An Ever Fixéd Mark

by Jessie Olson

  Why didn’t she want Eric? Why the hell did she want Ben?

  She was just being stupid. Eric was a real opportunity. And Ben… well… she couldn’t really write him off as a failure. She failed to talk to him, too. Didn’t she? Not that it would have mattered… not that it would have mattered if she ever spoke up to Will. He never wanted her. Ben didn’t want her. But Lizzie was different when Will was in the picture. Now she was … running up and down the Charles. She still wasn’t at her ideal weight, but she was pretty close. She looked good in a red dress and a black dress… and out of those dresses.

  Lizzie felt the surge of endorphins as she saw a crowd of runners approach from the opposite direction. She leapt off the paved path and started running along the damp grass. She increased her speed and let the high empty her brain of all that stress. She was ready to run all the way back to Newton.

  She landed her foot and slid on a patch of mud. Before she realized what was happening, she fell on the ground, with her right foot going in the opposite direction from the rest of her leg. She looked up quickly, tears filling her eyes. She felt stupid. So stupid. How many people saw her land on her ass? She looked and saw that everyone was walking, running, or cycling in an opposite direction from a view of her. She saw the cars pass on Memorial Drive and caught one driver looking at her.

  The pain shot up her calf. She needed to get herself up. There was a bench a few feet away. She managed to pull herself up with her arms and good leg and limp over to the bench. She took out her earphones and shut her eyes, hoping that it would stop her from babbling like a baby. Why hadn’t she brought her phone? She was at least a mile from the train. Probably two at this point. She could hail a taxi… if one passed by on the street. She didn’t think she could stand that long. She didn’t bring any cash. Just her Charlie card.

  Her ankle really really hurt. It was probably just a sprain. She hoped. She tried to lift it to get a better look, but started to cry again as it smarted more. She set it down and took in a deep breath as a pair of walkers went by. She hated to be helpless. To look helpless. To not be able to take care of herself. She could do it. She just didn’t know how…

  “Elizabeth,” a voice came behind her and numbed her completely.

  “Ben.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She was pretty sure her cheeks were already rosy from the exercise, but now they were flaming. “I…” she tried to think of a way to argue that she would be fine, but the tears were still wet on her cheeks. “I think I sprained my ankle.”

  He sat in front of her and lifted up her muddy shoe. How did he know which one to look at? He unlaced her sneaker and removed her sock. She felt his warm fingers against the throbbing joint. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he looked up at her, revealing his gray green eyes she found so charming and unforgettable. “You would be howling right now if it were.”

  “Good,” Lizzie said succinctly. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live a few blocks down the road,” he stood up slowly, still holding her sock and muddy sneaker.

  “Oh,” Lizzie felt suddenly very embarrassed, taking her sock and putting it into the sneaker. Would he think she decided to stalk him? “I thought I’d go for a run along the river.”

  “Yes,” he was looking at the river. “Did you drive here?”

  “No, I took the train,” Lizzie looked down and decided to forsake her pride. “Can you – could you get me back to the train station?”

  “I’ll give you a ride home,” he looked at her and smiled. “Unless you want to go to the emergency room?”

  Lizzie shook her head. With her luck, she would end up having Eric examine her. Maybe this was her karma for avoiding her running partner. “You’re sure it’s not broken?”

  “I’m sure,” Ben smiled. “Do you mind sitting here while I get the car?”

  “Yeah, of course,” Lizzie bit her lip to stop the ridiculous tears she felt like letting out. She wasn’t sure if it was the pain, the embarrassment, or the torture of being in his company.

  She watched him walk away and disappear somewhere across Memorial Drive. She was happy to see him and excited that he wasn’t just going to disappear. He was helping her… coming to her rescue… like some dopey fairy tale. Lizzie got annoyed with her thinking and grounded herself. Maybe it was a fortunate coincidence. Maybe it was an opportunity… an opportunity for her to say something to him.

  She watched the runners go by and avoid the muddy patch into which she so blindly slipped. Her ankle still hurt. She tried not to think of it as she rehearsed ways of entreating Ben to seeing her again. Expressing her gratitude for his assistance and offering to buy him a drink – or dinner. Or… what did he like to do anyway?

  “Hey,” his voice called her back to the present. “Let me give you a hand.”

  Lizzie didn’t speak and allowed Ben to pull her off the bench. He draped her left arm around him and guided her to his Prius, parked illegally on Memorial Drive. Luckily it was a Saturday and not rush hour. Even so, there were a lot of angry drivers irritated by his position. Ben didn’t seem to mind and took his time easing her into the passenger seat. Soon enough he was beside her and starting the ignition.

  “Where to?” he met her eyes briefly before getting back into the traffic.

  “Newton. You can just cross the river and get on the Pike. Get off at the hotel exit… and that will get you pretty close to my apartment.”

  “That sounds easy enough.”

  “Thanks,” Lizzie wasn’t able to segue into her invitation.

  “Not at all,” Ben shook his head. “I wasn’t going to leave you to hobble back to the T.”

  “I’m lucky you happened to walk by.”

  Ben took in a short breath. “Pretty lucky.”

  Lizzie didn’t understand why he hesitated like that. Did he regret being her savior? She felt her confidence sink deep into her stomach.

  “So are you training for another marathon?” he asked casually, as if it were an automated response to picking up women with sprained ankles.

  “I’m running a 10K at the end of next month. Hopefully this will heal by then,” Lizzie sighed as they crossed the Charles

  “It takes four to six weeks to heal completely. You can get a brace and work back gradually,” he said matter of factly and turned his head. “When’s the race?”

  “Six weeks.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do okay. You’ve got strong muscle.”

  Lizzie bit her lip. Was that a compliment or a casual observation? “I work at a hospital,” Lizzie laughed at herself. “I know a doctor or two.”

  “I know… just take it easy for the rest of the weekend,” he cleared his throat. “Have you heard from Sara lately? How’s she doing?”

  Lizzie let out a sigh and with it her hopes for dinner. “She seems okay,” Lizzie answered, not that she was an authority on how Sara was doing. Pretty much anyone who was a Facebook friend could deduce what she could tell Ben. “She had her baby.”

  “Oh?” Ben clearly didn’t pay attention to Facebook.

  “Jack and I talked about going to Connecticut to visit her,” Lizzie continued. “But we haven’t really gotten around to it.”

  “How’s Jack? Have you been to see his band play recently?” he continued as though the questions were predetermined and the answers didn’t really matter.

  “Jack’s all right. I haven’t gone to see the band lately,” she didn’t want to think about the band… or the drummer. She looked away to the sign indicating the necessary exit.

  “Send him my regards,” Ben nodded as they took the exit. “You’ll have to guide me from here.”

  Lizzie was glad to give up the conversation for navigation of the half miles and turns to her house. She didn’t see Meg’s car and figured Jackie wasn’t apt to come down and help her up the stairs. Lizzie picked up her sneaker and looked at Ben. What would it hurt to ask him? Just to say thank you?

  He looked straight ahead, throug
h the windshield. His thoughts seemed to be somewhere beyond Jefferson Park or the fact that she was sitting beside him. Was he thinking back to his question about Sara? Or a regret that he ignited a conversation with a one night stand he preferred to let alone and ignore? Lizzie was sure she had his expression on herself when she left Jack’s house that January night.

  “Elizabeth,” he began and let a deadening silence rest between them. “I…”

  “Thank you so much for driving me home. I’m sorry if I got mud on your seat,” Lizzie said quickly and opened the door to get herself out. Before she knew it, he was beside her to help her out of the seat.

  “You need to keep the pressure off your ankle,” he lifted her into his arms. He took the key from her hand and carried her up the stairs. He settled her softly back on her good foot, slowly unwinding his arms from her side. She was very close to him. Almost touching her torso against his. She could feel his breath against her exposed neck. She wanted to kiss him. She didn’t want to kiss him. She couldn’t do that to herself and let him walk away. He would walk away. She saw that in his vacant gaze out the windshield. She wanted to kiss him very very badly. She felt herself slowly lean a little closer as the door to the bathroom opened at the end of the hall.

  Lizzie stepped back and remembered the pain of her ankle. Jackie came into view and quickly surveyed the situation. “Hi Jackie,” Lizzie recovered herself. “This is my friend, Ben.”

  Jackie narrowed her dark eyes with semi interest. “What happened to you?”

  “I slipped when I went running and hurt my ankle.”

  “Oh,” Jackie’s unpleasantness softened into sympathy. “Let me get you some ice.”

  “You should get off that foot, Elizabeth,” Ben urged as Jackie left for the kitchen. His eyes looked at her… was it sadness or pity that reflected against their green tint?

  “Yeah,” she locked his gaze for a few seconds, feeling another urge to leap at him for a kiss as Jackie returned with a bag of frozen vegetables.

  “We don’t have peas,” she laughed. “But I think broccoli will work. We forgot to fill the ice trays.”

  “Broccoli will work,” Ben winked and went down the stairs.

  “Thanks, Ben,” Lizzie said softly and let Jackie guide her to the sofa.

  Chapter Seven

  Lizzie looked at the Facebook updates and switched back to her word document. She had been alternating screens every five minutes for two weeks now. There was never anything indicating the presence of Ben on the social networking site. Nothing to reveal what he was doing since he left her at the top of her stairs. Nothing in her inbox to ask if she felt better. It was a foolish habit and just made the day drag even more.

  She started typing a status update about her boredom but was distracted when the door to the office opened, ushering in Richard, Dr. Chiang, and their lunch partner. “Lizzie, you know Gerard Fulton,” Richard approached Lizzie’s desk after taking Gerard’s coat.

  “You’re the girl from the house,” Gerard paused to recognize her with his waspy blue eyes. It wasn’t a look of admiration.

  Lizzie forced her smile. “Yes I work there on alternate Saturdays,” Lizzie held out her hand kindly.

  “We are lucky to have Lizzie on staff,” Richard said as his phone rang. “She has told us many interesting facts about your ancestors.”

  Lizzie smiled at Gerard and Dr. Chiang as Richard politely excused himself to take his call. She wondered if the Fulton heir was as charmed by Dr. Chiang as everyone else when a pager buzzed the surgeon’s coat pocket. Lizzie directed her to another desk and phone to use, leaving Lizzie alone with Gerard Fulton. She tried not to linger too long in awkward silence, knowing how important Gerard’s money was to the hospital. “Have you visited Brattle Street recently, Mr. Fulton?” she asked politely.

  “Not since the end of the summer, I’m afraid,” he actually seemed to perk up at the opportunity to discuss the house.

  “I was there last Saturday. I always like the early spring in that house. The light seems to best highlight some details in March and April – before all the leaves block out the sun,” Lizzie smiled, but was uncertain when he offered nothing to fill the next silence. “Do you know who Lotty might be?”

  “Lotty?”

  “A few months back, my manager showed me a letter that Harriet had written to someone named Lotty,” Lizzie was inspired by her preoccupation with the Fulton daughter.

  “That was probably Charlotte,” Gerard stated the fact proudly. “The wife of Horace, John’s son from his first marriage.”

  “Oh,” Lizzie felt satisfaction for both intriguing him in conversation and answering a minor mystery. It was something she could include on the tour. She had it straight from the mouth of a Fulton.

  “She was English,” Gerard continued. “I can’t remember the history of her family. Horace started to invest in a ship building company south of Boston, but he died before making his own fortune.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Lizzie responded. She actually didn’t want to know that.

  “I didn’t know there was such a letter,” Gerard said abruptly.

  “Yes, it is in the museum archives.”

  “Hm,” Gerard muttered. “Harriet married Lazarus Benedict. He was from the North Shore.”

  “We don’t know very much about Harriet,” Lizzie commented hopefully.

  “It is a pity about that chair,” Gerard looked at her.

  “The chair?”

  “In Harriet’s room. It gets far too much exposure from the sun. It is a fine piece. You must do something about preserving it.”

  “Yes,” Lizzie smiled empathetically.

  “Tell Jonathan he should get some better shades for that room,” Gerard advised as Dr. Chiang returned to the conversation.

  “I will,” Lizzie assented, even though she seldom had reason to speak with the curator never mind the authority to tell him how to maintain the property.

  “Gerard, I apologize for that,” Dr. Chiang interrupted.

  “That’s all right. Leslie is very kind.”

  “Yes, Lizzie is very helpful,” Dr. Chiang smiled once more before leading him into Richard’s office.

  Lizzie laughed to herself and returned to her computer as Richard closed the door. She sat back at her computer, with no added tasks from her idling before. She clicked over to Google and typed in Charlotte Fulton. She saw a genealogy page that confirmed she was married to Horace Fulton, son of John and his first wife, Caroline. There was a link to an art collection, tracing the original purchase back to a Charlotte Fulton in 1858. Lizzie wasn’t sure if it was the same Charlotte Fulton. Perhaps. But… not much else. She clicked on the image option – just in case there was some random portrait out there. There were a lot of modern photos of Charlottes and Fultons… but no Charlotte Fulton. On the next page, she found a silent movie star in a mysterious black and white photo. Lizzie clicked on that picture and found a profile. That Charlotte Fulton appeared in a number of films in the 20’s of which Lizzie had never heard. Well… she had some more information, but nothing interesting or in depth enough for a good story on her tour. All she could say, really, was that Harriet wrote A letter ONCE to her sister in law. Not really that exciting.

  Lizzie remembered there was another name in the letter. Mr. Chester. She typed in Charlotte Fulton Chester in the search icon. Another genealogy page showed up. There were too many words and too many names for Lizzie to understand how they all connected to one another. She scrolled down to find Charlotte Fulton or Chester. Her eyes froze on the sight of Benjamin Chester. Her heart skipped as her cheeks flushed immediately. So much for distracting herself from those thoughts.

  She clicked out of Google and back to Facebook. A red notification popped up to say she was tagged in a few photos someone finally put from the reunion. She was in three of them. There was one with Sara. One with Dan and Delany Stewart. And one with Ben. She lingered on that image and let herself be mesmerized by the happiness of
the gray green eyes. She liked how she looked in that picture. The multiple glasses of wine didn’t show. She looked… happy. Like he did. They looked like… a couple.

  She habitually clicked to see who else was logged on. She saw Ben’s name. Was he looking at the picture of them together and thinking… what might he be thinking? Lizzie went back to the picture and selected the link to his profile from his tag. It looked as though he caught up with his negligence of Facebook within the past ten minutes. He was friends with ten new people… including Delany Stewart. There wasn’t much else. Nothing to show what he was thinking. She looked over to his profile and saw the same succinct explanations for his place of employment and education. He hadn’t revealed his interests, activities, music, or films. She went back to the picture of them together and saw he removed the tag identifying himself.

  Lizzie’s heart sank. It was so silly and so relatively minor. But… why didn’t he want the Facebook world to see him partnered with her? Did they look too much like a couple? Did he not want anyone in particular to see that and get the wrong impression? A girlfriend he already had? Or… God forbid… a wife?

  She shut her eyes and took in a deep breath as the door to Richard’s office opened. Dr. Chiang hastened back to the desk to make another phone call. Richard escorted Gerard to his coat and thanked him for his time. Gerard Fulton nodded to Lizzie, muttering something else about the chair in Harriet’s room. All the words blended together, but she managed to force a smile and keep her eyes dry enough to not make the wretchedness she felt more obvious.

  “He was impressed with you, Lizzie,” Richard’s words were clear as he came over to her desk, landing a small piece of paper in front of her.

  Lizzie looked down at the check for fifty thousand dollars. She managed to place herself back to the hospital for a few seconds and met Richard’s eyes. “That was generous of him.”