by Marie Sexton
Now I really did blush. “Didn’t you?”
“Tempting, I admit. But no. I brought you here for this.” He opened the coat closet and pulled a box off the top shelf. “The Millennium Falcon.”
I eyed the brightly colored box with its familiar logo, wondering if this was some kind of joke. “You want me to build Legos with you?”
“Exactly.”
I blinked at him, searching for some clue to the punch line, but he appeared to be completely on the level. “Why?”
“Because it’s not nearly as much fun to do alone. Especially not one this big.” He turned the box and read from the side. “‘One thousand, two hundred and fifty-four pieces.’ Over fifteen inches wide. The hull even opens up. Look at that.” He held the box out so I could see the back, but I was still too surprised to fully appreciate the intricacies of a starship built out of plastic bricks. “It comes with a mini Chewbacca and everything.”
“You’re serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
I couldn’t come up with a suitable answer for that.
He set the box down. “But like I said, I’m covered in grease from the garage, so hold that thought.”
He disappeared down the hall, leaving me in stunned solitude. I took the opportunity to look around his living room. The furniture was worn but clean. A spiral notebook and several of Naomi’s textbooks lay on the coffee table. Photographs covered nearly every other horizontal surface in the room. Naomi and Dominic. Naomi and a pretty Latina I assumed was her mother. Naomi with various other kids. Naomi, over and over again, from bright-eyed baby to pretty teen.
A giant bookcase sat against one wall. Some of the shelves held books, half of them hidden behind more photos. I spotted everything from Beverly Cleary to Stephen King. The remainder of the shelves—and the only shelves without pictures—held things built out of Legos. Some I recognized as vehicles or scenes from Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Jurassic Park, or Lord of the Rings. Others I couldn’t identify. In some cases, characters had been deliberately misplaced. Darth Vader squared off against Gandalf. R2-D2 sat in Indiana’s sidecar.
I smiled at the sight. I nearly laughed. Something about the entire situation made me feel lighter. Not quite at ease, but at least not on guard.
He wanted to play with Legos.
“You found our toys,” Dom said, coming to stand next to me wearing clean jeans and an open flannel shirt over a Pinky and the Brain T-shirt. I was strangely aware of his stocking feet. He smelled faintly of soap. “Naomi and I built these together. It was sort of our thing for a while.”
“Not anymore?”
“I guess not. I bought the Falcon for her, but she says she’s too mature now.”
“She’s outgrown it at the ripe old age of thirteen, but you still haven’t?”
He chuckled. “So it would seem.” He went into the kitchen. I heard the fridge door open, and then he called, “You want a beer?”
“No, thanks.”
“What, then? I have Pepsi, or Sprite, or Naomi has this…. What the hell is this stuff, anyway?” A moment of silence and then, “Huh. I think it’s just overpriced fizzy water, but you’re welcome to it, if you like.”
I hung my jacket on the back of one of the chairs and went to the kitchen door so I could see him while we talked. “You have anything stronger?”
His eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded. “Sure.” He took out a bottled beer for himself and twisted the top off before looking in the cabinet under the sink. “I can’t say how old any of this stuff is, but there’s rum, vodka, Jim Beam, and some peppermint schnapps.” He sat back on his heels and scratched his chin. “Schnapps? Wonder where the hell that came from. Must have been Elena’s.”
“Jim Beam,” I told him. Not my favorite bourbon, but it’d do.
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Straight?”
“You can add an ice cube if it makes you feel better.”
A half hour later found us settled at the kitchen table, nursing our way through our first drinks, surrounded by a stupid number of Legos packaged in a dozen little plastic bags. The table was small and square, one chair on each side. Dominic sat directly to my right, thumbing through a booklet of instructions. If I leaned forward, I felt like I was too much in his space. Under the table, his knee brushed mine, although he seemed oblivious. Looking at the chaos on the table, I had no idea where to begin, so sat back to watch him instead.
God, he was sexy. Dom the boy had been cute and shy, skinny and self-conscious. Dominic the man was lanky but solid. The awkwardness of youth had grown into a quiet surety that was humble yet charming. And there was a strength in his dark eyes that was undeniably compelling. He was so different from what I remembered, and yet he was exactly what I’d always imagined. He’d put on clean jeans, but even they had holes at the knee. His dark hair was thick and unruly, sticking every which way in a fashion that was clearly unplanned and unstyled, yet suited him perfectly. Stubble shadowed his jaw, and his hands were rough and calloused.
“I’m sorry,” he said without looking up from his booklet. “About earlier.”
The words caught me off guard. I’d been lost in my appraisal of him, and I suddenly felt as if he’d caught me snooping through his medicine cabinet. “What do you mean?”
He glanced at me, and I was surprised to see a hint of embarrassment on his face. “I can see how you got the idea. But I don’t bring guys here. Not for that.”
“Not ever?”
He shook his head, setting the instructions on the table. “It might be different if I was dating somebody long-term. But it’s not like I can parade a lineup of men past my daughter, you know? A new boyfriend every other week?” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“How do you get to long-term if you don’t ever do short-term?”
He took a long drink of his beer before answering. When he finally did speak, he did so without meeting my eyes. “Good question. I’ll let you know if I figure it out.”
“It’s never come up?”
“No.”
That surprised me. “Never?”
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes wary. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re exactly how I remember, but totally different too. It’s strange.”
“I know what you mean. And don’t think I missed the fact that you changed the subject.”
He laughed. “I guess I’m not one for commitment.”
But the statement lacked conviction. It was a lie, although whether he was fooling himself or not, I wasn’t sure. “You’re committed to Naomi.”
“Yes, I am.” I had the distinct impression he was sizing me up, separating the boy he’d once spent an evening with from the man I was now, much as I’d just done with him. “What about you? What’s your story?”
“What makes you think I have one?”
He cocked his head, watching me as if unsure how much to say. “Call it a hunch.”
I looked into my bourbon, slowly being diluted by melting ice. I thought about Jonas, and how I’d moved to Coda to prove a point. The only thing I’d managed to prove was that I was a complete and utter disaster. “I’ll need a lot more alcohol for that.”
“I can arrange that.”
It was tempting. It really was. But then I thought about my alarm going off at 6:00 the next morning. “Not on a school night.”
“Fair enough.” He glanced at me through long black lashes, looking as shy and unsure as he had on that night fifteen years ago, when I’d first met him at a crowded high-school party. “But we have an understanding, right? An agreement?”
“About what?”
“About what we’re doing here.”
“Building a spaceship out of Legos?”
“Not any old spaceship,” he said with mock seriousness. “This is the Millennium Falcon. She made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs.”
“I don’t think the one that made the Kessel Run was built out of Legos.”
“
Maybe not. Either way, we’re here to build, right?”
“It looks that way.”
“Without getting naked in the process.”
I almost laughed. I might have, if his expression hadn’t been so earnest. “Right. No shenanigans.”
“It’s nothing personal. But I can’t—”
I held up my hand to cut him off. “It’s fine. Honestly, I’m glad. I’d just as soon avoid the complications.”
“Okay.” He smiled. “So, the clothes stay on?”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “Clothes stay on. No matter what.”
“Good.” He lifted his beer, and I clinked my glass of bourbon against it.
“Deal.”
“Now.” He set his beer down and eyed the Legos, rubbing his palms together in eagerness. “Let’s get to work. As soon as this is done, I’m buying the Death Star.”
DOMINIC
LAMAR IS here.
Next to me.
In my house. Sitting at my table. That’s his knee touching mine.
I stole a glance at him as he assembled a miniature Darth Vader, complete with lightsaber, weighing my memory of him fifteen years younger against reality. The barest hint of pale stubble graced his jaw. Darkness shadowed his eyes, but behind that, I saw the boy I’d spent one magical evening with.
I remembered the way he’d hugged me outside the middle school. The way he’d blushingly said, “I don’t really know you at all, do I?”
No, we didn’t know each other from Adam. And yet, I knew everything I needed to. I’d learned in that single night that he was lighthearted and kind. Shy, yet shockingly bold. We’d connected on that fateful summer evening in a way that went beyond the physical. I’d felt sure we were perfectly matched in every way. I’d spent years daydreaming about him. In the first month after our meeting, I’d even gone so far as to hunt down a Tucson phone book at the library, but there were too many Johnsons in it. Trying them all hadn’t been an option. I couldn’t risk running up my parents’ long-distance phone bill.
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Lamar’s last name wasn’t Johnson, like his cousin Ginny. It was Franklin.
Still, knowing I had no way of finding him hadn’t dissuaded me. I’d imagined a hundred different ways we might find each other again. Maybe Lamar would move to Coda to live with his aunt and uncle because his family found out he was gay and kicked him out. Maybe—just maybe—he’d come back specifically for me.
Of course, life went on. Still, years after I should have outgrown the fantasy, it came back to me from time to time. I’d find myself lost in my memories, wondering what would happen if we saw each other again. I’d secretly hoped we’d both be single and ready to climb into my back seat together, like we had when we were kids.
And now, here he was, sitting less than three feet away.
Of course, the Lamar at my kitchen table wasn’t the idealized product of my overactive imagination. He was flesh and blood, and carrying some obvious baggage. I couldn’t hold that against him. Not like I didn’t have my own. Anybody over the age of thirty was bound to have a bit of it. But I couldn’t help but compare this real-life Lamar to the version of him I’d dreamed about for fifteen years. In many ways, he didn’t fit. He was more morose than I’d ever imagined. He’d developed a bit of a Southern drawl since high school, and he drank his bourbon straight. But I sensed there was something at his core—some truth inside his soul—that was exactly as I’d known it would be. And every ounce of my being seemed to be screaming at me that this was it. This was my chance to reclaim our lost time.
Except it couldn’t happen. That ship had sailed the moment Naomi had been born.
No. Before that, even.
The moment she’d been conceived.
The thought made me wince. How could one single action have such long-lasting repercussions? How could it be the source of my life’s greatest treasure, and yet also the moment that would mean forever denying my heart? It seemed unfair that nobody had stopped me at that fatal moment and warned me how this single action—having sex with Elena—would define me for the rest of my life. And yet I’d never regretted it as much as I did at that moment, having Lamar within arm’s reach and yet forever off-limits.
“How long have you been here?” I finally asked.
“Only a few weeks. Since the tenth of August.”
“Oh.” I watched him as he studied the instruction manual. Even in a town as small as Coda, we could have gone years without running into each other again, but I still felt betrayed, learning he’d been in town that long without finding me.
He pushed the piece he’d been building toward me, along with the book. “I already messed it up, although I’m not sure where.”
The instructions were entirely comprised of pictures, which kept things easy enough for kids, yet sometimes made it nearly impossible to get things right the first time. I took the piece he’d built, comparing it to the simple drawing in the book. I was glad I had an excuse to avoid eye contact. “I always thought maybe you’d look me up if you came back.”
“I would have, if I’d known your last name.”
I smiled, glancing up at him from the directions. “I guess we never got that far.”
He grinned back. “We had other things on our minds.”
His expression was almost flirtatious, his Southern accent more pronounced than before. I ducked my head, breaking eye contact. I didn’t want to think too much about our activities on the night we’d met. It’d only lead to arousal and temptation, neither of which I could give in to. I concentrated instead on the project at hand.
“This one-by-six is one peg too far forward,” I said, taking the pieces apart in order to start over. “It’s hard to tell sometimes, the way they do the 3D drawings.”
“Great,” he said. “I’ve been bested by a toy made for eight-year-olds.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll only happen another hundred times or so before we’re done.”
Ice chinked against glass as he took another sip of his drink. I’d barely touched my beer, but he’d need a refill soon. “You’ve lived here the whole time?” he asked.
“In Coda? Yep. Never left. What about you? Is your family still in Tucson?”
“No. Not for years. They moved to Florida.”
“So, where have you been the last fifteen years?”
“I went to college in Louisiana. Took a job in Austin after that. Then four years ago, I moved to Dallas.” He stopped, staring at his drink.
“And now Coda?”
“And now Coda,” he conceded, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
I finished the piece up to the point it’d been at when he’d turned it over to me. I slid it over to him and began hunting for the red two-by-four he needed next. “Why here? To be by your aunt and uncle?”
His laugh was sharp and entirely without humor. “No. I hardly know them. But….” He turned the piece in his hands, glancing up at me with that shy smile that had haunted me for years. “I have good memories of this place.”
I found myself smiling back. “I’m glad.”
He took the brick I held out to him and bent over the instructions to study its placement. “I was looking for a place to go, and I checked Coda on a whim. I couldn’t believe it when I saw they had a job opening. When I came for the interview, I had dinner with my aunt and uncle, and they told me they had a place for me to stay too. It seemed like it was meant to be.”
“Maybe it was.”
He didn’t answer, and I thought about what he’d said. He’d glossed over one key point, but I hadn’t missed it: he’d been looking for a place to go, as if anyplace would do, which told me the real issue had been getting the hell away from Dallas.
What’s your story?
How do you know I have one?
Call it a hunch.
A confirmed hunch, now. He’d been running from something.
Or someone.
A FEW hours later—with the ship about a third done and an e
ntire pizza behind us—it was time to take him home. I always drove my truck to and from work, but this time, I led him past it to the second car in my driveway. I opened the passenger door for him. His eyes widened in surprise, but after all the courtesy rides I’d given over the years, opening the door for my passenger was habit as much as anything.
It wasn’t until I was buckled in and turning the key in the ignition that he spoke. “Is this the same car?”
“It is.”
“Wow. It looks great. How old is it?”
“Older than you or me.”
“I can’t believe it still runs.”
“I do come from a family of mechanics.”
He laughed. “Silly me.”
If I’d thought sitting next to him at my dining room table was strange, driving him home was worse. The past echoed around us, resonating off the windows and the slick leather of the seats. I could have sworn I could taste the tang of marijuana and the sweet syrup of Coke. I had to resist the urge to head out of town to that secret spot in the woods where we’d tested the boundaries of our desire. The memory of it made me shiver.
We could do it again. We could park the car and pretend we were still kids. The thought made my hands shake. My palm became slick on the gearshift. My heart beat a bit too fast. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The air in the car seemed too thin, the ceiling too low, the atmosphere pregnant with remembrance and loss. With promise and possibility.
Or maybe it was all in my head.
“Turn here,” he said, his voice oddly hushed. “It’s the house on the end.”
I pulled up in front of his place and put the car in park. It was a moment before either of us spoke. Finally, he broke the silence.
“I had fun tonight.” He stopped, as if surprised at his own words, then smiled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve said that to anybody.”
Probably not as long as it had been since I’d heard it, unless I counted Naomi. “I’m glad.”
He turned to face me, and it was as if time magically fell away. It was the same awkward moment we’d had that night, me dropping him off, desperately wanting to somehow lock the car doors and never let him go. But curfew loomed, even if tonight’s was my daughter’s instead of mine.
