Rewind to You

by Laura Johnston

  “But what about tomorrow and the next day?” Austin asks. “What about this fall when you’re at college with him?”

  “It doesn’t have to be like this, Austin. Me and you, this fall—we can make it work.”

  “Can we?” I hear the warning in his voice, the doubt that is so unlike him, and it scares me. His lips pull to one side, not really a smile at all, just an ironic little quirk of the mouth. “You’re still wearing his ring, Sienna.”

  “No, Austin, it’s not like that.”

  “You’re still going out with that jerk, even though he lies to you,” he says, his lips pulling into a tight seam.

  “What?”

  “I saw him!” he shouts with no regard to the people within earshot walking along the beach. “I saw him making out with some girl after that football game, and he practically admitted she wasn’t the only one. He’s a liar, Sienna. He lied about that fight at the grill just like he lied to you about Turbo. He’s been lying to you all along!”

  I step away, his anger pushing me back. I recall what Kyle said about Austin, how someday I’d press the right button, and he’d snap. But then my conversation with Lindsey battles this thought. She wished Austin had ranted and raved when they split, because it would have meant he really loved her.

  “I would never do that to you!” he says, the desperation in his voice squeezing my heart. “Do you realize what you are, what you deserve? Kyle doesn’t love you, not like I do. He never will.”

  I stare at him, my mouth dry. It hits me deep in the gut, the realization of how much I’ve messed everything up. A knot wells up inside my throat, so big that I can hardly choke out a reply. My lips barely form the words. “I’m so sorry. I’ll—”

  “You know what, don’t apologize.” Austin shoves the apology back at me.

  I was about to tell him I’d make this all right. Somehow. Now I’m speechless. This was something I thought I loved about Austin: There’s never a need to apologize. If I tried, he wouldn’t hear of it. But I finally see the truth.

  Austin truly doesn’t want to see his dad ever again. He hates apologies because he doesn’t want to forgive. Trust me, I’ve been there. Back when Landon and Evan were spitting out their reluctant confession, their lame condolences. I didn’t want to hear it.

  And Austin doesn’t want to hear any of this. He’s been patient with me—so patient—like he patiently waited for his dad all those years. Before he hit his limit.

  Just as I think Austin has hit his limit with me, too, his eyelids close and he exhales. When his blue eyes show themselves again, all emotion is wiped clean from them. His hands gently cup my face, and our gazes collide for one precarious moment before his lips touch mine. He kisses me in a way he never has before. It’s soft and sad.

  Our lips part slowly, his hands preserving their hold on my face, the touch comforting.

  Austin’s arms drop abruptly to his sides and he turns, jarring me back to reality. He walks away and straddles his motorcycle. Firing up the engine, he heaves a deep breath and drives off without a backward glance. I watch him from behind, clinging to the taste of Austin Dobbs and his soul-shattering kiss on my lips, wanting to hold on and never let go. Because I know. I understand.

  There was no promise of until next time in that kiss. As I watch Austin’s figure fade gradually into the distance, I realize that kiss meant good-bye.

  I pack my bags in denial. I lie awake all night. When the glow of daylight breaks the darkness, I sit up. My bedroom is spotless, my luggage lined up by the door, everything packed except two items. I spent most of the night trying not to stare at them, the shoes Austin bought for me on River Street and the palm-leaf flower he made. I grab my cell and send a quick text. It’s 6:03 a.m. I’ll have barely enough time before we leave.

  I wait for twenty-five painful minutes with no reply from Austin. Finally, I make my bed and sneak out through the patio door. When I reach the pier, I check my phone again. He will come. He always does. This is our meeting spot. I text, he comes. He texts, I come.

  Crossing my arms, I hold myself together and watch my last sunrise on Tybee. Once I’m back in Virginia, I’ll pack up and say good-bye to my childhood home forever. Not even that compares to leaving this.

  Meet me by the pier?

  Anything more would have been lame coming as a text. No, I need to see him. Speak with him face-to-face.

  I wait.

  A sailboat glides over the water, seagulls chirp as they dance through the sky, and sand trickles over my flip-flops. I wait, almost hearing the sound of his footsteps behind me as my mind plays tricks. I wait, aching to fix this. I wait, and I wait, and I wait until I finally accept the hard truth.

  This time, Austin isn’t coming.

  One month was all it took. I learned how love can take away the pain, fill every hollow ache. Now I’ve learned that love can turn around and rip your mended heart into a thousand pieces all over again. Austin is gone. No more until next time.

  The ocean blurs before me. I blink my eyes, aware of the wetness behind my eyelids, a feeling I’ve almost forgotten. Tears flood my eyes and pour down my face. Tears I haven’t cried in over a year. Tears that leave me weak. Even so, I resist the temptation to wipe them away.

  I make my way to the beach house and sink onto the steps, staring at the sand that has been just as beaten up by the waves of life as I have. The breeze dries my tears, leaving my cheeks cold and salty. I’m not sure which is worse: having lost a love like no other, or knowing it was my fault.

  The back door opens slowly. I feel my mom’s presence as she sits down. She sets her kale juice down. Her arm wraps around me. She rubs my shoulder.

  “It’s hard to let go of something that feels so good,” she offers, apparently understanding exactly what I’m crying about.

  “I don’t want to let go,” I say. The sobbing sound in my throat is so foreign. It reminds me of the mess I was after my dad died. Austin filled those empty spots in my heart. Now he’s left them vacant. And I resent him for it. I was better off when the tears wouldn’t come. At least I felt strong then. The idea plays in my mind that perhaps I was better off without him.

  “But you know, don’t you, honey?” Mom says. “You know it’s best this way.”

  My lips tremble. I keep them sealed, hating the idea that maybe she’s right.

  “Sweetie, there are plenty of other fish in the sea. Take my advice and find one who is more suitable for you.”

  Something twists unpleasantly in my gut. “What do you mean, ‘suitable for me’?” I ask, getting to the bottom of this. What exactly is my mom’s perfect little mold?

  “Do yourself a favor, Sienna—love someone who can afford to give you a happy future.”

  Taken aback, I turn to my mom. Everything slides into place, the reason why my mom hates Austin so. “Afford to give me a happy future? What, is that what you wished you’d done instead of marrying Dad? Instead of struggling all those years like you and he did?”

  “Sienna, I loved your father—”

  “But he was kind of like Austin, wasn’t he?”

  Mom’s head jerks over, her eyes taking me in with offended shock. “I never said that.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “Sienna!”

  “You followed your heart, Mom.”

  “I was young and stupid.”

  “Maybe your heart knew what your mind could never understand.”

  “Sienna,” Mom says, exasperated, “if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. But yes, had your dad had a better financial start, it would have spared me a lot of stress and struggling to get where I am now.”

  “And where is that, Mom?” I ask, almost laughing in light of our present situation. “I mean, struggling—makes—us—strong. It makes us think about where we’re going, where we want to be. It makes us realize what’s important.”

  “I’m only telling you what I know, Sienna,” she snaps. “You’ve always needed extra direc
tion in life, and I’ve always given it to you.”

  It hits me harder than her slap across my face at The Westin. Extra direction? After all these years, I finally see things as they really are: My mom’s nagging, her tunnel vision of what I’m destined to do in life, was all because she thought I needed it. Here I was trying so hard to please her, when in truth she thought I was incapable of making my own decisions.

  I stand and brush the sand off my shorts. “Well, you know what? I know what direction I’m heading now, Mom. I’m going to college because I want to, and I’m not even sure if I’ll major in dance.”

  Mom wears her shock as plain as day.

  “And I—love—Austin.”

  She stands as well, meeting my eye. “How can you say that? You might have had a fun fling with him. He may have made you feel special or beautiful, or whatever it is he did for you, but how do you know he wouldn’t drop you as soon as he was done with you? You were smitten with him, Sienna, as I’m sure a lot of girls have been and will be. But is he doing anything with his life? Could he take care of you even if he wanted to?”

  “He has a scholarship to the University of Florida,” I say, and this tidbit clearly takes her by surprise. “He’s playing football for them this fall, and, yes, he’s going somewhere. He’s everything to me, Mom, and I threw it all away.”

  Tears fill my eyes. Mom’s expression softens, her resistance visibly melting.

  “Besides,” I say, letting it all out now, “money has nothing to do with love. Love is caring for someone you want to spend the rest of your life with, and there’s no price on that. Love is taking and giving. I may have been lost this past year, but I know this much now: I love Austin.”

  I turn and start up the stairs, giving up on the hope that Austin will come back for me. I texted. He didn’t come.

  Regardless, I check my phone time and time again. Nothing. No texts. I open Facebook and see one new friend request. Curious, I open it. Feelings evade me as I look at the profile picture. Probably because, at this point, my emotions are spent.

  Landon Earl

  There he is, staring up at me from the picture with a perma smile—Austin’s friend. I scan his profile, reminded of everything that transpired this summer, none of which I could have foreseen happening. Surprisingly, Landon is wearing a sharp polo shirt in his picture, his face clean shaven. He has a handful of friends, a few comments here and there on his posts. What did I envision the motorcyclist from that night looking like? Did I imagine his life like this, a person just like any other?

  Landon’s work and education is even filled out. Not what I expected for some reason. He has a job. Sales, it looks like. He’s going somewhere. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about his smile that suggests a life well lived or the fact that he’s alive while my dad is not. I certainly have no idea what to think of his friend request. Nonetheless, I suppose I’m glad to know that in some way, perhaps something good has come of all this. His life will go on.

  My finger hovers over the two buttons: confirm and not now. And I press confirm.

  We load the car, and I drive the first stretch. After we cross the marshy terrain from Tybee into Savannah, I pull off the main road for a last-minute detour. I feel Mom’s sideways glance, but she doesn’t say a word.

  I weave through Savannah’s streets, past Chippewa Square, where Milo, Tolby, and Freedom sit in their usual spot, weaving palm-leaf flowers. I drive past the Pirate’s House restaurant and down Bay Street, where I catch glimpses of the Savannah River and River Street. Glimpses of the summer that from now on will be nothing more than a painful, treasured memory.

  I’m different now, maybe even stronger somehow. And as I take one final look around Savannah, I finally see why. I’ve forgiven myself. At last. Somehow, somewhere along the way this summer. Despite what happened to my dad, regardless of the fact that I’ll never get the chance to tell him I’m sorry, I can move on. If nothing else, if I never see Austin again, at least I have him to thank for that.

  I turn back onto our course toward Virginia.

  “Now can we go home?” Mom asks.

  I focus on the road ahead. “Yeah, I’m ready.” And then I put Georgia behind me, leaving a part of me behind as well, the part of my heart Austin will always hold.

  CHAPTER 41

  Austin

  An hour here, an hour there . . . this is how time passes now, ever since Sienna left three days ago. I roll out of bed, lift weights, and go for a jog, trying to find some purpose. I bury myself in work, one of the few things I’m good at. I roll back into bed at the end of the day. The clock on my wall ticks away. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. I tell myself I can hack one more day of this. One day at a time.

  But I hardly sleep. Again.

  Am I kidding myself?

  I sit up, cursing the sunlight coming in through my window. It was all too much: Sienna and Kyle. Him calling right there on the beach when everything was going down. Knowing that they’ll be at the same college this fall. Sienna and I don’t stand a chance. Sienna’s mom had just said I wasn’t good enough for Sienna. I overheard it all. Part of me believes her while the other part wants to think otherwise.

  I run my hands through my hair, which is getting too long. Throw on some clothes and head out. Fire up my motorcycle. I have to get out. Away. Or am I chasing something I’ll never catch? As time trickles past, the sound of her laugh, the smell of her hair, and the feel of her hand in mine are fading into memory.

  I stepped onto River Street that night, June fifth, expecting a lame night of fireworks and a solo cone of ice cream. Thinking back, it’s hard to believe any of it happened.

  Sitting on a bench, I look out at the Savannah River. Freelance artists and jewelry vendors sit in their usual spots, Max plays his saxophone by the river, and the scent of pralines hovers in the air. I’ve walked River Street a hundred times, and yet now it seems oddly unfamiliar. Static. Hopeless. A lonely stone path.

  I look at the shirt in my hands. Lifting it to my nose, I close my eyes and take in a slow breath, inhaling the smell. It’s her. That light flowery scent with a hint of the ocean. It’s fading, too. The scent drags so many emotions to the surface at once: warmth, laughter—and then pain. I toss the shirt on the bench and redirect my thoughts to college, to the savings I have, the football season ahead. After so many years, these dreams are finally at my fingertips.

  I got her text the morning she left, and I sat. I sat and sat and sat. Thinking. Stewing. Hesitating. Then I realized what a jerk I am. What if there is a chance? What if she really will break it off with Kyle for good? However unlikely it seems, it still could be. A chance, however small. That’s what I can’t live with, knowing I might be passing that up.

  Sienna forgave my friends, strangers who pretty much caused her dad’s death. How is it that I’ve hardly entertained the thought of second chances? All my life I’ve held on to any ounce of anger I felt, especially toward my dad, using resentment to fuel my ambition. How can I not forgive Sienna?

  I sped to Tybee and ran along the shoreline, searching everywhere. I went to her beach house, knocked on the door. Looked around. Knocked again.

  Empty.

  I was too late.

  I pull out my cell and play with the idea of calling her. It’s something I’ve done a dozen times since she left. But the thought returns again: She forgave two complete strangers, and I can’t muster up one kind thought about my dad. True, she sorta played me. Hung onto Kyle. But in more ways than one, she’s better than me. I reach into my pocket and pull out the slip of paper instead. I read the address penned in Sienna’s handwriting—my dad’s address.

  Doing what my gut tells me is right comes with a price. Sure, I’ll see Sienna again. I’ll drive all the way to Richmond if I have to, but there are a few things I have to do first. So, putting common sense aside, I dial a number and wait. My life, as it seems right now, is complete crap. However, with this decision I feel strangely at peace with everything.

&
nbsp; “Hello?” Jesse’s voice answers.

  I stand and start toward my motorcycle. “Jesse, this is Austin.”

  “Well, I ain’t seen you in a while, but then I s’pose you seen the café. Closed ’til we can get the money from those rascals to buy some wood and fix up the balcony.”

  “You’re going to file a lawsuit?”

  “Sure thing. What d’ya ask for?”

  “How much will the repairs cost?”

  “Speculatin’ ’bout ten grand. It’ll be a doozy.”

  I climb the last step and start across Bay Street. “Don’t file the lawsuit.”

  “What? Them stuck-up ritzy bush kids—they gonna pay for what they done. Besides, I ain’t got ten grand sittin’ around.”

  “I do,” I say, and I hop on my motorcycle, listening to dead silence on the other end of the phone.

  “You sayin’ you want to pay for their reckless behavior?” Jesse cries out. “What for?”

  I look at my dad’s address one last time before sliding the paper into my pocket. “Because I want to.”

  It’s too late to turn back now. I gave Jesse the money, and he agreed not to file a lawsuit. Between Turbo’s stay at the vet and this, my account is almost empty.

  The July air is hot, sticky. It blows in my face as I turn off the FJ Torras Causeway toward St. Simons. Oak trees line either side of the street, forming a tunnel of bushy branches. Before long, houses, old-school restaurants, and beach shops dot the green landscape. My hour and forty minute journey is nearly over.

  I stop on a red at an old streetlight hanging from wires. This place is small. Quaint. Another turn, and five minutes later I pull my motorcycle up to the curb. I look at the NyQuil-green house that matches the address Sienna gave me. Weeds sprout up through cracks in the cement, and a patchwork of grass covers the yard. Homey? Trashy? I can’t decide. I’m at the doorstep before I seriously think through what I’m about to do.

  I stare at the front door, suddenly nervous about what I’ll find on the other side. Will he be the nice, fun dad who remembers that he loves his only son, or will he be the stumbling, irritated druggie I saw those last months? All my life my anger gave me strength, driving me forward to work hard. Succeed. Really, why turn and face the past now? I take a backward step, deciding it’s not too late to turn around, but the front door opens before I can escape.