Left to face the deadest of dead ends, Boo spends the day holed up at home with Martha's 1969 journal in her lap, scouring the weathered pages for any more stories regaling her grandmother's secret romance with Damien. Part of Boo knows she should've given the journal to Ashton along with the rest of its counterparts, but a larger part of her simply couldn't bear to part with it. Not only did it hold clues only she and Harry seemed to recognize, but it was a beautiful window to a past that Boo knew little about but longed to understand.

"I can still remember the first day we met, as if it were yesterday. Every day for the rest of my life, I should never forget it."

flashback

Truth be told, Martha had caught the attention of her Sunflower long before their eyes first met in the crowded hallways of Primark High. And unbeknownst to him, he had her eye even before she had his. But there was little she could do about her affections; her heart was meant to be pledged to Randall Taylor, who had a frightening temper when provoked. In their own ways, Damien and Martha had both resolved to let their love go unrequited.

But then came the first hello.

The end of February held an early bloom for Spring. Damien stood at the riverside, gently trying to coax in a catch on the end of his line. He'd turned his head at a whisper of a sound and suddenly found himself face-to-face with the tall, fair-skinned girl he'd taken notice of weeks before. His heart skipped several beats; she was even more beautiful up close.

"H-Hi, can I help you?" he stammered.

Her smile was instantaneous. Later on, he would learn it was because she liked the Southern drawl he carried on the back of his words. "You go to Primark, don't you?"

Damien couldn't think straight for a moment. How was she here? Was she really talking to him? "Uh, yeah, I do. Do you?"

"I'm Martha," she beamed, sticking out a hand for him to shake. "I've been meaning to introduce myself. You seem like you could use another friend around."

Her easy smile is enough to make him laugh a little. "Y-Yeah, dunno how you knew but you're not wrong. That would be great."

He shook her hand then; her tiny hand was nearly entirely enveloped by his larger one. She looked thoroughly pleased by their meeting, and had even offered to walk with him to class the next time their paths crossed at Primark. Damien accepted with a smile he knew looked far too eager, but he didn't care. She really was talking to him.

"Do you come here often?" Martha asked, her eyes darting to the pole in his hands. "My daddy used to fish all the time. Never taught me though, said it wasn't very 'ladylike'. Whatever that means."

Damien smiled softly and gestured to the water gurgling alongside their feet. "Do you wanna try?"

"You would teach me?"

"S-Sure," he grinned excitedly. He swallows hard, fighting back the nervous stutter that always seemed to arise at the most inconvenient of times. "Here."

He gestured to the pole in his hands and Martha happily obliged him, swapping places and listening with a patient smile as Damien explained how to hold the pole and how to bait the decorative hook, a little wooden fish he'd hand-painted. He even walked her through sending out her first cast; with a strong and smooth throw, her bobber hit the water and sank momentarily before resurfacing, a little yellow blob amongst a bubbling stream.

A moment passed before his curiosity became overwhelming.

"How did you know who I was?" Damien asked, searching Martha's profile.

She flashed a coy smile. A stray breeze flitted across the water, rustling the wild curls framing her youthful face. Damien suddenly wanted nothing more than to reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear; to feel her skin against his. "I noticed you on Dissection Day in Miss Bee's bio class. You looked like you were going to upchuck at any second."

He laughed in embarrassment and her smile grew. She turned to meet his gaze with shrewd, light-hearted eyes. "Dissection ain't my strong suit, to say the least. It ain't in my nature to harm."

"Ain't we fishing?" Martha posed rhetorically, that mischievous smile still painted on her lips. "Isn't this harmful to fish?"

"I catch and release," Damien answered proudly. "Make sure they ain't damaged by the hook and then set 'em free again."

She nodded, seeming pleased with his answer. "Well, Damien, you are a curious one indeed. I like you."

His heart sputtered nervously. He admired her brazenness. "I li . . . I like you too."

Her grin returned, tenfold, upon hearing the effect she had upon him. "Have you always had that?"

"The stutter?" he asked, and she nodded. He paused briefly, watching the rhythmic way her hand gently turned the reel in, dragging the line through the water and closer to the muddy riverbank. "Yes, it's worse when I get nervous. I've mos'ly outgrown it, or at least I like to think so."

"Does fishing relax you?"

Damien nodded eagerly. "My dad started taking me when I was younger. Said he'd never seen someone so natural on the end of a line. We went all the time in Virginia, but he stopped when we came here. I found this place by accident and it's been a safe haven ever since."

"Virginia, huh?" Martha hummed. She finished reeling in her empty line and held the hook up to eye-level, a thoughtful look on his face. "What made you come here?"

"Opportunity," he answered, though he felt his spirits drop ever so slightly. "People are a bit more . . . open-minded here."

Martha scoffed derisively. "Not the people I know. They see what they want and there's nothing you can do to change it, no matter how hard you try."

Damien couldn't help the wounded feeling that mounted inside. "You ain't like that though, are you?"

Their eyes met. Her hand left the reel to gently reach down and brush against his; he took it without thinking, thrilled by the perfect way their hands seemed to intertwine. The spaces between his fingers made perfectly for hers.

"No," she finally said, her doleful gaze meeting his. "I see hearts, not people. And you have a good heart, I can tell."

His stutter felt overwhelming in that moment. He didn't have the words to tell her the same thing. Even if he had the voice, he wouldn't have had the chance; a distant voice, ripe with anger, cut through the peaceful air.

"Martha!"

Panic flooded her lovely features. Suddenly she tugged her hand from Damien's and stumbled backwards up the riverbank, hastily dropping the pole in her hands as she scrambled for her footing. "I-I am so sorry, I can't . . . I have to go now!"

Her voice was suddenly a frightened whisper. Damien tried to ask why, where she was going, anything, but before the words could leave she was halfway up the embankment and moving quickly towards the tree line again. A split second passed before he decided to follow her, if mostly to satiate his curiosity but also to ensure her safety. He reached the tree line well after her, but saw enough to answer his questions: there Martha stood in the parking lot, arguing unintelligibly with a tall guy in a varsity bomber. After a few heated words and angry gestures on the guy's part, he slung his arm aggressively around Martha's neck and led her away from the trees; away from Damien. On the back of his jacket was inscribed the word TAYLOR, and suddenly Damien knew exactly who it was.

end

Boo's fingers trace the rough edges of the paper before she turns to the next page, her eyes scanning for any further mention of Damien. Scribed a few dates after that entry lays another one waiting to be read.

flashback

Martha had wrestled with the true depth of what she was about to do in the three days that passed before she actually followed through. Every wordless glance she and Damien shared at school only reaffirmed what she knew in her heart. At the end of her indecision lay the realization that this was what she wanted; he was what she wanted.

Night fell on a quiet Jack Creek and Martha snuck off down to that cool green spot by the river, praying she'd find him there again. Her hopes were dashed when she found the forest empty, but were quickly restored when she spotted his fishing gear leant up against a nearby tree. A cursory glance at his red tackle box showed he had a "if lost, return here" tag with his name and address. She'd never biked anywhere so fast in her life.

There was only one light on in a tiny back window of the house, and she hoped she wouldn't end up throwing rocks against his parents' window.

But instead of parents, or even Damien, the window slid open with a squeak and out popped a little girl's face.

"Hello?" she asked, clearly confused.

"I'm sorry to bother you but I'm looking for your brother," Martha whispered, feeling somewhat abashed but not enough to leave. Her nervous grip tightened on the tiny pebbles left in her hand. "Is he home?"

The girl raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Are you sure? My brother is a nerd."

Martha laughed loudly before clamping a hand over her mouth. "Does that mean he's home?"

The girl sighed and rolled her eyes. "One second."

Her head disappeared, and a few moments later Damien's appeared. The confusion on his face was replaced with awe at seeing Martha stood outside, waving coyly. "What are you doin' here?"

"I had to see you," she half-whispered, half-yelled. "Can you come outside?"

Martha heard Damien's sister pipe up from beyond the window. "I think she's crazy, don't go out there."

Damien shushed her hurriedly before clambering through the window and jumping to the ground, landing nimbly on his feet. His boyish grin grew as he approached her, his hands blindly finding hers in the velvet darkness. "I can't believe you're here, this is crazy."

"I told you I had to see you," Martha giggled in excitement, pulling Damien further into the privacy of the darkness, away from the light that flooded from his sister's window. "I'm sorry I left like that the other day. I was having a good time, I just . . . it's hard to explain."

Even in the dark, Martha could see the patient smile he gave her. You don't have to explain if you don't want to."

She sighed heavily, gripped his hands a little tighter in hers, as if steadying herself. "I wanted to ask if I make you nervous."

"Uh . . . well, y-yes, I guess."

He sounded shy all the sudden, and Martha grinned at hearing his stutter return. "Good. This might help with that."

Before he could've asked her what she meant, she leant in and kissed him. Right there, in the darkness unfolded beside his home, as his sister spied on in quiet awe, Martha followed the gut desire that had been present since the moment she saw him standing quietly by the river.

He felt so different to Randall. Warm, light, ardent; a strange, fluttering feeling spread throughout her belly as his lips moved against hers. She could feel his initial surprise melt into passion almost instantly, and suddenly her arms were around his neck and she was pulling him closer. This was the feeling that so many songs and stories and movies had fought hard to capture. With the weight of a feather and the force of a train, the very earth beneath her feet seemed to have shifted.

end

Boo releases a breath she didn't know she was holding. Once in her youth, Martha had been bold and driven by her heart. It seems Damien's death had done more damage than Boo realized; pushed Martha to become imprisoned by the impressions of others, to become chained to the unspoken rules of Jack Creek. Grief drives people to the uncharacteristic; for Martha, it meant bowing to the wishes of an unforgiving town. For Boo, it means clawing through decades of fog to unearth a truth long forgotten.

She closes Martha's diary, holds it close to her chest, as if her own beating heart could somehow resurrect the life that wrote the pages in her hands.

Outside her living room window, the sky is still light between the streaks of gray clouds withering away from the latest storm. Boo grabs a nearby jacket and sets out for the cemetery, Martha's journal tucked securely away in her bag.

« • »

Wet grass greets her boots as she exits Tabitha and walks across the small lawn surrounding the cemetery. The grounds have just been freshly watered, leaving her shoes stained and water-logged as she approaches Martha's plot. With a gentle hand, she sweeps some stray leaves off the stone and away from the plaque before kneeling in the wet grass, tears already lining her eyes.

"Hi, Nana," she sniffles, offering the gravestone a weak smile. "I'm sorry I haven't visited you sooner. I've been pretty busy, but maybe you already knew that."

She clears her throat, half-expecting a witty remark. A breeze flits through the air, skipping a few more leaves across the mossy marker and shaking the surrounding trees, but this seems to be the only reply she's offered.

"Of course," she laughs, wiping her eyes as more tears begin to form. "I just . . . maybe I couldn't bring myself to do it sooner too."

She pauses, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I just wish you could see me now. I really miss you and I . . . I love you so much. I'm sorry I didn't tell you more."

Her ankles are beginning to ache under her own weight. She shifts to a sitting position, not caring about soaking her jeans anymore. Shaky hands pull Martha's journal from her bag and she half-heartedly shows it to the gravestone.

"Perhaps you've been missing this," Boo chuckles weakly. "I never knew you wrote. It's . . . it's beautiful, Nana. I wish I knew while you were a—here. There's a lot more I wish I'd known. Damien sounds like he was really wonderful."

The breeze returns, blowing a handful of dried yellow petals over Boo's lap and into the open journal. Only when she picks one up does she realize the petals are those of a sunflower. Her heart skips a beat; she tucks a petal in between the worn pages, reuniting writer and subject.

"Harry is wonderful, too," Boo continues, sniffling quietly. She can't help the small smile that comes to her lips at the thought of Harry. "He's . . . well, you know. I don't know how you knew we would need each other, but you did. So thank you."

Long shadows stretch across the flat lawn as the sun begins to dip beneath the towering trees nearby. Boo pulls her jacket tighter around her shoulders and continues updating Martha on her life, shivering despite it still being summer. By the time she finds herself ready to return home, the sun is almost completely set and the grass surrounding her has dried. She stands, plants a kiss on top of the cold stone marker, and sets off for Tabitha again.

On her way out, Boo passes by an ornate mausoleum, only to discover she isn't alone anymore. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a black suit is stood on the marble front steps, a phone pressed to his ear while he squints into the dying sunshine.

"What do you mean, no?" he suddenly yells into the phone.

Boo's knees turn to jelly and she trips on the grassy ground, nearly face-planting into a nearby oak tree. She can feel the stranger's eyes burning a hole into her back; she collects herself and stumbles out of the cemetery, feeling as though she can't move fast enough.

She knows that voice.