By Way of Accident

by Laura Miller

  I nod some more. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  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.

  I just lower my head and laugh to myself. “Yeah,” I agree. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Another Offer

  My 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.

  “Hello,” I say, a little too eagerly.

  I listen and then nod my head. “Another offer,” I simply repeat.

  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.

  “Yes,” I say into the phone, still nodding.

  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.

  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.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Married?

  I hold the door open for a couple of my coworkers, and as they pull out their sunglasses, I pull out my baseball cap.

  “Hey, we’re meeting at Quinton’s in an hour to watch the game,” one of the guys says to me.

  “Yeah, I’ll be there,” I say.

  “All right, later then.”

  “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.

  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.

  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 Jeopardy. 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.

  I inhale the sandwich because I’m starving. Deadlines don’t afford many breaks, much less a real lunch.

  “What is Canada?” I yell at the TV.

  The answer’s India. I’m only a world away. I shrug. I tried.

  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.

  “Hello,” I say into the phone.

  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.

  “What?” I ask. “Who is this person?”

  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.

  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.

  Mandy asks me another question, but I fail to answer her. So, she asks me again.

  “No, I understand. Yes,” I say. I ball my fist. “I guess I’ll have to pass.”

  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?

  “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.

  ***

  “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.

  I nod at him and then make my way to the table. There are several guys from work already there.

  “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.

  ***

  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.

  “River, you’re a farm boy. Tell this guy that a cub is a baby bear,” Dan says.

  I laugh out loud. “We didn’t raise bears.”

  “Yeah, but just tell him,” Dan demands.

  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.

  “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...

  “River!” Dan yells again.

  I look over at him. His eyes are wide, and it looks as if he’s waiting for something.

  “What?” I ask. Surely he can tell I’m distracted.

  “A cub...,” he starts, completely unfazed.

  “Oh,” I say, “yeah, it’s a little bear; it’s a...baby bear. But it doesn’t matter. The Cubs suck, Scott.”

  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.

  “Oh,” Scott shouts from the other side of the table, “like the Royals are any better.”

  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.

  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.

  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.”

  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 fight. But even if she doesn’t, I’d grow wings and chase her.

  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.

  “River. Wha...”

  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.

  She pushes out a laugh and lowers her eyes before finding mine again. I wonder if she’s just as speechless as I am.

  “You want to walk?” I ask her.

  She pauses as if in a thought, then nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, okay.”

  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.

  “Okay,” Brooke says, grabbing her purse.

  “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.

  “Do you live here?” she asks first, once we’re on the sidewalk.

  “I do,” I say, “not too far from here actually. Do you...live here?”

  She nods. “I do.”

  “You do?” I try not to sound too surprised.

  “Mm-hmm,” she confirms.

  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 Rocky 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.

  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.

  She smiles. “Yeah, it has.”

  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.

  “Well, what’s new? Married? Kids?” I barely get the questions out, mostly because I’m scared to death of the answers.

  She laughs as if it’s to herself. Then she shakes her head. “No. And no.”

  “You?” she asks.

  I chuckle, mostly because I’m just so dang happy I survived that. “No,” I say, eventually. “And no.”

  She nods again, like she’s gnawing on my answer.

  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.

  “What do you do now?” I ask.

  “Speech pathology,” she says. “For schools...kids. I’m only an assistant right now, but I want to get my master’s someday.”

  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?

  “You?” she asks.

  “News. I write for the Courier. Obituaries mostly.” My own job sounds so trivial all of a sudden.

  She gives me an off-centered smile. “A writer, huh?”

  “Yeah,” is all I can think to say. Then it’s quiet again.

  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.

  “So, did the job bring you back to Missouri?” I ask.

  She sort of hesitates, then nods. “It did. But I liked it here too.”

  I look at her a little sideways. She seems to notice.

  “I did,” she assures me, with a gorgeous smile.

  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.

  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.

  “Brooke.” I decide I’m going to try anyway. “What are doing tomorrow?”

  She looks up at me. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, and it kills me.

  “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.

  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.

  “Tomorrow, I have plans,” she says, looking back at me.

  She smiles, and instantly, my heart speeds up.

  “I’m collecting my ring back...from you,” she softly says.

  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.”

  She lowers her gaze and laughs. “Yeah, well, don’t get too attached. It’s just for the night.”

  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.

  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.

  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?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Ask Me What I Took