by Laura Miller
I watched her glance back at Rachel.
Rachel found her stare and then found Ben on the other side of the room.
“Ben, get your two, left feet over here and ask me to dance,” Rachel shouted.
Ben looked up from the juke box and smiled in Rachel’s direction.
“You two, go ahead and catch up,” Rachel said, gesturing toward the small dance floor.
Julia looked back at me and smiled. I put out my hand, and she met it with hers.
“If I had known you were going to be here, I would have put on a clean shirt and shaved and maybe worn some of that deodorant stuff,” I said, grinning wide.
She smiled that little, bashful smile of hers.
“You look great,” she said.
“So do you, Jules,” I said.
I watched her face angle toward the floor, but when she looked back up and found my eyes again, she had a pretty smile stretched across her face.
“It’s good to see you,” she said.
I couldn’t help but just stare at her.
“I heard your song on the radio the other day,” she said.
I tried to hide my shy smile, as my eyes darted to the floor.
“Well, what have you been up to these days besides becoming famous?” she asked.
I laughed.
“If I’m famous, it doesn’t really feel any different,” I softly muttered, as if it were a secret.
“That’s probably because you were already used to it,” she said. “You’ve been famous here since I’ve known you.”
I laughed again. It had been awhile since I had really laughed. It felt good. And it felt good to be holding her hand. God, if this were all a dream, I’m beggin’ you, don’t wake me up. Just let me rest.
“Isn’t everybody famous in a small town?” I asked.
The sides of her mouth lifted into another pretty grin.
“I guess you’re right,” she said.
She was quiet for a moment. I listened to the words from the juke box as they hit my ears, and I closed my eyes and remembered back to the first night I had played her the same song. On the back of my eyelids, I saw her green eyes lit up by the fire’s flames and her wide smile tempting me to kiss her.
But suddenly, the sound of her voice forced my eyelids open again, and the image was lost.
“How’s work?” she asked.
I took a second before I answered her.
“It’s been good,” I said. “I worked the last couple of days. It’s good to be back—a little break from traveling. Though, I’m not complaining.”
“I know,” she said, smiling into my shoulder.
“So, you like it?” she asked.
“Like…?” I repeated.
“The lights, the fans, the entertaining?” she continued. “You like it, right?”
“Oh, that,” I said, nodding my head. “I like parts of it. I like playing the guitar and that sometimes people get the words you’re singing—makes ‘em smile, you know?”
She nodded her head.
“Now, the lights, on the other hand,” I continued, “I could do without them. They’re bright, and they’re hot and just unnecessary.”
She didn’t say anything for a minute. She just stared at me with those temptress eyes of hers.
“I told you so,” she said, finally. “Well, minus the lights, I knew you’d like it.”
“You were just itchin’ to say that, weren’t you?” I asked her.
“Maybe,” she confessed.
A smile started to carve its way up my face and then stopped.
“You never liked the firefighting idea, did you?” I asked.
“What?” she replied.
She looked surprised.
“Why do you think that?” she asked.
“I don’t think,” I whispered near her ear. “I know, Jules.”
She stared into my eyes. I watched her pupils dance back and forth as if they were searching for something.
“Will, you had to have picked the most dangerous career,” she eventually said. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled, but I was sincerely happy for you.”
“I know. I know,” I said, starting to laugh.
“And Will, I would have done anything to make you happy,” she said, catching me off guard. “I still would.”
My smile somewhat faded, and my feet grew heavy on the floor. I had just now noticed that there was a different song coming from the juke box, and I locked my eyes on hers as I moved my hand up the small of her back, forcing her an inch closer to my body. She seemed to notice but didn’t stop me.
“I mean, we were best friends, Will,” she continued.
“Are best friends, Jules,” I said.
“What?” she asked.
“Jules, we are best friends,” I said again.
She paused but then slowly nodded her head.
“Are,” she said, smiling up at me.
She rested her head on my shoulder then, and I squeezed her hand in mine. Her hand was soft and warm and perfect. And I couldn’t believe I hadn’t told her yet. God, how many years had it been, and I hadn’t told her that I loved her, still love her—that I would quit fighting fires for her, that I would do anything for her?
“Jules,” I blurted out, causing her to lift her head from my chest. “I’ve, uh, been doing some thinking, and I…”
I reached for her other hand and cradled it in my own. Then, I closed my eyes for a moment, lowered my head and took a deep breath as I ran my thumb in a gentle motion over the tops of her fingers. But after several seconds, something stopped me. It was hard and jagged. I forced my eyes open, and the first thing I saw was a big, shiny object glaring back at me.
I swore my heart stopped right then. Which was her left? Which one was her left hand? It was the one the ring was on. I tried to tell myself I had her hands mixed up. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t a diamond ring—that it was only the grass ring I had given her years ago when I had asked her to marry ME someday. I closed my eyes again and gently squeezed her hand in mine.
“Jules, please tell me that this is just a pretty ring,” I pleaded, with every last bit of pleading I had in me.
I opened my eyes and caught another glimpse of the shiny object on her finger before I found her gaze. She was searching in my eyes for something. There was a word on her lips, but she remained silent for the longest moment of my life.
“It’s not just a ring, Will,” she eventually said.
Her voice was almost a whisper.
I swallowed hard and softly cleared my throat. I felt the pain rising into my chest. I tried to shove it back down.
“The doctor?” I managed to get out.
I was looking at the ring on her finger again.
“Yes,” I heard her say.
I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding too labored to resemble laughter.
“And I’m guessing this means you said yes?” I asked, trying my damnedest to smile.
She slowly nodded her head. There was a half-smile on her lips.
“Well, I guess congrats are in order then,” I said, swallowing hard again and still trying to muster up that smile that just might not exist anymore.
“Thanks,” she softly said.
My eyes fell onto her lips as she finished the word. Then, they returned to her eyes.
“Just tell me one thing, Jules,” I said.
My voice had a serious tone to it now.
“Is he the one?” I asked her.
She continued to stare into my eyes. Her expression didn’t change, and she didn’t look thrown off or insulted. I expected to have to explain myself—to tell her that I only had her best interest in mind, even if I believed fully that it was in her best interest to be with me.
“He’s good for me, Will,” she said, finally.
I held my gaze. If there were such a thing as an out-of-body experience, I was pretty sure that this would qualify as one. I took another deep breath and then slowly forced it out, still
keeping my eyes locked in hers.
It was another long moment before my stare fell to the hard floor at our feet. I tried to say something but nothing came out the first time, so I tried again.
“Well, that’s what matters,” I whispered. “That he’s the one.”
I raised my eyes to the rest of the bar then for the first time since we had started dancing. And I watched as heads simultaneously whipped in the other direction, until no one was looking at us anymore. Did they all know? Had they all known that this dance would end with my heart shattered into tiny pieces on the floor?
I met Jules’s eyes again.
“It was really good to see you again,” I gently said.
She seemed to hesitate.
“It was nice to see you too,” she said.
Then, she swung her arms around my neck. It surprised me. I almost didn’t know what to do; but eventually, I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her body against mine. Then, I closed my eyes, breathed her in and held her. I held her for all the moments I had missed and for all the moments I was about to miss too, as if me holding her now would keep her from marrying that guy—would keep her in my arms forever. An image from the night she had come to see me in the hospital suddenly appeared in my mind, and I wished I could go back to that day.
I opened my eyes, and I was still holding her. I spotted Rachel in the back of the room. Her expression looked pained, and I wondered for a second if it were just my pain reflecting back at me. I felt a warm liquid forming in the back of my eyes, and I knew I had to go. I cleared my throat and pulled away from her.
“Take care, Jules,” I said, starting to turn.
“You leaving?” she whispered, quickly resting her hand on my shoulder.
I stared at her hand and the rock on her finger. She seemed to notice my find and hastily retrieved her hand.
“Yeah, I’m helping out at the station early tomorrow morning—the call of duty,” I said.
I tipped my baseball cap in her direction and forced what I had left of a smile. Then, I turned and pushed through the screen door. I heard Annie say something about a burger as my feet hit the gravel, but I didn’t stop. I got around to the side of the bar and threw my back up against its wood paneling. I felt weak, as if I might pass out. Then, without a second thought, I felt my body slide down the wood until all my weight was on the back of my heels. I tried to think of something—just to make sure I was still conscious. The first thought that came to me was of Julia marrying that guy, and it sent my heart into another race.
I covered my face in my hands and took a deep breath. Then, eventually, I let both hands slide down past my eyes and my nose until just my fingertips were pressed up against my lips. And I just sat there and thought about her, about us, about an ending I wasn’t ready for yet.
Then, after a minute, I finally felt okay to stand again. I forced myself to my feet and then sauntered over to Lou. I pulled open the door and slid behind the wheel. Then, for several moments again, I stared into the darkness on the other side of my windshield, until eventually, I closed the door and searched in my jeans pocket for my keys. I recovered them seconds later, then shoved one into the ignition and purred the engine to a start. Then, I forced my fingers tightly around the steering wheel as I peered into my rearview mirror and then froze.
There was a ball staring back at me. I thought for a moment, then spun around and scooped it up and started searching in the glove box for something to write with.
Before I knew it, I was hovering over Rachel’s car and allowing the moments to pass by as I stared at Jules’s name and her old volleyball number with the help of the porch light from the bar. And suddenly, we were sixteen and sitting around a bonfire, and her soft words were touching my ears for the first time: You get the ball down for me someday, and we’ll call it even.
I smiled, then took the black, permanent marker that I had found in the glove box and wrote an inscription on the volleyball. Then, I balanced the ball on the hood of the car, against the windshield, and stepped back. Now, on the volleyball was her name, her number and the words: Now we’re even.
I tried to smile again, knowing she’d remember and that it might make her smile too, but my lips refused. This wasn’t the way I thought I would feel when I finally returned her ball. Instead of a new beginning, it felt more like letting go. There were so many years wound up in that ball—so many I love yous and smiles and laughter and tears and goodbyes. And there was so much I never said.
I sucked in a deep breath of cool air and then slowly let it pass over my lips.
“So much I never said,” I whispered to myself before I turned and made my way back to Lou.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ticket
It was five o’clock in the morning. I was staring into a laptop’s screen; my hand was on the touchpad; my finger was hovering over its little, right button; and an arrow on the screen pointed to a box that read: confirm. I had been in the same position for forty-five minutes straight.
I sucked in a deep breath and then forced it out. I didn’t know if it were my watch’s incessant ticking that was driving me mad or the fact that I hadn’t pushed the button yet.
I knew I couldn’t let her marry him. Maybe she loved him. The thought made me swallow hard. But what if there were still a part of her that loved me too? I couldn’t rely on my plan now. I would never be able to live with myself if it didn’t work out and she married him without me taking the chance that I might very well lose her twice. I needed to talk to her. I needed to tell her everything I never told her in all the years that we had been apart.
I quickly pushed another breath of air past my lips, and without a second thought, I forced my finger down. And suddenly, the word confirm lit up on the screen.
The flight was in a week and a half. I glanced at my watch. It was five after five. I looked toward the back of the bus. Daniel was sprawled out. His legs were stretched the length of a seat, and he was knocked out with his mouth open. I was surprised he wasn’t drooling yet.
I closed down the computer and set it onto the floor underneath me. Then, I readjusted my pillow, shifting it so that it rested up against the side of the bus. We were opening for Ren Lake in Memphis the next day and driving through the night to get there.
I lay on my back and stretched out my legs. The seat wasn’t long enough, and part of my legs and my feet hung off, but it worked. The little bed compartments on the bus made me feel claustrophobic, so I preferred the seat instead. And I never thought that I would ever long to be on one of those old beds in the fire station, but compared to this bus, I’d take them any night.
I pulled the seatbelt clip out of my back and shifted in the seat again. Most times, there was a comfortable enough, and I thought I just might have found it. I rested my head back onto my pillow and closed my eyes.
A week and a half.
I felt my lips turn into a smile. In a week and a half, she would know everything.
...
“How was Memphis?”
I looked up to see a brunette coming out of the gas station. I slid the nozzle into the tank and secured the lever to the handle.
“Rachel,” I said. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
She planted her feet in front of me, threw her hip into the side of my truck and crossed her arms. She had a questioning look on her face, but she seemed to shake it off before she spoke again.
“Well, how was it?” she asked.
I smiled.
“It was great,” I said.
“How many numbers did you get this weekend?” she asked.
My eyes darted to the ground, and I shook my head, feeling a little bashful all of a sudden.
“I knew it,” she said, grinning. “Thousands, huh?”
I laughed, and she narrowed her eyes again.
“Now, why did you want to see me?” she asked.
“Oh,” I said and then paused. “I bought a ticket.”
She cocked her head a little
and drew her face closer to mine.
“A ticket?” she asked.
“To San Diego,” I said.
Her puzzled look started to melt into something else. I waited for her smile—that one she got while meddling in someone else’s business and not caring who saw her enjoying it. But that smile never came. Instead, her lips parted, and her eyes fell into some kind of sad state or something. Then, I watched as she sucked in some air through her teeth and shook her head.
The lever from the gas pump suddenly flew up and made a thud. My eyes fell for an instant onto the lever but then immediately returned to Rachel.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Will,” she said then, sounding strangely uneasy.
I angled my head slightly to the side. At the same time, my heart started this slow, methodical beating, as if it were preparing for bad news.
“Well, she is always throwing out invitations, and I thought, I’ve never been to San Diego; I might as well go now before she graduates and moves somewhere else, you know?” I half-lied.
Rachel’s eyes remained in mine. She was making me nervous. I watched her take a deep breath and then let out a sigh.
“You should probably give her some time,” she said.
She looked at me as if I were some abandoned puppy or something. And Time? What the hell was all this talk about time? Is it never the right time for anything? I was beginning to think that waiting was nothing but a fool’s game—either that or it was genius. But either way, it sure wasn’t fun.
“Wait,” I said. “What?”
She stared at me with a blank expression.
“You do know, right?” she asked.
My eyes narrowed.
“Know what?” I asked.
My heart almost couldn’t take the suspense. Know what?
She continued to stare at me for a few more seconds, and then suddenly, her lips started to turn up into a smile.
“Wait, why did you buy a ticket to San Diego?” she asked.
My puzzled stare was turning bashful fast.
“I, uh, thought it might be nice to see San Diego, and it might also be nice to have someone show me around that knows it,” I lied again.
I shifted my weight to my heels. I did really hate lying to her, and I had been prepared to tell her everything, but that was before she had scared the hell out of me with that depressed look of hers at first.
