Rewind to You (28 page)

Something twists unpleasantly in my gut. “What do you mean, ‘suitable for me’?” I ask, getting to the bottom of this. What exactly is my mom’s perfect little mold?

“Do yourself a favor, Sienna—love someone who can afford to give you a happy future.”

Taken aback, I turn to my mom. Everything slides into place, the reason why my mom hates Austin so. “
Afford
to give me a happy future? What, is that what you wished you’d done instead of marrying Dad? Instead of struggling all those years like you and he did?”

“Sienna, I loved your father—”

“But he was kind of like Austin, wasn’t he?”

Mom’s head jerks over, her eyes taking me in with offended shock. “I never said that.”

“But it’s true.”

“Sienna!”

“You followed your heart, Mom.”

“I was young and stupid.”

“Maybe your heart knew what your mind could never understand.”

“Sienna,” Mom says, exasperated, “if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. But yes, had your dad had a better financial start, it would have spared me a lot of stress and struggling to get where I am now.”

“And where is that, Mom?” I ask, almost laughing in light of our present situation. “I mean, struggling—makes—us—strong. It makes us think about where we’re going, where we want to be. It makes us realize what’s important.”

“I’m only telling you what I know, Sienna,” she snaps. “You’ve always needed extra direction in life, and I’ve always given it to you.”

It hits me harder than her slap across my face at The Westin. Extra direction? After all these years, I finally see things as they really are: My mom’s nagging, her tunnel vision of what I’m destined to do in life, was all because she thought I needed it. Here I was trying so hard to please her, when in truth she thought I was incapable of making my own decisions.

I stand and brush the sand off my shorts. “Well, you know what? I know what direction I’m heading now, Mom. I’m going to college because I want to, and I’m not even sure if I’ll major in dance.”

Mom wears her shock as plain as day.

“And I—love—Austin
.
”

She stands as well, meeting my eye. “How can you say that? You might have had a fun fling with him. He may have made you feel special or beautiful, or whatever it is he did for you, but how do you know he wouldn’t drop you as soon as he was done with you? You were smitten with him, Sienna, as I’m sure a lot of girls have been and will be. But is he doing anything with his life? Could he take care of you even if he wanted to?”

“He has a scholarship to the University of Florida,” I say, and this tidbit clearly takes her by surprise. “He’s playing football for them this fall, and, yes, he’s going somewhere. He’s everything to me, Mom, and I threw it all away.”

Tears fill my eyes. Mom’s expression softens, her resistance visibly melting.

“Besides,” I say, letting it all out now, “money has nothing to do with love. Love is caring for someone you want to spend the rest of your life with, and there’s no price on that. Love is taking
and
giving. I may have been lost this past year, but I know this much now: I love Austin.”

I turn and start up the stairs, giving up on the hope that Austin will come back for me. I texted. He didn’t come.

Regardless, I check my phone time and time again. Nothing. No texts. I open Facebook and see one new friend request. Curious, I open it. Feelings evade me as I look at the profile picture. Probably because, at this point, my emotions are spent.

Landon Earl

There he is, staring up at me from the picture with a perma smile—Austin’s friend. I scan his profile, reminded of everything that transpired this summer, none of which I could have foreseen happening. Surprisingly, Landon is wearing a sharp polo shirt in his picture, his face clean shaven. He has a handful of friends, a few comments here and there on his posts. What did I envision the motorcyclist from that night looking like? Did I imagine his life like this, a person just like any other?

Landon’s work and education is even filled out. Not what I expected for some reason. He has a job. Sales, it looks like. He’s going somewhere. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about his smile that suggests a life well lived or the fact that he’s alive while my dad is not. I certainly have no idea what to think of his friend request. Nonetheless, I suppose I’m glad to know that in some way, perhaps something good has come of all this. His life will go on.

My finger hovers over the two buttons:
confirm
and
not now.
And I press
confirm.

We load the car, and I drive the first stretch. After we cross the marshy terrain from Tybee into Savannah, I pull off the main road for a last-minute detour. I feel Mom’s sideways glance, but she doesn’t say a word.

I weave through Savannah’s streets, past Chippewa Square, where Milo, Tolby, and Freedom sit in their usual spot, weaving palm-leaf flowers. I drive past the Pirate’s House restaurant and down Bay Street, where I catch glimpses of the Savannah River and River Street. Glimpses of the summer that from now on will be nothing more than a painful, treasured memory.

I’m different now, maybe even stronger somehow. And as I take one final look around Savannah, I finally see why. I’ve forgiven myself. At last. Somehow, somewhere along the way this summer. Despite what happened to my dad, regardless of the fact that I’ll never get the chance to tell him I’m sorry, I can move on. If nothing else, if I never see Austin again, at least I have him to thank for that.

I turn back onto our course toward Virginia.

“Now can we go home?” Mom asks.

I focus on the road ahead. “Yeah, I’m ready.” And then I put Georgia behind me, leaving a part of me behind as well, the part of my heart Austin will always hold.

CHAPTER 41

Austin

A
n hour here, an hour there . . . this is how time passes now, ever since Sienna left three days ago. I roll out of bed, lift weights, and go for a jog, trying to find some purpose. I bury myself in work, one of the few things I’m good at. I roll back into bed at the end of the day. The clock on my wall ticks away.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
I tell myself I can hack one more day of this. One day at a time.

But I hardly sleep. Again.

Am I kidding myself?

I sit up, cursing the sunlight coming in through my window. It was all too much: Sienna and Kyle. Him calling right there on the beach when everything was going down. Knowing that they’ll be at the same college this fall. Sienna and I don’t stand a chance. Sienna’s mom had just said I wasn’t good enough for Sienna. I overheard it all. Part of me believes her while the other part wants to think otherwise.

I run my hands through my hair, which is getting too long. Throw on some clothes and head out. Fire up my motorcycle. I have to get out. Away. Or am I chasing something I’ll never catch? As time trickles past, the sound of her laugh, the smell of her hair, and the feel of her hand in mine are fading into memory.

I stepped onto River Street that night, June fifth, expecting a lame night of fireworks and a solo cone of ice cream. Thinking back, it’s hard to believe any of it happened.

Sitting on a bench, I look out at the Savannah River. Freelance artists and jewelry vendors sit in their usual spots, Max plays his saxophone by the river, and the scent of pralines hovers in the air. I’ve walked River Street a hundred times, and yet now it seems oddly unfamiliar. Static. Hopeless. A lonely stone path.

I look at the shirt in my hands. Lifting it to my nose, I close my eyes and take in a slow breath, inhaling the smell. It’s her. That light flowery scent with a hint of the ocean. It’s fading, too. The scent drags so many emotions to the surface at once: warmth, laughter—and then pain. I toss the shirt on the bench and redirect my thoughts to college, to the savings I have, the football season ahead. After so many years, these dreams are finally at my fingertips.

I got her text the morning she left, and I sat. I sat and sat and sat. Thinking. Stewing. Hesitating. Then I realized what a jerk I am. What if there is a chance? What if she really will break it off with Kyle for good? However unlikely it seems, it still could be. A chance, however small. That’s what I can’t live with, knowing I might be passing that up.

Sienna forgave my friends, strangers who pretty much caused her dad’s death. How is it that I’ve hardly entertained the thought of second chances? All my life I’ve held on to any ounce of anger I felt, especially toward my dad, using resentment to fuel my ambition. How can I not forgive Sienna?

I sped to Tybee and ran along the shoreline, searching everywhere. I went to her beach house, knocked on the door. Looked around. Knocked again.

Empty.

I was too late.

I pull out my cell and play with the idea of calling her. It’s something I’ve done a dozen times since she left. But the thought returns again: She forgave two complete strangers, and I can’t muster up one kind thought about my dad. True, she sorta played me. Hung onto Kyle. But in more ways than one, she’s better than me. I reach into my pocket and pull out the slip of paper instead. I read the address penned in Sienna’s handwriting—my dad’s address.

Doing what my gut tells me is right comes with a price. Sure, I’ll see Sienna again. I’ll drive all the way to Richmond if I have to, but there are a few things I have to do first. So, putting common sense aside, I dial a number and wait. My life, as it seems right now, is complete crap. However, with this decision I feel strangely at peace with everything.

“Hello?” Jesse’s voice answers.

I stand and start toward my motorcycle. “Jesse, this is Austin.”

“Well, I ain’t seen you in a while, but then I s’pose you seen the café. Closed ’til we can get the money from those rascals to buy some wood and fix up the balcony.”

“You’re going to file a lawsuit?”

“Sure thing. What d’ya ask for?”

“How much will the repairs cost?”

“Speculatin’ ’bout ten grand. It’ll be a doozy.”

I climb the last step and start across Bay Street. “Don’t file the lawsuit.”

“What? Them stuck-up ritzy bush kids—they gonna pay for what they done. Besides, I ain’t got ten grand sittin’ around.”

“I do,” I say, and I hop on my motorcycle, listening to dead silence on the other end of the phone.

“You sayin’ you want to pay for their reckless behavior?” Jesse cries out. “What for?”

I look at my dad’s address one last time before sliding the paper into my pocket. “Because I want to.”

It’s too late to turn back now. I gave Jesse the money, and he agreed not to file a lawsuit. Between Turbo’s stay at the vet and this, my account is almost empty.

The July air is hot, sticky. It blows in my face as I turn off the FJ Torras Causeway toward St. Simons. Oak trees line either side of the street, forming a tunnel of bushy branches. Before long, houses, old-school restaurants, and beach shops dot the green landscape. My hour and forty minute journey is nearly over.

I stop on a red at an old streetlight hanging from wires. This place is small. Quaint. Another turn, and five minutes later I pull my motorcycle up to the curb. I look at the NyQuil-green house that matches the address Sienna gave me. Weeds sprout up through cracks in the cement, and a patchwork of grass covers the yard. Homey? Trashy? I can’t decide. I’m at the doorstep before I seriously think through what I’m about to do.

I stare at the front door, suddenly nervous about what I’ll find on the other side. Will he be the nice, fun dad who remembers that he loves his only son, or will he be the stumbling, irritated druggie I saw those last months? All my life my anger gave me strength, driving me forward to work hard. Succeed. Really, why turn and face the past now? I take a backward step, deciding it’s not too late to turn around, but the front door opens before I can escape.

I stare at the screen door, unable to see past the crisscross of metal. I squint, trying to look through it. Will I even recognize him? Maybe Sienna got the wrong address. I stand for what feels like forever, trying to decide if I hope she did or not. Right as I’m about to say something, the screen opens, and I see him.

His blue eyes stand out, an image from my past I now realize I could never forget.

But I’ve changed. Nearly two feet taller. I finally grew into those adult teeth that used to look too big. Then there are the effects of puberty. My voice dropped, deepened an octave. My face is constantly scruffy with a five-o’clock shadow no matter how much I shave. Add to that all of the weight lifting I’ve done for football and I look nothing like the scrawny nine-year-old he said good-bye to that last morning.

I finally find my voice. “You probably don’t remember me . . .”

He steps forward and wraps me in a crushing hug.

“Austin!” His voice catches on my name. He smells of peppermint and shaving cream and the cologne from a blue bottle I remember sat on his dresser. It’s an awkward hug. I have no idea how to return it because I wasn’t expecting it. At all. I didn’t think through any of this. “Of course I remember you!” he exclaims.

He pulls away. I forgot what a warm smile he has. It hasn’t changed, although a lot of his features have. Prison took its toll on him, or the drugs or the alcohol, or a combination of everything. His face is drawn, bonier than I remember. Dark circles form rings around his eyes. Heavy wrinkles line his skin. His hair, once dark brown, now looks like it has more salt sprinkled in it than pepper.

“Come in!” he says without skipping a beat, as though I drop by every day.

Mechanically, I follow him into the house, still stiff with shock that I’m actually standing in front of my dad. He gives my shoulder a hard pat, still smiling, and gestures for me to take a seat. I walk to an orange rocker, the kind a hippie like Milo, Tolby, or Freedom would shave their dreads for. Dust billows up as I sit.

“I won’t stay long,” I say. “I’m sorry I—”

“Are you kidding me?” He cuts my lame apology in half, still all smiles. “I can’t believe this. You’re here! You want something to drink?”