Missed Connection

by K Larsen

  Always,

  Jess

  A hundred thoughts snake through my brain as I read her email. A tempest of emotions swell inside me. She’s left her husband. I want to fist bump someone. I want to think that it is because of me but that’s unrealistic. She would have never made such a rash decision based on a meeting twenty years ago and a few measly emails and texts. My ego is out of control at the moment. She liked the article. She likes the houses. She wants to work together. I always say the right thing. If it wasn’t weird to stand up, beat on my chest and hoot and holler—I might. It’s all very uplifting. It makes me beam with pride. Manly pride.

  Yet, I feel let down somehow, too. She tries to distance herself from me. I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all. The words “I keep distance from you consciously, in real life,” send my stomach plummeting like an anchor to the sea floor.

  But she dreams of me. When she doesn’t push me out of her mind, she wants to be in my arms and God knows, I want her to be there as well. I want to know what her hair smells like; is it lavender or berry? How soft would her skin feel under my fingertips? Are her lips as silky as I’ve dreamed? How does Luke fit into this if something comes of it? Will she be weird about Rory? About the stories we tell sometimes, the memories and pictures hanging around the house.

  Instead of responding, I close my email. She needs a little space and time. She said so and that I can honor. I head into the living room. Luke is sprawled across the couch, one leg over the arm and his neck resting on the opposite arm. I swat his leg and he makes room for me, so I sit.

  “So do you have everything you need, like directions, for this trip?” I ask.

  Luke rolls his eyes at me. “Relax, Dad, we’re all set. You just worry about doing what I tell you to do while driving.”

  “You sure you finally know your left from right?” I bite my lip to keep from taunting him more.

  “You’re kinda mean, you know that?” Luke laughs.

  “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” I tickle under his knee and Luke jumps with a girly little squeal. When he was little, it was much higher, but I always loved the sound of his caught-off-guard laugh.

  “Cut it out!” he yells. “Just be ready to go Friday and pack one decent outfit.”

  “A decent outfit?” I ask. Since when do I need to look nice for a mystery trip? I’m dying to know what he’s up to.

  “Yeah, like not a hoodie. Like, a button up shirt. Just one,” Luke says while waving one finger through the air and bugging out his eyes at me.

  I wrinkle my face at him in confusion but decide to let it go. “Right. Okay, will do. Now, what are we watching?” I ask.

  He scratches his head and shrugs. “How about the new Terminator movie?”

  “Redbox?” I ask.

  “And large pizza,” he says with a grin.

  “Aye, aye, captain.” I salute him and stand. I grab my keys from the console table in the entryway and slide on my sneakers, not caring that I’m crushing the heels. Pizza and a movie with Luke sounds like a damn fine night.

  When I get back from picking up pizzas, dessert and the movie, Luke has the ten foot bean bag pulled out and two pillows tossed on it for us. Everything is ready to go. Luke grabs the dessert bag and movie from under my arm. I set the pizza boxes on the coffee table and start doling out slices onto paper towels for us. We both plop down into the bean bag. Luke with the remote and me with our dinner. It’s these little moments that have kept me going since Rory passed.

  “Well, how did you find out about it, if you’ve never been there before?”

  I’m driving the Volvo, Angie is in the passenger’s seat, shelling peanuts and drinking a pumpkin spice latte, whose aroma has overwhelmed the whole car.

  “For one, I haven’t been to every spa and resort in the world yet. You look on the internet, ask friends for recommendations, read reviews—I don’t know.”

  “Did someone you know recommend it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Thanks for doing all the research, Angie. I’m sure it will be fun.”

  “Are you nervous, or what; you don’t trust me? You seem uptight.”

  “Not at all, darling, I’m grateful to be spending time with you. I’m not used to traveling without your father is all—and you know those trips were usually scheduled down to the wake-up hour. “

  Angie has her blonde hair tossed up in a loose, messy bun. She’s wearing jeans and a grey cashmere sweater, her tortoise shell glasses balanced precariously on her head. She’s kicked her shoes off and has one leg bent up in front of her, a posture she perfected by the age of four, when riding in the car or eating dinner at the table. Her toenails are painted a shiny, dark purple with little flecks of gold that dance in the sunlight. I can’t stop looking at her every time my eyes stray from the road. What would I do without her? She keeps me both sane and totally crazy.

  John says she’s marrying way too young. I told him we married younger and that pretty much shut him up. But Angie is ready, I can tell by how she carries herself. She’s serious about life, serious about starting a family.

  “Do you think about him a lot?” Angie asks. She lowers the glass and tosses all of her peanut shells out the window. Any other time I’d scold her, but we’re in the middle of nowhere, a winding road in a thick deciduous forest.

  “Who, your father? Not at all. Although I feel a little bit guilty admitting it.”

  “Not Dad, Mom. I was talking about Ty.”

  I look at her and she’s grinning. I don’t know what’s gotten into my child. Most kids want their parents together forever—no matter what—even if the two parents hate one another. Angie seems more eager than I am for me to move on with my life. She’s so enthusiastic about Ty.

  We glide around a curve of the mountain, scattering leaves that have fallen onto the road. It’s peak season for the fall spectacle and the woods are alive with color—deep red sienna, burnt orange and bright, smiling yellow.

  “I find myself thinking about him a lot more than I want to admit. I think about the choices I made and how things could have been different.”

  “Who knows, Mom? Maybe you’ll get your second wind and you two can meet up again. I mean, just to see what would happen.”

  “Lovey, I don’t want to spoil your fantasy, but I’m afraid that ship sailed a long time ago. I had a chance and I blew it. Let’s concentrate on your love life and planning your wedding.”

  Angie reaches past me and fiddles with the radio. Our show is broadcast onto some satellite stations. I sneak a peek at the clock, it should be starting right now.

  “Are you going to make us listen to our own show?” I hate to hear myself, but not my daughter. She’ll take notes about improvements we could make and ideas for other episodes. She thinks like a producer. She’ll become something unstoppable someday. I’ve watched her execute, with precision, just about everything she’s ever put her mind to.

  “It’s either that or I torture you with pop songs. Mom, did you bring any lingerie?”

  I sneak another look at Angie, despite the winding road. She’s now kicked off both of her suede booties and is picking at her purple toenail polish. She raises her eyes to meet mine and shrugs—then quickly resumes her task.

  “Why would I do that?” I ask her incredulously.

  “Because you should seriously think about getting in the habit of wearing nice underwear. You’re single now and you never know when or where you might meet someone.”

  I can’t help but laugh at her advice. I thwap her in the arm and she lets out a mischievous giggle.

  Then we hear a loud popping sound and the car veers sharply to the left toward the wall of rock on the driver’s side. I wrench the steering wheel in the opposite direction and simultaneously remove my foot from the accelerator. I break slowly as the car seems to stagger in the road, weaving shakily before it comes to a stop.

  “What the fuck was that?” Angie says, peering into the rearview mirror.


  “I think we just blew a tire,” I say, both hands on the steering wheel. My heart is thumping and my body coursed with adrenaline. “I should have gone with the rental. I never use this car, it’s been ages since it had a check-up.”

  “When was the last time you had the tires rotated? “ Angie asks.

  “Had them, what?”

  “Oh, dear God. We’re in for it. Do you, at least, have Triple A?” she asks me as we unbuckle our seatbelts.

  We step out of the car and the air is so clean. It smells of forest and blue sky and leaves changing color. I put my hands in the pockets of my cardigan and survey the landscape. We’re at a high elevation and gorgeous scenery pans out before me—lush forest in full fall regalia, an endless bright sky with enough breeze to make the billowy clouds chase one another. A faint smell of wood smoke kisses the air. The only sound is the wind and the distant call of birds. It brings me both peace and joy and without thinking, I spontaneously reach out and hug Angie to me. She marches over to the tire and shakes her head at our predicament.

  “It’s shredded. Looks like you hit a blender. What the fuck do we do now? I’m calling the resort.”

  I open the back hatch to see if we have a spare. I don’t even know my own car, I’m so used to drivers and cabs or letting John take care of everything. I yank on the trunk covering, trying to get into the wheel-well that holds the spare. It doesn’t give at all, making me wonder if it’s ever been opened. Angie walks around the side of the car, cell phone pressed to her ear. Her hair has tumbled out of its bun and is skimming her shoulders.

  “We’re about forty minutes out. I don’t think we hit anything. The tire was old, probably needed to be replaced a while ago.”

  I’m wrestling with the spare, trying to detach it from where it’s nestled. I found the jack, pulled it out and almost dropped it on my foot, not expecting the weight of it.

  “Are you talking to your father?” I mouth to my daughter. “I’m sure we can change it. Just pull up a Youtube video.”

  “Yeah, right,” Angie says, speaking away from the mouthpiece. “I’m talking to the concierge, maybe they can send someone for us.

  I take my cardigan off and roll up the sleeves of my shirt. Grabbing a clip from my pocket, I pull my thick hair back into a ponytail. The tire finally agrees to come free. It’s heavier than I thought, so I roll it to the front of the car.

  Soon, my knees are aching from kneeling on the road. I ask Angie to pull out something from my suitcase to use for padding. I’m sweating and getting more frustrated by the minute. The illustrations on the directions for changing the spare aren’t helping one bit.

  “How about you give up?” Angie asks handing me her sweatshirt. I roll it up and shove it under my knees.

  “It can’t be that hard—people have to do this every day. It seems like the wrench keeps slipping as I go.”

  When I look up, I see Angie standing by the hood, one hand on her hip and the other outstretched, thumbing for a ride.

  “Sweetheart!” I say, dropping the wrench and brushing stray hair out of my eyes. “It’s not 1970. It’s not safe to hitchhike anymore.”

  Angie frowns and then rolls her eyes almost imperceptibly, a look she perfected in middle school and hasn’t stopped doing since.

  “It’s the country, Mom, not the city. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  “I can get the spare on, I promise. And the country is precisely why I’m opposed to it. Didn’t you ever watch Deliverance? It would be better to wait for a tow.”

  I look down the road and see a truck swiftly approaching. It slows as soon as Angie comes in to their line of sight. Through the sunlight, I can just make out two men in the cab.

  “Angelina Van Buren, put your thumb away this instant!” I scold her. “We don’t need anyone to help us,” I say and throw my hands on my hips.

  “Speak for yourself. I just got my nails done.”

  I sigh at my daughter and turn toward the truck. Maybe they could just help us put on the spare and I could give them some cash for it.

  The driver’s side door opens and a man steps out of the truck. He’s tall and built, wearing a green sweater and jeans with aviator sunglasses. His body is graceful and strong, as he makes his way toward us. His body language shows concern and is at the same time reassuring; he doesn’t look like he would ever hurt us. When he sees me, he stops dead in his tracks and removes his sunglasses.

  I know the face. I know those eyes.

  Titan. In the flesh. Mere footsteps in front of me.

  It’s been hours since we left the house. I need to stretch my legs and get another bottle of water. My throat is dry. I rub my head and stretch my neck back and forth.

  “Left here, Dad, onto two thirty one,” Luke says. The roads here in the mountains are winding and mostly deserted. Red and gold and orange leaves create a stunning backdrop for our drive. I still have no idea where we’re going but I trust that Luke has everything figured out. I turn on to the road as Luke’s directed. He’s got his feet propped up on the dashboard and his phone glued to his right hand.

  “So how much further?” I ask, while tugging at the neck of my sweater.

  “Just under an hour it says.”

  I flick my thumb up to turn the volume up on the steering wheel. Luke grins and starts bobbing his head to the song. The sun is bright, making the foliage pop just that much more.

  We round a bend in the road and I slow as soon as a blond comes into my line of sight. Through the sunlight, I can just make out two women. The one facing me with her thumb hitched out and another with her back to me.

  “They blew a tire, Dad. Should we help out?” Luke’s face is all concern. He’s a good kid.

  “Of course,” I say. I put my blinker on and pull over just behind the car. I hop out of the truck and round the hood. When I see who it is, I stop dead in my tracks and remove my sunglasses because there is no way in hell I’m seeing straight. I’ve finally lost my marbles. But, I know the face. I know those eyes. There they are. Blue eyes. Eyes that I have only imagined for the last twenty years are the clearest azure I’ve ever seen and before I can stop it, a sigh escapes my lips. I never want to look away from those eyes again.

  Her shirt sleeves are pushed up to her elbows and she’s holding a tire iron. A lump the size of Everest forms in my throat. I hear Luke exit the truck. I feel him standing at my side but I don’t register seeing anything but her. I want to take this moment and wrap it up in a box so that I can open it over and over in the coming years and feel this same sense of awe and wonder. My body wants to open my arms and pull her into them. I want to pick up where we left off.

  “Jess?” Her name leaves my lips in an inaudible croak. She nods almost imperceptibly. Her lips have formed this perfect, pouty O shape. They did the same thing when I asked her if she wanted to get a coffee. The smattering of freckles still graces her collarbone from what I can see and her shiny blond hair is just as I remember it. I can’t form any words. I shuffle my feet to ease some of my body’s tension.

  “Jess?” Luke repeats with a wide-eyed expression. “Uh, do you want help with that tire?” he asks. Luke looks between me and Jess. Neither of us have really spoken or moved. I’m content just drinking her in. Memorizing every curve of her body available to me. I want to close the distance between us and wrap my arms around her but I can’t make my feet move. I feel like I’ve just witnessed black and white turn into vibrant color for the first time.

  “Mom, I think Luke needs that,” the other blond says. Her daughter. That must be Angie. She’s standing right next to her mom now. I blink a couple times and focus in on Luke, he’s standing just left of Jess, hand outstretched, waiting for the tire iron.

  Jess is here.

  What do you do when you find yourself face to face with your crush of the last twenty years? You stare him down, drink him in and offer no words to make the encounter less awkward. I’m sitting on a stool in a jewel green gown, he has sad eyes that crinkle at the edg
es when he smiles. I want to stay here but I have to leave. I have to run. I have to go back to John. I rub my belly.

  “Jess?” He says my name again and the sound of it rushes me back to the present. I was lost in his gaze, remembering what it felt like to be under those eyes—to feel the warmth coming off of him.

  Angie and Luke are talking about tires and fall and lodges like long-lost best friends, reunited over coffee instead of a flat on the highway.

  “Could I have that?” Luke asks me, reaching out for the tire iron.

  I stare at him speechless, my mouth hanging wide open. He looks like Ty but he must also look like his mother. Wavy dark hair, a wide mouth, and already as a teenager, the shoulder girth of his father.

  “Ty?” I say turning back to his father. I can barely form thoughts. When you’ve waited so long for something, it’s hard to take it in and believe it when it really, finally happens.

  He nods his head and his face breaks into a smile. His eyes are full of wonderment and I blush at the way he’s looking at me. A sound comes forth from the remnants of the young girl inside me, a squeal or a yelp—something that sounds giddy and excited. I drop the instructions I found under the wheel. It’s five steps to Titan. I count them in my head, thinking about the twenty years that have passed and how much I missed out on him.

  “Whatever are you doing here?” I manage as I step toward him. Inside I’m cowering at how much I told him. He’s probably confused as to why I wrote him that I’d left my husband. I came on too strong; he was only trying to reconnect—not be a lifeboat for my unhappy life or failing marriage.