by Laura Miller
He nods as if confirming he knows what I’m talkin’ about.
“Anyway, she was beautiful. It was seriously like a dream.”
“Well, I’ll be,” he says, leanin’ back and liftin’ his front, two chair legs off the floor.
“Yeah, she came with a friend, I think. And she was sweet and easy to talk to.”
“So you actually talked to her this time?”
“Even better; I danced with her.”
Jack doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at me with his dumb mouth agape. “No shit?”
I shrug my shoulders and just keep smilin’—because I can’t seem to stop.
“Well, hot damn!” He gets up and walks over to the fridge. “All these months of stalkin’ her actually paid off.”
“I wasn’t stalkin’ her.”
He stops and looks up at me with a straight, sober look on his face. “Buddy, you go to the grocery store on Saturday afternoon. Saturday afternoon! You know how many games are on Saturday afternoons?” He opens the refrigerator and pulls out a can. “But you go there because you know she’ll be there. We all know it. And that, my friend,” he says, holding up a finger, “is stalkin’ at its finest.” He pulls the tab and leans up against the fridge.
“All right, all right, whatever.” I take a drink. “You know, you did miss one hell of a party last night.”
“Aw, you know I don’t care for that shit. Yeah, the band’s all right, but that’s just another way for this town to keep tabs on ya.”
I laugh once and shake my head. “You’re just like Owen.”
He stops mid-sip and lowers his can from his mouth. “Yeah, well he had it right.”
With that, I take a deep breath, force out a sigh and just nod, as silent moments take over the space around us.
“So, what is this mysterious girl’s name again?” Jack asks, squashing the quiet.
“Ashley,” I say. “Ashley Westcott.”
“Yeah, that’s right. So where’s she from?”
I sit down and think about it. “I don’t think she ever said. But I don’t think she’s from a small town. I think all the eyes kind of weirded her out.”
“A big-city girl. No shit?”
“Must be.”
“So when are you seein’ her next?”
I chuckle and shake my head. “I guess next Saturday at the grocery store.”
Jack laughs to himself and then walks over to the table again and sits down across from me.
“But this time, I’m askin’ her out.”
“Shit, if you don’t ask her Saturday, I think I will, just to put you out of your damn misery.”
“Aw, no,” I say, leanin’ back in my chair. “This ain’t misery. This is the chase. This, my friend, is the best part.”
Jack shakes his head, lookin’ as if he’s tryin’ to swallow down a grin. “Shit. Whatever you say, buddy. Whatever. You. Say.”
Chapter Four
Present
Rem
I get through the door and immediately hear their usual dumb, loud chants about the food bein’ here.
I toss the brown paper bag onto the coffee table, which is really just the box the TV came in, and the chants instantly stop.
“What’d I miss?” I ask, watchin’ as their focus now turns to the bag of cheeseburgers.
“Holiday. Base hit,” Jack says, tearin’ into the packaging around his dinner.
I grab a burger too and fall into my chair. They all know they’re welcome at my house anytime, but they all know they can’t sit in my chair.
“Damn it,” Jack says, hittin’ his palm against his thigh. “A base hit, and they throw it away.”
It looks as if it’s the third out and the bottom of the inning, from what I can tell. And before I can figure anything else out, the game goes to a commercial break.
“They’ve gotta win this one,” Mike says, from across the room. “We don’t want to have to win in Detroit.”
Detroit. It’s like a dirty word. Just the sound of it makes us all sit in some kind of weird nervous state, gnawin’ on our burgers and thinkin’ about the possibility of losin’ this game.
“Oh, yeah,” Jack says, suddenly relievin’ our anxiousness, “tomorrow night, Tommy’s workin’, so I’m havin’ him bring pizzas to the house for the game.”
The house. I chuckle a little at that. I don’t know when the hell my house became the house. I don’t see any of their names on the mortgage.
“Yeah!” Mike stands up and high fives Jack before he reaches into the bag and pulls out another burger. “I love your little bro, man. AND his job!”
“Yeah, he’s good for somethin’, at least,” Jack says.
“Hey, remember I won’t be here,” I interject.
They all look at me as if I’ve just announced that I won’t be able to make it to my own funeral or somethin’. They’ve both got these confused-as-hell looks on their faces. It takes a second, but it finally hits them...or maybe just Jack. Mike looks to be back in his own little world—the one where only a burger and a TV exist.
“Oh, yeah.” Jack sits back in the couch again. “You’ve got that fancy business meeting tomorrow.” He waves me off with his hand.
I try to choke down a laugh. Fancy to these guys is a coffee table that isn’t a cardboard box. “Uh, yeah, so I’ll be back Thursday. Just try not to wreck the place.”
“Nah,” Mike says, shakin’ his head. At the same time, he winks at Jack. “We’d never do that.”
I roll my eyes and laugh once. These two are the type of guys that will steal your wallet and then help you look for it. I don’t know why I agreed to play ball with them in the first place that hot summer afternoon in ’98. We were just five years old at the time, but damn, you’d think I’d have a little better judgment at that age. Anyway, the first time I came back from a work meeting, I pulled up to the whole town havin’ a party, which would have been just fine. The only problem was that they were all hangin’ out at 207 Walnut Road—my house. Really, I was pissed for about as long as it took me to get from my truck to the back porch. After a long flight and a long drive home, all I wanted to do was sit back in my old chair, drink a beer and fall asleep. That was until I saw that beautiful blonde sittin’ on my porch swing. She saved these guys from an ass-beatin’, that’s for sure. I really would have done it had she not been there.
Back then, Ashley Westcott was the love of my life. ...But then, that was a long time ago, I guess.
“So, you’ll be back Thursday?” Jack asks.
I shake my head as if shaking myself out of some deep daydream or somethin’, and then I look up at Jack. “Yeah,” I say, without givin’ it any thought. “Thursday.”
Chapter Five
Past (2 Years Earlier)
Rem
“Damn it!” I step on a beer can and have to pry it from my dress shoe. “Where in the hell is Jack?” I say the words out loud, but I’m pretty sure no one’s even in earshot to hear them.
I make my way up the steps to the back porch. And all of a sudden, I notice there are people everywhere—linin’ the wooden railin’, leanin’ up against the house, in the backyard.
“Rem.” I feel a hand cling to my bicep, and immediately, I smell a combination of alcohol and some strong flowery scent...maybe perfume. “This is such a great party.” Stacey says the words so close to my ear that I can feel her hot breaths tickle my skin. “I didn’t know you were having a party tonight until just this afternoon.”
I don’t smile. I can’t. “Yeah, well, I didn’t either.”
She gives me a half-confused look, which quickly turns into a kind-of-seductive smile, and then she squeezes my bicep again. I’m definitely not in the mood for this, so I take another step and feel her hand fall from my arm. Where the hell is Jack?
And then I see her.
I stop mid-stride. I suck in a quick breath. I feel my heart speed up a notch. And just like that, I forget about Jack. I forget about all the people at my
house. I even forget I’m mad. I forget everything but her.
I notice her blond hair and her pretty face first. She’s sittin’ on the porch swing—my porch swing—and she’s laughin’ and talkin’ to two girls I’ve never seen before. I look down at myself. I’m still in the clothes I had on in my meeting today—black slacks and a white dress shirt, though the shirt’s top two buttons are undone, and the shirt’s untucked now. And I’ve got my favorite leather jacket on and an old, faded Cardinals baseball cap fitted over my head.
I brush off my pants like I’m brushin’ crumbs away, even though I haven’t had anything to eat since Austin. And when I’m through with that, I stealthily slide open the glass door that leads into the house. I’m tryin’ to be quiet, so she doesn’t notice me. I just got nervous, all of a sudden. And maybe if I stall a little bit, the nerves will go away...or at the very least, maybe I’ll catch my breath again.
I set my bag inside on the floor. Then I pause for a moment to lift my cap and run my fingers through my hair. I’m hopin’ it buys me a few, extra seconds and gives me a moment to think about what I’m gonna say.
“Remington Jude.” A sweet, familiar voice hangs in the lukewarm air, even before I can lift a foot in her direction. She says the words as if she were waiting for me or as if we were old friends or somethin’. I’m just happy she remembers my name.
“Ashley Westcott,” I say, tippin’ my cap and returning the greeting.
She smiles wide and then sets her drink down onto one of the wooden planks that make up the floor. “Rem, these are my friends, Erin and Katie. Erin and Katie, this is Rem.”
“Hi,” I say to both of them at once.
They smile back at me, but then, a few moments pass, and no one says a thing. My mind is scramblin’ to think of words—any damn words.
“Wait, so how do you two know each other?” the brunette, who I think is Erin, asks.
“Oh,” Ashley says, lookin’ up at me. “We don’t really. We were just feeding the rumor mill last weekend.” She smiles at me. It’s the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen. My heart damn near melts.
“Oh,” the girl says. A confused and suspicious look stretches across her face. And for several more awkward moments, no one says a thing.
“Well,” the brunette interjects, breaking the silence for a second time, “I guess we’ll leave you guys to it then.” It sounds like a statement, but it also could be a question.
Ashley smiles at Erin, and then I notice Erin squeeze Ashley’s hand. And then Erin and Katie take their drinks and make their way to the other corner of the deck where there’s a group of guys I know from high school huddled up. They’re probably talkin’ about some mundane thing about work or some blown call in the last baseball game. Little do they know, their night’s about to get a little more interesting.
“Well, you dressed up.”
“What?” My attention falls back on her. And I know I’ve got this dumb look on my face, at least until I connect the dots. “Oh, well, you know, I like to wear my best for parties like this.”
I notice her look around a little, and at the same time, press her lips together, as if she’s tryin’ not to smile.
“Somebody’s gotta class up this place,” I say. “And Dusty over there in his dirty overalls sure isn’t gonna do it.”
She looks over at Dusty and then back into my eyes for a brief moment before she laughs.
“Nah,” I say then, with a crooked smile. “Actually, I just got here. I came from a work meeting.” And without another thought, I fall into one of the empty lawn chairs across from her.
She gives me a disbelieving look and then glances at her watch. “It’s awfully late for a meeting.”
“Yeah.” It’s all I can think to say. I’m too busy tryin’ to wipe the damn smile off my face, knowin’ that my night just got a little more interesting, too.
“Please tell me you’re not into something bad.”
“What?” And as soon as I say the word, I put it all together. “No,” I say, shakin’ my head. “No, not bad.” I sit back and slowly lift a finger. I feel some confidence rising up from somewhere deep in my chest all of a sudden. “You know, marijuana is legal in four states.”
“Yeah,” she says, “but not this one.”
Her smile instantly twists into a frown, as if she’s disappointed, as if she expected more from me. I don’t know why, but that kind of makes me feel good. And it takes everything in me to choke down a laugh. “I’m kidding. I was in Austin this mornin’—the meeting. I just got off the plane. Well, I just got off the plane two hours ago.”
“Oh,” she says. I think she starts to blush. Her cheeks get a little red. I love that there’s some warm blood in those blue veins of hers.
“The joys of livin’ in a small town,” I add. “Airports are a little hard to come by.”
Her sweet smile returns, and it’s even prettier the second time around. “So I’ve noticed.”
Then we’re both quiet, and for the first time since we started talkin’, I remember that there are still people all around us, laughin’, drinkin’, havin’ conversations—some louder than others. It’s funny; I don’t even notice they’re here when we’re talkin’.
“You know,” she says, bringin’ me back to her, “I just moved here not too long ago, but this is the first party I’ve been to here. I thought it was about time to start mingling with the locals.”
I smile at her choice of words. For some reason, when I think of the word locals, it makes me think of a bunch of bushmen livin’ off the land in some remote part of the world or somethin’. ...Then again, I guess it’s not too far off, really.
“I met your buddy over there.” She points in between two slats in the porch railing to a place in the backyard. I turn around to see who she’s pointin’ at. It’s Jack. And instead of cursing his name, I laugh. It’s funny how quickly I forgot I wanted to kick his ass.
“And,” she goes on, “he invited me and my friends here tonight.”
“Did he now?” I ask, givin’ her my full attention again.
She nods. “Yeah, well, he invited everyone in the Conoco gas station up the road. I just happened to be there.”
“That little shit!”
“What?” she asks. I can tell she’s a little startled by my outburst.
I study her for a moment. She’s got this completely innocent look on her face. And I figure out quickly that she has no idea.
“Do you know who lives here?” I ask.
Her small smile starts to fade before she bites at her bottom lip and shrugs her shoulders. I think that just might be my new favorite look of hers—if I had to pick. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I think I just assumed it was his. Is that bad?”
I look down at the wooden floor and chuckle to myself. “No, not at all. In fact,” I say, lookin’ back up, “I’m sure the guy who lives here is pretty happy you’re here.”
Her eyes instantly narrow, and her beautiful smile returns in full effect. “You?”
I was never really good at poker because everything is pretty much always written on my face. “I can’t take credit for the party, though,” I confess. “What I can take credit for, maybe, is my poor ability to choose good friends.”
She laughs, and at the same time, picks up her glass and takes a drink. “Well, it’s a nice house,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say, suddenly feelin’ awkward.
But the awkwardness doesn’t last long. In the next heartbeat, her light green eyes are on me, and then before too long, all I feel is a smile pushin’ up my face. And it’s funny, but I swear the world just stops, like literally, just freezes on its axis, just so we can have our moment—a private moment, where we say everything and nothin’ at all. And I can’t be sure what she’s sayin’, but I know what I’m sayin’. I’m sayin’: I like you; I think you might like me, at least a little; and I don’t want this conversation to end; and I, sure as hell, don’t want this night to end. And for just this
moment, the chattering, the people, the smell of alcohol, of perfume, of the bonfire in the background—everything—disappears. And it’s only us. And as I sit planted in this lawn chair, lookin’ into her eyes, my heart starts this strange beat. I’m nervous and excited...and so damn nervous...and so damn excited, until suddenly, her eyes drop to my chest. And the moment’s gone.
“That’s a nice jacket.” She says the compliment evenly and without much expression. I find it a little out of character, but then again, what the hell do I know about her character, I guess? I just met her.
“Thanks,” I say.
For a moment, it’s almost as if she’s in deep thought about somethin’, and I want to know what it is, but I don’t feel right askin’ about it—just yet. So, instead, I change the subject. “So what do you do, Ashley Westcott?”
Her eyes slowly move up my chest and to my mouth and finally to my eyes. “Hmm?” she asks.
“What pays your bills, Miss Westcott?” I ask again. I’m smilin’, but she’s not.
“Oh.” She seems to snap out of a trance of some sort. “Marijuana,” she says, flatly.
You probably could have pushed me over with a feather at that.
“I’m kidding,” she says, after a few heartbeats.
I let go of a long breath. I think I was more surprised than anything. “I deserved that.”
She flashes me a triumphant smile. “I work at Sophia’s Publishing House off of Elm Street in Fairfield. We publish children’s books.”
“Aah.” I sit back further in my chair. “The creative type. They don’t make many of those here.”
Her face lights up a little more. “Well?”
“Well, what?” I ask.
“Well, what pays your bills, Remington Jude?”
“Oh,” I say, sittin’ up again, “I develop websites for companies, mostly smaller businesses, but I work with this guy who lives in Austin now. So, that’s why I’ve gotta go down there every once in a while.”
She nods, as if approvingly. “I see,” she says.
