My heart, which had spent the last week on overdrive, lodges in my throat. “Well, let me know when you figure it out. You know where to find me, right here, in Haven.”
I storm off, heartbroken, refusing to cry, refusing to stop when he calls my name.
If there’s one thing I’ve always known about Julian, it's that he doesn’t want to live in Haven.
Which means he doesn’t want to be with me.
20
Julian
The pounding greets me, throbbing and constant, like a small hammer behind my eyes.
What the heck did I do last night?
I blink, opening my eyes, but shut them quickly when the glare of the morning light creates a shooting pain in my skull.
“Uggghhhhh.”
That’s what I did. Drinking with Miller. Not my brightest idea. I’ve never been a partier, but once it became clear that the errand was just a ruse to get me out of the house, Miller and I had to do something. One thing led to another, and we were at Chang’s on the highway, picking up drinks and fireworks. Along the way, we picked up Rita and Shelby.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
I sit up fast, my head splitting as I do it.
Collins.
What had I said to her? The nagging feeling in my chest was all I really needed to know. I had flashes of us talking on the boardwalk, the hurt on her face, the argument about what I wanted, and how I confessed that I didn’t know.
I look around my crowded room, packed with boxes of things I plan to keep. The wood-carved pelican that my Mom bought on a whim, the rocking chair from the living room. Am I eighty? What am I doing with all this stuff? Where am I going to keep it? I don’t know. In a week, I’ll be homeless. I mean, I have a home. I’m not on the street, but it’s a college apartment, filled with sleek Swedish furniture and mismatched pots and pans. There’s nowhere to put all these things I decided were important.
Is Collins right? Is she just another piece of my past that I think I want but doesn’t fit into my new life?
That’s not what my heart tells me. Collins…she’s beautiful. Fun. Sweet. She challenges me and holds my feet to the fire. She always has, and I finally have a shot with her—a real one. Not just a kid with a crush on his best friend’s little sister, but as an adult, ready for real relationship.
Except, that’s the thing. I’m not sure I’m ready at all. I have a plan. I gaze around the room, my eyes landing on the black box from my bookshelf. The box Collins had been about to open when I walked in that day.
I hadn’t wanted her to see what was inside. Too personal. Too real. It was where I kept what was important to me. I’d started it when I was a kid, tossing in one thing after the other.
I push the sheets away and stand, walking over to the box and picking it up. It’s not heavy, and I open the lid, taking a peek inside. A flood of emotion rolls over me at every token, trinket, and dream I’d felt was important enough to keep.
Staring at the contents of the box, I know what I have to do. I know, deep in my soul. I have to stick to my plan—the original one.
It’s the right and only path to take.
21
Collins
“Would you take two-fifty for this?”
“All prices final,” I snap, not even looking up at what the woman is holding in her hand. I’m not in the mood to haggle over the remaining odds and ends at the sale.
“But that sign over there says—”
“I know what it says, but I’m telling you,” I glance down at the clown painting in her hands and suppress a shudder, “that I’m not giving you a discount on that classic piece of American folk art.”
“Oh, I see you found the Richmond clown painting,” my mother says, swooping in. She manages a polite smile at the woman while simultaneously shooting daggers in my direction. “Let’s see if we can work out a deal. How does two-thirty-five sound?”
The woman grins, pleased, not just about getting a deal but proving me wrong. They walk toward the checkout.
“Well, ho, ho, ho, to you, too,” I mutter bitterly.
“Is everything okay?” Molly asks. She’s been working with us the past few days and is actually a huge help. “You look a little…”
It’s a fair assessment. Or non-assessment. I do look, and feel, a little something. I don’t exactly know what feeling hungover is like, but it can’t be much different than what I’m experiencing right now. My head hurts, my eyes are sensitive and red, and all I want to do is get back in bed.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just tired.”
From the look on her face, it’s obvious she believes that as much as her brother. “I haven’t seen Julian today.”
“No, me either, and honestly, after last night I don’t expect or want to see him today.”
She groans. “What did he do?”
Other than help with the fastest crash and burn of a relationship ever? “You know how we are,” I say, not wanting to dump my drama on her. It’s already a rough day. “We’ve never been on the same page.”
She rearranges a picked-over table, organizing the items on display.
“I always thought you were thick as thieves when you were kids. I definitely was involved in my own teenage self-absorption most of the time, but every time I looked, you two were together.”
“With Miller.”
She shrugs. “Sometimes, but I suspect that was an excuse.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
“You know my brother has had a crush on you for years, right?”
I know nothing of the sort and laugh in reaction. “I think you’re confused. Julian thought of me as buddy and nothing more.”
She smiles. “Buddy? I haven’t heard that expression in years. If he called you' Buddy', then it’s obvious. He was into you, big time.”
My forehead tightens. “What are you talking about? A buddy is a friend. Like, total friend-zone. That’s all he’s ever really seen me as, and this whole thing we started up is just a lame attempt to hold onto his past. I’m familiar, comfortable. I’m a Buddy.”
Molly’s blue eyes, so similar to her brother’s, light up. “You don’t really know what that means, do you?”
I hold up my hands, exasperated.
“A Buddy is a term me and my friends made up back in the day. It was a code for a guy, or girl, you really liked. Like, a big-time crush that you were too scared to go after. It was a way to talk about them without being busted or embarrassing yourself. If Julian has been calling you his Buddy all this time…”
Warmth spreads across my chest. “It means he’s liked me all along.”
“Major liking.”
“I like him, too, but that’s not going to fix our problems.”
“Why not?”
I face the dining room table. Most of the china is gone, but surprisingly the Christmas set is still here. I start to reorganize them. Again, hoping for that perfect display.
Molly steps next to me and does the same thing, forcing me to admit, “We don’t want the same thing. I want to stay in Haven. He wants to live in a city. He’s got big plans for the future, and I just want to hide out in my crow’s nest and create art. He wants to shed the past, and I love it.” I look around the house, slowly losing its character as each piece is purchased. “Julian and I have never been on the same page. We’re opposites. He may have had a crush on me as a kid, but he always wanted something more, to get off of Haven Island.”
Molly doesn’t argue, but I see the sadness lurking in her eyes. She probably doesn’t want to lose him any more than I do, but it’s the truth. Julian Edge is too big for our little island, and it’s important that I let him go. Otherwise, we’re all going to get hurt.
“Excuse me,” a woman says. I recognize her. She was here yesterday. She picks up a tea cup. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this china. My grandmother had the same set when I was a little girl. Is there any way you can go down on the price?”
I glance a
t Molly, who really has the final say.
“I’d love for it to find a home with someone who really appreciates it,” Molly says. “It meant a lot to my family, too.”
They start to haggle, and I consider what Molly just told me. Julian Edge may have always thought of me as his “Buddy,” but it wasn’t enough to make him stay then and it won’t be enough to make him stay now.
And that’s something I have to accept.
22
Collins
There’s a special kind of quiet on Christmas morning, especially if you’re up at dawn. Everyone’s at home—businesses are closed, cars are off the street. It’s a calm reserved for the holiday, so it’s not surprising when I grab my bag of cat food and head down the porch steps that I’m the only one up.
I can’t help but look at the Edges' house. House. Not home. It’s empty inside. Almost bare, other than a few items that still need to be picked up by a charity. In the next week a crew of workers will appear, cleaners that will do a major scrubbing, repair men and inspectors. After that it will go on sale. There’s no doubt it will go quickly. I think Molly’s already received a few unofficial offers.
After that, Julian will be gone. For good. Just like he’d planned.
I walk down the familiar streets, passing the historic homes. A few have signs marking the history of the building. One has been turned into a small inn. It used to be the Army mess hall. Another building was the clinic. It’s now a summer rental. The history of Haven Island makes me feel settled, even when it feels like the rest of my world is falling apart.
I turn down the little path, toward the cat shelter. A few cats appear out of their hiding spots when they hear me coming.
“Merry Christmas, guys,” I say, shaking the bag. They meow at my feet. “Where’s One-Eye?”
I’m hit with the tangy scent of tuna and look up. Julian sits on the concrete block, One-Eye at his feet.
He’s dressed in a stupid sweater that should make him look like a dork, but instead he just looks confident and handsome. He watches me closely, giving me a small, tentative smile. My heart threatens to snap in two.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, holding the cat food against my chest like a shield.
“I figured the cats deserved a feast on Christmas, too.” He nods to the stack of cans next to him. They’re perched on a black box. It looks vaguely familiar.
“I haven’t seen you in a few days,” I say. I had seen him and Molly at the Christmas Eve service. But it had been crowded, and I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye like that.
“I had to go into Savannah before the holiday—get the estate settled at the courthouse. It took longer than I thought.” He picks up the box and places it in his lap, making room for me to sit. I do, only because I’m not sure what else to do with myself. I try not to notice how our sides brush against one another, and focus on the cats instead.
“I wanted to thank you for doing such a good job on the sale. I know it’s not how you wanted to spend your holiday.”
“Are you still feeling anxious about it?” I run my hand down the back of a Calico.
“Honestly, I think that once the things are gone, it doesn’t bother me as much. It’s when they’re sitting in front of me that I freeze and panic, thinking it’s something I should keep. Out-of-sight, out-of-mind, I guess. With a little distance, I should be fine.”
A lump forms in my throat, and bitter, hot tears threaten to spill down my cheeks. He’d just described our relationship perfectly. Out-of-sight, out-of-mind. Once he leaves tomorrow, he can forget about me all over again. I’m not sure it will be so easy for me.
“I’m glad you found some peace with it all,” I manage to say, moving to stand. “I need to get back home, the boys will be up soon, and our tradition is a big breakfast. I’m on pancake duty.”
He nods, a touch of sadness flickering in his eyes. “Before you go, I have something for you.”
He holds up the box. I’m both wary and curious, which pretty much sums up my feelings about Julian Edge. It’s the curiosity that always gets me.
“Whatever it is, Julian, I’ll pass.”
He stands, towering over me. “Please. We agreed weeks ago that your gift to me was helping with the sale. I want to give you something in return.”
The last thing I want is for him to owe me something.
I sigh and take the box. Now that it’s in my hands, I recognize it from cleaning his bookshelf. “Is this from your room?”
“Yes.”
That dang curiosity piques further, and against all my judgement, I open the lid. I look at the contents and frown. “What is this?”
Julian dips his fingers inside and pulls out an old, vinyl, pink armband. “This is from the Fourth of July concert.”
The memory clicks. “When Miller went with Martina Pitts, and they made out the whole time.” I shudder.
He grins. “It was so awkward, and if I had been with anyone else, it would have been the worst night of my life. But you were by my side, and we made fun of them and had a good time. It was great.”
“And you kept the armband?”
“I wanted to remember it.”
I look down into the box, the contents making a little more sense. They were mementos. Tickets, scraps of paper, trinkets. I pick up a cracked, broken shell and hold it up.
“I got a D on an AP history paper. I was devastated. After school, we walked down to the Sugar Bowl, got ice cream and hit the beach. You told me that one bad grade wouldn’t ruin my chances for college. I didn’t believe you, but you picked up that shell and gave it to me, along with the advice that life is full of imperfections, and that’s what makes it interesting.”
My fingers tremble, and I look away, blinking back a tear.
He pulls out a photo strip. Four in a row, black and white. They’re from a booth at the carnival that comes to town each year. I remember the night we took them; Julian was a senior and dating Shelby. I was a junior dating Toby. We’d all taken photos, and somehow Julian and I ended up in the booth together.
“I never saw these,” I say, trying to remember why not. The night was a blur of bright lights and funnel cakes.
“No one did,” he says. “It was embarrassing.”
“Why?” Because he’d taken a picture with me? His Buddy? Now that I knew what that meant, it was more confusing. I take the photos from him and look at them closely. I’m making a stupid face, frame after frame. Julian? He’s doing the same thing in each one. Looking at me.
“I don’t understand,” I say, placing the photo on top of the other memories. “What is this, and why are you giving it to me?”
He puts the lid back on the box and sets it on the concrete, next to the tuna cans. He reaches for my hand, not letting me pull away.
“I didn’t mean to start this box. One night I came in from something we’d done and tossed the evidence in there. Then I did it again and again. At some point, it became a thing—a symbol. Not just memories of a good time, but a place to focus my hopes and dreams. There are stubs from my first college football game, the acceptance letter from college. There are big things—goals and achievements, but through it all there’s something else—you.”
A tear escapes, trailing down my cold cheek. He wipes it away with this thumb and cradles my chin.
“There was a plan before the plan, Collins; go to college, get a degree, and come back for you. At some point, with other guys and other girls muddying things up, I got a little lost. It hurt seeing you with Toby, and I shifted my dreams to make it less painful. I replaced you with leaving Haven for good.”
“What does that mean? That you want to come back home?” I’m afraid to hope.
“it means that I want you above everything else. The rest? We can work out. I’m tired of running, and I have no doubt you’re going to be a successful artist—either here or somewhere else. I’m ready to experience that with you, no matter where it takes us.”
His eyes are bright,
sincere, and the deep blue that I’ve loved since the day I became a Fleetwood. His thumb strokes my chin, an ask. I tilt my head in invitation. When our lips meet, it’s like coming home, warm and familiar, exciting and new. My hand grips his jacket and his fingers thread through my hair.
As we kiss, I know for certain he’s right. I’d been just as stubborn as him; insisting on staying in this place, this little town that I truly do love so much. But where we live isn’t important because as long as we have one another, we’ll always have a piece of Haven Island with us.
And that’s what matters most.
Epilogue
“Is this the building?”
“She said it’s next to a coffee shop,” Miller says, glancing up at the star that hangs over the doorway of the two-story brick building
“There are fifty coffee shops in Savannah. That’s not a helpful landmark,” Tillman says, jaw tight. He’s anxious. I get it. It’s Collins’ first show, and we’re all a little apprehensive.
After that Christmas, after we’d made up and gone back to her house for breakfast and opening gifts, Collins disappeared into the crow’s nest. She’d procrastinated long enough—her project called—and although I wasn’t happy about the “No Boys Allowed” sign she affixed to the trap door as a gentle reminder, I understood. She needed to take care of her obligation, and I needed to focus on the final phases of the estate with my sister. It was the first phase to our two lives, separate but together. It felt nice.
“932 Washington,” Van says, pushing the door open. I follow him in, eager to get a look at my girl, and what she’s been working on so hard lately.
The room is bright and warm, unlike the dark winter night. The walls are stark white or red brick. There’s no artwork on the walls. There is a big door at the back of the room, a similar star to the one outside hanging overhead.
I skim the room, looking for her, and my heart flip-flops when I catch sight of her. She’s in a dress, revealing those long legs I miss during the winter months, accentuated by clunky black boots. She looks like a rock star, totally in her element. The only time she looks nervous is when our eyes meet—I smile in reassurance.
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