by Jessie Olson
An Ever Fixéd Mark
Jessie Olson
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of fiction or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2010 by Jessie Olson
Second Smashwords Edition, 2013
Chapter One
Lizzie made one last glare at the mirror. Why did she decide to do this? There were so many plausible excuses one could easily conjure to not go. It was, after all, only the fifteenth. Twentieth was of more consequence. Like the tenth. Fifteen is just an in between. Low key… less pressure. Just an opportunity to say hello and have a glass of wine. Or… fifteen.
Still twenty pounds away from the determined goal. Twenty pounds of plateau and stress. At least none of it had come back. But… it wasn’t going to make the huge jaw dropping entrance she had oft fantasized about, especially to push through that last mile on humid summer mornings.
They all saw her photos on Facebook anyway. Not like there would be any huge surprise. And people had noticed the loss. Not that those people really mattered. It was just a hello every five years or so. There were a couple who would be there who didn’t make it to the tenth… but still… it wasn’t like Will was going to be there. Or his wife.
She collapsed into the chair in front of her desk, turning away from the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. There was no use for any further fussing. She regretted her procrastination to get to the hairdresser to mask the grays peaking through her dark hair. She thought the curls she styled made the lack of color in those strands more obvious. It was a nice wave – if only it would last the ride out to the inn. She was satisfied with the touch of mascara and eyeliner. Just enough to highlight the brown of her eyes, but not too much to look overdone.
She was satisfied enough to look back at the laptop and switch her iTunes to a livelier song. Her head moved with renewed energy as she clicked the mouse back to the invitation to see if there were any last minute additions or deletions.
Sara was still enthusiastically going. Someone to cling to… even if the conversation dried up after the first glass of wine. There were a handful of former classmates, people with whom she was able to make friendly makeshift conversation for how many years? Years when she was actually worried what people thought. Now… after fifteen years of marching to her own distinct beat with a complete disregard for other opinions… why did it matter so much? If all else failed, she could visit her parents. In fact, it would be a perfectly acceptable reason to leave early to give them company on the holiday weekend.
She stopped for coffee before getting on the Pike to make the hour-long journey west from Boston. The barista had a few extra winks and a very broad smile, assuring her that even with the extra 20 she still managed to look nice in her red dress and hoop earrings.
Her caffeine high and confidence for flirting wore off by the time she pulled into the inn’s parking lot. Red? Really. Why a color when black was much more flattering and could hide so many more evils? What would she do when Sara cast her disapproving stare over her pregnant belly? At least Sara was 7 months along and not the superlative of beauty for once.
She hesitated before closing the door of the car. Should she bring her purse or put all keys and cash in her coat pocket? She would probably leave her coat and not be able to buy anything at the bar…
“Lizzie Watson?” someone called to her, curtailing any last minute escape.
“Dan Stewart!” she put on her public charm. “How are you?”
“Pretty good,” he smiled as he approached with the petite redhead on his arm. “This is my wife, Delany.”
“Hi,” Lizzie stretched out a hand to Dan and then Delany.
“Hi,” Delany offered up a good effort towards friendly. “Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah,” Lizzie shrugged as she resigned to the fact she had to close the car door and go inside.
“Lizzie ran a half marathon a few months back,” Dan offered.
“And lost a ton of weight,” Lizzie said silently to herself, knowing that was the other unspoken half of the sentence. Well, it was public record on Facebook status updates.
“Oh?” Delany looked intrigued. “Are you going to do THE marathon?”
“Not this year,” Lizzie shook her head, noticing Delany’s calves. “Do you run?”
“I did Boston three years back. And went to New York last year. This year I’ve cut back because we’re trying to get pregnant,” Delany smiled as they walked through the doors.
“Do you have any good tips about training?” Lizzie tried not to make her relief too evident. If all else failed, she could find Delany for a conversation.
“Absolutely,” the red head nodded as they approached the reception table.
Lizzie collected her seating assignment and shoved it into her purse as she handed her coat to the attendant. She turned around to look for Delany or Dan and bumped into someone else’s shoulder. A set of gray green eyes turned around and startled her from her semi-interested state. “Ben?” she spat out as impulse more than friendly greeting.
“Hi Elizabeth,” his greeting seemed automated. “Dan.”
“Delany, this is Ben Cottingham,” Dan pushed Delany forward, allowing Lizzie to step aside from her abrupt greeting.
“Delany,” Ben repeated in the same neutral tone and moved toward the coat check.
“Ladies, can I get you a drink while you discuss marathons?” Dan offered, edging towards the ballroom.
“Chardonnay,” Delany answered.
“Uh… red – anything South American if they have it,” Lizzie stuttered, almost startled that she was accompanying Dan Stewart and his wife into the reunion. She looked back to Ben, who glanced in her direction as he handed over his coat.
“Sara will be here,” she nodded before looking back to Delany, whom in spite of nerves and high school politics, she couldn’t help but liking.
*****
Lizzie stared at the burgundy liquid in her glass. She doubted one more sip would make the conversation at her table more interesting. But she imagined to finish it and leave to get another glass would invite a look from Sara. Was there really a time in their lives when they spent hours on the phone talking with one another? Lizzie took a sip, leaving two more swallows to tint the edges of the plastic with red. She offered a smile to the table, unable to contribute any suggestions about how to offset the symptoms of morning sickness. She was the only female at the table without that reference point. Maybe she could entertain the Y chromosomes with a discussion of 18th century muskets… but they all seemed the type more interested in Fenway Park and Gillette Stadium.
She waved across the dance floor to Delany, who looked equally disinterested in the conversation with Dan and his old crowd. She contemplated finishing the last two swallows to make a trip to the bar and travel back to ask Delany about sneakers when Sara brought her back to the table. “What about you, Lizzie?”
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Weren’t you seeing someone? I thought I remember you mentioning someone last year.”
“Oh that? That really… didn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sara rested her hand against her proportiona
te baby bump. “I was hoping that you would have brought him tonight.”
“He just got married,” Lizzie blushed when she realized her answer was vocal. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t meant to be.” Not that it ever was, Lizzie managed to keep to herself as she swallowed the rest of her glass.
“Sara,” Ben Cottingham greeted behind Lizzie.
“Benjamin,” Sara smiled with such sweetness, Lizzie knew it was an effort. Lizzie mimicked Sara’s saccharine expression to disguise her cynicism. “This is my husband, Ted.”
“Ted,” Ben nodded. “Congratulations. Your third?”
“Fourth,” Sara smiled extra hard, at which point Lizzie twisted her neck to look at Ben.
“Are you still in Connecticut?”
“We just bought a new house in Thompson,” Sara slipped her hand into Ted’s as the music changed to a slower tempo. Ted took the cue and led Sara out to the dance floor, signaling all the couples at the table to follow suit. Lizzie looked at the vacant chairs and back at her empty wine glass.
“Allow me,” Ben offered. Lizzie looked to the dance floor. She could almost smell the cafeteria and see the blue metallic speakers. The flash of memory vanished as a plastic wine glass appeared before her.
She took a sip as Ben sat beside her. “I saw that you ran a marathon,” Ben looked at the dancing couples.
“Half,” Lizzie took another swallow of wine. “Since then I’ve been a total slacker.”
Ben looked away from the dancers, questions in his green gray eyes. Lizzie didn’t remember the freckles across his nose and on his cheeks.
“Okay, not total. But I’m not training… and certainly not… just doing what I need to allow food comas on Turkey Day.”
Ben smiled and looked back at the dance floor. “That’s good enough, isn’t it?”
“Not when I wanted to wear a little black number tonight,” Lizzie drank another swallow, almost emptying the small plastic glass. “Amazing how Facebook creates conversation opportunity at reunions.”
Ben looked back at her. The eyes that questioned smiled with amusement. “It is a curious phenomenon.”
“I have a friend who contemplated a thesis on that. But she opted for something more literary,” Lizzie swirled the remaining liquid in her glass. “That said, in spite of the fact you are my friend… what have you been doing for the past 15 years?”
“School. Working. More school. More working.”
“Computers?” Lizzie tried to remember the profile page.
“Computer engineering,” Ben’s green gray eyes looked back again.
“I write letters and plan parties,” Lizzie kept looking at her glass.
“I thought you worked for a hospital.”
“In fundraising,” Lizzie glanced up, almost intrigued that he would have paid attention to her detail as much as she paid attention to his. But that was only because she remembered him from 10th grade study hall and wondered what he amounted to after pining over Sara for three years.
Ben’s eyes wandered back to the dance floor. Maybe it wasn’t just three years after all. Lizzie finished her wine and let the silence linger in the chairs between them. There was a sudden increase of quiet before the music cranked up the tempo and volume. Lizzie looked at the partners moving into circles and randomness. “Thanks for the wine,” she stood and went to Delany’s side for jumping and twisting.
She was sweating by the time the tempo changed again and welcomed the opportunity to leave the dance floor and go back to the table for a gulp of water. Ben was still seated amongst two couples who hadn’t returned to dancing. He looked even less interested in their words than he was in hers earlier.
“You don’t dance?” she felt emboldened by the slight endorphin rush and wine still coursing through her veins.
“I dance,” Ben didn’t look at her when he spoke, but very shortly after.
His answer silenced the table from their conversation about turkey dinners. “Where are Sara and Ted?”
“Sara was tired,” one of the women answered reluctantly. “So they went home,” she made a pleading glance at her husband.
“Oh,” Lizzie contemplated her empty wine glass versus the keys in her purse as the next song began and continued the slow theme.
“Lizzie, Sara said you had a beau,” the other woman Heidi offered an attempt for distraction.
Lizzie coughed on the laughter. “I had a rather severe infatuation last year,” Lizzie said pointedly. “I wouldn’t say he was my beau.”
“Oh,” Heidi looked uncertain. “Ben, what about you?”
“I don’t have a beau,” he smiled and met Lizzie’s eyes.
“A girlfriend?” Heidi asked impatiently.
“Not one of those either,” he lifted a half empty glass from the table and swirled the liquid.
“Are you still in love with Sara?” Heidi didn’t hesitate.
Lizzie watched Ben set the glass back on the table slowly. “If you dance, you must prove it,” Lizzie made the determination standing beside him.
*****
Lizzie stepped quickly into the room as Ben held the door open. She looked at the furnishings and decided to set her coat and purse on a chair in front of the desk. Instinctively, Lizzie cast her shoes under the chair. She felt Ben’s eyes and turned to face him. “I hate wearing shoes. I didn’t want to put them back on when we left,” she said hastily to hide her nervousness. She was pretty sure his offer to come up to his room was more than an interest in small talk.
“By all means,” he smiled as he took off his jacket. “Make yourself comfortable.” Lizzie noticed the contours of his shoulders. He removed his jacket downstairs while they were dancing, but in the crowd and duller light of the ballroom, she really didn’t pay attention to how athletic he was. He probably wasn’t really that impressed with her half marathon.
“It’s a nice room,” he went across the suite towards the counter.
“It is,” Lizzie agreed awkwardly, starting to regret those extra twenty pounds.
“Do you want something to drink? I think this room includes a bottle of wine,” he found the bottle on top of the counter, beside two wine glasses.
“Sure,” Lizzie shook her head, resigned to the fact that she wasn’t driving any time soon. She managed to dance off most of her earlier drinks and needed something to quiet the unnecessary thoughts in her mind. “That’s a nice perk.”
“Yeah,” he finagled with the corkscrew. “I didn’t expect such a nice location. Who knew this area attracted tourists?”
“Leaf peepers and skiers, no doubt.”
“Huh?” he looked at her curiously as he pulled out the cork.
“I worked for a couple museums, so I got to know the New England tourist industry pretty well.”
“Why did you stop working in museums?” Ben poured one glass.
“It didn’t pay enough to make a living. Although, I still work a couple weekends giving tours at an historic house in Cambridge.”
“Which house?” he poured the second glass of wine.
“The Fulton House. The history is mostly circa the War of 1812 – the one no one cares about. But it’s kind of interesting because the Fultons were loyal to the English and protested the war. It’s not as sexy as Lexington and Concord. Or… well, it’s mostly about furniture and wallpaper anyway,” Lizzie stopped herself, feeling foolish for prattling on about history she figured he didn’t care about. “Not many people have heard of it.”
“I have,” Ben startled her.
“Have you been there?”
He locked eyes with her suddenly. Lizzie felt her cheeks flush as the green in his eyes caught the glare of the lights over the bed. He was looking at her, no doubt wondering what to say to stop her prattling. She caught a deep breath and forced a smile at his serious stare. “A long time ago,” he whispered.
“You should come by some Saturday,” Lizzie persisted her smile. “I’ll give you a tour and tell you all the things we’re not supposed to say.”
“That sounds intriguing,” he offered his own smile as he handed her the glass of wine.
Lizzie flushed again and didn’t register the thought to delay her next sentence. “So, seriously, do you still have a thing for Sara?”
“No,” he answered pretty quickly as he took up the second glass and sat on the sofa.
Lizzie took a large sip and decided to sit beside him. There was silence for a few seconds, which seemed too long to her. “Did some girl at MIT steal your heart?”
“No,” Ben tipped his glass towards him, staring at the red liquid for a few seconds before shifting his gray green eyes back to Lizzie. She remembered a similar glance when he would look up from his homework in the library. She never thought much of his eyes then, hidden under his shaggy reddish bangs. She never thought much of many boys, least of all the ones who liked Sara.
“Someone broke yours recently?” his stare offered an element of sympathy.
Lizzie felt her cheeks burn again, remembering her honest answer to Heidi a few hours prior. “Something like that. I think… I know that I felt much more than he did. Even so, I let myself fancy marriage for a little while. But all it was… really… was a transient flirtation. I have a weakness for musicians.”
“Do you play?”
“Ha, no, hardly,” Lizzie laughed uncomfortably. “I just know a lot of people who do.”
“Do you still talk to Jack?”
“He’s my cousin,” Lizzie looked at his green eyes.
“That’s right,” he laughed at himself.
“And he is a good friend. He still has a band. I see them once a month or every other month depending how often I get out to Coldbrook.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t come tonight.”
“He hated high school,” Lizzie repeated the answer she heard at Thanksgiving dinner. “I was surprised that you came, actually. You weren’t at the tenth.”
Ben’s lips curled a little as he set his glass on the table beside him. The stare of his green gray eyes unnerved her. Was it admiration? Or lust? Or alcohol? Or Sara treating him so badly? With that thought, Lizzie looked down into the wine in her hand. She took another swallow. “So you’re not still pining for Sara?”
