Finally, John looked at his watch and said, “Better get those calves loaded so we can head back.”
Olivia couldn’t believe how quickly the hours had slipped by, sitting there in Cleeve’s yard talking about old times with two people who had been such an integral part of her life that she once couldn’t have imagined them not being there. They would always have the bond of beginnings in common. Her friends here in Summerville were different than any of the others she’d made in various places over the years. Lori and Cleeve were her first friends. John, her first love. And being here this weekend had made her see that there was something about those relationships that could never quite be duplicated. They’d been formed in a time of such openness, innocence, a space in life when the heart was so willing and able to let others in, when it hadn’t yet been bruised by rejection or any of the other hard knocks waiting ahead in the curves of life’s road.
Whatever the reason, she realized the value of them. And she didn’t want to let them slip away again.
CLEEVE STOOD in the driveway and threw up a hand as John pulled the loaded trailer out onto the state road in front of the farm.
If that didn’t beat all. Seeing those two pull up together this morning was just about the last thing he’d have expected. Nice, though. And when was the last time he’d seen a look like that in John’s eyes? Way too long.
Cleeve had loved Laura. She’d been a good woman who had adored John. But Cleeve knew, as only a man’s best friend can know, that a part of John’s heart had remained permanently closed to her. It wasn’t her fault. When Olivia had left here that summer, a part of John had left with her.
Maybe a person could only feel that kind of love once in his life.
Cleeve sent a wishful glance at the house where it seemed as though he spent more and more of his nights alone. It didn’t feel like a home to him anymore. He’d grown up there and had thought of it as the place where he wanted to spend the rest of his life. When his mom and dad had given it to him a few years ago, buying themselves a house in town where they could have a little more social life and enjoy their retirement, Cleeve had welcomed the gift.
What had ever made him think Macy could feel the same about this old place? To her, it was more like a prison, a place to escape from. Which she did with more and more frequency.
What was wrong with him that he couldn’t find a woman who thought he was okay as he was? He’d be the first to admit there wasn’t anything extraordinary about him, but he was beginning to wonder if he was missing something about himself. Three marriages now, two that hadn’t worked, and another that was fast on its way to burning out.
He had sworn this was the last time. If this one didn’t make it, he was switching to confirmed bachelorhood. But he didn’t like being alone. And he wanted children—so badly sometimes it was like a pain inside him that stayed on constant simmer.
I sure do like compliments.
Racine’s voice. Lord, she was pretty. And there was no doubt in his mind he was attracted to her. Dancing with her last night had been the most fun he’d had in way longer than he could remember.
But falling for another woman wasn’t going to fix anything. He would be jumping from one fire into another. Relationships never started out bad. It was just the opposite. Things were so good on the front end that down the road seemed too far to even bother looking.
Well, his third marriage wasn’t over yet. He’d like to think he had it in him to give it his best shot. When Macy got home from seeing her sister Sunday, they would sit down and figure out how to make things work better. Surely, two responsible adults ought to be able to do that.
THEY DROVE the first ten minutes in complete silence. Not uncomfortable, but heavy, as if they both had a lot of questions which they were trying to wrestle into answers.
For Olivia, one continued to persist until she could no longer stand not knowing. “Why did you ask me to go with you today, John?”
He didn’t answer right away. And she could tell just by the way the silence grew even heavier that there was a reason. “There’s something I need to say to you, Liv,” he said finally.
She went still; her heart fluttered and missed a beat. “What is it?”
He flipped the signal and pulled the truck off the road. He took off his sunglasses. “I’m going to ask your forgiveness for this before I even say what I’m about to say. Because what I did was wrong.” His voice was serious, his eyes at once apologetic and intent.
She didn’t say anything; she couldn’t seem to find her voice.
“I went out to your house last night. On my way back from taking Cleeve home, I saw you pulling out of the driveway. I drove in there on some crazy notion that maybe I could figure out what happened to us, Liv. And I found some old letters you’d written to me.”
Olivia sat back in the seat, all the air gone from her lungs in a single whoosh. She blinked hard. Then she remembered the letters she’d hidden long ago. Letters she’d written to John knowing she could never actually give them to him. “You…read them?”
“I shouldn’t have. I know that. I’ve tried to find the words to say this all day, but…why didn’t you tell me, Liv?”
Olivia had no idea what to think, what to feel, what to say. Everything inside her had gone still, numb, as if a step in any direction might set off an arsenal of mines.
“It doesn’t matter now, Liv.” He turned in the seat, reached out and pressed the palm of his hand to her cheek. “It’s long over. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I should have figured it out. All those times you had bruises. How could I have missed it?”
“Don’t, John,” Olivia whispered, even as she remembered dates with him when she’d been terrified he would notice. Tears welled in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks, as unwelcome now as they were inevitable. And the old shame was there, too, like a second skin that would always be a part of her. “I didn’t want you to know.”
“Why not?”
“I was embarrassed. Ashamed. Sure there must be something wrong with me.”
“Liv.” Her name held a thousand layers of emotion, and she knew he would have given anything to change what had been.
He reached out, popped up her armrest and pulled her to him, across the seat and into his arms. Her cheek found his chest, and she could hear his heart beating hard and fast, almost angry-sounding. Her tears left a wet spot on his shirt, and she felt safe and protected as she had not felt once in all the years since they had parted.
The diesel engine of the truck rumbled in neutral. The calves moved around in the trailer behind them, restless. The sun, high in the sky, shone through the windshield and centered its warmth on the two of them, locked in an embrace that conveyed things words simply could not. Comfort, sorrow, regret.
And as far from the reality of their lives as this day was, Olivia chose not to pull away, not to deny that here was a place, a man, whose very familiarity, even with the passage of so many years, made her heart ache with remembrance. They’d been boy and girl the last time they’d held each other this way. But even then, with youthful hormones to cloud all reason, Olivia had sensed the rightness of her place in his arms, had known it would feel the same down the road when they were man and woman. That she would always belong here.
She had been right.
John pulled back and then rubbed his thumb across her tear-stained cheek.
“Come back to the house with me. I can unload these calves, and maybe we’ll be in time for lunch. I don’t want to let you go yet.”
“John, I’m not sure this is a good idea—”
“Liv. Just today. I’m not asking for more than just this day.”
And to that, how could she say anything other than yes?
AT THE FARM, John pulled the truck in front of a fenced-in lot, then backed the tail end of the trailer up to the gate. Flora ran across the yard to greet them, pigtails streaming behind her, the golden retriever right at her heels.
&nbs
p; “Daddy!”
John got out of the truck and scooped the little girl up in his arms. “Hey, sweet pea. What have you been up to?”
“Hank let me ride Peaches this morning.”
“He did?”
She nodded. “And we loped around the ring three times.”
John’s eyes widened. “Three times?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m impressed. Flora, you remember Miss Ashford?”
Olivia had gotten out and was standing just to the side of father and daughter.
Flora nodded. “Hi,” she said, a little shyly.
“Hi, Flora,” Olivia said.
“Why don’t you two take Charlie for a swim at the pond while I find Hank and get these calves unloaded?”
“Okay! Come on, Olivia.” Flora reached for her hand.
“That’s Miss Ashford, unless she’s said otherwise,” John chided.
“I’d like it if you called me Olivia, Flora.”
“I’ll be about twenty minutes?” John’s gaze met hers.
“Take your time,” Olivia said, feeling the changes between them. She wasn’t sure how to act, what to say. With warm cheeks and a slightly off-beat heart, she took the hand Flora offered her, and they set off for the pond.
Charlie led the procession, tail wagging.
“Are you and my daddy dating?” Flora asked when they were halfway between the last barn and the pond.
It was not a question Olivia had expected. Several seconds passed before a reply made it to her lips. “Umm, no. We aren’t, Flora.”
“Are you friends?”
Even that, Olivia had no idea how to answer. She wanted to be honest with Flora, and yet, she could already see the can of trouble ahead of her just waiting to be opened. “I hope we are.”
Flora gave her a long, assessing look that Olivia considered entirely too all-seeing for someone her age. But the answer seemed to satisfy the child, and she sent their conversation off in another direction, now telling Olivia about the treehouse her daddy was building her in their backyard. It was clear what kind of father John was through the way his young daughter spoke of him—with a kind of awe and reverence that left no doubt to anyone listening how much she adored him. Olivia was glad that John had turned out to be exactly the kind of father she had once imagined he would be.
When they reached the dock on the pond, Flora opened the lid on a wooden storage box where life jackets and a float or two were stored. She dug around for a moment before pulling out a purple Frisbee and calling, “Here, Charlie. Come on!”
Charlie spotted the Frisbee and bolted toward them as if she’d been launched out of a rocket. Flora ran to the end of the dock, her boots thwacking against the wood flooring. She sent the Frisbee flying. Charlie sailed off after it, making a gigantic splash in the still water and then, like an otter, swimming after it.
Charlie returned with the Frisbee in her mouth and climbed up the wooden steps. Once she’d handed it over, she shook and sent water flying. “Charrrlie!” Flora laughed.
For the next fifteen minutes, Olivia and Flora took turns tossing the Frisbee until they ended up as wet as Charlie. And Olivia thought what a beautiful child Flora was, features still round with only a hint of the angles to come. She would be lovely, this Olivia could see. There was her father in her face, dark eyes, smooth skin with its high color in the cheeks. And the reflection of her mother as well, in the straight, even brows, the full pretty mouth.
But there was something more to her appeal. If Olivia had ever had a child of her own, she would have wanted her to be just like Flora. And there on the dock with the sounds of splashing and laughter ringing out against the heat of a June afternoon, she was struck by a feeling of pure happiness for a perfect day, but also by a keen sense of longing for what might have been.
THEY WERE HEADED back across the field with a dripping, exhausted dog when John appeared from behind the barn and called out, “Sophia said if we didn’t bring you up to the house for a sandwich, she’d take the apple pie she baked this morning to the church supper tonight instead of serving it for lunch. I’ve known her long enough to know she means it.”
Olivia smiled. “Guess I’ll have to take pity on you then.”
Flora ran to meet him. “Daddy, we threw the Frisbee for Charlie!”
“You sure you two weren’t the ones going in after it?” John laughed, swinging Flora high off the ground.
Watching them, Olivia’s heart did a little twist. The same gnawing ache she had felt at Lori’s house yesterday nudged her.
John looked at her now. “I see she kept you entertained.”
“We had a great time,” Olivia said.
They walked to the house, Flora now between them, Charlie lagging behind.
At the back door, John called out, “All right, where’s that pie, Sophia?”
“Warming in the oven,” she said, meeting them at the kitchen entrance, her kind face beaming. “Well, he did mind his manners and bring you up, after all, Olivia.”
“Hi, Sophia. It’s wonderful to see you.” And it was. Sophia was a barely older version of the woman Olivia had known. Her welcoming smile had not changed one bit.
“Wonderful to see you, child,” she said, touching a hand to Olivia’s arm. “Come on in here. We’re just so pleased to have you.”
Sophia led the way to the kitchen. This part of the house had changed very little. The walls were a different color, a soft, warm green and there was a thick wool rug of golds and taupes beneath the harvest-style kitchen table which Olivia did not remember. Laura’s touches, she was sure. And she felt a new wave of compassion for the woman who had spent years making this house a home.
“Now, Flora, go wash up,” Sophia said. “And in fact, why don’t you take Olivia with you? I bet she’d like to get cleaned up since I understand John’s had her hauling cows around all morning.”
John shook his head as if to say, “What are we going to do with her?”
Flora giggled and reached for Olivia’s hand. “Come on, Olivia. I’ll show you.”
They washed their hands in the half bath down the hall. Olivia listened while Flora told her about Bible School, which was due to start on Monday night, and how they got to make stuff out of Play-Doh, and how on the last night of the week, the teachers took everybody to Dairy Queen for ice-cream cones. She liked hers dipped in chocolate and extra tall. And while Olivia absorbed this delightful child, the daughter of the man she had once loved, she listened on another level to the sound of John’s voice from the kitchen, low and rumbling. The words, she could not distinguish; they didn’t matter, anyway. It was the sound that gave her pleasure. And the knowledge that he was so close.
On the way out of the bathroom, Olivia glanced at the living room to her left and thought of how many times she and John had sat in front of the fireplace doing schoolwork, how he’d brought her here on Friday nights to watch a movie on TV and eat popcorn with too much butter.
Now, a picture on the wall to the right of the fireplace caught her attention. A portrait in a gold frame. Olivia stopped, unable to help herself. She recognized the woman at once, her pretty features so like Flora’s.
“That’s my mommy,” Flora said, following Olivia’s gaze across the room.
“She was very beautiful,” Olivia said. “You look so much like her.”
“Do you think so?” Flora asked, and Olivia heard the wistful note in her voice.
“Yes, I most certainly do.”
“Daddy says a part of her will always live on through me.”
“He’s right. And that makes you very special.”
“Come on, girls,” Sophia called out from the kitchen. “Lunch is ready.”
Olivia put her arm around Flora’s shoulders, and they trailed back down the hall and into the kitchen. While they were gone, Hank had appeared and was already seated at the round table by the window. When he saw them, he got up, crossed the room and gave Olivia a warm hug. “It sure is good to see you,
” he said, his voice still sandpaper-rough, and like Sophia’s, making her feel welcome.
“You, too, Hank. Time must stand still around here. You and Sophia have hardly changed.”
“I’d agree with you as far as Sophia is concerned—she’s as pretty as ever, but I’d have to argue with you about myself. Starting to look like a retread.”
“You might have a few miles on you, Hank,” Sophia threw in from across the kitchen, “but hardly that.”
And Olivia would have sworn there was a hint of color in the woman’s cheeks.
“Now, y’all sit down and let’s eat.” Sophia hid her fluster among a bustle of double-checks for the salt and pepper shakers, vinegar for the cucumbers, ice for the water glasses.
The table was set with a huge platter of sandwiches in the middle and an assortment of bowls scattered around it filled with sliced cucumbers, tomatoes and green beans from the garden.
Charlie had found a spot in the corner of the kitchen and was curled up fast asleep, apparently worn out. Olivia thought how good it felt to be here, how right, and wondered how that could be when just yesterday, she had never imagined that she and John could ever reach a point where this might be possible.
Sophia and Hank both wanted to know about her work, thought it awfully exciting and said how proud they were of her. They were good, warm people. And this was now, as it had once before been, a place where Olivia felt wanted and welcome.
Of everyone at the table, John was the quietest, directing only a sentence or two at Olivia throughout the meal, more out of politeness, she thought, than anything else. But there were things being said between the two of them that needed no words. Vibrations of feeling that did not pretend to have any basis in reason. They had begun last night when Cleeve had thrown them together on the dance floor, had picked up intensity throughout this morning, demanded recognition when he’d held her in the circle of his arms just a short while ago.
They topped the wonderful meal with Sophia’s apple pie, which in and of itself, was memorable, strips of crust crisscrossing the top of the glass dish, the center still bubbling hot. Sophia circled the table, topping each of their plates with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
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