Chapter 7: Everything About You

Jocelyn “You forgot these.” I turned at the sound of Rook’s voice and found him standing on the sidewalk outside the reception hall, holding the packet of sour cherry candies he’d brought me earlier. Dad was settled in the passenger seat, and Brian had stepped away to speak with Mouse. I’d just finished a conversation with Brian that left me wondering what Sable had survived, and I wasn’t particularly eager for another uncomfortable exchange. “Thanks.” I accepted the packet. “I’d have been annoyed with myself later.” Rook held on to the other end of the wrapper for a moment before releasing it. “You used to keep them in your purse,” he said. “Even when you told everybody you were giving up sugar.” “That sounds like me.” I slipped the candy into my bag. “I was nineteen and convinced drinking more water would improve my entire life.” “You lasted four days.” I laughed. “That long?” “Four days, two hours. Tag brought donuts to the clubhouse, and you ate the chocolate one in the kitchen.” The detail made me smile, although I couldn’t imagine how he remembered it. I’d spent so many afternoons at the clubhouse that most had blurred together. Rook apparently had a separate filing cabinet in his head for each one. “How on earth do you remember that?” “I remember everything about you.” He said it without embarrassment, as if he were telling me the weather. I waited for the grin that would turn it into a joke, but none came. His pale eyes remained on mine, entirely serious. “Well, that’s a little intimidating,” I said. “I can barely remember what I had for breakfast yesterday.” “You had coffee at your dad’s this morning. No breakfast.” My smile faded. “How would you know that?” “Your dad told Valerie you weren’t hungry. I heard him.” There was a reasonable explanation, and I appreciated that he offered it. What bothered me was that he’d considered the information worth remembering. Rook had been a quiet kid, always nearby, rarely demanding attention. When the others played cards, he watched. When Valerie called, he came. I remembered him helping me carry textbooks out to my car and sitting through an entire argument about a professor I couldn’t stand. One evening, when I’d been studying for an entrance exam, the clubhouse had been too noisy to concentrate. Rook carried a lamp into the back office so I could work and told the guys to keep their voices down. I’d gone home thinking what a considerate friend he was. I hadn’t realized how much attention he’d been paying to me. “You know,” he said, “I waited for you.” I frowned. “Waited for me?” “After you left.” “For what?” “To come back.” I studied his face, trying to work out whether I’d misunderstood him. “Rook, I was living in Chicago.” “I know.” “Then what do you mean?” “The night before you left, I asked if you were leaving for good. You told me you’d come home.” The memory surfaced slowly. I’d said goodbye to half the clubhouse that week, promising everyone we’d stay in touch. I vaguely remembered Rook standing beside my car, looking more upset than I’d expected. “I probably told you I’d visit,” I said gently. “I meant it, but things got busy.” “You said you’d come back.” “Well, I did come back.” “After eight years.” There was something quietly accusatory in his voice. I suddenly felt as though I was being held accountable for a promise I’d made when I was twenty. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner,” I said. “But I never promised I’d move back permanently.” He glanced toward the reception hall. “Valerie said you’d eventually remember where you belonged.” I looked at him more carefully. He’d mentioned Valerie several times already, and I was beginning to understand that her opinions occupied a considerable amount of space in his thinking. “Valerie doesn’t get to decide where I belong.” Rook rubbed his thumb across his scarred knuckles. “She kept everybody together while you were gone.” “I’m sure she did. But that doesn’t mean we all have to live the same lives we did eight years ago.” “You were happy then.” “Sometimes,” I admitted. “But I was also young. I wanted to become an attorney, and I needed to leave to do that.” “You could work here.” “Maybe. That’s something I’ll decide for myself.” He looked past my shoulder toward Brian, who was returning from the entrance. His expression changed. “Boss doesn’t get to decide either.” “Brian hasn’t tried to decide anything for me.” “Good.” The word carried an unexpected edge. I wondered whether he resented Brian for becoming president or whether there was something else between them I didn’t understand. “Rook,” Brian called as he approached, “Mouse needs a hand loading the last of the flowers.” “I’m talking to Jocelyn.” “I can see that.” Brian stopped beside us. “She’s taking her dad home.” For a moment, neither man moved. Rook’s attention remained on Brian, his jaw tightening slightly. Finally, he nodded. “Good seeing you, Lyn.” “You too. Thanks again for the candy.” He walked back toward the building without another word. Brian watched him go before turning to me. “Everything okay?” “Fine. He remembers some remarkably specific things about being nineteen.” “Rook always had a good memory.” “Apparently.” I walked around the car and opened my door. As I reached into my purse for the keys, the candy packet caught against the zipper. I pulled it free and noticed something written across the back in black marker. Welcome home, Lyn. I stared at the words before slipping the packet into my purse again. I’d told Rook more than once that I hadn’t decided whether I was staying. He’d even heard me explain that returning for a funeral wasn’t the same as moving home. Apparently, none of that mattered. He’d spent eight years waiting for me to keep a promise I barely remembered making. And I was beginning to wonder what else he’d decided I’d promised him.