The First Time at Firelight Falls

by Julie Anne Long

  “Complicated like a labyrinth, or complicated like an . . . ecosystem?” He meticulously stroked one arm of his assigned “E” full of gold paint. And paused to admire it.

  “Mmm . . . I’m gonna go with complicated like an ecosystem, but aren’t they elegantly simple when you understand them?” She was already done with the “F” and moving on to the “O.” Which brought her just a little closer to him.

  “So I guess you’re more intricate, as it were, than complicated. Although I’ll accept the word ‘elegant’ when it comes to you,” he allowed.

  “I guess I am. And I’ll accept the flattery. My life has a lot of different moving parts that may not seem at all related but which are, in fact, interconnected and necessary to each other’s mutual survival.”

  “All of the parts are necessary?”

  She paused. Sat back on her heels. Held her brush thoughtfully aloft, like a conductor with a baton.

  “Mostly. For a visual representation, you should see my whiteboard, man. I am the Bobby Fisher of whiteboards.”

  He stopped, too. Sat back on his own heels, next to her.

  “Well, you know, sometimes ecosystems are missing the one very important thing. You know what happened when they reintroduced wolves to Yellowstone after seventy years after the deer had grazed it down to nothing? It changed the behavior of the deer. They didn’t chomp on the vegetation so much. The trees and vegetation grew back, all kinds of wildlife thrived again and moved into the region. It even changed the course of rivers. It was restored to its original natural . . . wild . . . beauty.”

  Their gazes collided with such force.

  “Wolves are kinda hot,” she said offhandedly.

  “Ecosystems, too.”

  “If only Red Riding Hood had known. Her story could have had a whole different ending.”

  He grinned. A little wolfishly, as it so happened.

  She took what looked like a sustaining breath, which made him hope that she’d momentarily lost hers.

  She turned her gaze away with apparent reluctance. Dipped her brush in paint again and applied herself to the “O.”

  “Now you,” she said softly. “Complicated or simple?”

  “Simple,” he said instantly.

  “Simple like Lloyd Sunnergren’s dog, Hamburger, or simple like a . . . mountain?”

  “Wow, that’s practically like a Zen koan, that choice.”

  “You have to pick one.”

  “Mountain. Big and basic,” he said decisively.

  “Did you know mountains are created over millennia due to violent underground activity, Gabe? They’re strong and peaceful, but it’s a hard-won peace.”

  He went still.

  “Damn, woman,” he said finally. Weakly.

  If he wasn’t already on his knees he’d be tempted to fall to them in supplication, only half in jest.

  She smiled, gave a little shrug. “Annelise had to do a diorama of mountains. Not that I was entirely without knowledge of mountains and how they got there before we did that project.”

  “Mountains support ecosystems, too. They have ecosystems all over them.”

  She laughed at that, that amazing, musical, throaty laugh.

  “Okay, so who was your last serious—”

  The timer on his phone dinged and he lunged for it. “Oops, gotta get to the board meeting. They need me for a vote.”

  He sprang to his feet. “And would you believe it? I’m back on parking monitor duty tomorrow after school. Just for a day.”

  There was some solace in the flicker of regret and amused knowing in her eyes, the rueful tilt of the corner of her mouth.

  He’d see her tomorrow in the school parking lot. He would wager just about anything on it.

  Still. As hard as it was to leave her now, he knew it was only going to get harder.

  “Make sure everyone here knows that I painted that beautiful ‘E,’” he added over his shoulder, when he’d gone five steps.

  Just for the opportunity to see her one more time.

  And to see if she was watching him leave.

  She was.

  Which made leaving just a little more bearable.

  The next day . . .

  “. . . my last serious . . . ?” Gabe was back in the green reflective vest. Eden was about ten minutes early this time, as they both knew she would be.

  “Girlfriend. Who was your last serious girlfriend?”

  She almost didn’t want to hear the answer. But surely it was a fair question, in their series of questions? Who was the last person who knew all the answers to the questions she wanted to ask him?

  “Ahhh, let’s see. Last serious girlfriend was actually my fiancée, Lisa Mazzoni. It’s been about seven years.”

  She froze. The word fiancée was a sudden dart to the heart.

  She froze, as shocked by the piercing pain of it, as by the news. Which shocked the dickens out of her. It took her a full precious two seconds to reassemble her thoughts. To get a grip.

  “What happened? Twenty-five words or less.”

  His hesitation registered on all of her senses as a warning.

  “She died. Car accident.”

  The words drove the air from her lungs.

  A strange sweep of vertigo, as if she’d sustained an actual blow, made her fingers curl into a tight grip on her steering wheel. As if she could imagine that moment. And what it had done to Gabe’s life.

  He didn’t say anything.

  And she couldn’t yet speak.

  And she couldn’t just leave him standing alone with those words ringing in the air. “God, Gabe. I . . . I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to be so . . .”

  He gave a “what can you do” shoulder shift. “No worries, Eden. Our deal is we answer each other’s questions, and it was a perfectly reasonable question. You didn’t know, and I’m okay with talking about it. Some drunk asshole running a red hit her.”

  “Horrible.” Her voice was arid.

  “Yeah.”

  A big mom van zoomed into the parking lot, then slowed. The face behind the wheel was clearly craning to see where she ought to park.

  Gabe stepped backward away from Eden, gestured the mom into line with a wave.

  An oddly personal hurt, very close to fury, simmered around her heart. Like he’d always been hers to protect, and she should have been there for him. How had life dared to be so cruel to him?

  But within all of that was a tiny grain of pure, breath-stealing jealousy: he’d once offered forever to another woman.

  The way she felt about that could rightly be called an epiphany.

  Gabe returned. “Sorry. I don’t like to talk about it mainly because I’m aware that it’s hard for people to hear. Sorry to lay it on you like that.”

  “You didn’t lay it on me,” she said instantly. “I asked because I wanted to know. It’s not a burden, and I’m not as delicate as all that. Thank you for telling me.”

  He smiled faintly.

  “I’m only just . . . incredibly sorry that happened to you. I just . . .”

  Wish it hadn’t happened? Wish you hadn’t suffered?

  She wished all of those things and more.

  “I’ve dated since then, of course,” he said. “It’s been quite a while.”

  “Still,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  A big old Toyota Highlander cruised into the parking lot. Emily’s mom. Both Eden and Gabe turned to watch her, and to raise hands in greeting.

  And for a few moments they didn’t speak. She was glad of the silence, as all of the things she’d just learned sifted together with all of the things she felt. And then suddenly something else was clear.

  “Is that how you got simple?” she asked. “Because of Lisa?”

  He took a quick reflexive little step backward. As if she’d just swung a flashlight into his face.

  He assessed her almost warily.

  And then a smile, a small, slow one. In it was something like surprise. And surren
der.

  “Yeah,” he admitted.

  Interesting. He could suss her out pretty well, but it was clear he wasn’t used to being as accurately read. He was a guy who was used to being in control.

  “It’s just . . . I have a feeling birth and death are like laser beams that slice through and sort the daily bullshit,” she explained. “When I found out I was pregnant with Annelise, it was funny . . . it should have been chaos, but everything just instantly got crystal clear. Everything in my life suddenly sorted itself into categories—into important or not. And it was quite the epiphany what made the cut and what didn’t.”

  They said nothing for a moment.

  “I guess that’s how you become a member of the ‘cut to the chase’ club,” he said wryly. “Birth or death.”

  He was looking away from her.

  “Guess so,” she said.

  She wished he was close enough for her to touch his arm. The conversation was delicate, but the silences weren’t awkward. They felt like the essential moments of quiet, the rests in a piece of music.

  “You know . . .” he said finally, hesitantly, “when I was a SEAL, potential death was always part of the job description. But we were highly trained, and even if something went wrong, we couldn’t say we hadn’t done our best or at least had a plan. But when Lisa was killed, I realized what a cocky fucker I’d been all along to think I had any real control over anything. It was awful, but it was humbling, too. Life got real complicated while I kind of held everything I thought I knew up into this new light. And then it got real simple. And stayed that way.” A beat of silence. “Mostly.”

  That beat of silence, she was fairly certain, contained her.

  And whatever it was they were doing here.

  The word mostly was nestled in warmth and wry. And was followed by the faintest hint of a question.

  Awful, he’d called it. How like a man, to encapsulate total devastation into one word. And yet it was this quality, this clear-eyed simplicity, that made him feel like oxygen.

  She wished she could give him something more than silence right now. His news was old to him, but it was new to her, and her heart wasn’t a trampoline. It wasn’t bouncing right off.

  “Just to make this clear, Eden, that isn’t—Lisa, I mean—isn’t the reason I’ve been single.”

  “But it’s the reason you’ve stayed busy,” she said at once, albeit gently.

  He went still. And then he made a little stunned sound, almost a laugh. But not quite. He swiped a hand through his hair, then seemed to realize he was doing it and dropped it.

  He turned away again.

  Interesting. He didn’t want her to see his expression.

  She had a feeling she’d led him up to an epiphany of his own. Gabe had a few places he kept protected. Which made her feel that much more protective of him.

  “So how long have you been single?” He’d recovered his aplomb.

  “Ten years.”

  She never hedged when she was asked that question. If it freaked anybody out, so be it.

  “And Annelise’s dad—”

  “Wait. You’re not going to whistle long and low and say, ‘ten years! Boy that’s a long dry spell’ and stuff like that?”

  “Nope. Ten years is like an eyeblink, especially when you’re a single mom and your whiteboard is full. Don’t worry. You’d be amazed at the kinds of things that are just like riding a bike.”

  Her jaw dropped open wide.

  For several seconds.

  It took that long for the little outraged squeak to emerge.

  His face was pure deviltry. He was very pleased with himself.

  She would have laughed.

  But then it hit her with the force of a blow: this was it.

  She couldn’t dodge the question, because he’d recognize the dodge for what it was, and call her on it. And she couldn’t hesitate, because he would read—and rightly so—something into any undue pause before answering.

  Hours of angst-filled, delicate consideration would need to be condensed in a few seconds.

  And the kids heading toward them told her she had about a second or two to decide whether the time to divulge something she’d never told another human was now, to Gabe Caldera while he stood outside her daughter’s elementary school in a neon vest. It wasn’t fair.

  And in the end, a few seconds just wasn’t enough.

  “One-night stand. He’s out of the picture.” Her stock answer, when anyone got bold enough to ask that question. Vague, wry, good-humored, accompanied by a shrug. “Annelise and I are great.”

  When he quirked the corner of his mouth ruefully, she felt as guilty and sullied as if she’d cheated on him.

  Damn. She’d wanted him to know only her truest self more than she’d wanted that from anyone before. She wanted to live her whole life from that place. Because of him.

  And she may have just ruined it all.

  Maybe not. Maybe, if and when the time came to tell him the whole truth, he’d understand. Maybe.

  Still, she felt rattled and subdued. And just the way he had a moment ago, she was tempted to turn her face away.

  But the colorful little torrent of kids was pouring toward them now, and among them the gold and pink flash that was her very heart.

  “Out of the picture, huh?” he said. “So when was the last time your heart was bro—”

  “Mom, I got an A + on my math test! A PLUS! Right after the A! Check. it. OUT.”

  She presented Eden with the evidence. Fluttering a paper into the front seat.

  Emotional 180-degree turns were par for the course when you were a mom. Eden often felt as though she’d faceted into parts that could work and think and feel independently of each other. One part of her remained simmering in angst.

  She gave her best enthusiasm to Annelise right now.

  “All right! Baby, that’s fabulous. I know how hard you worked on that.”

  Annelise gave Eden a noisy smacker right on her forehead before hurling herself into the backseat, wearing a smug smile.

  “Hey, good job, Annelise,” Gabe said. “I know Mrs. Murphy is tough, but tough teachers are often the best.”

  Annelise squinted up a little skeptically about the last part of the sentence. “Okay. Thank you, Mr. Caldera.”

  “You’re very polite, Annelise,” he said somberly.

  “Thank you, I know,” Annelise said in all seriousness. “My mom taught me.”

  “Hear that? I taught her,” Eden said.

  The convoy of moms and dads were starting their engines, and one mom cheerily called out the window to Gabe, and so, with evident reluctance, he headed in her direction.

  And Eden ferried Annelise home. Her eye on the rearview mirror, watching him walk away, and she realized that as pleasant as the back of him was to look at, watching him leave her at all, for any reason, was never going to be easy.

  Chapter 9

  Eden was studying her whiteboard as if it were a sudoku.

  And gradually, that tricky little band of muscle between her shoulder blades tightened like a vise. At about three thirty today she’d gotten a call about a last-minute wedding—this weekend, that’s how last minute, and who was she to question the judgment of two twenty-year-olds in love?—and could she provide some simple flowers? She could, as it so happened. For a premium, she explained nicely. But they will be beautiful.

  And that wedding would push her nicely into the black when it came to monthly earnings, and she’d be that much closer to paying off the shop mortgage and maybe, just maybe, dropping a dollar or two into Annelise’s college fund.

  But! And wasn’t there always a “but”? Where was a dentist appointment (Annelise’s), an annual gyno appointment (hers), a day off (Danny’s), a sleepover (Annelise’s at Chloe’s house) to be skillfully rearranged without the whole thing toppling?

  Behind her at the kitchen table Annelise had bitten one-half of her grilled cheese sandwich into the shape of a lion and was pretending her bowl
of tomato soup was a watering hole and the steamed zucchini on her plate was lion poop.

  Eden didn’t have the energy—or the heart—to tell her to stop playing with her food. Frankly, the minute she was able to sit down she might bite her sandwich into the shape of a gazelle just to make things even more interesting. She’d learned to pick her battles. If some zucchini ever made it into Annelise’s mouth, even accidentally, even under gross pretenses, she’d declare victory.

  Zucchini made her think of Gabe.

  Would the broccoli stratagem work with zucchini? Would Annelise get wise to that?

  Or did it have to be Gabe doing the persuading?

  Lately all of her thoughts were fringed with addendum and footnotes just like that: what would Gabe think? Would Gabe like this? Today she’d looked at a flower arrangement and thought, These would look great with Gabe’s eyes. Which was patently ridiculous. They were flowers. Orange flowers. It was like six degrees of Gabe Caldera. She could make literally anything—a crack in the sidewalk (don’t step on a crack/you’ll break your mother’s back, Gabe must have a strong back, remember when Annelise thought she could ride on Gabe’s shoulders?) lead back to him within just a few thoughts.

  Funny. She did the same thing with Annelise. All roads led to her.

  The last time your heart was bro—

  She wasn’t certain her heart had in fact been broken. Not by a man, anyway. Which seemed almost like a character flaw—had she not loved enough? Gabe had about ten years of life on her.

  Still. Her last ten years had been, in many ways, about nothing else but love, thanks to Annelise.

  But her heart did feel bruised and a little heavy and peculiarly thwarted all afternoon, like a bird futilely throwing itself at a windowpane. As though she’d been too late to protect him from hurt, from the grave injustice of his loss. Which made no sense, really. But then, ambiguous new emotions flapped into her life like unidentifiable butterflies a few times a day lately, thanks to Gabe. She allowed them to circulate rather than trying to pin them to a board.

  She wondered if even Gabe truly understood how much he didn’t like being alone. She had a hunch that, just as her whiteboard gave her the illusion that the vicissitudes of life could be shuffled and sorted and managed like squares of a quilt, he was trying to drown out being alone with board meetings and hacking trunks out of pastures.