by Laura Miller
Sometimes, it just is.
Chapter Forty-Four
Savannah
(24 Years Old)
Day 7,263
“Are you sure you want to run this?”
Jan is holding up the page with my weekly editorial piece on it.
I smile.
“Yeah. It’s Valentine’s Day. It fits. So, yeah, run it.”
Jan just nods.
“But they’ll know,” she says, giving me a motherly-like smile.
“They already know.”
“Okay.” She nods again, right before she disappears into the other room.
Meanwhile, I swivel around in my desk chair, until I’m facing my computer screen. And I stare at the little folder on the desktop that reads tomorrow’s date.
It’s been about a year since the last time I set eyes on Salem. And I’ve seen Jake around, but we’re back to small talk. I don’t know if the damage I caused is irreversible, but for now, we’re just keeping a safe distance.
I stare at that little folder on my computer’s screen, until eventually, I take a deep breath, and I click on it. And I read the careful words I’ve written—the words everyone in this town will be talking about soon enough:
An Open Letter to the Girl Who Has His Heart
We share the same heart—you and I.
The only difference is:
Where it once beat for me,
Now, it only beats for you.
So, take this letter as you will.
It was never meant to slight.
It’s just a little reminder,
That once that heart was mine.
That once those old photos
Were real moments,
That once that old tee shirt
Was brand new.
That once that old story
Hadn’t happened yet.
All this,
Before you.
And you very well might have his last kiss.
But remember, I had his first.
And his heart—
I had that first, too.
But in the end, his past is all I have,
But please don’t think I love him less.
For that boy who stole my heart,
Is now the man who holds my past.
And for that, I’ll always hold a piece of him,
But remember, you’ll have the whole.
For there are always moments we cannot take back,
There are regrets we can’t rewind,
But there’s this thing that keeps me moving;
I fondly call it time.
And in time, my mind will find peace,
Though, I’m not so certain of my soul.
For in those quiet hours,
I often hear its call.
It murmurs, wordlessly,
The lyrics I know so well:
You love him.
You love him still.
And so it is,
My song,
Set on repeat,
My soul,
Ever looking back.
But as for you,
The girl who has what I cannot,
I ask one favor,
Take care of his heart.
Take care of our heart.
Chapter Forty-Five
Savannah
(24 Years Old)
“Savannah, I’m going to get some lunch. You want anything?” Jan asks.
I look up at the clock on the wall. It’s exactly noon. For a split-second, I wonder where the morning’s gone.
“Uh, no,” I say to Jan. “Thank you.”
“Okay. Be back soon.”
I watch as she pulls her coat off the rack and sticks her arms through its holes. And the next thing I hear is that little bell above the door.
I hit save on my computer and begin typing. But after a few moments, I hear the bell clanging in the front of the office again, and I stop.
“Savannah.”
Before I can do anything else, Jake is standing in my doorway.
“Hey,” he says.
I clear my throat and try to swallow.
“Hey.” I push my chair back from my desk. I’d stand, but I’m too thrown off to figure out if that’s what I should do.
“Do you have a minute?” he asks.
I stare into his eyes. I think I’m half hoping they’ll tell me why he’s here.
“Uh, yeah. Do you want to sit down?” I point to the old, blue recliner.
“Sure,” he says, eyeing the chair.
He sits down, and I turn my own chair so that I’m facing him. And for just a fraction of a moment, I think of Salem. It’s strange seeing Jake in the same chair that Salem always inhabited.
“I saw this week’s paper,” he says.
I breathe in deeply, but I don’t say anything.
“I take it things didn’t work out...with him?”
I softly clear my throat, hoping it will buy me some time. His question has such an honest quality to it. I can’t even be mad at the fact that he just went for it.
“No,” I say. “It didn’t work out.”
He gives me a sad, candid look, and instantly, I feel bad for not only him, but also for myself. I lost Salem at the same time I lost Jake.
“But it’s okay. I had to try, right?”
He nods once. “Yeah,” he agrees.
The room grows silent—that kind of silence that screams. I drop my eyes to the carpet, secretly praying for an end to the high-pitched cries, engulfing us.
“That’s how it goes sometimes.” His words make me look up. “Sometimes, a love lasts for a lifetime. Sometimes, it’s just a few years or a few months...or a few days, even. But love is love,” he says, smiling, promisingly. “It’s all the same. It feels like home when it finds us, but it hurts like hell when it leaves us.”
I feel my eyes starting to water, and my stare goes straight to that brown carpet again. It’s uncontrollable. I don’t know where the tears come from, and I don’t know how to get them to go away.
“But Savannah.”
Instinctively, I look up at him, and I pray that he doesn’t notice my eyes.
“You’re gonna make it,” he says.
I smile. I don’t know how I do it, but I do. I smile, and my shoulders relax. And my heart feels a little lighter, somehow.
His words are so simple. I’ve told myself that same thing almost a million times now. But I guess I just needed to hear someone else say it.
“He won’t,” he says, regaining my attention. “He won’t. ...But you will.”
I take a second to let his words sink in, and then I feel my brows gradually knitting together.
“Savannah.” He says my name and then lowers his gaze to the floor. “A man can’t be loved by you and survive it.”
A small grin resurfaces on his chiseled face, while my heart breaks. It sounds too poetic to ever be true. But it’s too beautiful not to take it and hold onto it for a little while.
“And I only knew you for a small piece of your life. Imagine if I would have known you from the start.”
I try my best to hide my tears. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He stands and gives me a small nod before making his way to the door.
“I’m here if you need anything.”
I try to smile. “Okay.”
He holds a fixed stare in my eyes only for a few heartbeats. Then, he turns and leaves.
I wait for that little bell above the door, and on its cue, I let the tears fall.
I feel broken, like a tall oak after a summer storm. My trunk is splintered and torn.
How sad is it that we only have one life to live—that we can’t simultaneously live two lives at once and be happy?
I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, mindfully telling myself to take deep breaths.
And then, just when I think I’ve pulled myself together again, I hear that little bell.
I hide my face behind my computer screen and try to look busy. I’m w
aiting for Jan to walk past my office. I’m waiting for the smell of Caleb’s Diner to fill the room. But I never see Jan.
I wipe my eyes again and run my fingers through my hair, trying my best to appear presentable. Then I push back my chair, stand and make my way to the front.
But no sooner do I get to my office door than I stop. And every part of my body turns to ice.
Chapter Forty-Six
Savannah
(24 Years Old)
Day 7,267
I force myself to take a breath.
“Salem.”
My hand lifts to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. I don’t even realize I’m doing it, until it’s done.
“Can we walk?” he asks.
I’m speechless for a good few seconds.
“Okay,” I finally agree.
I grab my coat off the rack. And then I follow him out of the little newspaper office, locking the door behind me.
And we walk—in silence. We walk until we reach that little stream behind the building, and we stop.
“I read your letter.” He says the words evenly, without any expression whatsoever in his voice.
I laugh, and the action surprises me. “I have a wider circulation than I thought.”
He looks my way, and he smiles, faintly. But I can tell he doesn’t know what to say.
“I didn’t know if you’d see it,” I say. “It was just something I needed to say. I’m sorry if it...”
His eyes find mine, and I lose my words. His stare is warm and comfortable, even though I feel as if it should feel far away.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.” I nervously bite my bottom lip. “I mean, I meant it, but I didn’t want to upset anyone.”
“Savannah.”
I stop when I hear his calm, familiar voice. And I take a quick breath.
“It didn’t matter who you chose.”
I force the breath out slowly.
“It didn’t matter who you chose, Vannah. The result was always going to be the same.”
My heart stings in my chest. And I fight the tears; I fight the tears that seem to come from some bottomless well deep inside my soul.
“I just wanted you to know that,” he breathes out.
I nod and lower my head, but I can’t stop thinking about how much I love him. I want him more than I want anything in this whole world. And I can’t have him.
He clears his throat, forcing my attention back to him. The tears are blurring my vision, but nevertheless, I watch as he pulls out a piece of paper from his coat pocket.
It’s folded and then folded again.
“Here,” he says, “it’s a letter to the editor.”
I look into his light eyes and then slowly reach for the page. And when I get it open, my own eyes go to reading his handwritten words:
An Open Letter to the Girl Who Still Has My Heart
We share the same heart—you and I.
Where mine beats,
I feel yours, too.
It beats for every story,
Every memory,
Every moment,
We call ours.
And in it,
We store our weakness,
Our armor,
Our scars.
But most of all,
Our secret—
That we’d never really move on.
And of course, you have my past,
But that’s never all you had.
For when you stole my heart,
You also took my last:
My last dream,
My last love,
My last kiss,
My last breath.
It’s only fitting; you had them first.
So, to the beautiful bird who still has my heart,
It’s yours to keep.
For as much as it’s mine, it’s yours.
I finish reading.
“See, the funny thing is,” he says, in a soft, rasping voice, “when I think of you...or I see you, every girl fades from my mind...every girl, but you.”
My eyes slowly find his.
“Vannah, all I know how to do is love you.”
I try to swallow down the tears as I stare into his eyes.
“I might be awful at telling you the right way, but I know how to love you.” He stops, and a soft smile fights its way to his face. “And it didn’t matter who you chose,” he says, shaking his head. “Because I chose you. I choose you, Vannah.” He shrugs and pierces my stare. “I choose you.”
I’m wordless. An endless stream of tears is sliding down my cheeks. My breaths are short.
“I... I don’t understand,” I say.
“Vannah, I had already chosen you, a long time ago.”
I feel my chest lifting and falling, but it’s hard to get a breath.
“Vannah, I never asked her to marry me.”
My brow furrows.
“But I saw her with you in Iowa.”
“In Iowa?” He cocks his head and gives me a questioning look.
I nod. “I went to the lumberyard almost a year ago to tell you...basically what I wrote in the letter. I wanted to change our story.”
He stops.
“Like Olivia wanted Lester to?” he asks.
“You saw the photo?”
He nods. And then he smiles.
“She was only there a minute, dropping off the rest of my things.” He takes a step closer to me. “You have impeccable timing, Miss Catesby.”
My teeth press into my bottom lip as my mouth curves up.
“She wasn’t you, Vannah.”
I stop and find his eyes.
“So,” he whispers, his face so close to mine that I can almost feel the word tumbling from his lips, “do you still think we’ve got a chance?”
I bow my head and then slowly nod. And in the next second, his arms are around me, squeezing me into his chest.
I’m just wrapping my mind around this moment, around him being here, around his letter, around the fact that he’s holding me in his arms.
“It took seeing your letter in the paper,” he whispers softly in my ear. “I guess I just needed to breathe for myself first.”
I smile through my tears.
“But it was nice falling in love with you...again and again and again,” he whispers.
Then he pulls away and looks into my eyes. In his eyes, I can still see that look—that longing, that same longing look he gave me when we were only sixteen. The memory rushes over me like a soft summer breeze, full of the smell of life and risk and chance.
He draws closer to me, and I can feel his every breath hit my lips. I close my eyes, and he weaves his hand into my hair.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. “I never stopped missing you.”
And just then, I don’t care how many years we’ve lost; I don’t care how many mistakes we’ve made; I don’t care how long it took us to get here. We’re here. ...We’re here, and that’s all that matters.
And in the next heartbeat, his lips touch mine. And with my heart wide open, I spread my wings—and fly.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Savannah
(24 Years Old)
Day 7,277
“Close your eyes.”
“They’re closed,” I say.
“Okay, two more steps.”
I shuffle my feet over the leaf-covered ground.
“Okay, you ready?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Open them.”
I open my eyes and see a structure—a tall, beautiful, red-brick building—lit up in the night. It’s cylinder in shape, two stories, with a dome top. And there’s a little walkway with a railing that wraps around the dome. And there are windows perfectly placed all around the first floor and around the dome as well. It’s like something I’ve never seen before.
“I found our star tower,” he whispers near my ear.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I just keep staring at that beautiful little building in the midd
le of all the trees.
“Eben,” I exclaim, just trying to take it all in.
“Come on,” he says. “You want to see it, right?”
I look at him for a few seconds, asking him a million silent questions, all at once. But he just stares back at me with a crooked smile glued to his face.
“Yes,” I finally say. “Yes, I want to see it.”
We walk up the few brick stairs to a wooden door, painted emerald. And he sticks a key into the lock and turns the knob. Then he pushes open the big door, and we both step inside.
Immediately, I notice the freestanding staircase that starts at the floor and spirals all the way up to the ceiling, two stories up.
My hand covers my mouth as my gaze roams around the room and stops on a photo of a beach at sunrise. There are seagulls in the sand. The sky is orange; the ocean is white. I can almost smell the salty air. And there are more—more photos of the ocean. They’re all framed and hung on the wall. It’s all so beautiful. But I stop when my eyes catch on a spot in the far corner of the room.
“Are those mine?”
He nods. “Yep. Those two boxes were my motivation. It’s your stuff, for when you came back.”
I find his eyes, and my heart breaks for the eighteen-year-old boy who stored his hope in two cardboard boxes all these years, waiting for his bird to come home. But he only smiles, takes my hand and leads me up the wooden staircase.
Up and around we spiral, until we reach the second floor. And right away, I notice the big telescope in the middle of the room, pointing to the center of the dome.
“I just can’t believe you did all of this,” I say.
He only shrugs.
I walk toward the telescope, but I stop when I see the walls. They’re covered in our memories. The Polaroids. Each frame floats against the red brick. He must have taken the photos from my house when I wasn’t looking.
I pause at each photo. Each one tells a different story. The first is of an old quote about being forgotten etched into a wooden park bench. But I look deeper, and I feel what it’s like to always be remembered.