“Well, thank you,” I said finally.
She winked, her hips moving again. Mine moved with hers, our voices rising with the songs, the sound terrible, but we didn’t care. Sometimes you just have to sing and dance, whether you’re good at it or not.
My mind drifted back to Heathcliff. It’s funny how some memories stay with you. I often found myself wondering if I thought about him so much because he’d been my first love or my first lover. Maybe it was a little bit of both. We’d been different things to each other at the time, a way to move forward in a way that we might not have been able to otherwise.
“You know I saw him this morning at the gas station,” Rebecca said suddenly. My head shot up, my gaze meeting hers. “Looks mostly the same, I think,” she continued. “He seems taller, if that’s even possible, and he’s definitely broader. Much, much broader. He was wearing a cut off shirt, and there was a scar on his arm. I only noticed it because he has tattoos now. Two of them.”
She paused, and I mumbled, “Really?”
“He asked about you.”
I blinked, my heart rate climbing. “That’s good.”
“He had a woman with him, a long-legged blonde.”
“Oh.”
Rebecca moaned, throwing her hands up. “One thing that will never change about you, Hawthorne, is your ability to stay level-headed even when I want to see some fire.”
“Is that what it is?” I asked, chuckling.
She glared. “Give me some fire!”
I shrugged.
“Okay,” she tried again, “you want to know what the two tattoos were?” When I didn’t say anything, she answered anyway. “One was a quote. Honest people don’t hide their deeds, it said. The other was a camouflage footprint with the words ‘keep walking’ inscribed beneath it.”
My hands stilled, and I froze. One was a quote from Wuthering Heights, the other a reference I was beginning to understand all too well.
“He still thinks about you, Hawthorne,” Rebecca added.
My heart thudded in my ears. Whenever I thought about Heathcliff, I pictured the boy I knew. I wasn’t sure I’d understand or even recognize the man.
“I’m a memory, Becca. Memories live a long time, but they don’t necessarily stay a reality.”
“Maybe not,” she replied. “But those are some awful strong memories you two share.”
She was right. They were strong memories. Time didn’t erase memories. They might fade, but they didn’t go away. Time made them stronger. Time made them more cherished. There were so many I cherished. Memories of Uncle Gregor. Memories of Heathcliff.
Memories didn’t scare me. Seeing them change did.
I was afraid. I was afraid that I’d see Heathcliff and what he’d become would destroy what I’d made him in my mind.
My fear was the elephant in the room, and no amount of music, laughter, or terrible singing could erase it.
Chapter 24
The day of Mams’ party dawned bright and beautiful, the sun shining over dew-covered grass and green foliage. It was August, which meant it was warm now, but it would be stifling later, and I rushed to pack up everything we needed to take to the Vincent’s, the air conditioner in the van we used for deliveries on high. It was better to keep the vehicle running than run the risk of the food spoiling.
Rebecca was just as harried as I was, her heels clicking as she rushed back and forth from the kitchen to the van. The party wasn’t for another three hours, but there was a lot of setting up to do, food that would need to be heated, cakes that would have to be stacked, and more.
“God, I’ve never even made love to Max Vincent, and I’m nervous. You must be completely sick to your stomach,” Rebecca said as she climbed into the passenger seat.
Climbing into the driver’s side, I threw her a look. “Remind me never to drink with you again. I obviously talk too much.”
She grinned. “You’re also wildly hysterical when you’re drunk.”
I pulled out of the drive, our voices fading as the road blurred beneath us, the nerves eating away at both of us. At Rebecca, because no matter how many events we catered, she always felt like she had to prove something to herself. Mainly because of her mother who’d considered Rebecca nothing except a way to climb up the pageant circuit. At me, because this was the first time I’d see the entire Vincent family all in one place since graduation five years before.
When their driveway came into view, Rebecca exhaled. “We’ve got this.”
My lips twitched. “Shake it off, Becca.”
Pulling in behind a slew of vehicles, I parked, my exhale meeting hers.
“Pot,” Rebecca mumbled, “calling the kettle black.”
Time often had a way of repeating itself. The first time I’d ever seen Heathcliff was the back of my last period English class.
The first time I saw him following a five year absence was in his driveway in a brand new, black F150 pickup that pulled up behind my catering van.