Moonlit Promises

Scarlett looked down at the smooth wooden floor of Whisper & Wane, unsure of what to do next. She nervously ran her fingers over the handle of her coat, holding it tight as if it would pin her to the present, to this moment. The air in the café now was warmer, a stark contrast to the cold misty gray outside. She could almost convince herself that time folded in on itself this space, that the years did not exist, and everything was as it should be. Rebecca's eyes searched hers for answers, and Scarlett felt the pull of unspoken memories shared laughter, whispered secrets, and arguments that had felt monumental at the time but now seemed far smaller in the larger sweep of life. You've been away, Rebecca said, her voice careful, but laced with an unspoken understanding. Scarlett nodded, not knowing how much to say or exactly how to explain the sudden return, which had felt more like compulsion than choice. Yeah, she murmured, looking for the words. Life takes you places, huh?

Rebecca nodded, pulling her hair back from her face in an unconscious gesture. Her voice was steady, even though Scarlett could hear the edge of emotion lingering there. Sometimes, but you're here now. That's what matters.

Scarlett sought out threads of their old connection to the softness of her smile, the furrowing of her brow when she was thinking, how she could always bring some peace right to the middle of all Scarlett's storms. There was a familiarity that made Scarlett ache, reminding her of just what had been lost when they'd drifted away.

I didn't know if I'd find you here, Scarlett admitted in a low voice. She never had known if he even would be well, even here at all.

She took a step back toward the counter, a soft smile spreading across her face, while the clinking of the espresso machine in the barista's hands filled the space between them. You would always know how to find me here, Scarlett. It's been my second home for years. It has this ability to remain constant and the same no matter what else in life keeps on changing outside of these windows.

Scarlett let the words sink in, suddenly reminded of how much life could shift, even when you thought you knew someone well. She felt, in that moment, that Rebecca wasn't just welcoming her back into the café, but back into her life a life Scarlett had walked away from and had only now come to realize was worth returning to.

Scarlett swallowed, her throat dry. She was going to tell Rebecca why she'd come to this reunion. Why this reunion felt urgent but before she could get the words out, she heard a voice she knew.

Scarlett?

The barista, a young man with dark hair and a bright smile, was looking at her with interest. Scarlett turned toward him with some confusion.

Yes? she asked.

Your usual? He asked brightly.

Scarlett hesitated. Her usual. She tried to recall what that even was. The café felt familiar, but the specifics of her past visits felt like shadows more ghosts than a memory. 

He nodded, already reaching out for the espresso machine. Rebecca laughed softly at Scarlett's hesitation, sitting down at one of the corner tables. Scarlett followed her, her clenched hands grasping her coat strap as she tried to collect her thoughts.

And out here at their table now the air seemed quieter, protected from the babble and the hiss of espresso makers. Rebecca waited patiently enough, her gaze steady and still. Scarlett knew Rebecca did not rush her. Never Rebecca's way; Let come when come; let Scarlett pick herself back together.

Scarlett swallowed and tried to be truthful, without revealing too much. About my father. About promises and secrets.

Rebecca's smile softened when she focused on Scarlett's face. Promises and secrets? She echoed softly.

Scarlett raised her head at that; there had been such a pressure inside of her mind for it all to spill out from her words faster.

I talked to someone. Yesterday Eliot Said he said there was much going on between your wife, that the whole secret world kept talking in undertones and hushed promises. I cannot shake it in my head. It can't explain, I believe what it might do so well in this moment makes it feel crucially, and somehow significant. Rebecca didn't say anything.

She was thinking of Scarlett, her eyes so level as if weighing everything that had just been given. Scarlett could see all the shifts in Rebecca's face curiosity, then concern, and then this careful, thoughtful consideration that rose whenever they had been close, whenever they had trusted each other with fears and uncertainties. Secrets are hard things to chase, Rebecca said, at last, her voice low. Sometimes you have to be careful when you dig into the past. You might find things that you aren't ready to hear.

Scarlett felt her chest tighten again. she said, her voice sharper now. What if they're the only way I can make sense of everything? I can't keep wondering without doing something about it.

She paused and looked out the window for a moment: gray misty world beyond; indistinct figures moving to cross the cobblestones on nervous feet. Then her eyes snapped back to Scarlett's. Still soft, but quite sharp now, her voice resumed.

Then there is the path to follow, Scarlett, she said to her. But be sure it doesn't end up leading you nowhere. 

Scarlett's mind was full of unasked questions as she stared into her coffee. The warmth of the drink did little to ease the sudden chill that crept into her bones. Rebecca's words hung in the air, cryptic and foreboding, and Scarlett couldn't shake the feeling that this was no ordinary conversation between two old friends reconnecting. There were depths under Rebecca's words chosen, hints of truths half-spoken, and suspicion that Hawthorne, as changed as it seemed, hid in the foggy depths, secrets. Scarlett took a long breath and steadied herself. So, you reckon some mysteries are better dead? Rebecca's fingers tapped her mug again. She didn't look at Scarlett. Her eyes were on the steam rising from her drink. Not all mysteries, Scarlett. Just the ones that might hurt more if uncovered. Sometimes ignorance is a kind of protection. Scarlett frowns.

Her mind's working furiously.

What had drawn her back, against her fears and doubts, and why did each step she took now seem to push her deeper toward something buried? I guess that depends on whose secrets you're talking about, she said, at last, her voice steady. She knew that probing would only make Rebecca wary, but she couldn't stop herself. It felt like a thread she wasn't quite sure she was going to pursue or leave there alone, and Scarlett knew what curiosity sounded like. Who decides what's better left buried, Rebecca? Again, Rebecca paused, and Scarlett felt it, between them, a weight hanging. It's just that sometimes we dig for answers, she said finally, in words so measured, so careful, without considering the price. Her eyes had met Scarlett's, and in them, something lay accelerating perhaps memories or regret. You've come home to a town of such history, Scarlett. And history holds sometimes such pain, I've come to learn.

Scarlett's insides twisted. The cryptic speech was a little unnerving. She saw those childhood years here, the silences of schooldays and old friendships. But what had she buried here? What haunted the crevices of streets and the cloudy dawn of mist?

Pain? Scarlett whispered aloud, so quiet one could hardly hear the words themselves. What kind of pain?

Rebecca's face shifted, her hand tightening around her mug as if it could somehow be a protection.

She seemed to decide whether to continue.

Finally, she let out a sigh and her voice deepened with resolve. Do you ever wonder why so many people never leave Hawthorne? Not just stay here, but come back? It's not always family or familiarity. Some things some feelings don't disappear with distance, Scarlett. They pull you, even as you're sure you've outdistanced them. Scarlett's dry throat. Rebecca's words couldn't be ignored. She had thought about her life situation. It was a simple matter to just run off from Hawthorne and put this town in the rearview mirror. Now that she'd come back, though, it seemed as if all those spirits in this old town moved again, memories buried alive, and fears that had proved hard to outrun seemed now almost within touching distance. I don't think I understand, Scarlett said. She was trying to put some sort of casualness into her words, but still, her voice quivered. You're being vague, Rebecca. And I've got to know.

And down into her coffee her eyes drooped, staring into the cup as if an answer might float down to her. Scarlett sensed that Rebecca was wrestling with words, the tension in the angle of her shoulders, and then finally in the hand curled tightly around the mug, before finally, she sighed long and deep; There's always a cost to digging into the past, Scarlett. Always.

Scarlett's heart was racing. She felt she was precariously balanced on the edge of some revelation, just out of reach. But what if I need to know? She pressed. What if I can't stop wondering about the things that brought me here?

This time, Rebecca looked up with her eyes locking into Scarlett's. She could feel the unspoken weight of it as it might even crush air from out of Scarlett's lungs. Some truths are far better left undiscovered, Rebecca said in low steadiness with her voice.

Scarlett's mouth was open. The words hung there inside of her. Some truths were better left undiscovered. But what did that even mean? What lay there waiting for her in the darkness of her return? Hawthorne had always been like home. She breathed its air in comfortably. But now the very same air felt heavy, threatening.

You are telling me this town has secrets, all right, Scarlett said in an undertone, trying to decipher the words. "Secrets people just leave behind because they're too deadly to explore?

Rebecca looked up at her. Her face was unreadable. Sometimes. And not always the town itself but sometimes the people in it. Things we bury in our families, in our hearts, they have a way of sticking around, Scarlett. They linger. And you can't always fight them.

A hard pang hit Scarlett in her chest. The unease had grown into a dull, aching ache that would not go away. She recalled stories of disappearances and muffled whispers of family secrets. Was her family part of such history? That was why it felt inevitable, and rightening to go back to Hawthorne.

What do you know, Rebecca? Scarlett tried to force herself to demand. Her voice sounded more cutting now, urgent. She didn't care she sounded confrontational; it was what she needed to tell her. What aren't you telling me? 

Rebecca closed her eyes as if preparing for a task. I know this isn't the conversation you were expecting, Scarlett, she said. I know you're scared and confused. And I know you have questions you think will give you peace. But some stories can tear things apart when you bring them into the light.

Scarlett's breathing was accelerating. Her heart was racing, her mind spinning in a jumble of fear, curiosity, and frustration, knowing that Rebecca wasn't the type to hand over answers, but that these mysteries felt unbearable to ignore.

So what do I do? Leave them buried?

Rebecca looked at her, her gaze unreadable then said, That is up to you.

Scarlett's fingers gripped the coffee cup tighter as if that tension in the air remained unsaid and unspoken. What would it be worth to her to let the secrets of Hawthorne slip free? And what was it going to do to her to leave them in the ground?

The answer evaded her just beyond her reach in threads of mist and darkness.