11. Wonderwall
ELEVEN
WONDERWALL
? Wonderwall - Oasis
NOAH
Shortcake: Willow Tree Festival for date #2 this weekend?
Me: Correction. This would be #4
Shortcake: I know counting is hard, but even my preschoolers can do it.
Me: 1.Movie 2. Meeting 3. Dinner
Shortcake: We went over this. The movie doesn’t count, and the dinner was just an extension of the meeting.
Me: Let’s break up.
Shortcake: Pick me up at 3 and bring Auggie. We can make it look like a family thing.
“Get your shoes on, Auggie. It’s time to go.”
He rushes into the entryway and flops onto the floor beside the welcome mat where our shoes are lined up. As I’m grabbing my leather jacket off the hook, my phone rings, and Bramble County Jail appears on the caller ID.
My fist tightens around the phone as I accept the call, every one of my nerve endings on high alert. “Hello.”
“This is a free call from Jonah Weston, an inmate at the Bramble County Jail. This call is subject to recording and monitoring. Press one to accept this call.”
The line clicks over and a voice I haven’t heard in years greets me. “Hey, Noah.”
“Jonah.” A million questions swirl in my mind.
Did he do it? Is he ok? Why did he send Auggie to live with me? There’s a much louder voice in my head telling me I shouldn’t care anymore—that he made his bed.
“How’s Auggie?” His voice breaks, but he clears it. “How’s my son?”
I swallow around the sudden tightness gripping my throat. “He uh… he’s good. Misses you. And Andrea.”
“Yeah. I miss them both. Can I… can I talk to him?”
I glance down at the little boy near my feet, carefully putting on his Velcro dinosaur shoes with his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Please. Just for a minute. I don’t have long.”
I weigh the pros and cons, but in the end there’s only one truth that matters. Auggie would want to talk to him.
“Yeah. Ok.” I crouch beside Auggie, hoping like hell this doesn’t set back the progress we’ve made.
Despite the sudden move from Starling Falls to Willow Valley, Auggie is doing better. He was able to retain his Deaf mentor through the state-sponsored program, and we still meet up for our weekly hour-long visits. It’s been an eye-opening experience.
Being able to maintain some of Auggie’s old routine has helped with his transition. Candice, Auggie’s mentor, has been incredibly supportive and recommended a great online program for me to learn ASL at home, emphasizing the importance of learning ASL from a Deaf person.
It’s getting easier to communicate when he’s not wearing his ears. Bath time is still a nightmare, but that has more to do with Auggie’s dislike for having his hair washed.
“Hey, buddy. Your dad’s calling.”
His face lights up, and he stands, reaching for the phone. I put it on speaker and hold it between us.
Auggie doesn’t miss a beat. “Hi, Daddy! I miss you!”
“Hey, buddy. I miss you too. Is Uncle Noah taking good care of you?”
I resist the urge to jump to my defense.
“Uh huh. When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know, Auggie. Hopefully soon. How’s school? Do you like your new teacher?”
“Miss Clio is the bestest! She knows how to sign, and I made so many friends, and I get to play with sand and dinosaurs and color.”
Jonah chuckles. “That’s great, bud. I’m glad you’re having fun. You be good for Uncle Noah, ok? And you can’t eat chicken nuggets for every meal.”
“Fine,” Auggie whines.
“I love you, buddy. I have to go now.”
“Ok.” Auggie’s bottom lip quivers and he sniffles. “Love you, daddy.”
“To the moon and back. Put your Uncle Noah back on the phone now.”
I take the phone off speaker and hold it up to my ear. “Hey.”
“Thanks, Noah. For taking care of him when I couldn’t. I owe you my life.”
“Family takes care of one another. I’d do anything for that kid.”
The line goes quiet for a few beats. “I know you didn’t ask, and you probably don’t give a shit, but I didn’t do it. I didn’t help her. If I’d known, I never would’ve let her go.”
A robotic voice comes over the line. “This call will disconnect in sixty seconds.”
“I have to go. Can I call again sometime? Maybe once a week to see how Auggie’s doing?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Thanks. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
The line goes dead, and everything stills. For a few moments, I don’t move, convinced I imagined the whole thing.
A sharp rap on the door snaps me out of my daze. I pull it open to find Clio standing on the other side, her bright smile no longer an annoyance but a balm, somehow. When did that happen?
“Hey! Ready to go? Lexi’s meeting us there.”
I grab the keys off the hook and take Auggie’s hand, wishing I could muster a fraction of their enthusiasm. A cool breeze dances across my face as we step outside. A crowd is already converging in the town square, drifting between booths and elaborate displays.
Colorful banners hang between the lampposts overhead, with kiosks lining either side of the blocked-off streets.
Everything from funnel cakes and cotton candy to ceramic artisans and jewelry designers is set up along the thoroughfare.
There’s even face painting, a petting zoo, and plenty of games for the kids.
Willow Valley has its strange quirks, but this is one of the more tolerable ones.
We catch up to Lexi near the cotton candy kiosk, a cloud of blue fluff sitting atop a paper cone in her hand.
Clio pinches it between her fingers, stealing a bite. As her lips wrap around them, something tugs in my chest.
“I want some!” Auggie says, making grabby hands at the cotton candy.
Smiling, Lexi lowers it, letting him steal a large piece for himself. He shoves it into his mouth, coating his lips and tongue with blue sugar. His eyes go wide, and he hums around the bite. “Yummy in my tummy!”
Clio laughs. “Where should we go first?”
People have been watching us around the town square all afternoon like we’re animals in a zoo. Everybody whispers as we pass by. Clio doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, but I can’t stand the attention.
Auggie lets go of Lexi’s hand and darts off toward the row of bouncy houses. “Wait up, little dude.” She takes off after him, catching up in a few short strides.
Clio threads her fingers through mine. She smiles, her eyes closed, tilting her head to the sky, and in that moment I’m positive even the sun must be jealous of her radiance.
“This is incredible,” she says softly.
The awestruck wonder on her face holds me captive, and I can’t seem to catch a full breath.
I catalog every detail, down to the highlights on her skin to the slight glow of her hair as the sunlight kisses the strands. I want to sketch her just like this.
After a few heartbeats, I blink myself out of the trance. “You didn’t see it last year?”
“I wish, but I was staying with Callie in Oak Ridge that weekend.” She weaves us through a set of picnic tables, pausing on the other side.
“Who’s that?” She points to the parking lot behind the Grove where a slow-moving line has formed around a white tent.
Inside is a long table, and behind it is a man signing hockey pucks and photographs.
“Graham Sinclair. Head coach for the Lexington Stallions hockey team.”
“Sinclair. Is he related to Teddy?”
“His dad, and he never lets anyone forget it. If you look up nepo baby in the dictionary, you’ll find Teddy fucking Sinclair’s picture.”
“Isn’t he dating your sister? Why do you hate him so much?”
“I don’t hate him. I just don’t get what she sees in him.”
“Spoken like a true big brother.”
A gasp escapes her, and she rushes forward, dragging me along.
A few feet away from where we started, she lets go of my hand, bending to pick something off the pavement.
Her lips purse as she blows the dirt off an old copper penny.
Closing her fist around the coin, she holds it to her chest, her eyes pinched shut as she tilts her head to the sky.
She tucks it into her pocket and takes my hand once more. There’s a subtle but potent shift in the mood, and neither of us speaks for a while.
We meander past the gazebo where a local band is playing the opening chords of “Wonderwall” by Oasis.
“Wait. I love this song!” She drags me to the edge of the crowd, stopping to wrap her arms around my neck. “Dance with me, Weston.”
I slide my hands around her waist, ignoring how goddamn good it feels to have her in my arms again. She pulls me closer, resting her temple against my chin.
I breathe her in, letting her scent wash over me like it might erase the last hour of my life and the memory of Jonah’s phone call. The pain is still there, lingering in the periphery the way it always does.
“You’re quiet,” she says. “Not a single sarcastic remark all afternoon.”
Do I tell her? How much does she know about my situation?
I feel like I’m walking a tightrope without a net—one wrong move and I’ll fall to my death.
But there’s a small part of me that wants to confide in someone in hopes that it might fix some broken thing inside of me.
If anyone could fix me, it might just be Clio.
I inhale a fortifying breath and blow it out. “Auggie’s dad called.”
Her fingers travel into the hair at the nape of my neck, causing me to shiver beneath her touch. Her discerning gaze pierces through me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Disappointment flashes across her face, but she schools herself and gives me a jerky nod.
“It’s not you. I just…”
“You’re not ready. I get it.”
Her fingers toy with my hair while the other hand slides lower, resting over my heart. Can she feel how hard it’s beating?
“For what it’s worth, when you are ready to talk about it, I’m a really good listener. I can be a good friend, too.”
Our eyes meet for a long moment, and neither of us rushes to fill the silence. Our noses brush as I draw her closer, her soft body pressing into mine, her lips a hair’s breadth away from full collision. I don’t know what compels me to say it; I only know it in my bones to be true.
“I don’t want to be your friend, Clio,” I whisper.
The song comes to an end, and the crowd around us cheers, interrupting what might’ve been a monumental mistake, or some sort of peaceful oblivion.
She pulls away, and I’m left wishing it could go on just a while longer.
What is wrong with me? This is Clio we’re talking about—the woman who’s done nothing but drive me crazy from the moment I handed her the keys to the apartment across the hall.
She begged me to paint the walls pink and plays her music way too loud.
We’re incompatible at best. So, why do I want to find out what she tastes like?
And why can’t I bring myself to walk away?