Could Ryland want something more than friendship with me?
How could he? I’m just…me. Simple, plain, Raine. And he’s so much more than that and deserves much better too. Am I even willing to test the waters and put our friendship on the line? I’m not sure that I’m ready to chance that.
“Hello, Raine,” a deep Southern voice calls from the bottom of the porch. I turn to see Cliff tilting his head in greeting. “Have fun with my grandson today?”
“Yes, sir.”In more ways than you know, I think to myself.
Cliff’s dark bushy eyebrows raise, watching me for a moment before humming a sound and turning his attention toward Ryland, who makes his way down the steps.
“There he is. Ready to go?” Cliff asks and gives Ryland a pat on his shoulder. Ryland flinches, and an apologetic look washes over Cliff's face.
“Hang on, I need to do something real quick.”Ryland says.
My Papaw shuts the screen door behind him and gives Cliff a wave. “Smells like you have an exhaust leak.”
“No, that's just power steering fluid leaking.”
They move into a conversation, like they always do, which means Ryland and I can have a few extra minutes together. He usually calms the storms inside of me, but right now, he is creating one. My stomach is in knots, my heart is about to break a rib, and my palms are starting to sweat.
“Come here,” he says, his tone sounding smooth.
Either he’s ignoring what just happened, or I was imagining everything. Maybe it’s for the best. I don’t like how uneasy I feel right now, and I want us to get back to our easygoingness. Ryland points for me to stand in front of the large oak tree that sits in front of the farmhouse. Once I’m standing in the right spot for him, he takes a few steps back, keeping one hand behind his back, and looks me up and down.
“What are you doing?” I ask, rocking back on my heels and lacing my hands together behind my back.
“No, don't stand like that. Here.” He walks toward me and places his hand onto my arm and moves it until it’s relaxing on my upper thigh. He places his fingers under my chin, tilting my face up just a bit, and gives me a satisfied look.What is he making me do?
He takes a few steps back again and pulls the Polaroid camera out from behind him. Before I can argue, he holds a finger up, and I shut my mouth. “Now, I want you to think about that time Lucy chased me up a tree.”
The memory is impossible not to laugh at. Ryland thought I was crazy for being so scared of a tiny rooster, but Lucy showed him just how terrifying he can be. He flocked Ryland’s legs a few times, making him bleed, and cornered him by the barn. His only way out was to climb up the small tree next to the barn. As I laugh, a flash startles me, and Ryland snatches the photograph from the camera.
“No!” I shout and run to him. He holds the photograph tohis chest, dodging my grabby hands, and cackling at my failed attempt to snatch the photo. “Give it to me.”
“Nope. You have a photo of me, and now I have a photo of you. It’s only fair.”
I drop my hands and feel my jaw go with it. “You want a picture of me?” I ask.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I want a photo of my best friend?” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
For a second time, we stand there in complete silence, Ryland waiting again for me to say something. But what does he want me to say? I don’t get to find out because Cliff is hollering for Ryland to come on, and I have to say goodbye.
I walk him over to the old truck, and he gives me a small wave, promising to see me at school. I stand in the driveway and watch them drive away, not hearing Mamaw’s footsteps on the porch.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
I exhale a breath and make my way up the porch. “Yeah. Just tired.”
She wraps her arm around me, pushing me against her, and wraps me into her comfort. “Ah…young love is a fickle thing.”
Chapter Nine
Now
Ryland
Rain falls softly from above, feeling as if tiny kisses are brushing against my skin. Each droplet touches my skin with just enough coolness to command my mind to the present, to pull myself away from the pain of the past and the uncertainty of what’s to come.
The weather matches the grief we’re all feeling as we watch Johanna’s casket being lowered into her burial site. Grief hangs in the air like a thick wool turtleneck, the kind that clings to your throat in a smothering way. I move my eyes away from the people gathered around Johanna’s casket and let them wander over the rows of tombstones.
