Chapter 24
CHARLIE
There’s an access point to one of the park’s trails that runs along the river only a few hundred yards from my driveway, so I don’t bother taking my car. It would honestly probably take longer to drive, park, and squelch across the muddy field that’s between the parking lot and the trails anyway.
Unlike yesterday, today’s grey and chilly and drizzly. The trails are damp and mucky, but getting myself moving still feels good.
Off to my right, I can hear the river, even though I can’t see it yet. Like always, ugh, like pretty much everything, it makes me think of him.
One of the first things I learned about Myles when the two of us met was how much he loves the sound of the river.
Our meeting wasn’t anything extraordinary or even especially memorable. At least, it wouldn’t have been if it hadn’t been the moment I’d first fallen in love with him.
Does it sound cheesy and ridiculously dramatic to say that eleven-year-old me had fallen in love at first sight with Myles? Probably. But that doesn’t make it any less true.
To be fair, at the time, I hadn’t even realized I was falling in love.
At first, I’d honestly barely looked at the skinny boy with the head full of short, chestnutty curls who had to tuck in his long, gangly elbow to make room for me to slide into the desk next to him.
Until he’d peeked up from the notebook he was hunched over, all I’d been thinking about was how glad I was that the teacher had put name cards on the desks so that I didn’t have to awkwardly pick my own seat.
I’d just happened to be looking in his direction when he raised his head.
A girl with long blonde hair and braces had just plunked down into the desk a few feet away from me on my other side, eyeing me curiously.
New kids were enough of a novelty at my old school back in Seattle, and I could only imagine, in a school like this where the thirteen of us kids now settling into our seats made up the whole sixth grade class, how much bigger of a deal a newcomer was.
I wasn’t shy, per se, but I did not enjoy any sort of spotlight, and so I’d looked away from the too-curious girl, over at the boy beside me. Just in time for the darkest, deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen to meet mine.
It didn’t matter that the two of us were only about a foot apart, just staring into each other’s eyes. There hadn’t even been a moment where my mind had screamed at me to look away. Instead, I’d smiled.
That smile hadn’t even been a choice. I’d felt it forming somewhere deep in my chest, so light and happy and genuine that I couldn’t help letting it out.
And when he’d smiled back? This huge, wide grin as oversized as his ridiculously long arms and legs, bright and dazzling and so real, I’d known somehow that he’d felt that same warm fizzle of happiness that had sparked my smile? That was it for me.
Before I’d even known his name, Myles Marlow was imprinted on my heart for the rest of time.
Fourteen and a half years ago…
“What’s in your notebook?”
I already would have followed Myles out onto the playground, regardless of what he was headed for.
I can’t deny though that when, instead of falling in with the tumble of other boys jumping and tussling as they vied for the football one of them had pulled out of his backpack before bolting out the door, Myles had methodically gathered up that same notebook he’d been hunched over this morning, along with a pencil and eraser, before quietly slipping out the classroom door, I’d felt yet another flicker of happiness.
Back home, in Seattle, Gemma and I always found each other for recess, even the years when we weren’t in the same class.
Until that smile Myles and I exchanged this morning, I’d been dreading recess without Gemma.
The two of us had gone to the same school since kindergarten, and, even though other friends came and went from our little group, the two of us always had each other.
It made the thought of being here, in this tiny, so not like anything I’ve ever known town totally terrifying.
That smile had changed everything though.
I wasn’t just latching onto Myles because I missed my cousin.
No one could replace or even stand in for my friendship with Gemma.
And when I looked over at Myles, which I had done too many times to count this morning as the teacher went through first day routines, nothing I felt whenever he happened to be glancing back over at me felt anything like what I felt when I looked at my cousin.
I’d been fully prepared to blend into the background here. Read a book during recess. Just sort of wait and see if I clicked with anyone and not worry if I didn’t. We were only here for four years, after all.
Ohmigod, four years felt like forever. But it would be okay, I’d told myself. I’d get through.
Now, with Myles walking so quietly at my side, half a pace ahead as he leads me toward a shady spot where a huge maple tree overhangs a section of dry-looking mossy grass at the edge of the playground field, I suddenly don’t feel like I’ll just have to get through anything.
Without a word, he hands me his notebook, a hint of a flush creeping up his cheeks.
After that first, beaming smile we’d exchanged, Myles has been quiet. He’s definitely shyer even than I am, but I can tell he’s not the kind of shy that doesn’t want other people around.
Usually, when I’m with people I don’t know so well, I feel like I need to fill the space with words but can never think of anything to say.
It’s the total opposite right now. I’ve got about a million questions I want to ask the boy at my side, about a million things I want to tell him, but I don’t feel like I have to say anything.
Glancing sideways to see that he’s watching me as I flip open the cover of his notebook, I quickly look down at the first page.
It’s full of sketches of animals and plants—definitely not artist-worthy, but good.
Every picture’s carefully labeled too, written out in tight, neat letters with details about where Myles saw the things he’s drawn.
I flip to the next page to find that the whole thing’s taken up with a sketch of a rocky river, all overhung with bushes and backed up by trees that stretch out of the drawing.
“I can’t get the water right.” Myles shrugs as he holds out a hand, silently asking for his notebook back.
While I’ve been looking at it, we’ve come to the shady spot he’d been heading for, and when I pass his book to him, he sits, tucking his long legs under himself and leaning back against the trunk of the maple tree.
The ground looks dry, but I do a quick, careful scan for any bugs before gingerly lowering myself down to sit next to him. I do not lean my back against the tree. Anything could crawl down the back of my t-shirt if I did.
“I thought it looked amazing,” I offer, totally truthfully, but Myles only shakes his head.
“It looks still in my picture, even with all the lines for the rapids. They don’t show how the water moves the right way.” He’s quiet for a minute, and then, “Have you been to the river yet?”
I’d already told him how my family had just moved in two days ago. Mom and Dad had wanted to make sure I was here for the first day of school, but the timing had been tight.
“No, we’ve been busy unpacking.”
“Want to go see it after school? There’s a park, over across the street. The trails go right along it. I can show you the spot where I drew this,” he points down at his notebook, and I know he’s talking about the river sketch he’s not quite happy with.
“I’ll ask my mom when she comes to pick me up,” I tell him with a smile I simply can’t help, startled by the way my stomach drops, a giddy new feeling like riding in a fast elevator.
That grin of his is back, stretching across his face, and I’m copying him, grinning so hard, it makes my cheeks hurt.
“You’ll love it, Charlie.” His smile softens, and that strange feeling in my stomach strikes again, stronger than ever. “It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”
Just like that, like a wall’s been torn down, he’s talking. Telling me everything and anything about the river. The woods around his house. All the things he loves best.
And as he talks, I just sit, listening, totally unaware of the way my world is rearranging itself with Myles Marlow squarely at its center.
The first thing that I think when I hear the indistinct sound of that familiar voice around a bend in the path is that I’m imagining it.
The noise of the river mostly drowns out the words, and realistically, I have no way of knowing that man’s voice belongs to Myles.
I’m thinking so hard about him that I’m making things up in my head.
Next second though, with one step around the corner, and I see him, sitting on a log beside the river. And then several things register at once.
He’s not alone.
He’s here with a woman.
A stunningly beautiful woman with long blonde hair, a curvy body, and long legs. Familiar looking…
A beautiful woman who’s—
My heart sinks right to the path at my feet, then just keeps on going, down into the damp, muddy ground. Gemma was right.
Like when you can’t look away from a car crash on the side of the road, I can’t tear my eyes away from the way the two of them are holding each other. Myles has his arms wrapped tightly around the woman’s back, while she’s got hers around his neck.
Memory flashes back to me. Fifteen-year-old Myles and the dumbstruck, overly-intent look he’d get in his eyes when Rachel Beck would bound into the room, short cheerleader skirt showing off the length of her toned thighs, carrying with her the overpowering scent of raspberry body spray.
Her hair had been darker back then, her body less curvy, but now that I’ve realized who he’s here with, there’s no mistaking her.
Enough— I’ve seen enough.
I have to go—
Can’t let Myles see me—
Only my feet won’t move from where they’re rooted to the ground.
Self-recriminating tears ache behind my eyes when she tips her head back as he lowers his face to drop a kiss on her forehead.
Something hot and raw and broken starts clawing its way up my chest, into my throat, and before it can tear its way loose in the sob I know is coming, I turn and run.
Stupid. So totally stupid.
Why? Ohmigod, why did I finally give in and let myself trick my stupid, stupid heart into hoping?