Chapter 26 Past
I sat at the diner, waiting for Molly.
Nerves and excitement tangled beneath my skin, wrapped in a layer of blissful happiness.
The kind that only comes after a night you’ll never forget—
and a day after that still feels like a dream.
I’d have to rely on that dream to satisfy the ache of missing him already.
Paul had mentioned he wouldn’t be able to see me for the next few days—
his dad needed his help.
Probably something tied to the re-election campaign,
or just another staged photo op.
I pictured him standing there, holding those oversized red-handled scissors,
while his dad grinned beside him at yet another ribbon-cutting.
I could almost hear the eye-roll in Paul’s voice as he described it,
dripping with his usual sarcastic “joy.”
I audibly laughed at the thought of him saying it.
I must’ve looked half-crazy, because Neal walked over with his notepad in hand, grease-soaked towel over his shoulder, giving me a curious look.
He glanced around, like he expected to find someone sitting across from me—the source of the joke.
But it was just me—laughing at something no one else could understand.
“Someone finally tell you a good one, or did your northern self finally fall victim to this Alabama heat? Them hallucinations be gettin’ the best of us.”
His tone was teasing, warm—like the steam that rolls off a fresh cup of coffee.
I smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Maybe a little of both.”
Neal chuckled, flipping open his notepad.
“Well, if you’re gonna laugh like that,” he said, just loud enough for the nearby tables to hear.
“I’ll take whatever she’s having.”
He nodded toward the empty seat across from me, like there really was someone sitting there.
“Want your usual—heavy on the mayo, hold the tomato?” he added, the chuckle still in his voice.
I nodded, trying to use my best bad southern accent, “Well, Neal,” I drawled, “now why would I have it any other way?”
His laugh rolled out like thunder, full and unfiltered.
“You’s a mess, child,” he said, flipping his pad closed—without writing down a single thing.
His laughter trailed behind him as he disappeared through the kitchen doors.
I sat there, still laughing to myself—thinking about the conversation I’d just had, and how I could’ve kept it going.
But the sound of the door opening pulled me from my thoughts, cutting my inner monologue short.
I expected to see Molly—her red hair catching the light, dressed in one of her vibrant summer dresses.
But instead, someone else was walking toward me.
The playful thoughts in my head quieted instantly, replaced by a sudden, creeping curiosity...
and something else that felt a little like worry.
It was Nick Newsome.
He approached where I was sitting, forcing a somewhat awkward smile.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice low and raspy.
Caught off guard, I nodded, confusion flickering across my face. He slid into the seat across from me, resting his forearms on the table like he belonged there.
“I know you might not know who I am…” he started.
I cut him off gently. “You’re Nick. Paul’s brother.”
A hundred questions rushed through my mind, but I only needed one answered at the moment. —
“Where’s Paul? Is everything okay?”
He hesitated. Though he tried to keep his voice steady, I saw it—the way his eyes dimmed just a bit.
“Paulie got into…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Some trouble.”
He shifted in his seat.
“and it might be a few days before he can see you.”
You could tell he had rehearsed this conversation in his head, but now that it was happening, the words weren’t coming easy.
“See—him and Dad got into it,” he said carefully. “Paulie was supposed to help with something… but he wasn’t where he said he’d be.”
Concern tightened in my chest.
“Is he…” I stumbled, not even sure what I was trying to ask.
“…okay?”
Nick didn’t answer right away. Just long enough to make the silence feel loud.
Then he offered a half-hearted smile—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah, he’ll be fine. You know… bad things happen to good people sometimes.”
I stopped him, not liking the way that sounded. “But so do great things.”
His brows lifted, surprised—then softened into something like relief.
He let out a small laugh. “He told you about our mom?”
Not realizing I had even finished his sentence, I nodded. “Kinda,” I said softly, my mind flashing back to that day at the lake.
It was warm, quiet—just the sound of water lapping against the shore and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.
Paul had kicked off his shoes and sat at the edge, his feet barely touching the water, tossing rocks with that easy, thoughtless rhythm he had.
A soft breeze swept through, bringing with it the sweet scent of honeysuckle.
He paused, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.
“They remind me of my mom,” he’d said, his voice just above a whisper.
The words caught slightly in his throat.
And for a second, he looked far away.
He told me how they used to pick honeysuckles together, how she’d taught him to pull the nectar just right.
The smile that tugged at his lips was peaceful—but fragile.
Like the memory was precious and dangerous all at once.
But then the mood changed.
He started talking about the Fourth of July—the day she died.
Like it had been hovering there the whole time, just waiting for the silence to invite it in.
He spoke as if he’d forgotten I was sitting next to him.
He wasn’t telling me.
He was finally letting it out.
“The house was buzzing,” he’d said. “The Fourth of July party was just hours away. Workers and caterers started showing up before dawn. Dad was in a mood—he could put on a smile and lend a hand to anyone in town, especially if there was a camera nearby. But when it came to us…”
His voice had trailed off.
He told me he didn’t really recall seeing Nick that day—he was probably down at the diner, or off on the lake, or at the football field—his usual escapes from the pressures of being a Newsome.
Then he’d paused again, his voice quieter.
“Mom was busy making sure the house looked perfect—until I found her in Dad’s study.”
He remembered her standing at his father’s desk, jumping when he walked in, like she hadn’t expected to be caught there.
She composed herself quickly, but something was off.
Paul said he couldn’t remember exactly what they talked about, but there was one moment—one thing—that stuck with him.
When he asked if she was okay, she’d smiled that soft, familiar smile. Pulled him in close.
In a voice gentle and reassuring, she said,
“Paulie boy, no matter what happens in life, I want you to know—bad things happen to good people. But so do great things. So let’s focus on those instead.”
He told me he’d heard her say it before—plenty of times, actually.
But that day, it felt different.
More deliberate.
Like she needed him to remember it.
She kissed his cheek and held him tighter than she ever had before.
The sound of her “I love ya, kiddo” still rested on his lips, like it never really left.
His voice caught again at that part, cracking just slightly as he tried to push the memory back down—back to where it had lived quietly for years.
He took a deep breath.
The sound of someone yelling from the boat ramp cut through the stillness—
saving him from having to finish the story,
from having to relive that night all over again.
The crash of something falling in the kitchen jolted me back to the present—the sound splitting through the haze of the memory.
Nick nodded, almost like he knew exactly where my mind had gone.
“He must really like you,” he said quietly.
Then, with the kind of sudden subject change that made you think he needed a distraction more than anything, he added,
“Did he tell you I dropped out of school?”
His eyes stayed fixed on the table.
“I enlisted. I leave in about two weeks.”
I blinked—caught off guard not just by the shift in topic, but by the weight of what he’d said.
“No, he didn’t. I’d heard rumors you were joining the Navy, but… you know how small-town talk is.”
He smirked. “Yeah… better not to listen to that stuff. Lotta people lie.”
I nodded, but the air between us had shifted.
The conversation slowed—
and something unspoken settled between us.
He wasn’t just making small talk.
He was giving me a heads-up.
A warning.
I just didn’t know what for.
Not sure of what else to say, Nick was bringing our conversation to a close, “Well, I’ve got some stuff to take care of. Want me to tell Paulie anything?”
I perked up at the sound of his name.
“Yeah… will you let him know I’ll be at the Soda Shop on Thursday? Around seven?”
He was already sliding from the booth when he nodded. “Sure. I’ll make sure he knows.”
He started to walk away when a sudden thought seemed to hit him.
“Oh—yeah,” he said, patting his pocket. A more genuine, less forced grin now settled on his face.
“He would’ve killed me if I forgot to give you this.”
A playful laugh rumbled from his throat—as if to say, “I wish my little brother would try to take me on.”
He pulled out a folded piece of paper and set it on the table.
It took me a second to realize—
it was a letter.
I peeled my hands from beneath my legs; I’d been sitting on them to keep from fidgeting.
When I looked up, my face held both confusion and excitement.
I managed a quiet, “Thank you,” just as he turned to leave.
He paused, as if he wanted to say something—but didn’t.
I kept my eyes on him, the letter now crumpling slightly in my sweat-soaked hands.
Just as he opened the door to leave, he turned back and met my gaze.
No words, just a small nod, a reassuring smile. And then he was gone.
…
A strange mix of relief and curiosity clouded my thoughts.
I turned my attention back to the paper in my hands.
The ink was smudged—likely from the time spent in Nick’s pocket and the sweat now dampening my own palms.
Still, I could make out what Paul had written.
One word: Honeysuckle.
The name he now used for the girl he loved.
My heart fluttered at the memory of his voice, whispering that name in my ear—
and the other words that had come with it.