Chapter 14 Moses
MOSES
The day after the dinner, Moses and I found ourselves caught in a whirlwind of activity.
As promised, Mayor Hayes and Soren’s formal statement had been released to the local media, creating a fresh buzz of conversation throughout Gomillion.
Moses’s phone had been ringing constantly, calls from journalists seeking comments, former classmates of Moses and local townsfolk offering belated support, and even a few business inquiries regarding his gin collection.
By evening, we were both desperate for a reprieve from the noise and attention. When I suggested a late-night walk to clear our heads, Moses agreed with palpable relief.
“Somewhere quiet,” he emphasized as we slipped out of his apartment above the bar. “Somewhere without cell reception, preferably.”
I laughed, understanding his fatigue after a day of constant interruptions. “I know just the place.”
The night was perfect for walking, warm enough to be comfortable in light jackets, cool enough to justify walking close together.
A nearly full moon hung overhead, casting silver-blue light across Gomillion’s quiet streets.
Most storefronts were dark; the town having settled into its nightly slumber hours ago.
“I’d forgotten how quiet small towns get at night,” Moses commented as we strolled away from Main Street, our footsteps echoing faintly on the sidewalk. “Atlanta never truly sleeps. There’s always noise, always movement.”
“Boston’s the same,” I agreed. “I keep a white noise machine in my bedroom just to drown out the constant hum of the city.”
Moses smiled, his features softened in the moonlight. “One point for the country house, natural quiet.”
My heart lifted at his casual reference to the property, further confirmation that he was seriously considering it. “One of many points,” I agreed, barely containing my excitement. “Though I’m keeping a mental list of city advantages, too. I’m nothing if not fair in my assessments.”
“The architect’s balanced perspective,” he teased, bumping his shoulder against mine as we walked.
We continued in comfortable silence for a while, leaving the residential areas behind as we followed a familiar path toward the outskirts of town. Without discussion, we’d both chosen the route that would lead us to Yellow Branch Falls, the site of so many pivotal moments in our shared history.
The trail was darker here, the tree canopy blocking much of the moonlight. I pulled out my phone, switching on the flashlight function to illuminate our path.
“Remember when we used to do this with actual flashlights?” Moses mused, carefully navigating a particularly root-laden section of trail. “Heavy metal things with batteries that always seemed to die at the worst possible moment.”
I chuckled, memories flooding back. “Like that time, we got caught in the rain, and your flashlight shorted out halfway back to the car?”
“We had to share yours,” Moses recalled, his voice warm with nostalgia. “Walking practically on top of each other to see the path.”
“I don’t recall us minding that arrangement very much,” I pointed out, drawing another laugh from him.
“No,” he agreed softly. “We didn’t mind at all.”
The sound of the falls grew stronger as we approached, the white noise of water rushing over rocks creating a cocoon of privacy around us.
When we finally emerged into the clearing, the falls were transformed in the moonlight, silver cascades tumbling over dark stones, the pool at the base reflecting fragments of stars and moon.
“It’s still beautiful,” Moses murmured, his gaze taking in the nocturnal splendor of the place. “Still feels like magic.”
I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. Something about Yellow Branch Falls had always felt sacred, set apart from ordinary reality. Perhaps it was the natural isolation, or the constant music of the water, or simply the weight of memories that had accumulated here over the years.
We found a comfortable spot on a large, flat rock at the edge of the pool, the same rock, I realized with a start, where we’d sat during our dawn conversation earlier that week.
The symmetry felt right somehow, beginning and ending our reunion week at the falls, first in the growing light of dawn, now in the depth of night.
“So much has changed in a week,” Moses observed, seemingly following the same train of thought. “When we met here last, I was still carrying that secret, still afraid of what would happen if the truth came out.”
“And now?” I prompted gently.
He considered the question, his profile thoughtful in the moonlight. “Now I’m free of that particular burden. But there are new uncertainties, new decisions to navigate.”
“The property,” I suggested, naming what I suspected was foremost on his mind.
“Among other things,” he agreed. “The property, yes. But also, what it represents, us building a future together after twenty years apart. How we balance our separate lives, careers, homes. Whether it’s even possible.”
The practical concerns were valid, but hearing them spoken aloud sent a flutter of anxiety through me. Had he changed his mind since yesterday? Was he having second thoughts?
Moses must have sensed my tension, because he reached for my hand, his touch reassuring. “I’m not backing away from what I said,” he clarified. “I do want to explore the possibility. I’m just... processing aloud, I guess. Trying to wrap my head around how we make this work logistically.”
Relief washed through me. “That’s fair,” I acknowledged. “It would be complicated, at least initially.”
“My bar is in Atlanta,” he continued, thinking through the practicalities. “Your firm is in Boston. We’ve both built lives, established routines. Uprooting everything overnight isn’t realistic.”
“Agreed,” I said, appreciating his thoughtful approach. “Which is why the property could be a transition, a middle ground while we figure out the longer-term plan.”
Moses nodded slowly. “A halfway point. Both geographically and metaphorically.”
“Exactly,” I confirmed, pleased that he understood my vision so precisely. “Neither of us has to give up everything immediately. We can ease into this, find our rhythm, decide together what makes the most sense for our future.”
The word “future” hung between us, weighted with possibility. A frog croaked somewhere nearby, the sound echoing across the pool’s surface. In the distance, crickets maintained their rhythmic chorus, the soundtrack to our midnight conversation.
“Can I ask you something?” Moses said after a comfortable silence.
“Anything.”
He turned slightly to face me better, his expression serious in the moonlight. “Why me? After twenty years, after building this successful life in Boston, after, I assume, other relationships, other possibilities. Why come back to this, to us?”
The question caught me off guard, not because I didn’t have an answer, but because the answer seemed so self-evident to me. Yet I understood his need to hear it articulated, to know that this wasn’t just nostalgia or unresolved feelings from our youth.
“Because no one else has ever been you,” I said simply.
“I’ve had relationships, yes. Some lasting months, a few lasting years.
Good people, compatible lives. But there was always something missing, a connection that I couldn’t quite explain or define, but that I felt with you from the first moment we met. ”
Moses listened intently, his eyes never leaving mine as I continued.
“When I saw the reunion invitation, my first impulse was to ignore it, as I had with previous reunions. But something stopped me this time, curiosity, maybe, or some instinct that it was time to face the past. And when I saw you again at the bar that first day, it wasn’t just nostalgia I felt.
It was recognition of the person who has always understood me most completely, who challenges me, inspires me, makes me laugh even when I’m determined to stay annoyed. ”
A small smile played at the corners of Moses’s mouth, encouraging me to continue.
“So why you? Because despite twenty years, despite distance and misunderstandings and separate lives, you’re still the person I want to talk to at the end of the day. The person whose opinion matters most to me. The person who makes me feel most fully myself.”
I hadn’t planned such an earnest declaration, but once started, the words flowed naturally, honest and unfiltered. Moses was quiet for a long moment after I finished, his expression thoughtful as he processed my answer.
“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice soft but steady. “For being so open. For saying what I think I needed to hear.”
“Your turn,” I prompted gently. “Same question.”
Moses took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.
“For me, it’s both simpler and more complicated.
Simpler because, if I’m completely honest with myself, there’s never been anyone who affected me the way you do.
No one else has ever quite measured up to the memory of what we had, brief though it was. ”
He paused, selecting his next words carefully.
“More complicated because I spent so many years actively avoiding those feelings, convincing myself that what we had was just teenage intensity, not something that could have lasted in the real world. Creating this narrative that helped me justify my choice to stay away, to not reach out even after Soren was gone.”
The admission was clearly difficult for him, a recognition of his own role in our long separation. I squeezed his hand gently, encouraging him to continue.
“But seeing you again this week, reconnecting, it’s like a part of me that had been dormant for twenty years suddenly woke up.
And I realized that all those reasons I’d given myself for staying away were really just fear dressed up as practicality.
Fear of rejection, fear of vulnerability, fear of what it would mean to try again and potentially fail. ”