Holden
Chapter Twenty-One
Ihear laughter as I approach the cabin and freeze in place.
Nope.
Don’t have it in me tonight. I turn on my heel to leave and nearly run right into Lester.
“Hell’s bells! Sorry, Lester. I didn’t know you were there.”
“Yeah, I figured I’d give you a chance to work out whatever it is that had you standing out here instead of going inside with your brothers.”
The old man stands with his hands in his jeans pockets, and his gaze pierces me.
“Oh... yeah. Um, it’s nothing.” I look away, knowing my face might give me away.
“Hmm. Interesting.”
That’s it. That’s all he says. My eyes dart back to search his face. Damn, he’s good. Gives nothing away.
Ugh.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s interesting?”
“Just that I know you Aron boys rarely, if ever, miss these nights together in the cabin. Doesn’t seem like nothing to me.”
He waits for an answer, and when I give him none, he continues. “Let’s go sit on the glider.”
He doesn’t even wait to see if I follow, which I do, as he walks to the glider and sits. I take a seat next to him and wait.
Lester’s one-on-ones with the men of this town are famous. Usually, they happen in the back of his hardware store, and it’s the guys in town seeking him out. But my brothers and I get treated to his spur-of-the-moment sage advice.
Lester’s like the honorary grandfather of our friends and family. Never married, slightly grumpy, and wise as hell.
“Who are you mad at tonight, son?” He stares straight ahead and doesn’t force eye contact.
Myself.
“What? I’m not mad at—”
“Oh, you are. You don’t have to tell anyone off, but if you don’t at least acknowledge it to yourself, it’ll fester. Just like with wounds, festering ain’t never good.”
I don’t say anything at first.
“I-I’m just... frustrated. That’s all.”
“You might not know this about me, Holden, but I’ve got a bit of a reputation for being a little on the crabby side.”
I chuckle. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
He leans forward, rests his forearms on his knees, and clasps his hands.
“But do you know what’s harder than being known as the town grumpy old man?”
“Uh... no, I guess I don’t. But I bet you’re gonna tell me, right?”
There’s no sarcasm in my tone. I legitimately would bet money he’s going to tell me.
“I’d reckon being known as the town’s easygoing, carefree bachelor who lets everything roll off his back is more than a mite bit harder.”
“No, I'm—”
He tosses up a hand. “See, the thing about me is, all I have to do is let everyone see a hint of humor or happiness, anything really, and people find me endearing. Charming, even. But that other guy...”
He pauses and turns his head to look at me.
“The one who makes everyone laugh and smile. The one who everyone thinks lets everything roll off his back. That guy might be prone to feeling as though he needs to be ‘on’ all the time. Can’t ever be mad or hurt. Or taken seriously. I’d imagine that gets pretty exhausting. Don’t ya think?”
He holds my gaze. It’s not a rhetorical question.
I nod, then look away and peer straight ahead to the pine trees a hundred yards or so away.
“Yeah. I’d have to say that sounds pretty accurate.”
We sit in silence for a minute or two, then I hear Henry ask Harrison and Hayden, “Where do you think Holden and Lester are?”
Lester stands.
“I’m gonna head in before they start all that annoying texting and stuff. They’ve been putting these weird cartoon-looking symbols and faces in there. I think they’re trying to irritate me.”
I chuckle. “They’re called emojis. We’ll have to sit down one day, and I’ll show you the important ones. Just know if they send you an eggplant or a peach, don’t engage.”
“Eggplant or peach. Got it. Okay, kid. Maybe I’ll see ya in there.”
He pats me on the back and walks to the door, where he stops.
“Hey, Holden?”
“Yeah?”
“That happy-go-lucky guy? I’m old, so trust me when I say that people are still gonna love him even if he lets them know when he gets upset or frustrated. Heck, they might even love him more for it.”
Then he nods at me and goes inside.
I listen through the open window as my brothers welcome him, then one of them says, “I’m gonna text Holden and see where the hell he is.”
“Leave the kid alone. He’ll get here when he gets here.”
Then he goes off on a rant about texting, which I’m almost sure is to buy me some time.
Another fifteen minutes or so pass, and I stand, walk to the door, then go inside.
I ignore my brothers’ ribbing and walk over to the bar, pour myself a glass of the high-end whiskey we all love, then stand in front of the fireplace and face them.
They’re all silent by this point, realizing something is off.
“Why didn’t any of you dickheads tell me Lizette has a son? Everyone, even Layla, knew but me.”
There’s no question I’m angry.
Harrison and Henry look at each other.
“Library Girl has a kid?” Hayden asks.
“Give me a break. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.” Maybe I’m most mad at my twin.
“Library girl? The Library Girl? No, you’re kidding, right?” Harrison says.
I ignore him, for now. I focus on Hayden.
“I didn’t, H. In case you don’t recall, I was in and out of her house as fast as you were because I had to drag your Neanderthal ass home.”
Hayden's words have an edge to them, but I know him, and he’s not really mad. We both turn our focus to Henry and Harrison.
“Hayden, you knew she was Library Girl and didn’t say anything?” Henry accuses.
“Whoa. Yes, I knew, and no, I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t mine to tell.”
“Holden, she’s really her?” Harrison asks.
“Yes! Lizette is Library Girl! But the bigger question is why neither of you mentioned her son. Even if you didn’t know she was Library Girl, clearly from the incident at her house, you all knew there was something between us.”
“How were we supposed to know that you didn’t know about Simon?” Henry asks.
I try to shoot daggers at him with my eyes.
“Seriously, Holden. Why would we even question that?”
“Simon? That’s his name?” I ask, my tone softer now.
I catch Harrison glance at Henry for a split second, then back at me.
“Yeah, Simon. He’s a cute kid. Very polite. On the quiet side, but Ladybug is working on remedying that.” He smiles as he talks about the kid, and for some reason, I appreciate that.
“Oh, and he really likes bugs, I guess.”
“Yeah, and now he’s got Layla excited about them, too. You all know how wigged out I get with insects. Now my kid wants me to help her search for a new bug in the barn so she can send pictures to Lizzie for Simon. It’s fucking traumatizing.”
I glance at Lester, and he gives off the impression that he’s not paying attention, sipping his whiskey and staring off. But I know he is listening to every word.
I walk over to the only empty chair, one between Hayden and Harrison, and drop into the seat.
Once the conversation dies down, Lester clears his throat.
“So, son, you want to catch me up on this Library Girl story your brothers over here are yapping on about?”
“Give me a few minutes to finish this. I’m gonna need to be on at least glass two to tell that story.”
An hour later, I’ve told the story of Library Girl to my brothers and Lester.
Not from the viewpoint of twenty-year-old me, who was angry and hurt, but from the perspective of a man who has spent a decade knowing what we found between those stacks and having lost it.
I’ve given them enough for them to know that she is—I mean was—important to me, and that it ended, but none of the details as to how or why. Not because I want to save face or anything like that. I don’t care if they know I was shitty.
But that story doesn’t belong to anyone else. The hurt and ugliness that happened between us isn’t what I want to focus on.
Because, whether I want to admit it or not, every time I see present-day Lizette, I see at least a flicker of the girl from the library in her eyes.