Destiny Ever-Changing (26 page)

I just can't do this. I can't deal with this pain. It hurts too much.

Regina

As the tears stream down my cheeks, I remember why I have dreaded these last couple of entries so much. I knew it would kill me to feel her pain.

"So, is that why you wanted me to read it? You wanted me to cry?" Brooks and his father both look up at me, both of them fighting back emotion.

"Please," Mr. Tucker urges, "read the last one."

I silently nod.

August 28,
1978

I've dreaded picking up this journal again, but I think I'm finally ready. I'm packing it away today, so I thought I would say farewell.

One month ago, I lost the one thing that kept me going. I lost Joe. A couple of days after our talk, I decided to go down to the cave where we went on our first date together. I sat in there and cried my eyes out for hours. When I stood to leave, I noticed a big red heart painted on the cave wall, and I knew it hadn't been there long. On the inside, it said "Regina and Joe." Just beside it, tucked into a crevice, was a folded piece of paper with my name neatly printed on the front. It was from him.

It didn't say much, but it meant more to me than anything he could ever say.

"Regina, no matter where life takes us, no matter where we end up,

you will be the one I'm thinking of . . . you will be the one that I
will always love. Don't ever forget. -Joe"

And I won't ever forget. Joe has given me the courage to find love again someday. He has shown me what real love is, and for that, I'll forever be grateful.

You will be the one that I'm always thinking of. I will always love you, Joshua Brooks Tucker. Forever.

Regina

My eyes immediately dart to Brooks as I slam the book shut, my head spinning in circles so fast that I can't piece together the puzzle.

"It's me," Mr. Tucker says, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm Joe. I haven't been called that since I left your mother that day."

"You're Joe?" It's slowly sinking in. "I don't know what to say."

"You look just like her, you know. It took everything I had not to hug you when you opened the door." He chuckles nervously and stands, pacing back and forth in front of me. He finally looks down at Brooks and grins.

"Please, don't tell me that he's my brother." I plead, trying to do the math in my head.

They both crack up, barely able to control themselves. I can't help but notice the way they are looking at each other. The way that Brooks has described the relationship that he has with his father doesn't at all match the feeling I get from them.

"I'm not your brother, Laura." Brooks says. "Thank God. If that was the case, I'd need some serious therapy."

Mr. Tucker pulls a thin handkerchief from his pocket, wipes his eyes, and sits next to me again, taking my hands in his. "I hope you don't mind terribly that I read her journal. You see, I made the trip up here to see Brooks, to talk to him about—" He pauses to look at his son.

Brooks bobs his head. "She knows everything."

He continues. "I came to convince him to go ahead with the marriage to Jacqueline. All I was worried about was getting my hands on her family's business, and I didn't care what I was putting my son through. I guess I figured that since my father did it to me, I could do it to Brooks, too." He chokes up and wipes his eyes again, and I hear Brooks quietly sobbing next to me.

"After Brooks and I had a big argument and he went to bed, I stayed up. I could tell that he wasn't going to give in. I could tell that I could take everything away from him, but he wasn't going to marry Jacqueline. I sat there for a couple of hours, trying to come up with a scheme that would work. But I couldn't . . . and I was furious. I reached over, grabbed a pillow, and threw it across the room. Then, I picked up a book, but just as I was about to hurl it, a picture fell out—a picture that I recognized. That's when I read the journal."

"I don't mind that you did," I sniffle. "I'm just glad to finally know."

"Reading her words brought back so many memories and so much heartache. I've thought about Regina nearly every day since then. I wrote her a few times, but she never replied, so I left her alone, assuming she was angry with me. I've always loved her, just like I said I would. And I'm not too proud of a man to admit that I cried when I read that journal. . . I cried like a baby. But when Brooks came in to ask me what was wrong, it hit me. I finally realized what I was asking my son to do." He stands and walks over to the back door, looking out the window. His shoulders are shaking uncontrollably as he weeps, no longer able to hide his grief. Brooks buries his face in his hands, still attempting to maintain some shred of composure.

Before I could offer any consolation of any kind, Mr. Tucker turns to face me again. "So many years ago, I gave up on love; I gave up on life. I allowed greed to take over every ounce of my being, just as my own father did. But somehow, Regina, once again, taught me a lesson about love. As soon as I saw my son's face, I realized how much time I've lost with him, and I became painfully aware of how much irreversible damage that I have done to our relationship. Being reminded of your mother, though, has given me the courage to try to make things right with my children. I love them more than anything."

Brooks jumps up and embraces his father, both of them crying. I, too, can't hold back the tears, and I feel the need to step into the bathroom to give them some privacy. After I have a moment to regain my own composure and clean up face, I step back into the room and find the room oddly silent. Just as I walk toward the back doors to see if they've gone out on the deck, I hear the front door creak open.

"My dad says he's cried in front of you enough, so he was ready to go back out to the truck. He said to tell you that he's willing to answer any questions that you may have, and he can tell you some pretty funny stories about your mom. He also wanted me to give you this." He holds out a tiny, wrinkled photograph of my mother. "He's kept this in his wallet all these years. I never even knew it."

"Does he know that she . . ."

"Passed away? Yeah. He told me this morning that he even went to her funeral. He remembers seeing you there."

"Wow," I murmur, still unable to take all of this in. "I can't believe Joe is . . . your dad."

He shrugs. "Me either. I knew it was important to you, so I wanted you to know. I apologize for coming unannounced. I know you have a lot of packing to do, so I'll let you get back to it."

I turn around and look at all of the boxes still scattered around the floor. "Okay. Thank your dad for me, will you? Tell him this truly meant a lot to me."

"I will. Looks like I'm going back to Texas with him in a couple hours. We have a lot of catching up to do, it seems. You're heading to Alabama tomorrow?"

"First thing in the morning." I pull my shoulders back, trying to appear confident.

He pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket and stuffs it into my hand. "You may not need it or want it, but this is all of my contact information. Stay in touch, okay?"

"I will."

After taking a deep breath, he leans in and places a cool, soft kiss on my forehead, lingering for a few seconds. "Goodbye, Laura. Have a safe trip."

"You, too, Brooks." I push the door closed quickly before either of us has the opportunity to say anything more. I race over to peek out of the window, and I see Brooks jog out to his truck and get inside. As soon as he shuts the door, he puts his head down on the steering wheel, and his father reaches over, tenderly rubbing Brooks's shoulder. Finally, the truck begins to back out of the drive and disappears down the highway.

After I update Nana on all of the latest developments, I go back up to my room to resume packing—not that I ever really started. The first item I pick up is Mom's journal, debating on whether I should take the box of her things with me to Alabama or leave it in the attic where she put it. I slide the box out from under the bed and carefully pull the lid off. I can now look at all of the items inside and smile, knowing the story behind each one and exactly why she kept them. Well, all except for one thing . . . the bundle of letters.

Brooks's dad told me that he sent her a few letters, but there are at least fifty or more in this stack. I untie the twine holding them together, and I inspect them, suddenly realizing they aren't
all
addressed to my mother—only the first three are.

The remaining envelopes are addressed to Joe, in her characteristic loopy print. Every single letter is stamped "return to sender." I can't imagine how that made my mom feel; she probably imagined that he hated her, that he never wanted anything to do with her ever again. But after hearing his story, I am positive that he didn't return the letters—his parents did.

Pulling Brooks's address out of my pocket, I decide that I will send these unopened letters to him, so he can give them to his father. The journal was for private thoughts to herself, but these are private thoughts to him. They aren't any of my business, but I think he would like to read them. I stuff them into a small box and unfold the paper to find the address. But underneath the address and phone numbers, there is more . . .

My dearest Laura, no matter where life takes
us, no matter where we end up,
you will be the one I'm thinking of . . . you will be the one that I will always love. Don't ever forget. -Brooks

The exact note that Joe wrote to my mom.

The finality of those words send me into a panic, and I can't help but wonder if our lives will end up just like our parents' lives—spending the rest of eternity wishing we were together. I don't think I can do it; I don't think I can spend a day without him, much less a lifetime.

But, looking at my watch, I grasp the gravity of my situation. I have waited too long. Four hours ago, Brooks told me that he would be leaving in a couple of hours to go back to Texas. He's already gone.

My mother's last journal entry starts to echo in my mind, and I, too, have an urge to go back to where it all began. The cave.

I run almost the entire distance down the shoreline to the cave, anxious to be there. I climb up the jagged rocks and, again, find my way through the maze to rediscover the narrow opening, looking all around me to be sure I don't have any onlookers. This is sacred ground, now, and I don't want it defiled by every passerby.

I immediately feel a calm wash over me as I pull a towel out of Brooks's box and sit down. When I close my eyes and lean back, I try hard to concentrate, to imagine he's sitting in here with me. I listen for his breath and smell the air for his masculine scent. But I hear nothing except the distant echo of waves, and I only smell the musky, damp air coming from within the cave.

In a desperate attempt to forget how alone I am, I struggle to my feet and step back toward the opening to find the section of rock with the heart painted on it—the one that Joe painted for Mom. Although, as I get closer, I notice a new one painted next to it, and I'm immediately angry at someone for putting it that close to my mother's. But that anger instantly turns to elation, even if only for a short moment. The new heart is the same size and color, but this one says the names "Laura and Brooks." I should have expected that.

Recalling the events of that last journal entry, I look around and find a narrow crevice, and, just as expected, a folded slip of paper is tucked inside of it.

Laura,

If you're reading this, my plan worked. I was hoping that my note would lead you here, so you could see what I did for you. I thought the heart was only fitting.

Just so you know, I meant every word. I don't know how it's possible after only a few days, but I do love you, and I know that I always will. I have waited my entire life for the right person to come along for me to say the words "I love you," and I couldn't be any happier that I was able to say them to you. Even if we can't be together, even if you don't love me, you will always have my heart. I can only dream that, someday, I'll have yours.

Brooks

The smile spreading across my face fades just as fast as it appears. I let him go. I was too stubborn to admit that I love him, and as usual, I wanted to run when life got hard. Now, I have to deal with the consequences.

As I walk back home, I keep replaying the last few days over and over in my mind, reliving every moment with Brooks and desperately wishing I could go back and change how it all ended. More than anything, I want to go back to the moment when Brooks told me that he loved me. I want to take back what I said—I
do
love him.

Even though the sun is beginning to set, I stop for a moment once I reach the set of wooden stairs that leads to Brooks's house, remembering the night that I found him here at the bottom, nearly asleep. I sit in the same spot and lie back in the same uncomfortable manner that he did that night. Nevertheless, being here only makes me feel worse, and I roll over to my side, put my head down on the step, and let my emotions overcome me. I did this to myself, so I might as well accept it.

"Laura? Are you okay?" a deep voice asks from the top of the stairs, causing me to scramble to my feet and frantically wipe the tears from my face.

"Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was still here. I thought everyone was gone."

"No, I was going to leave today, but I'm going to wait until tomorrow. Brooks, Ashton, and their dad all left hours ago." Will swiftly descends the staircase. "Can I give you a ride home?"

"Oh, no. Thanks, though. I just want to walk." I turn to resume my trek home. "Tell Ashton that I said goodbye, okay?"

"You bet," he agrees. "Hey, Laura . . ." Will leaps onto the sand, skipping the last two steps, and jogs up to me. He holds his arms out to me, so I take a step back toward him, allowing him to wrap his gentle arms around me as I wrap mine around his waist. "It's not too late, you know."