you mean, too much? This is reality. This was your reality before it was taken away from you.”
The truth behind his words doesn’t calm me.
“Well, maybe I’m not ready for reality yet.” My legs shake as I stand.
Auden rises from his seat, as if he’s been slapped across the face. He stares at me, probably trying to find the words to make me stay. But I just shake my head.
“I’m sorry. I can’t.”
He calls out my name, but I’m already running toward the darkness of the trail.
Chapter 12
Climbing into my car, I slam the door shut. A stab of shame passes through me. Why am I freaking out like this? Yes, it’s beyond bizarre to see pictures of moments from my life that bring absolutely no recognition. But nothing has been normal in a long time. So far, the “answers” have only added more questions spinning around in my head.
Still, Auden’s only trying to help. I shouldn’t have left him like that…
I bite my bottom lip, my keys hovering at the ignition. I exhale and start the engine. I’m not ready to deal with all of that. I only want to escape.
Back at home, I go to my usual distractions: snacks and a classic movie. But I glance at my phone every few minutes. He hasn’t called. Hasn’t texted. I probably hurt him pretty bad. The thought makes my chest heavy. But I can’t muster the guts to call him. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow after my brain has a night to process all of this.
Near the end of The Godfather Part II, right as Michael Corleone is orchestrating the deaths of Hyman Roth and Fredo, my phone lights up with a call. It’s like I’ve put my finger in an electric socket. I sit up with a start and grab for the phone.
But it’s not Auden calling. It’s Grace. I stare at the phone for a moment and then answer.
“Calling me in the middle of your magical first date?” I tease.
“Where are you right now, Shelby?”
The tension in her voice is clear. I frown, turning to sit on the edge of my bed. “Are you okay?”
“Can you pick me up? Me and Brad, I mean?”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mike. I know it.”
Alarm zips through me. I grab my shoes. “Where are you? I’m leaving right now.”
As I make the turn off to the lake, my thoughts race. I’m worried about Grace—and I’m trying my best not to remember that image from my last treatment. The lake is where Auden sat beside me on the hood of the car. It’s even more disorienting now that my mind has a tangible impression of Auden. It knows who he is, but that moment still seems like a dream, not an actual memory.
Pulling up to the empty parking lot, my headlights illuminate Grace. She’s wearing Brad’s letterman jacket, hugging it to her firmly, her face pale. She stands by Brad’s silver Corolla. It’s up on cinder blocks, the tires removed.
I park beside them and rush to Grace. She looks stoic, but I know better. I know that tone in her voice. She trembles as I put my arms around her in a wordless hug.
“It’ll be okay,” I whisper, rubbing her back.
“I can’t get away from him, Shelby.”
“Yes, you can. You already are.”
She pulls back, shaking her head. “Then what do you call that?” She points at the car.
I glance at Brad, who looks beyond pissed. He’s taking pictures of his car from several different angles.
“Did you look around for the tires?” I ask.
He snaps me an irritated look. “Of course we did.”
“You should call the police.”
“Grace asked me to wait until you came and got her.” Brad jabs his phone screen, taking another picture.
Grace watches him with a brokenhearted expression. I can’t blame her. It’s not exactly a great way to end a date. Or to start a relationship, for that matter.
I gently grab her arm. “Let’s get out of here, okay?”
She nods and lets me guide her to my car. Neither of us speak as I pull the car into reverse. Searching for the right words, I come up blank. I knew Mike had issues, but I never imagined him to take his vindictiveness quite this far. He had to have been watching her to know she was going out with Brad. And he obviously planned this prank in advance. I doubt he had four cinder blocks sitting in his car.
“You didn’t contact him, did you?” I ask, gripping the steering wheel.
“No,” she says, fiercely.
“I’m not suggesting it’s your fault, Grace. I’m just trying to piece together what happened.”
A heavy silence falls. She doesn’t need to spell it out. He must be stalking her.
“You need to file a police report,” I say. “And get a restraining order against him.”
She stares out the windshield. “I already have one.”
“What?”
“I already have a restraining order against him.”
“Since when?”
“It was a while ago. Your mama helped me get it.”
I turn her, startled, almost swerving the car into the curb. I right the wheel quickly, but I’m still blinking back my surprise. “When did this all happen? How come you never told me?”
Grace sighs, rubbing her face wearily. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”
“No…I’m just surprised that you wouldn’t share something like that with your supposed best friend.”
Her voice is quiet. “You had your own problems to deal with.”
I feel like I’ve been hit in the stomach. Problems or not, how could I have not realized what she was going through? How could I have not been there for her?
“I’m sorry,” I finally say.
“Don’t apologize, okay?” Grace rests her forehead on the passenger side window.
We don’t speak for the rest of the drive.
Chapter 13
There seems to be an unspoken agreement between Grace and me not to discuss the awfulness of the weekend. Back at school, we both do our best impressions of our former, cheerful selves. All week we chat about class and the upcoming football game and who’s going to be homecoming queen. I find out from Mama, who always seems to know the latest town gossip, that the police couldn’t find any fingerprints on Brad’s car, therefore they couldn’t file any charges against Mike. Not yet, anyway.
I keep trying to think of what to do to help Grace, but I’m useless. Maybe she’d be better off without me. I’ve been so absorbed in my own issues that I missed my best friend’s distress.
The worst part is, my mind keeps trying to find some truth deeply embedded in the parallels of our two respective dates. Two first dates, both ending badly in empty parking lots outside of town limits, mine in the foothills and hers by the lake. Of course, I was the one who destroyed my date.
I don’t want to admit how often I’ve checked my phone. It’s been a week. No messages. I definitely pissed off Auden. Or hurt him. Either way, the fact that he hasn’t tried to contact me in five days is definitely a bad sign.
The Romeo and Juliet rehearsals remain a bright spot in my days. I’m determined to enjoy myself in the biggest role of my high school career. I’ll have fun with Cam. If Auden had been cast as Romeo, it would’ve been complicated. And for once, it’s nice to escape the drama in drama.
We meet three times a week for an intense eight weeks of rehearsal leading up to our performance. It’s the end of week one, and Mr. Lyman always has something new and different to get us into the zone for rehearsal. Today, soft Renaissance-era music plays over the speakers. I smile as I take off my backpack.
We sit in a circle, sizing each other up as we wait for rehearsal to start. Every one of us wants to stand out, to make this more than a run-of-the-mill performance. And each of us probably secretly thinks that we will be the one to make this performance special. I’m glad of that. This way we actually stand a chance of putting on a truly great show.
“Okay,” Mr. Lyman says, standing in the middle of our circle, arms folded. “Today we’re blocking Act Two. I want each of you to find your spot on the stage and start getting into character. I need my Mercutio and Benvolio center stage. Romeo, stage left. The rest of you backstage, please.”
There’s a murmur of conversation as people shuffle to their places. I stand, dusting off my pants, and Mr. Lyman gives me a funny little smile.
“And Juliet, you’re up in the balcony, of course.”
He motions to the two-story balcony set piece, and I smile, dipping in a low curtsy. “As you command, my captain.”
I put myself in Juliet’s mind. It isn’t too hard. I know this play better than any of Shakespeare’s other plays, and I’ve seen every movie adaptation. (I favor the Baz Luhrmann version, though Zeffirelli’s is a close second.)
Climbing the steps, I smell the lilac before I see it. The scent makes my skin tingle. My brow furrows. Parting the curtains and stepping out onto the small balcony, my eyes go to the fragile, purple blooms tucked beneath the railing. A pulse beats in my throat. I look toward Mr. Lyman, but he’s already coaching Mercutio and Benvolio for the first scene.
I glance back down at the flowers. A piece of paper peeks out from beneath the blossoms. I scan the shadowed audience for Auden’s tall outline. But he’s nowhere to be seen.
Biting my lip, I grab for the note and flowers. I bring the lilac sprig to my nose and inhale the sweet, clean scent. No one’s watching me up here. The note is cool and dry in my palm. My breath trembles as I unfold the page.
Shelby,
Forgive me for Friday night. It was too much too fast. Though can you blame me for fighting for a girl like you? Now I see that I can’t force your mind to remember. So I promise I won’t push anymore. I won’t try to make you remember. But I beg you for one more chance. A chance to spend the evening with you.
I won’t try to contact you again. I will wait until you are ready to contact me, however long that might take. I will wait forever if I have to, Shelby.
Yours,
Auden
• • •
I call him as soon as practice is over. Of course I call him. How could I not after a letter like that? We agree to meet for a do-over date. I’m stuck going to my aunt and uncle’s this weekend, so when Auden suggests meeting on a school night, I don’t object.
This time the location is much more my speed: the local Taco Town. It’s a slow Tuesday night, so the only other people eating in the restaurant are an elderly couple and a trucker who’s probably just passing through.
Auden is there when I arrive, sitting tucked away at a table in the corner. When he sees me, he jumps to his feet. He looks nervous but genuinely happy. The guy has quite the smile. I’ll give him that.
“I’ve spent all day planning the perfect hello for when I saw you,” he says, sheepishly. “But that’s me trying too hard again, isn’t it?”
“Maybe a little,” I say, playfully.
I motion to the gleaming menu board hanging overhead. “Should we get something to eat?”
“Absolutely.”
We approach the front counter, and a short girl with a bored grimace and a faded blue stripe in her hair resentfully takes our order.
“Welcome to Taco Town, where Delicioso is mayor.”
“Well, I like the sound of that,” Auden says. He turns to me. “Let’s move to Taco Town. What do you say, dearest?”
He says it in the perfect corny way a 1950s sitcom husband would, and I can’t help laughing. Bored, Blue-Haired Girl, however, is unamused.
Auden clears his throat. “Sorry. I’ll take a number five with a side of chips and salsa, and she’ll have—” He winces. “Crap. Sorry. I said I wouldn’t do that anymore.”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to pay for me either.”
“Um, yes, I do.”
I give him my best stern look. “Auden.” But he offers only a resolute smile. Bored, Blue-Haired Girl clears her throat. She is nearing the end of her rope. And it was a pretty short rope to start with.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll have a number seven, extra guacamole.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” Auden says, under his breath. I roll my eyes and elbow him, and we both gratefully accept the soda cups the girl hands us.
“Sorry we’re so annoying, Julie,” Auden says, reading her name tag. “First date.”
Julie remains expressionless. Auden swallows down any more cuteness and pulls out his credit card. As he pays, I grab the cups. “Coke? Dr Pepper?”
He pauses for a beat, then smiles. “Mountain Dew.”
“Are you serious?” I shake my head. “This might be a deal breaker, Auden.”
From the expression on his face, he expected that response. The thought makes me lose a little of my sass. “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?”
Auden’s eyes flicker with a rush of hope. “You remember?”
Remember Me Always Page 8