Hawthorne & Heathcliff

by R. K. Ryals

  The old woman had become an ally over the years, her stoic determination and firm love something I’d come to depend on, and the idea of losing her hurt me almost as much as it did the Vincents. It didn’t help that, along with Mams’ illness, they all missed Heathcliff. I didn’t like to admit it, but I did, too.

  It wasn’t as if I hadn’t dated after Max. I’d been in two relationships the past few years, one in college and the other in France. The longest one had lasted eight months, but there’d always been something missing. Life did that, I guess. Romance born out of hardship and grief was often harder to overcome than romance built out of a shallow need not to be alone.

  “He was discharged a year ago, Hawthorne. He’s been stateside since then. Quit beating around the bush and just say what you feel. We’ve been friends long enough for that. Besides, I know you go out to that wretched building in the woods every time you visit his family,” Rebecca said, her voice muffled as she popped a newly decorated bonbon into her mouth.

  “Those are for the Travis baby shower,” I mumbled, my gaze darting to hers. “And I don’t go out to that old building.”

  Rebecca stole another bonbon. “Keep telling yourself that, but the only one you’re lying to is yourself. Next you’re going to tell me the old pair of sneakers in your bedroom closet isn’t his. Though why the hell you’d want to keep a pair of worn tennis shoes is beyond me.”

  Rolling out fondant icing, I stole a glance at the sticky note. “The shoes remind me to keep trying.”

  She swallowed the chocolate. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty curious about what the Vincents have planned, so call them! That’s why I invested in this business. I’m nosy, and I’m not afraid to admit it.”

  I smiled. “It had absolutely nothing to do with the food.”

  She winked. “Don’t tell me France made you sassy.”

  My snort was answer enough. In many ways, I’d changed. I’d gotten bolder, less shy, and more direct. My wild hair was tamed more often than not, my clothes no longer my uncle’s button-up shirts and sturdy jeans. My style was a casual one; loose knit dresses, belted tunics or a blazer over tanks and jeans. It suited my short stature. I had a professor in college to thank for the change, her voice stern when she told me, “Just because you work in a kitchen doesn’t mean you have to dress like you never left the house. People don’t like to buy food from trolls.”

  It had been a rather harsh comment looking back, but she’d had a kind gaze and a critical eye, her intentions good. She’d not been talking about me, she’d been talking about my attire. Rebecca had been right all those years before in high school when she’d told me that if I wanted to be a business woman, I needed to dress like one. In truth, I still preferred my uncle’s old shirts, but I kept those for days off. I even had a few of Heathcliff’s he’d left behind when we’d been together. Those I slept in occasionally.

  Rebecca grabbed her car keys, throwing me a final glance before heading for the door. “I’ll go get a few things we’re out of. There’s a supply order being delivered today, too. Call the Vincents. I want lots of details when I get back.” Smiling, she added, “Don’t forget, you’ve got to make two extra bonbons.”

  My chuckle followed her out. What she didn’t know was that I always made extra because I knew she’d steal them.

  Chapter 22

  My call to the Vincents was answered on the first ring, a male voice coming across the line, and I froze, the familiar sound crashing over me. It threw me into a whirlwind of emotions and feelings I’d thought I’d learned to let go of.

  “Hey, is anyone there?” Heathcliff asked.

  Swallowing hard, I inhaled, my voice calm when I inquired, “Is Lynn available?”

  There was a pause on the other line. It’s weird. The entire time I’d been with Heathcliff, I’d never spoken with him on the phone. Honestly, I’d rarely used the phone. Now, I didn’t just have a landline for the business but a cell phone for personal calls. Wonder of wonders, I even texted.

  After a moment, I heard, “Hawthorne?”

  My hand gripped the receiver. “Yeah … how are you?”

  There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things I wanted to ask. When had he gotten back? Did he find what he was looking for? Was he happy?

  I could hear him breathing, voices rising in the background. The Vincent house was never empty.

  “I’m good,” he finally answered, “but you called to talk to Mom, right? Hold on just a sec.”

  There was static as he pulled the phone away, his voice muffled when he shouted for his mother. There was a distant reply, running feet, and then an out of breath, “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Vincent?” I chuckled, “Not chasing grandkids, are you?”

  My question was met with a laugh. “Lawd, one of these days, they’re going to be the death of me, Hawthorne. I’m guessing you’re calling about the order from this morning?”

  “I am. You gave Rebecca a really good idea of what you’re looking for, but I can usually get a little more creative if I have an idea what it’s for.”

  She pulled the phone away long enough to chastise a child before returning to the conversation. “It’s for Mams. You know her birthday was a few months ago. Ninety-three, can you believe it? Anyway, we didn’t really do a big gathering because she was feeling a little down, but …” she paused, her voice lowering, “she doesn’t have long. We all know it. The fact she’s made it as long as she has, and lived to the age she is now is a miracle. We’d like to have one good, last hurrah with her.”

  There was silence, and then I asked, “Can I change up what you’ve asked for? I have something in mind.”

  “Absolutely, child. I trust you. Honestly, I’m so glad you decided to do this … you know, the catering business and all that. It wouldn’t have been the same if you weren’t the one doing it. Besides, the closest place other than yours is almost an hour away.”

  I smiled. “It’s good to be home. It’s even better to be a part of this town.”

  Again, there was a momentary silence. “We’re proud of you, Hawthorne. Your uncle would have been so very proud.”

  My eyes burned, my throat closing up, my words coming out deeper when I replied, “Thank you, Mrs. Vincent.”

  “Lynn,” she admonished, “and it’s the truth.”

  A few extra details, the date and time (three days), and a few catered meal ideas, and we hung up, Heathcliff’s voice still ringing in my ears. He was home.

  Despite the two imminent orders waiting in front of me, I ran up the stairs to my room and pulled open my closet, my gaze falling on the pair of tennis shoes sitting just inside. The marker on the side had faded, the words almost gone, but my mind saw them as clearly as my eyes had seen them five years before. Keep me.

  Chapter 23

  For the next two days, Rebecca and I worked hard in the kitchen, filling orders, making deliveries, and clearing our schedule so that we could spend the day on the Vincent order. It was a last minute party, and I wondered if that meant Heathcliff was leaving again. It didn’t matter. It didn’t even matter that I’d more than likely have to spend most of the night cooking. I’d do anything for Mams.

  “What did you come up with for the cakes?” Rebecca asked.

  I grinned, taking the sketch pad in front of me and turning it to face her.

  She gasped. “Oh, Hawthorne! Wow! There’s a lot of love in that design.”

  Shrugging, I laid the book back down and returned to mixing ingredients. “It’s for Mams.”

  Rebecca joined me in the kitchen, taking over the mixing while I started on other things, my mind occupied. If I was being honest, I’d spent the past two nights listening for Heathcliff’s truck, the loud sound of it coming up the drive. It was insane, really, the idea that he’d even have the desire to come out to the plantation. It was even crazier that he’d come to see me. We’d been together during a time I needed him the most. I’d be forever grateful for that, but that did
n’t mean he needed me. He’d loved me, I knew that, but love and need are often two very different things.

  There was a radio in the kitchen Rebecca had insisted we had to have, and she turned it on, dancing to the music, before bumping me with her hip. “Forget he’s here for a moment, Hawthorne. You dated a French man, for God’s sake. You’re cultured now.”

  I snorted. “If you think that, you don’t know me very well.”

  She laughed. “True. When you finally get a television in this place, then we’ll talk cultured.”

  I threw her a grin, my head bouncing to the music as we worked, Rebecca’s lighthearted attitude contagious.

  My gaze flicked to her profile. “Have I told you lately how glad I am you’re my friend?”

  She glanced at me. “You don’t have to.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I do. You took me under your wings years ago when you didn’t have to.”

  She froze, the music droning on in the background. “You did just as much, Hawthorne. You gave me a place to go, and you didn’t ask questions. You just let me stay.”

  Her words surprised me, and I stared. I guess I’d never thought about our friendship and how it happened. It just had. She’d started coming around, and I’d let her. I’d needed the company, and she’d needed the escape.

  “Well, thank you,” I said finally.

  She winked, her hips moving again. Mine moved with hers, our voices rising with the songs, the sound terrible, but we didn’t care. Sometimes you just have to sing and dance, whether you’re good at it or not.

  My mind drifted back to Heathcliff. It’s funny how some memories stay with you. I often found myself wondering if I thought about him so much because he’d been my first love or my first lover. Maybe it was a little bit of both. We’d been different things to each other at the time, a way to move forward in a way that we might not have been able to otherwise.

  “You know I saw him this morning at the gas station,” Rebecca said suddenly. My head shot up, my gaze meeting hers. “Looks mostly the same, I think,” she continued. “He seems taller, if that’s even possible, and he’s definitely broader. Much, much broader. He was wearing a cut off shirt, and there was a scar on his arm. I only noticed it because he has tattoos now. Two of them.”

  She paused, and I mumbled, “Really?”

  “He asked about you.”

  I blinked, my heart rate climbing. “That’s good.”

  “He had a woman with him, a long-legged blonde.”

  “Oh.”

  Rebecca moaned, throwing her hands up. “One thing that will never change about you, Hawthorne, is your ability to stay level-headed even when I want to see some fire.”

  “Is that what it is?” I asked, chuckling.

  She glared. “Give me some fire!”

  I shrugged.

  “Okay,” she tried again, “you want to know what the two tattoos were?” When I didn’t say anything, she answered anyway. “One was a quote. Honest people don’t hide their deeds, it said. The other was a camouflage footprint with the words ‘keep walking’ inscribed beneath it.”

  My hands stilled, and I froze. One was a quote from Wuthering Heights, the other a reference I was beginning to understand all too well.

  “He still thinks about you, Hawthorne,” Rebecca added.

  My heart thudded in my ears. Whenever I thought about Heathcliff, I pictured the boy I knew. I wasn’t sure I’d understand or even recognize the man.

  “I’m a memory, Becca. Memories live a long time, but they don’t necessarily stay a reality.”

  “Maybe not,” she replied. “But those are some awful strong memories you two share.”

  She was right. They were strong memories. Time didn’t erase memories. They might fade, but they didn’t go away. Time made them stronger. Time made them more cherished. There were so many I cherished. Memories of Uncle Gregor. Memories of Heathcliff.

  Memories didn’t scare me. Seeing them change did.

  I was afraid. I was afraid that I’d see Heathcliff and what he’d become would destroy what I’d made him in my mind.

  My fear was the elephant in the room, and no amount of music, laughter, or terrible singing could erase it.

  Chapter 24

  The day of Mams’ party dawned bright and beautiful, the sun shining over dew-covered grass and green foliage. It was August, which meant it was warm now, but it would be stifling later, and I rushed to pack up everything we needed to take to the Vincent’s, the air conditioner in the van we used for deliveries on high. It was better to keep the vehicle running than run the risk of the food spoiling.

  Rebecca was just as harried as I was, her heels clicking as she rushed back and forth from the kitchen to the van. The party wasn’t for another three hours, but there was a lot of setting up to do, food that would need to be heated, cakes that would have to be stacked, and more.

  “God, I’ve never even made love to Max Vincent, and I’m nervous. You must be completely sick to your stomach,” Rebecca said as she climbed into the passenger seat.

  Climbing into the driver’s side, I threw her a look. “Remind me never to drink with you again. I obviously talk too much.”

  She grinned. “You’re also wildly hysterical when you’re drunk.”

  I pulled out of the drive, our voices fading as the road blurred beneath us, the nerves eating away at both of us. At Rebecca, because no matter how many events we catered, she always felt like she had to prove something to herself. Mainly because of her mother who’d considered Rebecca nothing except a way to climb up the pageant circuit. At me, because this was the first time I’d see the entire Vincent family all in one place since graduation five years before.

  When their driveway came into view, Rebecca exhaled. “We’ve got this.”

  My lips twitched. “Shake it off, Becca.”

  Pulling in behind a slew of vehicles, I parked, my exhale meeting hers.

  “Pot,” Rebecca mumbled, “calling the kettle black.”

  Time often had a way of repeating itself. The first time I’d ever seen Heathcliff was the back of my last period English class.

  The first time I saw him following a five year absence was in his driveway in a brand new, black F150 pickup that pulled up behind my catering van.

  The first thing I ever noticed about him was his shoes.

  The first thing I saw when he climbed from the truck was a pair of work boots. They weren’t sneakers like the shoes years before, or the same boots he’d worn while working on the plantation, but they were well used and obviously well taken care of.

  On my feet were a pair of braided sandals that matched a simple knee-length sundress, and they were glued to the pavement, as if they were afraid to move.

  A shadow fell over me, his shadow, but I didn’t look past his feet.

  “Hawthorne,” he said, his voice causing goose bumps.

  My eyes traveled up his frame, over work-stained jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a pair of dog tags around his neck, tucked into the shirt. Tattoos peeked out at me from beneath the sleeves of his tee, the scar Rebecca had noticed long and ugly down his forearm. When I finally made it to his face, I had to fight to keep my eyes even. He didn’t look different, he just looked older, his face filled out to match his broad chest and thicker neck, his hair short but a little long in the front, his jaw shadowed with the need to shave. It was his eyes that surprised me. They were darker somehow, filled with mystery.

  “Heathcliff,” I replied, wincing when I realized my mistake.

  “Heathcliff?” a female voice asked. A laugh followed, and my gaze slid to a blonde-haired woman, her legs long, a pant suit hugging her frame. She wore sunglasses over her eyes, and they threw my reflection back at me as she stepped next to Heathcliff.

  “It’s an old mistake,” I replied.

  Rebecca joined me, her brows raised, her height accentuated by her heels. She pulled herself up to full length, using every bit of her mother’s pageant instructions in her fav
or. It put her eye-to-eye with the blonde.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Rebecca said, offering her hand. “Can you remind me who you are?”

  The woman’s lips twitched. “I’m Max’s girlfriend.”

  “Ex,” Heathcliff suddenly corrected. “Ex-girlfriend.”

  “A minute detail,” the woman added. “I’m Ginger.” She offered me her hand, ignoring Rebecca’s. “We haven’t met. An old high school friend, maybe.”

  My hand met her palm, the shake brusque and short. “Something like that,” I answered.

  Rebecca smiled, although there was no friendliness in the gesture. “How did you two meet, if you don’t mind me asking? I’m sort of a nosy rosy. Besides, I love a good love story. I’ve got two marriages behind me to prove it.”

  Ginger pulled her sunglasses down to the end of her nose, peering over the rim, before replacing them. “My brother was in Max’s unit.”

  “Was?” I asked, my gaze on Heathcliff’s.

  His eyes searched mine. “We both got out a year ago when our active term was up.”

  I started to ask another question, but the words wouldn’t come, my gaze falling once more to our feet. They’d moved closer while we talked, and I backed away, putting distance between his boots and my sandals.

  “We’ve got to get this stuff unloaded,” Rebecca said.

  Her words spurred me into action, my feet taking me away from Heathcliff and Ginger.

  “Can I help?” Heathcliff asked as we opened the back of the van.

  “No,” Rebecca answered. “We’ve got it.”

  They left us then, their shadows and shoes carrying them into the house, and I slumped against the van, taking a deep breath before leaning in to grab two of the food trays.

  “This is going to be fun,” Rebecca mumbled.

  “Like a trip to the dentist,” I responded.