When Cicadas Cry Page 8

  “No, but I did find a cool rock.”

  “A rock?”

  “Look.” She holds it out to me. “It’s a perfect heart.” She turns it over in her hand. There’s that happy glint in her eyes.

  “You sure you didn’t just chisel that right now?” I ask, examinin’ the rock.

  “Well, I suppose I haven’t told you about my excellent chiseling skills yet.” She laughs and catches my gaze. We grow quiet then, and all I want to do is kiss her. I move closer to her, but before I get to her lips, I notice her eye catch on something.

  “Wait, is that one?”

  I look to where she’s pointin’. “Well, I’ll be. I think you just found your first morel, Miss Westcott.”

  She smiles wide, and then shortly after, I notice her grin slowly startin’ to fade. “Now, what do I do?”

  I try to swallow down the laugh formin’ in my chest and movin’ up my throat. “You pick it.”

  She looks at the mushroom and then back at me and then at the mushroom again. You would have thought I had just told her to pick up a copperhead or somethin’. But eventually, she moves closer to the mushroom, bends down low to the ground and slowly forces her hand toward the morel.

  “Is it bad that I’m afraid to touch it? It looks kind of...squishy...and weird.”

  I can’t help but laugh at that. “It is squishy and weird! But it tastes good, and it’s not gonna bite ya.” I rock back on my heels. “Though, I did have one sting me once.”

  She pulls her hand back faster than a cat jumpin’ out of a tub of cold water.

  “I’m only kiddin’,” I say.

  “Rem!” She smacks my pant leg and lets out a puff of air.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll stop,” I promise.

  She playfully rolls her eyes at me, and then in one swift motion, plucks the mushroom from the ground.

  And as she holds it out to me, I settle in her arresting stare. She looks so proud...and so happy. And all that’s runnin’ through my mind is: I love this girl, I love this girl, I love this girl. I lean into her and kiss those happy lips of hers, and when our kiss breaks, I squeeze her against my chest and give her a peck on her head.

  “Okay,” I say, breathin’ in the sweet scent of her hair, “so let’s find a handful more, and then we’ll go make the best sandwich you’ve ever tasted.”

  “You mind if we fry ‘em up at my parents’?”

  “Your parents’?”

  “Yeah, it’s closer. Plus, I’m almost positive that I don’t have eggs...or flour...or a fryin’ pan.”

  She laughs, and it makes me laugh, too. I could have gone and bought all that stuff before today, but I think there’s a big part of me that wants my parents to meet Ashley. I think it’s a I-just-want-to-show-her-off-to-the-world kind of thing.

  “But I’m not really dressed for meeting the parents.” I watch her look down at her blue jeans and pink tennis shoes.

  “Horse shit,” I say. “You look beautiful.”

  Her eyes instantly rush to mine. She’s got this big, surprised look on her face, like she’s never heard anyone say horse shit or call her beautiful before—and I know that last one ain’t true.

  “Okay, then,” she concedes, breathing out a smile.

  “You’re not nervous, are you?”

  She presses her lips together and closes her eyes. “Maybe a little.”

  “Of my parents?”

  “I don’t know. Yeah?”

  “You don’t have to be nervous of them. They’ll love you. And if it makes you feel any better, my mom’s a teacher. And she’s even got a soft spot for the kid that tries to eat rocks on the playground every recess.”

  “Am I like the kid that eats rocks?”

  “Not quite,” I say, with a straight face.

  She puts a little pout on.

  “I’m kiddin’, baby.”

  “Baby?”

  I alternate my eyes between her and the road. I took a risk with the “baby” thing. Maybe she doesn’t like it. Seconds draw on. She’s really makin’ me sweat here. And just when I’m about to take it back, her questioning stare gives way to a smile, and I let go of a thankful breath.

  I watch her over there in the passenger’s seat then, as she watches me. There’s somethin’ in the way she’s lookin’ at me that’s drivin’ me wild. Damn, this girl’s really got a hold on me! I’d pull this truck over right now if it weren’t daylight...and I had a place other than the ditch to pull it into... Shit! What the hell!

  I bring the truck to a quick stop—right in the middle of the road. And just like that, her pretty stare turns challengin’. It’s as if we were both thinkin’ the same thing.

  And then without another thought or even so much as a word between us, I slide closer to her. She meets me halfway, and instantly, our lips collide. And before I know it, one hand’s pressin’ against the small of her back and one’s tangled in her hair. And I don’t miss the fact that she’s twistin’ the hem of my tee shirt into one of her hands and pullin’ on my neck with the other.

  I press my mouth hard against hers. She hungrily moves her lips along mine, and with that, our kiss deepens. I’m used to slow and gentle kisses with this girl. But this one is all fire and passion and heat, and I’m lovin’ every second of it, until somethin’ stops us right in our tracks.

  It’s almost as if a damn wreckin’ ball just comes and plows right through the cab. A loud, dull horn startles us apart. Our eyes quickly move toward the sound only to find a jacked-up pickup truck that I don’t recognize sittin’ right behind us.

  “Damn it,” I breathe out. I gently press my forehead against hers, and I don’t know how, but a smile finds its way to my face.

  She lowers her eyes and starts to laugh.

  Another honk.

  “Damn it to hell,” I say again, shaking my head. If the road were wide enough, I’d just wave him on.

  “Can we pick this up later?” I ask her, her hair still wrapped around my fingers.

  Her eyes meet mine, and she just smiles and then nods.

  “Okay,” I say, almost as if I’m givin’ myself a pep talk—tellin’ myself that I can, in fact, leave this girl and get my ass back behind that wheel, even though I’m already kickin’ myself for even thinkin’ about it.

  “Okay,” I say again, right before I reluctantly climb back into the driver’s seat and put her into gear. And just like that, we’re moseyin’ down that gravel road again. It seems to pacify the guy behind us. But I’m not too worried about him. In fact, I think I’d still be silently cursin’ his name—whoever he is—if it weren’t for her. I look over at Ashley. She’s runnin’ her fingers through her hair and pressin’ her lips together when she catches my gaze and smiles.

  Damn it, I love her...and her soft lips and her smooth skin...and her long, tangled hair.

  “Well, here we are,” I say, pullin’ off the county road and into my parents’ drive.

  “Already?”

  “Hey,” I say, gainin’ her attention, “they’ll love you.”

  She takes a big breath and then lets go of a half-grin, as we make our way down the long driveway.

  About a minute later, we’re both gettin’ out of my truck and headin’ inside. I call for Mom and Dad once we’re in the house, but no one answers.

  “Well, they’re here,” I say. “I just don’t know where. They’ll turn up. For now, let’s get these mushrooms goin’.

  We slice, wash and bread the morels, then stick them into a fryin’ pan and fry them for a few minutes.

  “Okay,” I say, placin’ a few of the fried slices onto a piece of white bread and foldin’ the bread over. “Your first fried morel sandwich.”

  “Wait, you don’t put anything on it?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Plain is best.”

  She smiles and just nods. “Plain is best,” she repeats. Then she takes the sandwich, looks up at me, looks back at the sandwich and then takes a bite.

  I watch her chew for a coupl
e seconds. I don’t know why, but I’m nervous all of a sudden. I have no idea why I want her to like this stupid sandwich so much.

  She chews some more, then closes her eyes and swallows. And when she opens her eyes again and gazes into mine, I just can’t take it anymore.

  “Well, tell me, woman! Was that not the best sandwich you’ve ever tasted?”

  She laughs and then, at last, nods her head. “You wanna know the truth?”

  “Yes, the truth,” I demand, barely able to control myself.

  “That was the best sandwich I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Remington,” I hear my mom call from the basement steps.

  Ashley looks at me. She’s got flour on her nose. I kiss the place where the flour is and then brush the rest of the white stuff away with the pad of my thumb.

  “Oh, hi.” My mom stops at the top of the basement steps when she sees both of us.

  “Hi,” Ashley says, immediately holdin’ out her hand.

  Mom looks at her hand for a second. “Oh, sweetie, around here, we do hugs.” She encloses Ashley in her arms. “And you must be the infamous Ashley,” she states, as she pulls away.

  Ashley looks back at me. She’s got a little smile playin’ on her face, like she doesn’t quite know what to say about that, but she’s not altogether mad about it, either.

  “Oh, come on, I don’t talk about her that much...do I?”

  Mom rolls her eyes. Ashley keeps her pretty, little stare on me.

  “Okay, fine, maybe I talk about you a little,” I say to her, pinchin’ my thumb and forefinger together.

  “Cindy, where in tarnation did I put that drill?”

  My dad barrels up the stairs, and within only a couple seconds, he’s in the kitchen and starin’ at us like we’re two aliens invading his kitchen or somethin’.

  “Oh,” he says, “I didn’t know we had company. I would have put on my good hat.”

  I gawk at him with what I’m sure is a puzzled look plastered to my face. “Dad, what in the hell is your good hat?”

  “You know, it’s that Cardinals one you got me. I save that one for company,” he says, proudly sittin’ back on his heels.

  “Then, why have I never seen you wear it?”

  “I don’t know. Because you’re not company.”

  “What about Jack and Mike?” I ask.

  “Ha,” he says. “You mean those other two kids I oddly don’t remember bringin’ home from the hospital—the ones that raid my refrigerator every Saturday and eat all my cheese dip?”

  I just lower my head and laugh to myself. “Dad,” I say, once I look up again. “This is Ashley.”

  “Hi, Mr. Jude,” Ashley says, holdin’ out her hand.

  My dad takes her hand and shakes it. “It’s Ken. Mr. Jude’s only for Jack and Mike.” He winks at Ashley, and Ashley just smiles.

  “Were you guys makin’ somethin’?” my mom asks.

  “We just fried up some morels,” I say.

  “Oh, if there’s any left, save me some,” Dad interjects. “I’ve gotta find that dag nabbit drill.”

  And with that, he wanders off.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you, Ashley,” my mom says. “I’d stay and talk longer, but I’ve got the hose runnin’ out back, and I’ve got to get my husband’s drill.” She covers her mouth and whispers the next part: “I hide it because he’s always losin’ it. That way, I know where it is when I need it.”

  Ashley gives my mom a big grin. “No, it’s fine,” she says, politely. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “We’ll talk soon,” my mom assures her, givin’ her another hug. Then, she takes a couple steps and calls out to my dad: “I found it, honey.” And a wink later, she’s gone.

  And with that, it’s just Ashley and me alone in the kitchen again, and I can’t help but pull her close to me.

  “See, I told you they’d love you.”

  She squishes up her nose. “You think?”

  “I know,” I say, kissin’ her squished-up nose.

  Then I pull her into a hug and press her head to my chest. They really did love her. I could see it written all over their faces. And that makes me feel good.

  “I want to meet your family,” I whisper near her ear.

  She pulls away from me. “You want to meet my family?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “And I want to see where you grew up.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I assure her.

  It’s as if she thinks about it for a second before she smiles and then finally nods. “Okay,” she whispers.

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she confirms, a big grin stretchin’ across her pretty face.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Present

  Rem

  “Ashley.”

  She looks up at me, as if she’s startled to see me.

  “Rem. ...Hi.”

  “Hhh-i,” I say. It’s hard to imagine stumblin’ over just one, two-lettered word, but I think I managed to do just that.

  It’s like the airport all over again, but at the same time, I think I was less surprised to see her there than here—at Hall’s...in Ava.

  “Well, what brings you back into town?” I ask.

  The little smile she had quickly falls away. “I...um...just needed to come back, you know, for a moment. I needed to say some things to...”

  I look down and nod my head. “I got it,” I say, stopping her. I hear what she’s not sayin’. I know why she’s here. And I also know she didn’t come here to talk to me.

  When I look back up at her, I notice the soft smile has returned to her face. “So, it’s good to be back,” she says.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m sure it is.”

  “I see we haven’t stopped making rumors,” she nearly whispers, glancin’ across the bar.

  I look over my shoulder and make eye contact with a couple I know from high school sittin’ at a table across the room. Their stares immediately deflect to the floor when our eyes meet. I try not to laugh when I turn back to Ashley. “You have no idea.”

  She bows her head and grins. “Well, it’s nice to see some things haven’t changed.”

  “Yeah,” I mumble.

  Then that clock on the wall ticks out a few more loud seconds as neither one of us says anything.

  “How’s work?” she asks, finally breaking the quiet.

  “It’s great,” I say, flatly. “Same old, same old.”

  Her lips turn down a little, and I know I’m not playin’ nice. And it’s in that moment that I realize I just have no idea how I’m supposed to act around her anymore.

  I habitually refit my cap over my head and lean up against the bar. “How’s the writing comin’?” I ask, tryin’ to put more effort into the conversation.

  All of a sudden, her expression is happy again. “It’s going well. The book’s almost done. There’s a part of me that just can’t wait for it all to be finished, but then, there’s another part of me that is absolutely terrified. I’m literally terrified knowing that once it’s published, actual, real people will be able to read it.”

  “Actual, real people,” I confirm, smilin’.

  She laughs and gives me this look she used to give me that I always thought meant she wanted to kiss me. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that same thing today.

  “How long are you in town?” I ask.

  “I...um... I’m on my way out now, actually. I just stopped by to grab a tea for the road.”

  I nod, lettin’ her statement sink in. I knew she wasn’t here to stay or anything, but hearin’ she’s got one foot out the door already kind of stabs at my heart a little. And I know it shouldn’t. Damn it, I know it shouldn’t. She’s not mine anymore. Hell, I don’t even know if she were ever really mine. But damn it, I’m hers. As stupid and as impossible as that might sound, I’m hers. I know it. I know it deep in my soul. I’ll never love another girl like I loved Ashley Westcott. I wonder if she knows that.

  “Yo
u wanna know something?” she asks, breakin’ me out of my thoughts. I can tell she’s tryin’ to cheer me up now. She might not know what I’m thinkin’ exactly, but I’m certain she can read my face. And I’m certain it’s not the happiest face I’ve ever put on. All the same, I look up at her a little surprised. I know I don’t deserve her bein’ nice to me.

  “Sure,” I say, agreein’ to play along.

  “I tried to make a mushroom sandwich.”

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  “Well, I tried. I can’t really make them like you can.”

  “Horse shit!” I blurt out. I say it a little too loud, and all eyes in the bar stop to look at me. Even Ashley looks at me, startled, right before she starts to laugh.

  I watch her lips turn up as she tilts her face away from me. And then when she squares up to me again, I follow her hand as she tucks a strand of her long, blond hair behind her ear. And then she gives me that look—that look that makes me wish with everything I am that everything between us had turned out differently. And then I get a wild hair. It’s a crazy idea. And it’s probably stupid. But I can’t help but be stupid sometimes. I think it’s in my nature.

  “Come on,” I say, standin’ up straight again.

  “What?”

  “I’ll teach you again.”

  She gives me this look like I’ve just gone and lost my mind. “Where?”

  “Here,” I say.

  “You can’t teach me here.” She shakes her head, almost as if she’s shakin’ off even the thought of it.

  “Sure I can. Hold on. I’ve got some in my truck. I’ll go get ‘em.”

  “Of course,” she says, her voice startin’ to hitch. “Of course you’ve got mushrooms in your truck.”

  “What’s the Boy Scout motto?” I ask, makin’ my way across the bar.

  “I don’t know,” she says, through quiet laughter.

  “Always be prepared.”

  “But you were never a Boy Scout.”

  “Well, yeah, not a real one, technically, but that’s only because everyone around here is just born a Boy Scout. We never really think to give it a title.”

  I leave her smilin’ at the bar, as I push through the screen door and head for my truck. For the first time in a long time, I notice I have a little skip to my step.