By Way of Accident

by Laura Miller

  “Do me a favor. Don’t listen to everything Uncle Joe has to say.”

  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.

  He goes back to diggin’. “You hear from Brooke?” he asks.

  “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?”

  He nods his head. “Yeah, I made Mom stop by it on our way out here. Nothin’ was in it.”

  I feel my chest deflate. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”

  “No problem. Hey, did you try to call her?”

  “Yeah,” I breathe out. “I tried her old number a while back. Someone answered, but he didn’t know where she went.”

  Tim looks up and then narrows one eye at me. “She got one of those cell phone things that people on TV have?”

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “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.

  “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.”

  I can’t keep my eyes from dartin’ to his. “Your sister Jenny—thinkin’ about high school?”

  “Yeah,” he says, startin’ to laugh. “She’s crazy.”

  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.

  “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.”

  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.”

  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.

  “You see the Cards game last night?” he asks.

  I smile, glad that we’re onto a safer topic now. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I saw it.”

  If there’s one thing we can count on bein’ safe when everything else is complicated, it’s baseball. Grandpa’s sick? Baseball. Movin’ closer to town? Baseball. Your dog died? Baseball. Got caught ridin’ the four-wheeler too fast, and you’re hidin’ out from Mom? Baseball. Girl troubles? Baseball.

  And that’s why I think God created baseball.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sears County Amy

  Freshman Year

  “Life passes you by when your eyes are closed,” I say.

  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.”

  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.”

  She looks at the open door and then back at me. “Oh. Well, thanks,” she murmurs. Her smile seems shy.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  I go back to grabbin’ some books out of my own locker.

  “It’s Amy, by the way.”

  My eyes quickly fall back onto the girl with the small voice. “River,” I say, slamming the door shut.

  She smiles at me as if she’s waitin’ for me to change my mind about my name or somethin’.

  “River,” she repeats after a while, noddin’ her head.

  She might be from around here, but she didn’t go to school here. I think she notices the question bouncin’ around my head.

  “Sears County,” she says.

  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.

  “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.”

  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.”

  A small smile crawls evenly across her face.

  “What’s your first class?” I ask her.

  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.

  “Algebra, I think.” She looks at the paper and then nods her head. “Yep, Room 7.”

  “That’s mine too. Here, we can walk together.”

  This time, her teeth show when she smiles. “I’d like that,” she says.

  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.

  “Come on,” I say. She smiles and together we head to our first high school class—just me and Sears County Amy.

  ***

  “Guys, this is Amy. She went to Sears County.”

  “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.

  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.

  “He’s just jokin’,” I say, tryin’ to ease her fears. “Boone Bluffs isn’t so bad. You picked the right place.”

  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.

  “You’re wearing a necklace?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Around your neck.” She points to her own neck but eyes mine.

  “Oh,” I say, tryin’ to cover up the piece of the chain that must be showin’ around my neck. “Yeah.”

  “Ohhh, the necklace,” Grant exclaims with wide eyes. I send him a look that I hope says: Mind your own damn business, before I catch Amy still starin’ at me.

  “It’s nothin’,” I say.

  She doesn’t look satisfied, but she doesn’t ask any more questions either.

  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 drop it. And I think it works because he quickly goes back to eatin’ his hamburger.

  Just then, Grant’s cousin sits down next to me. For as long as I’ve known Grant, I’ve known Carrie.

  “Hi, guys,” Carrie says, attempting to open her milk.

  “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.

  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.

  “Oh, yeah, Amy, this is Carrie, Grant’s cousin,” I say.

  “Hi,” Amy says bashfully but without hesitation.

  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.

  Carrie looks past me to Amy. “What’s your next class?”

  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.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.

  “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.”

  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.

  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.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It’s Still Her?

  “Dude, what’s high school like?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s not too different.”

  “Come on, man.” Tim throws a Nerf football at me. It’s a wild throw. I just barely manage to catch it.

  “Are the girls hot? Are the teachers hot?”

  I send him a disgusted look thinkin’ about the teachers that way. Most of them taught my dad. “No,” I say. “No, definitely not.”

  “What?” He looks at me with a stupid grin. “The girls or the teachers?”

  “The teachers. No, on the teachers,” I say.

  “The girls then?” he asks.

  I push my lips to one side. “There’s a few girls from, you know, those other schools.”

  “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.

  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.”

  “Well, you got a girlfriend yet? And does she have a hot friend?”

  “A girlfriend?” I ask.

  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.

  “Well,” he says, givin’ me a funny face, “it’s high school. How am I supposed to know how it all works there?”

  I lower my head. “No,” I say, “no girlfriend.” Then I sit back in the couch. “And I’m not lookin’ either.”

  “What? What do you mean you aren’t lookin’?” he asks.

  “I’m not lookin’,” I say again.

  “Like you already found one?” he asks.

  I think about his question before noddin’ my head. “Yeah,” I say. “Like I already found one.”

  “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?”

  “Whoa, settle down there, grasshopper,” I say, startin’ to laugh.

  Tim sits back in his chair and just stares at me.

  “You already know her,” I say.

  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?”

  “What?” I look at him like he’s crazier than shit. “No, it’s not Carrie.”

  “Man, I always thought she had a thing for you.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not Carrie.”

  “Wait,” he says. And I know now he’s got it. “It’s still her. It’s still her, isn’t it?”

  I don’t say anything for a few beats, but then I nod my head. “Yeah,” I whisper.

  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.

  “She comes to me sometimes,” I say.

  He looks up at me, and I realize I need to explain myself—fast.

  “At night. In dreams, I guess.”

  “Man, she really got to you, didn’t she?”

  I just look at him. I don’t know what to say.

  “Dude, it’s your mind playin’ tricks on ya, that’s all,” he says, shakin’ his head.

  “I know,” I breathe out.

  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: I’ll find you. Every time, she whispers: I’ll find you.

  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.

  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.

  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.

  All of a sudden, Tim looks over at me. It catches me off guard and snaps me out of my thought.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asks.

  “Nothin’,” I say, shakin’ off his stare.

  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.

  I catch the ball and just think to myself: Girl troubles? Baseball. Then I answer him. “Yeah,” I say, smilin’. “Yeah, I saw it.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  A Good Chance

  “River.”

  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.

  “Hey,” she says.

  “Hey,” I say.

  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’.