Page 40 of We Redeemed the Rain

He waved toward the meager accommodations. “Here you go. I stuck some clothes in the bathroom.”

“Thank you.” I said, quietly.

He stepped away, prepping to quickly retreat. But I stopped him. “Wait.” In my haze of confusion, I’d almost forgotten to ask. “What’s your name?”

He gave an answer without meeting my eyes.

“Samuel Taggart. Everyone calls me Tag.”

Tag.

I blinked against the renewed warmth in my eyes and swallowed the squeeze rising in my throat. Oh, how long I'd ached to know his name. Why did learning it affect me this much?

I letTagland in my heart and attach to my memories.

Him crying in the hayloft.Tag.

Him requesting American Pie.Tag.

Him naming me Strings.Tag.

The pressed bluebonnet he sent me for my birthday.Tag.

“Tag. Thank you.”

He nodded once then disappeared down the hall.

ELEVEN

Tag

Jesse leaned on the back of the Chevrolet, which now had two inches of mud caked into the treads. Bea’s Prius sat in the driveway, a river of dirt and water swallowing up the gravel drive. Cade was having the time of his life spraying it off.

I had my arms slung over the edge of the bed, staring at the suitcase, stained heels and sweater, and guitar sitting on my front porch. If it weren’t forGlorywritten across the front of that guitar case, I would’ve convinced myself last night was some kind of dream.

But no, she was here. Not her words. Her—in the flesh.

Sometimes, memories go dark. It’s a normal part of aging and even a pretty normal response to traumatic events. They just kind of disappear. I spent a lot of time wishing there was a way to pack up and ship off my own memories, because living to forget was exhausting. But they persisted like a nighttime cough—drumming up trouble when I most needed the quiet.

But, if mine had gone dark…I might’ve forgotten her. And she was the one memory I intended to take to my grave. The day I met her remained as vivid as if I lived it a few hours ago.

But she was supposed tostaya memory.

She was a flash of light in my painful childhood—nothing more, nothing less.

A tap on my arm jerked me out of my thoughts.

Jesse frowned. “Are you good? You’ve been staring into space, not hearing my questions.”

I straightened. “I slept terrible. What’d you ask?”

“I asked if Gilbert answered your text about driving.”

“Oh. Right.” I turned away from the porch, so I wouldn’t see Glory. “Uh, yes, he did. Said he wouldn’t be able.”

Jesse heaved a sigh. “You’re due to leave in an hour.”

I figured this would happen, and I should’ve let Billy know already. Not only would I be failing to deliver, I’d be putting people in a bind last minute. I only said, “And you should already be outta here.”

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