Chapter 7
Scanning my surroundings, I take in the clutter. It’s not messy, per se. But a busy family clearly lives here. A pile of shoes lay haphazardly by the front door. Mail is scattered on the console table, along with a tangle of phone chargers. Absentmindedly, I stack the envelopes into a neat pile.
Moving farther into the living room, a glaringly bright pink wingback chair sits to the side of an emerald green couch, and between them there’s a side table stacked with books.
On every wall framed photographs hang, each one displaying photos of two kids: a smiling boy with blond curls and the girl, Abby, who I saw today. Stepping closer, I study each photo.
Being terrible with age, I have no clue how old Abby is.
She could be ten or fifteen. They all look the same to me.
But with a burst of wishful thinking, I notice her dark hair and hazel eyes.
Could this kid be mine? Is that even possible?
Depending on her age, the math could work.
My eyes linger on one photo in particular.
The person behind the camera, presumably Josie, snuck a candid shot of Abby holding a flute to her lips, face twisted in deep concentration. That expression is so familiar to me.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I swipe my hand over my mouth and force that train of thought from my mind to study the rest of the photos. Her face is the spitting image of Jo, and what a beautiful girl she is.
Crossing to the other side of the room, I take in the painting that hangs above the couch. It’s a watercolor portrait of Josie’s kids. The artist captured them perfectly, almost lifelike against the canvas. My gaze drops to the bottom corner, already certain what I’ll see.
Josie Thomas. So, her last name is Thomas. One of the many unknowns from a night when I thought I had it all figured out.
“Here,” Josie says, bringing me from my thoughts. As she steps back into the room, walking to where I’m standing, Josie hands over a folded piece of paper, an offering, and I take it. With the paper clenched between my thumb and index finger, I instantly know what it is.
“Unfold it,” she commands, rocking onto the balls of her feet.
So I do.
It’s the note I left, torn from the front of my book.
At some point she folded it and now the creases are soft and worn with what appears to be years of folding and unfolding.
I scan it quickly, brows furrowed, but when my gaze lands on my number at the bottom, my stomach sinks.
Where I’d written my number is now nothing more than a smudge of ink, completely illegible.
And yet she kept it. That has to mean something, right?
“Can you explain what happened here?” I hold up the note, looking between it and Josie’s expectant eyes.
She sighs, and I lean against the arm of her couch, crossing my ankles ready to listen. Josie, on the other hand, chooses to pace back and forth in front of me, talking with her hands.
“Do you remember the next morning? The torrential downpour outside?” Her fingers trail down in front of her, mimicking rainfall.
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek at how animated she is, still so full of life. She continues her story, hands moving, like they have no choice but to punctuate her words. It’s honestly endearing.
“I was running across campus with the note in my hand. This stupid, stupid car came flying past and hit a puddle. That, right there, is the result.” She nods to the note and falls silent, the only sound is her uneven breaths.
“But I tried. Tyler, I tried to find you for months. You aren’t the only one who felt like that night was special.
” Her voice cracks and she brings a hand to her mouth.
“You have no idea.” Her eyes are glistening when she stops pacing to stand directly in front of me.
She looks at the ceiling for a beat, and when our eyes meet again the shine of tears is gone.
Seeming marginally calmer, Josie takes a seat on the couch, crisscrossing her legs in front of her, and I move from the arm to join her.
“Being graduation weekend, people were busy, but I called everyone I could think of. Nobody remembered a guy from Texas.” She lets out a sardonic laugh. “It wasn’t exactly a night where people remembered much.”
“I remember everything,” I say quietly.
She sucks in a breath and I’m struck by her beauty again. Her eyes search mine for the truth in my statement, and I don’t know what she finds, but she glances down at her hands. I track the movement and notice her hands are once again covered in tiny paint splatters.
“Once I’d contacted everyone I could think of from the party…
” She forges on, ignoring my admission. “I tried tracking you down at UT. It was a long shot, but I called the school asking for any student named Tyler. Of course they refused because of privacy.” She shrugs.
“I spent the next year searching every graduation announcement from your school. Do you know how many Tylers there were? I looked up every single one on social media, but none were you.”
I sigh, resting my head against the back of the couch, digesting her words. “Not long after our night together, Austin got signed. I helped him and finished my degree in night classes. I graduated a bit later than expected.”
She nods at my explanation. Clearly, she really tried to find me. I marinate in this information for a minute. Then I’m struck by another thought. She swore she’d lose her mind if she stayed in Singing River. But here she is.
“So why are you here in Singing River? You seemed hell-bent on getting out of this town.”
Josie opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again.
Her mouth twists to the side like she’s formulating a response.
After a second, she shrugs and raises both hands, motioning around the room.
“I guess you could say life happened. I needed to be back here. Raising kids is easier with family nearby. Luckily, the school was hiring an art teacher, and they hired me.” Josie pauses, her expression softening.
“This town’s grown on me, though. It’s special.
With age and maturity came an appreciation for what I have here. My friends got me through a lot.”
“Jo,” I say softly, pausing to blow out a long breath, “it looks like you’ve built a beautiful life for yourself and your kids.”
“Well…thank you.” She looks away, like she’s not used to compliments. “So, um”—she clears her throat—“what’s your last name? Guess that would have helped to know back then.”
“Kent. My last name is Kent.”
A full-bodied laugh erupts from Josie. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I literally called you Clark Kent and still never learned your last name.”
We chuckle at the irony of the situation.
“Jo—Josie,” I correct.
“You can call me Jo.”
Nodding, I go on. “Jo, I tried finding you, too. We were in the same boat with no last name, but I had my roommate ask around since he met more people at the party. I met exactly one person.” Our eyes catch and she doesn’t look away.
“No one was willing to fess up your last name or phone number to some stranger, and a few said what I already knew. You were in Chattanooga working on your art. But please believe me, like you, I tried. Not hearing from you, though…well, eventually I gave up.”
My phone pings from my back pocket with a text, interrupting us. I take a look and turn it over.
“Do you need to check on that?” Jo asks, glancing at my phone and back to me.
Releasing a breath, I pick up my phone and read the text.
Austin
Come to our place when you’re done. We’re all here.
Who’s we?
Austin
Just the family.
I’ll catch up with you guys later. I might be here a while.
Austin
You still at Josie’s?
Yes.
Austin
Yeah, I’m gonna need that story.
I know damn well it’s a good one.
Setting my phone on the arm of the couch, I shift to give Jo my undivided attention.
We spend the next hour filling each other in on bits and pieces of our lives over the years.
We laugh about the great lengths I’ve gone to stay out of the spotlight as Austin’s manager, including retreating to the nearest corner with a book and avoiding all social media, which is why she never found me online throughout her search.
I did everything I could to appear as uninteresting as possible, and it worked.
It worked so well, in fact, Jo was never able to find me again.
Jo tells me about her job, her friends, and her kids.
With each story about her kids, her face lights up with pride.
I bet she’s a fantastic mother to them. The one thing that doesn’t come up is the kids’ father.
Surely, if Jo wanted me to know about him, she’d mention it, so I stay quiet on that topic, even though my mind is filled with questions.
If it were up to me, I’d have plenty of time to get to know every part of Jo’s life.
“Listen,” I say, pulling out my phone. “I’d love to spend more time with you. Let me give you my number. If you need anything, call.”
Something crosses Jo’s features, a wistful expression I think.
But then it’s shuttered so quickly I think I might have imagined it.
“I won’t need anything.” Her tone shifts, flat and final.
My heart sinks at her words even as I see what she’s doing.
This stubborn woman. But I’m nothing if not patient.
“Please, Jo. Take it.”
After a second’s hesitation, she rises and walks to the front door, grabbing her phone from the table beside it and turns to face me.
“555-876-9830.”
She taps the screen, and when she’s finished she looks up.
“Can I have yours?” I ask.
“I told you, I won’t need anything,” she persists.
I inhale a slow breath and step closer to her. “Your number, Jo. Please.”
She hesitates. Then finally, she taps out a quick message and my phone buzzes.
Unknown
I won’t need anything.
It’s clear I’ll have to handle this situation delicately.
Having no idea about her life, I’m unsure why she’s so adamant she won’t need anything.
Everyone needs something, and I’d love to be the person she calls on.
This won’t be easy, but I’m not walking away from her.
Not after spending years consumed by what ifs and if onlys.
“All right. I better get going,” I say quietly. “You’ve got my number.” I hold up my phone, giving it a little shake. “I hope I can see you again.”
I turn toward the door, but before I step outside, I pause and say the words that have been on the tip of my tongue since I laid eyes on her.
“You’ve only gotten more beautiful. I don’t know how that’s even possible.
” My eyes trace the length of her before rebounding back to her face. “But you have.”
I walk to my SUV, absolutely certain of one thing. No matter how much time has passed, my heart still pounds like it knows she’s important. Jo still infiltrates every part of my being. This woman…she’s special, and this time I’m not letting her go. This time we’ll get it right.
Swiping to Austin’s contact, it only rings once before he picks up, like he was sitting waiting to hear from me.
“I need a more permanent place to stay,” I say. “I’m not leaving.”
Austin’s amused chuckles sound through the phone. I don’t know what he thinks is so damn funny.
“Think Henry would know of any rentals?”
Henry is Austin’s Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor. Austin thinks the world of him, always telling me stories about Henry’s meddling, poking his nose in other people’s business. If anyone knows of a rental, it’s probably him.
“I’ll give him a call.”
While I wait to hear back from Austin, I drive up one street and down the next. I don’t know what it is about a small town, but I’d take this place any day over city after city on the road with Austin. He’s adapted well here, and I can see myself calling this place home.
My phone rings and I tap the answer button.
“He thinks there might be an apartment available over the bar.”
I groan and close my eyes. Of course it would be over a bar with noise long into the night.
“If it is, tell him I’ll take it.”
Austin huffs a laugh through the phone. “Seriously, man?”
“Seriously.”
“Suit yourself, Ty. I’ll let Henry know.”
Looks like I’m officially the newest resident of Singing River, Alabama.