Chapter 12 Moses #3
The conversation flowed from there, each of us sharing more about our respective crafts, finding surprising parallels and complementary perspectives. By the time we finished our meal, the cafe had nearly emptied, the afternoon slipping away unnoticed.
“We should head back,” Moses said reluctantly, glancing at his watch. “Bronwyn’s expecting me at the bar by six.”
“Of course,” I agreed, settling the bill despite his protests. Outside, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the main street of Gomillion, the small town peaceful in the golden light.
As we walked back to the car, Moses paused, his expression turning thoughtful. “There’s somewhere I’d like to stop before we head back to the bar,” he said. “The high school library, if it’s open. There’s something I want to show you.”
Curious, I agreed readily. The school was quiet, most of the reunion attendees having departed yesterday. The library door was unlocked, though, and we slipped inside to find it deserted save for an elderly librarian who nodded at Moses with surprised recognition.
“Looking for anything in particular?” she asked, her voice carrying the hushed quality particular to librarians everywhere.
“The yearbooks,” Moses replied.
She pointed us toward a shelf where several yearbooks had been displayed during the reunion, then returned to her desk, leaving us to our exploration.
Moses located my graduating year quickly, pulling the heavy book from the shelf and carrying it to a nearby table. I joined him, curious about what he wanted to show me.
He flipped through the pages with practiced ease, stopping finally at the section dedicated to candid photos from various school events.
There, on a page titled “Spirit Week,” was a photo I’d never seen before, Moses and I, caught in an unguarded moment during what appeared to be the homecoming game.
We weren’t looking at the camera; instead, we were focused on each other, laughing about something now lost to time.
The caption read simply: “Junior’s Rhett Callahan and Moses Morley share a joke during halftime. ”
“I’ve never seen this,” I said softly, studying our younger selves with a mixture of nostalgia and wonder.
“Neither had I, until yesterday,” Moses admitted. “I came in here on a whim, curious about how the yearbook had handled the statue incident. Found this instead.”
The photo captured something essential about our relationship back then, the easy camaraderie, the comfortable connection that had existed before romance complicated things. We looked happy, unselfconscious, simply enjoying each other’s company.
“We look so young,” I marveled, taking in our outdated hairstyles and the fashions of all those years ago “But also...”
“Right together,” Moses completed when I trailed off. “That’s what struck me, too. Even before we were a couple, there was something there, something real.”
I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. The photo showed what we’d been before secrets and separation had come between us, two people who simply fit together, who brightened in each other’s presence.
“I thought you should see it,” Moses continued, his voice soft but steady. “A reminder that what’s between us now isn’t just nostalgia or unresolved feelings from the past. It’s built on something real, something that was there from the beginning.”
The significance of him showing me this now, after visiting the property, wasn’t lost on me. It was his way of saying he was considering it, considering us, seriously.
“Thank you for showing me,” I said, covering his hand with mine where it rested on the page. “For remembering us as we were, and for being willing to see what we might become.”
Moses turned his hand beneath mine, interlacing our fingers. “I’m still processing everything, the house, what it represents, how we make this work long-term. But I’m not running this time, Rhett. Whatever happens, I’m staying in this conversation, in this relationship.”
It wasn’t a definitive answer about the property, but it was something much more valuable, a commitment to the process, to figuring things out together rather than separately. After twenty years of distance, it was exactly what I needed to hear.
“That’s all I ask,” I assured him, squeezing his hand gently. “We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”
Moses nodded, closing the yearbook carefully.
As we left the library, heading back toward the bar where our evening would continue, I felt a sense of peace settle over me.
The property might or might not become ours, but the commitment to building a future together was already taking shape, foundations being laid with each honest conversation, each shared memory, each new understanding.
It was, I reflected as we walked hand in hand through the streets of Gomillion, a different kind of architecture, the careful construction of a relationship built to weather whatever storms might come.
And like any worthwhile building project, it would take time, patience, and vision.
But the result, I was increasingly certain, would be worth every moment of the journey.