By Way of Accident

by Laura Miller

We’re both quiet then. I wonder where in the hell that second letter went—and what it said.

  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.”

  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.”

  “You sold the farm?”

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding my head. “We moved to a place right outside of town not too long after you left.”

  It’s almost as if some kind of understanding hits her. “That makes sense,” she whispers, nodding, as if to herself.

  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.

  “Brooke?”

  Her face turns toward mine.

  “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.

  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.”

  I smile at her choice of words.

  “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.”

  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.

  “River.”

  I catch a glimpse of her light eyes, and instantly, I fall right back into them.

  “Ask me what I took from Missouri,” she says.

  I take a second and catch Winnie sniffing the stump of some old oak tree. “Besides a coonhound?” I ask.

  “Yeah, besides a coonhound.” She laughs.

  All right,” I breathe out. “Brooke Sommerfield, what did you take from Missouri?”

  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.

  “You,” she whispers. “You were my Missouri thing, River.”

  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.

  “I almost gave up on you,” she whispers again. And this time, she turns her face toward the ground.

  “Almost?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she says, nodding her head. “Almost.”

  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.

  “I was here not too long ago,” she says.

  I lift my gaze. “What?”

  “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.”

  Her eyes wander back to mine, and she smiles. “I was leaving, and I saw that For Sale 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.”

  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.

  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.

  “River.” My eyelids lift. She’s staring at me. I know she can see. She could always see things I never thought she could.

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

  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.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It Was Hers

  I pull up to the diner on 6th and Cherry. I asked her to meet me here. I have something I need to tell her.

  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.

  “Hi,” I say. I pull out a chair across from her and take a seat.

  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.

  I’m not sure if she asks it or merely states a fact.

  I swallow hard and just start right in. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t get this out soon.

  “I had some of the best times of my life with you. There’s no mistaken that,” I say to her.

  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.

  “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.

  There’s pain in her expression. I’m sure there’s pain in mine too.

  “Who, River?”

  My
brows furrow. “What?”

  “I know it’s someone. I can see it. Who is it that’s stealing you away from me? Who is she?”

  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?

  “Do you remember the necklace?” I ask.

  I don’t say anything else. She narrows her eyes at me—not angrily, just thoughtfully. Then she nods.

  “It was hers,” I say.

  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.

  “I’m sorry, Amy. I met her before I met you. We were only thirteen.”

  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...”

  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.

  “You did cross paths? Recently?” she asks.

  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.

  I nod. “We ran into each other—out of the blue.”

  “When was the last time you saw her? I mean, before that?” she asks.

  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.”

  “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.

  “Amy, I know. I know it sounds crazy.” I laugh once to myself, and then there’s silence again.

  “Are you sure?” she asks.

  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.

  Amy nods and then stills her movements. “I shouldn’t have ever let you go.”

  I slowly shake my head. “It wouldn’t have changed anything, Amy. It would have ended the same.”

  She seems to gnaw on that thought for a couple seconds. “River?”

  I give her my full attention.

  “Do you think there’s more than just one match for a person?”

  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.”

  “I didn’t challenge you?” she asks.

  “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.”

  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.

  “We did have fun.”

  I nod. “Yeah,” I agree. “We did.”

  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.”

  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.”

  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.”

  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.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Never the Same Love Twice

  “Brooke.”

  “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.

  “I came and saw you,” I say.

  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.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Right before graduation, I got your address from your mom, and I went to your house.”

  It looks as if she’s thinking. “In Memphis?” she asks.

  I nod my head.

  “H...how?”

  “It’s a long story,” I say.

  “You talked to my mom?” She narrows her eyes at me.

  “Yeah,” I say. “She never told you?”

  Brooke doesn’t answer. She just stares off into a corner of the room.

  “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 no, 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?”

  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.”

  She flashes me a modest smile. “Crazy, right?” she asks, shaking her head.

  “Yeah,” I agree.

  “Whatever happened...,” I start but think twice about finishing.

  “With the guy?” she asks.

  I sort of shrug one shoulder.

  “He’s in Memphis,” she says. “We only dated for a couple months. It really wasn’t anything serious.”

  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.”

  “Are you mad?” I ask.

  “About what?”

  “That I didn’t talk to you?”

  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?”

  She smiles and then buries her head into my chest.

  I laugh once to myself. “Like bees and honey,” I repeat, pulling her close.

  “River.” Her voice is almost a whisper.

  “Yeah?”

  “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.

  “Do you think that’s true?” she asks.

  I’m already lost in her and her beautiful thoughts. “Sure,” I say, nodding.

  “River?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you remember what it was like to be young and in love—before you knew what love was?”

  I nod again. “Sure,” I say. “Awkward.”

  She laughs and shoves my shoulder at the same time. “Speak for yourself.”

  “Yeah,” I admit. “I was talking about myself.”

  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.”

  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?”