When Cicadas Cry Page 7

  I close the laptop and shut my eyes. I try to hear her laughter. I try to imagine it just as it is. I try really hard. And then, just like that, I can hear it. I can hear the soft hitch in her voice—its low and high pitches, the ones that make it distinctly hers. It’s her laugh...exactly. My heart swells.

  It’s funny how you can remember somethin’ like someone’s laugh, how you can just close your eyes and think real hard and just recall it. It’s the gift—and the curse—of memory, I guess. It’s yours to keep, whether you like it or not.

  I take a breath and listen to it—to her—as if she’s right next to me.

  And then, it’s as if from somewhere deep inside my soul, a soft, clear voice rises up and echoes the words of my heart: I wish. I wish she were right next to me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Past (2 Years Earlier)

  Rem

  “Miss Westcott, has anyone ever told you that you have the prettiest eyes?”

  It’s a lazy Saturday. Those still exist in this small town. We’re along the river downtown, takin’ in the way the world has just, all of a sudden, turned orange and red—just like it does every fall. Her back’s against this old maple tree, and it’s just the two of us against the world.

  She smiles and bows her head before findin’ my eyes again. I already figured someone had to have told her that by now.

  “Well, then, has anyone ever told you that your eyes look oddly similar to mine?”

  She laughs to herself as her stare turns down again. “No,” she says, lookin’ back up at me. “No one’s ever told me that my eyes look oddly similar to Remington Jude’s eyes.”

  “They do,” I assure her. “I think they’re the same color...almost.”

  “Almost?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, “yours have this little touch of dark to them, like the sky does on one of those days. You know, the kind of day when you don’t know if it’s about to open up and throw down a funnel of wind or buckets of water?”

  She just looks up at me. She’s biting her bottom lip. It distracts me so much that I can’t take my eyes off her mouth, and soon enough, my lips are touchin’ hers.

  The kiss is momentary, but the moment seems as if it hangs in the air—suspended like a bird in the wind. And in that moment, my heart is full, and my life is hers. I know it. She knows it. We both know, without sayin’ a word, that no matter what happens between the two of us, I will always belong to this girl.

  “Ashley?”

  “Mm-hmm?”

  “I really like you,” I say, softly restin’ my forehead onto hers. My heart is beatin’ so hard in my chest that I feel as if I should be able to literally hear its thumps.

  I kiss her sunburned lips again, and then I softly kiss her neck and then her suntanned collarbone. I couldn’t possibly feel any more for this girl. I’ve already given her everything I have. And I should be scared as hell knowin’ that, but I’m not—not even one bit.

  “How did you know my name?” she asks.

  “What?”

  “At the dance, you knew my name. We hadn’t met.”

  I look down at the grass at our feet. “Oh, that.”

  She smiles. “Yeah, that.”

  “I asked,” I say, shruggin’ my shoulders. “Carol, at Sander’s Market, knew. She must have seen your name on your debit card or somethin’.”

  “Aah,” she says, slowly nodding.

  “Yeah,” I go on, “the first time I saw you, you were in the store, and you were wearin’ this tee shirt that was tied in a knot at the bottom. And you had this lace...”

  “Crocheted.”

  “What?”

  “Crocheted. The skirt,” she says.

  “Yeah, I guess. You had this crocheted, long, black skirt on with flip flops. And your hair was down, and it was wavy. And I just... You looked up at me...and it was as if your eyes cut right through me. And I know this sounds crazy, but you literally took my breath away. I just had to know your name. So, as soon as you left, I asked Carol.”

  “You remember all that?” she asks.

  “Of course. How could I forget? That image of you standin’ there is tattooed on my brain. I don’t think I could forget even if I wanted to. And I don’t...want to.”

  Her smile grows as she leans into me. I put my arms around her and let my hands rest on the bare part of her back. She’s wearin’ one of those cut-off tee shirts. I savor the way her soft skin feels against my fingertips.

  “Wait,” I say, pullin’ away from her a little. “How do you remember what you were wearin’ when I first saw you?”

  She bows her head before lookin’ into my eyes. “It was the first time I saw you, too. I was wearing a white top and the skirt. You were wearing a gray, Cardinals tee shirt and dark jeans. I was buying orange juice. You were holding a carton of milk. And you stopped. You literally stopped and looked up at me. And I smiled at you. And you didn’t smile back.”

  I laugh once. “What?”

  “You didn’t smile back,” she repeats.

  “No, that’s not me. I would have smiled at you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “That’s crazy talk,” I say.

  “I’m serious. You just looked at me for a couple seconds, and then you looked down at your milk, as if you were reading its ingredients or something.”

  I swipe my hand across my eyes and then let my fist fall to my heart. “The ingredients? Wow! And you still let me dance with you later?”

  She laughs. “You’re lucky that it was only my first week here, and by that time, I was beginning to think that was the customary greeting. It’s like no one knew whether they should befriend me or run from me.”

  I pull her even closer and press my lips to her neck. “No, sweetheart, we’re just shy around beautiful creatures, that’s all.”

  I can feel her laugh, but I just keep kissin’ her neck.

  “Did I stick out?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “When I first got here, did I look different or something?”

  “Sweetie,” I say, lookin’ into her eyes this time, “everybody who isn’t from here sticks out.”

  She drops her stare, and her voice hitches a little.

  “No, but seriously,” I say, regaining her attention. “You’d probably stick out anywhere.”

  “What does that mean?” She looks at me as if she’s almost hesitant to ask.

  “It means that no matter where you are or what you’re wearin’ or who you’re with, people would notice you. You’ve got like this...bubble around you.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “I can’t explain it. It’s just, when you smile at me, it’s like I think if I can just get nearer to you—if I could just get inside that bubble—then everything in the world would be right. And I can’t be the only one that thinks that.”

  “Rem,” she scolds with a smile, “you’re probably the only person in this world that thinks I live in a bubble.”

  “No,” I say, shakin’ my head. “I can’t be. But if you are right by some messed-up, out-of-kilter way of thinkin’, then I’m the luckiest man in the world because I see a treasure that no one else can see.”

  She leans into me and sweetly kisses my cheek.

  “Wait,” I say, “you remember the first time you saw me?”

  She looks into my eyes. “Of course.”

  I just smile, and I’m still smilin’ several seconds later.

  “Rem,” she whispers, standin’ on tiptoe and restin’ her lips near my ear. At the same time, a shiver runs up my spine. “You wanna know why?”

  “Yeah,” I barely get out.

  “You took my breath away, too.”

  I feel my smile growin’.

  “And you know what else?” she whispers, kissin’ my cheek and then lookin’ into my eyes.

  “Yeah?”

  “I really like you, too.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Present

  Rem


  I’m in the grocery store, pickin’ up some bread and some beer—two of my staples. I’m starin’ at a small section of the bread aisle. I’m tryin’ to eat healthier. Tryin’ is the key word. I try to remember the bread Ashley always used to get. She was probably one of the healthiest people I knew—though I know that’s not sayin’ much, if you consider my circle of friends. But Ashley would eat things that just sounded strange, like sushi and quinoa and stuff like that, which I eventually just equated to healthy. They didn’t sell that stuff anywhere around here, so we’d have to go to the city to get it. It didn’t taste like much to me, and I always had to have a bowl of cereal afterward because I was still hungry. But I ate it because she said it was “healthy,” and mostly, because it made her smile.

  My eyes scan the labels: white, wheat, oat, potato. Potato? What? Hell, they’re makin’ bread out of everything these days.

  “I heard she left town because he caught her cheatin’ on him.”

  A girl’s voice permeates through the wall behind the bread. It sounds as if she’s in the next aisle. And it doesn’t sound as if she’s tryin’ to keep whatever she’s talkin’ about a secret.

  “I heard it was because he cheated on her,” I hear another girl say.

  I don’t recognize the voices or know who they’re talkin’ about, and I don’t really care either. They’re probably high schoolers, talkin’ about whatever high school girls talk about these days, which is probably not that much different from what high schoolers talked about ten, twenty, fifty years ago.

  “If I were Ashley, I would have left too, then.”

  Immediately, I stop carin’ about the bread and go completely still. Just like that, at her name, I suddenly care about what the high school girls on the other side of the bread aisle are sayin’.

  “But if you ask me,” the same voice says, “I don’t think he could have cheated on her. They were such a cute couple.”

  “Maybe she just went crazy,” the other says. “I mean, beautiful people do crazy things sometimes, right? The stars are always doin’ crazy stuff. And she was from where? Iowa?”

  “Nebraska,” the higher-pitched voice corrects.

  “Same difference,” the other says. “All I know is that she wasn’t from here.”

  “But yeah,” the one goes on. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe she just went crazy in this little town.”

  “Hey, you know, I did hear Rem was with Kristen Sawyer now.”

  “Hall’s Kristen?” the one asks.

  “Yep,” the other confirms.

  Then I hear feet shufflin’ along the vinyl, and I quickly grab a loaf of bread, not carin’ which one is which anymore.

  I don’t know what to think about the conversation. How do two high schoolers know anything about me and Ashley? And why do they care? Why does anyone care?

  I tuck the bread under my arm and head straight for the register, forgetting the beer. I don’t care what this whole, damn town thinks about what happened between me and Ashley. They don’t need to know.

  I get home and toss the bread and my keys onto the counter. Jack is sittin’ on my couch, yellin’ at the TV. I expected to see him in here. His truck’s parked out front.

  “Hey, have you heard I’m with Kristen?”

  “What?” He mutes the TV and dramatically careens his neck around, as if he’s just now noticed me.

  “Evidently, I’m with Kristen now,” I say again.

  “What are you talkin’ about?” He’s wearin’ this dumb, hurt look on his face.

  “Rumor,” I say. “It’s just a rumor. Relax, buddy.” I throw up my hands in surrender. Yeah, Jack doesn’t have a thing for Kristen, my ass.

  “Oh, yeah,” he says, turnin’ back around. Instantly, he seems disinterested. “I heard that one.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah,” he says, “whoever you heard that from, they need to check their supplier. That’s old news. I heard about that almost a year ago.”

  “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. I knew it wasn’t true. I just threw it on the pile.”

  I cock my head. “Pile?”

  “Yeah, there’s more where that came from.”

  Jack keeps his eyes on the TV. I just keep mine on Jack.

  “Wait, what do you mean?” I ask.

  He puts his hand to his mouth, as if he’s recalling something, and then he looks back at me. “All right, so when you and Ashley were together, you had a secret love child, you ran away and got married...twice...and...you were secretly a millionaire.” He looks off to the side, as if he’s thinkin’ again. “Wait, the millionaire thing was a rumor I made up about myself. Nobody thought you were a millionaire.”

  “Oh,” I say, sarcastically. “That’s a relief.”

  He unmutes the television, and his eyes go back to followin’ the ball on a rerun of an old Bulls game.

  “They say she went crazy,” I say.

  “Who?”

  “Ashley.”

  He glances at me for a half-second and then looks back at the TV. “Yeah, well, maybe she did. That would explain why she left so fast.” He pauses and picks up a bottle from the floor. “But she ain’t the first one to leave this place. And she won’t be the last, either.” He takes a swig from the bottle and sets it back down. “But, yeah, maybe she did go crazy.”

  My eyes leave Jack for the television, as I suck in a deep breath and then slowly force it right back out.

  Or maybe she didn’t.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Past (1.5 Years Earlier)

  Rem

  “Okay, so the holler’s the best place to find ‘em,” I say, stoppin’ the truck near the silage pit.

  “Holler?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I point with my eyes straight ahead.

  “What is a holler?”

  “You’re in it, sweetheart.”

  “Oh.” She looks around, like she’s examinin’ the place. “Well, I don’t think we have anything called a holler in West Omaha.”

  I just stare at her with what I’m sure is a pretty damned amused look on my face. “Girl, you’d think you grew up in New York City. I know you’ve got corn fields all around Omaha. Surely, you’ve got somethin’ you call a holler.”

  She sucks in a quick breath through her teeth and just shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Really?”

  “I mean, yeah, we might have a lot of corn fields,” she says, “but just because you’ve got girls hangin’ all over you, it doesn’t make you an expert in them, now does it?”

  “Well...” I cock my head to the side. She just laughs. “All right. All right. You got me,” I concede.

  “But seriously,” she goes on, “people might think Omaha’s not such a big place in the whole scheme of things and that corn is all we know, but to be honest, I’ve never even been in a corn field. And I sure don’t know what a holler is.”

  I just look over at her and smile. “Well, okay, city girl, get your cute butt out of this truck because I’m about to give you a lesson in country.”

  She giggles and slides off the seat. I get out too and meet her at the front of the truck.

  “Okay,” I say, pointin’ straight ahead. “This here is the holler. There’s not much here anymore. My grandpa used to have hogs down here. But now, it’s pretty much just some old outbuildings and a lot of trees—good for findin’ mushrooms.”

  “But what’s it mean? Holler?” She says the word again, rollin’ it off her tongue as if it’s a foreign language. Actually, I’ve never heard holler sound so sexy. And I’m tryin’ to push that thought to the back of my mind when I notice her starin’ up at me.

  “Oh,” I start. “You know what?” I cover my mouth partially with my hand. “Well, it’s supposed to mean a valley, I think.” I look around. “But you know what? We’re not really in a valley, are we?”

  She looks around, too, and just smiles. “I don’t think we are.”

  I�
��m earnestly stumped. “My grandpa always called this place the holler. My dad did, too. But in all that time, I never asked why.”

  Her soft laughter distracts me for a second. “How are you supposed to teach me all this stuff if you don’t even know why it is?”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” I say, givin’ her a confident grin. “That’s the beauty of livin’ out here. You’ll learn pretty quickly that things—and words—just get passed down. Around here, not many people question things. Now, as a kid, you might try to ask why. But not many people will give you a straight answer. And I don’t know if that’s just because they never knew the answer to begin with or if they just don’t want to tell ya or if they just plain forgot.”

  A smile stretches across her pretty face. “I don’t know if I should laugh or cry at that.”

  “As I’ve said, we’re a simple people, Miss Westcott.”

  Her voice starts to hitch again. I listen to the way it hangs in the air, and at the same time, I try to hold onto every piece of it.

  “Okay,” I say, once her sweet voice starts to fade, “so we’re lookin’ for the ones that look like little Christmas trees.”

  “Christmas trees,” she repeats. “Got it.”

  We shuffle our feet over the soggy leaves that layered the ground all winter. The sun is high and peekin’ through the trees now, and there’s a fresh smell of spring in the air.

  “Now, this is an oak tree.” I stop and touch my hand to a tall, thick trunk. “If you see one of these, it’d be a good idea to look around it. Oaks like sun. So do morels.”

  “Oak. Sun. Mushrooms. Got it.” She shuffles around the back of the tree. I just watch her. I know she’s excited. She gets this look when she’s excited. It’s as if she’s tryin’ her damnedest not to smile, but she’s smilin’ anyway. And her eyes get this spark to them, like she’s seein’ everything for the very first time.

  “Rem!”

  I’m jolted out of my train of thought as I round the backside of the tree to find her. “You find one?”