“…Are you listening to me?”
I wasn’t, because we were getting the evil eye again from the next table.
Liz ignored them and went on. “I still think you should see him. Or at least call him—No, you need to see him.”
“Need is definitely the right word. And I do want to see him. Ugh, what does that say about me?”
“What I always knew–that you’re a wiener.” Liz’s version of “winner”.
“Excuse me,” said the lady from the nearest table, interrupting our laughter. “Do you mind?”
“I don’t,” Liz said, pointing to herself. “But if you do, you should probably switch tables.”
After we stopped sniggering, we started a game of “guess that stranger’s occupation” and laughed some more.
“Okay, change of subject. Where did you get your necklace? I love.”
“I made,” I told her back.
“Really?” She grabbed the pendant and studied it. “How?”
“You know how I’m always going to garage sales to look for antiques? I had an idea to attach some of my little trinket finds together and make jewelry. Like the crystals from old chandeliers and parts of old pieces of jewelry and stuff. On this pendant,” I took it off so she could see better, “it’s just an old key. And the big pearl is from a choker necklace my mom gave me. I’ve made about a dozen or so, all one-of-a-kind. And a few bracelets, too.”
“That’s so sick!” she exclaimed. “I want one! Or two or three. And a bracelet.”
“Let’s go back to my house and you can take whatever you want,” I told her, happy to be thinking of jewelry again.
*******
I was headed to his house. After the conversation with Liz, I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to go there yet. Most likely, the little seed of hope I was nurturing would be squashed once we laid it all out on the thin line. Randomly, the person who made up my mind was an unlikely catalyst.
I was shopping for groceries and ran into Nick’s Aunt Eliza, who, despite our huge age gap, had become a quick and kind friend once upon a time. Her pleasure to see me and her enthusiastic hug in the cereal isle of the grocery store reminded me why. She’d lost a bit of weight and her hair was darker, but she still had the front tooth that edged slightly over the other one and gave her face a welcoming beauty.
“It’s so great to see you again. Why haven’t you come over to visit?”
“I should have. School and homework and—”…and fiancés.
She waved off my excuses. “Crazy parties and all-nighters, yeah, yeah, I remember. I’m not that old.”
I laughed, remembering that had been easy to do around her.
“Nickolas told me you were out of the hospital and back in school. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“Me, too. It’s nice to be back.” Back? Back from where?
As it had on a few occasions, the fact that I’d survived a horrible accident and a lengthy coma, hit me. It was one of those things that smacked my reality every now and again. Previously, I’d thought accidents and comas were like shark attacks or kidnappings, they only happened to people on the news, not to me. And yet, here I was, a stupid statistic. Lame.
“He also told me you two have talked a few times.”
Where was she going with this? “Once or twice,” I told her.
“Did you know he’s building a house on the open space next to our farm?”
No, I didn’t know that. When I first went to see him the day I left the hospital, I had noticed, with a swift glance, another house adjacent to their home. I’d assumed it was the shed Nick was always sketching back when we were together, and had eventually built for them.
She went on before I could answer. “Yeah, it’s a real beauty, too. That guy, he’s so talented. Building a house all by himself. I didn’t think he could do it. But you know Nickolas.”
I couldn’t understand why she was telling me this. Didn’t she know how hard it was for me already? I didn’t need another person telling me how much I knew Nickolas.
Yet, she went on. “He’s been working on his house crazy hours lately; I’ve never seen him like this. Sometimes we’ll hear pounding in the middle of the night and realize it’s him working again. And after working all day, the madman. He’s been working on that home with a mysterious obsession lately.”
“It’s really not so mysterious,” I cut in. “He is getting married in a few months.”
“True,” she glanced down at her shopping cart as if she wasn’t really interested in our discussion. “The mysterious part is that all this uncontrolled energy began right about the time you came back into the picture.”
Our eyes locked.
“Then again,” she shrugged her shoulder, “he’s never needed much sleep, so it could be that.”
The silence stretched, and the longer it lasted, the harder it was for me to break. Her words exhilarated me. She seemed to want me to say something, but what? Okay, fine. Yes, I’m still in love with him. I confess. I still love him like crazy! I adore the man. Will you help me? Will you make him understand? Please? Will you tell him how much I want him? How much I need him? “Well,” I finally said when our carts were creating an isle jam, “I’m glad I ran into you.”
“Me, too, sweetie.” She squeezed my arm, seeming to want to say more, but crossing herself, and eventually parting with, “Take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
And so, I was on my way to talk with the madman. Actually, I was pulling up to the side of his home by the time my thoughts caught up to me.
The first thing I noticed was the weathered blue truck Nick used to drive—named Eugene—parked on the far side of Nick’s aunt and uncle’s house. A melancholy, yearning feeling came over me as I stared at the old thing. So many good memories were associated there.
Like a puzzle piece falling into place, I remembered our first dance together. The memory was sweet and passionate, pulling me into my past. No wonder at the banquet he didn’t want to tell me about our first dance, I thought to myself as the memory played out in my mind:
It was a warm, breezeless August afternoon; so wind-dead that it almost felt like the calm before a storm. The sunshine poked through a few threatening clouds as they lay next to each other across a large, smooth rock on the river bank, drying off after a dip in the river and listening to the radio coming through Eugene’s open windows.
Nick got up suddenly. After a reluctant stretch across the rock, its warmth seeping through her wet bathing suit, she sat up too and leaned back propped on her hands.
“Is it time to leave?” She watched him as he reach inside the truck and put his hat over his wavy wet hair.
“Almost.”
“Oh good, not yet, then,” she said happily, leaning back down against the rock’s heat, hoping he hadn’t noticed her staring at his shirtless stomach, and also hoping he’d come back to the rock and lay beside her again.
When he did, he lightly played with her hair braid and commented, “It’s a good thing one of us is responsible in this relationship.”
“I know,” she agreed. Then she deftly reached up and took off his hat, replacing it on her head. “But don’t worry. You’ll catch up eventually.”
When he chuckled, her face remained serious and feigned sleep.
“Are you starting a game you won’t be able to finish?” he asked.
“What game is that?” she said, eyes still closed and shaded by his hat. She was the queen of getting in over her head, and she knew that he knew too. He also knew her competitiveness wouldn’t allow her to back down.
“You took my hat,” he said. “Now it’s my turn.”
Since she had only her bathing suit on, she suddenly got a little worried. Yes, definitely in over her head. But she would keep her eyes closed and stay strong. She could keep up with him, stand her ground, keep a hold of herself…of her clothes….
The first thing she noticed was a little tickle on her collarbone. Being the t
icklish type, it took every ounce of strength to act unaffected. But she managed to keep up the sleep charade, even when something brushed over her skin to her other collarbone. When a tingly path traced her bathing suit strap up toward her neck, her eyes almost opened, but managed to squeeze themselves closed at the last minute, which caused another low, little chuckle from him. It was too much to handle when the caress began its course slowly down her side. She arched and giggled, still fighting to hold back, still keeping her eyes closed. Biting her lip to stifle the laugh, she tried desperately to relax her shoulders. But his fingers played at the side of her waist, slowly and intricately burning a red-hot path toward her belly button, keeping her body taught.
He must’ve realized how long she’d been holding her breath, because his fingers left the danger zone and jumped the little space between her hip and her hand, beginning to stroke her fingers.
She wasn’t sure why she asked the question, but that was nothing new. “What are you doing?”
“I’m dancing with you.”
You’re a great dancer, she almost said. Instead, she kept quiet and marveled at the way his hands were making her entire body thrum. Each time his fingertips moved closer to a danger zone they would hover for a moment, threatening as they played longer in those areas. And just when she thought he’d cross a line, they’d retreat to a safe zone.
This continued for longer than “it was almost time to go” would allow for, but neither of them seemed to care. They were both enjoying their first dance way too much.
When his fingers found her hips again and playfully began tugging on the string of her bathing suit, her eyes flew open. She tore off his hat and quickly placed it back on his head.
He laughed outright this time, but she didn’t join him, not fully recovered from the dance yet. She didn’t even notice when he bent down to kiss her shoulder.
“Do you realize how attractive your innocence is to me?” he asked.
Her brain wasn’t working right and couldn’t think up a reply—at least a fitting one. She ended up saying the last thing that was on her mind before her brain shut down. “You’re a great dancer.”
And the memory ended.
I knew going to visit him at his house was bold; the blatant recollection of our first dance together told me as much. And his fiancé had already warned me to leave him alone; there was a good chance Barbie doll herself was nearby, especially if she decided to drop off an early dinner basket, the kind with the dainty, pink lace trimmings. Please, gag me now.
Aunt Eliza was right about one thing, the house was magnificent. Not magnificent in a huge and grandiose way, but magnificent in a relaxed and appealing way.
I stepped out of my car and walked around to the front, squaring myself to the porch.
Nothing fancy, simple lines with an unexpected angle here and there, but somehow the simplicity was pleasing to the eye. It was more practical than decorative, with browns and grays and darker trim, but it was unexpectedly welcoming. How had I not noticed it before? Masculine. Calm. Beautiful. Nick.
It took my breath away.
Now I knew with every piece of my heart what the term “love at first sight” felt like.
Because I hadn’t seen the black monster, I wasn’t sure if Nick was here. But since the front door was cracked open, I let myself in.
The entryway was roomy, the vaulted ceilings adding to the spacious feel. The interior was still mostly unfinished. White sheetrock lined the walls, with the occasional patch of exposed two-by-fours and protruding wires.
Architecture was one thing, but construction, too? And electrical work? How did he do it?
I peaked around a corner and saw the white of a hallway. I told myself that my nerves couldn’t possibly be a result of the impending get-together. I was anxious to see him, not nervous; there was a difference. Only, my stomach didn’t seem to know what that difference was.
Anyway, he probably wasn’t even around.
Walking across the plywood floor, I rounded a bend and found myself in the front room, speechless.
It was all I could do to bite my lip and hold back tears.
Everything was white, just like the entry and the hallway, save the middle of the far wall, where a wide and bulky ribbon of red bricks extended from vaulted ceiling to floor, cascading in various patterns down the length of the wall like a ferocious, crimson waterfall. In the center of the structure was a chunky wooden shelf, knotted and distressed, with large, detailed corbels on either end, bearing the weight of the extravagant, heavy mantel.
And below that, the open glass of a fireplace. The fireplace.
My fireplace.
Mesmerized, I walked on clouds to the wall, reaching out my hand and gliding my palm over the shiny, smooth mantel.
“My project.”
The sound made me jump. I turned to the opposite side of the room and saw faded jeans and a dusty, white t-shirt hugging his shoulders. He was kneeling by the wall, facing away from me, working on something electrical.
“You mean the project from the banquet?” I had to clear my throat to get the volume to work. “The award you won?” When he didn’t answer I gazed back at the fireplace. It was a replica of the fireplace from my old apartment, only three times bigger and much more elaborate. Exactly like the one he’d sketched for me a long time ago in my past. But “a long time ago in my past” folded on top of the present as I stood before the marvelous structure. Something so incredible and overwhelming was almost too much to look at up close. “It’s beautiful.” It wasn’t the word I was looking for, but was there a word for “It’s perfect and you’re perfect, and for this, I will love you for the rest of my life”? I didn’t think so.
I backed away to get a fuller view, but found myself instead gazing at him. Because he built my fireplace. Because around him, there was nowhere else my eyes wanted to be. He didn’t look up—so much for the cute, green chiffon blouse I’d chosen to wear—as I watched him examine what he was working on. Fierce concentration worked in his eyes, almost to the point of fixation. What I wouldn’t give to be the woman consuming those thoughts, to be the one on the other side of that look, to provoke that type of passion in him, to have all six-foot-something of him wrapped around me—Darn it, Heather, don’t start that already.
“Electrical work?” I asked, walking closer to get a better look. “Looks like fun.”
“You offering to help?” After a moment, he glanced up briefly with the barest little grin, and then returned his attention to what I guessed was recessed floor lights.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t lost that irresistible sparkle of mischief since we’d last met up on the basketball court.
I came closer, feigning interest in his project in order to be near him. “You stink,” I said over his shoulder.
“Only you would say something like that.”
If only he knew my thoughts behind the words. He didn’t really stink at all, though he did smell. He smelled sweaty and appealing. I was going to have to breathe through my mouth to get through this.
After a moment of watching him work, I ventured into the quiet with, “I came over to talk to you.”
“I wanted to talk to you, too,” he said, wiping the sawdust off his chin with a shoulder.
“Okay.”
“I think you should buy a different car.”
“What?” I was so taken off guard I didn’t know what to say. “Don’t you think maybe we could talk about something a little more important than my car?”
“Cars are important. Yours sucks and you need a different one.”
“I like my car, and since I don’t have the money to buy a new one—”
“I know this guy who owns a car dealership. He’ll give you a deal, you’re monthly payments should be almost nothing, he’ll work with you.”
“What if I don’t want a new car?”
“Unless you’re planning to rob a bank, it won’t be new. But at least it will run.”
Give up Penny? Ne
ver. Had he forgotten how stubborn I could be? And Penny was a great car. Just a little sick at the moment. But none of that was why I was here.
“Think about it?” he asked, looking up. I nodded once, not wanting to start on a disagreement.
After watching him for a while, thinking about how to begin this conversation, I finally just said something. “You probably already know that I didn’t come here to talk about cars.”
He bent a thick, stiff wire and placed it inside the little plastic recessed box, then stood, tossing some wire cutters into a toolbox a few feet away.
Okay, here goes nothing. “You know that I sometimes have a hard time expressing what’s on my mind.”
“Do I?” He took a swig of the drink in his hand.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said after swallowing. “You were saying?”
“No. Tell me what you meant by that.”
He returned my stare with one of his own. “The thing is, I never really knew who you were, did I?” His words were placid, mild. Only someone who knew him well would sense a trace of resentment in them. And it was interesting to see how the relaxed and confident colors of his personality had survived all these years and blended with the apathetic shades of him now.
“I know I lied to you about a few things, and I’m not sure why I didn’t come clean sooner. I mean, I do know why, but, I…can’t really explain it.” This was complicated, to explain to him how everything had unfolded in my reflection-dreams, and then how all my feelings were warped in those dreams, not as accurate as when the moments happened in real life. “I’m a little confused about why it was so hard for me. I think it was because when I first came to college, I really wanted to rise above my past. I thought that by ignoring it, I could become someone better. At first, I guess I didn’t think lying about it was that big of a deal, until it became a big deal. I can’t really even remember exactly what I said to you about my family.”
“I could help you; the lies are still pretty clear to me.”
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