When Cicadas Cry

by Laura Miller

  I look up at the ceiling and squeeze my eyes shut for a brief moment. “I told her I never loved her.”

  “What?” He practically shouts it. My eyes snap open, and at the same time, Kristen’s gaze cuts in our direction. I lift my hand and shake my head to let her know it’s fine. It seems to work because she goes back to doin’ what she was doin’.

  “What?” Jack says again, as if I didn’t hear him the first time. Thankfully, this time, he doesn’t shout it.

  “I was mad. And she was lookin’ for a reason to run. I just thought I’d give it to her.”

  “What?” He runs his hand through his hair, looks around and then fixes his eyes back on me. “Why? Why were you mad? And why was she lookin’ for a reason to run?”

  I try to laugh, as I haphazardly shrug my shoulders. “That’s the million-dollar question in this town, isn’t it?”

  “Damn it, Rem!”

  He’s getting impatient now.

  “I’m like your best friend. Aren’t I supposed to know this stuff? Best friends are supposed to know shit that no one else knows about you, right?”

  I breathe out and just stare at him for a second. I really don’t know why I never told him. I know he would have kept Ashley’s secret. But then again, I’ve never told anyone. Of course, nobody’s ever really asked, either. Either they’re too damn scared or they just like believin’ their own versions of the truth better than the truth.

  “What did she do?” he asks.

  My eyes fall on Kristen in the corner again. They stay there for a few seconds. I watch her spill some salt onto the table. She takes a pinch and throws it over her shoulder. Then she brushes the rest of it onto the floor. I notice the clock next. It’s just a simple black and white office clock, set fifteen minutes fast, hangin’ on a tan, wallpapered wall that otherwise would be empty. The second hand on it ticks out several, rhythmic beats before my eyes fall onto a rerun of an old game on the small TV above us. Then there’s nothin’ left. There’s nothin’ left to help me avoid his question.

  “She was in love with someone else,” I say, under my breath.

  Both his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything at first.

  My heart is racin’, but somehow, there’s this calm that flows through my veins. I’ve never said that out loud.

  “She cheated on you?” He looks as if he can barely get the words out.

  “No,” I quickly say. “No, she didn’t cheat.”

  Thin lines appear on his forehead. “Then what in the hell are you talkin’ about?” he asks.

  I fold my arms across my chest and look for the answer on the ceiling. Then after a few moments, I level my gaze back on Jack. “Owen,” I say. “She was in love with Owen.”

  Jack might as well have seen a ghost. His face goes completely white, and his jaw hangs slack.

  “How?” he asks.

  I feel my cheeks puff up before I forcefully push the air past my lips. “Before she moved here. In Minnesota. At school.”

  Understanding seems to, all of a sudden, wash over him. His hand is loosely rested up against his mouth now. Otherwise, he’s as stiff as a board, his eyes planted on somethin’ across the bar, until his gaze darts back to me. “The postcards?”

  I just nod my head. “It was her.”

  “Wow,” he says, seemingly takin’ it all in, piece by piece—just like I had to a year ago. “Wow, I’m sorry, buddy. That...I didn’t see comin’.”

  I sit back and let out a long sigh. “Yeah,” I say, “well, neither did I.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Past (1 Year Earlier)

  Rem

  I purposefully place the ring box open with the ring inside of it onto the coffee table box. Ashley’s in Nebraska visiting her family, so I know she won’t walk in and see it.

  “Big game tonight,” I hear Jack yell from the hallway.

  My heart races as I frantically make sure he’ll easily be able to see the little box. It feels like the year I got a train set for Christmas. I’m so damn excited I can barely contain my six-year-old self.

  I carefully step away from the box, run to my chair and jump into it. Then I rest my ankle on my opposite knee and try to look casual, while I search for the power button on the remote.

  “Oh.” He looks at me startled when he enters the room. “You’re in here. When your dumb ass didn’t answer, I thought you were out back.”

  I shake my head. “No, been here the whole time.”

  “Then why are you being so damn quiet?”

  “No reason,” I say.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What?” I laugh. “Why would you think somethin’s wrong with me?”

  He seems to study me a little. Then he looks around the room. “Dude, I don’t know what the hell you’re smokin’.” He falls into the couch and then stops cold.

  “Dude, what in the hell is that?”

  I start to laugh. “Well, we’ve known each other since we were in diapers. I figured it was about time.”

  He looks at me with this stupid grin on his face. “Shit, buddy, then you should have gotten it in gold. Gold’s more my style.”

  I just chuckle at that, as I watch him examine the ring.

  “No, shit, though?” he says. “This is real?” It looks as if he wants to pick it up, but he’s scared to or somethin’.

  “It’s real,” I confirm. “I’ve already asked her dad.”

  “Shit! Have you asked her yet?”

  “No, dipshit, that’s why it’s still here.”

  He looks at me as if he’s still a little in shock, and then he picks up the black box and brings it to his eye level. “What? How long have you been thinkin’ about this?” he asks.

  “Since the first day I saw her.”

  “Wow,” he exclaims. “This is real grown-up shit.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I laugh out loud, and he just keeps lookin’ at the ring. “So what do you think?”

  He inhales and then exhales, and then his mouth slowly starts to turn up at its ends. “I think she’d be crazy to say no.”

  “Good,” I say, nodding. I can feel the big grin frozen to my face. “Now, all I have to do is tell Owen.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Past

  Rem

  I get half the distance from the cemetery entrance to Owen’s spot, and I stop.

  “What are you doin’ here?” I don’t ask it accusingly or angrily. I just ask it.

  The girl in the yellow sundress with long blond hair looks up at me, startled. The expression on her face looks just as confused as I feel.

  I watch her tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear and then glance at the stone and then back at me. “I...I got back early, and I was just visiting an old friend.”

  Her gaze drops to the ground, and I just stare at her for a few seconds before commanding my feet to move. Then I walk a little closer to her and notice a postcard in her hand. And it hits me. Only then, it hits me.

  “Ashley,” I say, barely over a whisper. “How do you know Owen?”

  There are tears in her eyes when she looks up at me, but now that I’m closer to her, I can see that they’re not new tears. She’s definitely been cryin’.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, wipin’ her eyes with the back of her hand. “I didn’t mean for you to see me like this. I was in the area, and I just stopped by. He was just a college friend.” She laughs behind her tears. “Don’t look at me. I probably look like a mess right now.”

  I don’t say anything. I’m still just processing, my mind flashin’ back to every single postcard I ever found lyin’ against his grave.

  “Why are you here?” she asks, after a few minutes of my silence.

  I’m lookin’ at the postcard. I’m tryin’ to tell myself they were just friends or that maybe, in some twisted reality, she has the wrong grave. But with the postcard in her hand, I know she’s got it right.

  I take a breath and feel it roll back over my lips in shorten
ed beats. “I’m here to see him.” I gesture with my eyes toward Owen’s grave.

  A gasp falls from her pink lips. “You knew him?”

  I don’t say anything, mostly because I can’t get my mouth to move.

  “Of course you did,” she goes on. “Everyone in this town probably knew him. I’m sorry.” She pauses and then reaches for my hand, but I quickly move it away from hers. The action surprises even me. It surprises me how I could ever not take her hand.

  “Rem? What is it?”

  She’s hurt. There’s pain in her words. But I can’t say anything. I feel my lips startin’ to quiver, like they did the day I heard the news about Owen.

  “Rem, it’s not... I’m not... He was just a friend. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She grows quiet again, but I can’t stop thinkin’ about her and Owen. I can’t stop thinkin’ about them together, about the postcards. She loved him. I know she did. She was the one who loved him. Ashley—my girlfriend, the love of my life—was the love of his life, too.

  “Rem?”

  I still don’t answer her. I still don’t look at her.

  “Baby, how did you know him?” she asks.

  I notice her flip the postcard around so that the photo is hidden by her dress.

  “I’m guessing you were close,” she says.

  For the first time in...I don’t know how long, I look into her tear-soaked eyes, and it’s as if I don’t even recognize her anymore.

  “Baby?”

  I hear the word fall from her lips, and this time, it stings every part of my soul.

  “Baby?” She sounds as if she’s startin’ to cry again. Her word is broken and cracked—just like how I imagine we are now. It’s as if someone just blew us both into glass, then took us and hurled us to the hard, dry ground.

  Shattered.

  We’re shattered.

  She starts to sob. I have to say something. I have to tell her.

  I take a deep breath. Then I close my eyes, and I force out the words.

  “He was my brother.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Past

  Rem

  “What?” Her word is breathy and bruised. “No,” she says, shakin’ her head, before I can even formulate another thought.

  I’m stiff. I can’t move. I can’t even look at her.

  “No,” she whispers. I can hear the tears in her voice. “No,” she says again, almost as if she can’t quite believe it herself.

  I still don’t move. I feel my chest pounding. It’s almost painful. I look at the gravestone that has my brother’s name etched into it. I look at the postcard she has pressed against her dress.

  My brother loved Ashley Westcott. Ashley Westcott loved my brother. The words and their implications are sinking in. But maybe if I push them out before they have a chance to take hold, then maybe they’ll just fade into oblivion.

  I try to think of somethin’ else. Ashley; the first day I saw her in the grocery store; her long, blond hair in waves; the way she looked at me; her smile, the same smile she probably gave Owen... I can’t do this.

  I turn toward the entrance to the cemetery, and I just start walkin’. She doesn’t call after me. Of course, I don’t know if I would have heard her if she had. I feel as if I have tunnel vision, tunnel hearing, tunnel everything. The black, iron fence that surrounds this place is closin’ in on me. The sky, the dirt, the graves are all suffocating me. I’ve just got to get out of here.

  I can’t get to my truck fast enough. I reach for the handle, but I don’t open the door. Instead, I lean my back up against its metal side and slide down until I’m restin’ on my ankles. I feel the ring box in my pocket press into my thigh, and it sends an ache like I’ve never felt before sprintin’ through my body. And just like that, I feel numb; I feel helpless. I came here to tell my brother that I was askin’ the love of my life to marry me today. Now, it just feels as if I’m tryin’ to hold water in my hand; that dream is slowly slippin’ through my fingers.

  I cradle my face in my hands. I’ve lost all control of my body. It’s as if I’m losin’ Owen all over again because I’m losin’ Ashley Westcott—the only other person on this earth who might have known him better than I did. It all makes sense now. The more I gained of her, the more I gained of him. And if it all would have stayed a secret, she might have filled the piece of my heart that he took with him. But now that I know... Now that I know... I can’t. I can’t be with her. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

  “Rem.”

  I hear her voice, and I drop my hands from my face. She’s standin’ in front of me, shakin’ her head. Tears are chasin’ each other down her cheeks and hittin’ her chest.

  “I can’t, Ashley.” I rise to my feet and face my truck. I can’t even look at her.

  “I didn’t...,” she starts and then fades off. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t I know? Rem, why didn’t I know?” she pleads.

  I try my damnedest to fight back the tears as my hand goes to the back of my neck. “Everybody knows, Ashley. You don’t have to look too hard.”

  “Is that why you never said anything? Is that why no one ever talks about him around here? Everything! They talk about everything here. But nobody ever said a word about him.”

  I feel my gaze slowly liftin’ in her direction. “Believe it or not,” I manage to get out, “there are some things that are off-limits in this town. ...And he is one of them.”

  Then, despite my best efforts, my eyes wander over to hers, and my heart nearly breaks in half. “I’m sorry, Ashley.”

  I reach for the door handle, and I pull the door open.

  “What?” She shakes her head. “Where are you going?”

  I drag in a long breath. “Ashley,” I say in the calmest, steadiest voice I can muster, “I will fight for you.” I stop and correct myself. “I would have fought for you to the ends of this earth.”

  I can’t bear to look at her sad eyes anymore, so I look at the ground at my feet instead before I continue. “But I will not compete for you. I will not compete for you against my brother, my dead brother.”

  There’s a stillness that comes between us then—like the calm before the storm.

  “Compete? Rem!”

  She cries the words, but I get into my truck anyway. And I sit there for a second and stare into the steering wheel. Is this really happening?

  “Rem!” She’s crying hard now; the ache in her voice is takin’ over. A tear squeezes past my own eye. I can’t leave her like this. Damn it, I can’t leave her like this. But she was Owen’s. She is Owen’s. And she’s still in love with him. I can’t ever see her again.

  I start up the truck.

  “Rem!” I look up, and she’s at my open window. “I’m so confused.”

  Her eyes are beautiful, even filled with tears. I want to hold her. I want to love her. I want to kiss her sadness away. But instead, I swallow it all down. And without another thought, I back out and peel away, leavin’ a cloud of white dust and the love of my brother’s life in my rearview mirror.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Past

  Rem

  “Rem.”

  She climbs the three steps it takes to get up my porch stairs and pulls up a lawn chair across from me.

  After the cemetery, I came here, and I haven’t moved. I’ve just been sittin’ here in this same chair for hours, starin’ off into that blue horizon and thinkin’—back, forward, every which way.

  “Rem, you need to talk to me. You need to tell me what’s going on.” Her eyes are red. It looks as if she’s been cryin’ all afternoon.

  I don’t say anything.

  “Rem,” she says, more sternly this time.

  “What do you want to know?” My words cut at the air. They’re angry. I’m sad that they’re angry, but I can’t seem to feel any other way. I just don’t understand why I didn’t know. And I don’t understand how she could have come here knowin’ what she knew and not say anything.


  She takes a breath and then slowly exhales, just as her eyes catch somewhere near my chest. “That was his jacket, wasn’t it?”

  I look down at the old leather jacket, close my eyes briefly and then slowly nod. “Yeah.”

  She presses her lips together like she’s tryin’ to hold her emotions in. “Your last names?” she asks.

  I swallow. I really don’t want to talk about this. “His dad and my mom were high school sweethearts. They got married and had Owen. But not too long after Owen was born, his dad passed away. Then a couple years down the road, my mom married my dad, and they had me. My dad raised Owen like he was his own, but Owen’s really my half brother.”

  I see her jaw drop right before she presses her hand to her lips. “How? How did his dad die? He never told me.”

  “Heart attack,” I say, short and to the point.

  I glance at her, only to see the tears startin’ again in her eyes. Then I look away and focus on the bird feeder in the yard. There’s a lump in my throat, makin’ it ache. I keep swallowin’, hopin’ it will go away. I’ve never cried in front of anyone. And I’m not doin’ it today.

  Silent moments pass. She’s quiet. I’m quiet.

  “Why did you come here, Ashley?” I still don’t look at her, even as I say the words. But as the moments draw on where she doesn’t say anything, I find my eyes wanderin’ back to her.

  She’s lookin’ at me with a sad, puzzled look. “Rem, we need to talk about this. We need to figure this out. I’m so confused. I don’t know how to feel.”

  “No,” I say, “why did you come to Ava? You knew he was from here.”

  I watch her now. She bites her bottom lip and looks away to some spot off in the distance. “He talked about it,” she says. It almost sounds as if it’s a confession. “It always seemed so magical, so peaceful. And I don’t know, maybe I just wanted to know the man I never really got to know. We only dated for a few months. He was so quiet, so mysterious, so...”