Page 46 of Memories with Fire

He’d put it around my neck and told me anytime I missed him or thought of him, I just needed to touch the pendant and remember that our love was like the necklace. Never ending. We were going to be apart for a while, but one day we would be together again.

I wore the necklace for months. Day in and day out, I touched the pendant time and again, hoping if I did it would magically make Luke appear to right my world when it was upside down. Every day that passed and he didn’t show up made me hate him, and the necklace, a little more. Until one day I finally ripped it off and threw it in our backyard, hoping never to see it again.

Imagine my surprise when my mom gave it to me a few months later, the clasp I know I had broken, totally fixed. She told me to keep it as a reminder. Of what, she didn’t say.

It reminded me of so many things. Hopes and dreams. Shattered hearts and broken promises. I nearly tossed it in a drawer to forget about, but decided instead I would hang it and let it remind me of the latter. So far it’s done its job at keeping my heart safe.

Looking at it now I wonder if I had hope this entire time.

Dropping my bag, I take the necklace from the stand and put it on, looking at it in the mirror for a moment. It’s as pretty as it was the day Luke gave it to me.

Tucking it beneath the crewneck sweatshirt of Luke’s that I put on at the hospital, I grab my bag and head to the living room to find him dozing on my couch. I’d love to leave him here because I know he’s exhausted, and he looks peaceful, but if we stay much longer, I know someone from town will show up. I don’t want to be here when that happens.

Setting my bag down, I lean over the arm of the couch and whisper in his ear, “Luke, we’ve got to go. Wake up, Dimples. You can sleep when we get to your house.”

Calling him by the nickname I gave him all those years ago makes my stomach swim with butterflies. It causes him to make those dimples appear, a smile spreading from ear to ear across his face while his eyes slowly open to gaze up at me.

“Now that’s a sight I could get used to when I open my eyes,” he says, stretching his arms out and then overhead. Pushing himself off the couch, he picks up the bag I dropped and slings it over his shoulder. “C’mon Freckles. We could both use a nap.”

When we’re back in the Jeep making our way to Luke’s place, I refrain from reaching to my neck to finger the necklace that I can feel there. The longer I wear it, the heavier it seems to become.

The memory of him telling me that our love was never ending only to have him disappear, not to be heard from for ten years, weighs heavy on my heart. I know I decided to leave the past in the past, but I don’t know if I can truly move forward without knowing why we came to a halt all those years ago.

“This is where you live?” I ask with wonder, my thoughts interrupted as he pulls into the drive of a large log home. “This is one of my favorite homes in all of Bear Creek. Mr. Dyson owned it my entire life, and I always wished I could live here.”

The house has all kinds of character. Large wooden steps lead up to a porch that wraps around to the back of the property. Giant picture windows are placed strategically around the home, making it look warm and inviting. The roof has two sloped sides, and in the middle of one side are two dormer windows, indicating a second story to the house.

“Well, now you get to stay here,” Luke tells me, getting out of the Jeep. He grabs my bag from the back. “You hungry? I can make us a bite to eat before we get some sleep.”

I slip from my seatbelt and open the door, probably famished after everything that happened, but I can’t think about food. My mom had mentioned some young, single guy had bought this place from Mr. Dyson, making a joke that maybe I should take a wander by.

Buying a house means he planned on staying in Bear Creek for a while. Most people don’t buy a house only to leave soon after. But why? Why did he come to Santa Rosé? To Bear Creek? Did he come here to find me? What happened to his dream of becoming a police officer? Why is he a firefighter now?

There are so many questions I’ve been burying for weeks, scared to ask, afraid of the answers. I have no choice but to ask them now because I can’t walk into his home without knowing the answer to at least the question that’s haunted me for ten long years.

Luke is already up the steps, unlocking the door when I stop at the bottom. I watch, knowing he thinks I’m right behind him, but I need space to ask the question. If the answer is going to break my heart, I don’t need him near me, ready to haul me into his arms to make it better before I have a chance to process anything.

“Luke,” I call his name, my voice ringing stronger than I feel inside.

The door is swinging open when he turns around, frowning as his eyes move down the steps to find me. Dropping my bag at the doorstep, he moves back to the top, ready to bound back down them. I put a hand up to stop him where he is, grateful when he listens.

Confusion meets my gaze, and his brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

Once I ask, there’s no turning back. But I can’t go forward if I don’t know.

Taking in a deep breath, I wrap my arms around myself in a form of self-protection. “Why did you abandon me? One day you’re promising me forever, claiming you love me, the next you’re gone. I needed you more than anything, and you deserted me.”

He’s ready to take a step down but catches himself before he does. The furrow in his brow deepens, something I didn’t expect. I expected to see shame, or maybe regret, not perplexity.

“What are you talking about?”

I know he isn’t stupid so I can’t help my irritation at his dumbfounded look and tone. “Ten years ago! When you went back home. Why didn’t you call?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” he asks, his own annoyance coming through.

I no longer wrap my arms around myself, I cross them in front of my chest despite the soreness that screams at me, and jut a hip out to tell him wordlessly I’m not joking. I’m waiting for a real answer. I thought we were past this shit. I thought we had gotten to a place where we could be honest with each other rather than play games.

“Just tell me the truth. I don’t want to hear a lie, or some story you’ve made up. Was what happened too much for you? Could you not handle it? Did you change your mind about me?” My questions come one after the other in rapid fire, not giving him a chance to answer. “Do you know what it was like when I found out you hadn’t called? Do you know how it felt to wonder if you loved me at all, or if it had?—”

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