Page 4 of When I Come Back
I can’t move. I think I’m in shock from everything that’s happened. By the time I pull my gaze from my reflection staring back at me in my driver’s side window, he’s waiting at his carwith the passenger door open. There’s not a speck of the malice I was expecting on his face, his expression seems solemn. His eyes focus on mine, staring into my soul, and I’m lost in them, the same way I always am when his deep blues find me.
“Are you coming?”
Chapter Two
Carrington
As soon as the rental car door closes, Thea starts speaking. She’s nervous. She’s never been good in silence. One time, what seems like a lifetime ago now, she said she had to speak because if it were up to me we’d communicate solely with eye contact and grunts. She wasn’t wrong.
“...And then a few years later we decided to expand to the side lot that used to be there, you remember?” She doesn’t take a breath or pause for me to answer. She also hasn’t looked at me, she’s been staring out the window and fidgeting with her hands in her lap. “...installed the distillery. They took such a gamble, but it’s paying off—the town loves the changes. And Rip’s recipes have really put RED on the map.”
Rip?I vaguely remember the kid a year or two behind us in school. Quiet. She was always friendly with him. I didn’t realize he was still here. I always thought he was someone who would get out of a small town if he could. Hell, everyone should get out of here.
Thea falls silent when I put the car in park in front of Goldfinch Funeral Home. I let out a sigh, finding a tiny bit of comfort that at leastsomethingstill looks the same as I remember.
After I hung up the phone with Thea yesterday, it took me ten full minutes outside of my restaurant just breathing in and out to patch myself together enough to go in, give a quick summary of what happened to my friends, and then hurry to my apartment to pack. I was lucky enough to get the first flight out to South Carolina. I spent the two-hour drive from Myrtle Beach to Indigo Hill talking to my bar manager and best friend, Seth, figuring out how to handle everything for the next few days while I’m… here.
Seth takes everything I ask of him in stride. I met him right after arriving in Seattle, and we hit it off immediately. He reminds me a little bit of Brooks with his dry sense of humor and take-no-shit attitude. Unlike Brooks, however, the guy is as driven as they come and puts his career before almost anything else in his life. My restaurant wouldn’t be what it is without him. Hell,Imight not be here without him.
When I pulled up to where my parents’ diner used to be and saw the new two-story structure with a Ripple Effect Distillery and Restaurant sign hanging proudly above the welcoming wooden double doors, I checked that the car’s navigation led me to the right address. My parents’ old place was the typical roadside diner with vinyl booths, Formica counters, and sticky menus that hadn’t been updated since before I was born. The only appealing aspects of the diner had been the wrap-around patio and the large lot it sat on. My parents had taken over the place because they got it for a steal when the previous owners retired. They never updated it—just made as-needed repairs to keep it going.
I had begged them to let me make changes with the food, the decor, but they never wanted to hear me out. Always placating me with “maybe next summer,” citing finances as the main reason. I guess I missed them coming into money.
I was only sure I was in the right place when I saw Thea step out and lock the door, her hair catching the last of the sun’s rays. She was always the most beautiful during golden hour—glowing like the sun itself.
16 Years Ago
(15 years old)
I take a running leap off the wooden dock and cannonball into the cool water, hearing a high-pitched squeal right before my head goes under. Popping up, I push my wet hair from my eyes and look over to Thea, still on the dock wiping droplets off herself with her palms.
“You’re going to regret that, you ass!” The huge smile she gives me as she shouts the threat tells me I don’t actually have anything to worry about. Thea’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We met in kindergarten and instantly hit it off. We don’t live in the same neighborhood, and our parents were never friends, so school was the only place we got to hang out. Because the town’s so small, we ended up in all the same classes for years, allowing us to grow up together.
From diapers to Dependswe always say.
“Okay, Lem. Sure.” I swim over to the edge of the dock and pull myself out of the water. As I stand, my eyes catch on her purple manicured toes and slowly rake up her tanned legs, over her purple swimsuit—a bikini her mom finally let her wear; it’s been one-pieces up until this summer—all the way up to her golden, sun-drenched hair. I never noticed until now just how soft her hair looks in the evening sun, wavy and wild as it swings around her shoulders.
It’s the middle of August, and the sun sets late, so we often go for evening swims to unwind after a day of helping my parents at the diner—me as a busboy and Thea as hostess. We only have a few more weeks of this; school will be starting up again soon, and we’ll be sophomores.
I finally meet her eyes and see she caught me looking at her—shit, was I checking her out?My face heats, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Like what you see,Dillon?” she says in a mocking tone. She knows I’ve been trying to get the nickname to stick all year now. Everyone easily accepted when Brooks asked to be called by his middle name but have not afforded me the same courtesy. I guess being named Hugh Grant warrants a nickname more so than Cary Grant. My parents thought they were being so cute when choosing our names—they forgot we actually have to live with them and survive high school.
Her mouth quirks in a smile, making her lips look pouty.Why am I noticing all of this?This is Thea. I know she’s pretty—I do have eyes. Other guys in school have made comments; I’ve even heard Brooks’ friends say she’s gotten hot. I don’t think it hit me until this moment that she might be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
I’m standing just a foot or two in front of her, and her eyes don’t leave me. She’s expecting me to say something, maybe even do something. But my mind is blank, my stomach knotting in on itself, and I panic.
She squeals again, this time with much less cheer, as I grab her shoulders and shove her into the water.
Present
(31 Years Old)
The car door closing behind Thea brings me back to the present, and I’m left alone surrounded by silence and her scent—lemons and something floral I’ve never been able to place. The smell tries to pull me down into another memory, but before I let it, I open my own door.
We enter the funeral home and are immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of flowers—lilies, I think—along with an undertone of stale carpet. The space is warmly lit and decorated in creams and blues, meant to be calming, but my breathing picks up anyway. I didn’t really understand until this very moment, staring at a generic painting of a boat on calm water hanging opposite the door we entered through, what Thea was coming here to do. My brain can’t seem to focus or process anything with her around.
Mr. Goldfinch appears in the doorway to the right of the foyer. He’s a balding man in his sixties with kind eyes and a gentle voice. His presence soothes the tension building in my chest a fraction.
