The Life We Almost Had

by Laura Miller

  That’s all he says. I look over at him. His stare is somewhere far off.

  A restless wanderer. I remind myself again to be careful what I wish for.

  “What do you think Natalie and Isaac are doing tonight?” I ask, in an effort to change the subject.

  He transfers his weight to his other leg. “Same as they always do on his birthday.”

  “And what is that?” The mood has shifted, and I’m grateful.

  “They’ll go to some car show if they can find one. Then they’ll go to Amelia’s Tacos and Burgers for dinner, and then they might go see whatever movie is playing at the Walt. And then, you can use your imagination after that, I suppose.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut, begging my imagination not to go there.

  “It’s true,” he says. “Same thing. Every year.”

  “They sound like two old people who’ve been married for sixty years.”

  “And they’re not together,” he says, using air quotes.

  “Right,” I say, sarcastically.

  Our conversation grows quiet. And in that time, an owl coos off in the distance.

  “Tacos and burgers?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I was wondering when you were going to say something about that. It’s actually a pretty good place.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Hey, speaking of those two, you wanna maybe go out with them tomorrow night? It could be like a double date, but no one is really seeing anybody.”

  I lower my head and smile to myself.

  “It’ll be fun,” he adds.

  I look up and meet his soft, brown eyes. I don’t even have to answer. He already knows I’ll be there.

  His lips turn up, and then his gaze travels back to that lighthouse in the woods. I hate that I’m enjoying this time with him—knowing what I know. I hate it. But I also kind of love it, too. So much feels the same. But then again, so much has changed.

  When I loved him, his Chevelle was cherry red.

  It’s black now.

  When I loved him, we dreamed under the stars.

  We have no dreams together now.

  When I loved him, Sweet Home was still sweet.

  It’s home to ghosts now.

  Chapter Twelve

  Angel’s Tree House

  Fourteen Years Old

  Iva

  “You know who built this tree house?” I ask. I lie down on the boards that make up the little floor, and I kick my feet up onto the wood railing. Berlin lies right next to me and does the same.

  “Who?”

  “Angel’s daddy.”

  “Who was Angel, anyway?”

  “The girl who lived here before you.” I turn my face so that I can see his. “She had your room.”

  “Oh,” he says. “Were you friends?”

  “Yeah.” I look up into the hole in the roof and at the dozens of branches that crisscross above us in the dark. “We were.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “Yeah,” I breathe out, “some days.”

  I pick up the jar of lightning bugs we caught just a few minutes ago, and I examine the little parts of them that keep lighting up and fading out and then lighting up again. Then I tilt my face toward his; he’s already looking at me. “But if she would have never left, I might not have ever met you,” I say.

  He smiles. “That might be true.”

  “Angel was like that,” I say.

  “Like what?”

  “Always watching over me.”

  I don’t say anything else, and eventually my thoughtful stare wanders back to his.

  “You’re pretty,” he breathes out.

  My eyes narrow in on him. I’m trying to figure out if he’s just messing with me.

  “You are.” He says it as if he’s never thought of it any other way.

  “Okay,” I say, looking away, feeling awkward. I’m pretty sure my momma is the only person who’s ever called me pretty.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. Friends don’t usually tell friends that they’re pretty.”

  “Are you blushin’?” he asks.

  “What? No.” I press the jar of lightning bugs to my stomach.

  “You are.”

  I cover my cheek with the palm of my hand. I know I’m blushing. My cheek feels as if it’s on fire.

  “Do you like me, Iva Scott?”

  “What?” My eyes dart to his. One hand is still glued to my cheek; the other is glued to the lightning bug jar.

  “I like you,” he says.

  My stomach starts to feel flip-floppy, so I sit up and lean my back against the railing. He follows suit and does the same, leaning his back against the railing opposite of me.

  “And I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I saw you in that window that first night. ... But then, I thought that all was a given.”

  “A given?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says, “I hang out with you every day. We stand together, waiting for that bus every morning and then we sit together on the way to school—every day. And then after school, we hang out in this old tree house. So, yeah, I thought it was a given.”

  I lower my head and smile to myself. I can’t even control it. All those Seventeen magazines couldn’t prepare me for this moment—my moment—when all my dreams come true—when Berlin Elliot says he likes me.

  My gaze slowly rises to meet his.

  “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

  I sink my teeth into my lip. I’m trying my best to fight off a crazy grin, while my mind goes back to that first time he sat next to me on the bus. I have been secretly wanting to kiss him ever since then.

  “Have you ever kissed anyone before?” I ask.

  I’m curious. I’m hoping I’m his first kiss. But I also want to know what I’m going up against. I don’t know the first thing about kissing.

  He shakes his head.

  I let go of a thankful breath.

  “Have you?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  A few moments pass, and then he carefully crawls across the wood floor and then sits down right next to me. My heart is pounding, and I can’t take more than a shallow breath, but I also can’t take my eyes off him. He’s the cutest boy I’ve ever known. And he wants to kiss me.

  He lifts his hand to my face, and his fingers graze my skin, starting at my temple and coming to rest at my chin. There’s this new look—like hunger or want—in his brown eyes, as his stare follows the path of his fingers.

  My heart is about ready to explode in my chest. I almost can’t take it.

  And then without warning, he looks into my eyes, and a wave of anticipation suddenly washes over me. And in that second, I wonder if he can see the hunger and want in my eyes, too. I want this boy. I love this boy.

  After several breathless heartbeats, I watch his eyelids slowly cover his eyes. And then he leans closer. I close my eyes, and before long, I feel the touch of his warm lips.

  He moves his mouth over mine, and I do the same. And then, he pulls away, leaving my lips feeling tingly. It was only a moment, but it was the best moment of my life. And with my eyes still closed, I quickly memorize everything. It’s a Tuesday night in Angel’s tree house with Berlin Elliot—My. First. Kiss. And it was perfect.

  “I guess we’re more than friends now,” he whispers.

  I open my eyes and press my fingers to my lips, as he finds a place next to me. And we stay like that—in the perfect silence—until he reaches for my hand and weaves his fingers through mine.

  So,” he says, “I guess I can tell you now that I like your butt, too.”

  “Berlin Elliot,” I scold, gently elbowing his arm.

  I can’t stop smiling. My mind is still on the kiss. But then, my eye catches on the lightning bugs, and I start to unscrew the jar.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m freeing them,” I say. “They only get to shine for a little while.”


  He looks down at me and smiles.

  “That’s why I like you, Iva Scott.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder, and I set the jar’s lid onto the boards beside me, as one by one, those fireflies fly away. But what I don’t tell him is that I’m hoping one of these lightning bugs makes it up to heaven and tells God that the boy I want to marry is Berlin Elliot.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Like the Boy

  Present

  Iva

  “So, you two knew each other before this weekend?” Isaac asks, eyeing Berlin and I from across the table.

  We’re at some small bar downtown on our double date.

  I glance at Berlin, and for a moment, our eyes meet.

  “Yep,” Berlin says, returning his attention to Isaac.

  Isaac keeps his cryptic look, but now he also narrows it in on Berlin.

  “Were you a thing when you used to know each other or something because ...”

  “We were next-door neighbors,” Berlin says, interrupting him.

  “Ohhh,” Isaac says, drawing out the word. “The next-door-neighbors’ thing.”

  “No,” Berlin says, grinning, “it was a little more than that.” He looks over at me, and I just shake my head and smile.

  “Berlin was the love of Iva’s life,” Natalie all but shouts across the table.

  All eyes go to her.

  Instantly, I feel as if I want to crawl under the table and hide until everyone in the bar leaves. Berlin, on the other hand, doesn’t really seem as if he’s at all affected by her statement.

  “I’m sorry, Iva. I didn’t mean ...,” Natalie stutters.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

  “It’s okay,” Berlin says, taking my hand under the table.

  Immediately, all my attention goes to his hand and his fingers now interlocked in mine.

  “I already knew that,” he says.

  The feel of his hand is like an old memory you get to touch again. Suddenly, I can smell his boy cologne hanging in the warm, summer breeze, as we lie in the grass and weave our bodies together. I swallow hard and try not to let everyone at the table see my memory, too.

  “It’s true,” I say, clearing my throat. “He already knew that. Then again, we were, like, fourteen.”

  “Fifteen,” Berlin corrects. “Well, I last saw her when I was fifteen. She was the first person I met when we moved to Sweet Home. In fact, the evening before we officially met, I watched her change her own bike tire. And I knew, right there, we were going to be friends.”

  “What?” I turn to him. “I didn’t know that. You watched me?”

  “Yeah, a little creeper-ish, I know. But I just had never seen a girl change a bike tire.”

  “Berlin!” A girl yells from another table. And just like that, she’s hovering over us. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

  I look at Berlin. Back in town?

  “Yeah, just for a little while,” he says to the girl.

  “Well, isn’t that nice,” she says, pulling out a napkin from her purse. “Look, I don’t want to interrupt you all, but can I get you to sign this for my aunt. She just adores you.”

  Berlin looks a little embarrassed, but he also looks a little too comfortable with that question for it to be odd.

  “Sure,” he says.

  He squeezes my hand before letting it go and taking the pen and the napkin from the girl.

  “Jill, you know that ain’t for your aunt,” Isaac says, prodding the brunette.

  The girl rolls her eyes, but otherwise, ignores Isaac, though I know we all notice her blush.

  I watch Berlin sign the napkin, while Isaac and Natalie talk to each other. And just as he’s finishing, I look up and catch the girl’s stare on me. I think it’s a curious look, but I can’t be sure. Either way, she quickly averts her eyes and takes the napkin from Berlin.

  “Thank you,” she says, pressing the signature to her chest. “She’s just gonna love this.”

  “Okay,” Berlin says with a nod.

  And with that, she vanishes just as quickly as she had appeared.

  “Okay, anyway, so, let me get this straight, then.” Isaac seems determined to go on with his questioning, but I’m wondering what in the hell just happened. And why isn’t anyone else wondering the same thing?

  I look at Natalie. She’s lost in her phone now, and she doesn’t seem the slightest thrown off. What on earth is going on?

  “You guys had this thing,” Isaac continues, “whatever it was, when you were in high school, and then, you moved away,” he says, eyeing Berlin, “and then ... you just never saw each other again? And then, like, what, a half a decade later, she just shows up here?” he asks, now staring straight at me.

  “Yeah, that’s about right,” Berlin says, taking my hand again.

  I really should protest his hand-holding. I’m not sure why he thinks, after seven years, he can just take my hand like that. Then again, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.

  “So, you really liked this girl?” Isaac asks. He’s addressing Berlin now, as if they’re the only two people at the table.

  It’s a moment before Berlin says anything.

  “Yeah,” he says, eventually, squeezing my hand. His action sends an electric shock sprinting through my body, starting at my fingertips. God knows he’s gorgeous. And I loved him. It’s hard not to feel this way—no matter how much time we lost.

  I watch Isaac. He keeps his focus solely on Berlin. I can tell he wants to say something else on the topic, but he never does.

  “Natalie, I think this is your favorite song,” Isaac says in her direction.

  Natalie sets her drink down and listens over the loud hum of the bar sounds.

  “I can’t even hear it,” she says, almost yelling.

  “It is,” he assures her, “trust me.”

  He scoots out of the booth and takes Natalie’s hand. “Come on, let’s dance.”

  Natalie smiles at me. “I guess we’re dancing then,” she says. And right before Isaac pulls her away, she whispers sorry to me.

  I smile, letting her know it’s fine.

  After they’re both gone, I sit there, staring at a hole in the wood on the table’s surface. Everything feels so raw, as if someone’s just scraped back the first layer of my skin. And I don’t know what to do about it. I came here just a couple days ago thinking that Natalie and I would spend all day at the pool, working on our tans. And then at night, we would paint the town red and dance until our feet hurt, and then we’d hobble home, with our heels in our hands and stay up all night talking about all the stupid adventures we had ever had ... and will have.

  But that was all before I looked up from that street the same day I arrived here. At first, he was just an attractive guy that caught my eye. But then, I saw his face. And that’s when my heart nearly stopped. I almost couldn’t believe my own eyes.

  “You wanna get some air?” I hear Berlin’s smooth, deep voice, and it easily drags me out of my thoughts.

  “Yes,” I say, faster than he can even get the words out.

  He chuckles, and together, we slide out of the booth and head for the bar’s back door. And I might be crazy, but I feel as if every eye in this place follows us out.

  There’s a wood picnic table a little ways from the door. We go to it and take a seat on the table part, planting our feet on the long bench.

  “You can’t not love ‘em,” he says, elbowing my side.

  I nod, knowing he’s referring to Natalie and Isaac.

  It’s dark, despite the glow of the lights from the bar. And in the far distance, you can see a tiny spattering of stars in the sky.

  “What was that about ... in there?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “That girl ... wanting your signature?”

  “Oh,” he says, not bothering to elaborate.

  “Berlin, what do you do?”

  He smiles up at the sky.

  “I drive a car.”


  I feel my head cock to the side.

  “What kind of car?”

  “A stock car. It’s not a big deal. I’m still working my way up.”

  “But people know you.”

  “Yeah, well, we are in Channing, Kansas. Everyone knows the mailman, too.”

  I shoot him a curious look, but soon it melts into a warm smile. “You found something to do with fast cars, after all.”

  He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did. But then again, you said I would.”

  He lies back against the boards that make up the table’s surface.

  “What do you think McMarbles is doing right now?”

  I hear his voice, and then I lie back next to him. We’re nearly shoulder to shoulder.

  “I think he’s looking down at us, thinking that we have no idea what we’re missing.”

  I can tell he looks at me now, but I keep my eyes trained on that black sky.

  “You think he’s got all the plastic milk cap rings he could ever want?” he asks.

  This time, I turn my head and meet his soft stare. He smiles at me, but right before it gets too serious, I look away.

  “I think he does,” I say.

  It’s quiet then, but it’s a comfortable quiet, so I welcome it.

  “Do you remember that day of the tornado?” he asks.

  Instantly, I choke on a laugh.

  “Geez, Iva, tornados aren’t funny.”

  I try unsuccessfully to compose myself.

  “Okay, fine, it was funny,” he says. “I mean, it wasn’t, but it was,” he adds.

  “I don’t think I could ever forget that, even if I wanted to,” I say.

  “You were so scared.”

  “Well, you know, it was a tornado, and all,” I remind him.

  He drops his gaze. “I was more afraid of you dying on your own accord than by the actual tornado.” He moves his head back and forth against the wood still warm from a sunny day. “I remember it, like it was yesterday. You were running around trying to snatch up everything soft you could find. And then ...” He stops and grabs his midsection and chuckles to himself. “And then you threw it all at me. And do you remember what you said to me?”