When September Ends Read online

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, heading out.

  Now what?

  I head home and try to think of anyone else who might know where she’s staying.

  Maybe that friend of hers. What the hell is her name?

  Shayla.

  Last name?

  Fuck if I know.

  As soon as I get home, I call my wireless carrier and, by the time I get through their automated “Press 1 for this and Press 2 for that, I’m pretty damn sure my normally textbook blood pressure has climbed a few notches. I order hard copies of incoming and outgoing calls and texts for September’s cell number for the past six months. They tell me it will take five to seven days to provide that information.

  Afterwards, I’m at a loss as to what to do. I feel helpless and pissed off at the same time.

  Helpless because I don’t know what to do next.

  Pissed off because I should’ve known more about her life. I should’ve known Shayla’s fucking last name. I should’ve known where she lives so that I could speed over there right this second to find out what she knows about September.

  I run a hand through my hair and then head to September’s room. I open every dresser drawer to see if something—anything has been left behind that could provide a clue. Every drawer is empty.

  I check under her bed, on the floor of the closet and even lift the mattress on her bed hoping that something has been left behind, but there is nothing.

  I go to my room and notice the rumpled bedspread where I’d tossed and turned last night, trying to get some sleep. I think of the happier times in that bed. Times when we would leave the bathroom still damp from our shower and burrow down under the covers, allowing the heat of our bodies to dry our skin.

  I sigh. I rub my eyes trying to get the tired out, but it doesn’t budge.

  What the hell am I going to do without her?

  I slump down on my bed and bury my face in my hands. My doorbell rings, and suddenly hope seeps in that September has returned. She left her keys behind so, of course, she needs to ring the bell.

  I leap to my feet, rubbing a hand against the five o’clock shadow that’s bristly to even my touch. I make a mental note as I head to the front door to shower and shave before I touch her.

  I open the door, my heart pumping wildly to rejuvenate the rest of my body, because we will have this out. I will make up for whatever half-assed, poor excuse of a lover I’ve been to her up to this point.

  That’s a fucking promise.

  I feel my heart drop to my size eleven feet when I see that it’s not September standing there, it’s fucking Casey from next door.

  Fuck me.

  I open the door and see that she has a few pieces of mail in her hand.

  “Sorry to bother you, Jesse,” she says, holding the envelopes up for me to take. “These were delivered to my mailbox by mistake earlier this week. You weren’t home and I didn’t want to just leave them in yours, so I kept them with me.”

  Yeah, right.

  But a thought occurs to me that possibly there’s something from September in that stack. I take them and leaf through the four envelopes quickly. All of them are bills. I sigh deeply.

  “Is…is everything okay?” Casey asks, and a look of sincere concern washes over her face.

  “Just some personal shit going on here,” I reply. No need to give her more fodder for her next Girl’s Night.

  “Listen, Jesse,” she says softly, “I know we kind of parted on bad terms, and I get that, for whatever reason, you took September’s word over mine, but I want to set the record straight with you. I didn’t lie to you about any of that. She did ask me to help locate her mother. I wouldn’t have pried into your personal business like that, please believe me.”

  I tap the stack of envelopes against my thigh. “Why are you telling me this now?” I ask.

  “I guess because I was here when September packed her car up and they left. I figured maybe you had figured it out and maybe asked her to leave. Not trying to pry,” she says, holding her hand up, “I’m not about to nose into your business. I just wanted you to know, that’s all.”

  She turns to leave my front porch, but stops when she hears my voice. “What do you mean when they left?”

  She stops and turns back around to face me. “Well, I’m not sure who it was, I presume he was a friend of hers just helping out.”

  “Whoa, hold up. It was a guy?”

  She nods. “Yeah, a young guy, about her age, I guess. Nice looking. I didn’t linger in my driveway because, as you know, I’m no fan of your stepdaughter’s what with how she fabricated all of that stuff about me. It just looked to me like they were friends, maybe more. Who knows? They were laughing and trying to fit everything into that car of hers. I was out watering my plants on the front porch, and when I went around to the side of the house to fill my watering can from the spigot, that’s when I saw them going in and out of your house carrying boxes to her car.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks Casey,” I reply, totally blown away by this information.

  “No problem,” she replies, walking down the porch steps. “Hey,” she calls back over her shoulder, “If you need anything, I’m still right next door. Just ask.”

  “Thanks.”

  Chapter 2

  I’m trying my damndest to get settled into my new efficiency, my new job and my new life. For the first time in my existence, I’m totally dependent on just me. It’s liberating.

  But…it’s also scary.

  I’ll be nineteen next month, but that’s not close to being an adult, especially for someone that’s pretty much done as she’s pleased for the first eighteen years of her life, and made a shitload of mistakes along the way.

  Was Jesse a mistake?

  No.

  I am Jesse’s mistake. I encouraged and seduced him into being something he clearly is not comfortable with, at least in public. I put on my Lolita fuck-me shoes and dug my heels in like a common skank.

  I can’t excuse it by copping to youth. I need to take responsibility for it, learn from it, and move forward. My conscious isn’t quite clear with the way that I left, but the opportunity presented itself and I knew damn well it was the only way that I would have had enough guts to make a clean break.

  I think of Scout constantly. They’re home by now. They’ve both read the notes I left for them but, in my heart, I know that Scout will not begin to understand my departure. How could she?

  Jesse will understand. He will be pissed, of course, but at the end of the day, he will understand. Maybe he will even feel some relief in not having to be the one to state the obvious: it never could’ve worked.

  Too many complications.

  Too sordid.

  Too unconventional.

  My self-loathing, which I generally hate, right there along with self-pity is temporarily interrupted when there’s a tap on the door of my apartment.

  My heart lurches, my hopes soar.

  “Who is it?” I ask.

  “Brandon—I live next door,” a male voice from the other side says.

  I open the door a bit, peeking out into the hallway. And there stands a dude, about six feet, two inches, dark brown hair and smiling hazel eyes. He’s dressed in cargo shorts and a white tee, looking collegiate, muscular, and tanned from the summer sun.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hi,” he greets, smiling widely, “Welcome to the hood. You got a name?”

  I nod, flushing, “I’m September. September Dawson,” I reply, holding my hand out.

  He grins mischievously, “Well, September, you’ve just made my August.”

  Seriously?

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, if you had met the former tenants of your apartment, you’d understand,” he replies, laughing. “Purple hair, black lipstick, pierced and tatted over every square inch of skin—get the picture?”

  I smile back. “Yeah, but appearances can be deceiving I hear.”

  “Not with those two. I swear
to God, every full moon I could hear the howling of their animal sacrifices over here.”

  “You’re just lying now,” I laugh. “You go to U of A?”

  “Guilty. Third year pre-law.”

  “Impressive.”

  “And you?”

  “Freshman. Major undecided.”

  He smiles. “That’s the beauty of being a freshman. I think I’ve changed my major each year. Started out poli-sci, then humanities, but now I’ll be sticking with pre-law. Gotta follow in my old man’s footsteps if I want my tuition to be paid in full.”

  “Not a bad career,” I reply. “Do you play sports?”

  “Soccer, you?”

  “No, not me. I figure between my classes and my part-time job, I’ll pretty much have zero time for anything else.”

  “Well, you need to try to keep at least a few hours a week open for a social life. It’s more about the play than the work right now, September.”

  I feel myself blush, and with a quick playful wink Brandon is heading down the hall towards the stairwell. “Maybe we can grab a pizza sometime,” he calls back, not bothering to turn around.

  “Maybe,” I reply, but I’m not even sure he caught it.

  I close the door to my apartment and lean back against it taking a deep breath. I’ve never considered the possibility that a guy might want to go out with me.

  I’m not ready for that. At all.

  I glance at the clock. Shit, I’m going to be late for my shift at Rudy’s if I don’t get my ass in gear.

  I quickly change into my red and white Rudy’s Barbecue & Ribs tee shirt, along with the tiny navy blue shorts and head out for the afternoon.

  Later, after my shift is over and I’m back in my apartment, I soak my tired and aching body in the warm sudsy bubbles of my old-fashioned clawfoot tub. Carrying heavy trays full of platters of baby back ribs and dodging the crowds of college students now back in Fort Smith that gather at Rudy’s is giving me a workout.

  Tips aren’t bad though. I brought home fifty-four dollars tonight. I rest against the cool porcelain of the tub, and raise my right leg, squeezing the soapy stream of warm water from my loofah on it.

  God, this feels good.

  And it’s funny how little things like my evening bubble bath are expected to fill the void in me that Jesse has left.

  After my bath, I call Shayla. I know if anyone will understand how I feel, it’s her. She’s already in Chapel Hill and her classes have started.

  “Hey,” she says, “How’s it going?”

  “It sucks, Shayla. How long will I feel like shit?”

  I hear her sigh. “It’s different for everyone, babe. I still hurt at times. It helps being so far away. Have you thought about transferring to a different U of A campus? You know, September, Jesse is going to try and find you. He’s not going to let you go that easily. Not like Pierce did with me.”

  I hear the resentment in her voice. Pierce let her go so easily. He had been relieved that it had ended and that he’d been able to keep his marriage intact, his wife none the wiser. That had to have hurt like hell.

  I wonder now if Jesse feels relief. The thought of that crushes me!

  And then I allow myself to break down. Because she won’t judge me; and she won’t tell me that he’s not worth my tears, or that I’ll feel better soon, or that I’ve done the right thing. She does what someone who’s been there does and consoles me, “I know,” she says, soothingly, “I know it hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter 3

  It’s been four days since we’ve returned to Fort Smith. Scout’s still pretty much being quiet and withdrawn. We’ve gone school shopping for clothes and supplies, but even that doesn’t bring her out of the funk she’s in.

  The only inkling of normalcy is when Catherine comes knocking at our door that evening after supper and invites her over to her house to play.

  “Are you sure it’s okay with your mom?” Scout asks.

  “Yep. It was her idea,” Catherine replies. “Can you?”

  “Dad?”

  “Go on ahead,” I reply, “But be home as soon as it starts getting dark out, you hear?”

  “Yep,” she replies, taking off out the door.

  I’ve been paying Amber’s mom to keep Scout while I work. She knows that September has gone off to college, so there’s been no need for any drawn out explanations.

  My cell rings.

  It’s Ruth.

  “Hey Ruth,” I answer. “Sorry, I meant to call you before now, but things have been kind of hectic here.”

  “Where’s September?” she asks, her voice is cold. Henry has apparently filled her in. Her disapproval comes across loud and clear.

  “She’s moved out.”

  “I’ve tried to call her,” she continues, “Her phone has been shut off. You do that?”

  “No, Ruth, as a matter of fact, I didn’t do that. She did that before she left.”

  “Why did she take off, Jesse? Was she tired of seeing to your carnal needs?”

  Oh, hell no.

  “Ruth, I don’t need to explain anything to you. Truth is, it’s none of your business. She’s an adult. I’m an adult, so I’ll thank you to keep your bible-thumpin’ opinions to yourself. Hey, you’re the one that called me. So what? Is this your way of harassing me for not bringing Libby back here?”

  It’s quiet for a moment. “I’m simply worried about September. We still love our granddaughter. We figure it’s not her fault getting pulled into something like that. Do you even know where she’s gone?”

  I try to curb my anger at her nasty insinuation. “No, Ruth, I don’t know where she’s gone, but I’ve been trying like hell to find her.”

  “Hmmph. Sounds like maybe she doesn’t want to be found, Jesse. I expect she’ll be contacting us once she feels like we’ve forgiven her. You will call us if you hear from her first?”

  “Yep. Will you do the same?”

  Silence.

  “Ruth?”

  “I suppose so. Your wife is still upset, in case you’re interested,” she continues. “How is Scout dealing with all of this?”

  I sigh heavily. “She’s been quiet. Withdrawn. More about September though,” I clarify.

  “May I speak with her?”

  “She’s next door playing with her friend. I can have her call you when she comes back in.”

  “I would appreciate that, Jesse. We’re up until eleven. I’ll give Sarah your best.”

  I start to reply, but I realize Ruth has hung up the phone. Add me to another shit list, I guess.

  I leaf through the stack of envelopes on the coffee table that I’d brought in from the mailbox.

  Finally.

  A thick envelope from my cellular carrier is in the pile. I tear it open and immediately start scanning the text messages from Shayla to September, and then verify it with outgoing calls on her phone.

  I pick up my cell and push the digits of Shayla’s number. It rings several times and then goes to voicemail.

  Shit. How pathetic would it sound for me to leave a message? I decide against it. I’ll try her number again tomorrow morning.

  There’s nothing I can do at the moment. This whole thing has zapped my energy. I can’t focus on work, on my business, on anything except September.

  I rub my stubbled face. I haven’t shaved in two days. I haven’t slept in my bed because it seems too empty even though I never allowed her to sleep there unless Scout was out of the house. Even after I knew this thing with her was real and valid.

  Shit.

  What am I? Amish?

  I get up and grab a beer from the refrigerator. It takes all of two minutes for me to guzzle it down and then grab another. I stretch out on the sofa, grab the remote and click on the television knowing that any type of noise will do so that I don’t feel so fucking alone.

  I rest the bottle of beer on my stomach with one hand, and click the remote to channel surf with the other. I’m not picky. Anything that can distra
ct me for ten minutes will do.

  After I finish my second beer, I grab my cell and hit the redial for Shayla. Once again, it rings several times and then goes to her voicemail.

  What the fuck? “Hey Shayla, this is Jesse Ryan. Wondering if you’ve heard from September lately? If you do, will you please tell her to get a hold of her sister? Scout’s been out of sorts after not talking to her for more than a week. Thanks.”

  Am I a schmuck, or what? Sometimes even I piss myself off. I mean, why in the hell did I just put this on Scout?

  I toss my cell back on the coffee table and finish off my beer just as Scout is coming in for the night.

  “Get your shower,” I halfway bark at her and instantly regret it. “I’m sorry, honey, I’ve had a bad day.”

  “Is it because of September, Dad?” she asks quietly. And she knows. There’s no doubt about it, she knows. And I’m not about to lie to her.

  “Yeah, Scout. I miss her. I miss her a lot.”

  “Have you found her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Is she mad at us?”

  “No, baby. I think she’s mad at me.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated,” I reply, because it’s the truth.

  She rolls her eyes. “That’s the same thing that Casey said today when I asked her if she was still mad at you.”

  “Huh?”

  She shrugs and heads down the hall towards her bathroom. “I just asked if you guys were friends again or if she was still mad and she told me…it’s complicated.”

  “Hey,” I holler after her, “Call your Grandma before bed. She called for you.”

  “Okay.”

  Later on, after Scout has talked to her grandparents—and to Sarah, I tuck her in, give her a goodnight kiss and tell her that things will all work out. I need her to believe that; hell, I need to believe that.

  I shower and decide it’s time to sleep in my bed instead of on the sofa tonight.

  I pull back the bedspread and there it is.

  An envelope. With my name handwritten, on the front, in September’s script.

  I suck in a hard breath as I sit down on the bed and unfold the paper inside.