Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Autumn
My phone rings, breaking my trance as I watch Ezra drive away on Dessie’s four-wheeler. He can’t work without shoes. And he can’t wear Don’s boots.
I breathe out, somehow still smelling the musky man scent that clings to him like TP on the bottom of a high-heeled shoe. He's grown up in so many ways. I thought we were grown back then. But I was wrong. Ezra Bennett left this little town and became a man.
My heart aches. How could it not? It was racing a mile a minute with his closeness, with his questions, with his kindness. I had to push him away from me or he’d have heard it.
I have to remind myself again and again that Ezra and I can’t be friends. He took way too long for me to get over. I’d never make it out whole a second time.
My phone rings again.
Meg .
She’s got one day left and then she’s off. Ugh. What am I going to do without her?
“Hey,” I say, forcing a joyful tone to my voice and masking any discomfort I may be feeling. Meg does not need to worry about me.
“Hey, are we going to a football game tonight? Because I went by to give your mom my leftovers and she told me to have fun at the high school football game tonight.”
“Yes. We are. You have to—because I want to and you’re abandoning me. Remember? You said whatever I want.”
“And you want football?”
“I do.” I love going to the high school games and obnoxiously cheering on the Prairie Dogs with everyone else in town.
“Okay. Football it is. So,” Meg says, convinced, “how’s Ezra?”
“How would I know?” Except that I kind of do… I just watched the man fall to the ground, hobble to his feet and ride away on Dessie’s four-wheeler, shoeless. “I’m sure he’s fine,” I say. And I’m sure he is. The shoes are off. Surely he isn’t still cramping up. He should have known better.
“You’ve given me zero details the past two days and I leave tomorrow.”
“I have nothing to tell.”
“Lies!” Meg barks.
“Not a lie.” And it’s not. “Until today, I have hardly seen him.”
Meg’s quiet for only a minute. “And today?”
“Today… he fell on the ground like a pouty little child and rolled around in pain.” My survival mode is kicking in—and it’s coming out grouchy. But I’m just trying to survive Ezra’s visit. Because he will be returning to New York, far away from Mav. And when he goes, I’m hoping to still be intact.
“Right.” She scoffs. “You really have nothing to tell?”
“Apparently nothing that you want to hear. Because that’s what happened.” But my mind flits back to him asking about Dad and contemplating a visit with Mav. Why would he do that? He’s been free of him for so long, why bring that toxicity back into his life ?
I blink back to the present. “I’ll pick you up at six. Dress warm and don’t make us late, missy!”
“Do you know how long that line was?” Billie Lee says, sitting on the row in front of us. “I had to stand in line for thirty-two minutes just to get a Diet Coke.”
“What about a root beer?” her husband asks.
Meg attempts to hold back a grin and glances at me. I widen my eyes at Paul’s question and smother a laugh.
“I’m pretty sure a root beer would have taken just as long, Paul.” Billie huffs. “Thirty-two minutes. I missed kickoff and the Dog’s game day cheer and—”
I shake my head at Billie’s rant and loop my arm through Meg’s. A cold breeze makes its way through the crowd, making me wish I’d brought a thicker jacket.
“I am not gonna miss the wind,” Meg says, a quiver in her bottom lip.
Fall days in Love are nice, but the nights are cool—very cool. And that’s when the wind doesn’t pick up and make you freeze your tail off.
“Rub it in. Geez,” I tease and bump her with my side. “You’ll be lounging on a beach while I’m digging holes in the cold.”
“I mean, you could come with me. Kal’s mom has a spare room.”
I rest my head on her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t a Christmas tree farm on the island of Lāna ‘ i . What would I do all day?”
“I’m guessing you could figure it out.”
We both know I can’t go but sometimes pretending there’s a chance that I can—even for a visit—eases both our longing.
Meg rests her head on mine just as our Prairie Dog running back finds a hole in the defense and takes off.
We both sit up and as Jacob King runs, I stand with half the crowd. I hold tight to the straw cowboy hat on top of my head and howl with the rest of the town in the stands. Well, everyone other than Meg, of course.
“Where’d you get that hat, Autumn?” asks Mrs. Gard, just behind me.
“Yes, tell. Where did you get that hat?” Meg says. She smiles and flutters her lashes at me. She’s already made fun of my hat once tonight.
“This old thing?” I say, turning to face the older woman—she’ll appreciate it. “It was Summer’s the year the Dogs went to state. The entire cheer team had them. See?” I point to the prairie dog bedazzled to the front of my straw hat.
“The good ol’ days,” she says. “I’d like to get myself one of those.”
Meg snorts next to me. “Me too,” she tells Mrs. Gard.
“Too bad,” I say, giving Meg a little eye roll. “They don’t make them anymore. It’s like a lost fad.”
“Long gone,” Meg says, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Excuse me,” says a voice to my right, just past Meg. I don’t even have to look. I can smell Ezra Bennett long before I see him. Part minty fresh, part musky man.
In fact, I don’t look at him. Why should I? He settles in next to my best friend, but I keep my eyes on Mrs. Gard and then carefully switch to Meg and nowhere near that baseball cap and beard settling in next to my friend.
“Hey,” he says to Meg, his tone friendly.
“Oh, hi.” Meg peers at me in a flash, then back to he-who-must-not-be-named —I’m still not looking. I definitely don’t see him smile at her.
“Ezra Bennett,” Mrs. Gard says with a sickly sweet swoon in her tone.
Why so sweet, Mrs. Gard? Why? He’s not that cute. And you’re married. Going on fifty years, last week’s paper said .
“Autumn and I were just talking about you,” she tells him.
And just like that, my silent promise to not look at Ezra once tonight is broken. My eyes flash to his and I blink—as if there might be glass in my eye and incessant blinking is the only way to get it out. I swallow. “Uhhh— no . No, we were not.” I cup my mouth so that Mrs. Gard is blocked from its view.
I look at Meg, but mouth for Ezra’s sake: Pathological liar. I make a face as if to say— isn’t that sad?
“Sure we were. The good ol’ days,” she says, repeating her sentiment from earlier.
“Right. My hat . We were talking about my hat and Summer and the cheer team and not Ezra at all!” My words seem to speed up with each syllable. “Not. At. All.”
“I don’t mind if you want to talk about me, Green. You don’t have to be shy. I get it.”
“I’m not shy!” I say, leaning a little over Meg. “You know I’m not shy. And you do not get it . I wasn’t talking about you. At. All!”
“So defensive,” he says, one of his thick brows quirks up on his head.
Meg clears her throat—her eyes dart from me to Ezra and back. “Ah, she wasn’t, actually.”
“HA!” I bellow, pointing a finger at Ezra and calling on the attention of every single person surrounding us.
“Hey, it’s Ezra Bennett,” says Paul in front of us.
A few more heads turn. A woman two bleachers down says, “Ezra and Autumn are here.” The people around her murmur in quiet tones like she just sighted Big Foot on the field and she’s responsible for the breaking news.
For the record—I’m always here. I come to every game and Miss Big-Hair in the front has never ever noticed. She's noticing now. Now that Ezra is on the other side of Meg. Nice.
“We aren’t here,” I say, eyes on big hair Barb in the front. “I mean, we’re here, but we aren’t here together .” I shake my head and wave, but Barb isn’t looking at me anymore. “We aren’t— ”
“I don’t think they care, Green.” Ezra whistles, two fingers in his mouth. I loved that obnoxiously loud whistle ten years ago. Today, I am not a fan.
“Then why are they talking about us?” I grit my teeth.
“Because that’s what small towns do. They talk. You know that, you never left.”
I swallow and glare at Meg—it had to have been her or Dessie who talked. But Dessie isn’t here to glare at. Still, somebody told him I never left Love and it wasn’t me.
She moves her head back a little, giving Ezra a better view of me, and keeps both her blue eyes on the game—the one she isn’t interested in at all.
Guilty!
“Nice hat,” Ezra says.
I point at the straw thing on my head. “That’s all we were talking about! My hat. Not you.”
“Where you been all these years?” Paul says, turning back around.
“New York.” Ezra gives all his attention to Paul—or so it seems. He’s looking at me, I know he is. That man is staring at me through his peripheral vision, making sure I’m listening to every word he’s saying.
Paul lets a low whistle fall from his pressed lips. “Big city, huh?”
“Yep. Big city. That’s the way I like it.”
I huff, facing forward, but I can’t suddenly go deaf.
“You got a big fancy job?” Paul asks.
“I’m working for myself right now. I like it that way,” he says. Is that for my benefit? He wants me to know how great his life is?
“That hat looks like it came from the gen-u-ine Yankees stadium.” Paul nods up at Ezra’s ball cap.
“ Genuine ?” I blurt. “It could have come from Amazon for all you know, Paul. ”
“And yet, Paul is right. Yankee stadium.” Ezra tips his hat at his new BFF.
Paul chuckles. “Whoa. Nice.”
“It’s a hat!” I yank mine from my head and shove it in Paul’s view. “See mine! Gen-u-ine Love High School. How’s that for ya, Paul?”
Paul wrinkles his nose and waves one hand, putting space between himself and my hat. I shove the thing back on my head, feeling the decade-old hay crack with my strength.
“Settle down, grumpy Gus,” Meg whispers as if I’m a five-year-old. “What’s gotten into you?”
“That’s not impressive, Autumn. My Billie’s got one just like it at home.” Paul sniffs, his eyes bouncing apathetically to my bedazzled cowboy hat.
Billie, next to Paul, turns around. “That thing is from school—but I’d never put it back on again.” She wrinkles her nose, telling me how unimpressed she is with my wardrobe choice tonight.
“So, maybe not one of a kind,” Meg whispers. “Billie’s got one too.”
I shush her before she can say anymore.
“Can I see the back?” Paul asks Ezra—over his stupid Yankee baseball cap.
Ezra pulls it off his head, his hair mussed beneath. He holds it out to Paul, then runs a hand over the short beard on his chin.
Paul looks at the back and oohs over whatever it is he sees there. I’m guessing Ezra’s sweat line isn’t all that awe-inspiring.
“You want it?” Ezra says. “I can always get another.”
“Really?” Paul looks like he’s seven instead of the thirty-year-old who was three grades ahead of us in high school.
“For heaven’s sake! It’s a baseball cap! Half the men here have one on.” I fling my hand, pointing to the crowd. “Not all that impressive , Paul!”
But what’s really unimpressive is how my hand flings right into Billie’s hand, the one holding her Diet Coke—the drink she stood in line for thirty-two minutes to get. She missed kickoff and the Dogs song and— That dumb Diet Coke goes flying, the lid spinning off like a loose frisbee in the wind. And because Billie’s fingers are all butter, the cup tips and wobbles until every last drop of its contents is evicted—right into Paul’s new hat.