Page 33 of Forgotten

“Probably,” I said.

“I’m… I’m supposed to leave in the morning,” she said.

“Okay.”

“But I need your number. Because I don’t know what I am going to do.”

I grinned. “You’re learning.”

She laughed, and I reveled in the sound. Even after everything that happened tonight, to end it on a note of her laughter was sublime.

We exchanged phone numbers, calling each other to test it and make sure, and then slipped our phones back into our pockets.

“Well,” I said.

“Well,” she repeated, falling into that awkward space where neither of us knew how intimate we should be. Should we hug? Kiss? No, she was technically still with someone. Just a hug? Or nothing at all?

“Come here,” I said, holding my arm out.

She sank into my arms easily, and for a brief moment, I felt like my entire body was tingling, especially the top of my head. Feeling her body molded into mine, smelling her hair just under my nose as I held her head to my chest, it was enough to overwhelm me in the best of ways. I closed my eyes and let myself loose in the moment. When it ended, and she began to pull away, there was the slightest hesitation, as our eyes trained on each other’s and her lips parted ever so slightly.

Oh, how I wanted to kiss those lips. More than I’d ever wanted anything else.

But it would have to wait. The time wasn’t right. Not until everything was settled.

“I’ll let you know what I’m doing tomorrow,” she said.

“I’ll look forward to your text.”

“Goodbye, Jesse,” she said, opening the door to the side yard. I followed her and took the door from her.

“Good night, Charlotte.”

I watched as she crossed to the front, went out through the gate, and made her way down the road. I didn’t take my eyes off of her until I saw her disappear behind the tree that blocked my view of their front porch. When I was satisfied she was there and safe, I finished my beer, cleaned up, and headed upstairs to bed.

Chapter Sixteen

Charlotte

Mixed emotions made my stomach do cartwheels as I walked back to the Millers’ house. On one hand, I’d finally told Jesse what happened and learned his side of the story as well. I felt like I’d cleared away years’ worth of cloudy misconceptions and assumptions in one fell swoop. Knowing he’d left, not because he didn’t want to be with me, or that he was avoiding any kind of commitment, and that he just thought I had a boyfriend, both saddened and lifted me. I was sad for all the time that we’d missed, the opportunity at reconnection lost, but happy that that’s all it was.

He'd never stopped having feelings for me, just like I’d never stopped having feelings for him. No matter how angry we were at each other, over years of time, we still wanted each other, even if that want was a secret to ourselves. From ourselves.

I looked back only once, when I was across the road and almost to the curve just after the Millers’. Jesse stood in the door of the side porch, holding his beer in one hand and watching me, waving with the other. I waved back and then turned back, my cheeks burning and a smile so deep that I couldn’t have gotten it off with a jackhammer.

Entering the Millers’ yard brought back some of the memory of the hectic night that had preceded my talk with Jesse. Deep tire marks in the mud where the Andersons had parked their cars were going to send Mrs. Miller into a fit in the morning, I was sure. One of her flowerbeds had been trampled as well, andI was sure that was on purpose. Oland Anderson had a history of doing just that, and it was one of those things everyone knew about him but no one said anything about.

The lights were off, save for the kitchen light and the porch light. As I came up the stairs, I looked down at my phone, trying to turn on the flashlight, and realized I’d been gone for almost an hour. It was funny, it sure didn’t seem that long.

I shined the flashlight on the doorknob, half expecting to try it and find it was locked and need to search for a spare key, but the door came open easily.

Mr. Miller and Mrs. Miller were already off to bed, it seemed, and Amber’s door was also shut. Tamara was on the couch, tapping away at her own phone, and looked up at me when I came in.

“Hey,” she whispered, “how didthatgo?”

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow,” I said, dancing around the obvious question in her eyes. She wanted to know what Jesse and I could have possibly talked about that wouldn’t involve her. But I didn’t have the heart to tell her tonight.

“Fine,” she said, yawning. “I’m tired anyway. You can take the guest room if you want, or you can sleep on the couch. Either or.”

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