It Was Always You

by Johnston, Andrea

  “The day you moved away, you broke quite a few hearts around here. My loss aside, every romantic heart in this town cracked when their in-person love story ended.”

  Scrunching my brows, I look at him like he’s lost his mind. What in-person love story? He and my mom? Sure they seemed happy in public but anyone that spent more than thirty minutes with them in private could tell you it wasn’t a love match.

  “This entire town thought you and Ally were soul mates destined to be together forever. The day your mom took you away, she shattered quite a few dreams. Including Ally’s.”

  As we finish our meal and begin cleaning the table, my mind drifts to what he said about Ally and me. We were just kids. Best friends and fishing buddies. Sure, I’d kick anyone’s ass who came along and picked on her or teased her for having a boy for a best friend. Wouldn’t anyone?

  I like to think no matter what happened, we would have stayed friends. While most people don’t think men and women can be just friends, I think Ally and I could have. Or, I would have seen the beautiful woman she was turning into and had a mad crush on her.

  Who am I kidding? Seeing her today, I know I would have fallen for her. I would have threatened every asshole who dared to date her. Who thought they were good enough for her. E-mailing with her these last few weeks and spending time with her today only confirms what young me knew all those years ago. Allyson Honeycutt is one in a million and nobody would have been good enough for her. Especially me.

  Needing to speak to her but not wanting to ask Gary for her number, I do the next best thing and excuse myself from clean-up duty. That’s one chore I’ll willingly hand over to Gary. I did enough kitchen duty the first year I was away I could go a lifetime without washing another dish.

  I pull out my laptop, the one thing I readily accepted when offered by Gary after I agreed to look at his books, and pull up my e-mail.

  Opening a new message I contemplate telling her the truth. Let D tell her who I am instead of me doing it in person. It’s chickenshit but probably a little safer than telling her face to face.

  Re: I would be a bad date

  From: DC1331

  To: LightningBugCatcher

  Ally,

  I must confess that I don’t think I could date someone that didn’t eat meat. Tonight I made an epic burger and it solidified my love of meat. Or maybe it’s the lack of quality meat for so long. Regardless, I’m a carnivore.

  What have you been up to? Are you still out of town? I’m adjusting to life back in my hometown. It’s so strange how it almost feels like the town paused years ago. Everything is the same, and I feel so different in many ways but I can find myself easily falling back into the comfort of the simple life.

  Wow, that was getting heavy. Moving right along. Tell me about yourself, Ally. What makes you happy?

  To answer your question: Sweet Home Alabama. It reminds me of my childhood and the scene with the crazy grandpa with his bombs makes me laugh.

  What if . . . you choose one thing you could have forever, but you didn’t get anything else?

  D

  Chapter 14

  Ally

  After attempting to work at the kitchen table this morning, I give up and go to Espresso’d for some peace and quiet. Who knew one tiny woman can shout so much at the television? Regardless of the program—a game show, daytime soap, or marathon of a drama she interacts with it. Loudly. When I spoke to my mom this morning I asked if they’d had Granny’s hearing checked, assuming she was hard of hearing and that’s why she shouted. Nope. She can hear just fine. It’s simple joy she gets from yelling at the people on her television because they can’t smart back.

  I’ll concede to there being some appeal to the idea. Who doesn’t want to yell without repercussions? Regardless, I have work to catch up on and chapters to read. I contemplate reading near the water this afternoon, but I promised to have this back to Fin tonight and know if I sit in my happy place, there’s a chance he won’t get them.

  In the few short hours I’ve been here, I’ve completed my To Do list for the day, read four chapters, and compiled my notes. I click the tab for my e-mail and smile as I notice another e-mail from my impatient boss. Laughing, I start a new message instead of responding and begin summarizing my notes and thoughts on the book thus far. Once I’ve attached the manuscript to my e-mail I hit send and tab over to my personal e-mail. Bill reminders and a few notices of sales I can’t miss out on are easy enough to filter through. I pause my curser on a new e-mail from D. It’s been a few days since we’ve exchanged messages, and I’ll admit my curiosity is at an all-time high.

  Clicking on the message, I lean in to begin reading. His first words have me smiling instantly, but there’s something different about this message in comparison to the others. It feels sad. A little distant. That makes me sad for him. Of course, I think he’d hate that I feel that way. Not wanting what he perceives as pity directed his way.

  It isn’t pity, it’s pure sadness. I feel sad for the young guy, a kid really, who made decisions that led him to lose years of his freedom. I’ve tried to stay open-minded, not think the worst of what he did to spend time in prison. That’s a value my parents instilled in me at a young age and something I pride myself on even as an adult. Of course, it isn’t always easy to live each day without passing judgment, but it’s what I strive for.

  Except jeans with pleats. I just can’t get past that judgment.

  “I don’t like that look on you.” The voice is deep and sends a shiver down my spine. It isn’t one of fear or even distress, it’s excitement. Looking across the table, I smile at Drew. It’s still a little strange to call him anything other than Andy, but I’m making the effort. Of course it helps that there’s barely a resemblance to the boy I once knew.

  “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  Holding up his to-go cup I roll my eyes because what else would someone be doing in a coffee shop other than getting coffee. I can tell from his clothes that Drew isn’t working today. Instead of the tank top and well-worn jeans he had on the other day, he’s in a black collared shirt and pair of dark wash jeans. His hair is styled with some effort and off his forehead. I thought when I saw him the other day there was no way he could be sexier. I was wrong.

  “I came in for a quick cup before I head to the garage when saw a pretty girl sitting alone, looking sad.”

  “I’m not sad. I was just going through my e-mails.”

  He begins coughing and I move my chair to jump up and help him when he waves me off. Clearing his throat, he whispers, “Sorry,” before taking a drink from his cup. With his eyes closed, he lets out a deep breath before returning his gaze forward.

  “Sorry, wrong pipe. So you’re working?”

  “Just finished up actually. I was looking at my personal e-mails.”

  “Spam got you down?”

  Not understanding, I scrunch my eyebrows and open my mouth to speak when I remember what he said about me looking sad.

  “Oh, that. No, not spam. Just a friend. I was thinking of some tough times he’s gone through, and it made me sad for him. And it kind of put things in perspective for me.”

  “I see. Perspective how?”

  I contemplate how to answer and shift in my seat, taking a sip from my now cold coffee while doing so. Drew never takes his eyes off me, patient as he waits for me to formulate a response. D’s story isn’t mine to share so instead of any preface, I simply say, “I’m just realizing how important it is to appreciate each day. Life and freedom aren’t a guarantee.”

  “Like happiness.”

  “And friendship.”

  “And love.”

  His last words catch me off guard. Not only are they true but they also remind me of D’s e-mail and his what if question. What if . . . you choose one thing you could have forever, but you didn’t get anything else? Would I give up everything else for one thing? One emotion?

  Yes.

  I would sacrifice almost anything for love. T
he deepest and truest love.

  “Wow, Drew, that got heavy fast,” I tease as I click out of my programs and begin shutting down my computer.

  “Nah, just speaking the truth. If I’ve learned anything since we left Pickerton Grove, it’s that there is no sure thing. No guarantee the people who are supposed to show up for you will, and no matter how hard you want things to be easy, sometimes they just aren’t. Life, family, friends, none are guaranteed.”

  “Now that makes me sad for you. Don’t you have friends you depend on? Family? Your mom? Mr. Nelson has welcomed you home and seems thrilled to have you here.”

  “I’ve been having a good day, let’s not ruin it by talking about my mom or so-called friends. Gary is the best, and I’m thankful for him. But, you, Ally Cat, were my only true friend.”

  Sliding my laptop into the sleeve and then my bag, I set it on the floor before reaching across and placing my hand atop his. Squeezing his fingers, I hiccup a breath when he flips his hand over and slides our palms together. Rough callouses are a sharp contract to the smoothness of my hand. Somehow it doesn’t feel out of place. In fact, it sends very inappropriate thoughts through my mind of what those hands would feel like on other parts of my body, and I jerk my hand back.

  With my head down, attempting to cover the pink I know tints my cheeks, I grab my bag and look into his eyes. Dark and stormy, I wonder for a brief moment if he has similar thoughts but toss them aside because that’s ridiculous. We haven’t seen or talked to each other in a dozen years. There’s no connection other than history between childhood friends.

  “You got new freckles.”

  “The sun does that. Our afternoon of fishing was like a magnet drawing them out.”

  “I like ’em. They make you more you.”

  Smiling, I lean down and place a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks. See ya around.”

  I don’t wait for him to respond and rush from the table, cold coffee tossed into the garbage before I exit the building. Quickly, I make my way to Granny’s car and toss my bag in the passenger seat. While I wait for the air to cool the space, I take two deep breaths and regulate my heartbeat as I cue up my e-mail app on my phone and hit reply.

  Re: Re: I would be a bad date

  From: LightningBugCatcher

  To: DC1331

  You, sir, have excellent movie taste. That’s actually my favorite movie of all time. There’s something to be said about going home and childhood best friends. Funny enough, I ran into my childhood best friend a few days ago. I always wondered what happened to him after he left town. Did he run off to the circus? Join a cult? The automatic go-to thoughts of an 11-year-old with a vivid imagination. I still don’t know where he’s been, but I will confess seeing him again has been better than I could have predicted.

  To answer your question, I would choose one thing to have forever. Love. I want to experience true life-altering love. I’d sacrifice most anything for that.

  WOW! Talk about getting serious.

  My question for you today is: What was your favorite television show as a kid?

  Ally

  Chapter 15

  Drew

  Another missed opportunity. I had the perfect opening to tell Ally who I am. Who D and I both are. Instead, I got fucking philosophical or some shit and talked about love. What was I thinking? I don’t know anything about love, whether it’s giving or receiving. My mom was a horrible example of love in any form. Whether it was romantic or with me, she always had an ulterior motive or intention. Nothing was ever because of a bond or connection.

  It’s probably why I sought out attention and didn’t care if it was positive or negative. Each time the school or the cops called her to come pick me up, she ranted and raved but she paid attention. Her words cut deep, and the scars from those wounds are rough and jagged, but I didn’t care. It was attention from the one person who was supposed to love me unconditionally. She didn’t. I was good for her appearance until I wasn’t. The same could be said for my so-called friends.

  I wasn’t kidding when I told Ally she was my only true friend. Even as kids, she would defend me even at her own expense. Once when I was accused of cheating, she stood up to the teacher insisting I was smarter than anyone else in our class and didn’t need to cheat, maybe she needed to learn to teach better. Of course, we both ended up in detention for that but she was right. After the state-mandated testing, it was confirmed I out ranked everyone in our school but before anyone could address my education, my mom pulled me from school and moved me hundreds of miles away.

  Lost in my thoughts, a trip down a bumpy memory lane, I miss the slew of text notifications on my phone but the ringing pulls me out of the fog. Before I answer the call, I note the time and jump from the table, almost knocking it over.

  “Shit! I’m on my way. Sorry,” I stammer as I practically run through the door and head toward the truck I parked across the street. Dodging people on the sidewalk, I’m not paying attention to Gary until he shouts my name.

  “What?”

  “I said I’m not concerned about where you are. Relax. We don’t punch a clock around here. When you didn’t call, I was worried something happened.”

  Stopping with the key poised at the ignition, I sit back and let out a breath. Dread and guilt stabs me in the gut.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think . . . it’s been a long time since someone has been worried about me. I should’ve called. I stopped for a coffee and lost track of time.”

  “But everything went okay? With your PO?”

  Sighing, I start the ignition and wait for the Bluetooth to connect before I respond. “Yeah, everything’s cool. He seems to believe me when I say I’m never going back to that place.”

  Signaling first, I pull away from the curb and toward the garage. Today was my second scheduled meeting with my probation officer. A man old enough to be my grandfather, he gives off a “don’t fuck with me” vibe the minute you step into his office, but one mention of the upcoming football season and his entire demeanor changed. We talked for awhile, and I think once he heard me acknowledge my wrongdoings and plans for the immediate future, he began to see me for who I am and not what I did.

  On paper I look like a thug. Breaking and entering, trespassing, theft, destruction of property, and evading law enforcement. Each charge accurate, even if slightly exaggerated. But, the truth of the matter is, I was a punk kid trying to impress guys who weren’t really my friends and a girl who wasn’t with me for any other reason than I guaranteed her a good time.

  I’ve spent more time today thinking of my past than I have the last six months. The memories don’t bring anything positive to my life, and I need to let them go. To push them aside and create new memories. Positive moments I can look back on. Or at the very least try.

  Once I’ve parked the truck in Gary’s preferred spot, I run around the back and into the small breakroom where I keep my work clothes. We get so oily and greasy that Gary keeps an old washer and dryer here. We change out of our work clothes and do the laundry on site to preserve the machines at home.

  Home.

  It’s still strange to refer to this place as my home again, but even as I acknowledge that, I know it’s true. Pickerton Grove is home. Quickly changing out of my clothes, I slip my phone in my back pocket and walk to where Gary’s standing with a clipboard. When he sees me, he extends his hand and I grasp it in mine. Instead of a greeting by handshake, he pulls me into a hug and smacks me twice on the back with the clipboard.

  “Next time send your old man a text, okay?”

  “Deal.”

  “Okay, enough of that. You’ve got some work to do. Hop to it.”

  Laughing, I take the clipboard from him and walk to the second bay and begin my workday. Or work afternoon as it is.

  The temperature begins to dip along with the sun in the distance. I’ve been working non-stop since I showed up hours late. Gary and I have easily fallen into a routine and work well together. He’s amazed at how much
I remember from my time with him as a kid. I loved coming to the garage after school. By the time I was nine years old, I could not only change the tires on a car but also the oil and air filters.

  In high school I took auto shop all four years, convincing the teacher to let me work on my own car for extra credit. It’s a skill set that came easy to me and I always knew it was something I could fall back on no matter what path I chose with life. Tonight, while I finish up the last job of the day and begin the clean up before heading home, I’m grateful for that auto shop teacher and the skills he polished during my childhood.

  When the garage is back in order, I flip the lights and head toward the breakroom. Stripping off my work clothes, I toss them in the washer and step up to the large sink to wash the dirt and grime from my skin. The water turns black as the last remnants of the day swirl down the drain.

  I’m not going to truly be clean until I get a long shower at home, but this will work for now. Since Gary left early for poker night, I’m in no hurry to get home to a dark house. Taking my time, I dress in my clothes from earlier and, as I’m tying my shoe, my phone dings in my pocket.

  Since the only two people who have my number are Gary and my PO, I’m thrown aback by the text that appears when I hit the icon.

  Unknown: Hey Drew! It’s Ally. I probably just sent the rumor mill into a tizzy to get this number.

  Laughing I watch as the three dots dance and stop before starting again.

  Unknown: I didn’t have your number so I kind of had to ask around for Mr. Nelson’s. Sorry, GARY. I guess we’re on a first name basis now. ANYWAY, are you busy?

  Her rambling makes me laugh. The best part is I can hear her voice in my head while reading which only makes my smile grow. After a day that was full of crappy memories and thoughts, this is a welcome distraction. She’s a welcome distraction. Adding her number to my contacts first, I tap out a response.