The Truth of Letting Go Read online

  Cece lifts her shoulders. “I am kind of a stalker.”

  “Guys.”

  Ezra’s voice is deeper than usual. I crane to look up at him since I’m still sitting on the curb and he’s standing. His jaw tightens and he puts his hand up to his forehead to block the sunlight. “Is that…what I think it is?”

  In the far corner of the parking lot, around where building six is, there’s something red parked between an SUV and a white box van. Cece scrambles to her feet, her backpack still on the ground beside her, and runs.

  “Shit,” Ezra says, taking off after her. I drop the acorn and grab both of our backpacks and slug along behind them, my heart pounding from the heat and exhaustion and the fact that we’re all barreling toward a red Jeep Wrangler.

  Cece gets there first, her finger sliding across the grill as she makes her way over to the driver’s side, the tell-tale side that will answer our biggest question.

  “Well?” I say, nearly out of breath as I jog up to her, our backpacks weighing me down.

  “This is it.” Cece turns around. “He must have come in the back entrance by those dumpsters.”

  Ezra walks over to the driver’s side and peers in the window. “Nothing in here,” he says, moving to the rear window. “It’s clean.”

  “Thank you,” Cece says. I look at her, but she’s looking at the sky. Her features are serene, and the slightest smile touches her lips. “Do you see that?” she says louder, pointing to the little blue sticker on the corner of the Jeep’s window. It’s a Piney Woods parking permit, number 601.

  She turns around and peers at building six which is directly across from where the Jeep is parked. “He’s in apartment 601,” she breathes.

  “Looks like it,” Ezra says. He takes Cece’s backpack from my arm and throws it over his shoulder. “Are you ready to find out who lives there?”

  “No need for dramatics,” Cece says. She tosses her braid over her shoulder and walks right up to apartment 601. Her knuckles rap across the door. I hold my breath, willing my heart to stay safely behind my ribcage, no matter how badly it wants to fly out.

  A woman answers. She’s young, maybe in her twenties, with light brown skin and a cropped hairstyle that’s pulled back with a pink headband. She’s pretty. She’s looking at us quizzically.

  She is not Thomas.

  “Hi?” she says.

  Cece takes a step back. “Does Thomas Novak live here?”

  The woman’s brows pull together. “No…”

  “So it’s just you here?” Cece says. “Is that your Jeep?”

  “Who are you?” the woman asks.

  “We’re not trying to sell you anything,” Ezra says, flashing her a kind smile. “We think our friend might own that Jeep.”

  “My brother,” Cece interjects. “We think that’s my brother’s Jeep. Where is he?”

  The woman moves back a little, using the door to shield her from the weirdos on the other side. “I’m sorry, I think you’re mistaken. That’s my boyfriend’s car and he doesn’t have a sister.”

  “But it belongs to a guy?” Cece says, undeterred by how the woman is so clearly creeped out. Instincts tell me to get the hell out of here and stop berating the poor woman, but we’ve come this far. I kind of want to know.

  “What’s his name?” I ask. “Your boyfriend.”

  “Blake.”

  “Blake Wheatley?” Cece says.

  The woman shakes her head. “Blake Ashton, and he doesn’t have a sister, I promise. Sorry I can’t help you,” she says, trying to close the door.

  Cece stops it with her palm. “How old is he?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “When’s his birthday?”

  “Seriously?” the woman says. “Why do you care so much?”

  Cece lowers her hand, her head drooping. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I am. If you could just humor me, please?”

  She sighs. “His birthday is September twelfth.”

  “Okay,” Cece says. “Sorry to bother you.”

  When the door closes in our faces, I can hear the deadbolt twist into place. “Well, we freaked her out,” I say with a sigh.

  “Thomas would only be twenty, right?” Ezra says. “And his birthday was January third.”

  “Yep,” I say.

  “Blake Ashton?” Cece says, screwing up her face. “That means nothing to me. That’s…nothing. September twelfth? That’s also nothing.”

  Defeated, we walk back toward the front entrance. All the pep has faded from Cece’s step, and things are turning out exactly like I’ve always known they would. This massive trip was a massive disappointment.

  Oddly, I’m no longer worried about Cece going crazy on me. I’d say she deserves a bit of insanity right now. I think we all do.

  “I guess we should call for another Uber,” Ezra says. “And while we’re waiting for the bus to come, I want some mall food. Trashy, overpriced, super greasy food court food.” He pats his stomach and grins at me. “We could all eat our feelings right about now.”

  “Whatever you want,” Cece says. “I’m not hungry.”

  He throws an arm around Cece’s shoulders. “You doing okay?”

  “Yeah,” she says softly. “I guess I’m fine. I mean…I just knew it was him, you know? My instincts have never let me down like this before.”

  “I’m sorry, Cece. I really am.” I reach for her hand, and she lets me take it.

  “Thank you,” she says, squeezing my fingers. Her green eyes have gone bloodshot. “For everything.”

  As we walk toward the front office again, I feel something happen to the shredded bond between my cousin and me. It isn’t repaired, and it might never be. But for the first time in a long time, those pieces of what used to be are looking toward each other again. There’s a possibility of something. A friendship, maybe even trust.

  “We’re going to be okay,” I tell her.

  Heavy footsteps jog behind us. “Hey,” someone calls out. Ezra stops first, his shoulders straightening as he turns, bracing for trouble with some stranger.

  The guy stops jogging. “I heard you were looking for me.”

  He’s tall, and muscular in the way that means he spends hours in the gym and hundreds on supplements. His jaw is well defined, but it doesn’t hide that boyish look behind his eyes. His hair is bleached to a near white blonde. It’s long and shaggy, hanging in wet tendrils down his forehead. It almost, but not totally, covers that axe shaped birthmark on his temple. I don’t care what that woman said, this man is not twenty-three years old.

  Because this man is Thomas.

  Everything stops. Like in movies, when the guy sees the girl of his dreams for the first time and the whole world blurs out of view until it’s just her. Only this is the kind of universe pause that makes your stomach hurt because you know from this point forward that nothing will ever be the same again. The rumble of passing cars fades, the sound of my own breath catches in my throat—everything stops as the three of us stand stunned into silence while we stare at this guy in front of us. He’s changed about as much as a person can change. There are tattoos on his arms and muscles in places that used to be shrimpy and weak. The old Thomas was kind of a nerd, but this one looks like he fights in the UFC just for fun.

  Cece breaks first. “Thomas?”

  He nods so slightly I almost miss it. His eyes, so blue they’re almost clear, fill with tears. Cece crashes into him, burying her face in his massive chest. He stands there a second, frozen in place, his eyes watching the sky. And then he folds around her, hugging her tightly.

  The sight of them makes my chest split in half. I exhale and stars fill my vision. I glance at Ezra, chills flooding across my skin. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

  I guess we all just did.

  Cece sobs into her brother’s chest. Loud, angry, ugly tears. I want to comfort her, but I also want them to have time together. Of all of us, she’s lost the most here. Her parents, and then her bother. Thomas’s eyes stay closed
as they rock back and forth hugging exactly like you’d expect people to hug after one of them has risen from the grave.

  After a while, Cece pulls back, her shoulders bobbing as she cries. “Thomas,” she says again, this time more resolute. “I knew you weren’t dead.”

  He gazes at her, his lips pulling up in a smile. Cece’s fist rears back, and she clocks him right in the jaw, the sound of her knuckles on his flesh so loud it makes me jump. I cover my mouth.

  “You fucking asshole,” she cries out, but there’s no heart behind her words.

  Dazed, Thomas touches his cheek. “I deserve that,” he says with a painful chuckle.

  “What the hell?” Cece says, backing up a few steps. She looks around wildly until her eyes meet mine, then she settles into place beside me. I feel weirdly protective of her; standing as straight as possible by her side. I know in this moment that whatever Cece needs, I’ll be there. If she wants to leave, we’ll go with no questions asked. If she wants to punch him again, hell I’ll help her kick his ass.

  Thomas sighs, rubbing his jaw, which is now as red as his eyes. “Lilah.” The expression he makes isn’t really a smile. “Ezra, wow, man. You all grew up so much.”

  “And you’re not dead,” Cece says.

  Thomas glances around. “We can’t talk here,” he says, bending a little at the knees. “Let’s go for a drive. I’ll—I’ll explain it all.”

  “Only if you want to,” I tell Cece.

  Her jaw hardens while she thinks it over. “Let’s go.”

  It’s surreal when Ezra pulls up the front seat and helps me climb into the back of the Jeep. I settle into the black leather seat, snapping the seat belt in place across my chest. This is the Jeep. The very thing we’ve been chasing all week.

  Ezra sits next to me and Cece gets in the passenger seat. It’s jarring watching this grown-up version of my cousin as he slips a pair of Oakleys over his eyes and cranks the engine. The air conditioning pushes the scent of his coconut air fresher around the surprisingly clean interior of his car. He did always want a Jeep; I guess it makes sense that he’d keep it in perfect condition.

  I want to ask why he’s made himself so remarkably huge when athletics and working out were never on his list of favorite things when we were kids. And the hair, too. I mean who does that anymore? Bleached hair kind of went out of style a while ago. I want to ask him a lot of things, like why he’s pretending to be someone else, why he claims he has no sister and no family, but I don’t say any of it.

  There’s no radio in the Jeep, just a hole in the dash where one used to be. No one talks as Thomas leaves the parking lot, turning onto a back road behind a nearby grocery store. I think perhaps there are too many things to say, and no one knows where to start. I watch Cece while we drive. She’s watching her brother, but her expression is hard to pinpoint. It’s easy to want someone to be alive, but hard when you realize they are. I think we all feel betrayed in the worst way.

  I study her a while, and decide that she’s probably feeling a little pissed off mixed with a whole lot of vindication. She was right, after all. She was totally right.

  It’s a short drive. Thomas pulls into a small park with a rundown baseball field that can’t possibly be regulation size because it’s so small. The chain-link fence around the bases is covered in overgrown vines and moss. There’s no one here, and the perimeter of the park is dotted with pine trees.

  “There’s some picnic tables over there,” Thomas says. “We can sit and talk.”

  My phone rings, the high-pitched melody filling the cab and making everyone look at me. I take my phone out of my back pocket, wishing I’d silenced it before we started this awkward drive.

  “It’s Mom.”

  Cece flinches, all the blood draining from her face. Thomas meets my gaze. He doesn’t say anything, but the way he stares at me, his intentions are made clear. Don’t tell her.

  My heart pounds as I say hello.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Mom says. In this tiny vehicle, I’m afraid everyone can hear her talking no matter how hard I press the phone to my ear. More than ever, I pray that she won’t mention Cece’s bipolar disorder.

  “What’s up?” I say, simultaneously holding back vomit of nervous proportions.

  “Oh, just dying to get home,” Mom says with a sigh. “These conferences get boring after a while.” In the background, I hear Dad tell her to tell us hello. “Your father says hi. Tell Cece we miss her, too.”

  “Will do,” I say quickly. “Well, bye!”

  “Wait,” Mom says. “How are things at home?”

  How would I know?

  “Um, they’re good. Boring, too.” Then, because I can feel Thomas staring a hole into my head, I add, “You’re not missing anything.”

  “Except for all of my shows!” she says with a laugh. “Can’t wait to get back to my DVR.”

  I chuckle too, like this is actually funny. Like I don’t have three people watching my every move as if one wrong word will make us all burst into flames and destroy the entire planet.

  Two deep breaths after the call is over, the feeling comes back to my face. Everyone is still looking at me. I shove my phone in my pocket, checking twice to make sure the call has really ended. “Why am I being started at, guys? I’m not the one on trial here.”

  On the dirty picnic table, I sit next to Ezra. Cece slides in beside me, leaving Thomas by himself on the other side. His hair is still half wet, and it makes me wonder what his girlfriend said to him to make him rush outside so fast. And why he didn’t let her come, too.

  Cece’s hands slide under her knees. She leans forward slightly. “Talk,” she says.

  “I am,” he croaks, running a hand through his hair, then dragging it down his face. “I’m trying to figure out where to begin.”

  “The day you left,” she says. “The reason you didn’t come back. Why you’re still alive, you bastard.”

  “I’d like to know why your hair is so ugly,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. My attempt at humor fails spectacularly when no one even acknowledges that I’ve spoken. I look over at Ezra, but he’s watching Thomas. His jaw is set, his gaze unwavering. I realize these two have been betrayed more by Thomas than I have. I was just the cousin, not the sister or best friend. They want explanations and they won’t make any light-hearted jokes until they get them.

  Thomas rests his elbows on the picnic bench, then steeples his fingers together in front of his lips. “I guess I’ll start at the beginning,” he says, his voice strained.

  “Did you really get shot on that bridge?” Cece asks.

  Thomas’s lips press together as he stares at a pocket knife carving on the tabletop. Jay luvz Jen. “I meant the real beginning,” he says, his voice low. “Years before that day.”

  He looks up at Cece and the regret is painted so plainly on his face, but she’s not budging. She’s staring at him like he’s scum. I can’t say I blame her, but I also feel bad for Thomas.

  “My name isn’t Thomas,” he says.

  I stiffen. He’s changed a lot over the years, but this man is most definitely the same kid I grew up with, not just some look-alike with muscles and terrible hair. It’s him. I know it like I know the back of my own hand. Cece tilts her head. Thomas swallows.

  “My name is Joseph Louis the third. And I’m not your brother.”

  Cece goes very still. Thomas leans forward, his elbows on the table, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. Above us, a mockingbird flutters from one tree branch to another, too busy being a bird to realize the universe-shattering news that was just delivered to us. I wonder if birds ever feel like their universe has been shattered. Probably not, because even if their home gets chopped down for firewood, at least they can fly to another one.

  Cece stares at Thomas. Or Joseph, but I can’t see myself ever calling him that. If she’s shocked or confused like I am, she’s not showing it. She’s fallen into that stoic silence, where I’m never sure if she’s thinking too
much, or not at all. The silence stretches on for a full minute and when I can’t take it anymore, I have to say something.

  “Why would you go by a different name?”

  Thomas bites his bottom lip. Every word he’s said to us seems forced out against his will, so it’s not a surprise when he takes forever to answer me. Maybe he has all the time in the world, but we have a home to get back to. One we haven’t ran away from to start a fake new life. Thomas takes a deep, shoulder expanding breath, like the ones our therapist has taught Cece to use when she’s feeling overwhelmed. I wonder if he remembers the therapy. If he remembers anything about the old life he left behind. “I’ll explain it all, but how did you find me?”

  “I’m your sister,” Cece says. “I knew you weren’t dead. I never believed it. That’s how I found you—intuition.”

  “Seriously,” he says, leaning forward, his eyes shifting from her to me and Ezra and back. “What was it?”

  “You visited your old house,” I say. This could go on forever, this little standoff war of semantics with Thomas and Cece. I need it to end, now. My own anticipation can’t take it anymore. “We saw the bottle of cologne on your dresser. It had been moved.”

  “And that led you to me?” He turns away and covers his mouth with his palm. “A moved bottle of Coolwater.” He sits up straighter, gazing around the baseball field as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Can’t say I blame him. Cece did some top level CIA type stalking to find him.

  “I knew you had been there, so I went to Google Maps,” Cece explains. “Your Jeep was in our driveway on the street view. That led me to an internet search and Big Al’s Used Cars, and Chell Wheatley, and then pictures you posted of your Jeep in front of your apartment. The Internet keeps the EXIF data of a digital picture, you know. Unless you strip it first, which you didn’t.”

  “Holy shit,” he mutters.

  “Yeah,” Ezra says sarcastically. “Lilah and I thought the whole thing was bullshit, but Cece doesn’t screw around with her intuition. She wasn’t going to stop until she found you.”