<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?><FictionBook xmlns="http://www.gribuser.ru/xml/fictionbook/2.0" xmlns:l="http://www.w3.org/1999/xlink"><description><title-info><genre>love_contemporary</genre><author><first-name>Laura</first-name><middle-name>Marie</middle-name><last-name>Miller</last-name></author><book-title>By Way of Accident</book-title><annotation><p>They say in every guy’s life there’s a girl he’ll never forget and a summer where it all began. Well, for me, 1999 is that summer, and Brooke Sommerfield is that girl. But that was nearly nine years ago. And what they don’t tell ya is that you’ll blink, and both the summer and the girl will be gone.</p><p>I have no idea where Brooke ended up. She disappeared that same summer I met her. And kind of like when you move something on a wall after it’s been there for a long time and everything around it is faded, that’s how I feel about Brooke. She wasn’t there very long, but when she left, everything around her memory sort of dimmed. That is until a letter postmarked the year she left mysteriously resurfaces. And call me crazy — everyone else has — but I have to find her. I have to know what became of the green-and-gray-eyed girl who stole my last perfect summer. I have to know if she believes in second chances — because I do — even if they do come with good-byes.</p></annotation><keywords>New Adult, contemporary romance, Fiction</keywords><date/><coverpage><image l:href="#cover"/></coverpage><lang>en</lang></title-info><document-info><author><nickname>wp</nickname></author><program-used>calibre 2.19.0, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6, fb2cut 2.5.4</program-used><date value="2015-02-26">25.2.2015</date><id>fe3cecad-48a4-45bb-9d6f-55a971ee4097</id><version>1.0</version></document-info><publish-info><book-name>By Way of Accident</book-name><year>2014</year></publish-info><custom-info info-type="">This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Laura Miller.

LauraMillerBooks.com

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system.

Cover design by Laura Miller.

Cover photo © yellowj/Fotolia.

Author photo © Marc Mayes.
</custom-info></description><body><title><p>By Way of Accident</p><p>— A Novel —</p><p>by</p><p>Laura Miller</p></title><epigraph><p>To the Keeper of hidden things,</p><p>For fate</p></epigraph><epigraph><p>“When the past dies, there is mourning, but when the future dies, our imaginations are compelled to carry it on.”</p><text-author>— Gloria Steinem</text-author></epigraph><epigraph><p>There once was a river, who came upon a brook,</p><p>And with all his strength,</p><p>His current was no match for the brook</p><p>For the brook hid her strength in her gentle touch,</p><p>Carving her memory slowly over time into his,</p><p>Making her path so etched in that fate dared him to forget</p><p>That the brook who once changed the river’s course…</p><p>Will always hold his heart</p><p>And that time would only strengthen</p><p>What the river already knew—</p><p>he would never be the same without her.</p><p>And to think a little brook could overtake a river so…</p></epigraph><section><title><p>Prologue</p></title><p><strong>T</strong>hey say in every guy’s life, there’s a girl he’ll never forget and a summer where it all began. Well, 1999 is that summer, and Brooke Sommerfield is that girl. I’m convinced she was an angel. My grandma always used to say that angels come in blinks. Brooke was just like that. She flew into my life and then flew right back out again — almost as if she were never there at all. But she was definitely there. And I’ve got her invisible memory to remind me of it. But anyway, that was years ago and yesterday when she flew in by way of accident. At thirteen years old on that hot June day, I only had three things on my mind: Cooling off, girls…and girls. So, I’d have to say that June 22, 1999, was also the best day of my life.</p><p>See, there was a creek that ran through the back of our property when I was growing up. It stretched the entire length and then jutted north and disappeared behind old man Brandt’s land. I had followed it one day when I was bored. There’s not too much more to do in Detmold, Missouri. They say the town, or what’s left of it, is named after some big city in Germany somewhere. I’ve never been, but I hear they’ve got old castles and big museums over there. And while we don’t have old castles or big museums, we do have an old building with weeds growin’ in it that used to be a post office…and big fields. We’ve got lots of big fields.</p><p>But anyway, after old man Brandt’s property, that winding, narrow stream crawled past a turn-of-the-century white farm house owned by a little old lady named Samantha Catcher. She doesn’t live there anymore. I guess that house eventually just got too big for her because not too long after Mr. Catcher passed, she moved to a tiny one-bedroom in the next township over. And now, she rents the old farm house out to people who are just passing through our little town. They stay a little while, and then soon enough, they’re on their way again. When I was young, kids would tell stories about why Mrs. Catcher kept the old place. Some said it was because it was haunted by her late husband. Some said she needed the money because Mr. Catcher gambled their life savings away before he died. But I know that Mr. Catcher wasn’t a gambler — well, beyond being a farmer — and I was pretty sure he wasn’t a ghost either. See, I was convinced that Mrs. Catcher kept that old place because it made her happy. I’d catch her in between renters plantin’ flowers in front of its porch or hangin’ a new welcome sign on the front door. She’d always be smilin’ then. See, Grandma also told me once that memories are invisible to everyone but the beholder. So I just assumed that Mrs. Catcher was looking at all her memories that nobody else could see when I would catch her smilin’ at that old house.</p><p>But all the same, that creek kept crawlin’. It kept on goin’ for miles after Mrs. Catcher’s place, but I didn’t. It was gettin’ close to supper time by then, and I was gettin’ awful hungry, so I turned around that day, and I walked back home. But the point here is that I knew that creek like the back of my hand, and I knew everyone who lived anywhere near it too. So that’s why June 22, 1999, was different. It started off normal. I baled hay. I got hot. I went to the creek. Believe it or not, I was on my summer vacation — right here at home, helpin’ my grandpa out around the farm. To me, it wasn’t much of a vacation, but my parents thought spendin’ some more time with Grandpa would do him and me some good. So, there I was on a Tuesday evening gettin’ ready to jump into that creek when I spotted somethin’—somethin’ that would stick with me for a really long time. And that day in the summer of ’99, I walked home with the best souvenir I ever got from a summer vacation — an invisible memory — of a shiny, little thing that would change my life forever.</p><p>But again, that was years ago. And now, I’m just left here smilin’ at this old creek just like Mrs. Catcher used to do at that old farm house. My mind just keeps replaying the little time I held Brooke Sommerfield. That beautiful girl is gone now, but I can still hear her in the wind. If I listen real hard, I can hear her laughter over the whip-poor-will, and I can hear her whisperin’ softly about the sky and its secrets and dreams and being happy. I close my eyes and breathe her in. She smells like daisies and fresh creek water — and summer. And all of a sudden, I hear a soft sigh rustlin’ through the trees, and I force my eyes open just in time to see a flock of geese — wings wide, toes spread — landing on the water.</p><p>“Life passes you by when your eyes are closed,” I whisper back to the wind. And then I smile wide, and I sit back against the grassy creek bank, and I watch my invisible memories play out just as if she had never left me.</p><p>That summer came slow, but it went so fast. Turns out, those endless days were never meant for the two of us. I never seemed to get enough time with her. Maybe it was because she taught me how to live. Maybe it was because she taught me how to love. Or maybe it was just simply because I loved her.</p><p>I sit back further into that grass, and I watch those geese float down the creek. All around me, the tree frogs are startin’ to call, singin’ back and forth about whatever it is frogs sing back and forth about. And I just sit there, and I think about that beautiful girl.</p><p>“I’ll find my way back to you, Brooke Sommerfield. As sure as the sun is gonna rise in the mornin’, I’ll find you,” I whisper to the wind. I tell it what I wish I could say to her. I tell it what I told her once before in a letter — a letter she would never receive until years later. See, that’s the funny thing about fate; it works around us, despite us, in spite of us, even. And it’s near impossible to figure out, until all the pages are in place. But all the same, that doesn’t stop me from prayin’. Every day, I pray that this wild ride fate’s got me on ends with her. I pray that you, Brooke Sommerfield, are on my last page. And I pray that page is a happy one. But whether it is or it isn’t, either way, I have to know what became of you. I have to know what became of the girl who stole my last perfect summer. And I have to know if she believes in second chances — because I do, even if they do come with <emphasis>good-byes.</emphasis></p><p>But until then, Brooke Sommerfield, my summer angel, you and I will be what my grandpa always liked to call…<emphasis>unfinished business.</emphasis></p></section><section><title><p>Chapter One</p><p><emphasis>I Never Even Got Her Name</emphasis></p></title><p><strong><emphasis>June 22, 1999 — Thirteen Years Old</emphasis></strong></p><p><strong>I’</strong>m hot, and I’m tired. Balin’ hay ain’t a pretty man’s job. And the only thing on my mind — besides girls, of course, because they’re always on my mind lately — is jumpin’ into that cool creek water. So as soon as we’ve got the last bale put up in the loft, I jump down and start makin’ my way there. I don’t even tell Grandpa where I’m goin’. He already knows where I’m headed. I’ve been talkin’ his ear off about jumpin’ into that creek all day.</p><p>I get from my grandpa’s house to the creek’s bank in record time. I stop first and breathe it in. It’s a combination of dirt and mud and weeds and trees and clear, tricklin’ water. And there’s nothin’ like it.</p><p>After I’ve filled up my lungs, I start to unlace my work boots. The leather is full of hay and dust, but that’s what boots are for — gettin’ dirty — I guess. Once I get them undone, I kick ‘em off. Then I toss my baseball cap to the ground and tear off my long-sleeved shirt and toss it onto a tree branch. It dangles there while I start unbuttoning my jeans. And I just barely get them undone when I hear a branch break across the way. I look up, and I almost damn near lose my breath. I’m expecting to see a squirrel, maybe even a deer. But that’s not what I see. When I look up, I see a girl — the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on. I freeze and drink her in for a second, a minute, a day. Who the hell knows how long my eyes are glued to her? She’s got this beautiful long, brown hair and light eyes and the longest legs I’ve ever seen on a girl. She slowly makes her way toward the creek’s bank on the opposite side. There’s a certain, strange grace in the way she walks — as if each step isn’t just any old step but a new adventure or somethin’. Her eyes are splittin’ time between the creek water and the weeds and brush under her feet. I can tell she doesn’t notice me, but it does look as if she’s thinkin’ about somethin’. I watch as her hand reaches up and tugs on a chain dangling from her neck. Her fingers follow the chain downward until they stop on somethin’ at the end of it. Whatever that something is, it sparkles when it catches the sun just right. She sets her eyes on the sparkle for a second. Then she takes the chain and tucks the necklace into the little top she’s wearin’. I have to force myself to start breathin’ normally again and to tell myself that this ain’t a dream because it sure as hell feels like one.</p><p>All of a sudden, she stops on the opposite bank and faces my way. I think I stop breathin’. I’m so still I wonder for a second if I’ve passed out standin’ up. But after a few moments, her gaze leaves my direction. Then I slowly lower myself down so that I’m kneeling on my heels. I’m not sure what to do yet and besides, I might have fallen over if I hadn’t rested my ass on somethin’—fast. I’ve never found myself in a situation like this. And it gets me to wonderin’. Of all the dumb shit I’ve ever done, what on earth had I done right to deserve this — her? If my uncle were here, he’d remind me that Mercy is a strange creature. He’d tell me to just keep my mouth shut and roll with it before the devil can realize Mercy’s mistake. So that’s what I do, I guess. I ride on the coattails of Mercy, hopin’ she doesn’t find me out.</p><p>My eyes follow the girl as she carefully steps along the bank. Her gaze rotates from the water to the path in front of her still. Every once in a while, she stops to step over a tree branch or around a big rock jutting out of the ground, until she stops for good. I stiffen up and think about sayin’ somethin’, but when I open my mouth, nothin’ comes out. So instead, I watch her turn and make her way down the grassy embankment to where the dirt meets the gravel at the bottom. And when she gets to the gravel, she slips off her shoes one after the other and lets them lie where they fall. I’m not sure what kind of shoes they are because they aren’t tennis shoes exactly and they definitely aren’t work boots. Barefoot, I watch her take a step toward the water. Her face grimaces in pain for a moment, but then she takes another careful step, and she’s back to normal. It looks as if it’s the first time she’s ever walked on gravel. Besides the fact I’ve never seen her before, it’s the first sign I get that this girl ain’t from anywhere around here. You live this close to the creek; you ain’t a stranger to anything about it. I laugh to myself and then quickly notice my mistake and cover my mouth with the inside of my hand. She doesn’t seem to notice. I’m directly across from her now — pretty much in plain sight — and she still doesn’t even bat an eye at me. It makes me not feel so bad for spyin’ on her. It’s her fault she ain’t seen me yet.</p><p>I keep my eyes trained to her as she gets to the water and slowly drops a toe in. Everything she does makes her look as if she’s made of honey. Her movements are calculated and smooth. And I guess she doesn’t think the water’s cold because she leaves the toe there and then slides the rest of her foot in. She’s wearing these little cut-off jean shorts that hug her slender body in all the right places. And she’s got a little top on that, I think, shows more skin than it covers up. God, this has got to be the best thing I’ve ever lucked into. I tilt my head back and mouth <emphasis>thank you</emphasis> to the heavens. And I think about sayin’ somethin’ again. But what do I say? My heart races. I feel my darn palms getting sweaty. I didn’t even know your palms could get sweaty when you weren’t doin’ any work. I think real hard for a second, until it comes to me; I’ll ask her a question. My uncle says a question is always a good place to start. I hope he’s right. I take a sharp breath and then force it right back out again. Okay. Here goes nothin’.</p><p>“You thinkin’ about takin’ a swim?” I ask. The words come out a little squeakier than I wanted them to.</p><p>She doesn’t look up at me, but I can see every muscle in her body stiffen. Much to my surprise, she doesn’t turn and run, though. I can tell she thinks about it, but in the end, she doesn’t even move an inch except to lift her head. Then, a look — a look that, if I’m not mistaken, says a million different things and nothin’ at all, all at the same time — catches on me. And I feel my heart skip a few beats.</p><p>“About time you said something.” Her voice glides to my ears faster than a water bug can skate on water. I’m not sure if I actually jump or if I just imagine I do.</p><p>“How long you been here?” she asks before I even have a chance to say anything else.</p><p>“Long enough,” I say. Long enough to know that I’m not leaving this creek without findin’ out who this girl is.</p><p>She keeps her light eyes on me. She doesn’t seem at all startled or angry. Who is this girl?</p><p>I don’t really know what to do next, so I just stare back at her. It doesn’t hurt me none to stare at her. But I have to admit, there’s a part of me that’s thinking about turnin’ and runnin’ myself. I’ve never met a girl like her before. She’s just as terrifying as she is breathtaking. And I’m bound to screw this up somehow.</p><p>“You from around here?” she asks with an off-centered smile.</p><p>Even her half-smile is beautiful — albeit terrifying, but still beautiful. I can’t even imagine what the whole thing looks like. I didn’t even know I had a weakness when it came to girls necessarily, but I swear I just found one — a girl with a pretty smile.</p><p>I nod. I want to say I live over yonder, in a house not too far from my grandpa’s on his 300-acre farm, and I want to point to the land behind me, but neither my mouth nor my movements cooperate, and I just end up standin’ there, noddin’.</p><p>She just wrinkles her brows at me. What’s she thinking?</p><p>“Detmold, Missouri,” she recites out loud, almost as if it’s a proclamation or somethin’. “Detmold’s a funny name.”</p><p>I shrug. “I didn’t come up with it.”</p><p>Suddenly, a laugh falls off her lips. And with it, a funny pride washes over me. I’m proud I could make such a terrifying creature as herself laugh.</p><p>“What about you? You from around here?” The pride seems to feed me a little courage. Though, I already know she ain’t from anywhere around here.</p><p>She seems to ponder it for a second before shaking her head <emphasis>no</emphasis>.</p><p>I find it funny she has to think about it. And I go about trying to come up with somethin’ clever to say, but nothin’ comes.</p><p>“Were you about to swim?” she asks, her eyes roaming my face.</p><p>“Uh.” I catch my shirt dangling from the tree, and I lower my head, noticing my unbuttoned jeans. “I was.”</p><p>“Well, don’t let me stop you.”</p><p>For the first time in my life, I want to scoop a girl right up and feel her soft skin against mine. It’s a new kind of feeling, and it feels kind of weird but also kind of good. I usually know how to play it cool. Well, at least I thought I knew how to play it cool, but damned if I can figure it out now. It’s as if all of a sudden, I’ve forgotten how to be me. I can’t think straight. I just keep thinkin’ about her legs and her pretty eyes. I mean, I’ve dreamed about a moment like this — when a sweet girl shows up out of nowhere and wants to talk to me — all my life. But when I’m finally starin’ the moment right in the face, I have absolutely no flippin’ clue what to do. And instead of doing somethin’ or sayin’ somethin’ else, I just watch her wade deeper into the creek, until her legs are swallowed up by the crystal water and the bottom of her shorts turn a darker shade of blue.</p><p>“Well…you comin’?” she asks, lookin’ up at me.</p><p>Her soft voice breaks my concentration on her legs.</p><p>“It’s nice,” she offers.</p><p>I think about it. Hell, why am I even thinking about this? An angel has just asked me to jump into the creek with her, and here I am, sittin’ here thinkin’ about it.</p><p>I stand up and quickly start unzipping my jeans but then all of a sudden I change my mind and zip and button them back up. Jeans stay on.</p><p>I carefully make my way down the bank next. It’s about a couple yards of rock, dirt and tree stumps all the way down, but I make it to the bottom without an embarrassing incident before I slip slowly into the water.</p><p>“Nice, right?” she asks with a pretty smile.</p><p>I didn’t even know God made smiles like hers.</p><p>“Yeah,” I say, nodding. But I’m not talkin’ about the water necessarily.</p><p>“Do you work out?”</p><p>“What?” I ask.</p><p>“Your abs.”</p><p>I follow her eyes to my stomach.</p><p>“Oh,” I say, startin’ to laugh. “Mostly just the work part.”</p><p>She wrinkles her forehead at first, but then she gives me that off-centered grin again.</p><p>“So, where are you from anyway?” I ask, wading into the deeper part, closer to her.</p><p>“Nebraska,” she says, and her smile widens. “And Iowa…and Kansas.”</p><p>I bob my head twice. “Anywhere else?”</p><p>She seems to think about it a little bit more, then shakes her head. “No.”</p><p>I smile with her, and I think about askin’ if this is where she’s finally going to stay, but I don’t want to hear her say it isn’t, so I don’t.</p><p>“There snakes in this water?” she asks, matter-of-factly.</p><p>“Probably,” I say.</p><p>I watch her push her lips to one side and then nod her head, and all the while, she stares into the water. Any other girl would have taken off runnin’ at the thought of a snake swimmin’ around her legs. Instead, this girl looks me square in the eyes and doesn’t say another word about it.</p><p>“Why are you so sweaty?” she asks.</p><p>I wipe my brow with the inside of my hand. “Hay.”</p><p>Her eyes rake my body up and down as if she’s studying me or somethin’. She makes me nervous, but I’m too curious about her to care.</p><p>“You a farm boy?”</p><p>I shrug my shoulders. I can’t tell if she thinks that’s a bad thing or a good thing. “A little, I guess. We live on my grandpa’s farm.”</p><p>She keeps her stare on me, until she eventually nods. I still can’t tell if she likes what I said or not, but I do notice her lips movin’ up as if maybe they want to smile or somethin’.</p><p>I wade deeper into the creek, which just so happens to be even closer to her. The water creeps up past the top of my jeans. It feels good, but I really could care less about the water anymore. Coolin’ off lost its charm when she showed up.</p><p>She moves into the deeper part too. I notice the water slide up past the top of her shorts and dance on a piece of her tan skin not covered by her shirt.</p><p>“Okay, on three, we go under,” she says.</p><p>“Okay,” I agree. Hell, I think I’d agree to about anything right about now.</p><p>“One…two. Three.”</p><p>I watch her suck in a big breath of air and then shut her eyes before droppin’ down into the water. And just like that, she becomes a blur of colors. I hold my breath then, shut my eyes tight and do the same.</p><p>When I come back up, she’s already smoothing her long wet hair back. There are little beads of water hangin’ all over her smooth skin. I shake my head and wipe my eyes so I can get a better look at her and the way her wet clothes cling to her little body. She can’t be too much over five feet tall. I’m memorizing every piece of her when she suddenly falls back into the water.</p><p>“I like it here.” She seems to profess it to the wind or somethin’. Her voice is like my grandma’s freshly churned butter used to be — smooth and rich.</p><p>“It’s nice,” she adds.</p><p>I smile because I ain’t never been nowhere else. “It’s not so bad.”</p><p>Her pretty stare falls back onto me. I can tell she’s thinkin’ again but damned if I can tell what it is she’s thinkin’ about.</p><p>“You gonna be back here tomorrow?” she asks.</p><p>I nod my head. If she was going to be here, I was going to be here.</p><p>“Here,” she says. She lowers her face and slips that shiny, little necklace of hers over her head before she hesitates. “You’re not a thief, are you?”</p><p>I smile wider. “No,” I say.</p><p>“Well, then, here. To ensure your return.”</p><p>She slips the necklace over my neck.</p><p>“Aw, you don’t gotta do that. I’ll be…”</p><p>“Back,” she finishes my sentence. “I know. You have to return my necklace.”</p><p>I just look at her. I think I’m in awe or I’m waiting to realize she’s just a mirage — like when you get too hot and thirsty and you start seeing strange things — like in the movies.</p><p>She stands up again. Water slides off her like she’s shedding a translucent layer. And once that layer’s gone, all that’s left is her beautiful skin, which I just can’t seem to get enough of.</p><p>I watch her make her way back to the gravel again. My brain is tellin’ me to say somethin’, but my dumb mouth won’t open.</p><p>She gets to the little sandy-colored rocks and slips her shoes back on. Then she turns my way and smiles before she takes off up the bank again. I would chase after her if I knew my darn body would cooperate. Instead, I just follow with my eyes her long legs as they carry the best thing that’s ever happened to me out of my sight.</p><p>And when I can’t see her anymore, I look down and carefully pick up the piece of the necklace around my neck that’s most shiny. It’s a heart, and it’s made out of tiny, little glass prisms. I turn it over in my fingers and watch the colors dance inside the little heart.</p><p>Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’m going to be here when the sun comes up, and I’m not leavin’ until I see her again. I don’t care if I have to wait here all day. This girl has just officially stolen my heart — and I didn’t even know I had a heart to steal. And on top of that, I never even got her name.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Two</p><p><emphasis>Like the Big Muddy?</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>T</strong>he next mornin’ I’m up at the crack of dawn. I feed the calves. I put a new bale out for the cows, and I make sure Ace, Grandpa’s dog, has water in his bowl since my grandpa is out visiting his brother all day. On a normal day, those things might have taken me all mornin’ to do, but that’s when I’m piddlin’ around tryin’ to make less work for myself. I learned the longer it takes me to do things, the less work I’m assigned. But there’s no time for piddlin’ today. As soon as I get all my chores done — in record time — I fly down to that creek as if my ass is on fire. Hell, it could be, and I wouldn’t even know it — not today anyway.</p><p>I get to its bank, and I look at my watch. It’s 9 a.m. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be here before now, even though the day is already startin’ to get warm. I packed a lunch. I even packed an extra peanut butter and jelly sandwich for her. I put strawberry jelly on hers because that’s the way my sister likes it, and I figured all girls are about the same. But now I’m thinkin’ I could be wrong on that point because somethin’ tells me this girl’s a little different.</p><p>There’s a part of me that thinks I’m crazy. I’m not even sure she’ll show. I pull her necklace out from underneath my tee shirt. I twist the heart to make its prisms catch the sun just right before I squeeze the heart in the palm of my hand. Surely she’ll want her pretty necklace back. I take the heart and tuck it back under my shirt. There’s a nice shade tree where I am next to the creek’s edge. I take a seat under it and stretch out my legs, and at the same time, I rest the brown paper bag on a fallen tree trunk. I suppose if she doesn’t show I could always eat the other sandwich. My mom has this thing about wastin’ food. She says there are kids every day just wishin’ they could eat what she sits in front of us every supper. For a long time growin’ up, I just pictured this clan of kids that lived under a bridge and all they ate was burnt stuff. It took me a little while to figure out what she really meant — and to figure out that not all food is burned to a crisp. But anyway, I’m not plannin’ on wastin’ this lunch, but I also know not seeing her today would kill me, so in the end, I guess the two sandwiches would go to waste anyway.</p><p>I refit my cap over my head and take off my work boots and kick ‘em to the side. Then I look down at myself — at my tee shirt and jeans. I’m good, right? The jeans are still pretty clean, and I don’t smell bad — as far as I can tell. I lift up my cap and run my fingers through my hair. Then I squeeze the cap back over my head. Damn, I’m nervous. I pick up a rock and throw it into the creek. Then I find a flat one and skip it into the water too. It jumps and flies three times before it finally sinks. I throw two more rocks into the water and watch them sink before I look around for another one. There ain’t any more around me. I’ve thrown them all in. So instead, I stare at the ripples the hot breeze makes on the water’s surface for a little while before I slide my cap a little more over my eyes. Then I lean back against the dirt and the grass and rest my head in the palm of my hands. The shade feels pretty good. I breathe in the sweet smell of corn growin’ in the next field over, and I close my eyes. And without warning, she pops up on the back of my eyelids. I smile and let out a happy sigh. God, she’s so smokin’ beautiful. I try to remember every inch of her — from her pretty, long hair to her sexy, long legs. And then there’s her eyes — not just the color of them, but there was somethin’ else about them that made her seem fearless or mysterious or somethin’. There was somethin’ about her that made you want to know more. I yawn and feel myself startin’ to drift away just as that hot breeze trickles past my face. And the last thing I remember thinkin’ is that I really hope she shows.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>I’m not sure how long exactly it’s been when I feel somethin’ tickling my arm. It snaps me awake. I must have fallen asleep. I open my eyes to find a girl with long, brown hair hoverin’ over me. I jump a little — not really because someone’s hoverin’ over me, but because it’s <emphasis>her</emphasis> who’s hoverin’ over me. I feel a little unarmed — as if I’m naked or somethin’.</p><p>“I thought you were dead,” she says with a tiny half-smile.</p><p>I sit up quickly and glance at my watch. It’s eleven. I slept for nearly two hours. I refit my cap over my head and wipe my eyes only to catch her still starin’ at me.</p><p>“Hi,” I say. I try not to sound as nervous as I feel.</p><p>She seems to hesitate before she opens her mouth. “Hi.”</p><p>“What’s your name?” she asks.</p><p>“River.”</p><p>She pauses, resting back on her heels.</p><p>“Like the Big Muddy?”</p><p>I nod. “That would be it. What’s yours?”</p><p>“Brooke.”</p><p>I smile. “Like a babblin’ brook?”</p><p>If I wasn’t payin’ attention like I was, I wouldn’t have noticed her laugh a little. “Almost. Just add an e.”</p><p>“I like that name,” I say. It probably was a dumb thing to say, and I had never really thought about that name until just now — I don’t know anybody by it. But I wasn’t lyin’ either. As of today, Brooke is the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard.</p><p>“Thanks,” she says.</p><p>She sits back on the ground and brings her knees to her chest. I watch her for a moment, but I avoid her eyes. Her eyes still make me nervous.</p><p>“Why do you move around so much?” I ask.</p><p>She tucks her hair behind her ears and turns her gaze my way, forcing me to make eye contact. “My dad sells seed.”</p><p>“Seed?” I ask.</p><p>She’s already turned her attention to somethin’ else. I watch her manage to find a small rock I must have missed. She turns it over in her hand and then tosses it into the water. “Yeah,” she says. “And once he’s sold it to everyone he can sell it to in one place, we move to another.”</p><p>I survey her face. There’s not a trace of emotion written on it. It makes it harder to figure out what to say. “That’s pretty cool.”</p><p>“Yeah,” she says, quietly. “But moving sucks. I think it’s what they do in hell.”</p><p>What? I don’t think I’ve ever heard a girl say <emphasis>hell</emphasis> before. I picture a bunch of little devils movin’ chairs and tables with pitchforks. And the chairs are on fire, of course. Then I catch her pretty stare.</p><p>“I’m sorry you have to move so much.” And I was sorry — sorrier than I think she knew.</p><p>She shrugs her shoulders. “I guess you just gotta take what life throws at ya.” Her light eyes find mine. “You get used to it. But you do lose a lot of stuff.”</p><p>“Like friends?” I ask, grabbin’ a short stick off the ground.</p><p>She looks sad all of a sudden. “Yeah…And other things.”</p><p>I tilt my head a little to the side. “Like what?”</p><p>Her chest rises and then gradually falls. “Like there was this one sweater that I really liked. I have no idea where it is now.”</p><p>I poke the ground with the end of the stick. I guess when you’re a girl, a sweater’s a big deal, so I nod my head in a desperate attempt to show some sympathy. I guess if I lost my work boots, I’d be pretty pissed. But then, maybe I wouldn’t have to work.</p><p>I dig the stick deeper into the dirt.</p><p>“And I had this stuffed animal,” she goes on, breaking my thoughts. “It was my favorite when I was really little, so that’s why I’m sad I can’t find it. I’ve looked everywhere.”</p><p>She still looks sad and maybe a little embarrassed now. I don’t want her to feel either.</p><p>“What kind of an animal was it?” I ask.</p><p>She gazes up at me through her long eyelashes, as if I’m the only one in the world worth lookin’ at — or maybe that’s just my wishful thinkin’. A girl’s never looked at me like that before. I don’t know what it is about it, but it makes my breaths short and my smile awkward.</p><p>“Don’t laugh,” she pleads.</p><p>“I won’t,” I manage to say.</p><p>She glances at the ground and then back up at me.</p><p>“Winnie-the-Pooh. My grandma gave it to me.”</p><p>I take a second to parade every bear that’s stuffed into Rea’s toy box through my mind, until something sticks.</p><p>“Isn’t that the yellow one that eats honey?” Thank God for sisters.</p><p>She nods.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” I say.</p><p>She takes a breath and then lets go of it, as if she never wanted the breath in the first place. “It’s okay. Maybe I’ll find it later. Or maybe it dropped off the truck, and some little girl who didn’t have any toys found it. My mom says there’s a lot of kids that don’t have any toys.”</p><p>I nod. “That’s what my mom says about burnt food.”</p><p>She looks at me sideways.</p><p>“Maybe,” I offer then, smilin’ to myself. “Maybe a girl with no toys found it.”</p><p>She keeps her sideways stare on me for another few heartbeats before she eventually lowers her eyes and bobs her head in agreement. Then, we’re both quiet. I steal a glance at her bare legs. They’re tan and still just as long as they were yesterday. And she has the same kind of little jean shorts on today that she had on yesterday too. I silently send up a thankful prayer. I never realized how much I liked little jean shorts.</p><p>“Why do you think they call him Winnie-the-Pooh?” she asks, breaking my concentration on her legs. I quickly send my gaze to the water, hopin’ she didn’t notice me starin’.</p><p>I think about it for a few seconds before I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know,” I say, honestly.</p><p>“There’s not an animal called a pooh, right?” she asks.</p><p>I gnaw on my bottom lip. There was a dodo bird, and there’s a blobfish and a booby. I laugh on the inside. That last one always cracks me up. “Naw,” I say instead. “I don’t think there’s a pooh.”</p><p>She pushes her lips to one side as if she’s thinking. “It’s hot,” she says after a moment. “Let’s go swimming.”</p><p>She stands up suddenly and starts shimmying off her little shorts. I instinctively close my eyes before I see somethin’ she doesn’t want me to see, but then I can’t help but slide one eyelid cautiously open. She takes off her little top next, and I notice she has a swimsuit top on underneath it. I breathe a sigh of relief, but I’m not altogether sure why. And in no time, both eyes pop open, and I can’t seem to tear my stare away from her. Every piece of her is perfection. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.</p><p>“You comin’?” she asks, looking back at me.</p><p>I snap out of my trance and manage to grunt a yes or somethin’ similar to that right before I force my eyes to the dirt. I don’t want her thinkin’ I’m a creep or like one of those stalkers on those TV crime shows my mom sometimes watches.</p><p>I stand up and pull the neck of my shirt up over my head, and then I throw the shirt onto a tree branch. I wore swim trunks under my jeans today, so I unbutton my pants and pull them off too and throw them onto the branch next to my shirt.</p><p>She looks back at me once I’ve got everything off and smiles. I really hope that’s a good smile.</p><p>I wade into the water after her. She’s already floatin’ on her back and lookin’ up at the blue sky by the time I get waist-deep. I move closer to her, but she just keeps starin’ up at that sky as if she’s memorizing every inch of it. And the whole time, she doesn’t say a word. It takes everything in me to tear my eyes away from her, but I manage to do it just so I can lie back and stare up at the clouds with her.</p><p>“Do you ever think about dying?” she asks.</p><p>I instantly find my feet again. Sand and little bits of gravel invade my toes as I force my stare in her direction. Nobody ever talks about dyin’ around here — well, except my grandma once upon a time and only in prayers. She always used to say that prayer before I went to sleep — somethin’ about <emphasis>if I should die before I wake</emphasis>. That always used to scare the crap out of me. But no, around here, death is somethin’ you don’t talk about. Hell, people don’t even talk about dyin’ at funerals. And they sure as hell don’t talk about it on a sunny afternoon.</p><p>“No,” I say, inspectin’ her face. “I don’t think about it.” She keeps her eyes planted in the sky.</p><p>“So you never think about what you’ll miss?”</p><p>I look at her one last time before I slowly sink back into the water next to her. “Not really.”</p><p>Her stare grazes me, and I just happen to catch her soft smile. It works to ease me a little. “I think I’d miss the sun…and the way the birds sing early in the morning,” she says.</p><p>She looks away from me and then back up at the sun and the few white clouds as she talks, but I keep my eyes on her. She might be crazy, but I ain’t never seen a prettier face.</p><p>“Brooke,” I say once she’s grown quiet again.</p><p>She turns her face toward mine.</p><p>“I ain’t never heard nobody talk about dyin’ before.”</p><p>Her soft laughter fills the space between us. “I’m not talking about dying, River.” I watch her smile, and then she finds the sky again. “I’m talking about living.”</p><p>Living? Boy, I’ve heard girls are hard to figure out, but this one…</p><p>“River, you live here all your life?”</p><p>After a little pause, I start to nod my head. “Yeah, I have.”</p><p>“What’s it like to live somewhere your whole life?”</p><p>I think what I can about it. It only takes me a few seconds before I shrug my shoulders. I had never really taken any time to think about it before, and I don’t have anything to compare it to anyway, so I just say what I think. “It’s simple, I guess, and maybe a little boring after a while.”</p><p>She looks at me with crumpled eyebrows, so I try to explain it a little better.</p><p>“Well, you know everybody, and you can’t get lost if you wanted to, but…”</p><p>“Sometimes you want to get lost?” she asks.</p><p>I meet her stare, and for the first time, I really get a good look at the color of her eyes. They’re mostly this wild shade of green with specks of gray scattered throughout. It’s as if I’m lookin’ at two pieces of green glass held to the light. I ain’t never known anybody to have eyes like that. There’s something untamed about ‘em — like a feral cat or somethin’.</p><p>“I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad sometimes,” I say. “It would be like an adventure, you know — to get lost and try to find your way back?”</p><p>She laughs a little, and at the same time nods her head.</p><p>I listen to her sweet laughter fade until it’s quiet again.</p><p>“Brooke?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“What’s it like to live somewhere else?”</p><p>Her smile quickly returns and goes to edgin’ across her pretty face. “Like getting lost and trying to find your way back.”</p><p>I gnaw on her words for a second. Does this girl always speak in riddles?</p><p>“It’s an adventure,” she says, “but it gets lonely sometimes.”</p><p>“Oh,” I say, sadly, because her last words sound so sad. I want to tell her that if she stays here, I’ll never let her get lonely ever again, but I don’t. I just watch her, until her sad face shifts back to the heavens.</p><p>“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asks.</p><p>“I have a sister,” I say.</p><p>“Younger or older?</p><p>“Younger. Five years younger. She’s eight.”</p><p>“And…that would make you…thirteen?”</p><p>I nod my head, scared she might think that’s too young or somethin’. I study her, preparing for the worst. Instead, she just smiles.</p><p>“I’m thirteen too. I’ll be in eighth grade this year.”</p><p>Immediately, I let out a sigh of relief. “Me too.”</p><p>Her eyes go to examinin’ me then. It makes me a little nervous.</p><p>“What about you? Any brothers or sisters?” I ask.</p><p>She shakes her head. “Only child.”</p><p>I smile a little, even though I’m thinking that’s got to stink. I mean, my little sister is practically good for nothin’, but every once in a while, she’s at least good for a game of <emphasis>Go Fish</emphasis> or <emphasis>Battleship</emphasis> or somethin’.</p><p>All of a sudden, Brooke stands, and it stops my train of thought. “I’m glad you came back today.”</p><p>My mouth cracks open, and I find my feet. I want to tell her I wouldn’t miss seeing her again even if my grandpa told me I could trade in my work boots for Disney World today. And I ain’t never been to Disney World.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I come back?” I hear the words leave my mouth, but I’m not sure it’s really me who said them. And I’m definitely not sure where my sudden burst of courage comes from.</p><p>She gives me a soft look and then goes back to her floatin’ and the blue sky.</p><p>“You hungry?” I ask.</p><p>Her eyes land on mine.</p><p>“I’ve got some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”</p><p>“What kind of jelly?” she asks.</p><p>“Strawberry, I think.” I don’t know why I say <emphasis>I think</emphasis> because I know. These damn nerves make ya plumb stupid.</p><p>Either way, she shows off her pretty white teeth. “My favorite,” she says. And with those words, I feel as if I’ve just won the world.</p><p>“Come on,” I say, wading back through the water to the bank.</p><p>After a couple steps, I turn around to see if she’s following me. And I don’t know why my heart jumps when I find out she is.</p><p>I dry my hands off on my tee shirt hangin’ from the tree and find the paper bag. “Here,” I say, handing her the sandwich. She’s already found a spot on the grass.</p><p>“You make this for me?” she asks.</p><p>“I might have.”</p><p>She laughs and buries her face in her bended knees. I just stare at her. I wish I knew what she was thinkin’. What is she laughin’ at?</p><p>“Thanks,” she says, taking the sandwich. “I’ve never had a boy make me a sandwich before.”</p><p>I just smile as she takes a bite. But then she stops mid-chew and looks at me. “You didn’t poison it or anything, did you?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I know your name. I know you’ve lived here your whole life, and I know you’re not a thief, but I don’t know if you go around poisoning people.”</p><p>I chuckle to myself and lower my head. But she’s still lookin’ just as serious when I lift my eyes again, so I lean into her and take a bite of her sandwich. “If you’re poisoned, I’m poisoned.”</p><p>She looks me square in the eyes. I can tell she doesn’t quite know what to do. But eventually, one eye narrows, and she takes another bite. “It’s good,” she says. It looks as if she’s trying to squash a smile.</p><p>I take a big bite of my own sandwich, and I swear I just grin the dumbest, goofiest grin known to man.</p><p>“Oh,” I say, remembering, “your necklace.”</p><p>She shakes her head and puts out her hand. “You can keep it.”</p><p>I pull out the necklace from underneath my shirt, and its little prisms catch my eyes. Surely, she’s just messin’ with me. I start to pull it over my head as she lays one of her soft hands on my arm.</p><p>“Really,” she says. “It’s yours.”</p><p>Her soft hand distracts me for a second. And a warm feeling courses through my veins, startin’ at the base of her touch and movin’ to the tips of my fingers and toes.</p><p>“But it’s yours,” I manage to get out.</p><p>She shakes her head. “Not anymore.”</p><p>I slowly let the necklace fall back under my shirt again. I want to ask her why she’s giving it to me, but at the same time, I don’t want her to change her mind because I know when I wake up tomorrow mornin’ I’m gonna need somethin’ to remind me that I’m not crazy thinkin’ a girl like this exists.</p><p>“It’s quartz crystal,” she says.</p><p>I look at her and then pull the necklace and its heart back out from underneath my shirt.</p><p>“Ancient people used to believe it was alive.”</p><p>I focus my attention on the heart. “Alive?” I ask.</p><p>She squints one eye to block out the summer sun peeking its way through the trees. “Yeah, they believe it takes a breath once every hundred years.”</p><p>I furrow my brows first at the heart and then at her. Is this girl serious? It’s a damn rock. And it sure as hell ain’t takin’ a breath anytime soon.</p><p>She must read my face or somethin’ because she looks at me and laughs. “I’m not kidding. It’s what they believed.”</p><p>I keep a watchful eye on her, but I return my attention to the heart again and on the way it changes colors in the light.</p><p>“Quartz crystal is supposed to hold your dreams until they come true,” she says.</p><p>She goes back to eating her sandwich, and I just stare at the heart. This rock might just be a rock, but there’s a part of me that hopes Brooke is right. I silently recite a prayer — a dream — before tucking the necklace back into my shirt. Then I bite into my sandwich again just as she’s taking her last bite.</p><p>“Thank you,” she says, brushing her hands together.</p><p>“It was nothin’.” I say it with a mouth full of peanut butter.</p><p>She lies back against the soft grass then. I watch her rest her head on her hands as I stuff the rest of my sandwich into my mouth and decide to do the same. There’s only about a foot in between us, and I’m aware of every heated inch of it.</p><p>“You have to bale hay today?” She rolls her head to the side.</p><p>“What?” I ask.</p><p>“Yesterday, that’s what you were doing.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. No, not today.”</p><p>“Tomorrow?” she asks.</p><p>I feel one corner of my mouth twitch up. “Yeah, tomorrow,” I confirm. “And the day after that. And the day after that, and if it doesn’t rain, the day after that too. And if I’m still kickin’ when I turn ninety-seven, then probably that day too.”</p><p>She smiles wide, but she keeps her eyes on me. It prevents me from breathin’ normally, and I swear, my heart hasn’t stopped racin’ since I found her hoverin’ over me earlier. God, this girl is gonna kill me one way or another; I just know it.</p><p>“Can I help?”</p><p>I instantly feel my forehead fill with little wrinkles.</p><p>“Help?” I ask. Surely, I heard her wrong.</p><p>“Yeah,” she says. “Bale hay.”</p><p>“You wanna help bale hay?” I ask.</p><p>She shrugs her shoulders and nods. “Yeah.”</p><p>People don’t want to bale hay. In fact, they don’t even want to think about balin’ hay.</p><p>“Have you ever done it before?”</p><p>She shakes her head <emphasis>no</emphasis>.</p><p>“Then, naw,” I say, “you don’t want to bale hay. Believe me. And plus, if they catch wind that you can do it, they’ll have you doin’ it for the rest of your life. Believe me on that one too.”</p><p>She laughs. “You make it sound like it’s a death sentence.”</p><p>I just look at her with the most serious face I’ve got. I’m hopin’ it gets the point across. Instead, she just looks at me and laughs some more.</p><p>“Brooke, you don’t want to bale hay.”</p><p>“River.” She sits up. The new tone of her voice makes me take notice all of a sudden. “You’ve known me for barely a day.”</p><p>I sit up too and just study her. I think I’m still in shock, but I don’t think it’s a bad kind of shock. I’m shocked I made it through nearly a day before pissin’ her off. That’s got to be some kind of a record for me. And I’m shocked and half amused by her desire to do farm work. That proves it; she must be crazy.</p><p>“Fair enough,” I admit. “You can help. We’ll probably start after the hay dries around noon.”</p><p>Her serious expression melts to happy again just as I catch a glimpse of her shoes restin’ at the edge of the bank. “Do you have any other shoes besides those?” I gesture with my eyes toward the not-quite-tennis-shoes shoes of hers.</p><p>She nods her head. “Yeah, I’ll try to find something.”</p><p>I suck in a breath and then force it out. “And you might want to wear a pair of jeans — a little longer than those.” I glance at her little shorts now lying against the weeds a few feet away. I already can’t believe what I’m sayin’. I’m askin’ her to cover up her legs. I must be crazy too.</p><p>She looks at me with arched eyebrows. “It’s almost a hundred degrees out here.”</p><p>“Trust me,” I say. “You’ll want to wear jeans.”</p><p>She narrows her eyes at me and then nods her head — almost in a surrendering kind of way. It’s kind of cute. But then she’s grinnin’ from ear to ear in no time. This girl has no idea what she’s gettin’ herself into, and she’ll probably change her mind tomorrow mornin’ after she looks up <emphasis>balin’ hay</emphasis> or somethin’ in the dictionary, but as for right now, I’ve got this moment. And I ain’t lettin’ it go for nothin’.</p><p>“So, you’re balin’ hay with me tomorrow?” I ask, with a wide grin spreadin’ across my face.</p><p>She rests her head sideways on her bended knees. It looks as if only her eyes are smilin’. “Yep.”</p><p>“You got any more torture-ridden interests I should know about?” I ask.</p><p>Her lips edge high up her pretty face before she shrugs her shoulders.</p><p>Oh, boy. What in the hell have I gotten myself into? I lower my head and just laugh to myself. Somehow, I know I’m in way over my head with this girl. But I guess I’m already in too deep to turn back now. <emphasis>In for a penny, in for a pound</emphasis>. That’s what my grandpa says. And anyway, it would be like findin’ a treasure in a field somewhere and then burying it and actin’ like you never found it in the first place. You just don’t forget somethin’ like her. And maybe if I would have known she’d be here yesterday, I never would have come to this creek at all. I would have saved myself from knowing the coolness her absence would inevitably leave on my skin and also in my heart just a few short months later. But then, I guess, I never would have experienced her fire either, and most importantly, I never would have known her at all. And in the end, I think that just might have been a greater burden to bear.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Three</p><p><emphasis>Who the Hell Is That?</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>I</strong>t’s probably only a few minutes past noon, and I’ve got the wagon hooked up to the tractor, ready for the field.</p><p>“All right, son. You ready?”</p><p>“Yep,” I say, kicking the wood block away from the wagon’s wheel.</p><p>Grandpa slowly makes his way into the tractor seat. He’s not as quick as he used to be, but he can still climb onto a tractor and chuck a bale farther than I can when he wants to. I follow behind him and climb up onto the wheel guard. And in no time, we’re headin’ down the path to the county road. We stop when we get to the road, and my cousin, Tim, hops onto the wheel guard on the other side of Grandpa. Tim is always late. Hell, I’m pretty sure he’d even be late to his own funeral.</p><p>“Phew, you ever gettin’ rid of that thing, Grandpa?” Tim waves his hand in front of his nose. Grandpa just chuckles to himself and then sets out toward the field.</p><p>Grandpa has worn the same old black leather cap probably all his life. It doesn’t matter if it’s winter or summer, he’s always got that same darn leather cap on. And apparently, it’s acquired a certain odor over the years. Tim describes it as a combination of smelly feet and skunk, but it’s never really bothered me. And plus, right now, all I can think about is Brooke. All last night and all this mornin’, she’s all I got runnin’ through my mind. In fact, I damn near almost put my boots on the wrong feet this mornin’ just thinkin’ about her. There’s a part of me that feels as if she won’t show. But then I keep tellin’ myself that she showed yesterday and that if she’s as crazy as I think she might be, she’ll be there waitin’ in the field when we get there.</p><p>“It’s hot already,” Tim shouts over the tractor’s engine.</p><p>Grandpa doesn’t seem to hear Tim. Instead, he blinks an eye and just keeps drivin’. The jury’s still out on whether Grandpa’s trouble with hearin’ is mostly selective. But I think it is.</p><p>I notice Tim starin’ at me. “Yep,” I agree, simply to please him. That would be Tim’s first <emphasis>hot</emphasis> complaint of the day. I’m prepared for about nineteen more. They’d come as sure as the sun was gonna rise in the mornin’.</p><p>We race down the dirt road. In a car, I guess we’d barely be movin’, but on top of a tractor with the wind in your face, you feel as if you’re flyin’. We eventually slow when we get to the two treads of flattened dirt that lead into the field. I grip my fingers tighter around the edge of the wheel guard as the tractor maneuvers its way over the uneven path.</p><p>“Who the hell is that?” Tim shouts all of a sudden.</p><p>Even before my eyes rush upward, somethin’ tells me I already know. And soon enough, I spot her. There she is. She’s sittin’ on a mound of dirt off to the side — just a girl with pretty long, brown hair tied back into a ponytail sittin’ in a field waitin’ to do somethin’ she thinks is gonna be fun.</p><p>“Well, I’ll be,” I say to myself, without even thinkin’.</p><p>I doubt anybody hears me. Grandpa doesn’t say anything. I know he saw her; he looked up when Tim opened his big mouth. He sure as hell heard that. Yep, it’s definitely selective.</p><p>Grandpa pulls the tractor and wagon into the field and hits the brakes. As soon as he does, Tim and I jump off.</p><p>“Hey, who do you think that is?” Tim asks, jabbin’ an elbow into my ribs. His eyes are almost fallin’ out of his darn head.</p><p>“It’s Brooke,” I say. “She wants to help.”</p><p>“Bale hay?” he asks, his face twisting into a big mess.</p><p>I look at him and shrug my shoulders. “I know. I couldn’t believe it myself.”</p><p>“Wait. Who’s Brooke?” His face is contorted into a big question mark.</p><p>“Help Grandpa get the baler hooked up. I’ll tell ya later.”</p><p>Tim doesn’t say anything. He just keeps starin’ at Brooke like she might disappear if he blinks or somethin’.</p><p>“Go,” I say, shovin’ his shoulder.</p><p>“Okay, okay.” He walks off, rubbing his arm.</p><p>I watch him for a few heartbeats just to make sure he keeps movin’ before I turn and make my way over to Brooke.</p><p>She stands and dusts off the back of her jeans when she notices me makin’ my way toward her.</p><p>“You came.” It’s like a statement and a question all rolled into one.</p><p>“Yeah. I said I would, didn’t I?”</p><p>I refit my cap over my head. I’m beginning to think it’s a nervous habit. “I just thought once you found out what it was, you wouldn’t want anything to do with it.”</p><p>She rolls her eyes but keeps her little smile. “For your information, I did look it up. And I’m still here. So don’t underestimate me, River…?”</p><p>She glares at me as if she’s waitin’ for somethin’.</p><p>“Oh,” I say. “Asher. River Asher.”</p><p>“Asher,” she repeats.</p><p>She pushes past me and starts walkin’ toward the tractor. Today, she’s wearin’ long, tight jeans that show off her great ass — ets. Jeez, now I don’t know which I like better — the shorts or the pants. And she’s got these black combat-boot-lookin’ things on her feet and a little black top with no sleeves coverin’ her top half. Damn it. I should have told her to wear somethin’ with sleeves. Man, I can’t believe I’m even thinkin’ that. An image of her wearing her bikini yesterday pops into my head. And even though it’s just an image, I trace every inch of her curves. This girl’s not made for long jeans or long sleeves — or long anything — but if she’s gonna survive today, she’s gonna need both the pants and the sleeves.</p><p>I catch back up to her and unbutton my shirt. “Here,” I say, pullin’ it off and handin’ it to her. “Wear this.”</p><p>You would have thought I handed her a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles costume or somethin’ by the way she scowls at the shirt. “What? Why?”</p><p>“The hay’ll scratch up your arms.”</p><p>She looks suspicious and maybe a little nervous. It’s a cute combination. But she takes the shirt regardless and slowly forces her arms through it, buttons it and then ties a knot at the bottom. And right then, I wish Tim wasn’t helpin’ today. He’s only a year younger than me, and I just know I’ll spend the whole day fightin’ his stares off her.</p><p>“Ready?” I ask.</p><p>She looks down at herself and then back up at me and smiles. “Let’s bale some hay.”</p><p>I laugh and shake my head at the same time. I really hope she doesn’t hate me after today. I’ve done all I could to warn her.</p><p>We walk back over to the tractor. Grandpa and Tim have the baler and wagon ready to go already.</p><p>“Grandpa, this is Brooke.”</p><p>Grandpa smiles at Brooke and then touches his fingers to the brim of his old cap and nods.</p><p>“That means he really likes you,” I whisper into her ear.</p><p>She blushes a little, and if I’m not mistaken, a tiny bit of shyness shines through that brave smile of hers.</p><p>I lead her over to the wagon then, and when we reach the edge, I jump on first before offering her my hand. She doesn’t hesitate as she lays her hand in mine. It’s the first time I’ve ever touched her. She steps up onto the tongue of the wagon, and then I pull her up. But all I can think about is how soft her hand is. I pray a little silent prayer that it’s not the last time I get to hold it.</p><p>“Tim, this is Brooke.”</p><p>Tim’s posted up at the back of the wagon. He looks more skittish than a squirrel tryin’ to steal some birdseed off the porch, but he manages a <emphasis>hi</emphasis> nonetheless.</p><p>“Hi,” Brooke says.</p><p>“Tim, give Brooke your gloves.”</p><p>He looks longingly at his gloves. I can tell he contemplates what will happen if he doesn’t do what I tell him to do. But then, I’m also sure he’s considering the fate of his hands as well. But after a moment, he starts to slide the gloves off one by one.</p><p>“No, it’s okay…,” Brooke says, holding out her palm.</p><p>I snatch the gloves from Tim and hand them to her. “You’ll thank me later,” I say, giving her a confident wink.</p><p>She looks a little worried as she smiles and whispers a <emphasis>thank you</emphasis> to Tim before slippin’ the gloves over her soft hands. The gloves are old and frayed, and they look huge on her. In fact, they make her hands look like that Stay Puft Marshmallow Man’s hands in the <emphasis>Ghostbusters</emphasis>, but she could wear the whole darn marshmallow suit and still be just as cute, I think.</p><p>“Okay, you wanna help me stack. “Tim’ll pull ‘em off.”</p><p>“Okay,” she says, nodding. She looks a little unsure of her next move, but she’s wearin’ a smile nonetheless.</p><p>Grandpa looks back one more time before he takes off with the tractor and the baler, jerking the wagon back. And the next thing I know his shirt hits me in the face. I peel it off and then catch him grinnin’ as he turns the tractor to make the first round. I just smile and force my arms through the shirt’s holes. It’s a little big, but it does the trick of coverin’ my arms just fine.</p><p>I find Brooke again. She’s holdin’ onto the wooden slats of the wagon, steadying herself as the wheels hit uneven patches of dirt. “You still want to do this?” I ask. I figure I’d give her one last chance to back out.</p><p>She gives me a devilish grin and then nods her head. Hot damn. She might be crazy, but hell, maybe crazy’s my type. I just can’t seem to get enough of her — or her daring smiles.</p><p>The first bale comes out. Tim snatches it up and throws it back to us. I take it and start a row with it in the back of the wagon. Then I go for the next one Tim throws our way, but a pair of big, round marshmallow hands beat me to it. I back off and let her take the bale. She picks it up and scoots it next to the first one. She struggles a little, but she’s surprisingly stronger than she looks.</p><p>We keep it up like that for the most part. When two bales come out pretty close together, I’ll take one in each hand and stack them to give her a little break. But the whole time, she never complains once. The sun’s beatin’ down on us, and it’s as hot as hell out here, but she never says a word about it. She just wipes her forehead every once in a while and then just keeps goin’. Hell, Tim’s been doin’ this for years now, and he can’t stop complainin’. And I try not to think about how much hell I’m gonna catch when Tim’s blisters start showin’ up on his hands in a day. But then I guess it’s probably good for him. If you never get blisters, your hands never get tough. I’ve been tellin’ him that for years.</p><p>We eventually get the field done. It’s a small field, so it’s not even a whole load, but with the heat, it pretty much feels as if it might as well have been. I unhitch the baler, and Tim and I hook the wagon back up to the tractor, and then I climb back up onto a bale next to Brooke. Once I get settled, I hand her my water thermos. She takes it without any hesitations and drinks down what looks like half of it. She tips it up too much at one point, and some water trickles down her lips and chin and eventually slides down her neck and past the place covered up by my long-sleeved shirt. It’s a miracle that while watching that drop of water slide farther down her body, I notice out of the corner of my eye Tim starin’ at her too. I kick him in the shin. He sends me a mean look and then goes to rubbin’ his leg.</p><p>“Thanks,” Brooke says, handing me back the thermos and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She’s no longer wearin’ the marshmallow gloves.</p><p>Tim doesn’t say anything to Brooke the whole ride back to the barn. He’s definitely in rare form, and it must be killin’ him. He’s always got at least thirty questions for every new person. But if I’m not mistaken, I’d have to say that little shit is scared to death of her. Then again, I guess I’m not that much better.</p><p>We get to the barn, and Grandpa stops the tractor and wagon right next to the two hayloft doors.</p><p>“We can do this part. It won’t take long if you wanna go rest in the shade,” I say to Brooke, pointing to a spot under an old maple tree.</p><p>“Are you resting in the shade?” she asks.</p><p>“No, I’ve gotta help Ti… Oh,” I say, stopping mid-thought.</p><p>She smiles at my understanding, and I just shake my head. “You wanna help Tim put the bales on the elevator then?”</p><p>She doesn’t answer. She just slips her big gloves back on and grabs a bale.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>Tim and Brooke send the last bale up the elevator, and I grab it and stack it on top of the others in the corner. Then I jump down from the loft and land on my feet and onto a patch of dust and loose hay.</p><p>“I see why you’d want to cool off after that,” she says, eyeing me. “You do this every day?”</p><p>“Bale?” I ask.</p><p>She nods her head.</p><p>“Naw,” I say, “not every day.”</p><p>I look over at her. The poor girl looks exhausted.</p><p>“Farming’s a lot of work,” she says.</p><p>I just smile at her. “Yeah, it is.”</p><p>She pulls off her gloves and swipes her forehead with the back of her wrist. I ain’t never seen sweat look so good on someone.</p><p>“You wanna cool off?” I ask her.</p><p>I catch Grandpa’s eyes on me out of the corner of my own. He smiles before he starts makin’ his way up to the house. <emphasis>Nosy old fart</emphasis>.</p><p>“Yeah,” she agrees. “Let’s cool off.”</p><p>I notice Tim under that old maple tree lookin’ as if he’s on his last leg, as usual. He’s sippin’ out of his thermos. I’d ask him if he wants to come too, but I really don’t want him along, and anyway, he’s always too tired to make the walk to the creek. It’s only half a mile, but he acts as if it’s halfway around the world.</p><p>“Let’s go,” I say.</p><p>We start walkin’, and we get barely ten feet before I realize I don’t even know this girl’s full name.</p><p>“What’s your last name?”</p><p>“Sommerfield,” she says before she takes off runnin’. “Race you, farm boy.”</p><p>Before I can even realize what’s goin’ on, she’s already got a good head start on me. I take off after her, and I don’t even catch her until right before she makes it to the bank of the creek. Damn, this girl’s fast, and it looks as if balin’ hay did little to slow her down. She pauses only to pull off her boots before she jumps right in — feet first, clothes and all. I can’t get my boots unlaced fast enough before I’m kickin’ mine off too and jumpin’ in after her.</p><p>Her pretty voice is hitchin’ in laughter by the time I hit the water. And I don’t know why, but I start laughin’ too.</p><p>“Brooke.”</p><p>She stops and just looks at me with the biggest smile on her face.</p><p>“I ain’t never met a girl like you.” I don’t know why, but I just feel as if I need to say it.</p><p>She drops her eyes before she returns them to me. And I swear in that moment, I’m hers. For the rest of this beautiful life, I’m hers.</p><p>“Well, I’ve never met a boy like you before either.”</p><p>I shake my head. “I’m just ordinary.” I feel the need to tell her that too — before she finds it out herself.</p><p>“No,” she says. “Nobody’s ordinary, River.”</p><p>I’m not sure what she means by that, but I do notice she’s still smilin’. And I don’t know what gets into me. I don’t know what courage I muster up or where from all of a sudden, but when I look into her eyes again, I just know that I’m starin’ into the eyes of a girl I don’t think I’ll ever forget. And with that thought, I lean in, and I plant a kiss on her lips. And that’s it — I don’t rest my hand on her cheek or stare into her eyes, like they do in the movies. It’s not planned or thought out. It’s just a short kiss onto her soft lips — and then I pull away. But still, somethin’ like fire shoots through me. And that becomes the single-most greatest moment of my entire short life. I don’t even care if she slaps me next or knees me in the balls. Okay, maybe I do care a little about the balls part. But the bottom line is that if I did die tonight in my sleep — like in my grandma’s old, scary prayer — I know now what I would miss about life. I would miss Brooke Sommerfield, and I would miss this moment.</p><p>I stand there in the water just as happy as can be as I await my fate — and whether it be the hand or the knee. I’m nervous when she opens her eyes. Her dark hair is wet and slicked back, and there are tiny drops of water hangin’ on her long eyelashes. And she’s lookin’ at me like she’s studying me. I hope she likes what she sees because my luck’s gotta be runnin’ short soon.</p><p>“What was that for?” she asks.</p><p>I just shake my head. I can’t find one explanation that sounds good enough in my mind.</p><p>“For balin’ hay,” I say. “For wanting to bale hay. For showin’ up. For your green and gray eyes. For your pretty smile. For the way you look at me like you know what I’m thinkin’…And because it’s Wednesday.”</p><p>Her green eyes burn into mine. They almost look unnatural for a person, I think. It’s as if she’s of the wild or somethin’. And my mind’s goin’ all sorts of crazy just thinkin’ about her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want more of her. I want more of her lips. I want more of her soft skin. But I also want to run because I know you can’t trust anything from the wild — even if it is pretty. And somethin’ about thinkin’ those two things — that I want more and that I want to run — at the same time makes me want to lay her down on that bank and kiss every part of her body — even if I lose my life to a beautiful wild creature in the process.</p><p>“Because it’s Wednesday?” she asks, snappin’ me out of my crazy thoughts.</p><p>I just smile at her and let my shoulders rise and then fall.</p><p>“What happens Thursdays around here?” she asks.</p><p>Hell if I know. I’ve never kissed anyone just because it was Wednesday before.</p><p>“I guess you’ll have to find out.”</p><p><emphasis>Did I just say that?</emphasis></p><p>She lowers her eyes and laughs softly to herself. “Okay,” she says, slowly nodding and eventually meeting my stare again. “Tomorrow,” she says, unbuttoning the shirt I lent her. I try to tell her it’s okay — that she can keep it — but nothin’ comes out. Instead, I just watch her fingers dance around each button. And then she carefully slides the wet shirt off and holds it out to me. I instinctively take it.</p><p>“Thanks,” she says, before she turns and starts to make her way slowly out of the creek. “You were right. I did need it.”</p><p>I’m tryin’ to think of somethin’ clever to say. Hell, anything at all would be nice, but my mind can’t get past her lips and that smile and the way her wet clothes cling to every part of her body.</p><p>Then, all of a sudden, she stops and turns back toward me. “Tomorrow evening?”</p><p>I nod my head and miraculously find the willpower to at least repeat her words.</p><p>“Tomorrow evening,” I confirm with a nod.</p><p>Tomorrow and the tomorrow after that and then the tomorrow after that too — I’d come back for her. In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t have enough tomorrows to give to this pretty girl because there’s this sinkin’ feelin’ in the back of my mind. It keeps tellin’ me there’s gonna come a time when there will be no tomorrows left. And it will come fast, and it will come hard, and I will hate every painful second of it.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Four</p><p><emphasis>It’s My Kansas Thing</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>I’</strong>m not sure what time the evening starts exactly, and I’m pretty sure it’s not three o’clock, but just in case it is, I’m here — waitin’ for her. I brought my fishin’ pole, so I can pass the time fishin’ and thinkin’—two things my grandpa says will calm <emphasis>even the most anxious of men</emphasis>. And right now, I’m pretty anxious. I know she’ll show. But I think that’s what makes me even more nervous. I know that at any minute she’s gonna come walkin’ out of that brush and over to me. Every time the thought comes to my mind, my heart races and my palms get sweaty. I have to rub them against my jeans every once in a while just so the fishin’ pole doesn’t slip right out of my dang hands. But I can’t stop thinkin’ about her. All day, I think about her. I’m beginning to think there’s somethin’ wrong with me. I’ve never thought about a person so much.</p><p>After about an hour of pretendin’ to fish, I hear some rustlin’ off to my left. I look up and catch her pawin’ through the dirt and sticks. There go my palms gettin’ sweaty again. I swallow the lump in my throat and try to slow my heart down. And before I know it, she’s sittin’ down next to me.</p><p>“Hi.” Her smile spreads wide across her pretty face.</p><p>“Hi,” I say back, reeling in the fishin’ line. I can feel her watching me. I hope she can’t see how nervous I am.</p><p>“You always wear that baseball cap?”</p><p>I get the line reeled in, and I set the pole onto the ground next to me before I touch the bill of my cap. “Pretty much, I guess. I kinda feel naked without it.”</p><p>She laughs. I’m happy I made her laugh.</p><p>“My momma says marrying-men wear hats,” she says. “My dad wears a cowboy hat most days.”</p><p>“Oh, I ain’t never gettin’ married.” I don’t know why I blurt it out. It’s just one of those things I’ve decided, and when you’re thirteen, you don’t have much decided yet, so I’m pretty proud of it.</p><p>Her eyes dart to mine. They don’t look angry or upset necessarily — just curious, I guess. I glance at her but then look away.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure you’re never supposed to say <emphasis>never</emphasis>,” she says.</p><p>She’s smilin’ when I look back up at her, and for some reason, I can’t help but cast my eyes down again. I think there’s somethin’ about her smile. I can only take it in little spurts. I feel as if I’ll explode otherwise.</p><p>“Never?” she asks, regaining my attention. The happy in her face has all but disappeared, and her eyes look kind of sad all of a sudden. Her new expression distracts me so much that I forget what we’re even talkin’ about.</p><p>“What? Gettin’ married?” I ask.</p><p>She nods.</p><p>“My uncle says love and gettin’ married only tie ya down — take away your freedom,” I say. “That doesn’t sound like somethin’ I want taken away.”</p><p>I fiddle with the bill of my cap. I don’t know why I do it; it just feels right. The truth is I ain’t never given the marryin’ thing much thought — well, past the decidin’ that I’m just not doin’ it part. But I really can’t imagine Brooke takin’ away my freedom. I’ve been havin’ the time of my life ever since she showed up. Maybe somethin’ is just wrong with Uncle Joe. Come to think of it, I’ve never questioned anything he’s ever done — including the one year he made a golf cart into a portable hunting blind and drove that contraption all around the woods for two days straight lookin’ for deer. Why did I never question that?</p><p>“River?”</p><p>My eyes catch on hers. Maybe it’s about time I start questionin’ my uncle’s advice.</p><p>“I’d marry you,” I blurt out.</p><p>She just stares at me for a few heartbeats, then stands, dusts off her backside and starts down the little dirt path along the creek bank.</p><p>I sit there like a bullfrog on a log, until I realize I should probably breathe. I suck in a breath and just watch her walkin’ away from me. Does she want me to follow her? Did I make her mad? I’m frozen and wordless until I notice somethin’ strange.</p><p>“Hey,” I call out after her. “There’s a Kansas City Royals emblem on the back of your shirt.”</p><p>She doesn’t stop walkin’. “Yeah,” she calls back to me over her shoulder. “And there’s one on the front too.”</p><p>I’m speechless again and for no real reason, except for the fact she doesn’t seem the least bit ashamed of her choice of shirt. It takes a minute, but eventually somethin’ comes to me. “I just ain’t never seen anybody wear a shirt like that.”</p><p>She stops and gives me a funny look, then starts walkin’ again. I follow after her this time.</p><p>“People are Cardinals fans around here. Don’t you like the Cardinals?” I ask once I catch up to her.</p><p>“Mmm,” she hums. “No.”</p><p>I freeze. And for a moment I actually wonder if I’m crossin’ some kind of line hangin’ out with this girl. My dad always warned me about gettin’ into anything bad.</p><p>She must notice me stop because she stops too and eyes me up and down once. “You comin’?”</p><p>Well, hell, this can’t be that bad, right? It’s not like she kills puppies for fun or anything — I hope. It’s only a shirt and some misguided loyalty to some god-awful team. But I’m not gonna lie, her morals are in question from here on out.</p><p>I catch back up to her and notice she wasn’t lyin’; the same damn ugly emblem that’s on the back of her shirt is also on the front too. How did I not notice that before?</p><p>She catches me lookin’ at her chest, and immediately I toss my eyes to the ground and nervously refit my cap over my hair.</p><p>“You like baseball?” she asks.</p><p>“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m a pitcher.”</p><p>She just smiles at me, and we’re both quiet again.</p><p>“It’s my Kansas thing,” she says, breaking the silence.</p><p>I slowly lift my head and give her a funny look.</p><p>“The Royals,” she explains. “I take something from every state I’ve ever lived in. It makes me feel like I’m home everywhere I go — because I’m not really sure where home is exactly, you know?”</p><p>I nod my head even though I don’t really know. I’ve always known where <emphasis>home</emphasis> is for me. It’s right here; it always has been. “So the Royals are your Kansas thing?”</p><p>She shows off a wide grin, revealing her straight, white teeth — no braces.</p><p>“You do know they’re from Missouri, right?” I can’t help but ask.</p><p>She shrugs her shoulders. “I know, but if you’re from Kansas, you’re a Royals fan.”</p><p>I just furrow my brows. “Couldn’t you have just named your dog Toto or somethin’?”</p><p>“I don’t have a dog.”</p><p>“You don’t have a dog?” I know I sound surprised. Every kid should have a dog. I gnaw on my bottom lip. She just shakes her head.</p><p>“Well, then,” I go on anyway, “what’s your Nebraska thing?”</p><p>“The Huskers…and steak. We ate steak every other night when we lived there. It’s like it grows on trees or something.”</p><p>She laughs, and this time, I just nod. The steak part doesn’t sound half bad, but this girl literally grew up on the wrong side of the tracks when it comes to sports teams. I almost pity her.</p><p>“And Iowa?”</p><p>“I call soda <emphasis>pop</emphasis>. I know it’s soda, but I’ve retrained myself to call it pop.”</p><p>I laugh. This girl is somethin’.</p><p>“So what are you takin’ from Missouri then?” I immediately cringe at my words. I don’t want her takin’ anything because that would mean she’d have to be goin’ somewhere else.</p><p>She finds my eyes and just smiles the sweetest smile. “I don’t know yet.”</p><p>Then I watch her climb onto a big flat rock, look out onto the creek and then sit down before patting a spot on the rock next to her. I sit down, and for the first time, I notice a mist of little freckles on her shoulder — and on her other shoulder too — nowhere else from what I can tell, just on her shoulders.</p><p>“They’re from the sun,” she says, eyeing me with those green eyes. She must have caught me lookin’. “There’s nothing I can do about them.”</p><p>I feel my eyebrows squish together. “Why would you wanna do somethin’ about ‘em?”</p><p>She shrugs her shoulders.</p><p>“I like them,” I say. And I do like them. On her shoulder closest to me, there’s a pattern of little freckles that reminds me of the constellation my grandpa’s always pointin’ out to me. It’s like he only knows one. Aquarius.</p><p>She smiles bashfully. “You like them?”</p><p>“Yeah,” I confirm. “They’re like bees and honey.”</p><p>“What?” she asks.</p><p>“Like bees and honey,” I repeat. “They go together; they fit you.”</p><p>She sends me a curious stare.</p><p>“It’s a good thing,” I assure her.</p><p>Her eyes fall from mine, and she giggles to herself. Hearin’ her giggle makes me want to do somethin’ I’ve never done.</p><p>“Brooke.”</p><p>“Mm-hmm?”</p><p>“Will you be my girlfriend?”</p><p>She stops and squares her shoulders up to me. Then she gives me a half-questioning, half-silly look and then stands up again and starts walkin’. I don’t think that’s an answer necessarily, so I get up and follow after her.</p><p>“I’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend before,” she says so softly I almost don’t hear her.</p><p>“That’s okay. I haven’t either.”</p><p>She stares me down until I break and smile, then she playfully shoves my shoulder. “Naw,” I say, “I ain’t never been anyone’s boyfriend either.”</p><p>She stops walkin’, and her face turns soft again. “Okay.”</p><p>“Okay, you will?” I ask.</p><p>She nods. “Okay, I will. I’ll be your girlfriend.”</p><p>I wanna do my happy dance or pump my fist in the air or shout somethin’ really loud, but I just try to play it cool instead with a simple smile.</p><p>“But that means you might have to marry me someday,” she says before she takes off walkin’ again.</p><p>I just stand there and think about what she said. Marrying Brooke doesn’t sound half bad. In fact, it doesn’t sound bad at all. It actually sounds pretty darn good.</p><p>“I ain’t got a problem with that,” I say, workin’ to catch up to her again.</p><p>“Good,” is all I hear her say. And we keep walkin’ down that little dirt path, side by side. And I just smile—‘cause life doesn’t get any better than this. In fact, I’d find out soon enough that that very moment with Brooke would be one of the greatest highs of my life. But then, I’d also find out that with every high, there must come a low. And in that low, I’d learn that as much as one heart can feel great joy, that same heart can feel just as much sadness.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Five</p><p><emphasis>Be a Daisy with Me</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“R</strong>iver!”</p><p>I start runnin’ toward her because I think somethin’s wrong. But when I get to her, she’s smilin’.</p><p>“Look at all the flowers,” she exclaims.</p><p>I stop and look at the little field covered in daisies. It’s just a small patch of earth, and it’s always been this way — always been covered in the white and yellow flowers about this same time of year.</p><p>“Where do you think they all came from?”</p><p>I shrug my shoulders. “They’ve always just been here. My grandpa said that Johnny Appleseed put them here because he ran out of apple seeds.”</p><p>She laughs, but she keeps her eyes on the field for a little while longer before takin’ off runnin’. She gets to the center of the field. Then she plants herself in the middle of all those flowers.</p><p>“Come on, Riv. Be a daisy with me.”</p><p>I just shake my head. This girl’s wild — in a larger than life kind of way — but I think I love her. I don’t think I’ve ever thought that about anyone before — the wild or the love part. It feels kind of heavy, but it also makes my heart kind of dance a little.</p><p>I make my way over to her. And when I reach her, I lie down next to her little frame and let the quiet and the blue sky take us both away.</p><p>“River?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“What’s your happy?”</p><p>“My what?”</p><p>“Your happy?” she asks. “What’s the one thing that makes you happy — every time?”</p><p>She tilts her face my way. There are daisies and green grass pressed under her cheek.</p><p>“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it,” I say.</p><p>She smiles at me and then returns her gaze to the sky. “Mine’s the sky.”</p><p>“The sky?”</p><p>“Mm-hmm. It’s always doing something different — always holding onto something — whether it’s snow or sun or secrets.”</p><p>“Secrets?” I ask.</p><p>I watch her make a box with her fingers and her thumbs. Everything this girl does works to captivate me somehow. I hang onto every move she makes.</p><p>The colorful bands around her wrists bunch together as she puts the box she’s made with her hands to her face and looks through it. “The sky goes on forever,” she says. “And it holds stars and moons and planets.” She lets her hands fall back down to her sides, and then she turns her face to mine again. “There’s a lot of stuff we don’t know about the universe. That’s a lot of secrets it knows that we don’t.”</p><p>I smile at her. “I suppose so.”</p><p>She’s quiet then, and I am too — for a couple beats at least.</p><p>“River,” she says, quickly breaking the peaceful silence.</p><p>“Yeah?” Immediately, I can tell somethin’s wrong. I always thought my mom was magic or somethin’, but I guess you really can just sense when somethin’ is wrong in a person sometimes.</p><p>“I’m moving, River.”</p><p>I sit up fast and force out the breath I had been holdin’ since she first said my name. “But you just got here?”</p><p>She looks at me with a set of sad, pretty eyes and then tugs at my arm with her hand. I do what she silently asks, and I lie back down next to her.</p><p>It’s the words I knew would come someday. I tried to remind myself every day that they would come — so I’d be prepared. I just wish they hadn’t come today — or ever. I just figured out I loved her, and I haven’t even got the chance to tell her yet.</p><p>“When?” I ask.</p><p>I watch her shoulders rise and then gradually fall. “A couple weeks maybe.”</p><p>“A couple weeks?” I blurt out.</p><p>Her green and gray eyes just stare back at me. They’re sad, but they’re also strong-like, if eyes can be strong.</p><p>“That’s awful fast,” I say. I wish we had more time. I wish time were all we had.</p><p>“That’s how it always is.” She lets go of a sigh, while my eyes find a big, fat cloud and follow it out of sight.</p><p>“You can’t convince your parents to stay?” I ask, looking her way.</p><p>“I’ve tried.” Her lips fold into a frown.</p><p>“Well, maybe I could talk to them. Maybe I could tell them how nice it is here.”</p><p>“It won’t change anything, River. It’s just the way it is.”</p><p>It’s just the way it is? I’m quiet then. I really don’t know what to say. I don’t want her to go. There’s got to be somethin’ I can do.</p><p>“I’m gonna miss you, River.”</p><p>“No.” I shake my head. “No, Brooke, just because you leave doesn’t mean I’m never gonna see you again.” It can’t mean that.</p><p>I watch her draw a breath and quickly force it out. Her chest rises and then falls as she does it. Then she leans into me. I can feel her hot breaths on my ear. Somethin’ fiery and prickly runs up my spine and makes my heart start racin’.</p><p>“I love you, River,” she whispers. She pulls away but keeps her eyes lowered.</p><p>“Brooke,” I say. She doesn’t move, so I take my hand and rest it on the side of her face and gently force her to look at me. “I love you too.”</p><p>She smiles a sad smile again and then buries her face into my chest. My breath hitches for no real reason, except for the fact that now her body is pressed against mine. I hesitate before puttin’ my arm around her because I’m tryin’ to think if that’s what I’m supposed to do or not. What do they do in the movies?</p><p>I feel her pullin’ on the end of my tee shirt, and then she goes to twistin’ the cotton around her fingers. It pulls the shirt tight and exposes a piece of my stomach to the light. And soon, I can feel her soft skin touchin’ that piece of my skin, and it sends shivers down my spine. And I say to hell with what I’m supposed to do, and I just do what feels right — I put my arm around her, and I squeeze her tight.</p><p>I’m the happiest boy in the world being this close to her, feelin’ like we belong to each other. But I’m also the saddest — because now, it’s as if somebody has just turned over one of those damn sand timers. I just found her, and now, when the sand runs out — which is always too soon — I’ve gotta let her go.</p><p>I hold her there for a few minutes, a few hours, days maybe — I’m not sure. I hold her until the clouds gather in dark waves above us and even then, I’m scared to say anything. I don’t want to let her go. I’m scared that with a word, this moment will disappear forever — that she’ll disappear forever.</p><p>“Brooke.”</p><p>She nudges her head into my chest.</p><p>“I think it’s about to rain,” I say.</p><p>She tilts her face up at me and then up at the sky. And instantly, a thin smile works its way into her expression. It’s that sad one — the only smile she’s got that breaks my heart.</p><p>“Let it rain,” she softly says before she settles back into the muscles in my chest.</p><p>I squeeze her closer and look back up at the heavens. The clouds are even darker and lower than they were only a minute ago.</p><p>“Let it rain,” I whisper, repeating her words, almost darin’ the heavens to open up and do their best.</p><p>And they do. Within minutes, one drop turns into two, and then two turns into ten and then ten into hundreds. But like the daisies around us, we don’t move. We just stay where we’re planted, and we take the rain.</p><p>“It’s so cold!” Brooke sings after a few moments. She rolls over onto her back but stays resting on my arm. And she stares up into the sky, eyes closed, mouth open, laughin’ the whole time. I watch her catch the rain on her tongue, and I promise myself that I won’t lose this girl. No matter what, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her. Besides, my heart aches for her so much already; I don’t know what it would do without her.</p><p>Big drops soak my hair and roll down my cheeks. I wipe my eyes with my free hand and notice Brooke is smilin’ at me. Her clothes are clingin’ to her skin. Little goose bumps are now fillin’ up her arms, but it looks as if she has no plans to run for shelter anytime soon. I pull her closer to me and press my lips against her forehead, and I taste the salty raindrops on my tongue. She settles back into my chest and wraps her arm around my waist. Then she goes to tracin’ little circles on my arm. I love the way her wet fingers glide against my skin. It’s calming somehow, yet exhilarating, and it forces me to suck in a rushed breath. And I notice the air is soaked with the smell of rain now. With the breath, I taste its dampness. And here we lie — just two daisies among the daisies — as the cool summer rain washes over every piece of our warm bodies. And soon, a little thought comes to me and burrows deep into my heart. And all of a sudden, I know what my happy is. It’s Brooke Sommerfield. She’s my happy.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Six</p><p><emphasis>Still to Come</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>W</strong>e spend our last couple weeks together the best we know how. We explore this whole creek bottom. We explore each other. We take turns askin’ each other every question under the sun, and I think we hit on all our favorites. Hers are blue, summer, six and strawberry ice cream. I tell her my favorites are green — like her eyes — fall, nine and my grandma’s coffee cake. And she teaches me how to swim — how to really swim, like all technical and stuff. I even learn how to do the butterfly. I don’t really know what use it’ll ever be, but she said every good swimmer should know the butterfly, so I learn it. And I teach her how to throw a curveball, and I tell her about all the rules in baseball. And I teach her how to fish. I tell her everyone should know how to fish. She’s a natural at it — probably already better at it than me.</p><p>I watch her now as she drives the worm onto the hook without so much as a flinch. I cringe a little inwardly because it took me damn near eight years to do that same thing without makin’ a face. She does it like it’s tyin’ a shoe or somethin’. But then she stops.</p><p>“What’s that?” She tilts her head to the side, like she’s listenin’.</p><p>I freeze and try to hear what she’s hearin’.</p><p>“That!” she says again.</p><p>“Oh,” I say. “That’s a whip-poor-will.”</p><p>She laughs. “A whipper what?”</p><p>“Whip-poor-will.” I sing with the bird. “Grandpa says they’re forgetful birds. That’s why they sing their own names over and over again.”</p><p>She smiles and listens for its call again. When it comes, she sings its name right along with it. “Whip-poor-will.”</p><p>And I know it’s just a name to a damn bird, but her voice makes it sound like a song. And I’m also pretty damn certain that from here on out when I hear a whip-poor-will, I won’t hear the bird’s song anymore; I’ll hear hers.</p><p>“Brooke, I wanna take you somewhere.”</p><p>She casts out her line. “Where?”</p><p>“It’s a surprise.”</p><p>She sets her eyes on me for a second and then smiles. “When?”</p><p>“Now,” I say.</p><p>I watch her search for her red and white bobber out on the water, find it and then settle her gaze back on me. “Okay.” She nods and then reels her line right back in. Then she props the fishin’ pole up against a tree stump and goes to dustin’ her hands off on her little jean shorts. As she does this, I reach for my cap and refit it over my head. I’m nervous. I want her to like where I’m takin’ her.</p><p>“We have to take the four-wheeler,” I say.</p><p>“Okay.” She makes her way over to it. And I just watch her walk away. Comin’ or goin’, it doesn’t matter with this girl; I’m happy watchin’ either.</p><p>The four-wheeler is my grandpa’s. My dad got it for him when it was gettin’ harder for him to get around. But I use it a lot because Grandpa is stubborn, and he still walks everywhere. He throws the keys at me most days and rattles off somethin’ about someone gettin’ some use out of it. It doesn’t bother me none. I gladly take the keys.</p><p>Brooke hops onto the back of the seat and smiles at me. I can’t get to her fast enough. Three hurried steps, and I’m kissin’ her soft, strawberry-flavored lips and hoppin’ onto the seat in front of her. Then I turn the key and start her up. And together we fly down the sandy dirt road, kickin’ up a dust trail behind us.</p><p>We ride for a couple miles before we get to a little worn-in path that juts back into my grandpa’s farm, and we take that. I notice Grandpa workin’ on some old tractor. He looks up, and I wave. Then he nods, and I keep on goin’. We ride for a little while longer until I cut off the path and into the tall grass, and then we start headin’ uphill. We go up for so long it feels as though we should be able to touch the clouds. Then eventually, the grass levels off, and I stop the four-wheeler and jump off. She doesn’t ask for my help gettin’ off because she doesn’t need it, but is it funny that I like that she takes my hand anyway?</p><p>The sun is just startin’ to head back into the earth. The sky is full of fire and soft, as Grandpa would say, even though most people would just call it red and pink.</p><p>I take Brooke’s hand and walk her to the edge of the bluff. The thing about livin’ out here is that you never have to go too far to reach the sky. The creek bottoms are low. The bluffs are high. And from here, it’s as if you can see the whole world.</p><p>“River!” Brooke exclaims, lookin’ out over the bottoms — full of growin’ fields and trees and some cows here and there — and up at the sky meltin’ into all of it. “It’s so pretty.”</p><p>Her smile is wide, and her smoky eyes haven’t stopped searchin’, making their way over every piece of life far below us. My heart damn near dances, and my chest puffs up a little. I’m happy that she likes it.</p><p>“We got here just in time,” I say. “It won’t last long.”</p><p>She keeps her eyes on the horizon out in front of us. “That’s what makes it pretty,” she says. “It’s pretty because it doesn’t last forever.”</p><p>She pauses, and I feel that confused look fightin’ its way to my face. This girl is all sorts of different in the way she thinks, but I’m beginnin’ to think it’s her different that I crave.</p><p>“If you give people a chance to look at pretty too long,” she goes on, “eventually they’ll forget it’s pretty.”</p><p>I look at her. “Where’d you hear that from?” I swear I could stare at Brooke for a lifetime, and at the end of it, I’d still call her pretty.</p><p>“My mom,” she says, still not takin’ her eyes off that settin’ sun. “She says we get used to pretty, that eventually, we get used to sunsets and falling stars and things that sparkle.”</p><p>She bites her bottom lip gently with her teeth, but not like me — not like she’s nervous, but more like she’s thinkin’ about somethin’. Then she sits down and brings her knees to her chest. And I sit down next to her.</p><p>“River.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Do you think that’s true? Do you think we get used to things, and then we don’t like them anymore?” She looks kind of sad all of a sudden.</p><p>I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know.”</p><p>Her eyes slowly wonder back to mine.</p><p>“Maybe when you’re grown up, that’s just how it works,” I offer. I finish, and she nods, still thinkin’, I think.</p><p>“River.”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“I don’t ever want to get used to pretty,” she says.</p><p>I laugh to myself. “Then, we won’t. We won’t grow up — not like most people do anyway. And we won’t get used to pretty.”</p><p>She points out onto the fading sun. “Even if we see this a million more times…”</p><p>“We’ll never get used to it,” I assure her. “We’ll still look at it as if we’re lookin’ at it for the very first time.” I smile and put my arm around her, and her head falls gently against my chest.</p><p>“Promise, River?”</p><p>I nod. “I promise. I promise you, Brooke, that this sunset will always be pretty…that falling stars will always be pretty, that things that sparkle will always be pretty. And most of all, I promise that you, Brooke Sommerfield, will always be pretty.”</p><p>She snuggles closer to me, and I hold her until the earth swallows up the sun and then some. I hold her until the air is black around us and those pretty stars start poppin’ out of the sky. And I hold her. I hold her like we’re always meant to be this way. After all, she’s not gone yet. Of course, that’s still to come.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Seven</p><p><emphasis>Then¸ We’ll Write</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>I</strong> hear her comin’ down the dirt path, so I stand up and meet her halfway. She gives me a sad look. I wrap my arms around her and plant a kiss on her lips. If she’s gonna leave me tomorrow, I’m gonna get all my kisses in today.</p><p>“Don’t be sad,” I say, pullin’ her in close. I promised myself I’d be brave for her even though I feel like kickin’ and screamin’ and beggin’ her not to go. “I brought you somethin’.”</p><p>She pulls away, and I watch her lips start to twitch up.</p><p>“Hold on,” I say, leaving her side.</p><p>I run over to the shade where he’s been sleepin’ all mornin’, and I scoop the little furball up and walk him back to her.</p><p>“River!” Her eyes widen and so does her smile. “What?”</p><p>“It’s a dog. Well, it’s a puppy. You said you didn’t have one.”</p><p>“Oh my gosh!” She takes the black and brown ball from my arms and squeezes it to her chest. “I love him. I love him. I love him,” she sings. But then she stops suddenly and looks up at me. “Is it a him?”</p><p>I nod. “Yeah.”</p><p>She closes her eyes and buries her face into the puppy’s face. I think she likes him.</p><p>“You think your parents will let you keep him? My mom says we can keep him if you…”</p><p>“No,” she says, stopping me. “I love him.” She presses her lips to the puppy’s head.</p><p>“Good.” I breathe out a smile. I guess that means she’s keepin’ him no matter what.</p><p>“He’s got big ears.” She giggles, picks up one of his ears and holds it straight out. “What kind is he?”</p><p>“A coonhound,” I say. “They’re the best kind.”</p><p>She smiles wide and goes to pettin’ its head.</p><p>“I thought it could be your Missouri thing,” I say.</p><p>She stops pettin’ and slowly looks up at me through those long eyelashes of hers. “Thank you, River.”</p><p>“Aw, it’s nothin’.” I kick a rock around the dirt with my foot. “Do you know where you’re goin’ yet?” I ask.</p><p>I notice her chest rise. “Illinois,” she breathes out.</p><p>It’s quiet for a second, except for a few random squeaks from the puppy. “Well, that’s not that far,” I lie. Illinois might as well be China.</p><p>She looks up at me and then casts her eyes down to the grass and the dirt. “I’ll lose you,” she whispers.</p><p>“What?” I ask. I walk closer to her and gently lift her chin so that I can see her pretty eyes.</p><p>“I’ll move, and I’ll never see you again,” she says, before I can say anything else.</p><p>“No,” I say.</p><p>She nods. “You’ll disappear eventually. Everything and everyone always does.” I watch her squeeze the puppy tighter against her body. He squirms a little and then licks her neck.</p><p>“No, Brooke. I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’ll come see you.”</p><p>She looks up at me — really looks into my eyes this time — and I can tell she wants to smile but just can’t find the heart maybe.</p><p>“But you can’t drive.”</p><p>“Well, not yet,” I admit.</p><p>Her eyes turn down, and I take her hand and lead her to the bank. Then I pull her down to the ground with me. The puppy struggles and eventually finds his way out of Brooke’s arms. He quickly takes a liking to a little stick, plops down and starts chewin’ on it.</p><p>“I’ll find a way,” I say, regaining her attention. “And I can call you.”</p><p>“But it’ll be long distance. My parents will never let us talk on the phone every day. I’m already bringing a puppy home.” Her gaze travels to the puppy again.</p><p>I sit there and think about it for a while, until something comes to me. “Then, we’ll write.”</p><p>“Letters?” she asks.</p><p>“Yeah,” I say. “We’ll write letters — like they did in the olden days.”</p><p>She lowers her head and laughs to herself. It sounds so good to hear her laugh. And it hits me hard that I won’t be able to hear her laughter soon. “I’ll write to you, Brooke.”</p><p>Her eyes return to mine, and she’s got a big smile on her face. And with that, she leans into me and interlocks her fingers in mine. I feel my heart start poundin’ when she plants a kiss on my cheek. “Okay,” she says.</p><p>The puppy growls a little puppy growl, and our attentions go to him. He’s fightin’ with the stick now — pawin’ at it and bitin’ it.</p><p>“I’m gonna call him Winnie-the-Pooh,” she says.</p><p>I watch her as she watches the puppy.</p><p>“Is that weird?” she asks, her stare grazin’ mine.</p><p>I shake my head. “Naw.” And I try to hold back a smile.</p><p>“Good,” she says, before she stands, dusts off her backside, pauses and then takes a runnin’ leap into the creek. And a splash later, she’s soaked — clothes and all — from head to toe.</p><p>“And we’ll write,” she yells back up at me from the water. She has a big smile on her face. “Me and Winnie-the-Pooh, we’ll write to you.”</p><p>Her hair is wet and darkened, and she’s squinting her eyes to squeeze out the water. I just drink her in, until I can’t take not being next to her anymore. Then I take off toward the water myself. Another big splash, and I’m scoopin’ her up into my arms. She giggles and lets me hold her little wet body against mine. And soon her laughter fades, and our eyes lock. I lean into her and go to kiss her when all of a sudden, there’s a loud honking above our heads, and we both look up. A flock of Canada geese have their wings spread out wide, and they’re diving right at us. I force my eyes shut, turn my face down and squeeze Brooke closer to my body to try to shield her. The last thing I want is a damn bird landin’ on us.</p><p>“River, look!”</p><p>I slowly lift my head and open my eyes to Brooke stretching her hands to the sky. She’s laughin’ again as the breeze made by the geese drifts over us. And within seconds, the birds drop their webbed feet and skid across the water a couple feet before they land. About twenty of them land all around us and then keep on swimmin’ down the creek. They don’t even seem to be fazed at all by our presence. I guess they’ve just gotten so used to us bein’ here.</p><p>“Life passes you by when your eyes are closed,” she sings.</p><p>I look at her. She’s just got the widest, most beautiful smile on her face. I don’t think she realizes she has showed me more life than I’ve ever known. It makes me want to kiss her. So, I lean in, and I kiss her.</p><p>There’s a slight pause when our kiss breaks before her lips part. “What was that for?”</p><p>“Because,” I say. “Because you’re not afraid of anything, because you’re pretty, because I love you.”</p><p>Her lips find their way back together, and I can’t tell if she wants to frown or smile — if she’s sad or happy. But then she leans in, hovers over my mouth for a few breaths and then presses her lips to mine again.</p><p>I’m grinning by the time she pulls away, but I can’t help but ask: “What was that for?”</p><p>She lifts her shoulders and then lets them fall. “Because it’s Saturday.”</p><p>My eyes are stuck in hers. I don’t want her to leave. “I already miss you,” I say, and I let my forehead fall onto hers. I ain’t never been this comfortable with anyone before.</p><p>“But I’m still here,” she whispers. “And a part of me will always be here.”</p><p>I meet her stare. And she must see the question in my eyes because she turns her face to the sky. “I’ll be in the wind.” Then she levels her eyes on mine. “I’ll always be here.”</p><p>I’d rather her be here like she is now, but there’s somethin’ in her words that makes me feel better. I know tomorrow I’ll wake up and all I’ll have is her quartz heart and my invisible memories to hold onto. So for now, I hold onto her. I pull her close, and I hold her tight. And for the first time, I think I grasp the concept of havin’ your whole life ahead of you — simply because for the first time, I want to plan one with someone. But with that, for the first time, I’m also wonderin’ what that life entails and if that life includes Brooke Sommerfield. Yet all the while, the only thing I really care about is makin’ sure it does.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Eight</p><p><emphasis>Aquarius</emphasis></p></title><cite><p><strong>D</strong>ear Brooke,</p><p>I miss you like crazy. I hope you’re liking your new home. Eighth grade is pretty cool. The teachers are cool. I want to see you. I saw a train the other day, and it got me thinking. I could use a train to get to you. I’m sure there are trains there in Illinois. You asked me one time what my happy was. I never answered you. My happy is you. Write soon. I love you, Brooke.</p><p>Love,</p><p>River</p><p>P.S. How is Winnie-the-Pooh? Oh, and the real Winnie-the-Pooh is named after a boy’s stuffed bear. The boy named it Winnie after a bear at a zoo and Pooh after a swan. Winnie-the-Pooh.</p></cite><p>“River.”</p><p>I quickly stuff the letter into my jeans pocket, slide the pen behind my ear and scramble to my feet.</p><p>“You writin’ somethin’ again?” Grandpa asks, starin’ at me from above his thick glasses.</p><p>I don’t say anything. I don’t want to tell him I’m writin’ a letter to a girl — even if she’s not just any girl. So instead, I just push some hay around with my boot and keep my mouth shut.</p><p>I can tell he watches me probably until he just can’t take the silence anymore. “That’s not enough light for ya, son.” He gestures up toward the little light bulb above our heads. “You’ll lose your eyesight fast that way. Trust me.”</p><p>I nod.</p><p>“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get back up to the house.”</p><p>I follow Grandpa out of the barn, and together, we make our way up the graveled path to the little farm house at the top of the hill.</p><p>“Son, you’re always writin’.”</p><p>I take a second, then look over at him. I’m not sure if what he said was a question, and I really wouldn’t know how to answer him if it were anyway, so I just stay quiet.</p><p>“You know,” he goes on. “I have a good feelin’ the Maker’s cutter didn’t have a farm boy in mind when he made you.”</p><p>My eyes eventually fall from his wrinkled face and settle on the graveled path in front of us. We only have the moonlight to guide our way, but it’s more than enough. I take a thoughtful breath. I’m not sure what he means, and I really don’t know how to feel about it either. Grandpa has been a farmer all his life. My dad, on the other hand, was until he wasn’t. When he was eighteen, Dad went off to college and got a degree in accounting. Now, he does the books for some of the small businesses here in town and does all right. But Grandpa is a lot like most of the people around here — dirt rich and dollar poor. If he sold it all, I’d bet he’d have more money than he knew what to do with, but I’m more than certain Grandpa’s never thought about that. He gets by just fine — just like everyone else — and he seems at peace with it. I guess when you don’t long for much, you don’t need much. I think my dad longed for more, though. I think he needed more than dirt runnin’ through his fingers. He needed to feel the wheel of a decent car and the fabric of a nice suit and the peace of mind that comes with benefits and all that crap, I guess.</p><p>I wonder if Grandpa thinks I’m more like my dad than I am like him. But he knows I hate dressin’ up and that I hate pretty much every subject except maybe English — and that’s only because it comes somewhat easy. My mom was a homemaker most of my life. It wasn’t until Rea started school that she took on some side editing jobs. Now, every business in town wants her to edit their ads and flyers and things like that. But before me, she used to write. She wrote for the local paper. I found her clippings once in a box in the basement. There were articles about the city council and the school board and the high school basketball teams. Her byline is her maiden name. It’s kind of weird when you think about it — think about how your mom wasn’t always a mom. Anyway, if we’re splittin’ hairs, I’d probably have to say I’m more like her than I am like my dad. And I might not always like it, but I’m pretty good at farmin’. I want to remind Grandpa of that. I want to tell him that I’m more like him than I am like my parents. It’s nothin’ against my dad or my mom; it’s just a fact of life. And I want to tell him that he’s wrong — that I am cut out for farmin’.</p><p>“Well, I’ll be,” he exclaims, breaking my thoughts before I ever get a word out. “There it is.”</p><p>“What?” I ask.</p><p>“Aquarius. Look.” He stops and points to the star-soaked sky above us. “You see it?”</p><p>I look for a little while and finally find the stars he’s pointin’ at. Then I trace with my finger the pattern he taught me to recognize before I even learned how to ride a bike. It’s like lookin’ at one of those pictures where you have to wait for your eyes to adjust to see it in 3D. It takes a little while, but you eventually find it. You always do.</p><p>“Yep,” I say. “I see it.”</p><p>He stares at the sky a little longer before he starts up the path again without me. Of all the stars and constellations, I wonder why he likes that one so much. I’ve always wondered that. But I’ve never asked him why — mainly because I don’t think he’ll ever tell me. Grandpa is good at teachin’ me things and tellin’ me everything he knows — fact-wise — but he’s never been good at tellin’ me the <emphasis>whys</emphasis>. Why do we do it this way? Why do you like it? Why do you think it is? Back when I used to ask the <emphasis>whys</emphasis>, he always gave me his infamous grandpa answer: <emphasis>The cow moos because it’s a cow</emphasis>. I still don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean.</p><p>I watch him take a few more steps up the path before I steal one last quick glance at Aquarius. It makes me think of Brooke and the little freckles on her shoulder. <emphasis>God, I miss her</emphasis>. She came and went so fast, and yet it was enough to make my heart feel as if it’s missing somethin’ now. It’s a strange kind of pain I’ve never felt before. It’s as if my heart aches for her — as if it always needed her to beat, but it didn’t realize that until after it had found — and then lost — her.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Nine</p><p><emphasis>Is He Okay?</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“R</strong>iver!” I hear my mom callin’ me. Usually, I’d take my time and maybe act like I didn’t hear her the first couple times she called me. But this time, somethin’ in her voice makes me sit straight up. It’s that dang sense again. Somethin’s wrong.</p><p>I reel the fishin’ line in as fast as I can, and then I grab my tackle box, and I run up the hill.</p><p>It takes me maybe a minute and I’m inside the house and settin’ my pole and tackle box down in the hall. Mom’s pacin’ back and forth in the kitchen. I don’t say anything. I’m kind of scared to hear why she’s so upset.</p><p>“River,” she says as soon as she notices me. “Sit down a second.”</p><p>I just stare at her for a few quick heartbeats. I’m scared to even move. But then she gestures toward a kitchen chair, and I slowly walk over to it and then lower myself to its seat. She sits down in the chair next to me and pushes out a heavy sigh.</p><p>“River, honey, Grandpa’s had a heart attack.”</p><p>It’s a quick, swift blow. I can feel all the blood rush out of my face. That’s a lot of strong words to process at one time.</p><p>“He’s at the hospital,” she goes on.</p><p>“Is he okay?”</p><p>“Yes.” She nods her head. “Yes, he’s going to be fine, but we need to go see him.”</p><p>“Okay,” I say, refitting my cap over my head.</p><p>“Now, your sister is upstairs getting dressed. As soon as she’s done, we’ll take off.”</p><p>“What hospital?” I ask. Grandpa was visiting his brother again this morning.</p><p>“New Melle.”</p><p>“Okay,” I say under my breath. I’m still tryin’ to process it all. I feel a little light-headed, but at the same time, I’ve got so much adrenaline pumpin’ through my veins. I think I just need to see him. I stand up and make my way to the door to wait for my sister. I just need to see that he’s okay.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>We get to the hospital, and it smells the same way every damn hospital smells — like they need to open some windows and let some fresh air in. I ain’t a regular or anything, but I’ve had my fair share of hospital visits. My first one was to see my new baby sister. That one wasn’t so bad. It smelled like hospital, but people were smilin’ and laughin’ and there were balloons and toys everywhere. But then when I was ten, I broke my middle finger, and my mom had to rush me to the emergency room. That visit wasn’t as fun. Everyone around me looked like hell, and on top of that, my finger felt like hell. Then my last hospital visit was to see my grandma. She passed away not too long after that. So, lately, I’m not too fond of hospitals — or their smell, for that matter.</p><p><emphasis>Room 207</emphasis>. I stop at the door to make sure I have the right room number. Mom’s still on the first floor talkin’ to the doctor. I stayed for a little part of his speech. Then it just started soundin’ like a bunch of doctor mumbo jumbo, so I snuck off to find Grandpa.</p><p>I stand at the door and suck in a big breath once I’m sure it’s the right room. I remind myself of how I really hate hospitals. Then I step inside.</p><p>The first thing I see is Grandpa lyin’ on a little bed. He’s got a blue gown on and a white blanket coverin’ his lower half. He’s awake, but he looks tired. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Grandpa look so tired. I almost turn around and walk right back out the door. Somethin’ about seein’ him lookin’ this way — and not in his old jeans and work boots — terrifies me. But instead, I manage to swallow the lump in my throat and slowly start makin’ my way to the side of his bed. I have to keep tellin’ myself that he’s probably itchin’ for some company just so I can beat the fear risin’ up in me. The longest I’ve ever stayed in a hospital is probably a couple hours. He’s got to be in here all night and then some.</p><p>He startles a little when he notices me — almost as if he wasn’t expectin’ me. And just then, there’s a part of me that gets the idea that he’d rather me not be here — that he’d rather not have me see him like this either. But I keep makin’ my way to him nevertheless. I’m already here. He’s just gonna have to deal with it. I take a seat in the chair that’s already next to his little bed as the clock on the wall ticks out a few too many seconds.</p><p>“Well,” I finally say. “We balin’ hay tomorrow?”</p><p>Grandpa seems to relax before he smiles slightly and then nods his head. “When it dries.”</p><p>“Right,” I say. “When it dries.”</p><p>We sit there for another few seconds in silence before I remember what I’ve got tucked away in my back pocket. I made Mom stop at his house so I could grab it.</p><p>“I brought your stinky cap,” I say, shifting in my chair to pull it out. Since he was visiting his brother today, I knew he wasn’t wearin’ it. It’s the only time he doesn’t wear the old thing, and that’s only because Grandma always gave him hell about it. She used to say visitin’ days were fancy days. It’s funny, though. He still always wore that damn cap visitin’ people when Grandma was alive. She’d fuss, and he’d take it in stride, and then they’d both get in the car — Grandma’s fancy dress, Grandpa’s hat and all. It wasn’t until after she passed that he started leavin’ that cap at home on visitin’ days.</p><p>I toss the cap onto his lap.</p><p>He looks at it, then slowly reaches for it. Several IVs move with his arm as he takes the cap and fits it over his head. “What would I do without you, son?”</p><p>I laugh to myself. “That’s a good question.”</p><p>Tim walks into the room then and stops just past the doorway. “What the hell? How’d he get that thing?” He points at Grandpa’s head, then pushes his way past a cart full of hospital gadgets and saunters into the room. If you can count on Tim for one thing, it’s his ability to be completely unfazed — by anything. It’s almost inspiring actually.</p><p>“Grandpa, they feed ya anything good yet? I’m starvin’.”</p><p>Tim plops down onto the end of Grandpa’s bed, while Grandpa and I exchange the same looks we exchange just about every time Tim opens his mouth.</p><p>“Hey, we still balin’ hay tomorrow?” Tim asks, makin’ himself comfortable by grabbin’ a pillow from a chair on the other side of the bed and using it to prop himself up.</p><p>I can tell Tim really doesn’t know that Grandpa won’t be balin’ anytime soon. I guess he missed out on the first half of the doctor’s speech. I almost envy him.</p><p>Grandpa doesn’t skip a beat though. “Yeah, when it dries,” he says, lookin’ over at me. I can almost see his eyes smilin’.</p><p>I nod my head. “When it dries,” I repeat.</p><p>Tim squeezes his eyes shut and balls up his face. “Damn it,” he says under his breath. “It’s supposed to be hotter than shit tomorrow.”</p><p>Grandpa nods his head, and I do too, while I silently take back my thoughts on Tim. Nothin’ fazes Tim — except the weather…and work.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Ten</p><p><emphasis>Like Bees and Honey</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>I</strong>t’s Wednesday. Grandpa was released from the hospital yesterday. He acts normal, and he says he’s fine, but Mom says he can’t do things like he used to do, like bale hay and feed the cows and stuff. Mom and Dad are down at the farm a lot more than usual lately, doin’ the things Grandpa can’t anymore. I’m doin’ more too — after the school day’s over on the weekdays and most weekends. And as soon as the mail comes, I’ll head on down there again today to feed and water the cows.</p><p>I see the mailman’s car, and I take off runnin’. I’ve had a date with the mailbox every day for the last week, waitin’ for Brooke’s letter.</p><p>I’m out of breath when I get to the big metal box, but that doesn’t stop me. I pull open the lid and drag out the newspaper and a few envelopes. I flip through them lookin’ for her red lips — she always seals her envelopes with a kiss. And sure enough, I find them. I throw the rest of the mail back into the box and tear open the envelope to get to her letter.</p><cite><p>Dear Riv,</p><p>When I look up at the sky, I think of you, so you’re my happy too. And there are trains here. I saw one the other day. But I think you’re going to have to hold onto your plans of coming to see me — for now. We’re moving again. I’m not sure where yet. My dad will know soon where we’re going, and then I promise I’ll write to you and send you my new address.</p><p>Dad promises this move is our last move. And I’ll be able to finish eighth grade and start high school in the same place next year. I’m nervous about high school, and it sucks we have to move again, but I’m happy that it’ll be our last time. I don’t even know what it’s like to stay in one place for four years. But you’ll come visit me, Riv. Won’t you? I miss you, River. I miss you so much. What I wouldn’t give to take a dip in that creek with you right now.</p><p>I had a dream about you last night. We were together again, and we were happy. I wish I could see you now. But soon, right? There have been trains everywhere I’ve been, so I’m sure there will be a train in the next place we go! Please don’t forget about me.</p><p>I’ll write again as soon as we’re in our new place.</p><p>XOXO</p><p>Love,</p><p>Brooke</p><p>P.S. Winnie-the-Pooh is doing great! He makes me laugh. I’m trying to teach him how to shake. He stinks at it. But I still love him. And a bear and a swan, huh? Just like bees and honey.</p></cite><p>I stare at her last line and laugh out loud. But then I’m sad for her. I know she hates movin’. And I really hope she doesn’t move farther away or to a place a train can’t get to. And then there’s another part of me that hopes her parents liked Missouri so much that they move her right back here to me. We could go to high school together, and I could take her on a real date when I get my license. And I’d even take her to prom when it comes time for that. I really hate gettin’ fixed up, but I’d do it for her.</p><p>I take her letter and fold it back into the envelope it came in and then I push it down into my jeans pocket for safe keepin’ and head down the path to my grandpa’s.</p><p>I’ll wait for her next letter and her new address. And in the meantime, I’ll save up for a train ticket — just in case her next stop isn’t here.</p><p>A smile pushes its way to my face, and a happy sigh trails. But I wouldn’t be so happy if I knew what events were about to follow — or how long it would be before I’d hear from that sweet girl again.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Eleven</p><p><emphasis>Unfinished Business</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“G</strong>randpa.” I make my way into the old farm house. “I fed the cows.”</p><p>He’s not in the kitchen, so I walk through the little room past an old brick chimney and to the living room. He doesn’t get around too well most days, so I know he’s around here somewhere.</p><p>I turn the corner and find him in his old chair, starin’ out the window. It’s gettin’ late and startin’ to turn black outside, so I wonder what he could be starin’ at.</p><p>He looks smaller somehow. I always saw him as the biggest, strongest guy I knew — even more so than my dad. And even when I got just as tall as he was, he still looked like a giant to me. But now, in these last few days, he looks as if he’s made a decision to take up less room all of a sudden. He always used to get on me for kickin’ off my shoes and sprawlin’ out my arms and legs. He’d say I was takin’ up too much space on this earth. I wonder for a second if he decided he was doin’ the same thing and went about fixin’ it.</p><p>“There’s nothin’ like gettin’ old.”</p><p>His voice snaps me out of my thought.</p><p>“There’s no trainin’ for old age, son,” he goes on, shakin’ his head. “But I guess every path has its puddles.”</p><p>He doesn’t move his eyes from the window. I watch him for another second. Then I make my way into the room. In the corner, there’s always been a chair pulled up to a small desk with a little rotary phone sittin’ on top of it. It was my grandma’s desk. Sometimes she’d spend hours talkin’ to her friends in that little wooden chair. The desk is next to my grandpa’s recliner. And that old thing is covered in red vinyl, and even though it’s not, you’d think it were the oldest piece of furniture in the house. And while it’s not the most attractive lookin’ thing, it is one of my grandpa’s favorite earthly possessions — right up there with that dang old leather cap.</p><p>I slide Grandma’s chair out from under the desk and pull it until it’s next to Grandpa’s recliner. He’s quiet as I settle in. And within no time, we’re both starin’ out that window and into the black Missouri night on the other side of it.</p><p>“Son, have I ever told you the story of how I met your grandmother?”</p><p>I take my eyes off the window to look at him. But his eyes remain on the sky outside. And I just shake my head.</p><p>“We were both young,” he goes on. “About your age.” His voice is faint, but it’s still got that grumble to it that it’s always had. “And we didn’t know anything about anything. But son…” He stops and turns his face toward me for the first time tonight. “We knew we loved each other. Don’t ask me how we knew because I couldn’t tell ya.” He shakes his head once and then stops to take a labored breath. “We just knew.”</p><p>He seems to drift off to somewhere for a few seconds before he comes back. I just stay quiet and let him talk. I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard my grandpa tell me anything that might be mistaken for a love story. So I wouldn’t know what to say anyway.</p><p>“Her daddy owned a general store right up the road.” He raises his arm a little to point toward the window. And I think he notices the question on my face.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, there used to be a store out by that old shed. They sold flour, sugar, maple syrup, honey…things like that — things you couldn’t make very easily on your own. Her daddy closed the shop way before you were born, but that’s where I met your grandma.”</p><p>He stops, and I notice the corner of his mouth lift ever so slightly. “She was a fiery, little girl — hated me at first. But your old grandpa wore her down eventually. And by the time we were both sixteen, we were goin’ steady.”</p><p>I try not to laugh at his old use of words. He must notice.</p><p>“Oh, what do you youngin’s call it now? Datin’? Hangin’ together? I don’t know.”</p><p>I laugh but stay quiet otherwise.</p><p>“Anyway, I just want you to remember somethin’, son. Can you do that for me? One last thing for your old grandpa?”</p><p>Somethin’ stabs me right in the heart at his mention of the word <emphasis>last</emphasis>, and I think he notices that too.</p><p>“Oh, son, don’t let that get ya down. Death is a part of livin’. It comes to us all.” He takes a sharp intake of breath. “And when you get old like me, it’s not such a scary thing, especially when you’ve got no unfinished business down here and you’ve got somebody waitin’ for ya up there.” He gestures with his eyes toward the ceiling.</p><p>I try to smile, but it just doesn’t feel right.</p><p>“Oh, and son, don’t let them bury me with this cap.”</p><p>My eyes lift to the leather cap on his head.</p><p>“I’ve gotta look my best for Grandma,” he says.</p><p>Somethin’ stings the back of my eyelids, but I refuse to act like a baby in front of Grandpa, so I push it back as best I can.</p><p>“You hear me, son?”</p><p>I don’t like what he’s sayin’. I don’t want him thinkin’ about this stuff, but I dutifully nod my head anyway.</p><p>“Now, you’ve gotta remember somethin’ else for me, son.”</p><p>I nod again. “Okay, Grandpa.” My voice is shallow and broken; it sounds like somebody just punched me in the gut.</p><p>He clears his throat and swallows before he goes on. “Just remember, the single most important thing in this world is love.”</p><p>I’m so still I could probably pass as one of those wax dummies they make into famous people. I’ve never really heard my grandpa say that word before, much less tell me that it’s the secret to life.</p><p>“You find it, you fight for it. Don’t be like all these other knuckle heads runnin’ around who think money or playin’ all your life is gonna make ya happy. Don’t be like your Uncle Joe.” He gives me a stern look. I just nod.</p><p>“And don’t think the fight stops once you got her either. You’ve gotta fight for her every day. You hear me, son?”</p><p>I swallow and nod.</p><p>“Every day, act like you’re still tryin’ to get her to smile at you from behind the counter of her daddy’s store.” His eyes drift back to the night sky outside the window for a moment before returning to mine. “Act like you’re still tryin’ to get her gray eyes to turn your way down by that old creek.” He pauses, and my eyes grow wide as I suddenly sit up a little straighter. Is he talkin’ about Brooke?</p><p>“You hear me, son?” he asks in his stern voice again.</p><p>He’s gotta be talkin’ about Brooke. I always wondered what he knew.</p><p>“Yes,” I say, nodding my head. “I hear ya, Grandpa.”</p><p>“Now, son…” He shifts in the old chair. “Tell me about your unfinished business. Tell me about Brooke.”</p><p>I’m a little caught off guard. I didn’t even know he remembered her name. And I’m not really accustomed to talkin’ to Grandpa — or anybody, for that matter — about anything more than work or the weather. And I sure as hell ain’t accustomed to talkin’ about a girl. I refit my cap over my head. “Well, what do you wanna know?”</p><p>“Start from the beginning.”</p><p>“The beginning?” I ask.</p><p>“Son, I’ve got the time.”</p><p>I slowly nod my head once. “O-kay.”</p><p>I breathe in and then out, and then I start by tellin’ him about how I just wanted to cool off at the creek, how it was one of those hot June days over the summer when we were balin’ hay. I tell him how she just happened to be there — how her family was rentin’ Mrs. Catcher’s old place. And I tell him how she came back the next day and asked if she could bale hay. He chuckles softly when I mention that. And I laugh to myself too. Then I tell him how her daddy had to move her away from here and how we write letters back and forth. I tell him how she’s gonna move again soon and about my plans to go see her. He just nods his head. Usually that means he approves. I smile and keep goin’.</p><p>And after I tell him everything I can about Brooke, I sigh happily and sit back in Grandma’s old chair. It feels kind of good to tell someone about her. I look over at Grandpa. He’s lookin’ out the window again. The blinds are pulled up, and the curtains are wide open, and all you can see is black and specks of white now. The white reminds me of somethin’. He seems to be in the talkin’ mood tonight, which might never happen again. So I figure it’s now or never.</p><p>“Grandpa?”</p><p>“Son?”</p><p>I hesitate before I just decide to spit it out. “Why do you like Aquarius so much?”</p><p>He glances at me and then quickly returns his stare to whatever he’s lookin’ at outside that window.</p><p>“The Star of Hidden Things,” he recites.</p><p>“The star of what?” I ask.</p><p>“Near the top of Aquarius is The Star of Hidden Things.” He seems to smile a little bit — not with his mouth, but more so, with his eyes. “Makes me remember there are things we can’t see — memories we haven’t made yet.” His gaze never wavers from the window as he speaks. It’s like he’s thinking about somethin’ far off — or far back.</p><p>A minute passes like this, and then he turns his eyes back on me. “Remember that, son. There are things you and I can’t see. But He’s always workin’, son. He’s always workin’.”</p><p>I don’t know what he means. I don’t know who’s workin’ or what for or what I can’t see, but I nod just the same. Then I watch him go back to starin’ out that window again, at the black and the stars and the quiet. And I just do the same, and I think about Brooke and the freckles on her shoulders and the gray in her eyes and the way her words sounded like butter and flowed like honey. And I think about what Grandpa said — about love and about Aquarius and its star. And I wonder if Brooke is lookin’ up at the same sky. And I wonder if she’s thinkin’ about me. Nobody had to tell me to fight for Brooke. I don’t understand why grown-ups are always fightin’ for everything. Love seems pretty simple to me. It feels natural — easy. I love Brooke. She loves me. I would never give up on her. No matter how far her daddy might take her away from me, I’d still find a way to get to her. But what I hadn’t considered, I guess, was that there was a chance she could give up on me. And I didn’t know it at the time that Grandpa and I were sittin’ there together, but I was about to get a hard dose of reality. I was about to find out what all the fightin’ was for.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Twelve</p><p><emphasis>There Is No Brooke Here</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>I</strong> haven’t heard from Brooke in a little more than a month. She has to be in her new place by now, and I’m guessin’ she just hasn’t had time to write or her last letter got lost in the mail or somethin’. I only have her return address but maybe they’ll forward it to wherever she went. I have to try.</p><p>I stick the letter into the envelope and scribble her last address onto its front. Then I send up a little prayer that it gets to her. Grandma always used to say that all prayers are answered. I hope she’s right. Next, I jot down my address in the top left corner and fish for a stamp in my mom’s purse before I shoot out the door and off to the mailbox.</p><p>A few minutes later, I’m closin’ the lid with the envelope inside. But I keep my fingers on the mailbox’s metal handle. I’m puttin’ a lot of trust into this whole mail system. I tap the handle a couple more times and then step back and stare at the metal box. She would have written as soon as she got there. I know she would have. I let a weighted breath fall from my lips; it feels like it was sittin’ in my lungs for way too long. And I think of all the reasons why her letter wouldn’t be here, and then I remember somethin’. In one of the letters she sent me when she first moved to Illinois she gave me her phone number. My body stiffens right before I tell it to run. And I run back up the driveway and into the house. I sprint up the stairs to my parents’ bedroom and close the door. There’s a phone on their nightstand, and neither of them would know I was usin’ it until they got the bill, of course. Then I would hear about it, but I would have to worry about that then.</p><p>I punch in the numbers I memorized the same day I got the letter. The number was for emergencies. I think this counts.</p><p>I press the last digit and put the phone to my ear. There’s a slight pause, and then the first ring comes as loud as a giant damn bullfrog. I jerk the receiver away from my ear a little as the second ring comes just as loud. After three, I hear someone pick up the phone, and I hold my breath. Maybe it’s Brooke.</p><p>“Hello.” Somebody with a gruff voice answers on the other end. I try, but I can’t put a face to the voice.</p><p>“Uh, hi, is Brooke there?”</p><p>“Brooke?”</p><p>I nod my head at the deep, grumpy voice that makes him sound as if he’d rather pull his own arms off than talk to me.</p><p>“Hello?” he says.</p><p>“Y-yes,” I stammer. “Brooke.”</p><p>“There is no Brooke here,” the man growls.</p><p>“Okay,” I say, as I gnaw on my bottom lip. “Sorry to bother you.”</p><p>“Okay, bye then.”</p><p>“No, wait.”</p><p>I listen as his breaths return to the phone.</p><p>“Do you know where she went?” I ask.</p><p>“Where she went?”</p><p>“Yeah,” I say. “She used to live there.”</p><p>“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Sorry, I don’t know the people who used to live here.”</p><p>“Oh,” I say, disappointed. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”</p><p>I hang up the phone and fall into my parents’ bed. I think it’s just hittin’ me now that I have no address, no phone number, no way of reachin’ her. It’s as if she’s just disappeared — or as if she were never there in the first place.</p><p>So, I guess this is the fight Grandpa warned me about. I sit up straight and grab my imaginary armor. It’s time for battle.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Thirteen</p><p><emphasis>I’m Not Ready Yet</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“G</strong>randpa.” I make my way to his room in the back of the house. He hangs out in there most of the time now. Mom has been stayin’ by his side pretty much day and night for a week now. He had another “scare,” as my mom puts it, last week and was in the hospital for a few days. Dad says he’s on borrowed time now. But I don’t know. Grandpa never liked to borrow anything from anyone. And anyway, I try not to think about it. I can’t imagine a world without him, so I don’t even try to. And anyway, we still have things to do around the farm. We had been talkin’ about fixin’ some fence a while back — back before he got sick. I think deep down somewhere I’m still just waitin’ for him to get better so we can go do that.</p><p>“Grandpa, you up causin’ trouble yet?”</p><p>I stop a few feet inside his room. His eyes are closed.</p><p>“Grandpa?” I whisper.</p><p>I walk over to his bed and sit down on the chair that’s been next to his side for the past week. I know Mom’s always tellin’ me to let him sleep, but I’ve gotta ask him a question about Brooke. And I’ve got to ask him fast before Mom comes waltzin’ back in here, catches me botherin’ him and shoos me away.</p><p>“Grandpa,” I whisper again. And this time I rest my hand on his arm.</p><p>He doesn’t move. I take my hand back and study his face and then his chest, and then I know somethin’s wrong.</p><p>“Mom,” I yell. I get up and run into the kitchen. “Mom, somethin’s wrong with Grandpa.”</p><p>Mom takes one look at me and then drops the towel she’s holdin’ before runnin’ past me. I follow her but stay back at the door. I’m terrified of what she’s gonna say. I watch her try to wake Grandpa. I watch her check his pulse. Then I watch her head fall and rest on his chest, and I know. I feel tears start to burn my eyes. I don’t know what life is like without Grandpa, and I’m not ready yet — I’m not ready to find out.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>Grandpa passed away on a Tuesday afternoon. It was sunny — not a cloud in the sky. It was just a normal day — until it wasn’t. And he went out just about the same way he lived — quietly. I cried my eyes out that day and several days after that too. Somehow, cryin’ didn’t seem all that weak anymore; it just felt right. And by the time the funeral came, I was all out of tears. And then the day after the funeral was the first day I smiled thinkin’ about him. I just so happened to catch a glimpse of his damn leather cap sittin’ on my desk, and it made me think of him and Grandma. I really hope he looked good enough for her, though somethin’ tells me she’d be happy to see his stubborn self with or without the cap.</p><p>It’s funny, but I think I learned more about Grandpa in the last days of his life than I did in all the years before that. In fact, if you put all the words he said to me in my thirteen years together, it still wouldn’t add up to how much he said to me in those last days. He was always a quiet man, but I always knew he wasn’t short on thoughts. And I might not have understood everything he said to me in those last days, but I could tell he believed every word of it. So I vowed to myself that I wasn’t gonna forget what he told me about Grandma and Aquarius and love. And even though I never got the chance to ask him if I should marry Brooke some day, I’m pretty sure I already know what he would have said anyway. So, I’m gonna hold onto that too.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Fourteen</p><p><emphasis>I’ll Take Care of the Farm</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“R</strong>iver, son, your mom and I have decided to sell the farm.”</p><p>It’s a Thursday afternoon. The sun is shining. There’s not a cloud in the sky. It’s about like the day Grandpa passed away, except it’s cold outside, but you wouldn’t know that by just lookin’ out the window.</p><p>“What?” I blurt it out without even thinkin’. I never would have thought that I’d care about those words—<emphasis>sell the farm</emphasis>—so much. <emphasis>The farm</emphasis> always meant hard work, and I wasn’t ever really keen on hard work necessarily, but for some reason, now, I can’t imagine it any other way. And now, suddenly, <emphasis>the farm</emphasis> means Grandpa and quiet mornin’s — before the sun rises and the world gets up — and long evenings when we’d sit on the porch drinkin’ root beer and spittin’ out watermelon seeds.</p><p>“Now, son, I know you grew up here, and you’ve got a lot of memories here, but your mom and I can’t work two jobs and keep up the farm. Your grandpa did a pretty good job of it…”</p><p>He stops there. Dad misses Grandpa — just like I do, but he’ll never say it out loud. Instead, he closes his eyes and clears his throat.</p><p>“I’ll do it,” I say.</p><p>My dad looks at me.</p><p>“I’ll take care of the farm,” I say.</p><p>He flashes me a small, sad smile. “You’ve got school and baseball, and anyway, son, you’ve got to focus on makin’ a life for yourself. This farm is not your life, son.”</p><p>My eyes lower to the floor. There’s a little part of me that knows my dad’s right. I could never keep this farm up like my grandpa did. I never had the heart for it like he did. In the end, I hate to admit it, but I think he was right; I was never cut out for farm work.</p><p>“Where are we goin’?” I think I resign to the fact we’re leavin’.</p><p>My dad takes a long breath and then pushes it out. “Your mom and I have been looking at some places right outside of town — nice places, where you’ll still have a yard to practice your pitching and where you’ll still have at least a little pond to go fishin’ in.”</p><p>I think about it — long and hard. I still don’t like the idea, but it sounds as if Dad’s hell-bent on it, and I guess it really doesn’t sound all that bad. I did always want to try somethin’ new — a new adventure. And at least now, I’ll have somethin’ else in common with Brooke. But I still hate that we have to leave. I know these valleys and hills up and down — so much so that I feel as if they’re mine. I can’t imagine someone else walkin’ these fields or swimmin’ in this creek.</p><p>“What about the cows…and Ace?” I ask.</p><p>“We’ll keep Ace and take him along with us. But the cows will go to a different farm.”</p><p>I gnaw on my bottom lip and chew on the idea in my head for a little while, until my eyes happen to catch on the old coon dog lyin’ in the corner. At least we get to keep Ace.</p><p>“It’ll be all right, son. You’ll see,” my dad says, standin’ and pattin’ me on the shoulder.</p><p>I nod my head because I know I really don’t have a choice in the matter. I’ll have to make the best of it regardless. I just wish Brooke were here. At least, she’d make me smile.</p><p>Dad takes a few steps away from me.</p><p>“Dad,” I say, stopping him.</p><p>He turns back toward me.</p><p>“What about Brooke?”</p><p>He keeps his stare on me. I can tell he doesn’t know what I mean. He doesn’t know the whole story about Brooke — not like Grandpa did. He knows I write her letters though. “How will she find me?”</p><p>“Oh.” He seems to understand a little more now. “They’ll forward our mail, so anything she sends will get to us.”</p><p>I breathe in as deeply as my lungs will let me, and then I slowly force it out. “Okay,” I whisper.</p><p>My dad leaves the room, and I just sit there. I’m gonna miss this place. And believe it or not, I’m gonna miss this darn farm. I hated all the work that went into it most of the time, but lookin’ back, I guess it wasn’t all bad. And anyway, if I hadn’t been balin’ hay that day, I might never have met Brooke. I sit back in my chair. All of a sudden, my heart feels heavy, which is strange because it also feels as if there’s a hollow hole in my chest — a hole where Grandpa and Brooke and home should be. I miss him, and I miss Brooke, and I already miss the very first place I laid eyes on her. I feel as if I’m in the middle of my own nightmare. But I think about the story Grandpa told me about Grandma. And I think about how he told me to fight for Brooke. And while I can’t do anything about Grandpa or this farm, I can still do somethin’ about her. I don’t know where she is or if she’s written, but I’m gonna keep fightin’ anyway because Grandpa told me his secret to life, and he told me it’s worth fightin’ for. So damn it, I’m gonna fight. I’m gonna fight for her. I’m gonna fight for Brooke.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Fifteen</p><p><emphasis>You Check the Mail?</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“W</strong>hat’s it like — livin’ so close to town?” Tim asks.</p><p>It’s evening, and we’re sittin’ by the edge of the pond on our new place. Tim’s diggin’ a hole in the dirt with a stick. I’m convinced if he keeps diggin’, we’ll have two ponds back here by mornin’.</p><p>I shrug my shoulders. “It ain’t so bad.”</p><p>“You ready to start high school then?” he asks.</p><p>I shrug again. “What do I gotta do to be ready?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Uncle Joe says you’ve gotta kiss a girl before high school or they’ll stuff you in a locker.”</p><p>I laugh. Then I think of Brooke, and my laughter fades to a smile. I notice quick that I’m smilin’ like a damn lovesick fool, and I do my best to hide it before Tim sees it.</p><p>“And they’ll leave you in there for hours,” he goes on. “And Uncle Joe says if you make a noise, they’ll stuff a rotten egg in there with ya.”</p><p>“That ain’t true,” I say, laughin’. “And Tim…”</p><p>“What?” He stops diggin’ in the dirt and looks at me.</p><p>“Do me a favor. Don’t listen to everything Uncle Joe has to say.”</p><p>He seems to chew on the idea for a second before he nods his head in agreement. He had to have already known that to some extent by now.</p><p>He goes back to diggin’. “You hear from Brooke?” he asks.</p><p>“No.” I shake my head. “Dad says they’ll forward the mail, but…” My thoughts stop and go a different direction. “Did you check the mailbox?”</p><p>He nods his head. “Yeah, I made Mom stop by it on our way out here. Nothin’ was in it.”</p><p>I feel my chest deflate. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”</p><p>“No problem. Hey, did you try to call her?”</p><p>“Yeah,” I breathe out. “I tried her old number a while back. Someone answered, but he didn’t know where she went.”</p><p>Tim looks up and then narrows one eye at me. “She got one of those cell phone things that people on TV have?”</p><p>I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”</p><p>“Damn it,” he says. Then he quickly diverts his eyes to the ground. I know I probably ain’t much to look at right now.</p><p>“You know, River, maybe she’s just real busy with gettin’ ready for high school. You know, girls always have so much they’ve got to do for things like that — like hair and clothes and shit like that. Hell, Jenny’s only ten, and she’s already thinkin’ about what she’s gonna wear for her first day of high school.”</p><p>I can’t keep my eyes from dartin’ to his. “Your sister Jenny — thinkin’ about high school?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, startin’ to laugh. “She’s crazy.”</p><p>My eyes fall shut, and I chuckle to myself before a leaf blowin’ by catches my attention and snaps me back to reality. “But, yeah,” I say, “you’re probably right…about Brooke.” I don’t know if he’s on to somethin’ or not, but I really hope he is. I really hope Brooke is just busy or busy writin’ a really long letter.</p><p>“Plus, I’m sure there are a bunch of pretty girls in high school,” he says. “There’s always some from those little private schools around here that you ain’t never seen before.” He lifts one shoulder and then lets it fall. “That’s what they say anyway. And I’ve seen ‘em too.” He gets a serious look on his face. “I went to a couple high school games last year, and I saw high school girls I ain’t never seen in school before.”</p><p>I sit back against the grass. I want to tell him that I’m not lookin’ for girls — that I’m just lookin’ for Brooke. But for the sake of movin’ onto another conversation, I let him think otherwise. “Yeah,” I say, noddin’ my head. “You’re probably right.”</p><p>With that he takes his stick and tosses it. It flies pretty far before it hits the water. We both watch it float for a second, then sink.</p><p>“You see the Cards game last night?” he asks.</p><p>I smile, glad that we’re onto a safer topic now. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I saw it.”</p><p>If there’s one thing we can count on bein’ safe when everything else is complicated, it’s baseball. Grandpa’s sick? <emphasis>Baseball</emphasis>. Movin’ closer to town? <emphasis>Baseball</emphasis>. Your dog died? <emphasis>Baseball</emphasis>. Got caught ridin’ the four-wheeler too fast, and you’re hidin’ out from Mom? <emphasis>Baseball</emphasis>. Girl troubles? <emphasis>Baseball</emphasis>.</p><p>And that’s why I think God created baseball.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Sixteen</p><p><emphasis>SearsCounty Amy</emphasis></p></title><p><strong><emphasis>Freshman Year</emphasis></strong></p><p><strong>“L</strong>ife passes you by when your eyes are closed,” I say.</p><p>A girl with long blond hair snaps her eyes open and just stares me down for a moment. “I’m trying to remember my locker combination.”</p><p>I nod my head once and then reach over and pull on her locker door. It comes right open. “None of the locks work. I think they’re all for show.”</p><p>She looks at the open door and then back at me. “Oh. Well, thanks,” she murmurs. Her smile seems shy.</p><p>“Don’t mention it.”</p><p>I go back to grabbin’ some books out of my own locker.</p><p>“It’s Amy, by the way.”</p><p>My eyes quickly fall back onto the girl with the small voice. “River,” I say, slamming the door shut.</p><p>She smiles at me as if she’s waitin’ for me to change my mind about my name or somethin’.</p><p>“River,” she repeats after a while, noddin’ her head.</p><p>She might be from around here, but she didn’t go to school here. I think she notices the question bouncin’ around my head.</p><p>“Sears County,” she says.</p><p>The side of my mouth lifts into a grin. “Gotcha.” That explains it. Sears County is a little K-8 school in the next town over from here. They don’t have a high school, so they give the kids an option of a few high schools in the area — just like they do for the little private schools. And just like the little private schools, hardly any of the kids ever choose Boone Bluffs.</p><p>“I don’t really know anyone here,” she says, playing with the wire spirals of a notebook that’s now pressed against her chest. “But you seem nice.”</p><p>I’m not sure how she gets that idea, but I’ll do my best, I guess. “Well, I don’t really know my way around here yet either, but I’ll show ya who’s okay to hang out with and who you should probably try to avoid.”</p><p>A small smile crawls evenly across her face.</p><p>“What’s your first class?” I ask her.</p><p>She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper. I do notice the little jean shorts she’s wearin’, and I try to keep my mind from goin’ back to that old creek side where I store some of my best memories.</p><p>“Algebra, I think.” She looks at the paper and then nods her head. “Yep, Room 7.”</p><p>“That’s mine too. Here, we can walk together.”</p><p>This time, her teeth show when she smiles. “I’d like that,” she says.</p><p>I feel good. I was nervous as hell when I walked into this place. Some of the kids here look as if they might as well be forty. I mean they’ve all got cars and jobs and so much confidence that it’s comin’ out of their ears. I’ve seen most of them before, but the last time I saw them, we were all in junior high and they were about a foot shorter and mostly knees and elbows. But since I’ve met Amy, all of a sudden, I don’t feel as if I’m the most lost soul in this building.</p><p>“Come on,” I say. She smiles and together we head to our first high school class — just me and Sears County Amy.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>“Guys, this is Amy. She went to Sears County.”</p><p>“Aah, so you’ve come over to the dark side?” Grant asks in a sinister-sounding voice right before he stuffs a handful of soggy fries into his mouth.</p><p>I’ve known Grant my whole life. We grew up not too far from each other. We’ve been friends since they put us on the same peewee little league team back when we were six years old. I can tell Amy doesn’t know how to respond to Grant. In fact, I think his question makes her a little uncomfortable, but she sort of smiles regardless before she sets her tray onto the table across from Grant and sits down.</p><p>“He’s just jokin’,” I say, tryin’ to ease her fears. “Boone Bluffs isn’t so bad. You picked the right place.”</p><p>I take a seat next to her and start diggin’ into my lunch. They only give ya twenty minutes to eat your whole meal here evidently. Too much stuff to learn to fit eatin’ in there, I guess. I just swallow a big bite of my hamburger when I catch Amy lookin’ at me.</p><p>“You’re wearing a necklace?”</p><p>“What?” I ask.</p><p>“Around your neck.” She points to her own neck but eyes mine.</p><p>“Oh,” I say, tryin’ to cover up the piece of the chain that must be showin’ around my neck. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Ohhh, the necklace,” Grant exclaims with wide eyes. I send him a look that I hope says: <emphasis>Mind your own damn business,</emphasis> before I catch Amy still starin’ at me.</p><p>“It’s nothin’,” I say.</p><p>She doesn’t look satisfied, but she doesn’t ask any more questions either.</p><p>Grant eyes me down. He knows a little about the necklace. He knows what it looks like and that it’s from a girl I used to know, but that’s it. I shoot him another look that says <emphasis>drop it</emphasis>. And I think it works because he quickly goes back to eatin’ his hamburger.</p><p>Just then, Grant’s cousin sits down next to me. For as long as I’ve known Grant, I’ve known Carrie.</p><p>“Hi, guys,” Carrie says, attempting to open her milk.</p><p>“Hey,” I say, grabbin’ the milk carton out of her hands. Watchin’ Carrie open a milk carton is like watchin’ a cat try to squeeze into a shoe. And I’ve actually seen a cat get into a shoe; I’ve never seen Carrie get into a milk carton.</p><p>She gives me a challengin’ smile as I open the carton and set it back onto her tray. It’s not too long and the challengin’ smile turns thankful. Then I take another bite of my burger before I catch Amy eyin’ Carrie.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, Amy, this is Carrie, Grant’s cousin,” I say.</p><p>“Hi,” Amy says bashfully but without hesitation.</p><p>Carrie looks excited. I’d think somethin’ was wrong with the world if I didn’t already know that Carrie was just as scared as we all were about startin’ high school. I think she’d befriend a skunk if it meant she didn’t have to walk the halls alone. Though, it’s not like Amy’s a skunk or there’s anything wrong with her or anything — that I can tell. In fact, Amy seems really sweet. And she’s pretty hot. But Carrie has always been a little overprotective of her cousin, and I don’t really know what her deal is with me. No girl has ever been good enough for either of us. And I’d think there was somethin’ to that except Carrie has made it pretty clear that she only dates “older men”—whatever the hell that means. I don’t even think she’s really ever dated anyone in the first place. But needless to say, Carrie’s pool of acceptable girlfriends is pretty exclusive.</p><p>Carrie looks past me to Amy. “What’s your next class?”</p><p>Amy shifts her weight on the bench and pulls out that wrinkled piece of paper from her back pocket again and examines her schedule.</p><p>“P.E.” She almost says it as if she’s not too thrilled about it. I’d be thrilled about it. I wish P.E. were my next class.</p><p>“Perfect,” Carrie almost screams, as I use my hand to cover my ear closest to her. “That’s mine too! We can pretend like we’re running together. I can do this thing where it really looks as if I’m running, but I’m really just barely walking.”</p><p>Excitement pours out of Carrie’s ears. Amy just laughs. I think they just became friends. That’s the fastest friend Carrie’s ever made. I guess a mutual fear will do that to ya. I go back to eating my lunch. I stuff some fries into my mouth and feel the necklace catch a little on the inside of my tee shirt. I wish Brooke were here. Hearing Amy laugh makes me miss Brooke’s laugh. It’s been almost a year since I last heard from her. I rack my brain every day tryin’ to figure out another way to find her. I refuse to believe I’ve lost her for good. And I know she’s tryin’ to find me too. I’ve convinced myself somethin’ must have happened to her letter. But I still check the mail for it. And I’d still check my old mailbox too — or have Tim check it — if they hadn’t torn it down with the house just recently. When we left, we took what we wanted and sold the rest with the buildings and the land. Now, it’s all just pasture and fields. Nothin’s left of the way it used to be — except for that old creek. But I guess that old creek is enough for me. I still go down to it every once in a while and replay some of those invisible memories I always used to see Mrs. Catcher playin’ back to herself. For now, those are all I’ve got — until I find her again.</p><p>I take a swig of my milk, and I catch Amy smilin’ at me. Sears County Amy has got a pretty smile; I’ll give her that. In fact, it’s probably too damn pretty for her own good. Grant’s already set his sights on her; I can tell. He hasn’t stopped stealin’ glances since she sat down. And there’s about thirty more Grants around here that’ll be dreamin’ about her tonight. Hell, I bet she has a boyfriend by the end of this week. And to her credit, he’ll be one hell of a lucky guy.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Seventeen</p><p><emphasis>It’s Still Her?</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“D</strong>ude, what’s high school like?”</p><p>I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s not too different.”</p><p>“Come on, man.” Tim throws a Nerf football at me. It’s a wild throw. I just barely manage to catch it.</p><p>“Are the girls hot? Are the teachers hot?”</p><p>I send him a disgusted look thinkin’ about the teachers that way. Most of them taught my dad. “No,” I say. “No, definitely not.”</p><p>“What?” He looks at me with a stupid grin. “The girls or the teachers?”</p><p>“The teachers. No, on the teachers,” I say.</p><p>“The girls then?” he asks.</p><p>I push my lips to one side. “There’s a few girls from, you know, those other schools.”</p><p>“They hot?” For the first time, I notice him sittin’ on the edge of his chair, hangin’ onto my every word like his grandma does every Sunday to the Gospel.</p><p>I just laugh and throw the ball back at him. He doesn’t catch it. It ends up hittin’ his arm and bouncin’ to the living room floor. “But, yeah,” I say, eventually. “They’re not bad.”</p><p>“Well, you got a girlfriend yet? And does she have a hot friend?”</p><p>“A girlfriend?” I ask.</p><p>He just stares at me. I get the idea he’s seriously waitin’ for my answer. “In a day? I’m supposed to have a girlfriend in a day?” I ask.</p><p>“Well,” he says, givin’ me a funny face, “it’s high school. How am I supposed to know how it all works there?”</p><p>I lower my head. “No,” I say, “no girlfriend.” Then I sit back in the couch. “And I’m not lookin’ either.”</p><p>“What? What do you mean you aren’t lookin’?” he asks.</p><p>“I’m not lookin’,” I say again.</p><p>“Like you already found one?” he asks.</p><p>I think about his question before noddin’ my head. “Yeah,” I say. “Like I already found one.”</p><p>“I knew it!” he shouts, giving me a rascally grin. “Who is she? What’s she look like? Where’s she from? But really, what’s she look like?”</p><p>“Whoa, settle down there, grasshopper,” I say, startin’ to laugh.</p><p>Tim sits back in his chair and just stares at me.</p><p>“You already know her,” I say.</p><p>I watch as my words hit his ears, then get tossed around in that little brain of his. And then, all of a sudden, he starts shakin’ his head. “I knew it. It’s Carrie,” he says. “It’s Carrie, isn’t it?”</p><p>“What?” I look at him like he’s crazier than shit. “No, it’s not Carrie.”</p><p>“Man, I always thought she had a thing for you.”</p><p>I shake my head. “It’s not Carrie.”</p><p>“Wait,” he says. And I know now he’s got it. “It’s still her. It’s still her, isn’t it?”</p><p>I don’t say anything for a few beats, but then I nod my head. “Yeah,” I whisper.</p><p>He pushes out a long sigh and then goes to gnawing on his bottom lip. He chews on his lip like I do sometimes, but he does it only when he’s thinkin’ real hard.</p><p>“She comes to me sometimes,” I say.</p><p>He looks up at me, and I realize I need to explain myself — fast.</p><p>“At night. In dreams, I guess.”</p><p>“Man, she really got to you, didn’t she?”</p><p>I just look at him. I don’t know what to say.</p><p>“Dude, it’s your mind playin’ tricks on ya, that’s all,” he says, shakin’ his head.</p><p>“I know,” I breathe out.</p><p>What I don’t tell him is what she always says in those dreams. She wears those little jean shorts and a little top. And she never has shoes on. She’s always barefoot, and she’s always exactly how I remember her — even down to the colorful bands she wore around her wrist and her pretty laugh. It’s all so real. And we’re talkin’—just as if she had never left. And right before I wake up, she whispers into my ear: <emphasis>I’ll find you</emphasis>. Every time, she whispers: <emphasis>I’ll find you.</emphasis></p><p>I’m pretty sure this makes me crazy, but I don’t give a shit. Her invisible memory and those nights, few and far between, are all I have left of her. Maybe my uncle Joe was right all along. Maybe love has stripped away my freedom and made me its prisoner. Nowadays, I have no choice but to carry her chains along with me wherever I go.</p><p>I push out a puff of air and look over at Tim. Somethin’ on the television has caught his eye all of a sudden, and he’s all but lost for now.</p><p>I allow my eyes to follow the characters on the screen for a moment as I think. I think about somethin’ my fourth-grade teacher told us one day. She said we’re all livin’ in the past — that we’re really always eighty milliseconds behind life happenin’. She said that’s how long it takes our brains to comprehend what’s already taken place right in front of our eyes. So, I guess I’m not alone. Everyone’s livin’ in the past, to some extent. I’ve just become a prisoner of mine. I laugh to myself, but Tim doesn’t seem to notice. I’ve become a prisoner — willingly. But then I guess you really can’t be called a prisoner if you willingly carry the chains.</p><p>All of a sudden, Tim looks over at me. It catches me off guard and snaps me out of my thought.</p><p>“What’s wrong with you?” he asks.</p><p>“Nothin’,” I say, shakin’ off his stare.</p><p>He looks at me as if he doesn’t believe me. Then he picks up the Nerf ball and throws it at me. “You see the game last night?” he asks.</p><p>I catch the ball and just think to myself: <emphasis>Girl troubles? Baseball</emphasis>. Then I answer him. “Yeah,” I say, smilin’. “Yeah, I saw it.”</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Eighteen</p><p><emphasis>A Good Chance</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“R</strong>iver.”</p><p>I stop and turn to notice a little blonde runnin’ after me. I wait for her to catch up, and then once we’re shoulder to shoulder, we start walkin’ together.</p><p>“Hey,” she says.</p><p>“Hey,” I say.</p><p>She’s quiet then, and I’m left wonderin’ if she has somethin’ to say or if it’s my turn to come up with somethin’.</p><p>“So,” she starts, before I have a chance to think of somethin’. “My brother’s taking his girlfriend to see <emphasis>Rebel</emphasis> Friday night, and they said I could go because I really wanted to see it. But I really don’t want to be the third wheel, and you’ve been so nice to me with me not knowing anyone and all.”</p><p>I stop walkin’ and look at her because I almost think if we don’t stop for at least a second, she’ll run out of breath and pass out.</p><p>She finds my eyes and inhales deeply. “Would you want to come with me?”</p><p>I don’t think my expression changes for a few seconds. I think I’m tryin’ to process what this girl’s askin’. If I’m not mistaken, I think she’s askin’ me out on a date.</p><p>“Amy Calloway, are you askin’ me out?”</p><p>Her cheeks redden, and she crosses her arms against her chest and shifts her weight onto her other leg.</p><p>“Well, I guess I am.” She says it so confidently it’s almost as if she transforms from a sheep into a warrior right in front of my eyes.</p><p>I just keep my curious stare on her. I’m learnin’ fast this girl’s got some surprises behind her innocent little smile.</p><p>She shifts her weight onto her other leg, and I realize she’s still waitin’ for my answer. “I’d be happy to go,” I say, feelin’ my mouth lift on one side.</p><p>“Good,” she breathes out. She starts to walk away, leavin’ me to stand there and hash out what just happened. “I’ll talk to you more about it tomorrow,” she says. “I’ve gotta run for now.”</p><p>“Okay,” I manage to get out. I watch her hurry over to a pickup truck in the parking lot. There’s a guy drivin’ it with shaggy blond hair that looks as if it’s the exact same color as Amy’s. I’m guessin’ that’s her brother. Or at least I hope that’s her brother — or that makes what just happened even weirder. In fact, what did just happen? Did Sears County Amy just ask me to the movies Friday night? I stand in my place and ponder it for a second, replaying every word in my head over and over again, until finally I’m pretty convinced that I didn’t just dream it all up.</p><p>Well, I guess I’m goin’ to the movies with Amy Calloway Friday night. A sliver of a smile resurfaces on my face as I watch that pickup truck pull away. But then the smile quickly fades, and I find my hand reachin’ for the quartz heart through my tee shirt. I feel its hard little shape, and I squeeze it in between my fingers. Regardless of how I spin it, Amy’s not Brooke. And I know I should feel lucky. Out of all the boys, even the upperclassman ones, that beautiful girl from Sears County chose me. Now, why don’t I feel lucky? I think it’s because I miss her so much. I miss Brooke, but it’s been a year since I’ve heard from her, and I’m beginnin’ to think there’s a good chance I might never hear from her again. But even so, I still feel as if I’m cheatin’ on her. Or at the very least, I’m cheatin’ on her ghost with a little blonde named Amy Calloway.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Nineteen</p><p><emphasis>Somethin’ I’ve Lost</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>I</strong>t’s Friday night. Amy and her brother should be here any minute. I’ve got my best pair of jeans on — the only ones I’ve got that don’t have any holes in them — and a tee shirt. I look in the mirror. I think I look pretty good — as good as it gets anyway. I go to grab some cologne, and I notice the shine comin’ off the chain around my neck. I tug the heart out from under my shirt. Its prisms dance in the light from the ceiling fan above me. Maybe Brooke doesn’t want to find me. That thought had never crossed my mind before, but maybe it’s true. Maybe the reason why I haven’t heard from her in so long is because she doesn’t want to hear from me. Suddenly, it’s as if my heart just sinks in my chest. It’s been a year since I’ve heard anything from her. For all I know, she’s got a new life and a new boyfriend, and I’m old news. It’s hard to believe any of that, and I don’t think I do — believe any of it really. But what choice do I have? I have no idea where she is. She could be anywhere. I have no way of gettin’ in contact with her. I have no way of knowin’ I’ll ever see her again. In fact, I’m beginnin’ to think our time together was only just stolen moments — like we were never supposed to have them at all. Maybe it is time to let her go.</p><p>I fall onto the side of my bed and just sit there for a few silent minutes. Maybe it is time to move on. And maybe it’s best to give Amy a fightin’ chance. She seems like a nice girl. She doesn’t deserve someone who’s in love with a ghost.</p><p>Headlights light up the opposite wall, and I glance out my window and see a car pullin’ up the drive. It’s not her brother’s truck, but it must be them. I go to tuck the necklace safely inside my tee shirt again when I stop. I look at the way the light hits the quartz heart one last time, and I think about the first time I saw it catchin’ the sun’s rays. It was around Brooke’s neck then.</p><p>I’m not really expectin’ it, but a sigh crawls past my lips as I slip the chain over my head. It’s the first time I’ve ever taken it off. I close my eyes and squeeze the heart in the palm of my hand. On the back of my eyelids is Brooke with her wet hair slicked back and drops of water hangin’ from her eyelashes. Someday, I won’t be able to remember every detail of the way she was. And even though that hurts a little to think about, it gives me a little peace too because that means someday, it won’t be so easy for her to pull me back.</p><p>I drop the chain and its quartz heart carefully into my top nightstand drawer. I hesitate before I close the drawer, and I think about slippin’ the chain back on, but I don’t. Instead, I push the drawer shut and head out of my bedroom, hittin’ the light on the way out.</p><p>“Mom, they’re here. I’ll be back.”</p><p>I hear my mom say somethin’ about bein’ careful or bein’ late or both, but that’s after I’m already out the door.</p><p>I make my way to the car. The driver’s side window is open. From behind the wheel, her brother nods a greeting. I nod back just as Amy is gettin’ out of the front seat.</p><p>“Hey,” she says.</p><p>I smile without even thinkin’ about it. “Hi.”</p><p>“We’ll sit in the back,” she says, opening the back door on her side.</p><p>“All right,” I say.</p><p>I get in and close the door behind me. Amy’s already in and reachin’ for her seatbelt. I do the same.</p><p>“We still have to pick up Abbie,” I hear her say as my seat buckle clicks into place.</p><p>I glance over at her and notice for the first time how short her skirt is — right before I notice her brother adjusting the rearview mirror. And all of a sudden, I see his dark eyes starin’ back at me. And while his hair color matches Amy’s to a <emphasis>T</emphasis>, his eyes do not. Amy’s are bright blue. His are a deep shade of serial-killer green.</p><p>“Rick,” he announces, without so much as a tiny smile.</p><p>I look at the mirror and not actually at him. “River,” I say. I try to swallow the lump that’s growin’ in my throat. I’m a protective brother too, but jeez, this guy has it down. Is this what happens to ya when your little sister starts datin’?</p><p>All of a sudden, I notice my hands are gettin’ sweaty. I’m not sure if it’s Amy and her too-short-for-school skirt or the look her brother’s givin’ me. It only took me a couple days to figure out who Rick was. He’s a junior. He and Abbie, who’s also a junior, have been datin’ since their freshman year. Rick is a pitcher on the baseball team. He’s about my height, but his arms are bigger than most of the guys in school. I look up to him because he’s a good baseball pitcher. But still, I wasn’t really afraid of him, until now.</p><p>Rick takes his eyes off the rearview mirror to back out of the driveway, and for the first time in almost a minute, I take a rushed breath and look over at Amy. She smiles at me, probably completely unaware that her brother wants to publically skin me alive.</p><p>“How was your day?” she asks.</p><p>“Good,” I say, catchin’ a glance at the rearview mirror again. Rick’s eyes are back on me. “I, uh, didn’t see you today.”</p><p>I notice a bashful-lookin’ smile break across Amy’s face. “Did that make it good?”</p><p>“What? No,” I say quickly. Damn it. Rick’s eyes leave the road for the mirror. “Two separate thoughts, I promise. I just meant I didn’t see you at all today.”</p><p>“I know.” She lowers her eyes and smiles. “I’m just kidding. I was in the counselor’s office during first lunch, planning out my next four years.”</p><p>“Four years? We just started.”</p><p>Amy laughs, and if I’m not mistaken, I think Rick does a little too.</p><p>“Yeah,” she says. “They’ll get you too. I think they’re going up the list backwards. <emphasis>Asher</emphasis> has got to be about last then.”</p><p>I smile — not because I have to meet with the counselor and make up some bullshit about what classes I want to take a million years from now but because she knows my last name. I mean, sure, she probably saw my schedule or somethin’. But I wouldn’t know her last name if it weren’t for everyone who ever talks about her brother. Just like famous people, no one can seem to talk about Rick without callin’ him by his full name. He’s right up there with Tom Cruise and Hugh Jackman. He’s known as Rick Calloway. And he’s a bit of a legend at school, with him being All-State and all.</p><p>I look over at Amy. She’s bickerin’ back and forth with her brother now about somethin’ I guess happened earlier. I take the moment to study her. She’s wearin’ that short skirt that shows off her tanned legs. She’s got nice legs. They’re not long like Brooke’s, but they’re nice. Her top is white and frilly. Her hair is down and lyin’ long against her chest.</p><p>“River?” I suddenly hear her brother say.</p><p>I look up into the mirror because I know now that’s where he’ll be.</p><p>“Yeah?” I ask. I’m a little nervous he caught on to where I was starin’.</p><p>“Cardinals or Royals?” he asks.</p><p>“Oh, uh, Cardinals,” I say. “Definitely Cardinals.”</p><p>I look at Amy. She looks strangely relieved. Then I glance back at the mirror, and for the first time, the eyes starin’ back at me or smilin’. I breathe a sigh of relief.</p><p>We pick up Rick’s girlfriend, and then we’re off to the theater. Once we get there, I buy Amy’s ticket. My parents didn’t know it, but Grandpa gave me money here and there for workin’ for him. And I never really spent it on anything. I was saving it up to buy a train ticket to see Brooke. I always figured Grandpa would approve of me spendin’ it on a girl. But I guess I’m not savin’ up for a train ticket anymore. Or maybe I am. Hell, I don’t know.</p><p>“You’re not wearing your necklace,” Amy whispers in my ear once we’re in our seats.</p><p>I’m a little thrown off. It’s not everyday a girl whispers in my ear. It takes me back to a warm summer day more than a year ago when Brooke told me that she loved me — the same day she told me she was leavin’ me. That was one of the best and worst days of my life. I might very well forget everything else about that summer… eventually, but I’ll never forget that.</p><p>“Yeah,” I simply say. “I’m not.”</p><p>She flashes me a knowing smile as if she knew where the necklace came from or what it meant to me or why I’m not wearin’ it anymore. And then I take her hand. I just reach over and squeeze her hand, and I hold onto it. I really don’t know what comes over me — just some crazy wave of courage, I guess. Or maybe it was her knowing smile — a little smile that said she’s willing to take a chance on me even though I might still be lookin’ for somethin’ I’ve lost.</p><p>It’s dark in the little theater, but I’m pretty sure I still just saw her brother give me the look of death. I’ll probably pay for this later, but I don’t care. Her hand feels nice — being next to her feels nice. And that little knowing smile of hers especially felt nice.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>We watch the movie, and her brother takes me home first. I say bye to Rick and Abbie and lastly, Amy. There’s no kiss. I didn’t think I would make it to the front door alive if I were to attempt somethin’ like that in front of Rick. Regardless, Amy doesn’t seem to mind. I tell her I had fun. She smiles that little bashful smile of hers I’m already gettin’ used to, and then that’s it. Rick backs out of the drive and leaves me standin’ there, just smilin’ away to myself.</p><p>Hot damn. I think that was my first real date. And I think a girl asked me on it. When the car’s out of sight, my stupid grin spreads wide across my face. I can’t help it. Amy’s a nice girl, and we had a nice night.</p><p>I tilt my head back and catch the stars against the black sky, and then I feel my smile start to fade. High up there, I notice Aquarius. Without even thinkin’, I trace with my finger its stars, until I get to the last one, and I whisper my grandpa’s words out loud: “The Star of Hidden Things.” The smile vanishes from my face. I think it’s replaced with thoughts instead. I’m happy that I met Amy. I’m sad that Brooke’s gone. I miss my grandpa, and I have no idea what The Star of Hidden Things is all about.</p><p>I stare at the constellation for a little bit longer. It’s as if my eyes are dipped in honey or somethin’. They slowly make their way around, movin’ from one star to the next until the pattern is complete. I do that over and over again. And when I’ve finally had my fill, I turn and gradually make my way back inside, leavin’ the black sky and its stars and my grandpa’s words solely to the night.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Twenty</p><p><emphasis>Something Happy</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“A</strong>my.” I stop at her locker. I’m nervous. I’ve learned that nerves are little things that just kind of creep up on ya — mostly when you’re not really expectin’ them.</p><p>Her eyes land square on me, and it’s as if my darn words just float away. And for a second, I just stare at her, prayin’ they come back. And thankfully, they do, just before it starts to get too awkward.</p><p>“You wanna go fishin’ with me Saturday?” I ask.</p><p>“Fishing?”</p><p>“Yeah,” I say. “We’ve got a little pond behind our house.”</p><p>She smiles and squeezes the text book she’s holding to her chest. I try not to look at her chest. “Okay.”</p><p>“Okay, you will?” I ask.</p><p>“Yeah,” she says. “I’d like that.”</p><p>“Good.” My smile grows into a big, goofy grin before I can stop it. “Good,” I say again for no particular reason.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>It’s Saturday mornin’. I get Grant’s older brother to drive to Amy’s house. It sucks not havin’ a license yet. Who the hell made sixteen the magic age? Hell, I’ve been drivin’ things since I was eight, and it wasn’t until I was eleven that I learned I wasn’t supposed to be. The day I learned that, my dad and I were pickin’ up a tractor part for Grandpa. And while Dad threw the part onto the back of the truck, I got behind the wheel. A few seconds later, Dad got into the passenger’s seat. And we got damn near all the way to the edge of that parkin’ lot before he told me to stop the truck. He was all in a panic. I thought he was havin’ some kind of attack or somethin’.</p><p><emphasis>“We’re in town,” he said.</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>“Yeah,” I said.</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>“You can’t drive in town.”</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>“I can too. Town’s highway is just like any other highway.”</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>“No, I mean you’ve gotta be sixteen to drive in town,” he said.</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>“Sixteen? But I’m just as tall as some sixteen-year-olds; that shouldn’t matter.”</emphasis></p><p>Dad got out and walked to the driver’s side. So, I reluctantly scooted over to shotgun.</p><p><emphasis>“It doesn’t matter if you can reach the pedals, son. It only matters that you’re sixteen. It’s the law.”</emphasis></p><p>I remember bein’ quiet for a little bit, chewin’ on the idea. Then I eventually came to the conclusion that town laws were way stranger than country laws.</p><p>But anyway, the law says I can’t even pick up a girl to go fishin’, so now I gotta pay Big Justin over here ten of my hard-earned dollars to go a couple miles.</p><p>We pull up to Amy’s house, and she comes out wearin’ jeans and a sweatshirt that says somethin’ about pink on it. Her hair is down and in waves hangin’ over her shoulders. She smiles at me when she catches me lookin’.</p><p>I get out of the truck, and she jumps into my arms and gives me a hug. I wasn’t quite expectin’ that, but I’ll take it. She feels good in my arms. And she smells good too.</p><p>“Hi,” she says. She pulls away from me, and I watch her make her way over to the passenger’s side of the truck.</p><p>“Hi,” I say, standin’ there like a damn opossum in a flashlight beam before I decide I should follow her.</p><p>She climbs into the truck and scoots to the middle.</p><p>“Hi, I’m Amy,” I hear her say to Big Justin.</p><p>Big Justin smiles shyly and mumbles his name — minus the Big part. He’s two years older than us. You’d think he wouldn’t be so damn nervous around her.</p><p>I climb into the truck next to Amy. And then she scoots closer to me and doesn’t stop until we’re touchin’. It’s funny, and I don’t think I can really explain it, but I feel safe around Amy. Maybe that’s what fallin’ slowly for someone feels like. I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever fallen fast.</p><p>The trip to my house is pretty short. We don’t live too far away from each other. She lives on one side of the city limits; I live on the other. On the way, we mostly talk about how our days went. Big Justin doesn’t say a word. I can’t tell if he’s still nervous or just disinterested in our conversation. And I’m still just gettin’ used to this whole datin’ thing. With Brooke, I didn’t give too much thought to anything; I just did what I felt like doin’. Now, though, I feel as if it’s a whole different ballgame — as if all of a sudden, there are rules. I’m afraid of everything. I’m afraid to say the wrong thing. I’m afraid to scare her away. I’m afraid of Rick Calloway. So, after I pay Big Justin his ten dollars and he drives away, I breathe a sigh of relief just starin’ at the pond. I can’t help but feel within my element here. There’s somethin’ about being this close to water and about fishin’ that calms me.</p><p>I spread out a blanket; I figured she might like it better than the grass. Then we both sit down on it, and I help her bate her hook. The pole is really my sister’s, but she won’t notice it’s gone tonight. Amy squeals a little bit when I put the worm on the hook, but she calms down when I put my arms around her to help her cast out her line.</p><p>“And that’s it,” I say, releasing the pole to her keeping.</p><p>“I just hold onto it?” she asks.</p><p>I nod my head and point to the little red and white bobber in the water. “Until that bobber out there starts movin’ or you feel a tug.”</p><p>“Then what do I do?”</p><p>“You wait a second. Then you give it a good tug, to make sure the fish has got the hook.”</p><p>She looks so serious all of a sudden — as if she’s really memorizing every step. And for the first time, I realize serious looks pretty darn cute on her. I smile under my breath and stretch out my legs in front of me. Amy’s quiet again, and my eyes are stuck on my bobber restin’ on the water.</p><p>“You ever think about what you’d miss?” I don’t even know why I ask it. Maybe I’m just curious. Maybe fishin’ makes me think back every now and then.</p><p>I feel her hot gaze on me. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean, when you die. What do you think you’d miss about life?”</p><p>She doesn’t say anything, so I take my eyes off the bobber to look her way. She’s wearin’ a funny face now — as if she’s suspicious of my question or me or somethin’.</p><p>“River, I don’t think you’re supposed to think about things like that.”</p><p>I keep my eyes on her for another second before droppin’ my gaze completely. “Yeah,” I agree, noddin’ slowly. “Probably not.”</p><p>We’re both quiet again, and my attention gradually returns to that bobber floatin’ out there on the water. “But all the same, I think I’d miss fishin’.” Grandpa was right when he said it calms the nerves.</p><p>I don’t look at her, but I can tell she’s lookin’ at me.</p><p>“River, let’s talk about something happy.”</p><p>At last, I allow my eyes to shift from the bobber back to her. “Okay,” I simply say. She looks confused and almost sad. I don’t tell her that thinkin’ about what I’d miss actually does make me happy or that it makes me want to live. And I sure as hell don’t tell her I learned that lesson from a girl — I used to know.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Twenty-One</p><p><emphasis>Keep ‘Em In Your Head</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“S</strong>o, you and Amy are a thing now, huh?”</p><p>“Where’d you here that?”</p><p>“Grant,” Tim says.</p><p>I twist the cap off the bottle in my hand. “Uh…yeah, I guess,” I say, even though playin’ it back, it kind of sounds as if it’s a question.</p><p>“Well, are you or aren’t you?” he asks.</p><p>I nod my head. “Yeah, we are.”</p><p>“She’s hot,” he says, fiddlin’ with the bill of his cap.</p><p>I give him a serious look. “Watch it.”</p><p>“What? I’m just sayin’ what we’re all thinkin’.”</p><p>“Yeah, watch what you’re thinkin’ then.”</p><p>I watch him pick up a rock and skip it across the pond. Tim has always been good at skippin’ rocks. He could skip a rock across a football field if he wanted to.</p><p>“Is it weird?” he asks.</p><p>I take a swig, set my bottle down and cast my line out onto the pond. “Is what weird?”</p><p>“I don’t know — likin’ two people at the same time?”</p><p>“What?” I ask. I think my face matches the shape of a question mark.</p><p>“Well, you like Brooke <emphasis>and</emphasis> you like Amy.”</p><p>I just chew on his words for a second before shakin’ my head. “It’s not like that.”</p><p>“What do mean?” he asks.</p><p>“I mean it’s never gonna happen with Brooke, so I don’t think of her that way anymore.”</p><p>He shoots me a disbelieving look. Hell, I know it’s a lie, but maybe if I tell myself it enough, I’ll believe it someday.</p><p>He picks up another rock and goes to skip it but then stops. “You stop lookin’ for her?”</p><p>I force out a sigh. I came here to relax. Now, I’ve got Dr. Phil grillin’ me all of a sudden.</p><p>“I don’t know… I think I just figured she stopped lookin’ for me.”</p><p>He studies me for a second longer, then winds his arm back and sends the rock jumpin’ onto the pond. It skips four times and then sinks.</p><p>“I liked her,” he says.</p><p>My eyes dart to his.</p><p>“I mean, she was cool,” he goes on. “Kind of scary — with those eyes and all, but she was cool. And hotter than hell…”</p><p>“Thoughts — Keep ‘em in your head,” I warn him sternly.</p><p>He starts to crack a smile, and I just shake my head and try to hold back my own smile. “Yeah, well, Amy’s pretty cool too,” I say.</p><p>I catch him noddin’ his head. “Yeah,” he agrees, halfheartedly. I don’t really have the patience to ask him why he doesn’t like Amy as much as he liked Brooke, but I have a feelin’ I’m gonna find out anyway as I watch his face turn into a mess of wrinkles and thoughts.</p><p>“There was just somethin’ about her…and you.”</p><p>“What do you mean <emphasis>me</emphasis>?” I ask.</p><p>“I don’t know. It was only a couple months, but I could hardly stand you those months. You were just so damn happy.”</p><p>“Okay, Dr. Phil, I’m cuttin’ you off.”</p><p>“What? I’m just sayin’,” he whines.</p><p>“What? I’m not happy now?” I ask. I already know the answer to that. I am happy — just not that kind of happy.</p><p>Tim shrugs his shoulders. “It was just different, I guess.” He looks over at me. “Amy’s pretty cool too, though.”</p><p>“Yeah,” I say, noddin’. “She is.”</p><p>And then we both return our eyes to the water and neither of us says another word about Amy or Brooke or anything, for that matter. We just sit there and fish and keep our thoughts to ourselves — just like Grandpa taught us to do.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Twenty-Two</p><p><emphasis>Three Years Later</emphasis></p></title><p><strong><emphasis>Senior Year of High School</emphasis></strong></p><p><strong>“R</strong>iver, my dress is purple, so you need to get a purple bow tie to go with your tux.”</p><p>I suck in a lazy breath and then audibly force it out. I’m scared to ask her if she’s really sure this time. She’s gone back and forth between dress colors at least a half dozen times now. I keep an eye on her, just in case — just in case she changes her mind again. But she just stares back at me, not even battin’ an eye. I guess purple it is.</p><p>There’s a lot that goes into this whole prom thing. I thought just havin’ a date was all you needed. Now, I’ve got to make sure I’m dressed like freakin’ Barney. And I suppose if I had wanted to avoid the bullshit altogether, I could have went stag to prom. I could have followed Grant and told Amy I’m wearin’ jeans and a tuxedo tee shirt. That would have done it. That would have made me dateless real fast. Grant says his jeans and tee shirt are his way of “defying tradition.” But the hell with tradition, I just don’t want to end up lookin’ like some damn purple dinosaur. But I guess there’s no turnin’ the clock back now. Somehow, I’ve got to make Barney look good, among other things.</p><p>Amy’s already told me I’ve got to make dinner reservations and meet her and her friends somewhere beforehand to take pictures for God only knows what. It’s not like we’re gettin’ married. What in the hell do we need pictures for? Hell, Amy’s had this thing so planned out since sophomore year that I never even got the chance to ask her to the damn thing. All of a sudden, she just came to me with a picture of her dress — well, one of the half dozen choices, anyway — and said how “cute” we’re gonna look together. After that, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, so I just ended up never askin’ her. But I guess that’s how it’s been with Amy and me. We’ve been together ever since that day she asked me to the movies with her brother and his girlfriend. Or maybe it was the day I told her I’d walk with her to class our very first day of high school. I don’t even know for sure. We were voted <emphasis>cutest couple</emphasis> in last year’s yearbook. Amy was excited. I was too, I guess. It’s not like I’m gonna get <emphasis>Most Likely to Succeed</emphasis> or <emphasis>Class Clown</emphasis> or anything like that. I’m pretty sure those will go to Jana Winstead, the valedictorian and the one who’s bound to cure cancer someday, and Cory Hall, who’s just about the opposite of Jana Winstead and who just recently put the high school up for sale on Craigslist as a senior prank. He even threw the freshmen in for free. Principal Teddy — yes, like a teddy bear — was alerted of the sale, and Cory was immediately forced to take the listing down and then sent straight to Teddy’s office. But when Ol’ Teddy asked Cory why he had only asked $32.54 for the whole school, Cory sat up straight and calmly said that it would cover the cost plus tax.</p><p><emphasis>“Of what?” Teddy asked.</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>“Of the chair in the detention room I wore out these last four years. I mean, there’s springs comin’ out of it and whatnot.”</emphasis></p><p>The story goes that Principal Teddy laughed so hard he was snortin’. Needless to say, Cory got off scot-free, and most would say, rightfully so. But anyway, back to my point: Amy was excited about the recognition in the yearbook, so I was too.</p><p>Me and Amy are kind of like peanut butter and jelly, I guess you could say. We’re different. But we work pretty well together, I guess. She likes things a certain way, while I don’t mind jumpin’ in with all my clothes on every now and then. Amy’s pretty much got a set way of thinkin’. And I guess I did too, originally. Maybe that’s why I get her. I grew up thinkin’ that A leads to B, and there’s only one way to get there. I thought that because I just assumed that’s what everyone around me thought. That’s how I was taught anyway. There’s one road to town. The creek runs one way. The birds fly south in the winter and north in the summer — every summer. There’s a certain rhythm to life. You take what’s set out in front of ya. You eat the food — burnt or not. And I used to think that’s just how it was. But my grandpa changed that about me. All those years of keepin’ his thoughts to himself, and it was in his last days that I saw him in a different light. I guess I figured that if my straight-laced grandpa could be a dreamer, I could too. And of course there was somebody else during that time who helped me to see the world a little differently too. But I guess that was years ago and yesterday, and either way, it’s old news now.</p><p>“River!”</p><p>I look over at Amy. She’s starin’ at me like she’s just about to lose her patience.</p><p>“I’ve been calling your name.”</p><p>“Sorry,” I say, tryin’ to shake off my thoughts.</p><p>She sucks in a big breath of air and then forces it out slowly. “It’s okay.” She smiles and sets a magazine full of tuxes on the front cover down in front of her. “I found your tux. You’re going to look so hot in it. Every girl who isn’t already jealous of me will be come prom.”</p><p>I smile and nod away her comment. She says it to make me feel good. And it works. But it’s also gonna make me blush if I’m not too careful.</p><p>“It’s going to be so perfect,” she adds.</p><p>I nod again. I just want her to be happy. And if wearin’ a tux makes everything <emphasis>perfect</emphasis> and her happy, I’ll wear the darn tux — and the purple bow tie.</p><p>“You’re so freakin’ sexy, you know?” She smiles that devilish grin I love and squeezes my bicep at the same time.</p><p>“I’m just tryin’ to keep up with you, babe,” I say, eyin’ her sweet red lips. There’s somethin’ about seein’ that color on her that drives me wild. I force back the thought that it reminds me of Brooke’s envelopes. I’m well aware that thought doesn’t belong anywhere near the thought of Amy’s lips.</p><p>“I love you,” she says, givin’ me a peck on the lips before she takes off down the hallway.</p><p>I grab at her, but I only end up gettin’ air. “Hey, where are you goin’?” I ask.</p><p>“Carrie’s. We’re planning the after-party.”</p><p>She turns, and I’m left noddin’ my head again, actin’ as if I understand that there’s somethin’ more important than some extra time with her right now. I guess if I’m lucky, she’ll schedule some time for me to actually hang out with her come prom day.</p><p>I let out a sigh and notice a freshman girl starin’ at me from across the cafeteria. She smiles when she notices me notice her, and then she quickly disappears into the hallway. Girls are somethin’ else. I don’t remember the first time around bein’ so complicated. Maybe the older you get, the more complicated they get. Who knows?</p><p>I pick up my books from the table and march off to my locker. There’s only five minutes left of school. It’s funny how you get a month out from graduation and no one gives a shit where you are in the building anymore.</p><p>I get to my locker and shove the books inside. I’ve got baseball practice as soon as the bell rings, so I grab my duffle bag and head for the fields just as a faint smile is crossin’ my face. Two hours of practice means two hours where I don’t have to hear a darn thing about bow ties, tuxes or proms.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Twenty-Three</p><p><emphasis>Where Do You Always Go?</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“R</strong>iver.”</p><p>I look up from re-lacin’ my baseball glove.</p><p>“I think when we go to college, we should see other people.”</p><p>I just stare at her, while her words sink in, one by one. “What?” Maybe I heard her wrong.</p><p>“I just think it’s for the best. We’ll be hours apart, and we’ll be meeting new people and…” She stops and seems to gnaw on her next words for a few too many seconds before she tosses them out. “And we’ve only dated each other. Don’t you think we need to see what else is out there?”</p><p>What the hell? I know I’ve got a look on my face like someone has just punched me in the stomach, and I guess someone has — Amy.</p><p>“What? What do you mean for the best? Amy, what in the hell are you talkin’ about?”</p><p>“Well, I’ve been thinking about college a lot and being on my own and really starting life, you know? It just seems kind of overwhelming right now to have to try to keep a long-distance relationship, you know?”</p><p>What? No. No, I don’t know. I don’t know what it’s like to have the opportunity to have a long-distance relationship with the advantage of cell phones and the Internet and every other damn thing that can keep you together these days.</p><p>“River?”</p><p>I look up at her. She’s starin’ at me, and for a second, I wonder how long she’s been starin’.</p><p>“River, where did you just go? Where do you always go?”</p><p>I don’t say anything. I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around everything she’s said.</p><p>“I don’t understand you sometimes,” she goes on before I can say anything. “It’s like your mind is always somewhere else.”</p><p>I pull in my bottom lip and hold it there with my front teeth. My wandering mind has never bothered her before — not when I’d use it to escape while she shopped for hours or when we had dinner with her friends, who didn’t seem to notice I was there after a while.</p><p>“How long have you been thinkin’ about this?” I ask.</p><p>“Just for the last couple weeks.”</p><p>“Weeks?”</p><p>All of a sudden, she’s face to face with me, and she’s got her hands wrapped around the hand not holdin’ the baseball glove. “River, I love you. You’re sexy and sweet, and you’ve got these huge baseball-player muscles.” She squeezes my bicep and smiles. “And we’re probably going to spend the rest of our lives together. True love has a habit of coming back, you know?”</p><p>I look into her sea blue eyes. I could have sworn she just broke up with me. Now, she’s talkin’ about true love. And no, I don’t know about that either. I don’t know anything about true love or its habit of comin’ back.</p><p>“But I just need some <emphasis>me time</emphasis>,” she finishes.</p><p>“<emphasis>Me time</emphasis>?” I repeat.</p><p>She bobs her blond head once and gives me that puppy-dog, pouty look she likes to give me when she wants somethin’. It usually works on me, but this time, I haven’t got a damn clue as to what she’s actually askin’ for. Is this a breakup or a marriage proposal?</p><p>I drop the glove and rub my eyes before I catch her pouty face again. “So, you’re tellin’ me you want to date other people when we go off to college…and then you want to get back together…and spend the rest of our lives…together?”</p><p>She squishes her face up a little bit more. “Well, we don’t <emphasis>have</emphasis> to date other people.”</p><p>“So no dating other people?”</p><p>She shakes her head once. “No, not necessarily. I mean, I’m not asking you to wait for me either.”</p><p>I narrow my eyes at her. “But you are?” I say.</p><p>I watch her shoulders lift a little before I suck in some air and then force it right back out again. Then I take my hand from hers, prop my elbows on my knees and cradle my face in my hands. My heart is stabbin’ me in my chest, but the funny thing is that I think my heart forgot to tell my brain that there’s a problem. I’m surprisingly calm. I sit up and collect my glove again.</p><p>“Amy, what’s goin’ on?” I know her too well. New things make her nervous — make her want to drop everything, until she can get a good grasp on what’s goin’ on. That and the darn girl never knows what she wants. Whether it’s the purple dress or the blue dress, chocolate or toffee, long hair or short hair, she’s always second-guessin’ herself.</p><p>She sighs, and then her eyes catch on mine. “I’ve never been anywhere but here. I’ve never experienced anything but corn fields and small-town gossip and homecoming carnivals. I want to experience something new — like really experience it.”</p><p>“And you can’t do that with me?” I ask.</p><p>Her lips turn downward. I already know the answer to that. And is it crazy that I understand? This all might sound ridiculous to someone else, but I understand what it’s like to want an adventure. And I got my adventure once. I shouldn’t hold her back on hers. I want to be big about this, but I’d be lyin’ if I said this doesn’t hurt. I’d be lyin’ if I said this wasn’t a huge punch to the gut.</p><p>I look down at the floor and then back up at her. “<emphasis>Me time</emphasis>?” I ask her.</p><p>She just nods, but now her face has turned a little sad.</p><p>“Okay,” I say, raking my fingers through my hair. “Whatever you want.”</p><p>She tries to smile, but it never reaches her eyes. Then all of a sudden her arms are wrapped around me. And I’m still just tryin’ to figure out what the hell just happened. I think we broke up. I think that’s what happened. After four years, our time just expired — as if it always had an expiration date or somethin’. And now, I’ve got the arms of the girl I’ve said <emphasis>I love you</emphasis> to every day for the last four years wrapped around me — and she’s sayin’ good-bye. Who knows, maybe I bored her. We had fun, but maybe not enough. She wants an adventure. But there’s only so much fun you can have plannin’ every detail of your life — even down to what poses you’re gonna do for prom pictures. But maybe that’s it. I bored her. Uncle Joe — and I know I’m not supposed to be listenin’ to him — once told me that you can do anything to a woman but bore her. Maybe that’s what I did. Regardless, I start to feel pissed off and sick to my stomach. And I just sit there as Amy pulls away from me. She’s got mist in her eyes, and she’s rubbin’ one eyelid with the back of her hand.</p><p>“I think this is the right thing for me to do. You understand? Right, River?”</p><p>I just stare at her. I don’t answer.</p><p>She presses her lips together and then leans in and gives me a peck on the cheek before grabbin’ her jacket off the couch. “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over,” she softly says. “We can’t tell the future. I just need this time, and then maybe someday, we’ll find our way back to each other again.” Her words blaze a hot trail back to me. Then I just follow her with my eyes as she disappears behind the door and out of sight.</p><p>My silent anger burns inside of me. There’s a part of me that feels as if she had no right to decide our expiration date — and for what? <emphasis>Me time</emphasis>? That’s a dumb way of sayin’ it — even for Amy. I force out an uneven breath, and I wait for my world to crash in on me. But I just keep sittin’ there, and it never does. I replay the four years we spent together, and I feel those damn pricks in my heart again, but after a while, each prick gets a little easier to take. Maybe it’s because I believe her. I really do believe she’s being truthful when she says she just needs time to concentrate on her new life. Too bad that concentration involves cuttin’ me out of her current life. Or maybe it’s because the second time a girl breaks your heart, it’s not as bad as the first. Or maybe our relationship really did just run its course — like Brooke and mine. Maybe everything really does just have an expiration date — one that you can’t see until she tells you she’s leaving, and then she’s gone.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Twenty-Four</p><p><emphasis>Your Secret’s Safe with Me</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>W</strong>e graduate high school tomorrow. And Amy and I both know what that means. We’ll be goin’ our separate ways. And believe it or not, I’m not so torn up about it. I loved Amy. But I never felt for Amy what I once felt for Brooke. Maybe I don’t know what love is. Or maybe Brooke just ruined me for every other girl; I don’t know. For a long time, I think I hoped Brooke would just eventually fade into the background. We were young — too young to even think about love. But yet, I loved her. I. Loved. Her. Or I thought I did. And now, when I think of love and what it feels like, I think of Brooke. Damn it, girl. What did you do to me?</p><p>I reel the fishin’ line back in and set the pole down onto the ground next to me. “What ever became of you?” I whisper to the wind. “Where did you go?”</p><p>I wonder what she was like in high school or if she played a sport or an instrument? Was she homecoming queen or the captain of the scholar bowl team? Did she ever find that bear she lost? But mostly, I just wonder if when she thinks of love, does she think of me?</p><p>“What the hell are you smilin’ at?”</p><p>I turn around fast and catch Tim makin’ his way toward me. Damn it, Tim. He’s always sneakin’ up on me.</p><p>“How’d you know I was out here?” I ask.</p><p>He sits down in the grass beside me and makes himself comfortable. “I’ve got eyes, don’t I? Your truck was in the driveway. You weren’t in the house. You weren’t in the backyard. So, I came lookin’ for ya here, and lo and behold, here ya are.”</p><p>He stretches both of his arms in my direction, and I just shake my head. <emphasis>Smart-ass</emphasis>.</p><p>“I heard about you and Amy.”</p><p>“What? From who?”</p><p>“Everyone.”</p><p>I pick up my fishin’ pole and cast the line out again. “Well, I guess it’s official then.”</p><p>“It’s for the best, man.” He pats me once on the shoulder. “I hear college ain’t a place to have a girlfriend.”</p><p>I push out a sigh and turn the handle back on the reel until I hear a click. “Where’d you hear that from?”</p><p>“Uncle Joe.”</p><p>“Tim, I told you…”</p><p>“I know. I know. I sort through his ramblin’s. I don’t believe everything he says.”</p><p>I nod my head in approval. I guess that’s good enough.</p><p>“You mad?” he asks.</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“Amy.”</p><p>“Oh.” I shake my head once. “No. I think in the back of my mind, I knew it was comin’.”</p><p>“I hear she thinks you guys are gonna get back together later,” he says.</p><p>I bob my head as I slowly reel in the fishin’ line — just because. Ain’t no fish bitin’ anyway. “Yeah, that’s what she said.”</p><p>“Well, are ya?”</p><p>I laugh once. “I don’t know, Tim. We just broke up.”</p><p>He wrinkles his brows at me. “That doesn’t make much sense. You broke up. But you’re gonna get back together. Then why the hell break up?”</p><p>“Yeah, buddy, I hear ya,” I say. “I’m still tryin’ to figure it all out myself.”</p><p>He lies back against the banked grass, foldin’ his hands behind his head. “Well, you sound like you’re takin’ it pretty well.”</p><p>I laugh under my breath — not because I’m happy but more so because I know I really don’t have a choice in the matter. Amy’s already made her decision. I can kick and scream all I want; it’s not gonna change her mind. Plus, I don’t really feel like kickin’ and screamin’ anyway.</p><p>“Amy’s a nice girl,” I say.</p><p>He’s quiet for a second before he opens his mouth again. “But she’s not Brooke.”</p><p>I look back at him. I want to tell him he’s wrong — that I’ve moved on, that Brooke’s moved on, that four years is a long time to think you still have somethin’ and that thirteen really isn’t an age when you should be makin’ any decisions about life. But no words come — probably because I don’t believe any of it myself. And I’m pretty sure that probably makes me a damn fool.</p><p>I sigh and then catch a fish swimmin’ in the water near us. This pond is stocked full with fish, and I never catch a darn one. I guess it’s a good thing I really don’t come out here to catch any.</p><p>“Don’t worry, buddy,” I hear him say behind me. “Your secret’s safe with me.”</p><p>I slowly force out a breath. For all of Tim’s odd qualities, his redeemable ones sure do a damn good job of savin’ him.</p><p>I return my attention to the pond then, and I think. I think about Brooke. And after a while, I come to the conclusion that a part of me will probably always be waitin’ for her. And even when I get to the end of this life and she’s not there, I think I’ll still just wait. It’s the cruel reality of love, I think — that once you find it, it’s yours to carry. And even if you lose it and never find it back again, I think you still just keep on carrying it…and waitin’—long after the curtain closes.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Twenty-Five</p><p><emphasis>Four Years Later</emphasis></p></title><p><strong><emphasis>Senior Year of College</emphasis></strong></p><p><strong>I</strong>t’s been nearly nine years since my last day beside that old creek bed where I grew up, and I’m only two weeks from graduating college. And I think the only reason why I think about those days at all anymore is because of the girl who I spent them with. I have no idea where she ended up. In the end, she was only there for a page in my life really. But kind of like when you move something on a wall after it’s been there for a long time, and its place is bright but everything around it is faded — that’s how I feel about her. She wasn’t there very long, but when she left, everything around her memory sort of dimmed.</p><p>But a lot has changed since those days alongside that creek, I guess. I finally learned that those <emphasis>g’</emphasis>s mean something at the end of a word. Where I come from, everything ends in an <emphasis>n</emphasis>. And I learned that Brooke was right. You really do lose a lot of stuff when you move. I lost that creek. I lost the best summer job I ever had. And I lost her. But then I guess that’s all in the past now.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>“You gonna eat those chips? River!”</p><p>“Huh, what?” I ask, catching the stupid look on Tim’s face.</p><p>Tim followed me to the University of Missouri. Most people where I’m from don’t bother with college. They just take over the family business, which is usually the farm, and make a living doing what his father and his father did. But we didn’t have a farm anymore, and besides, my grandpa was right, I wasn’t much cut out for farm work anyway. That said, Tim’s family still had a farm, and I’m still not sure why he left it. I’ve asked him, but he’s never answered me. Maybe he discovered that the Maker’s cutter didn’t have a farm boy in mind when he made him either. And maybe he’s just too ashamed to admit it. Or maybe Tim just found out how many more girls there are here than there are back home. I’d put my money on the latter.</p><p>“You gonna eat those chips?”</p><p>“Uh, no, you can have them.” I toss the bag at him.</p><p>He catches it and immediately rips into the chips and starts stuffing his face.</p><p>“What are you always daydreamin’ about? Dude, you got a girl none of us knows about?”</p><p>I look over at him and laugh quietly to myself before I shake my head. “Naw.”</p><p>“You dreamin’ about Audrey again? You know, I really thought you two were gonna make it — at least for another month or so.”</p><p>“Funny, dipshit.” I sit back in my chair and notice he’s still staring at me. It makes me feel uncomfortable, and he knows it. Does he want me to say something else? “What? No,” I say. “I’m not dreamin’ about anything — or anyone.”</p><p>He stuffs another handful of chips into his mouth. “Too bad about her ex-boyfriend, right? Man, that guy’s a piece of shit, which means that girl ain’t worth it.”</p><p>I only nod my head. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I say, even though it’s still hard to admit it out loud. Audrey and I only dated for three months. It was fast and fun. I had picked up early on that she wasn’t over the last guy she had her talons in. She had mentioned once they dated for three years and that they were still friends. That should have been the cue for me to run, but I’m a glutton for punishment, and maybe I didn’t care either. Maybe I didn’t want it to be anything more than fast and fun.</p><p>“River!” Tim’s voice cuts into my thoughts. And he says my name as if it’s not the first time he’s said it either. It forces my eyes in his direction.</p><p>“See you tonight?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah,” I say, nodding my head.</p><p>He’s standing in my doorway now. How’d he get there so fast?</p><p>“Okay.” He starts to leave and then stops. “Oh, and hey, remember Dustin’s out, so we got this other guy he knows to play second, so you’re playin’ first. Remember?”</p><p>“Got it,” I say, giving him another nod.</p><p>He smacks the door frame with his open hand like he always does for some reason, and then he’s gone.</p><p>I sit back for a second and stare at the blank wall. I’m a little off today. Maybe it’s because of Audrey. Maybe it’s because I’m a senior and weeks from graduating and I don’t have the slightest clue what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. Or maybe it’s something else; I don’t know. I’ll graduate in a handful of days with a degree in newsprint journalism, but I don’t have a job lined up and people say no one is hiring. And since papers look as if they’re on their way out, I have a feeling that diploma will be worth about eight cents — and that’s only because I figure that’s about how much it probably cost to print it.</p><p>I reach into my desk drawer and slide out a <emphasis>Sports Illustrated</emphasis> magazine. Inside the magazine, stuck between two pages, is an envelope. I pull it out and flip it over. On the back side is the outline of two red lips. <emphasis>Sealed with a kiss</emphasis>. I tap the corner of the envelope a few times on the edge of the desk before I sit back further in the chair and stare at the mark her lips made once upon a time. It’s hard to believe she held this envelope once — that she once brought it to her lips and that those same lips once held a love and a hope I once held too. But now, I hate this envelope, almost as much as I hate the letter inside. I shouldn’t even have either of them anymore. I don’t know why I torture myself. But it’s all I have left of her, and I just can’t bring myself to let them go, I guess.</p><p>I toss the envelope onto the desk and just stare at it some more. It was the last letter she sent to me. The return address says some little town in Illinois. Maybe this was her <emphasis>good-bye</emphasis> letter; I don’t know. All I know is that I never heard from her again. But for some reason, I’m still sitting here, staring at this old piece of mail. I almost feel like a thirteen-year-old girl, still carrying it around with me. And that’s why I hate it. I hate it because it’s the only thing in my life I just can’t seem to part with.</p><p>I suck in a quick breath and then force it right back out again. Then before I know it, I’m looking over my shoulder to make sure Tim is good and gone before my fingers reach for the envelope, part the two lips and pull out the fading piece of blue stationery. I unfold the letter and set the envelope down. And instantly, my eyes are reading the last words she ever wrote to me:</p><cite><p>I had a dream about you last night. We were together again, and we were happy.</p><p>…</p><p>Please don’t forget about me.</p><p>I’ll write again as soon as we’re in our new place.</p><p>XOXO</p><p>Love,</p><p>Brooke</p></cite><p>I fold the letter and slide it back into the envelope, not missing the two red lips again. That was it. That was the last time I heard from her. And I’m pretty sure I’m crazy for holdin’ onto her for so long. We were only kids back then. She’s probably got a boyfriend. Hell, she could have a husband. I’ve tried to look her up on Facebook. I’ve even sent messages to six different Brooke Sommerfields. So now, every Brooke Sommerfield in the country and one in Canada has pretty solid evidence to believe I’m a creep, and I’m still no closer to finding her. It would have been nice if the inventor of the cell phone would have come up with his little idea just a few years earlier. I must have really used up all my luck the day I met her because I’ve had bad luck ever since she left. Really, who isn’t on Facebook? Or maybe she’s got one of those private accounts someone was telling me about, where you can’t even find her name even if she were on there. Anyway, it must be fate tellin’ me that summer in ’99 was just a fluke, a beautiful accident, a perfect mistake. Now, why can’t I bring myself to believe that? Part of me just wants to let it be and move on — for good. But the other part of me just won’t let me just let it be.</p><p>I sit back and stare at those red lips.</p><p>“Shit!” I’m officially a damn girl. What in the hell is wrong with me? She’s like a song playin’ over and over again. I just can’t get her out of my damn head.</p><p>I snatch up the envelope and shove it back into the <emphasis>Sports Illustrated</emphasis>, and then I shove the magazine back into the drawer where it belongs — out of sight, even if it isn’t quite out of mind. Then I slam the drawer shut, pull off my cap and angrily rake my fingers through my hair.</p><p>“Damn it, girl! I’ve got to stop thinking about you.”</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Twenty-Six</p><p><emphasis>You Got a Letter</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“R</strong>iver? Can you hear me?”</p><p>I pull the phone slightly away from my ear. “Yes, Mom, I can hear you.” I don’t know why she feels the need to ask me that every time she calls.</p><p>“I’m supposed to remind you that your sister graduates on the fourteenth.”</p><p>“I know, Mom. I’ll be there.”</p><p>“I know,” she says. “But you know how she is. She just wants to make sure you’re there.”</p><p>“I’ll call her,” I say. “I’ll tell her I’ll be there.”</p><p>“Okay. Oh, and Riv.”</p><p>She’s quiet.</p><p>“Mom?”</p><p>“Hold on, dear, I’m pulling it out of the drawer.”</p><p>My brows furrow. Pulling what out of the drawer?</p><p>“You got a letter today,” she says.</p><p>I think my heart stops mid-beat, but I wait for her to continue before I jump to any conclusions.</p><p>“The funny thing is that it looks kind of old.”</p><p>“Old?” I ask.</p><p>“I had your dad get the magnifying glass out and look at the postmark date. And it looks like it was postmarked on February 27, 2000.”</p><p>“2000?” It can’t be. All the air in my lungs instantly disappears, and I have to take a breath just to keep functioning.</p><p>I shake my head even though I know she can’t see it, and I find a kitchen chair and fall into it. I can tell she’s fiddling with the letter. “Mom, who’s the letter from?”</p><p>There’s a pause, and it’s the longest damn pause I’ve ever had to live through. “Mom,” I say again.</p><p>“It’s from Brooke, dear.”</p><p><emphasis>She wrote me.</emphasis></p><p>I don’t say anything. I don’t know how long I’m quiet. I’m trying to hold back my excitement. I don’t want my mom to know I’d run all the way home right now just to get my hands on that letter.</p><p>“River?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m here. You sure it’s from her?” I know it is; I just have to ask.</p><p>I don’t hear anything except a little rustling of paper.</p><p>“I’m sure,” she says. And with those two words, I know she’s seen the red lips on the back of the envelope.</p><p>It’s quiet again. My heart’s racing. I’m excited, but something in me is a little sad too. She had written to me, and all these years, I had never known. There’s a part of me that feels she must have thought I gave up on her.</p><p>“River?”</p><p>“Yeah, okay. It’s no big deal,” I lie. “Just hold onto it, will ya? I might be home this weekend. I guess I could take a look at it then maybe.”</p><p>“You’re coming back this weekend? I thought you had a baseball game with your friends Saturday.”</p><p>“It was cancelled,” is all I say. It’s a lie too.</p><p>“Okay,” she says, sounding happy again. “I’ll just keep it in the hall desk drawer. It’ll be waiting for you when you get here. I’m so excited you’re coming home. Rea will be excited too.”</p><p>“Okay, Mom, well, I’ve got to go.” I’ve got to get off this phone before she gets wind I still care about an old damn letter. I’m trying to play it off as best I can, but I don’t know how long I can keep this act up. Right now, I don’t know if I feel like punching a wall or finding someone to hug.</p><p>“Okay, dear. I’ll talk to you later.”</p><p>“Later,” I manage to get out.</p><p>I hit <emphasis>End call</emphasis> as soon as I can get my finger to it, and I set the phone carefully down onto the table. It feels like my damn heart is about to beat right out of my chest. I take a couple breaths to try to calm it, and then I sit back in my chair.</p><p>“What the hell?” I smile. <emphasis>A letter from Brooke.</emphasis></p><p>There’s a guy outside the window walking his dog. My eyes follow his every move, while my mind goes back to the summer of ‘99 and Brooke’s laugh and her long legs and her soft lips. Damn it! I jump up and run into my room. I grab my duffle bag from my closet and start throwing tee shirts and shorts into it. It’s half full in thirty seconds. I have no idea what’s in it — except clothes — but I don’t even care.</p><p>I run to the bathroom and throw my toothbrush into the little thingy I keep my deodorant and cologne in, and then I throw that into the duffle bag too. Then I take the bag, head back out into the kitchen and grab my phone. I text Tim and tell him I won’t be able to make the game Saturday. They’ll find someone else. And before I know it, I’m snatching up my keys and making a beeline for my truck in the driveway. The weekend starts early this week.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Twenty-Seven</p><p><emphasis>Love, Brooke</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“I’</strong>m home,” I announce to everyone and no one at the same time. “Mom, Dad, Rea.”</p><p>No one answers. I throw the duffle back into the corner and practically race to the hall desk. I pull on the drawer, and with a wood-scratching-along-wood sound, the whole damn thing comes completely off its tracks. I set the drawer on top of the desk and then go to searching. Inside, there’s a stack of papers and envelopes — junk mail, junk mail, grocery store ads. Why does she keep all this crap? I drop it all one by one onto the desk’s surface. Then, suddenly, I stop. Staring at me is a letter. It’s a faded yellow, and it’s addressed to me at my old address, and it’s in her handwriting. I follow the curves she always added to my name, and then I breathe in before slowly flipping the envelope over. And then I see them — a pair of faded, red lips. I smile and move my fingers over them. What I wouldn’t give to touch the real things.</p><p>I take another breath and force it out slowly through my mouth before I carefully peel open the envelope, being cautious not to tear it any more than I have to. It’s old, and by now, it’s sealed shut, so it’s hard to open it without making a mess of it, but I manage all the same. Once the seal is broken, I pull out the blue paper she always wrote on. I breathe out again and try to control my heartbeats. I know I shouldn’t feel this way about a damn letter, but when your past comes back to you like this — when you can see it, when you can hold it — I guess you just can’t help but give it the moment it deserves. And I guess that moment deserves these sweaty palms too. I try to swallow the lump growing in my throat as I unfold the letter. And when I get it opened, I look at how she signed it first. <emphasis>Love, Brooke</emphasis>, in her pretty letters, scrolls across the bottom of the page. My heart both jumps and sinks at the same time, and I go from feeling a sense of relief to feeling nothing but panic in no time flat. What the hell does the letter say? I find a chair in the kitchen and fall into it as my eyes go to following over her last words to me:</p><cite><p>Dear River,</p><p>We’re here. I just started at my new school, just in time for Thanksgiving! And we had to make a list yesterday of what we’re thankful for. You made my list! And so did Winnie-the-Pooh! P.S. He’s getting better at shaking hands. I think I’ll teach him how to roll over next. He’s stubborn, so it’ll probably take me a while, but maybe by the time I see you next, he’ll be able to do both.</p><p>Anyway, I’m liking eighth grade so far. I hope you’re liking it too. I bet you’re already a baseball star this year, and you haven’t even had your first game yet! I miss you. It’s not so bad here. Oh, I haven’t even told you where here is yet! Nashville, Tennessee. And before I started school here, I thought about where I was going to tell everyone I was from — because people always ask you that when you’re new. It took me two seconds to come up with it. From now on, whenever anyone asks me where I’m from, I’m going to tell them Detmold, Missouri. I know it’s not exactly the truth, but the truth is, that’s the only place I ever felt like I was home. For a summer, I was home with you, River.</p><p>Please write soon. My new address is 1007 Lake View, Nashville, TN. I can’t wait to hear from you! Did I mention I miss you?! I’m so happy I didn’t lose you in the move! I’ll talk to you soon!</p><p>XOXO</p><p>Love,</p><p>Brooke</p></cite><p>I let my hand holding the letter fall gently to my lap and rest there. I feel a small fixed smile on my face, but my heart hurts like hell. <emphasis>I’m so happy I didn’t lose you in the move!</emphasis> plays on repeat in my head. Why didn’t I ever get this letter? Where was it this whole time? My eyes travel to her name again at the bottom of the page. She wrote to me. I just didn’t get it. How the hell didn’t I get it? I stand and snatch up the envelope from the desk again. There’s a yellow label stuck to it. And in black ink on that yellow label is my parents’ current address. And I think about how we moved to town and sold the house and the land. The original postmark is a few weeks after we moved. The letter must have gotten to our old place, and somehow I missed it. Damn it! I drive my palm hard into the desk’s surface. The grocery ads fall and fly every which way onto the floor just as I take another look at the postmark date. There’s no date on the letter, but that’s not strange because she never dated her letters. What’s strange is that she mentions Thanksgiving in the letter. But the postmark is the end of February. That’s at least a few months that aren’t accounted for. Something doesn’t quite add up, but I guess it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that she wrote to me.</p><p>If your heart can physically ache, I’m pretty sure that’s what mine is doing right now. It’s been nine years, and now I know — she didn’t give up on me, or at least not when I thought she had. I thought that knowing would make me feel better — would help her memory start to disappear. But now, the only thing that keeps runnin’ through my mind is that I’ve got to find her. Suddenly, there’s a new, strange sense of hope coursing through my veins. I think it’s because I’ve just realized that she never said <emphasis>good-bye</emphasis> for good. So, I’ve got to find her. Somehow, I’ve got to tell her I didn’t give up on her either. I’ve got to let her know she didn’t lose me in the move.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Twenty-Eight</p><p><emphasis>Why Nashville?</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“B</strong>lake, I need you to do me a favor, buddy.”</p><p>“Oh, great,” he says, playfully rolling his eyes.</p><p>“What? You don’t even know what it is,” I say.</p><p>“Yeah, but you don’t sound like you’re gonna ask me to get ya notes for a class or somethin’ easy like that.”</p><p>I furrow my brows at how he knows that before letting go of an audible sigh.</p><p>Blake lets his head fall back. “Oh, jeez, I’m right, aren’t I.” His head eventually rolls back into place, and he just stares at me. “What? Do I gotta help you rob a bank? Lie in court? Get my girl to talk to some chick about alternative options?” He cocks his head in my direction and narrows one eye at me.</p><p>“What? Wha… Why are you my friend again?” I ask.</p><p>“Because I’d do any of that shit for you,” he says with a straight face.</p><p>I keep my eyes on him. “Have you done any of that stuff?”</p><p>He shrugs his shoulders. “Well, no. But I would.”</p><p>“Don’t,” I simply say.</p><p>The sides of his mouth turn down, and his shoulders slump.</p><p>“I need you to come with me,” I say.</p><p>Blake narrows an eye at me. “That’s it?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“When do we gotta go?”</p><p>“You don’t even know where we’re going,” I say.</p><p>“Really?” he asks. “I graduate in less than two weeks. I could give two shits about class. I care even less about finals. I could not take the finals and still pass the classes. Come June, I start a job at my dad’s firm that will basically strip me of my balls and my freedom. So, the way I see it, since my life is ending in a month anyway, anywhere sounds pretty damn good to me.”</p><p>I lower my head and chuckle to myself. “Nashville,” I say when I look up.</p><p>He nods and starts to grin. “When do we leave?”</p><p>“Tomorrow?” I ask, a little hesitant.</p><p>“I’ll be here.” He stands up, grabs a can of soda from the refrigerator and heads to his room in the back of the house. “I’m gonna go throw some shit in a bag.”</p><p>I watch him walk down the hallway and then stop before he gets to his door. “Why Nashville?”</p><p>I grab the back of my neck and take in a sharp breath. I was hoping he wouldn’t ask until at least we got halfway there — or maybe even never.</p><p>“I’m trying to find someone,” I say.</p><p>“Oh, God, we’re taking someone out, aren’t we? What did he do? Do I need to get us an alibi?” He snickers and gives me that weird wink he always does. I don’t know how many times I’ve told him it creeps me out.</p><p>“Jeez, Blake, no.” I shake my head, but I can’t help but grin. “Well…maybe.” I think about seeing Brooke with another guy. And it makes me think I might very well need that alibi.</p><p>Blake laughs. “We’re stalking a girl, aren’t we?”</p><p>My eyes immediately dart to his, and I sigh inwardly. I have no idea how he comes up with this stuff. “Yeah,” I confess softly, bobbing my head.</p><p>“I knew it.” He pumps his fist in the air.</p><p>I try to hide my lopsided grin by lowering my head, while Blake opens the can of soda I bought and takes a big swig.</p><p>“Just bang on my door tomorrow morning to get me up. I’ll be ready.” And with that, he disappears into his room.</p><p>The truth is I wanted to do this alone, but the thing is, what I fear most is that I’ll see something I don’t want to see. And that’s where Blake comes in. Blake and I became fast friends our freshmen year of college. And I probably shouldn’t, but I trust him with my life. And if my life is going to end on a little street in Nashville, I need Blake there to pick up the pieces. I couldn’t ask Tim. Tim’s too much like me — whether I’d ever admit that out loud or not. Tim will fight even when there’s no fight to fight. We don’t really know the meaning of giving up, I think. And I think that especially holds true when it comes to Brooke. Right now, I need a voice of reason, and while I don’t exactly have that in my close friends, I do have the next best thing — someone who will tell me like it is. And that’s Blake.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Twenty-Nine</p><p><emphasis>I Hope You Find Her</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“S</strong>o, who was this girl to you exactly?”</p><p>I look over at Blake in the passenger’s seat. We’ve been driving for hours already and haven’t said much to each other. The radio has been up, but I haven’t really been listening to it. I think Blake has had to change the station at least twice already when the previous one fuzzed out. I’ve been thinking about Brooke — not so much about what I’m going to do if I see her. I’m too terrified to think about that. I’m mostly just thinking about that last summer we spent together when Blake interrupts my thoughts.</p><p>“I mean, did she ever tell you she loved you or any jazz like that?” he asks.</p><p>I nod my head. “Yeah,” I confirm.</p><p>He bobs his head too. But out of the corner of my eye, I notice him raise an eyebrow. It looks as if he’s thinking about something still.</p><p>“I mean I know we were young.” I feel as if I have to admit that all of a sudden.</p><p>He gives me a suspicious look. “How young?”</p><p>“Thirteen,” I say.</p><p>Blake looks over at me with big eyes.</p><p>“You’re driving to Nashville to find a girl who told you she loved you before you hit puberty?”</p><p>“It was more than that.” I rest both hands on the wheel for a second. “Trust me.”</p><p>He sucks in a big, uneasy breath. “Okay, buddy,” he sighs. “This is your show. I’m just along for the ride.” He snickers to himself and then goes to finding another radio station. I just set my eyes back on the road and drift slowly back to my invisible memories.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>“You have reached your destination.” A stern, smooth voice of a woman tunnels through the truck cab like an ominous warning. I changed the GPS voice to a female one a few weeks after I got it. She’s scary, but it sure beats the hell out of the alternative. The male voice sounded too much like a British version of my Uncle Joe.</p><p>I tap the brakes and slow up as Blake and I both look around at the houses that line the street.</p><p>“1007,” Blake says, pointing at a two-story white house on the right.</p><p>I glance at the envelope’s return address and nod my head. “That’s it.”</p><p>Blake sits up and stares at the house. “Is her dad big?”</p><p>I gnaw on my bottom lip and shake my head. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“What?” His head whips back to mine. “You’re gonna go up to some stranger’s door and ask to see his daughter…and you don’t even know how big he is?”</p><p>I empty my lungs of whatever air is left in them. “Yeah, pretty much.”</p><p>“Dude, you must have a death wish.”</p><p>I tap the envelope’s corner against the steering wheel a few times. “Maybe,” I say. Then I reach for the door handle. “Well, here goes nothin’.”</p><p>“All right.” He gives me a half-worried, half-encouraging smile. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”</p><p>I smile, or at least, I think I smile. I’m nervous as hell. She could still be here. She could answer the door. The more I think about it, the more my heart races. I step onto the street and close the door behind me. I match up the numbers from the envelope to the numbers above the front door one more time. <emphasis>1007</emphasis>. This is the house. This is the house Brooke moved to after that little town in Illinois. This is it.</p><p>I walk up the concrete path to the wooden door of the house. <emphasis>I’m just trying to find a friend.</emphasis> I tell myself this over and over again, so I don’t feel so crazy because I know I’m about to look pretty damn crazy. I never met Brooke’s parents, and she never met mine. She did meet Grandpa and Tim, but that’s it. We spent all our days at that creek that summer, and before we even had a chance to do anything else, she was gone.</p><p>I look back at Blake. He’s watching me like this is some reality TV show he can’t keep his damn eyes off of. Hell, I guess it might as well be.</p><p>He gestures for me to go on. So I turn back around and lift my knuckles to the door. But before I do anything else, I say a little prayer. Then all of a sudden, my knuckles hit the wood, and I knock three times. It’s almost as if someone else took my hand and started it knocking. I guess that’s what pure courage is. Sometimes you just do things, and you don’t even think about it. It’s as if your brain isn’t telling you what to do anymore. Instead, it’s courage. Courage takes over. And it acts alone. And usually, I’ve discovered, it’s as crazy as hell.</p><p>I don’t hear anything for a few seconds. Then something makes a noise behind the door, and every muscle in my body stiffens. Pretty quickly, I can tell it’s footsteps — heavy footsteps — and they’re getting closer to the door. I try to suck in one more breath before the door flies open. And within an instant, a tall, older man with gray hair is standing on the other side of the threshold just staring at me. Is this her dad? He looks as if he could be her grandpa. We stare at each other for a good while, I think. I think we’re both just trying to figure out if we know the other.</p><p>Eventually, though, I clear my throat. “Um,” I start, as I stuff the envelope into my back pocket. Then I take my cap off and run my fingers through my hair; the nerves are getting to me. “I’m looking for Brooke.”</p><p>The tall man narrows his eyes at me, and my heart jumps to the next speed up. I don’t know if he’s trying to figure out if he’s got room in his backyard to bury me or if he’s just hard of hearing.”</p><p>“Brooke?” he asks.</p><p>“Yes, sir. I’m looking for Brooke Sommerfield. She lived her about nine years ago now…I’m a friend,” I add, just to be safe.</p><p>The man sits back on his heels, tilts his head up and plays with his glasses.</p><p>“Nine years, huh?”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” I say.</p><p>“Well, we bought this house about four years ago, I guess. And I think the previous owners had it for at least that long.”</p><p>I perk up. I still don’t know who he is, but maybe he knows where Brooke is.</p><p>“I believe the guy said his daughter was starting college,” he goes on. “They only had one — one kid. And him and his wife wanted to be closer to her.”</p><p>“That sounds about right,” I say, unable to control my excitement.</p><p>The man laughs. “I have no idea how I remember that. You know, it’s funny what your brain chooses to remember.” He slowly shakes his head back and forth. “Even after all these years and not once thinking about that day, I can still recall it — just like it was yesterday.”</p><p>I smile and nod, but I don’t waste any time. “Was the daughter’s name Brooke?”</p><p>He chuckles some more. “Oh, son, I wish I could remember that — for your sake. But I don’t have the slightest idea. As strange as it is that your brain entrusts some things to memory, it’s just as strange that it doesn’t entrust other things.”</p><p>I lower my head. “Yes, I understand.”</p><p>He doesn’t say anything, so eventually I lift my head again and watch him readjust his glasses on his nose for a moment. “Do you know where they were moving to?” I ask.</p><p>“Oh, gosh,” the old man says, bringing his finger to his lips and lifting his eyes to the sky. He’s quiet for a long moment. “No,” he eventually says. “I don’t recall.”</p><p>My heart sinks. But then all of a sudden, his finger springs forward, startling the hell out of me.</p><p>“Memphis,” he says, pointing at me. “Now that I think about it, it was Memphis. At the time, my son was finishing up a doctorate at the University of Memphis. That’s how I remember. I remember thinkin’ he and this guy’s daughter would just miss each other.”</p><p>“Memphis? You sure?” I ask him.</p><p>“Positive,” the old man says. “Took me a second, but I’m positive.”</p><p>“Thank you,” I say, extending my arm out toward the man.</p><p>He meets my hand and shakes it even though there’s a questioning look on his face. “Is that all you wanted, son?”</p><p>“Yes, thanks for your time,” I say, heading hastily back down the walkway.</p><p>“Son,” I hear the old man call out to me. I’m already halfway down the walk when I stop and turn around.</p><p>“You seem like a nice young man.”</p><p>I lower my eyes to the concrete. For all he knows, I could be a criminal.</p><p>“I hope you find her,” he adds.</p><p>I look back up at him. His eyes are glossed over behind his glasses, but he looks as if maybe he could be a better judge of character than I gave him credit for. “Me too,” I say, nodding my head. “Me too.”</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Thirty</p><p><emphasis>Memphis</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>W</strong>e get to Memphis, and I pull into a gas station.</p><p>“Didn’t we just get gas?” Blake asks.</p><p>“Yeah, we’re not getting gas,” I say, jumping out of the truck.</p><p>“Aah, food, good idea.” He gets out and follows me into the little convenient store.</p><p>But once inside, I don’t go to the food. I go straight to the pay phone hanging on the wall in the back of the store. As I’m flipping through the phone book, Blake comes up behind me.</p><p>“What in the hell is this?”</p><p>I stop and look up at him. His eyes are on the phone. “It’s a pay phone. You put money in it, and you call people.”</p><p>“They still make these things?” He pulls on the silver, snake-like cord. “And what in the hell is that?”</p><p>His eyes trail to my hands.</p><p>“Phone book,” I say.</p><p>“Now, I thought for sure those didn’t exist anymore.”</p><p>I smile and just keep flipping through the pages.</p><p>“Dude, how do you even know how to use that thing?” he asks.</p><p>I laugh and freeze as soon as my finger stops on Sommerfield. There are so many of them. I keep scanning for their names, and suddenly Blake and everyone else in the store just become muffled background noise as my finger stops on an entry. <emphasis>Gene and Angela</emphasis>. I start to draw shallow breaths. I might not know what they look like, but I do know their names. Brooke told me once, and the names just stuck. And there’s only one Gene and Angela Sommerfield in this phone book. It’s got to be them. I run my finger along the page, following the tiny dotted line until I get to the address: <emphasis>1624 Valley Park Dr</emphasis>.</p><p>I grab the pen attached to the phone somehow and try to scribble the number and address onto my hand, but the pen doesn’t work.</p><p>“I need a pen,” I say, keeping my finger pressed to the name.</p><p>Blake looks at me and then at the phone book.</p><p>“Here,” he says, grabbing the book.</p><p>“What are you doing?” I ask.</p><p>He tears the page out and hands it to me. “Nobody uses these things anyway,” he says. “Now, I’m gonna go get some peanuts.”</p><p>He disappears into an aisle. We’re the only ones in the store now, and when I look up at the cashier, she’s staring right at me. She’s a thinner, older woman with curly red hair, and she’s got this questioning look plastered to her face. I smile and quickly fold up the white page. She watches me do it but then goes back to reading her magazine. I’m guessing a page of the phone book isn’t worth her time. I shove the folded piece of paper into my back pocket and go to find Blake.</p><p>He meets me halfway down the aisle, holds up his bag of peanuts and continues to the cashier.</p><p>Within a minute, we’re back in the truck, and I’m programming the address from the stolen white page into the GPS.</p><p>“Wait, we’re just gonna show up there?” he asks.</p><p>I keep punching in the letters. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Don’t you think we should call or something? Isn’t there a number or something on there?”</p><p>“It’ll probably go to their answering machine. I won’t know what to say. They won’t call back. I’ve just got to show up.”</p><p>“You’ve thought about this?” he asks.</p><p>I look at him and feign a smile.</p><p>“What if they’re not there?”</p><p>I shake my head. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“All right,” he says in a surrendering kind of way. Then he sits back in his seat, and I hear him opening up his peanuts. In the meantime, I wait for the GPS to find the address. It takes about thirty seconds, and then the voice from the little box is telling me to turn left onto the main road.</p><p>“Well, all right then,” Blake says, giving me a big, shit-eating grin. “Let’s go stalk some parents.”</p><p>I just laugh and throw the truck into reverse.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>We pull along the street and stop right in front of the house that the GPS told us is Brooke’s parents — or at least two people who have the same names as Brooke’s parents in the latest phone book, which could have been printed in 1992 for all I know.</p><p>“What if they don’t answer the door? What if they think you’re robbing them, or worse, trying to sell them something?” Blake asks.</p><p>I smile. It’s a nervous smile, but it’s a smile all the same. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.”</p><p>He sits back in his seat. “Okay, I’m stayin’ here. I wouldn’t answer the door if I saw two guys that looked like us at my door.”</p><p>I nod my head. He’s got a point.</p><p>I get out of the truck and walk slowly to the sidewalk that leads to a nice, big door. The house looks old but in a stately kind of way. I swallow the lump growing in my throat and try to control my hands from shaking so much. I’m fully prepared for whoever answers the door to slam it right back in my face — but not before I figure out where she is.</p><p>I step up onto the little concrete porch and look back at Blake. He’s ducking down in the truck. He’s got the hood from his hooded sweatshirt pulled up over his head, and he’s peeking out of it. What the hell is he doing? Is he trying to make it look as if we’re trying to rob somebody? I pray whoever comes to the door doesn’t see him first.</p><p>All of a sudden, I notice his hand waving me on, and it startles me and forces me back to my mission. I go to knock on the door, but before I do, I force out all the air in my lungs. What if these aren’t her parents? I swallow the thought and force my knuckles to the door, giving it three hard knocks. Then I wait. And I wait. And I wait, until I can’t wait anymore and I knock again — this time a little harder. And still, I wait. I stuff my hands into my pockets and feel the sweat collecting in my palms. I rock back and forth on my heels. Then I force out a sigh and start to turn back down the concrete path. I’ll wait. I’ll come back. I’ll try again.</p><p>“River?”</p><p>It’s funny; I didn’t even notice the door opening behind me.</p><p>I turn fast and catch a slender woman standing in the door frame. It’s Brooke’s mom. It’s got to be her. She’s an older version of Brooke.</p><p>“Mrs. Sommerfield?”</p><p>“Yes,” she simply says. Her short brown hair bounces as she nods her head.</p><p>I’m pretty much speechless. I hadn’t thought of what I would say if someone actually did answer the door — much less her mom.</p><p>She looks me up and down once. “Come,” she says, motioning for me to come inside. I wonder how she knew it was me, but I don’t hesitate to follow her inside. And right before I close the door behind me, I find Blake, and I think I try to smile, but I’m terrified so it probably doesn’t look anything like a smile. He just grins back, and I notice him reclining in his seat. His hood is still up over his head. He looks as suspicious as hell. And right there, I thank my lucky stars Brooke’s mom didn’t notice him.</p><p>Mrs. Sommerfield walks to what looks as if it’s the living room and takes a seat on a big leather couch. “Sit,” she says in a sweet, calm voice, gesturing toward a chair opposite the couch.</p><p>I sit down and pull off my baseball cap.</p><p>“Now,” she says, with a warm smile. “What brings you to Memphis?”</p><p>I fiddle with my cap a little, bending the bill. “I was in the area, and I heard that Brooke might be here, and I… I just wanted to stop by and say <emphasis>hi</emphasis>, I guess.”</p><p>Her eyes narrow into a questioning kind of look — as if she’s thinking. The way her emotions show on her face reminds me of Brooke. And the way she disguises them even when they’re in plain view — so I can’t even figure out what those emotions are exactly — reminds me of Brooke too.</p><p>“Ma’am?”</p><p>She cocks her head to the side.</p><p>“How did you know who I was?” I ask.</p><p>She smiles a wide smile. “You haven’t changed so much that I don’t recognize you from that photo Brooke always carried around.”</p><p>I laugh once to myself. <emphasis>She carried my picture around?</emphasis></p><p>“When was the last time you guys saw each other?” she asks.</p><p>“Oh, uh…we were…thirteen, I guess.” I swallow that damn lump in my throat again and catch a framed photo of Brooke on the wall. <emphasis>Oh my God.</emphasis> There she is. She’s grown up, but she’s still Brooke. She looks about eighteen in the photo. It’s probably her senior picture. She’s so beautiful. Her hair is still long, and her eyes are still that pretty shade of green and gray.</p><p>“River?”</p><p>“Uh, yes, ma’am, sorry,” I stutter. I quickly return my attention to Mrs. Sommerfield.</p><p>“Have you talked to her since then?” she asks.</p><p>I instinctively lower my head. “Uh, no, ma’am. I haven’t.”</p><p>She smiles. Her smile is like warm honey. “Well, you might want to call her first.”</p><p><emphasis>Hot damn!</emphasis> Is she going to give me Brooke’s number? My heart races at the thought of hearing her voice again and also at the thought of having to come up with something to say to her that erases nine years of silence.</p><p>I watch Mrs. Sommerfield get up and make her way to some other room. I don’t know what to do, so I just sit there and continue bending the bill of my cap until it looks like a folded piece of paper. And soon, my eyes land back on the photo of Brooke. I just can’t believe I’m looking at the same girl from that summer so long ago. I’m near dumbstruck just looking at a photo of her. I can’t imagine what state I’m going to be in if I ever do get the chance to see her in person again.</p><p>“Here.” I look up. All of a sudden, Mrs. Sommerfield is next to me again, and she’s handing me a torn-off piece of notebook paper. “That’s her number. And that’s her address,” she says, giving me a knowing smile.</p><p>I wonder if she gives me the address because she knows that if I had to wait another second to see her, I might go crazy. Or maybe the address is because she knows Brooke might not return my call. I push out an uneasy breath.</p><p>“Thanks,” I say, taking the piece of paper. “This means a lot.”</p><p>She smiles at me. It’s an even smile, so I can’t tell if it’s a good one or a bad one. I can’t tell if she wishes me well or she pities me. But I guess it doesn’t matter now. Now, all that matters is that I finally know where to find her.</p><p>I thank Mrs. Sommerfield again before refitting my cap over my head and turning back down that concrete walk for the second time. My hands are shaking more now than they were when I first got here. I think I just have to get to her. I have to find her. I have to tell her that I think I’m still in love with her — no matter how crazy that makes me sound.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Thirty-One</p><p><emphasis>I’m Sorry, Buddy</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“I</strong>s this it?”</p><p>“This is it,” I say, putting the truck into park on the street. We’re at the address that her mom gave me. I didn’t call. I couldn’t call. I just had to see her.</p><p>In front of us is a little brick townhouse on a street of little brick townhouses. There are cars parked out front, but I wouldn’t even know which one she drove, so I have no idea if she’s home.</p><p>“Well, buddy, you ready?” Blake asks.</p><p>I draw in a quick breath. I’m scared shitless. I don’t know how she’s gonna react. I don’t even know how I’m gonna react…or what I’m gonna say. I just know I have to say something.</p><p>I reach for the door handle but stop when a truck pulls up in the parking lot in front of the door that marks her address. There’s a guy driving the truck, and there’s a pretty brunette in the passenger’s seat. I swear my heart about stops there. It’s her. But somehow, she’s even more beautiful than I remember. I watch her long brown hair sweep over her shoulders and fall behind her as she tilts her head and laughs. She’s laughing. But she’s laughing with the guy in the truck. My hand slowly falls from the door handle, but I keep my eyes trained on that pretty girl as she gets out of the truck and reaches for something in the bed. We’re far enough away that they wouldn’t think to notice us but close enough that I can still see the colorful bands on her wrist. I watch as the guy comes back into the picture. He’s not a huge guy, but he’s not small either, I guess. He is wearing flip flops, though. What kind of a man wears flip flops? I watch them, simply because I can’t tear my eyes away from her, and he’s next to her. He leans into Brooke and kisses her on the back of her neck. Then she swings her arms around his neck and kisses him back, and that’s all I can stand to watch. My eyes cast down to the steering wheel in front of me. I can tell Blake notices. I know he just saw the same thing I did — my world crashing in on me.</p><p>“Damn it,” I curse under my breath. I slam my palm hard against the steering wheel, while my heart stabs the wall of my chest.</p><p>Blake sits back in the passenger’s seat. “I’m sorry, buddy.”</p><p>I wonder why her mom didn’t warn me. I wonder if she tried. I wonder if her smile was in fact a pity smile, and I just didn’t care to read it that way. I wonder if she really did just think I wanted to say <emphasis>hi</emphasis>. It didn’t matter that all the odds were against me, I never saw it ending this way. It’s been nearly a decade, and it took nearly seven miracles just to find her, and I never even once thought about it ending this way. Why hadn’t I? Of course it was going to end this way. I never even had a chance. She’s a beautiful girl, and she moved on with her life, like I should have. Hell, she might not even remember me. That thought catches me painfully off guard, as I look up just in time to see Brooke and Flip Flops walking into the townhouse together.</p><p>“Maybe we should wait,” Blake says. “Maybe he’ll leave, and then you can talk to her then.”</p><p>I gnaw on my bottom lip. “Yeah, okay.”</p><p>We sit there in silence for about ten or so minutes before her townhouse door opens again. Flip Flops comes out first. I don’t even know him, and I already hate him. But Brooke is behind him. I sit up and grip the steering wheel with both hands. Blake sits up too. And together, we watch as they make their way back to the truck. Flip Flops helps Brooke in first. I hate that he opens her door. At least she doesn’t scoot to the middle. She stays on her side and rests her arm on the ledge of the open window. It’s the first time I get a really good look at her eyes. I try to read them. Are they happy? Content? Unsettled? I can’t tell.</p><p>The truck starts up — with both of them in it. And within seconds, it’s reversing out of the little parking lot. And I damn near lose my breath as it pulls away. I’m not sure why, though. It’s a simple chain of events. I had to have known that if they got in the truck, they would leave in the truck.</p><p>“Do we follow them?” Blake asks.</p><p>“I don’t…I don’t know….,” I stutter. “To where? I don’t even know where they’re going. And I don’t know what I’d say when I got there.”</p><p>“Well, do we wait then?” he asks.</p><p>I think I’m on the verge of losing it. I got what I wanted. But it’s almost as if it’s a sick joke. I found her, but she won’t know that I even looked. I saw her, but I couldn’t touch her. Life sucks sometimes. I feel my eyes burning. I look away and drop my head so Blake doesn’t see anything I don’t want him to see. “I’ve gotta get out of here.”</p><p>It takes Blake a few seconds to respond. “You sure you don’t want to wait?”</p><p>I look at him. “For what? What am I going to say to her even if she does come back here tonight? ‘Hi, Brooke. I haven’t seen you in almost a decade. I tracked you down and got your address from an old letter, then an old man, then your mom. And now I’m here, professing our teenage love. But I see you’ve moved on. Have a good life.’”</p><p>Blake takes a sharp breath and then lowers his eyes. “Yeah,” he says and then pauses. “Maybe we should go.”</p><p>And maybe we shouldn’t have left or I should have gotten out and just talked to her. I’ll never know what might have been. But the hurt of seeing her with someone else was just too much to bear. I think you follow a dream so long sometimes, you forget that life really does just go on — with or without you.</p><p>I guess in my case, it was without.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Thirty-Two</p><p><emphasis>It’s Me</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>I</strong> make my way down the bank of the creek. It’s been a month since my trek to Nashville and then to Memphis. I walked in my graduation and was handed a piece of paper — not even an eight-cent diploma, but a five-cent piece of copy paper. My mom and dad and sister and Tim and his family were there. We had lunch afterward and then went back home to celebrate.</p><p>Two weeks later, I got my first real job. Turns out, that piece of copy paper <emphasis>was</emphasis> worth something after all. And while that real diploma was floating around somewhere in the mail system, I became a newspaper reporter for the <emphasis>Courier</emphasis> in Washington, a couple towns over from my hometown. But even though it’s only a couple towns over, it couldn’t be more different than where I grew up. Washington is what people where I’m from call the big city, mainly because it’s got a Bob Evans and a Walmart.</p><p>I write life stories for the paper. Well, that’s what the boss calls them anyway. I call them obituaries. It’s not a hard job — not like baling hay or anything. People are usually more than willing to talk. And while I’d rather not spend my entire career on the obituary line, I do love my job, and I’m happy to have it. The <emphasis>Courier</emphasis> is the largest paper around here. And I would have started sweeping floors there if I had too. Thankfully, though, I didn’t. They were hiring despite the economy — and maybe even just to spite it as well; newspaper people tend to have a sick sense of humor. Either way, I applied, and I got the job. It probably helped that the editor who hired me was also a Mizzou grad and a former farm boy. I’ll be damned if that dang grass hay got me my first job. Either way, I got my first story in the paper yesterday. While eighty-five-year-old Charlie Valor’s curtain was closing, mine was just opening. Funny how that is. But that was yesterday. Today, it’s just me and this old creek at the edge of what used to be my grandpa’s farm. I never thought I’d miss baling hay, but I do sometimes. And I miss the days when I’d come here afterward. This place just sings home to me. I was always at peace here, either fishin’ or coolin’ off. But that was before I met a brunette with a fiery sense of life, I guess. Then, instead of peaceful, it turned adventurous. And I didn’t mind it a bit.</p><p>I force out a sigh, right as my eye catches on something resting on a rock near the water. I scoot down the bank some more and hesitate right before picking it up. It’s one of those ponytail holder contraptions. I twist the orange rubber band around my fingers. It could be anyone’s, but it makes me think of Brooke. When her hair was down, she always wore one of these around her wrist.</p><p>I breathe in and sit back against the grassy bank with the ponytail holder thing still wrapped around my fingers. There’s a slight breeze in the air. I close my eyes and laugh to myself when I think about her being in the wind. And I might never see her again — I’m realizing that a little more every day — but I’ll always be able to feel her here. I take another breath and let her soak into my skin a little more before I finally decide it’s time to get up and start making my way back home.</p><p>My truck is parked on the slab. I climb into it and start her up. Then I rest my elbow on the ledge of the open window right before I maneuver my way off the uneven concrete, hit the dirt and then eventually make it to the paved, two-lane road. I drive for a couple miles before I’m passing Mrs. Catcher’s old place. But something in the yard makes me hit the brakes. I can’t believe my eyes. I’m completely stopped in the middle of the highway staring straight into a <emphasis>For Sale</emphasis> sign. Mrs. Catcher joined Mr. Catcher in the sky about a year ago now. The town mourned her passing for several days, and then life went back to normal again. But I still thought about her and this old house that Brooke once lived in every once in a while. And now, it’s for sale. I throw the truck into reverse, and I make my way down the narrow gravel driveway. I stop at the sign and take down the number. I haven’t got a penny to my name to put down on this little house, but all I know is that I’ve got to have it.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>It’s a Wednesday. It was a normal day at work — a normal day of questions that usually involve: <emphasis>Tell me what Grandma was like? What story did Grandpa like to tell? What memory best sums up his life?</emphasis> I ask the questions, but I still think it’s strange that our lives are supposed to fit into fourteen inches are less. That’s all the space in the daily paper I get. It’s all the space I get to tell a story about a life that spanned nearly a century. Sometimes, I feel as if I can write every word a daughter or a son or a grandson tells me and still not capture a life well-lived. Words are great, but even I can admit they have certain short-comings. No word can ever give justice to a smile from a man who never smiled or to an old woman who gives up her seat on the bus to a soldier who lost his leg fighting for his country. And I’m still convinced there’s no word out there for the feeling you get the first time you ever hit home plate or bury your first dog or muster up enough courage to tell a girl you love her.</p><p>I finally get to my apartment. It’s a one-bedroom, and it’s only a couple miles from work. It’s small, but it’s my own, with my own couch and my own TV and my own microwave. That’s about it, but at least, it’s my own. I notice a note taped to my door. I figure it’s probably from my neighbor. She’s got a kid, and every once in a while she asks me to babysit him for a couple hours so she can go grocery shopping or run errands. She knows my mom, so I guess I’ve sort of inherited her trust. I like the kid. He’s got a story for everything. I can’t make heads or tails of it most of the time, but that doesn’t seem to slow him down one bit. I guess to him, it all makes sense.</p><p>I pull the note off the door and notice it’s not in my neighbor’s handwriting. But the handwriting does look familiar. For some reason, though, I can’t seem to place it even as my eyes go to following over the words on the pink piece of paper:</p><cite><p>Hi Riv,</p><p>It’s me. I’m in town, and I heard you were here too. I’ll be working on some things at the coffee bar on 8th and Walnut all day tomorrow. I thought maybe if you have time you could stop by and we could catch up. It would be nice to see you again.</p></cite><p>There’s a heart at the bottom of the note where there’s supposed to be a signature. There’s no name.</p><p>My heart drops to my stomach. Is it Brooke? How did she know where I lived? How did she find me? I’m lost in my thoughts when I realize I <emphasis>did</emphasis> just find <emphasis>her</emphasis> a month ago, so I reason it’s possible.</p><p>I fall back on my heels and read the note one more time. And I stop on the last line<emphasis>: It would be nice to see you again</emphasis>. I think about the letter Brooke wrote me — the one I thought she hadn’t. I think there’s still an ounce of hope left in me from it.</p><p>“Tomorrow,” I whisper, and at the same time, I can’t help but smile. After all this time, I’m going to see her…talk to her…tomorrow.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Thirty-Three</p><p><emphasis>I’ve Missed You, River</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>I</strong> spend almost an hour getting ready — enough time to where now I feel as if I’m a damn girl. But I think I look okay. I stare into the mirror and wonder if she’ll recognize me now. I was about fifty pounds lighter the last time she saw me, and I’m not sure I had a muscle to call my own. My hair has grown darker, and most days, including today, a permanent five-o’clock shadow fills my jaw. I’ve got on dark jeans and a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I watch my chest rise and then fall in the mirror as I stare at the reflection staring back at me, hopin’ it’s good enough for her. Then when I get tired of looking at myself, I grab my phone and my keys and head out the door.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>My hands are shaking when I go to open the door to the coffee place. I try to find her through the window first, just to help ease my nerves a little. I feel as if it’s always easier when you can spot your target first, as opposed to being the one with an <emphasis>X</emphasis> on your back. But the windows are too dang tinted to see anything on the inside. Hell, she could be looking back at me, and I wouldn’t even know it.</p><p>I rally up my courage and charge straight through the door. My heart is racing out of my chest. I’ve waited nearly nine years for this moment.</p><p>“River.”</p><p>I hear my name, and I freeze. It’s a girl’s voice, but it’s not Brooke’s.</p><p>I turn and spot the origin of my name in the corner of the shop. I feel my heart stop, and it takes everything in me to restart it again. It’s Amy.</p><p>“You came,” she says, standing up from the little table.</p><p>She comes closer to me and wraps her arms around my neck. I think I’m still in shock, so it takes me a second to return her embrace.</p><p>“Here,” she says, pulling away and clearing a computer and some paper from the little table. “I’ve just been finishing up some stuff.” She stops and looks up at me. “No big rush on it though.” She smiles then and sits down before eying the seat opposite of her.</p><p>I take her silent cue and guide myself into the chair.</p><p>“It’s been a while,” she says.</p><p>I swallow. “Yeah, it has,” I agree.</p><p>She looks happy and a little nervous. “You look really good.”</p><p>“Thanks…So do you.” I say it purely out of habit. I think I’m still just a little jolted, so I really haven’t had the chance to assess anything more than the fact that <emphasis>it is</emphasis> Amy — not Brooke — who’s sitting across from me.</p><p>“I ran into Tim back home, and he said you were working here in Washington, and he gave me your address,” she says. “And I work just down the street actually.” She points to her left, which also happens to be the wall of the coffee shop. “Allen’s Printing. I work in their graphics department.”</p><p>“Oh,” I say, trying my best to force a smile. I am happy to see her. I’m just a different kind of happy than I was expecting to be.</p><p>There’s a pause in the conversation, but she works quickly to fill it. “I heard you work at the <emphasis>Courier</emphasis>.”</p><p>“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Just started.”</p><p>Her smile grows a little wider. “I’m glad you came.”</p><p>I nod my head and consciously force the corners of my mouth higher up my face.</p><p>“I feel really bad about the way we ended things back in high school,” she goes on.</p><p>I want to remind her that she ended things, not me, but I don’t.</p><p>I shake my head and shrug it off. “It was high school, Amy. Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>I notice her chest rise and then dramatically fall.</p><p>“I know, but I shouldn’t have… We missed out on so much time we could have had. It’s not really what I wanted…”</p><p>“Amy,” I say, interrupting her. “It’s old news.”</p><p>She lowers her eyes before looking back up at me with a half-smile. “<emphasis>Me time</emphasis> is overrated.”</p><p>I laugh. I could have told her that four years ago.</p><p>“You know,” she goes on, “I was going through some old photos the other day, and I found a couple from our prom. Did you know Grant wore jeans and a tuxedo tee shirt?”</p><p>This time, I laugh a hard, honest laugh.</p><p>“You knew that?” she asks.</p><p>I nod. “Yeah. It was his way of ‘defying tradition.’” I make air quotes with my fingers.</p><p>She lowers her head and grins to herself. “I never noticed.” And very soon, we’re both quiet again, but Amy was never one for the quiet, and within a few seconds, she’s breaking the silence. “Maybe I didn’t notice because I was too busy staring at you.”</p><p>I don’t usually blush, but there are times I come close to it, and this would be one of those times.</p><p>“I’ve missed you, River.” Her voice is soft as she rests her hand on mine.</p><p>I don’t move. I just stare at her hand on mine. Then I look up and notice her — really notice her — for the first time in four years. She’s still pretty — that girl-next-door kind of pretty. She’s still got her long blond hair and blue eyes and that shy smile. I wonder for a second how she didn’t get snatched up in college. Because while she might be a little demanding at times and she very seldom knows what she wants, a guy would be lucky to call her his.</p><p>“You know, Amy…” I stop because I just realize I might regret what I’m about to say. I take a second and look into her eyes, and then I force out a long breath before I continue. “We had a fun four years.”</p><p>She seems to relax a little. “We did,” she agrees. And then she gives me one of her signature coy smiles.</p><p>My eyes fall shut, and I have to force them open again.</p><p>“What’s wrong, River?”</p><p>Her lips quickly turn straight, and she narrows her pretty blue eyes on me before taking her hand back from mine.</p><p>“You seeing someone?” she asks.</p><p>“No.” I shake my head. And just like that, her smile returns. She really is a sweet girl. I’m out of my damn mind for letting her get away the first time. Yeah, she can drive ya nuts, but she can also make ya pretty damn happy too. And I’m well aware that this would be the moment to take my revenge — tell her I want to date other people but remind her that maybe I’ll want to get back together with her some time down the road when I feel like it — but I know revenge is never as sweet as they say it is. And besides, it wouldn’t be the truth.</p><p>“Amy, I’m an idiot for thinking this, but I just don’t think we’d ever work the way two people are supposed to work.”</p><p>She crosses her arms over her chest before she brings a finger to her lips. “I didn’t really picture this going this way.”</p><p>I take in a breath and let it go. Then I sit back in my chair, and for the first time, I notice how full the little coffee shop is. “You know, Amy?” I rest my eyes in hers. “When I walked in here, I really didn’t picture this going this way either. But I guess you just gotta take what life throws at ya.”</p><p>“River.” Her hand returns to mine. “I never stopped thinking about you. I’m sorry for what I said back in high school. I was selfish…and stupid. But…” She pauses before she continues. “I’m still in love with you, River.”</p><p>Her words hit me hard — throw me off-balance. And I realize fast that the last girl who told me she loved me was…her.</p><p>“I love you, River.” She says the words with more conviction this time. And her eyes soften even more.</p><p>Am I still in love with this girl? Am I still in love with Amy? She’s beautiful, and she’s sweet, and she makes me feel like a man — like I can protect her. But do I love her?</p><p>“Let’s start over, River.”</p><p>I still haven’t said anything. I’m just staring at her from across the table. But hell, I never thought I’d be here again. I really did think her line about getting back together again someday was just a bunch of bullshit. And maybe it was. But whether it was or it wasn’t, she’s still here today, asking nicely for a second chance. And hell, I just might give it to her. It wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever agreed to — not even close. I could start over with Amy. And I could probably even love her again too. My lips twitch up, and I automatically lower my eyes before I lift my face to hers again. “Okay, Amy Calloway, let’s start over. We’ll start as friends, and we’ll see where that takes us.”</p><p>A slow smile crawls across her face, and she squeezes my hand.</p><p>“Your scar.” She reaches up and touches her first two fingers to my cheek. “I remember that scar.”</p><p>I lower my eyes and laugh. “If you wouldn’t have been so dang slow gettin’ out of that pond,” I remind her, “I wouldn’t have this scar.”</p><p>“Me?” she asks, indignantly. But then her eyes light up, and she points a playful finger at me. “I saved our clothes, Mister, so you didn’t have to drive me home in your boxers.”</p><p>“I assure you, you would have been much worse off if you wouldn’t have grabbed those clothes,” I say. “Jim and Rick Calloway would have skinned your pretty little, half-naked self alive.”</p><p>She laughs. “Yeah, they would have gotten to me right after they had hunted you down. And I’m pretty sure you would have had a fate worse than mine.”</p><p>I nod my head. “That’s definitely true.”</p><p>“Who were we running from anyway?” she asks.</p><p>“Tim.”</p><p>“What?” I think she says it louder than she meant to say it. She looks around and then shrinks down in her seat. “Tim?”</p><p>I just nod. “Yeah, it was Tim.”</p><p>She squeezes her eyes shut and presses her lips together. It looks as if she’s trying to hold in a laugh. “No!” she exclaims. “I think I always just assumed it was your parents.” She stops and tilts her head to the side. “If I would have known it was just him, I never would have run.”</p><p>“Yeah, me neither,” I agree. “That little dipshit!”</p><p>“So, Tim’s the reason you tripped?” she says. “He’s the reason you have that scar? Does he know that?”</p><p>I shake my head. “No, I never told him about it.”</p><p>She stares into my eyes. It looks as if there’s a permanent smile on her face now. “I had fun that night. Even if we never actually got to the skinny-dipping part, I still had fun.”</p><p>“Me too,” I agree. “It was worth the scar.”</p><p>We both laugh. And then we laugh about high school, about college, about the past. And then we laugh about the present too. We laugh until our stomachs hurt. And I laugh away the hope I held onto as a boy. I laugh away the childish dreams I made alongside a creek long ago. I laugh until I can’t feel a set of green and gray eyes on me anymore. But then eventually, Amy and I stop laughing, and gradually, I feel those green and gray eyes return to me — as if they’re begging me not to let her go just yet.</p><p>“River.” Amy’s stare settles on mine. She’s more sober now, even though I can still see the crazy happy behind her blue eyes. “It’s funny how life doesn’t always work out the exact way you think it’s going to work out.”</p><p>I consider it for a second, and then I nod. “Yeah,” I agree.</p><p>I watch her pretty lips slowly turn up. “It’s funny too that sometimes it does…work out exactly how you thought it would,” she adds.</p><p>I nod some more. “Yeah, I suppose so.”</p><p>She smiles wider and then lowers her eyes before looking back up at me. “You just never know where it’s gonna take ya.” She gives me a wink and then playfully taps her finger against my wrist.</p><p>I just lower my head and laugh to myself. “Yeah,” I agree. “I suppose you’re right.”</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Thirty-Four</p><p><emphasis>Another Offer</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>M</strong>y phone rings on the kitchen counter. I knock over a box of pots and pans I have yet to unpack trying to get to it. And before I answer it, I glance at the screen.</p><p>“Hello,” I say, a little too eagerly.</p><p>I listen and then nod my head. “Another offer,” I simply repeat.</p><p>I listen some more. I told my parents about the house. I told them it would be a good investment, that it’s only a thirty-minute drive to work, that it was a good price, a solid house and a nice piece of land. What I didn’t tell them was that none of that really mattered to me. What really mattered to me was that I needed that old place to keep me sane. I needed it because Mrs. Catcher’s invisible memories might still be there. I needed it because the ghost of a girl I once knew might also still be there. Of course, I also assured them that I had a good job, and that I’d make good on a loan. They had both nodded their heads in agreement, but I think what really won them over in the end was that it was close enough that Mom could come visit everyday if she wanted to. They loaned me the down payment right there — no more questions asked.</p><p>“Yes,” I say into the phone, still nodding.</p><p>Mandy, the realtor, tells me she’ll talk to the sellers again. She also tells me I might have to offer more than I had anticipated. I wonder for a second who would want Mrs. Catcher’s old place so badly. I mean, it’s a nice little house, but it’s old — turn of the century — and it’s out in the middle of nowhere.</p><p>I scribble some nonsense onto a piece of junk mail as Mandy talks, but all I’m really focused on is getting that house. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure it’s mine. I just hope whoever it is bidding against me doesn’t have a bigger pocket book than I do. And I realize that isn’t saying much. In fact, I realize the only thing I’ve really got going for me is its sentimental value. Whoever it is, they can’t possibly have more memories attached to that old house than I do. Not even close.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Thirty-Five</p><p><emphasis>Married?</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>I</strong> hold the door open for a couple of my coworkers, and as they pull out their sunglasses, I pull out my baseball cap.</p><p>“Hey, we’re meeting at Quinton’s in an hour to watch the game,” one of the guys says to me.</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I say.</p><p>“All right, later then.”</p><p>“Later.” I bob my head as I fit my cap over my hair. I might have lost most of my country twang and got a city job, but I haven’t traded in the old cap for Ray-Bans yet, and I don’t think I ever will. Old habits die hard.</p><p>I get back to my apartment, and I throw my computer bag onto the couch. Then I go to getting my monkey suit off, pulling at my neck tie first. I don’t know who invented ties. I have yet to figure out their purpose. But at least it’s only once in a blue moon I have to wear one. Every once in a while, an interview with some local bigwig for a side story the boss throws at me last minute calls for something fancier than jeans.</p><p>I get the tie off, along with my shoes and the white shirt. I shed the black slacks next and find some jeans and pull those on. Then I grab a nice, red Cardinals tee shirt from my closet and call it a wrap. I have just enough time to make a sandwich and catch the rest of <emphasis>Jeopardy</emphasis>. I never know any of the damn answers. Or are they questions? I don’t know, but I figure if I watch it enough, maybe the stuff will just eventually soak in or stick or something.</p><p>I inhale the sandwich because I’m starving. Deadlines don’t afford many breaks, much less a real lunch.</p><p>“What is Canada?” I yell at the TV.</p><p>The answer’s India. I’m only a world away. I shrug. I tried.</p><p>I finish the sandwich and grab a piece of gum and shove my wallet and my phone into my jeans pockets. On the way out the door, I grab my cap and my keys, and my phone goes off. I dig it out of my pocket and glance at the number on the screen. It’s the realtor.</p><p>“Hello,” I say into the phone.</p><p>Mandy starts with the niceties. She always does, but then soon enough, the real talk comes. She throws out a number, and my jaw nearly drops to the floor.</p><p>“What?” I ask. “Who is this person?”</p><p>She tells me it’s someone who just moved here from out of town. I clench my teeth thinking about some out-of-towner sweepin’ my house out from underneath me. “Now, how much did you say again?” I ask.</p><p>I listen. She confirms the amount and then calculates the mortgage payment for me. My heart sinks when that last number hits my ear. My dad’s an accountant, but even if he weren’t, and even if I hadn’t been raised to be frugal, I would still be able to figure out that that house and that land isn’t worth nearly that much dollarwise — even if it is worth that much to me, and even if it does come with a friendly ghost. And I’d still be able to figure out pretty quickly that a rookie reporter’s wage gets pretty thin with a mortgage payment that big. My dad would kill me, and he sure as hell wouldn’t give me the down payment.</p><p>Mandy asks me another question, but I fail to answer her. So, she asks me again.</p><p>“No, I understand. Yes,” I say. I ball my fist. “I guess I’ll have to pass.”</p><p>I end the call, set the phone down onto the counter and just stare out my little apartment window. I didn’t even have it that long, but why is it that I feel as if a life-long dream of mine just up and flew out the window just now?</p><p>“Shit,” I say under my breath. “Who the hell?” I smack my palm hard against the surface of the counter before I snatch my phone back up, stuff it into my jeans pocket and trudge out the door.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>“Hey, River, we’re all over there.” Dan, one of my coworkers, points to a table in the corner of the room when I get inside the sports bar.</p><p>I nod at him and then make my way to the table. There are several guys from work already there.</p><p>“River,” one of them yells before I get halfway to the table. The volume of his voice wouldn’t be socially acceptable if it weren’t for the decibel of the bar already. I smile and find a seat, and immediately, the waitress comes over and hands me a bottle. There’s a huge big-screen TV on the other side of the bar. I notice the game is about to start. I’m still pissed, but I’m trying not to show it when my eye catches on something across the room. And just like that, my body does this fight or flight thing. I damn near stop breathing, adrenaline races through my veins and everything else in me stops to assess the situation. It does that every time I see a girl who even remotely looks like her. Every. Damn. Time. I tell myself it’s not her, that she’s in Memphis, and I relax again. The girl’s back is to me. She’s got long, brown hair, and she’s wearing a Royals shirt — a sitting blue duck in a sea of red. I choke down my laughter. She’s either got to be extremely brave or seriously lost. I take a long swig of my beer and set it down. And just like that, my mind is off somewhere else — thinking about a girl I used to know and one that I shouldn’t be thinking about anymore.</p><subtitle>* * *</subtitle><p>The Cardinals are up 4–2. If nothing stupid happens, they’ll win this game. I keep stealing glances at the lost girl across the bar. I can’t help it. I know it’s not her, but everything about the girl is so…familiar.</p><p>“River, you’re a farm boy. Tell this guy that a cub is a baby bear,” Dan says.</p><p>I laugh out loud. “We didn’t raise bears.”</p><p>“Yeah, but just tell him,” Dan demands.</p><p>I’ve only heard bits and pieces of the discussion at the other end of the table. I know Dan and Scott are drunkenly arguing about which mascot is tougher. A bird really isn’t that tough. Dan should just stick with arguing about the Cardinals’ and the Cubs’ records instead. I shake my head and catch the girl across the bar again. For the first time tonight, she turns so that I can see her face, and I instantly drop the bottle I’m holding. There’s just a little liquid left in it, but it spills onto the table. I jump up and reach for napkins. It doesn’t seem as if any of the guys even notice, but the waitress is nearby, and she takes a towel to the rest of it.</p><p>“Thanks,” I say to her. I barely get the word out. Every two seconds, my eyes are on the girl in the Royals shirt — the girl…</p><p>“River!” Dan yells again.</p><p>I look over at him. His eyes are wide, and it looks as if he’s waiting for something.</p><p>“What?” I ask. Surely he can tell I’m distracted.</p><p>“A cub…,” he starts, completely unfazed.</p><p>“Oh,” I say, “yeah, it’s a little bear; it’s a…baby bear. But it doesn’t matter. The Cubs suck, Scott.”</p><p>Dan shoots his fist in the air as if he’s just won a damn medal or something. Scott just looks defeated. I glance over at the girl in the Royals shirt again and then stand up and check to make sure I didn’t get any of my beer on me.</p><p>“Oh,” Scott shouts from the other side of the table, “like the Royals are any better.”</p><p>I look over at him. He’s got a big, stupid grin on his face. He must have seen me looking across the bar. I just laugh and shake my head. I’m strangely calm while I catch my breath. Then without another thought, I take my first step toward a dream I once lost. I don’t know if I can make it all the way across the bar in the state I’m in, but at the same time, I don’t know if I can get there fast enough either. I chickened out once. There won’t be a second time. She’s sitting at a table full of girls, but even if there were a guy hanging all over her, I don’t think that would stop me this time. She’s in my territory. She’s fair game.</p><p>The bar is completely silent now. People’s mouths are open wide. I can tell they’re shouting and cheering, but I can’t hear them. She’s watching the big screen again. Her back is to me. It’s either her, and this is the best day of my life or it’s someone who looks exactly like her, and I’m about to make a complete ass of myself.</p><p>I finally reach her, and I bend down and whisper in her ear. “I’d ask ya why you’re wearin’ that shirt in the Red Sea, but I already know…it’s your Kansas thing.”</p><p>She seems to freeze. She doesn’t even turn her head. The look on her pretty face is the same look I imagine I have when that fight or flight thing kicks in on me. I really hope she picks <emphasis>fight</emphasis>. But even if she doesn’t, I’d grow wings and chase her.</p><p>I watch her use her free hand to steady her glass and lower it to the table. Then she slowly turns and meets my eyes. I swear there’s so much being said, but no words being spoken. I habitually run my tongue over my bottom lip and then pull my lip in and gently bite down on it. I hope she can’t see how nervous I am.</p><p>“River. Wha…”</p><p>She doesn’t finish her thought. I try to think of something to say, but I used everything I had in that opening line. I’m speechless, and the more I try to come up with something, the more I just can’t, so I end up just smiling at her like a stupid damn teenager.</p><p>She pushes out a laugh and lowers her eyes before finding mine again. I wonder if she’s just as speechless as I am.</p><p>“You want to walk?” I ask her.</p><p>She pauses as if in a thought, then nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, okay.”</p><p>She says something to the girl sitting next to her. The girl looks at me as Brooke speaks to her. I just smile and tip my baseball cap at her, which seems to make her smile. I wonder how much the girl knows about me — probably nothing. That thought dampens my mood a little, but in the end, it doesn’t do much to affect the high I’m already on.</p><p>“Okay,” Brooke says, grabbing her purse.</p><p>“Okay,” I simply repeat. Then I gesture for her to lead the way, and together we walk out of the bar. Brooke and I…walk out of the bar…together. I play that thought over and over again in my head. I’ve never really been in real shock before, but this feels as if it could be damn near close to it. It’s as if I’m floatin’ on a damn cloud.</p><p>“Do you live here?” she asks first, once we’re on the sidewalk.</p><p>“I do,” I say, “not too far from here actually. Do you…live here?”</p><p>She nods. “I do.”</p><p>“You do?” I try not to sound too surprised.</p><p>“Mm-hmm,” she confirms.</p><p>I choke down a laugh. I chased this girl to Tennessee, and I find her two blocks from my house in Washington, Missouri. My heart just can’t stop pounding. I’m imagining it’s doing that scene in <emphasis>Rocky</emphasis> where he climbs to the top of those steps and throws his arms up in the air. My heart is Rocky, until something hard hits it and knocks it right back down those steps and onto its ass again. If she’s been here, I wonder why she’s never tried to find me. We’re only about thirty minutes from where I grew up and where we once spent a summer.</p><p>I swallow the growing lump in my throat. It’s hard to do, but I get it down. “It’s been a while.” It’s all I can think to say.</p><p>She smiles. “Yeah, it has.”</p><p>It’s quiet again. I think twice before I ask this next question, but her hands are in her pockets, and I have to know.</p><p>“Well, what’s new? Married? Kids?” I barely get the questions out, mostly because I’m scared to death of the answers.</p><p>She laughs as if it’s to herself. Then she shakes her head. “No. And no.”</p><p>“You?” she asks.</p><p>I chuckle, mostly because I’m just so dang happy I survived that. “No,” I say, eventually. “And no.”</p><p>She nods again, like she’s gnawing on my answer.</p><p>I don’t ask her if she’s got a boyfriend because I know she probably does. Hell, I might have already seen him — getting out of a truck in Memphis. But as long as she’s not married… That’s the best news I’ve heard in a really long time.</p><p>“What do you do now?” I ask.</p><p>“Speech pathology,” she says. “For schools…kids. I’m only an assistant right now, but I want to get my master’s someday.”</p><p>I’m nodding by the time she finishes. “Wow,” I say. “That’s pretty cool.” Why does hearing what she does make me want her more?</p><p>“You?” she asks.</p><p>“News. I write for the <emphasis>Courier</emphasis>. Obituaries mostly.” My own job sounds so trivial all of a sudden.</p><p>She gives me an off-centered smile. “A writer, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah,” is all I can think to say. Then it’s quiet again.</p><p>We stop at the edge of the river, and she looks out onto the water. It’s dark, but the lights from the town make it look as if it’s full of black diamonds.</p><p>“So, did the job bring you back to Missouri?” I ask.</p><p>She sort of hesitates, then nods. “It did. But I liked it here too.”</p><p>I look at her a little sideways. She seems to notice.</p><p>“I did,” she assures me, with a gorgeous smile.</p><p>I don’t ask her why. I think I don’t because I just want to believe that she liked it here because I was here. I really don’t want to hear anything different.</p><p>Then I just look at her. I look at her, and I realize that I’ve lost so much time with this girl. She’s grown up, and she’s beautiful — even more beautiful than what I remember, if that’s possible. But I have no idea who she is anymore. I only know who she was. Hell, I don’t even know if she has a boyfriend. My heart starts to flatline at the image of her with that other guy. And I still can’t see her hand. For all I know, she’s engaged.</p><p>“Brooke.” I decide I’m going to try anyway. “What are doing tomorrow?”</p><p>She looks up at me. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, and it kills me.</p><p>“Do you want to…?” I start but then stop. I hadn’t really thought about how I was going to end that question before I opened my big mouth.</p><p>She seems to study my face a little and then smiles. Then I watch her take her hands out of her pockets, and for the first time, I can see she’s not wearing a ring on her left hand. But she is wearing one on her right. She slides that ring off and then claims my hand. Her touch is soft and gentle, and it takes me back to another time. I watch her slide the ring halfway up my pinkie. And then she shoves her hands back into her pockets and stares off at the river in front of us again.</p><p>“Tomorrow, I have plans,” she says, looking back at me.</p><p>She smiles, and instantly, my heart speeds up.</p><p>“I’m collecting my ring back…from you,” she softly says.</p><p>For a moment, I’m stuck in her smoky, light eyes, while some kind of weird, nervous adrenaline is pumping through my veins. I look down at the ring on my finger and then back up into her eyes. “That sounds nice,” I say. “And I was just thinkin’ about how my finger could use a tiny ring.”</p><p>She lowers her gaze and laughs. “Yeah, well, don’t get too attached. It’s just for the night.”</p><p>When she looks back up, she’s got this soft but bold look in her eyes. It’s beautiful, like she’s just daring me to forget the fact that we’ve got nine lost years starin’ us both in the face. I swear there’s so much tension in the air between us. And I almost pull her close, press her body against mine and slowly kiss her soft lips right there. But I don’t. Damn it, I don’t. I should have known that the kind of feeling I once had for this girl is the kind of feeling that lasts longer than one short summer. It’s almost as if we could just pick up right where we left off.</p><p>Her stare falters, and she looks away. But when she angles her face back up at mine, she’s got a sweet smile hangin’ on her lips.</p><p>Nine. Long. Years. It’s been nine, damn long years. But then why does it feel as if just yesterday she was in my arms and lookin’ up at me with that same sweet smile on that same pretty face?</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Thirty-Six</p><p><emphasis>Ask Me What I Took</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>T</strong>he next day I’m passing my parents’ house on my way to Detmold. I feel a little guilty even if Amy and I are just friends, but it’s not enough to stop me from driving out to see Brooke. The <emphasis>driving out</emphasis> is the part that’s got me confused though. Last night, she said she lived in town. I glance down at the little piece of paper one last time just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things this morning. <emphasis>Dry Fork Road</emphasis>. She scribbled her address onto the back of a receipt last night. I didn’t even bother looking at it until I got into my truck this morning. I was too much on a high to even think about it, and I guess I figured that even if it were a California address scribbled in her handwriting on this little piece of paper, I’d still be making my way out to her today. The highway written on the receipt is the same highway that leads to my old stomping grounds. A stupid thought comes to my mind, but I push it away.</p><p>“DFK-008.” I say the number out loud. What the hell? That’s not an address. That’s a damn ENS number. Why the hell would she give me an ENS number?</p><p>I turn off onto Dry Fork Road. I’ve traveled this two-lane highway probably a million times now, but I never once paid any attention to the damn ENS numbers.</p><p>I slow down to read a little black sign. In white block letters and numbers I read: <emphasis>DFK-014</emphasis>. Damn, I don’t know if they’re going up or down.</p><p>I go another several hundred yards and spot another black sign at the end of a long driveway that looks as if it leads to nowhere. But I know it does lead to somewhere. It leads to the Cooper Dairy Farm. You just can’t see it from the road. They’ve got a mailbox in the shape of a Holstein, and next to it, the little black sign reads: <emphasis>DFK-009</emphasis>. I guess the numbers are going down. And that would mean… I bring my truck to a rolling stop. There’s no one behind me and no one coming at me. My adrenaline is shooting through my veins. I’m shocked. I’m relieved. I feel kind of slighted but not mad. Most of all, I guess, I’m awestruck because I know once I turn that corner, the only house I’m gonna see is Mrs. Catcher’s old place. And on its little black ENS sign, I know it’s going to be the number that Brooke scribbled onto the back of this receipt.</p><p><emphasis>Shit</emphasis>. It wasn’t her, was it? Surely she wasn’t the one I was bidding against.</p><p>Sure enough, I roll up to the narrow driveway and that damn <emphasis>For Sale</emphasis> sign is gone and on that little black ENS sign it reads: <emphasis>DFK-008</emphasis>.</p><p>I slowly make my way down the graveled path, still in some state of awe or shock or something. And then when I get to the end of the driveway, I shut my truck off. Brooke is sitting on the porch swing. I can’t help but smile when I see her.</p><p>“Hi,” she says, as I get out of my truck. She gets up and starts making her way down those little concrete stairs that lead to the porch. But in the meantime, a black and brown coonhound runs around the corner of the house. And without warning, it jumps up and paws my arms.</p><p>“Winnie, get down,” she says, pulling at his collar.</p><p><emphasis>Winnie</emphasis>. I stroke the dog’s fur and get a good look at him. It’s the puppy. Hot damn! It’s him. When I look back up, Brooke’s staring at me with a sideways smile on her face. “Do you think he remembers you?”</p><p>I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know.”</p><p>The dog whimpers and beats his tail against my leg as Brooke tries to hold him back, and I continue to pet him.</p><p>“He doesn’t normally act like this around people he doesn’t know,” she says. “He’s usually a little more…guard dog.”</p><p>I give Winnie a few more pats.</p><p>“But could he still…?” she asks, half-surprised, half-unsure.</p><p>“Maybe,” I say, grinning and eventually turning my attention to her. I reach inside my truck, grab the flowers I picked out for her and then hand them to her.</p><p>She takes the flowers, looks at them and then at me. “These look familiar.” I watch as she brings the flowers closer to her face, closes her eyes and breathes them in.</p><p>I don’t say anything. I just smile. They’re daisies.</p><p>“They’re beautiful,” she says, opening her eyes again. “They remind me of a summer I once had a long time ago.” She stares at the flowers for a heartbeat. Then eventually, her stare wonders back to me. I was hoping she’d say something like that. I just shoot her a crooked smile and fix my gaze on her pretty eyes. I’d give anything right now to know what she’s thinking. Her stare is soft and welcoming, and it cuts my heart like a warm butter knife. I’ve missed her. I’ve missed looking into those eyes.</p><p>We leave our words for the quiet then before she turns and walks back onto the porch with the flowers in hand. And I watch her find an old milk bottle sitting in the corner. She dusts it off, blows a cobweb away from the bottle’s opening and places the flowers inside the glass. In the meantime, I plant myself on the little concrete stairs and lean my back against the wood porch railing.</p><p>“So, this is your place?” I ask it like I’m still not sure because I don’t think I believe it quite yet.</p><p>She looks up at me and presses her lips together. I can tell she’s trying her damnedest not to smile.</p><p><emphasis>Hell</emphasis>. It was her. I was bidding against her the whole time. I can’t help but smile too. “I thought you lived in Washington.”</p><p>“I do, for now,” she says, pouring water from a water bottle into the makeshift vase.</p><p>“Wow,” I exclaim, reaching for the bill of my cap. I find it and squeeze the sides together. I’m still trying to wrap my head around her being here and her buying this house. I nod, and it’s quiet again, until I just can’t take the quiet anymore. “Just tell me one thing.”</p><p>She shoots me a suspicious grin. “What?”</p><p>“Why’d you pay so much for it?” I ask.</p><p>Her smile gradually fades, and a question plants itself on her pretty little face. “How do you know how much I paid?”</p><p>I shake my head and just grin. I can’t seem to get the stupid look off my face.</p><p>“Wait,” she says, eyeing me closely. “You were the other bidder?”</p><p>She looks at me with lips parted, as if she can’t quite believe it herself either.</p><p>My eyes instinctively lower to the dirt in the flower bed, and I just nod before I look back up again.</p><p>“No,” she says, shaking her head. “You really were?”</p><p>“I really was,” I confirm.</p><p>“If I would have known…,” she starts, but I don’t let her finish.</p><p>“Brooke, it was your home, not mine,” I say.</p><p>She gives me a soft smile. “This whole place was your home, though. You knew everything about these creek bottoms. You loved this place.”</p><p>She’s right. I did love this place. But of course, that’s not why I wanted the house.</p><p>“It’s yours now. I’m only sorry I bid ya up,” I add.</p><p>A laugh escapes her pretty lips. “You sure did,” she agrees. “But part of that was me too.” She looks back at the house. “I wanted this place so bad I’d pay anything for it, no matter how stupid it was.”</p><p>She lets out a soft sigh and then plants her gaze back on me.</p><p>“But why not just tell me last night — that this is where you’d be?” I ask.</p><p>Her lips part again, and she starts to smile. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”</p><p>I laugh to myself. “Well, it’s a surprise all right.”</p><p>She laughs with me, and when our laughter slowly dies, she gestures toward the field next to the house. “You wanna walk? I’d invite you in, but technically, it’s not mine yet. And I’m already trespassing.”</p><p>“I won’t tell anyone,” I promise.</p><p>She looks up at me through those long, dark eyelashes of hers. She still knows how to make me nervous. I nod my head and smile wide — for no particular reason. “Yeah,” I say. “Let’s walk.”</p><p>“Come on, Winnie,” she says. She sets the milk bottle full of water and daisies gently onto the porch railing before making her way down the concrete stairs again. Meanwhile, I’m frozen in my spot just staring at her — trying to convince myself that this is all real — that she’s real.</p><p>“You comin’?” she asks, turning back toward me. She gives me a puzzled look. “What?”</p><p>“It’s nothing,” I say. I try to shake off my stupid grin. “Winnie’s grown up, that’s all.”</p><p>She laughs. “Yeah. He’s not the only one who’s grown up.” Her eyes rake me up and down once. I don’t think she tries to be seductive about it. That’s just her way. She’s as sexy as the day is long. And I try like hell not to blush as I grin like a damn teenager.</p><p>I really want to take her hand right then, but I’m too damn scared that I’ll realize that this too has an expiration date — or that at any minute, I’ll discover that we’ve not only grown up but grown apart. So, with that thought, I keep my hands to myself.</p><p>“Your ring,” I say, pulling off the ring she gave me last night and handing it to her.</p><p>“Well, thank you,” she says, taking it and slipping it onto one of her fingers. “But truthfully, I knew you’d show.”</p><p>“Oh, that confident, huh?” I ask.</p><p>She shrugs her shoulders. “Well that, and I also figured that eventually you’d look at that address, and your mind would go to wondering. I figured you’d want to know why I gave you an ENS number to this old place.”</p><p>“The ENS was clever,” I admit.</p><p>She lowers her eyes and laughs. “Thanks.”</p><p>I just smile and shake my head. Too bad that’s not the reason I showed.</p><p>“What? What is it?” she asks, letting her laugh slowly die. Damn, I’ve missed her laugh.</p><p>“It’s just…you’re here,” I say.</p><p>Her gaze falters to the ground at our feet, but her face quickly lifts again, and she’s wearing a beautiful smile. “I know. It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? How long has it been?”</p><p>“Too long,” I say, without hesitation.</p><p>Her smile widens.</p><p>“What?” I ask.</p><p>“You know, you were my hardest <emphasis>good-bye</emphasis>?” she says.</p><p>I can’t help but grin at that. “Your hardest <emphasis>good-bye</emphasis>, huh?”</p><p>She nods. “Mm-hmm. And I’ve said a lot of them.”</p><p>We’re both quiet then. I think I’m still just letting her words sink in. I’ve said a few <emphasis>good-byes</emphasis> in my life, and she would have been right up there too, if I had ever really said <emphasis>good-bye</emphasis> to her.</p><p>“Tell me something about you,” she says, breaking my thoughts. “Tell me something I’ve missed. I feel like I’ve missed so much.”</p><p>“Okay.” I pause for a breath and think about it. “I have a cat named Corn now.”</p><p>She laughs. “I always pictured you as a dog person.”</p><p>“Well, I think I am, but this cat’s okay. It was the neighbor’s, until she realized her little boy was allergic to it. I said I’d take it in, but the little boy had already named it. I guess when you’re two, Corn is a pretty damn good name for a cat.”</p><p>She laughs again and then settles back on my eyes. “Corn?”</p><p>Damn it, her eyes still make me nervous. That hasn’t changed. I push my lips to one side and just nod. “Yep.”</p><p>“And that’s all I’ve missed, huh?”</p><p>I nod. “Pretty much.”</p><p>She lowers her gaze.</p><p>“What about you? What have I missed?” I ask.</p><p>Her smile starts small and then grows wide.</p><p>“What?” I ask.</p><p>“I found Winnie-the-Pooh.”</p><p>I cock my head. “The original Winnie-the-Pooh?”</p><p>She nods. “The day we left this place, I found it stuffed in between two boxes in the basement.”</p><p>“So you never really lost it after all?” I ask.</p><p>She shakes her head. “No, I guess not.”</p><p>She’s quiet then. We’re both quiet then. I’m thinking about the thing I lost in the move. Turns out, I found her after all too.</p><p>We both step over a fallen oak. We’re at the tree line that leads to the creek now. And I’m well aware Brooke hasn’t said anything about a boyfriend yet. But now, I guess, I’m pretty convinced there isn’t one. It might just be my wishful thinking, but I’m guessing she wouldn’t be here with me if she had one. Then again, maybe she would. I only know the girl who showed up at the creek that one summer nearly nine years ago. And there’s a lot of life in between there. And then, of course, there’s Amy. There’s Amy swimming around the back of my head. Amy, my friend. Amy, my ex-girlfriend. Amy, the girl who just wondered back into my life — and maybe even my heart.</p><p>“And high school?” I ask.</p><p>She shrugs her shoulders. “It was…high school. We stayed in one place for four years, and I ate questionable lunches and managed to sleep through most of Mr. Ethan’s classes. And I ran track in the spring…and my best friend and I drove way too many loops around town when I first got my driver’s license.”</p><p>I laugh. “I think that pretty much about sums up my experience too.”</p><p>She smiles as we keep walking.</p><p>“But you ran track?” I ask.</p><p>“Yeah,” she says. “It turns out I wasn’t such a bad 800-meter runner. I hated every second of it.” She stops and furrows her eyebrows. “But for some reason, I never quit.”</p><p>I snicker under my breath. “Pain is in your nature, I think.”</p><p>She gives me a sideways look.</p><p>“You did bale hay with me once. Don’t think I forgot.”</p><p>She smiles wide, showing her teeth this time. “That I did.” Her lips start to slowly fall then, but the smile just barely remains as her eyes lock on mine.</p><p>“River, it…” she starts.</p><p>I wait for her to continue, but it doesn’t look as if she’s going to.</p><p>“It…,” I repeat, trying to coax her to finish her sentence.</p><p>She shakes her head. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”</p><p>I know it’s something, but I don’t push her.</p><p>“So, you’re a writer now?” she asks.</p><p>“Yeah. As it turns out, not many people read newspapers anymore, but someone forgot to tell me that when I was getting my degree.”</p><p>Another pretty laugh falls from her lips. “And even if they did…tell you…”</p><p>She pauses and I just nod. “I guess I would have done it anyway,” I say.</p><p>Suddenly, we’re at the creek bank. And all too soon, I notice the sun is setting. I look around. We’re about a mile away from the house. How did we even get here? Had we really walked that far?</p><p>“You want to sit down?” I ask her.</p><p>She looks at me like she’s thinking about it. “Okay,” she says at last.</p><p>We sit on the grass, and there’s still so much running through my head. I’ve heard some, but I want to know everything — everything I’ve missed. I want to…</p><p>“I can’t believe we’re here again,” she says, stopping my thoughts. Her voice is low but songlike.</p><p>I nod. “You know, I had my last perfect summer here.”</p><p>“Your last?” she asks.</p><p>“Yeah, life hit me after that — high school and decisions…and thinkin’ too much,” I add. “That summer, I didn’t have any of that.”</p><p>She smiles. “Yeah, I guess it was mine too.”</p><p>We’re quiet again, just listening to the tree frogs and the wind blow through the maples and the oaks and the river birch. A snapping turtle fans out its webbed feet and glides past us right under the water’s surface. It feels as if just yesterday we were both here together, both figuring out what life and love were all about. I wish there were something I could say or do that would erase nine years and that would bring us back to that time where we didn’t really know what to say, but we said it anyway.</p><p>“River?” Her voice breaks my thoughts again.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“It…wasn’t just the job…that made me want to come back here,” she says.</p><p>I watch her green and grays leave mine and settle on the water instead.</p><p>“And it wasn’t just that I liked it here either,” she goes on. “I mean, I did like it here — a lot; it just wasn’t the only reason.” She pauses before she continues. “River, I got a letter recently. And it made me remember. It made me remember how happy I was here.”</p><p>And just like that, the air in my lungs vanishes. It’s as if I turn smack-dab into a brick wall.</p><p>“It was from you.” She smiles at me. “From 1999.”</p><p>I can’t believe my ears. “Wait,” I say. “The letter I wrote you, saying that I hadn’t heard from you or got your new address, that one?”</p><p>She nods. “The envelope was full of forwarded addresses stamped onto it, and it was returned to you once, I think. But yeah, somehow, it eventually got to me.”</p><p>She pulls her knees closer to her chest. “But anyway, that’s why I’m back here,” she says.</p><p>I bite my bottom lip, then let it go again as her smoky eyes go to searching mine. “What?” she asks. She must notice my surprise.</p><p>“Brooke, I got a letter too…recently…from you.”</p><p>Her face goes blank. There’s a question on it; I can tell. But I keep going.</p><p>“I got it a couple months ago…the letter you wrote me back then.”</p><p>“Really?” Her eyes narrow, but in a way, they still kind of sparkle.</p><p>“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t know how, but it showed up at my parents’ house right before graduation, and…” I stop. I’m trying to decide if I want to tell her about my little ten-hour journey to her — about how I saw her with a punk in a truck, how I found her and then how I left her. I think about it, but in the end, I decide to keep that little part to myself…for now.</p><p>Her eyes turn down and follow a water bug skimming along the surface. “Oh,” is all she says, and then she’s quiet again.</p><p>I watch her fingers play with the hem of her skirt. And after a moment, she looks back up at me. “So, you didn’t get my letters either, until now?”</p><p>“Letters?” I ask. “There was more than one?”</p><p>She nods. “I wrote you two letters after we moved to Nashville.”</p><p>I know I’ve got a question hangin’ on my lips, but I set it aside. “I only got one,” I say.</p><p>“Which one did you get?” She looks sad all of a sudden, and there’s a seriousness in her question that I can’t figure out.</p><p>“It had your new address in it. You talk about liking eighth grade and telling everybody where you’re from.”</p><p>She almost looks relieved. I wonder why.</p><p>We’re both quiet then. I wonder where in the hell that second letter went — and what it said.</p><p>She smiles softly. “I had thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore. I convinced myself that I was stupid for thinking we’d stay in touch. I mean, I knew every time I moved, I lost things…people. I just thought — I wouldn’t lose you.”</p><p>My heart sinks to the bottom of my chest at her last words. “Brooke,” I say and then stop to gather my thoughts. “You didn’t lose me. I don’t know what happened with the letters. We sold the farm, and we moved, and I just never got them. But you didn’t lose me.”</p><p>“You sold the farm?”</p><p>“Yeah,” I say, nodding my head. “We moved to a place right outside of town not too long after you left.”</p><p>It’s almost as if some kind of understanding hits her. “That makes sense,” she whispers, nodding, as if to herself.</p><p>I want to know how that makes sense exactly. Had she wondered back here before tonight? Had she seen it all gone? Was she looking for me? I’ve got a hundred questions running through my mind, but suddenly, one pops to the forefront.</p><p>“Brooke?”</p><p>Her face turns toward mine.</p><p>“Your last letter wasn’t postmarked until February.” That’s all I say. I don’t ask her why she waited so long to write, and I try not to think about how I might not have ever lost her if she had written sooner — before we moved to town. I already feel like a damn sentimental Sherlock Holmes for saying that much.</p><p>She breathes out a sigh before she starts. “I did write you as soon as we got to Nashville. But just a couple months ago, when I got your last letter, my mom saw it. And I don’t know why, but I guess she felt compelled to tell me that almost a decade earlier, she had found two letters I had written to you in my dad’s desk drawer.” She lets go of a puff of air, and it sends the few strands of hair around her face flying up. “He had sneaked the first one, and then later, the second one out of the mailbox before the mailman could pick them up. My mom says he was just looking out for me the best way he knew how. He didn’t know you. And I guess, to him, you were just some stranger who lived hundreds of miles away and who had his little girl’s heart.”</p><p>I smile at her choice of words.</p><p>“But anyway,” she continues, “my mom found the letters months after I had written them, and she mailed them both.” She pauses. “But that was February, I guess. And I guess, you had already moved by then.”</p><p>I’m quiet, just mulling it all over. That explains it, I guess. And I guess I can’t be mad at her dad. My dad would have probably done the same thing in Rea’s case.</p><p>“River.”</p><p>I catch a glimpse of her light eyes, and instantly, I fall right back into them.</p><p>“Ask me what I took from Missouri,” she says.</p><p>I take a second and catch Winnie sniffing the stump of some old oak tree. “Besides a coonhound?” I ask.</p><p>“Yeah, besides a coonhound.” She laughs.</p><p>All right,” I breathe out. “Brooke Sommerfield, what did you take from Missouri?”</p><p>I can tell she’s trying to hold back a smile. She’s playing with her lips, biting gently on the bottom one to keep it from inching upward, I think. It’s driving me crazy, making my heart race and my breathing shallow. I always loved when she did that.</p><p>“You,” she whispers. “You were my Missouri thing, River.”</p><p>I search her face. I think I want to smile, but I’m also kind of at a loss for words, thoughts, everything, I think. I dreamed about this moment so many times. But it’s been a long nine years. Year upon year has a funny way of making you start questioning what you thought you knew. It sobers you, I guess.</p><p>“I almost gave up on you,” she whispers again. And this time, she turns her face toward the ground.</p><p>“Almost?” I ask.</p><p>“Yeah,” she says, nodding her head. “Almost.”</p><p>The air around us grows silent — and it’s one of those loud kind of silences, the kind that makes you want to cover your ears just so you can think — as I try to soak up her words.</p><p>“I was here not too long ago,” she says.</p><p>I lift my gaze. “What?”</p><p>“I came back here to this creek where I met you, where you used to live,” she says. Her eyes seem to wander off. “I came here to find you. But when I got here, there was nothing — just a bunch of fields. It broke my heart to see it all gone. But I sat at this creek anyway, and I convinced myself that it was silly of me to even come here. I promised myself that I would let your memory go in peace. And then I left, and I thought I was leaving it all behind. I thought I was leaving you behind — for good.”</p><p>Her eyes wander back to mine, and she smiles. “I was leaving, and I saw that <emphasis>For Sale</emphasis> sign at Mrs. Catcher’s. And I figured if I couldn’t have you, maybe I could still have this place. I think I had hoped it would fill me.”</p><p>My heart is aching as I process her words. I don’t know exactly what Brooke is saying yet or how she feels or even if she’s willing or able to take another chance on me. But suddenly, I feel as if I’m thirteen all over again, and I’m just trying to figure out how I feel. I never imagined I would have to put any thought into this. I always thought that if I saw Brooke again, I wouldn’t even have to think about it; I’d know my answer. My answer would be her; I would choose her — every time. But I guess that’s before Amy wondered back into the picture again. And as much as I might feel thirteen, I’m not thirteen anymore. And the damn thoughts that come with age are clogging everything up. Is it Amy or is it Brooke? Brooke’s a dream — something beautiful and fragile — and not because she’s fragile but because dreams are always fragile. Brooke’s something young and wild, untamable. Amy’s real — something I can put a name to, touch, feel. Amy’s now and predictable, something I can count on — for the most part. And there’s something about predictable that seems so much more alluring now than it did when I was thirteen. If I ever got the choice again, who would I choose? Amy or Brooke — the present or the past, real or a dream.</p><p>Behind my eyes, there’s a battle raging. I wonder if Brooke can see it. I shut my eyes for a moment and drag in a long, deep breath.</p><p>“River.” My eyelids lift. She’s staring at me. I know she can see. She could always see things I never thought she could.</p><p>“Life passes you by when your eyes are closed.”</p><p>I chuckle once and then catch her smoky green and gray eyes staring back at me. “You’re right,” I say, nodding. “You’re absolutely right.”</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Thirty-Seven</p><p><emphasis>It Was Hers</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>I</strong> pull up to the diner on 6th and Cherry. I asked her to meet me here. I have something I need to tell her.</p><p>I step inside, and immediately, I spot her, but she doesn’t seem to notice me. For a second, I question my decision, and I think about turning around and walking right back out. But I don’t. Instead, I shuffle slowly down a small aisle lined with little blue-padded booths. There are only a few tables occupied in the dining area. It’s eight. Most have already eaten their suppers by five, sipped on their coffee until six and are long gone by now.</p><p>“Hi,” I say. I pull out a chair across from her and take a seat.</p><p>She starts to smile, but her lips only make it halfway up her cheeks when I notice the change in her eyes. “There’s something wrong,” she says.</p><p>I’m not sure if she asks it or merely states a fact.</p><p>I swallow hard and just start right in. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t get this out soon.</p><p>“I had some of the best times of my life with you. There’s no mistaken that,” I say to her.</p><p>I stop on that thought. All the memories of us together are running on a carousel through my mind. At some of the images, I want to stop and stay for a while.</p><p>“River, don’t say it.” She shakes her head, and I’m jolted off the carousel and into her eyes. “Don’t say it,” she repeats.</p><p>There’s pain in her expression. I’m sure there’s pain in mine too.</p><p>“Who, River?”</p><p>My brows furrow. “What?”</p><p>“I know it’s someone. I can see it. Who is it that’s stealing you away from me? Who is she?”</p><p>I look down at the little table that separates us. I want to grab the bill of my cap, but I’m not wearing one. I look back up at her. Her sad eyes burrow a tunnel of hurt into my own. I was never in the business of making a girl sad. I think about if I want to tell her. Does she really want to know or is it just her damn curiosity getting the best of her, and she’ll regret asking the second the name falls from my lips? I wonder what’s best, and I’m really wishing life came with a manual sometimes. How is it that man has existed for all these years, and still, there’s no right way to tell someone that your heart belongs to another?</p><p>“Do you remember the necklace?” I ask.</p><p>I don’t say anything else. She narrows her eyes at me — not angrily, just thoughtfully. Then she nods.</p><p>“It was hers,” I say.</p><p>Understanding seems to wash over her. Starting with her eyes, her features loosen, her lips part. She’s motionless for a few beats. Then she slowly nods again — almost as if she understands for the first time — like really understands this time.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Amy. I met her before I met you. We were only thirteen.”</p><p>Somehow and all of a sudden, I feel as if I’m talking to a friend instead of an ex-girlfriend. “You know,” I say, probably a little too comfortable, “as the years drew on, I think I feared seeing her again. I was scared that we’d be like two strangers that only crossed paths once upon a time, but…”</p><p>I stop there. I don’t have the words really to finish, and I’m pretty sure Amy doesn’t really want to hear the end anyway.</p><p>“You did cross paths? Recently?” she asks.</p><p>I don’t know if she asks it to ease her own pain or her own curiosity again, but I oblige and answer her either way.</p><p>I nod. “We ran into each other — out of the blue.”</p><p>“When was the last time you saw her? I mean, before that?” she asks.</p><p>I gnaw on my bottom lip. I guess since I don’t have my cap, my lip is the next best thing to ease my nerves. “We were thirteen.”</p><p>“River.” She lets go of my name, and the second it leaves her mouth, it sounds as if it’s a motherly warning of some sorts. It’s gentle but laced with pity.</p><p>“Amy, I know. I know it sounds crazy.” I laugh once to myself, and then there’s silence again.</p><p>“Are you sure?” she asks.</p><p>I shake my head. “No,” I admit with a smile. “I’m not sure about anything.” I want to tell her, though, that I’m more than willing to take a chance on Brooke. I want to tell her that when we met again for the first time in nine years, it was as if no time had passed. I want to tell Amy that I can’t not try with Brooke. But I don’t. I spare her the details because despite how much she thinks she wants to know, she can’t want to know everything. Things like this break even the strongest.</p><p>Amy nods and then stills her movements. “I shouldn’t have ever let you go.”</p><p>I slowly shake my head. “It wouldn’t have changed anything, Amy. It would have ended the same.”</p><p>She seems to gnaw on that thought for a couple seconds. “River?”</p><p>I give her my full attention.</p><p>“Do you think there’s more than just one match for a person?”</p><p>I press my lips together. “Yeah,” I eventually say, nodding. “I do. But I think there’s only that one person that will challenge you — that will make you feel alive. And that’s what we need, I think.”</p><p>“I didn’t challenge you?” she asks.</p><p>“Amy, we didn’t challenge each other. We did everything two people were supposed to do in high school, and we had fun, but in the end, we did what was easy.”</p><p>Her chest seems to deflate. I know what I said makes her sad, but I also know she agrees. And all of a sudden, an unexpected smile finds her lips.</p><p>“We did have fun.”</p><p>I nod. “Yeah,” I agree. “We did.”</p><p>She lets go of a heavy sigh. “You know, a lot of life gets lived between thirteen and now? The past isn’t always as beautiful as we paint it in our minds.”</p><p>I look into her baby blue eyes, possibly for the last time, and I see all the laughter and the love and the tears we shared in the years we had together. And I can see in those eyes that she really cares for me — just like I really care for her. But then I find myself slowly nodding my head as I say my next thought. “Maybe so, but I’m willin’ to take that chance.”</p><p>Her gaze falters to the floor, but only for a moment. After a few seconds, it returns to mine, and I can see a mist welling up in her eyes. “I’m going to miss you, River.”</p><p>I bob my head once. “I’ll miss you too.” I say my final words to her because I know they’re the right words to say. They’re what she wants to hear, and they’re the truth. Amy was there for a season. I’ll always love her for that. No matter how stupid or ugly we were to each other at times, she’ll always hold one of my seasons. She was my spring, but the thing is, Brooke was always what I just couldn’t wait to get to. Brooke was always my summer. She’ll always be my summer. And I had already made my choice a long time ago. Loving Brooke was what I was made to do. Now, I just hope that loving me was what Brooke was made to do.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Thirty-Eight</p><p><emphasis>Never the Same Love Twice</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“B</strong>rooke.”</p><p>“Mm-hmm?” She’s playing with a DVD case. She’s distractingly sexy — even playing with a darn DVD case. I guess you could say it’s our third date, even though I feel as if it’s our thirty-third date. We’re watching movies at her new place and eating pizza. She’s wearing gray sweats, and her hair is pulled back, and I wouldn’t trade this kind of comfortable for the world. It just feels natural — being with her.</p><p>“I came and saw you,” I say.</p><p>She stops playing with the case and looks up at me. I know it’s out of the blue, but I think she deserves to know I tried to find her — that I did find her.</p><p>“What?” she asks.</p><p>“Right before graduation, I got your address from your mom, and I went to your house.”</p><p>It looks as if she’s thinking. “In Memphis?” she asks.</p><p>I nod my head.</p><p>“H…how?”</p><p>“It’s a long story,” I say.</p><p>“You talked to my mom?” She narrows her eyes at me.</p><p>“Yeah,” I say. “She never told you?”</p><p>Brooke doesn’t answer. She just stares off into a corner of the room.</p><p>“She asked one day a few weeks before graduation if I had seen you lately,” she says, moving her eyes from the corner back to me. “It was weird because she hadn’t ever asked about you before. I mean, I knew she knew about you. I wasn’t very good at keeping you a secret.” She smiles and sets the DVD case onto the coffee table. “But anyway, I told her <emphasis>no</emphasis>, and I remember asking her why she had wanted to know. Then..” She stops and looks away again. “My dad came home with a puppy for my mom because she missed Winnie, and…the question never got answered.” There’s a pause, and then her pretty eyes land on mine. “Why did I never see you then?”</p><p>I sigh inwardly. This is the part I’d rather leave out. “I saw you with someone.” My eyes instinctively fall to a place on the couch. “I should have…” I let go of a breath. “I should have talked to you. I just…I think in that moment, I realized how crazy it all was to try and find you again…How crazy it was to think that…I would be sitting on your couch, eating pizza and falling for you all over again.”</p><p>She flashes me a modest smile. “Crazy, right?” she asks, shaking her head.</p><p>“Yeah,” I agree.</p><p>“Whatever happened…,” I start but think twice about finishing.</p><p>“With the guy?” she asks.</p><p>I sort of shrug one shoulder.</p><p>“He’s in Memphis,” she says. “We only dated for a couple months. It really wasn’t anything serious.”</p><p>I nod, trying to keep my excitement to myself as she scoots closer to me on the couch and rests her head on my shoulder. “I can’t believe you came to see me.” Her eyes land in mine. “I can’t believe you found me.”</p><p>“Are you mad?” I ask.</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“That I didn’t talk to you?”</p><p>She shakes her head. “No. We found each other again. That’s all that matters. We found each other again the same way we found each other the first time — by way of accident. It’s only fitting — like bees and honey. Right?”</p><p>She smiles and then buries her head into my chest.</p><p>I laugh once to myself. “Like bees and honey,” I repeat, pulling her close.</p><p>“River.” Her voice is almost a whisper.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I heard this quote once by F. Scott Fitzgerald that said there are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice.” She looks up at me and smiles through her dark eyelashes, and I’m automatically transported back to a creek and a summer that’s permanently tattooed on my heart.</p><p>“Do you think that’s true?” she asks.</p><p>I’m already lost in her and her beautiful thoughts. “Sure,” I say, nodding.</p><p>“River?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Do you remember what it was like to be young and in love — before you knew what love was?”</p><p>I nod again. “Sure,” I say. “Awkward.”</p><p>She laughs and shoves my shoulder at the same time. “Speak for yourself.”</p><p>“Yeah,” I admit. “I was talking about myself.”</p><p>She smiles wider. “Okay, awkward,” she admits. “But also…it’s like that feeling you get in your dreams when you’re falling, but at the last second, you realize it’s only a dream and that you’re really safe. And then all of a sudden, that falling feeling becomes kind of invigorating. It’s like once you know you’re safe, all the crazy, awkward, scary moments just make for a full life — make it all worth it.”</p><p>She pauses and finds my gaze. “I think that’s what being young and in love is like,” she goes on. “It’s scary and awkward and uncertain, but somehow safe. And I think some people can be young and in love even when they’re old and in love. And I think that’s the best kind of love there is. You know?”</p><p>By now, I’m glued to her, mesmerized by the way her smoky eyes turn a different shade of gray when they light up. “Yeah,” I eventually agree. “I know.”</p><p>She takes my hand in hers. Her touch still makes my heart race and my breaths short and my body ache for her. “I want that kind of love — that love we had,” she says.</p><p>I feel my chest rise and then fall. “Brooke?”</p><p>“Mm-hmm?”</p><p>“Does that mean you want us?” I ask.</p><p>She keeps her eyes on me and takes a moment before she says anything again. “Mm-hmm,” she confirms at last, nodding her head into the muscles in my chest right before she angles her face back up at mine. And I don’t know what it is, but I’m just drawn to her. I’m drawn to her just like I was that first day I ever kissed her. I was young then, and I was stupid, and I had no clue what love was. But I know what it is now. And I know now that what I felt back then was love. I guess sometimes we just need the years to confirm it.</p><p>I look into her eyes, and she stares back into mine, and it’s as if all the kisses and touches we ever stole and all the desires we ever had for one another are just floating up to the surface. I lean in, and I stop right before her lips, so that I can taste and savor all the memories — all the sweet, soft memories that only we can see — floating between us. And I can feel her hot breaths hit my lips. They come fast and short. My heart is racing, pumping me full of adrenaline. Every part of me feels alive, and all that matters is her. And the last thing I see before her eyes fall shut is a look of want. And I know that same look is in my eyes too. Then just like that, the world stops. And I close my eyes, and I press my lips against hers — for the first time in nearly a decade. And it feels just like the first time — raw and hungry, yet faultless. And just like the first time, I know without a doubt, I love this girl. I still my lips against hers; I want to savor the moment. And I think she does too. She stays close, and her heavy, short breaths fall one by one onto my lips<emphasis>. God, I’ve missed her.</emphasis> I love this crazy, beautiful girl and all the life that’s in her. It’s as if I’m falling in love with her all over again — and I don’t even think I ever fell out.</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Thirty-Nine</p><p><emphasis>Eight Months Later</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“I</strong>t’s kind of like snow in April.” Brooke touches a white flower on one of the dogwood trees. There’s like a dozen of them in every square acre of this town, and each one of them is completely covered in the white flowers.</p><p>“Yeah,” I agree. “It kind of is.”</p><p>Her eyes stay focused on the flower until I notice them wander off after a few moments.</p><p>“Look, Riv, an antique shop.” She points to a little house down the block. There are trinkets and old things — an old grape press and a hand plow — lining the walk, and there’s a little painted, homemade <emphasis>open</emphasis> sign hanging on the door.</p><p>Her eyes light up, and she grabs my hand. “Let’s go look inside.”</p><p>I smile at her and wait for the inevitable tug. When it comes, I follow her to the little house.</p><p>We step inside, and a little bell rings above us, alerting an old woman sitting in a rocking chair.</p><p>“Well, hello.” The voice is small but chipper.</p><p>Brooke says <emphasis>hi</emphasis>, and I touch the brim of my cap and bob my head — something my grandpa always used to do.</p><p>The old woman smiles kindly. “What brings you young folks to Marthasville?”</p><p>I notice Brooke’s eyes get caught on something, so I take over the conversation. “We’re just passing through really,” I say. “I’m originally from Detmold just about forty miles west of here.”</p><p>“Aah,” the woman says. “Wonderful. Well, don’t be shy. If you have any questions, I know everything about every piece in this whole place.” She uses both her hands to smooth out her long cotton dress.</p><p>“Thanks,” I say, spotting Brooke again.</p><p>“Oh, wait,” the woman says, stopping me. “You never mentioned your name.”</p><p>I turn back toward her, and I must have had a questioning look on my face because she goes to explaining herself.</p><p>“I always ask everyone from anywhere around here. It usually turns out you find you’re connected in some way or another — like that six degrees of Bacon.”</p><p>I smile. “Kevin Bacon.”</p><p>“Yes,” the old woman exclaims. “Six degrees of Kevin Bacon or separation, whatever you prefer to call it. But I’ve always thought that that Bacon was quite a handsome young man.”</p><p>I lower my eyes and laugh to myself.</p><p>“It’s River,” I say, lifting my head again. “River Asher. And this is…” I look up, and Brooke’s not where she just was. But I notice the old woman coming out from behind the counter with a concerned look on her face, and I put finding Brooke on hold.</p><p>The woman hobbles more than she walks as she makes her way over to me. She stops when she’s about a foot in front of me. Her head is barely at my chest. And I stand still as she takes my hand in hers.</p><p>“River?” she repeats.</p><p>“That’s right, ma’am.”</p><p>She nods her head and then turns her focus to Brooke, who has reappeared all of a sudden. “And who might you be, dear?”</p><p>Brooke looks at our two hands and sends me a questioning glance. I know she’s probably wondering the same thing I am.</p><p>“I’m Brooke.” Brooke quickly replaces her puzzled look with the soft smile I love so much.</p><p>“Have you two been together long?” the old woman asks.</p><p>I glance at Brooke, who is already looking at me.</p><p>“It feels like a lifetime,” Brooke says. “But really, I guess it’s only officially been about eight months now.” She smiles at me.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s funny,” I start to say. I’m not sure why I’m telling this stranger about my life. It’s not something I’d normally do, but I guess she’s less and less of a stranger as the seconds draw on. She is still holding my hand, after all. And she seems more than willing to listen. “We met by way of accident really — when we were both thirteen. And then we were separated that same year. But it was almost a year ago that we were reunited by accident again.”</p><p>“Oh, honey.” The old woman draws a quick breath and squeezes my forearm. “There’s no such thing as an accident.” Then she pauses and looks deep into my eyes. Her eyes are a glazy brown — like a jar of molasses held to the sun. “It’s called fate, my dear.”</p><p>I manage to tear my stare away from the old woman for a second to glance at Brooke. Brooke just shrugs her shoulders and smiles. “Well,” I say to the old woman, “it would seem as if it were an accident because just about a year ago, I received this…”</p><p>“Letter,” the woman interjects.</p><p>I stare at her for a second, then at Brooke, who isn’t even trying to hide the fact that she’s about as lost as I am right now.</p><p>“How did you guess?” Brooke asks, stepping in.</p><p>The woman lowers her head and laughs softly to herself before she addresses us again. “Do you have a moment?” she asks.</p><p>Brooke and I look at each other and then nod simultaneously.</p><p>“Of course,” I say.</p><p>The old woman lets go of my arm and turns and hobbles slowly back over to her rocking chair behind the small register. Then she sits down. Brooke and I follow her and sit side by side on an old, wooden bench that has a sign on it that reads: <emphasis>Not for sale</emphasis>.</p><p>“You’re Brooke? And you’re River?” the woman asks, once we’re seated. She focuses her attention first on Brooke and then on me.</p><p>We both slowly nod as she goes back to her rocking.</p><p>“You see, I was sitting in this very chair the same day a young gentleman brought in this beautiful piece of furniture,” she says. “It was a hall tree made of this beautiful walnut with the original mirror and a nice chair built into it.”</p><p>I nod. “My grandfather had one of those. But I don’t think it was one of the things we kept after he passed.”</p><p>The woman seems to be thinking as she continues. “Well, the gentleman brought it in and told me a little bit about it. It had been his mother’s for a little while. I looked at it, and he set it right back there in that booth, and then he left.” She points over to a far corner. I look, but I don’t see the hall tree. “And later that day, that hall tree was still just sitting there in that corner, and I was in this rocking chair,” she goes on. “And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why, but something kept nagging me to go back there and look at that old piece of furniture again.”</p><p>Brooke and I glance at each other. Her face looks about as clueless as I feel.</p><p>The woman laughs a little. “And you know? Eventually I got up, and I made my way over to it, and I gave it a good once-over. I looked at its chair; I felt the back of it; I combed its sides. Nothing. So, I turned to go back to my rocking chair, and I stopped. I stopped because I didn’t check one thing.” She holds up a creased finger. “I didn’t check to see if it had a compartment under the seat because that’s how they made them back in those days. Those old hall trees always had a place where you could store things. You just had to lift up the seat.”</p><p>Brooke and I instinctively nod as the woman continues.</p><p>“So, I made my way back over to it, lifted the seat, and sure enough, the seat lifted. And you know what I found in that compartment?”</p><p>I look at Brooke, and she looks at me. Then we both turn our attentions back to the old woman, awaiting her next words. But the old woman just smiles and closes her eyes instead. And after a moment of her silence, my gaze slowly wonders back over to Brooke. She looks concerned for the old woman all of a sudden. And it’s not until almost a minute passes that the woman opens her eyes again. And for the first time, I can see tears threatening to overflow her eyelids. I gently place my hand on her arm.</p><p>“Are you okay?” I ask.</p><p>“Oh, yes, dear,” she rattles off with a wave of her hand. “It’s just an old woman marveling at life, that’s all. Don’t mind me.”</p><p>I nod and turn to Brooke. She just looks at me with a set of wide eyes. Meanwhile, a tear slips down the old woman’s cheek, and Brooke sits up.</p><p>“Ma’am, are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.</p><p>The woman slowly bobs her head, and Brooke hesitantly sits back again.</p><p>“What did you find in the compartment?” I ask, eager to hear the rest of her story.</p><p>There’s a slight pause, while the gray-haired woman just smiles. “I found three letters: Two from a Brooke. One from a River.”</p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Forty</p><p><emphasis>Moirae</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“M</strong>a’am, you never told us your name,” I say, as we’re leaving the antique shop. We spent about an hour listening to how the old woman found the letters and decided to take them to the post office. The whole time she’s talking, Brooke is biting her lips. I think she feels the same way I do. I think she’s just now realizing how lucky we were to find each other again.</p><p>“Moirae.” The old woman smiles.</p><p>I bob my head once and turn to leave when her voice stops me.</p><p>“It means fate,” she says.</p><p>A soft gasp comes from Brooke. And her hand is already on her heart when I glance over at her to make sure she’s okay.</p><p>“Fate?” I ask, turning back toward the old woman.</p><p>“Yes,” she confirms. “Fate.”</p><p>I smile wide and then nod wordlessly. And right as Brooke and I turn again, I notice the woman gently take Brooke’s hand.</p><p>“Here, dear, I believe this is yours.”</p><p>My gaze falls to their hands. I can’t see exactly what it is the woman is handing Brooke. It looks as if it’s an envelope of some sorts. But I do see Brooke’s eyes grow wide as she takes it into her hands. Then all of a sudden, those same eyes brighten and then start to fill with tears. I wonder what was on the envelope that made her cry.</p><p>“Thank you,” Brooke whispers to the old woman. “Thank you.”</p><p>The old woman — Moirae — just smiles and nods once. Then Brooke and I make our way out of the little shop and down the concrete path back to my truck. I’m curious about what the old woman gave her, but I don’t want to make her cry again. She’s smiling now, even as she pats at the tears still left in her eyes. I watch her take the envelope and fold it in half. But before it closes in on itself, I notice my old address in Brooke’s handwriting scribbled on its front.</p><p>“It looks as if fate stepped in and brought us back together.” She laughs, still patting her eyes.</p><p>A broad smile shoots across my face again as I forget about the envelope that’s now shoved into her back pocket. “Yeah,” I agree. “I think you’re right.”</p><p>“What do you think happened to the letters?” she asks. “How do you think they ended up in that hall tree?”</p><p>I swallow and push out a breath. “You know, that very well could have been my grandpa’s old hall tree. That thing was so heavy, and neither of my parents really cared much for it. I really do believe it was sold with the house.”</p><p>“Do you think maybe the guy who bought the house and the land got the letters in the mail and brought them into the house?” she asks. “And maybe he even meant to send them back out but just never got around to it? And somehow those letters got lost in that old hall tree?”</p><p>“Maybe,” I confirm.</p><p>She stops for a second and stares off into the distance. “I wonder where that old hall tree ended up.”</p><p>I shrug my shoulders. “No tellin’.”</p><p>She hums a sigh and then keeps walking. And when we get to the truck, I open her door for her. She leans in first and tosses her sunglasses onto the dashboard. And as she leans, I notice the folded envelope sticking out of her jeans. The third letter. The old woman did say she found three letters, didn’t she? I look closer at the envelope. On its seal are Brooke’s infamous red lips. I smile and then catch something written underneath the stained lips. It’s two words in Brooke’s teenage handwriting: <emphasis>Good-bye, River.</emphasis></p></section><section><title><p>Chapter Forty-One</p><p><emphasis>Two Years Later</emphasis></p></title><p><strong>“I</strong>t’s a girl!” I make the announcement to the waiting room full of Brooke’s family and my mom and dad and sister and Tim, who’s now a teacher and a baseball coach for our old high school, and his family. The room explodes into cheers, but I don’t wait to hear all their congratulations. In a second, I’m running back to the room where the two loves of my life are resting.</p><p>Brooke and I got married in a little church not too far from where I grew up and where she once spent a summer. It was a pretty, sunny day in September. She wore white and carried daisies. And she was beautiful — as always.</p><p>“Hey, baby,” I say when I get back into the room.</p><p>“Shh,” Brooke says, smiling at me. <emphasis>She’s sleeping</emphasis>, she mouths.</p><p>“Oh,” I whisper, before I tiptoe the rest of the way to her bedside.</p><p>I get to the bed, and I plant a kiss on Brooke’s forehead, and then I look at our baby girl. “She’s beautiful,” I whisper.</p><p>I hear Brooke smile, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off the life we created together. She looks like Brooke. I’m so thankful for that and also thankful that from the moment I spotted Brooke on the other side of that creek that hot, summer day, fate was working. And in the nine years we spent apart, making a life for ourselves, fate was working. And when an old woman heard a little voice tell her to look inside the chair of an old hall tree, fate was working — literally.</p><p>I notice Brooke glance at me and then back at our baby girl. “I love you, Moirae,” she whispers and softly kisses the pink knitted hat on her head. “I love you, baby girl.”</p><p>I watch the both of them, and then I notice the shiny, little quartz heart around Brooke’s neck. I had kept it all those years. For almost a decade, that little heart necklace rested in a nightstand drawer in my childhood bedroom. And now, I replay what Brooke told me about the quartz heart so many years ago: <emphasis>It’s supposed to hold your dreams until they come true</emphasis>. And then, I swear, the breath escapes right out of my lungs because I realize in that moment, that right beside me, nestled together in a hospital bed, are my dreams — my two dreams come true.</p></section><section><title><p>Epilogue</p></title><p><strong>I</strong> walk past an old hall tree and slip out onto the porch. I can’t help but smile every time I see that damn thing. It was my wedding gift to Brooke. And I kind of like to think it was Grandpa’s gift to Brooke as well. It was his, after all. It took me dang near three months to finally track it down. I ended up buying it from a little old lady for twice as much as she paid for it. And then it took all the strength Tim, Grant, my dad and I had to load it onto my truck. But it was worth it — just to see the smile on Brooke’s face.</p><p>I set my glass down onto the porch railing and catch an open box sitting at my feet. We’ve been moving stuff for months now trying to get ready for the baby. And somehow, I guess a couple boxes got out here. It’s still hard to believe that this is the same porch I always used to catch Mrs. Catcher smiling at. I only hope Brooke and I can make just as many happy invisible memories here as it seemed she had.</p><p>It’s pretty dark, but I notice an old envelope sticking out of the half-open box. I reach down and grab it. On one side are two red lips and underneath are the words: <emphasis>Good-bye, River.</emphasis> I recognize it — not because I’ve read the letter before but because I’ve seen the inscription before. It’s the same envelope that the old woman from the antique store — Moirae — secretly gave to Brooke and the same one I saw in her back pocket later that afternoon. I set it onto the railing, trying to decide if I should read the letter inside or not. But before long, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I go to examining the envelope. It’s already been opened once, so I carefully slide the blue stationery out and unfold the page. And then using what little bit of moonlight there is, my eyes go to reading her words:</p><cite><p>Dear Riv,</p><p>I haven’t heard from you since my last letter. I guess I did lose you in the move after all. I just wanted to give you a proper good-bye. But know that I love you, River. I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you on the other side of that creek bank. Yes, I saw you first.</p><p>I love you because you’re a dreamer like me. Even though you don’t know it yet, you are. I love you because you think I’m fearless even though I’m not. I love you because you’re not afraid to be afraid. I love you because you’re beautiful and you have a sweet heart. I love you because you think I’m pretty. I love you because you showed up. And I love you because you made me feel like I was home for a summer. But mostly, I love you just because you’re you…and because it’s Tuesday. But I understand if we can’t write anymore. I understand you lose things in the move. I understand it’s hard to love something you can’t see. I understand, River, which is why I’m letting you go. So, don’t think about me anymore. Don’t waste another thought on me. You’re free, River. Go and make dreams with someone else…that you can hold. But know that every time I think of love, I’ll think of you.</p><p>Love always,</p><p>Brooke</p></cite><p>My eyes burn. I feel the moisture building behind my eyelids, threatening to escape down my face. I can’t tell if I’m in awe or heartbroken over this letter I never got from the girl I’ve always loved. But I do know I’m glad I never got the chance to read these words back then. I’m glad I never had to hear her say <emphasis>good-bye</emphasis>. I’m thankful I always had that ounce of hope to hold onto. And while I didn’t get prom or that first date in my old truck with her, like I had hoped I would, I’ll gladly take the rest of this beautiful life with her.</p><p>“River.”</p><p>I shove the letter back into the envelope and the envelope into my back pocket.</p><p>“There you are.” She smiles her sweet smile and steps out onto the porch as I make my way over to her.</p><p>“I just got Moirae down…” She stops abruptly and looks out onto the black night, as if all of a sudden it just jumped right out in front of her. “Oh, the stars are so…”</p><p>“Pretty,” I finish.</p><p>She stares into my eyes and just smiles. And then she opens her mouth, but before she can get anything out, I wrap my arms around her, and I pull her close. “You are and will always be my dream come true.”</p><p>I hear her breathe out a happy sigh as her shoulders lift and then fall in my arms. “I love you too, Riv.”</p><p>I hold her then for longer than I usually do because there’s a part of me that just can’t believe how it all fell into place — how I’m standing here holding the only dream I ever had worth dreaming. <emphasis>True love has a habit of coming back.</emphasis></p><p>I pull her body closer to me still, and at the same time, I catch two familiar stars hovering in the night sky. Immediately, my eyes go to finding the rest of them. It’s Aquarius. And somewhere I hear a quiet voice ask me if I see it.</p><p><emphasis>Yes, Grandpa</emphasis>, I mouth. <emphasis>I see it</emphasis>.</p><p>Then my eye catches on a bright star in one corner of the constellation. <emphasis>The Star of Hidden Things</emphasis>. I smile. And right then, I know. I know what Grandpa had meant when he uttered those words while staring out his living room window those last days of his life — so many years ago. He meant that in life, there are no accidents, but instead, only things we cannot see, only hidden memories — later disguised and made to look as if they merely came to us…by way of accident.</p><cite><p>There <emphasis>once was a river, who came upon a brook,</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>And with all his strength,</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>His current was no match for the brook</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>For the brook hid her strength in her gentle touch,</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>Carving her memory slowly over time into his,</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>Making her path so etched in that fate dared him to forget</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>That the brook who once changed the river’s course…</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>Will always hold his heart</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>And that time would only strengthen</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>What the river already knew—</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>he would never be the same without her.</emphasis></p><p><emphasis>And to think a little brook could overtake a river so…</emphasis></p></cite><subtitle>The End</subtitle><cite><p>“What’s meant to be will always find a way.”</p><text-author>— Trisha Yearwood</text-author></cite></section><section><title><p>ACKNOWLEDGMENTS</p></title><p>There are so many people to thank, and I’m indebted to so many more beyond who are specifically mentioned on this page. So many of you have touched my life and writing career. But first, I would like to thank God, my greatest inspiration, for giving me the opportunity to write for you.</p><p>And thank you to my amazing editors, beta readers and sources for all your time and contributions. I could not do this without you! Thank you especially to Calvin, Donna, Kathy, April, Sharon, Jon and Jesse. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping to make River and Brooke’s story what it is today.</p><p>I would also like to thank, as always, those wonderful readers and those amazing bloggers who are also readers for their enthusiasm and loyal support of all my novels. I will be forever grateful for your continued support and love of fairy tales. Thank you! Thank you! It means the world to me!</p><p>I would also like to thank my family, who continues to be my biggest fans and greatest supporters. And thank you also to my friends and mentors, who are ever inspiring me. Even if it has been many years since we’ve spoken, chances are I still think of you or remember something you’ve said or done. So, thank you!</p><p>And lastly but definitely not least, I would like to thank my husband, Neville, my true love. Thank you for your constant encouragement from the very beginning of this whole, grand adventure. Honey, I love you. And you and I both know that true love does have a habit of coming back.</p></section><section><title><p>ABOUT THE AUTHOR</p></title><image l:href="#1"/><subtitle>Photo by Marc Mayes</subtitle><p><strong>LAURA MILLER</strong> is the national bestselling author of the novels, <emphasis>Butterfly Weeds, My Butterfly, For All You Have Left</emphasis> and <emphasis>By Way of Accident</emphasis>. She grew up in eastern Missouri, graduated from the University of Missouri-Columbia and worked as a newspaper reporter prior to writing fiction. Laura currently lives in the Midwest with her husband. Visit her and learn more about her books at LauraMillerBooks.com.</p></section><section><title><p>OTHER BOOKS BY LAURA MILLER</p></title><p>Butterfly Weeds</p><p>My Butterfly</p><p>For All You Have Left</p><image l:href="#2"/><empty-line/><p><strong>“This is pure romance at its best.”</strong></p><p>— Romantic Reading Escapes on <emphasis>My Butterfly</emphasis></p><empty-line/><p><strong>“5+ ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL &amp; TOUCHING STARS! A MUST-READ!”</strong></p><p>— Nancy’s Romance Reads on <emphasis>For All You Have Left</emphasis></p><empty-line/><p><strong>“An incredible love story.”</strong></p><p>— Justin’s Book Blog on <emphasis>My Butterfly</emphasis></p><empty-line/><p><strong>“UNPUTDOWNABLE!”</strong></p><p>— Southern Belle Book Blog on <emphasis>For All You Have Left</emphasis></p><empty-line/><p><strong>“This is certainly one of my favorite love stories ever.”</strong></p><p>— A Novel Review on <emphasis>For All You Have Left</emphasis></p><empty-line/><p><strong>“Completely and Utterly Beautiful.”</strong></p><p>— Back Porch Romance Book Reviews on <emphasis>Butterfly Weeds</emphasis></p><empty-line/><p><strong>“Everyone should have the experience of having someone love you as much as Will loved Julia.”</strong></p><p>— A Novel Review on <emphasis>My Butterfly</emphasis></p><empty-line/><p><strong>“5+ of the BIGGEST Diamonds! This is a journey you will never forget!”</strong></p><p>— Bestsellers &amp; Beststellars on <emphasis>For All You Have Left</emphasis></p></section></body></FictionBook>