Chapter 50 Present
Early morning hours were when I liked to travel most. The air was cooler and there wouldn’t be much traffic.
Mom had tears in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around me. She didn’t want to let me go, but I think she knew that I was going to be okay.
Dad loaded the bags into my car, then pulled me into a hug.
“I love you, kid. Don’t be a stranger.”
I hugged him back, tighter than I had before. I couldn’t help but think that trip healed more than I ever thought it could.
The sky was gray; a light breeze blew, and the scent of the sweetest smell wrapped around me. I set my bag inside the car and walked over to the honeysuckle bush.
I plucked a handful, gently pulled the stem, and sipped the sweet nectar from the end.
The taste reminded me of him.
Of his lips.
Of that summer.
I closed my eyes and let out a breath, one that I felt I’d been holding onto for years.
He’s here.
He’s every honeysuckle bloom.
He’s the roll of thunder on a July afternoon.
He’s the wind in every storm.
I got in the car and backed it down the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires.
I turned onto Sweetbriar Road, past the strawberry fields and Neal’s Diner, and drove on through town.
Before crossing the bridge, something in me made me feel like I still had some unfinished business to take care of.
I pulled off to the shoulder without a second thought and got out. I walked over to the guardrail and gripped it with both hands. The lake was still thick with fog—I could see the storm in the distance; it was going to be a good one.
I pulled out the black book, knowing that I could destroy the town of Shay.
The fate of the town literally rested in my hands.
Shay had taken so much from me, but I no longer needed anything from it.
I had more than I needed now. I spoke for all the voiceless people buried by those who silenced them. It was time to let it all go.
Freeing myself from the town’s grip, I tossed the book and waited to hear it hit the water below. Before I could turn to head back, I stared out at the lake. I used to think that the day Paul died, I lost everything.
And for a long time, I carried that weight—like if I let it go, it would mean I’d stopped loving him…That what we had was buried with him, tucked away in some forgotten corner of Shay, Alabama, where secrets go to rot.
But lately, I keep hearing his voice. Or maybe it’s his mother’s.
Or maybe it’s mine, finally learning how to listen.
Love that deep—real love—doesn’t disappear. It leaves echoes.
The kind that lives in laughter. In eyes that match yours. In stubborn streaks and quiet hearts.
I thought what we had was gone the moment they lowered Paul’s casket into the ground…buried forever with him.
But it wasn’t… We created something bigger than the both of us. Something more permanent than promises. Stronger than memories.
I breathed in the air once more, letting it fill my lungs. From the corner of my eye, I could feel him looking at me.
Sixteen years ago, I thought I’d lost it all.
I thought I had lost a love that I could never replace…
But the truth is love doesn’t vanish… sometimes; it shows up where you least expect it…
like in the face of a sixteen-year-old boy, who is probably questioning whether his mom is really crazy, and looking far too much like the boy who first made you believe in forever.
With his curly brown hair blowing in the breeze, his bright blue eyes fixed on me, and that crooked grin just like his dad’s painted on his face.
Paul Nicholas asked,
“You okay?” concern and curiosity filling his expression.
I studied his face for a long moment.
“Yeah,” I said, a smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. “I think it’s time I told you about the summer that changed my life.”
Epilogue: Nothing Left to Shay
A few years had passed since I’d last crossed that bridge. This place used to have the power to pull at me, twist me up inside. But this time... I felt completely at peace.
After Dad passed, Mom had finally sold the house and moved back up to Maryland. I’d promised to come down and help finish the last of the packing — clean out the attic, meet the realtor. A goodbye I was ready to make.
We’d been at it all morning — dusty boxes and old memories. By the time we locked up, the sun was high, and my stomach was rumbling like thunder on those old summer nights. “Well,” I said, brushing the hair from my face. “What do you think? One last lunch at Neal’s?”
Paul Nicholas grinned from the passenger seat — twenty now, still carrying that easy way about him. He’d grown into himself these last few years — taller, stronger, curls still stubborn. The boy who’d once watched me from the corner of his eye had become a man in his own way.
“Sure,” he said. “I’m starving.”
We found a booth in the corner — quieter now than it used to be. The lunch crowd had thinned, or maybe just grown older.
Over a burger and a bottle of pop — yes, old habits die hard — we fell into easy talk. About the old house, about Maryland,
about that long summer I’d come back to Shay to write an article that had changed more than I ever intended.
Paul Nicholas leaned back, arms crossed. “I still remember coming down here to fish with Grandpa while you were running around doing interviews,” he said, half-grinning. “He told me more stories than I probably needed to know.”
With a soft smile, I said, “I’m glad he opened up to you. He wasn’t much of a talker. But you were good for him.”
We sat in a comfortable quiet for a moment, the hum of the diner washing over us.
Then he glanced toward the far wall — the one near the register, with the old photos and clippings.
“That ‘The Wall’ ?” he asked.
I nodded. “You should go take a look.”
With just a bit of hesitation, he slid out of the booth, leaving me with my thoughts. I watched as he stood in front of it for a long moment — reading, tracing a few of the old names with his eyes.
By the time he came back, there was a softness in his expression I hadn’t seen before. But whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself — for now.
As we slid out of the booth to leave, the door swung open — and there was Molly, same quick smile, same red curls.
A little older, sure — but still the same girl I once called my best friend.
She spotted us right away. “Bri,” she said, stepping forward, pulling me into a warm and familiar hug. “I heard y’all were in town. I’m sorry to hear about your dad.”
We talked for a few minutes, exchanging small words.
Paul Nicholas stood quietly beside me.
I turned slightly. “Molly, this is my son — Paul Nicholas.”
For just a second, I caught the flicker of surprise in her eyes — but only for a second.
Molly offered her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said, giving him a quick once-over. “Your eyes remind me of someone I once knew.”
She glanced my way, a knowing smile tugging at her mouth.
We said our goodbyes, and I left knowing that maybe that summer hadn’t changed everything after all.