by Jiffy Kate
This is my Deacon.
“Just had a crappy day.”
“Anyone’s ass I need to kick?” he asks, leaning forward with his long arms resting on his knees.
This is what drives me crazy. Him, Tucker, Micah—they’re all three like that. Always wanting to kick someone’s ass in my honor. It’s sweet. I get it. I know I should be grateful, but sometimes I just want to be able to stand up for myself.
“There’s no one’s ass to kick,” I mutter. “My mood has nothing to do with anyone else, just me.”
He exhales and stretches out beside me on the grass.
I glance over at him, still amazed sometimes at the man he’s becoming. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s weird and crazy to think that this mammoth lying next to me is the same kid who was only a head taller than me at one point.
We lie there in silence for a while, just watching the clouds pass by, something we’ve done a hundred times, but something about this time feels different. I’m acutely aware of every move he makes—his leg grazing mine, his hand twitching next to me. I can hear his breaths and when he swallows.
“There’s a turtle,” he says, pointing up toward the sky, pulling me out of my thoughts and back to reality.
I relax and let out a pent up breath. This is just Deacon. This is no different from any other time I’ve laid beside him. I mean, we’ve spent the night at each other’s houses for goodness sake.
Get a freakin’ grip, Cami.
“There’s a frog,” I tell him, joining in our game and pointing up and to the right. “Like, if you’re looking at him from the front . . . see his big ol’ eyes?”
“Yeah, I see it.”
And just like that, all my worries and troubles drift away like the big puffy white clouds we’re watching overhead.
“There’s a steamboat,” he says, reaching his arm across my body to point to something in the distance and making my skin tingle at the contact.
“A steamboat, huh?” I ask, trying to play it cool and like his touch doesn’t affect me.
“Yeah, see the smoke coming out of the stack?”
I shake my head, stretching my neck up as I try to see what he’s pointing to and also putting us a few inches closer. “No, I don’t see it.”
“Right there,” he says, leaning up on his elbow and putting his hand lightly on my cheek, forcing me to take a closer look. “See it?”
I want to lean into his touch, but I try not to as I strain my eyes to see what he sees. Finally, it comes into focus, and I practically jump up with excitement. “Oh, yeah . . . and it kinda looks like water beneath it,” I add.
“Yeah.”
It’s amazing what you can see when you want to.
“Hey, there’s a castle,” I tell him. This isn’t the first time I’ve pointed out a castle. It’s my unicorn—the thing I’m always looking for. When I was little, I dreamed that my mama lived in a castle in the clouds.
“You’re right,” Deacon says, playing along. “It’s got two big towers.”
“Yeah, and I think it has a drawbridge.”
“And probably a moat.”
“Definitely a moat.”
“To keep out all the bad guys.”
“Yeah.”
Deacon knows all about my fantasies. Well, most of my fantasies, anyway.
When Micah and Tucker used to make fun of me for always daydreaming and having my head in the clouds, Deacon would stick up for me and tell them they just wished they had an imagination as good as mine.
He gets me.
He’s exactly what I needed today.
“Your birthday is coming up,” he mentions nonchalantly.
“Not for another few months.”
“Yeah, but it’s the big sixteen. You’ve gotta think this one through . . . what do you want? How will you celebrate?” he asks, his voice rising as he gives me a wide-eyed expression, disbelieving that I’m not as excited about this milestone as I should be, and it makes me laugh.
“It’s not that big,” I tell him. Most kids are excited about turning sixteen because that means they’ll have a license and freedom. I’ve been driving a farm truck since I was twelve. And freedom, I doubt that’ll come with a change in my age.
“Sure it is. Your sixteenth birthday is a huge deal.” He turns back on his side and faces me, leaning on his elbow, giving me his undivided attention and it makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I wish I could tell him that this is all I want for my birthday, just time with him, but that would sound stupid and cross whatever imaginary boundary we have between us.
My sixteenth birthday probably should be a big deal, and I probably should be excited about it, but I can’t help but think about the fact that me turning sixteen means Deacon is turning eighteen. And Deacon turning eighteen means he’ll be leaving soon. And no birthday can make me happy about that.
“What’s that frown for?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I tell him, shaking my head. Usually, I’m transparent when it comes to my feelings in front of Deacon, but not with this. My sadness over his impending departure has to stay with me. I can’t tell him. Regardless of my feelings, I’d never want to ruin what we have.
“What do you want for your birthday?”
I smile, loving the way his face lights up when he thinks about presents or gift-giving occasions. Deacon Landry loves gifts. His favorite kind of gifts are souvenirs. Like when his dad goes away on business, if he doesn’t bring back a T-shirt or a snow globe, Deacon is crushed. You’d think someone ran over his dog or forgot his birthday.
“I want a big pink cake.”
“A cake?” Deacon asks, frowning.
“Yeah, every year since . . . well, since I was little . . .” I don’t have to be specific with Deacon. He knows. “My dad has always made me a chocolate cake for my birthday. Which is great,” I preface. “Don’t get me wrong; I love his chocolate cakes. But . . .”
“You always wanted a pink one,” Deacon interjects, finishing my thought for me.
“Yeah.” I shake my head and laugh, knowing it sounds completely ridiculous. I mean, what sixteen-year-old wants a pink cake for their birthday?
I do have one more thing I want, but I can’t say that out loud. Just thinking it makes my stomach flip like a fish out of water.
A kiss from Deacon is what I’ve wished for my last two birthdays. But now, being older, I want more than that. I can’t even explain exactly what I want or why, but I want it—him and whatever he’d give me. But I could never say that, not to his face anyway. I just say it in my head. It’s my most vivid fantasy these days. It’s all I can think about sometimes.
“I better get up to the house,” Deacon says, jumping up off the ground. “Mama will have dinner ready, and you know how pissed she gets if we’re late.”
“Yeah, I gotta go, too. My daddy will be in from the fields soon and expect somethin’ on the table.”
“You wanna eat with us? You can take him a plate. I bet Tucker’s still up at the house. Him and Micah were messin’ around out in the garage when I took off to find you.”
He stretches his long arm down to me and offers his hand to help me up. I take it, loving the feel of his skin against mine.
I think about his offer, but I really just want to walk home and be there when my daddy gets in. Besides, I have a canvas I started on over the weekend, and I want to work on it a little more. Being out here this afternoon has cleared my head and inspired me. The painting is actually of this pond. I’ve painted it before, but this time, I’m trying out a sunset, kind of like what we’re experiencing, and the lighting is perfect. I want to work on it while it’s fresh on my mind.
“I think I’ll head home,” I tell Deacon after we walk a little way down the path. “Tell Tucker I’ll see him at the house later, and I’ll have dinner ready if he wants to come home.”
“You sure?”
I nod and sigh, taking him in one last time before we part ways. “Yeah, tell your mama I s
aid hi and that I’ll be over tomorrow after school.”
“Okay,” he says slowly, eyeing me cautiously, and there’s something different in the way he looks at me. “You sure you’re okay?”
I start to walk backward down the path, needing to put a little distance between us before I say something I shouldn’t. “I’m fine. Thanks for the talk.”
“Anytime, Camille.” He smiles mischievously, using my full name. He hardly ever does that. Usually, only when he wants to tease me or get my attention. I wonder what makes him use it now.
Smiling, I shake my head and laugh lightly, turning to take the path that leads me back home.
Camille
Present
“LET’S GO, CAMI,” SAM SAYS, gently pulling me away from the back of the ambulance. “We’ll follow them to the hospital.”
I can’t.
I can’t walk away from him.
I can’t leave him.
He looked so beautiful, but so . . . gone?
He wasn’t awake and had smudges of dark soot on his face. The leg of his jeans was covered in blood, and they had his neck in a brace.
He was my Deacon, but not.
And they won’t let me ride with him in the back of the ambulance.
“Cami,” Sam’s voice carries more authority and his hold on my arm is tighter. “We’ll follow them, honey. I’ll drive you. He’s gonna be fine.”
I turn to look at him, tears streaking my face. “You keep saying that, but I don’t think even you believe it.”
“I do.” He squares me with a look, one that is a lot more Sam than the fear I saw in his eyes earlier. As a lawyer, he always has a good poker face, so who’s to say he’s not using that with me now.
“I need to go with him.” My words come out somewhere between a plea and a full-on cry. I just need Deacon. I need to touch him and feel that he’s still breathing. I need to be close to him, there for him. “What if he wakes up on the way over? I don’t want him to be alone.”
“He’s not alone. The paramedics are working on him. Let’s let them do their job.”
I allow him to guide me to his truck, and I let him help me into the passenger’s seat. I stare out the window at the departing ambulance as he pulls the seatbelt around my shoulder and fastens it at my hip. When he hops in the driver’s side, my eyes go back to the restaurant. It’s still smoldering. From the outside, it doesn’t look like a complete loss, but who knows what it looks like on the inside. But it’s just a building. Buildings can be replaced.
The man in the ambulance cannot.
He’s wrapped up in every fiber of my being and my life.
He’s in every memory.
He’s everything.
Camille
Past
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CAMI!” EVERYONE CHEERS as I walk into the Landry’s house on a normal Tuesday night.
I feel the heat on my cheeks, and I try to hide the ridiculous smile on my face. I don’t do surprises. This is totally out of my comfort zone.
“What are y’all doin’ here?” I ask, looking around the room, noticing that Deacon is the only person missing.
“Well, we couldn’t let a monumental day like today go unnoticed.” Annie walks toward me and pulls me into one of her famous hugs. “Your mama would be so proud of you,” she whispers against my hair. “I’m proud of you, too. Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
“Thank you,” I reply, squeezing her back equally hard.
After Annie lets me go, it’s my daddy’s turn to tell me how proud he is of me and how much my mama would love to see the young lady I’ve grown into. It makes me tear up, and I have to breathe deep to keep from crying.
We all move from the kitchen to the outdoors, where Annie’s beautiful garden is blooming, and Sam has meat on the smoker. I love his barbecue ribs. I love all of these people. I even love my stupid brother who bought me a pair of Jimmy Buffett tickets and talked my daddy into letting him take me when he’s in Baton Rouge this summer.
When the food’s done, we all make a plate and eat. The crowd is silenced under the hypnotic powers of Sam Landry’s barbecue.
I’m close to asking where Deacon is, when the back doors of the house open and he walks out with a huge white box and a gigantic smile on his face.
“Did y’all start this party without me?” he asks, sounding genuinely offended.
“Well, Cami got here, and we couldn’t tell her to go back outside until you showed up,” Annie says, walking toward him.
“Happy Birthday,” Deacon calls over the top of his mama’s head. “Sorry I’m late.”
Forgiven.
“Thanks, Deke.” I play it off like it’s no big deal and like I haven’t been sitting here wondering where he’s at or if he was coming. Or if he had a hot date. Or if he ran off and joined a traveling gypsy band. My mind is a scary place when I start wondering.
Micah nudges me and pulls something from his pocket. It’s a folded note, like something we’d pass in the halls during junior high, and I look at him funny. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
“Okay.” I take it from him, but turn it over a couple of times. Knowing Micah, it’s going to be some practical joke or something he and my brother cooked up, but I open it anyway.
When the paper is unfolded, I notice that it’s a printed flyer. Pressing the crinkles out, I read it. A craft show? At the Catholic Church? I look up at him confused, and he smiles. “I rented you a booth so you can sell your paintings.”
The lump in my throat shows up out of nowhere. Micah Landry, the one person who’s never missed a chance to make fun of me—the same Micah Landry who told me the tower on the castle I painted in the barn looks like a penis—that Micah Landry rented me a booth to sell my art.
I shouldn’t be such a girl about this, but I’m touched.
“That’s so thoughtful,” I tell him, throwing my arms around his neck. “Thank you.” I probably haven’t hugged him in five years, since the last time we were fighting in the house and Annie made us hug it out on the front porch before we could come back inside. But him buying me a booth to sell my paintings merits a hug. I’ve been working on several pieces for a while now, and this is just the motivation I need to finish them. Plus, I’ve wanted to start putting back money for college and selling my paintings might be a good way to do that.
“Happy Birthday, Cam.”
“Thank you.”
“It was just fifteen bucks,” he says after a while when I’m still hugging him.
Fifteen bucks or not, it was the thought that counts. The thought that he might not think my paintings are stupid after all.
“Who’s ready for some cake?” Deacon calls out from the back door.
I wipe a tear that slipped out, and Micah rolls his eyes.
“You’re supposed to be happy. It’s your birthday.”
“I am.” I sniff once to make sure the tears are all dried up before walking inside the house. “I’m happy. Thank you.”
“Don’t go gettin’ all soft on me.”
“Sorry. Won’t happen again.”
The next thing I know, Micah has me in a headlock and is giving me a noogie. Nothing like a noogie on your sixteenth birthday.
“Quit,” I yell, trying to escape his firm hold on my head.
“I think it’s time for birthday spankin’s,” Tucker calls, coming up behind me.
The squeal that leaves my mouth rivals that of a stuck pig.
“Micah Paul Landry, cut it out!” Annie calls from somewhere to my right. “It’s the poor girl’s birthday. Can’t y’all leave her be for at least one day. Good Lord, you’d think I raised a bunch of heathens . . .” Annie continues her rant as she walks into the kitchen ahead of us.
Micah finally releases his hold, but Tucker gets one good swat in before running ahead of us. I try to catch my breath and smooth my hair, but when I see Deacon holding the huge pink cake with pretty lit candles, what little breath I had gets stuck in my throat. It’s be
autiful and just like a fairy tale.
It’s my cake.
The cake I’ve always wanted.
It’s like the one my mama made me on my sixth birthday. The last cake she made me. The one I told Deacon about months ago. He remembered.
And here he stands, holding it with a big smile on his face. It’s perfect. He’s perfect.
I don’t get a chance to speak, but it’s a good thing because I don’t think I can. The chorus erupts around me and everyone’s singing, some off-key, but they’re still singing. Loudly. But somehow, they all fade into the background, and my eyes are on Deacon as he mouths the words to the song. When it ends, he winks at me over the glow of the candles.
“Make a wish,” he says, holding it closer to me.
I brush my hair to the side and lean down, taking a second to think about what I want to wish for. I mean, this is my sixteenth birthday. As Annie said earlier, it’s monumental. I should wish for something grand—something I’ll remember ten years from now.
I take one last look up at him and then I close my eyes and blow.
The cheers let me know I managed to extinguish all the flames. Typically, that’s supposed to mean your wish will come true, but this is a big one. One that is as far-fetched as they come, but if you’re gonna wish, you might as well make it big, right?
“What’dya wish for?” Deacon asks.
“I can’t tell you because then it won’t come true.” I take one of the candles out of the cake and pop the end in my mouth, sucking off the icing.
The crooked smile he gives me makes my knees feel weak.
“You remembered.”
He sets the cake down on the table and taps his temple. “Like a vault.”
I laugh and shake my head.
“Let’s cut this beautiful cake and have some,” Annie says as she walks up with a stack of plates. “Did Miss Becky choose the pink icing?”
“No,” Deacon says, smiling at me.
“Well,” Annie scoffs, “I know you didn’t pick pink.” She laughs, and I bite my lip to hide my smile.
