By Way of Accident

by Laura Miller

  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.”

  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.

  I feel my chest rise and then fall. “Brooke?”

  “Mm-hmm?”

  “Does that mean you want us?” I ask.

  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.

  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. God, I’ve missed her. 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.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Eight Months Later

  “It’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.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “It kind of is.”

  Her eyes stay focused on the flower until I notice them wander off after a few moments.

  “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 open sign hanging on the door.

  Her eyes light up, and she grabs my hand. “Let’s go look inside.”

  I smile at her and wait for the inevitable tug. When it comes, I follow her to the little house.

  We step inside, and a little bell rings above us, alerting an old woman sitting in a rocking chair.

  “Well, hello.” The voice is small but chipper.

  Brooke says hi, and I touch the brim of my cap and bob my head—something my grandpa always used to do.

  The old woman smiles kindly. “What brings you young folks to Marthasville?”

  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.”

  “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.

  “Thanks,” I say, spotting Brooke again.

  “Oh, wait,” the woman says, stopping me. “You never mentioned your name.”

  I turn back toward her, and I must have had a questioning look on my face because she goes to explaining herself.

  “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.”

  I smile. “Kevin Bacon.”

  “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.”

  I lower my eyes and laugh to myself.

  “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.

  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.

  “River?” she repeats.

  “That’s right, ma’am.”

  She nods her head and then turns her focus to Brooke, who has reappeared all of a sudden. “And who might you be, dear?”

  Brooke looks at our two hands and sends me a questioning glance. I know she’s probably wondering the same thing I am.

  “I’m Brooke.” Brooke quickly replaces her puzzled look with the soft smile I love so much.

  “Have you two been together long?” the old woman asks.

  I glance at Brooke, who is already looking at me.

  “It feels like a lifetime,” Brooke says. “But really, I guess it’s only officially been about eight months now.” She smiles at me.

  “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.”

  “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.”

  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...”

  “Letter,” the woman interjects.

  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.

  “How did you guess?” Brooke asks, stepping in.

  The woman lowers her head and laughs softly to herself before she addresses us again. “Do you have a moment?” she asks.

  Brooke and I look at each other and then nod simultaneously.

  “Of course,” I say.

  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: Not for sale.

  “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.

  We both slowly nod as she goes back to her rocking.

  “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.”

  I nod. “My grandfather had one of those. But I don’t think it was one of the things we kept after he passed.”

  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 m
other’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.”

  Brooke and I glance at each other. Her face looks about as clueless as I feel.

  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.”

  Brooke and I instinctively nod as the woman continues.

  “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?”

  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.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “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.”

  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.

  “Ma’am, are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.

  The woman slowly bobs her head, and Brooke hesitantly sits back again.

  “What did you find in the compartment?” I ask, eager to hear the rest of her story.

  There’s a slight pause, while the gray-haired woman just smiles. “I found three letters: Two from a Brooke. One from a River.”

  Chapter Forty

  Moirae

  “Ma’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.

  “Moirae.” The old woman smiles.

  I bob my head once and turn to leave when her voice stops me.

  “It means fate,” she says.

  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.

  “Fate?” I ask, turning back toward the old woman.

  “Yes,” she confirms. “Fate.”

  I smile wide and then nod wordlessly. And right as Brooke and I turn again, I notice the woman gently take Brooke’s hand.

  “Here, dear, I believe this is yours.”

  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.

  “Thank you,” Brooke whispers to the old woman. “Thank you.”

  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.

  “It looks as if fate stepped in and brought us back together.” She laughs, still patting her eyes.

  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.”

  “What do you think happened to the letters?” she asks. “How do you think they ended up in that hall tree?”

  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.”

  “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?”

  “Maybe,” I confirm.

  She stops for a second and stares off into the distance. “I wonder where that old hall tree ended up.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “No tellin’.”

  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: Good-bye, River.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Two Years Later

  “It’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.

  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.

  “Hey, baby,” I say when I get back into the room.

  “Shh,” Brooke says, smiling at me. She’s sleeping, she mouths.

  “Oh,” I whisper, before I tiptoe the rest of the way to her bedside.

  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.

  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.

  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.”

  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: It’s supposed to hold your dreams until they come true. 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.

  Epilogue

&n
bsp; I 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.

  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.

  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: Good-bye, River. 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:

  Dear Riv,

  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.