by R. K. Ryals
She chuckled, her arms full. Together, we headed for the door. It was ajar, Heathcliff’s mom standing just inside, her gaze settling on my face as we entered. There was something interesting about Lynn’s eyes, as if she were trying to speak to me without uttering a word.
“We’ve pushed tables up against the dining room walls,” she said. “We thought it might get too hot outside for Mams.”
Smiling, I nodded and brushed past groups of chatting Vincents, most of them calling out to me as we pushed through. Only two strangers mingled among the crowd, a young, blond headed man as tall and as broad as Heathcliff, and Ginger. They mostly kept to themselves, lounging near the walls, Heathcliff among them. It was strange seeing so much distance between Heathcliff and his family, as if his time away had created a barrier between them.
Mams, the guest of honor, sat in a wheelchair, her skin yellowed, but her eyes bright and sharp. It was a good day for her. I could tell by the way her gaze assessed me from across the room, following me as I worked.
“Girl!” she called. “You finish that, and then come talk to me.” Her gaze flicked to her grandson and his friends, her eyes narrowing. “I’d like to hear about your time in France.”
With a subtle nod, I moved back through the room, to the van in the driveway. It took three trips before we had everything laid out. Once finished, Rebecca took the appetizers to the kitchen to heat while I began setting up the cakes. They were simple cakes, elaborate in detail but not in size. They were homes, two houses, one of them a replica of the Vincent home and barn, the other a reproduction of the hardware store and gas station. I’d added trees to the Vincent home, the small building in the woods visible through the foliage. There were tons of tiny details, some of them barely noticeable, but there. A pair of sneakers rested by the front door, and a splayed deck of poker cards rested on a table in the yard.
Heathcliff’s mom stepped toward me, peering down at the cakes as I finished, her eyes softening. “This isn’t what I asked for,” she said.
“I know—”
“It’s better,” Lynn interrupted. Her hand found my back, her fingers curling into my dress. “I can almost see Mams outside, her hands on her hips, calling out to Paps. Trying to get him back to house for supper from the hooch.” She glanced at me. “This is incredible, Hawthorne. Thank you.”
“Girl!” Mams cried. Lynn’s brows rose, and we both laughed, my gaze going to the old woman’s wheelchair. “If you’re done, you can come sit with me now!”
Lynn released me, and I pushed my way across the room to Mams’ wheelchair. She patted the floor next to her, and I pulled my dress out, arranging it so that I could sit down as delicately as possible.
“I haven’t sat like this in years,” I told Mams.
I was grossly aware of Heathcliff, his friend, and his ex-girlfriend behind us, their voices hushed. Mams seemed deeply satisfied with her proximity to her grandson despite his obvious need to remain aloof.
“You’re lookin’ well, girl,” she said.
“No different than when you saw me a few weeks ago,” I replied.
She grinned, her skin crinkling. “I forgot how that college education gave you a sharper mouth. I like it. Reminds me of me when I was your age.”
I laughed. “My tongue is nothing compared to Rebecca’s.”
She leaned over the side of her chair. “No, yours is just enough, girl. Always remember that. A tongue should be sharp, but it should also know when to grow dull.”
I stared up at her. “Someone should write down all those tidbits of wisdom you’re always sprouting.”
She patted the arm of her chair. “You’ve made an old woman proud, Hawthorne. I just wanted you to know that in case my mind goes to wanderin’, and I can’t recall enough to remember to say it.”
I’m not sure what made me touch Mams. In all the years I’d known her, I’d never attempted it. Even as wise as she was, she’d never been a duly affectionate woman, but my hand was suddenly over hers on the chair, my gaze coming up to meet her equally shocked stare.
“Say hello to Uncle Gregor for me,” I said.
Mams’ eyes grew bright. “I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ that man. You’ve been through a lot when you were young, girl. I think it’s prepared you more for adulthood than those who never went through anythin’. Lean on that.”
She leaned even closer, and I moved to meet her.
“Save him,” Mams’ whispered. “We’re going to lose him if you don’t.”
She sat back, and I stared at her. I didn’t have to glance behind me to know who she was talking about.
“How?” I asked.
She smiled. “You’ll know.”
Heathcliff’s dad shouted from the front of the room, and a cheer rose up, claps and celebratory hollers rolling through the space as everyone turned toward Mams. I chose that moment to sneak away, rising slowly and edging along the wall. For the first time in a long time, even as alone as I was in life, I realized how much I was loved. None of the people who cared about me were family, but somehow that made it more special.
My voice rose with the crowd, my laughter joining theirs even as I moved away to stand with Rebecca. Rebecca’s hand fell, grasping mine and squeezing before letting go.
There’s love, and then there’s love. There’s the passionate kind of love between two people who care about each other, and then there’s the care about you kind of love. The first kind takes you on an incredible ride, but the second kind is often stronger and harder to break.
Chapter 25
The party was never-ending, the family determined to stay as long as they possibly could, as if leaving meant the end of all of them together with Mams. I knew that feeling. I’d lived that feeling.
When the sun started to set, Rebecca and I began cleaning up despite the milling family. We left the food, wrapped in tinfoil or boxes to be put away, and took our trays and other supplies out to the van. I’d made my last trip to the vehicle when I noticed Heathcliff standing in the backyard, his gaze on the sky. Fireflies were just beginning to light up, the first few stars noticeable in that strange blue heaven, the kind of blue that couldn’t decide which shade it wanted to be.
Throwing a quick glance at the house, I turned toward the yard, my stomach dropping with each step forward, my cowardice a monster waiting to swallow me whole.
“Not thinking about jumping into hay, are you?” I teased as I approached.
Startled, Heathcliff’s head dropped, his gaze finding my figure. “What?”
I gestured at the barn. “Just thinking about the loft when we were in high school,” I replied.
“Oh,” he answered, his head rising again. “Seems kind of silly now, doesn’t it?”
His words struck me like an arrow, causing my heart to bleed, and I froze. “I don’t think so. Everyone’s got to learn how to fall somewhere. That way when they have to get back up, they already know how it feels to land.”
Heathcliff inhaled, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “It was good seeing you today, Hawthorne.” His gaze dropped, and I studied his face.
“What happened to you?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could catch them. My words had always done that around Heathcliff. “The man I saw in there today isn’t the one I knew years ago.”
“It’s only been five years,” he mumbled.
“I’m looking at you, and I see more than five years etched into your skin.”
He didn’t expect my reply, his gaze capturing mine despite the encroaching darkness. “You always did see things other people missed.”
I glanced at the house. “No one is missing this, Heathcliff. I’ve seen your mother’s eyes, and I’ve heard the fear in your grandmother’s voice. What happened to you?”
He laughed, the sound short. “Heathcliff …”
My cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry … Max.”
He took a step toward me. “No, don’t apologize. It’s okay … call me Heathcliff.”
He stared at me, silence stretching, before he replied, “I wish I’d never left. I know now why my grandfather loved his hooch in the woods. It was the only place he could go that helped him live with his ghosts.”
I thought back on the past few years, the pictures Lynn had shown me of Heathcliff in his boot camp graduation photo. I thought back on the tears when Mams told me about his deployments. Honestly, I didn’t know where he’d been, how long he’d been there, or what he’d seen, but I knew him. Or I thought I did. Mams had said I’d know how to help him, and in a way, maybe she was right.
“That’s the thing with saving people,” I told him, stepping forward so that I was next to him, my gaze following his to the sky. “Sometimes you lose some of them.”
“Too many of them,” Heathcliff muttered.
I was so afraid I was going to say the wrong thing, that I was going to chase him away, but it seemed even more wrong to walk away.
“It matters if you tried, and I know you. I have no doubt you tried, or it wouldn’t be eating at you now.”
“Hawthorne—”
“Nothing is forever, you know. I don’t know what you’ve seen. I don’t know how horrific it was, but I do know something about carrying someone you love around with you. I know what loss is, and what it means to carry those ghosts with you.”
“Hawthorne—” Heathcliff began again, but I wouldn’t let him finish.
“I found my parents,” I told him. “I did. Two years ago. On a break from school, I got curious and did a little digging. My mom is on her fifth marriage, living somewhere in Florida. My dad is dead.” Heathcliff’s head dropped. I could feel his gaze on my face, but I kept my eyes on the sky. “Drug overdose, the papers said. It happened ten years ago, so I’m assuming Uncle Gregor knew, but like you, he always wanted to save people. He wanted to save them from harsh realities. You know, harsh realities aren’t so bad though. Not when you know who you are. Because the key to climbing out of that harshness is knowing the person that climbs free of it; yourself.”
“Hawthorne,” Heathcliff began. This time I didn’t stop him, and I was glad I didn’t. “I’ve missed you.”
A door opened behind us, Ginger’s laughter following her as she stumbled outside. “It’s a party, Brayden. You should really try smiling.”
I assumed Brayden was Heathcliff’s friend and Ginger’s brother, their approaching steps cutting off our conversation.
“Oh, there you are, Max! We’ve been looking for you,” Ginger called.
My head lowered, my gaze swinging to the intruders. Ginger’s smile fell when she saw me, but Brayden’s eyes filled with curiosity, his gaze flicking from Heathcliff to me.
“Did you ever say your name earlier?” Ginger asked, her eyes on my face, her lips turned down in a frown.
“Hawthorne,” I answered, nodding. “Most people just call me Hawthorne.”
Another voice rose from the darkness, Rebecca’s, and I called out to her, relieved when she stepped into the dim yard behind Brayden and Ginger.
“Are you ready?” she asked me, her suspicious gaze roaming over the siblings before moving to Heathcliff and then me.
I started to leave, my feet moving cautiously backward when I suddenly paused, my gaze going once more to Heathcliff. “By the way, whatever happened to your Toyota?”
He looked at me. “My old pickup? It’s parked at my brother’s house. Why?”
The smile I gave him was a soft one. “I miss the wind.”
With that, I turned and walked away, my hand grabbing Rebecca’s arm. She was staring at Heathcliff’s friend, and I knew by the way her face was angled, she was looking at the tight shirt he wore over his stomach.
“Don’t look at the abs,” I hissed. “Just walk away.”
Turning, her feet joined mine on our trek to the catering van.
“They’re nice abs,” Rebecca hissed in return.
“Two divorces,” I murmured.
“Damn,” she replied. “Throw the bucket of cold water, why don’t you?”
We climbed into the vehicle, and as I was backing out of the drive, I rolled down the windows. Somewhere in the darkness, I knew Heathcliff watched, and I wanted him to see them down.
Sometimes starting over starts with a drive.
Chapter 26
I’d taken to running when I was in college, not because I thought I needed the exercise, but because I had a desire to feel the breeze in my face, my body tiring, exorcising things that wouldn’t go away otherwise. It was a good way to take off the stress, to strip away a bad exam grade, bad news, or disappointment.
The day after seeing Heathcliff, I ran, letting my feet eat the miles beneath me, my breath coming in pants. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. The run stripped me bare, my thoughts playing over the conversation I’d had with Heathcliff in the yard, the morning humidity causing sweat to seep down my forehead and over my face, like tears.
My feet always sought the back roads, running them until I knew I couldn’t go any farther, and then, unlike most runners, I’d walk back, having pushed myself too far to begin with. I kind of saw life that way, I guess. Run, push yourself, but then walk. Take the time to notice the stuff you missed your first time through.
I was passing the creek, the proverbial summer hang out, when I heard the laughter. Stopping, I leaned over, my hands finding my knees, my chest heaving. The laughter grew and with it so did my curiosity.
Turning down the lane, I snuck among the trees, my feet quiet on the grass as I moved. The sound of rushing water met my ears.
“What’s with this place, Max?” Ginger’s voice asked.
I froze, my blood running cold at the sound of her voice, at the way she said his name. It shouldn’t bother me, but it did.
“I don’t know,” another voice broke in, a male one, and somehow I knew it was Brayden’s. “There’s a certain kind of charm in it.”
“It’s not Hell,” Heathcliff answered.
Brayden’s short laugh met his words. “You’ve got that right, brother.”
Ginger groaned. “I hate it when the two of you do that! Talk like there’s no one else there, like I’m supposed to understand exactly what you mean.”
“You didn’t have to come with me, Gin,” Brayden replied.
His sister snorted. “You know I did.”
There was something sad about her voice that touched my heart, a worry for her brother that made my dislike for her lessen. Tone of voice can reveal a lot about a person. Hers told me more than I wanted to admit. She loved her brother, but by the looks she’d thrown Heathcliff at Mams’ party, she also loved him. She loved him, and she’d been a part of his life during a time when I couldn’t be there.
I’d reached the edge of the trees, my palm resting against the bark on one of the wider trunks. Beyond, sand sparkled in the sun, the muddy water rushing over sandbags and logs, the area around the creek having been cleared by the Parkers, who owned the property, so that the locals could enjoy the swimming.
On the bank Ginger sat, her feet dangling in the water, wearing only a black bikini top and a pair of short blue jean shorts.
“It feels like hell here,” she grumbled, her hand fanning her face.
Heathcliff stood behind her, leaning against the tailgate of his black F150. It was down, an ice chest pulled to the edge. Brayden sat beside the cooler. Both of the men were wearing nothing except blue jeans, a longneck bottle in their hands.
My gaze went instantly to Heathcliff, my eyes widening. The tattoos on his arms were just the beginning, the scar on his forearm one of three. A line of scar tissue slashed his stomach just above his belly button, a smaller one starting near his hip and disappearing into his jeans. A tattoo was etched into one side
his chest, a coil of thorns surrounding the words, Be Brave.
Brayden, who had his own fair share of scars, lifted the beer he held. “It’s a quiet place. I don’t know why you’d want to leave, Max.”
“Because there’s nothing to do here,” Ginger complained.
Heathcliff smiled, his gaze on the rushing water. “More than you think.”
There was silence, the only sound water, wind, and buzzing insects. I’d just begun to inch back into the trees when I heard Brayden ask, “So, what’s with the girl at the party last night. Hawthorne, wasn’t it?”
“Back off, Brayden,” Heathcliff warned.
“Oh, ho!” his friend exclaimed. “There’s history there. I knew it.” Opening the cooler, he grabbed another beer, and opened it on the side of the truck. “Old girlfriend?”
“She seemed a little odd to me,” Ginger mumbled. “And that hair. It’s like she’s never heard of a straightener.”
“That’s jealousy talking, Gin,” Heathcliff admonished. “Watch it, okay? You’re better than that, and you don’t know her history.”
Ginger fell quiet, her brows furrowing. “I’m thinking Brayden’s right. You played a big part in that history, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Heathcliff answered, no apology in his voice. “I did.”
My curiosity wanted to stay, but my heart couldn’t handle where the conversation was going, so I edged backward. I was back on the road, my gaze on the path ahead of me, when I heard the truck start up, and I bristled. No matter how fast I ran, they were going to pass me as they left. Even so, my sneakers pounded the dirt, moving quicker than they’d ever moved. Sweat rolled down my back and into the loose white tank top I wore over a blue bandeau. My gray cutoff shorts were cotton and short, not the typical running shorts, but they kept me cool.
Behind me, a truck revved, pulling out into the road from the creek path. My shoes kept moving, the sound of the engine at my back growing louder. I stayed to the side of the road, wincing when I realized the pickup was slowing.
“Hawthorne?” Heathcliff called.