The Beginning of Always

by Sophia Mae Todd

  The letters finally stopped trickling in and I had to make a choice. Just this past Monday, I’d finally sent in my intent to register at University of Michigan. The school had pretty much given me a full scholarship, and I could get by with some minor loans and a part-time job, plus Bill offered me the use of the truck, which would help. But otherwise I was on my own, so U of M was the best option. It was a good option, it was a good school. There were a lot of pros, and I’d enjoyed the town when I visited.

  And as much as it pained me to say this, one of the pros was that Ann Arbor was not even a three-hour drive to St. Haven. Funny how that worked out. I’d spent years plotting my escape to an opposite coast, to a large city with faceless, nameless neighbors. And I had succeeded in finding my way just barely two hundred miles away. I hadn’t even crossed state lines.

  But a decision had to be made, and made it was. I was, as Bill proudly boasted to anyone who was willing to stand still enough to give him the illusion they were listening, going to be a “U of M Wolverine.”

  “Nothing as purely Michigan as the wolverine! Our state animal! Yes, we’re proud, real proud of him.”

  I didn’t bother interjecting that wolverines hadn’t been spotted in the state in nearly two hundred years, or that the wolverine was really just an overglorified pissed-off weasel, or that our state mammal was technically a deer.

  Not that any of that mattered to Bill or Sandra or anyone in this godforsaken town. Our graduating class was mercifully small and, unfortunately, wholly unacademic. A handful of kids, including me, were going to four-year schools while the rest gave vague plans for jobs or the community college in Holland. Plenty of the guys I had grown up alongside were tied to their family farms, a fate I secretly thanked Bill for not subjecting me to. Although, for what it was worth, Bill knew better than to order me to stay locked to the land. I’d always helped out, worked, pitched in as requested, but there was never even a sliver of a notion that I would one day inherit the farm. I didn’t want it, and above all, I was pretty sure Bill didn’t trust me with it.

  So, that led to the obvious answer of college apps, which led to the inevitable rejection/acceptance season, which led to decision making and campus visits. And now, everything was winding down.

  I fought for a while with a sense of grief or sadness to be closing this chapter, but none came. Life dragged on, and it was taking me with it, and all I could be thankful for was that it was dragging me out of St. Haven. Not far, but out nonetheless.

  Another flash of white light punctuated my thoughts and now I went temporarily blind. Sandra and Bill chattered to each other while continuing to harass me with their camera bulb. Irritation creeped in and I fought the urge to get annoyed.

  Today was supposed to be a happy day, a good day. I had promised myself to give that to myself, to others.

  “I need to get going,” I announced loudly, grabbing my suit jacket that was hanging by the kitchen door. “Florence is waiting for me.”

  “Oh! Wait just a moment.” Sandra tore past me into the kitchen, and the sound of the fridge door opening and closing banged loudly from the room.

  “Look, I’m taking Florence to dinner in town, so she won’t be eating at home,” I protested. I cast a look over my shoulder to Bill, as if to say, “Please reel this in before it gets out of hand,” but he only shrugged and grinned congenially.

  “Then Nicolas!” Sandra now cried between the din of glass baking pans making contact with kitchen table. “Or they can just heat it up for breakfast. You know how I worry about them eating well.”

  “Forget it,” I muttered, turning around just as Sandra pushed past me, her arms laden with heavy Saran Wrapped pans.

  “Out of the way, please!” she chirped, hurrying past Bill to make her way to the door. “These need to be heated or chilled, otherwise the cheese will get clumpy at room temp!”

  With a slam of the screen door, Sandra disappeared with a huff.

  “She’s just wasting her time. I don’t know why she bothers cooking on her days off. You’d think she’d get sick of serving others,” I said. Sandra was a career waitress at the local diner, the type that poured your coffee, called customers “hon,” and knew all the regulars’ breakfast and lunch orders.

  Bill shrugged in his cracked leather jacket and grunted. “She does what she does, and if it makes her happy, then I’m damned if I’ll tell her otherwise.” Bill fisted his keys and gestured with the other hand for me to move my ass. I grabbed the boutonnière and corsage that Sandra had made and hustled out.

  “Lesson one, Al: happy wife, happy life. Always do what makes your girl happy. It’s your responsibility,” Bill said as he locked the door behind him.

  “Love! A hand, please!” Sandra called from the driveway. She was balancing the pans against the side of the car while trying to open the back door.

  “Wait here, we’ll drive over together.” Bill trotted over to Sandra and wrenched open the car door, then lifted all the pans from her arms and stooped into the seats to rest them on the backseat.

  I watched them from the porch, just examined them busying themselves over this total non-necessity of a line item. Sandra hunched over in the car, readjusting the pans just so to prevent spillage. Bill circled around, opening Sandra’s door and kissing her on the cheek, patting her puffy blond hair. Sandra beamed up to him as she chattered away at something I couldn’t hear.

  “Al, your tie is crooked.” Bill jogged towards me from Sandra’s car. She backed out of the driveway after giving me a little wave. She was still going over first to heat up the food she’d made. For whom, I had no idea; Florence wasn’t going to eat and Nicolas was probably hiding at his friend’s house.

  “Ah shit,” I muttered and quickly undid my tie. The tie was stupid. I had gotten it for this occasion, but I had no idea how to tie it. After halfhearted efforts based on the instructions I’d found in the package, I had managed a sad knot. Now, I undid it and started over, but Bill pushed my hands away and pulled the tie towards him, taking me roughly with him.

  His fleshy fingers flipped the silk deftly and with skill. His hands were clean, but they were still dark and chapped with portions of his skin torn off, discoloration spotting his flesh.

  “Neckties are for special occasions, Al. For powerful men.” Bill grinned at me. “Your old man has never worn a tie in his life, except the day I married Sandra. One tie! One day! That’s it!”

  I couldn’t help but give a small smile at this familiar story. “Best day of your life, right?”

  “Damn straight, boy!” He nearly shouted in glee.

  “My son is going to wear a tie for the rest of his days. He won’t work in the fields like his old man.” Bill was focused on my tie and his efforts, but a faint glimmer of emotion sparkled in them. “You’re going to be someone who matters, Al. Someone important. Someone with a say.”

  In that moment, I’d never felt more like Bill’s kid, with his grizzled cheeks that were starting to sag with age. He was barely forty, but appeared older after so many years in the sun.

  “A college man. My son, a Wolverine.” He shook his head and said to himself, “Who would have thought?”

  This was awkward. Bill looked at me expectantly, and I nodded slightly, not knowing what else to do.

  “Hey, Bill. Um … thanks.”

  He beamed at me and then patted my tie, which was now in a sturdy knot. He reached over to the porch railing and grabbed the corsage, thrusting it back into my arms.

  “Now, why don’t we go ahead and fetch your princess?”

  * * *

  “Bonjour!” Sandra chirped loudly as she swung the Reynoldses’ front door open for Bill and me. Bill laughed and brought her into a bear hug right on the porch; I had to take one step back to avoid getting decked with Sandra’s swinging feet.

  Sandra squealed in delight and clutched at Bill’s shoulders. Jesus, it had only been ten minutes since they’d last seen each other.

  A thump sounded above m
e just as I entered the foyer. “Alistair? Is that you?” Florence’s voice carried down the stairs.

  “Yeah,” I called up. “Do you want me to come up to help you—”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Sandra and Bill crashed into the room and I gave an internal groan. They were a pair of puppies following my every move. Sandra was fumbling with her camera, checking the film and nudging Bill frantically. “Wait! I want to take a picture of when they first see each other!”

  I was just about to turn to tell her to quit it when soft footfalls came down the upstairs hallway. I glanced up … and time stopped.

  Florence’s long brown hair was curled in soft waves to spill over her bare shoulders. Her dress was simple, silk that clung and flowed over her body in a blue that accentuated the color of her eyes. She was barefoot and wore minimal makeup.

  Florence’s pink lips curled in a shy smile as she came to the foot of the stairs. She stopped on the last step, elevated slightly so she was just half a head taller than I was. Florence was the only thing on my mind, in that moment, in this room. Her smell enveloped me and I struggled to find words.

  She took my breath away.

  Several seconds passed. “My God,” was all I could get out.

  “You like?” She ran her fingertips lightly up my arm, and even through my suit jacket, every inch scalded.

  “I love. You’re beautiful, Florence.”

  She blushed, a cute rosy tint coloring her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  I just had to touch her. I softly ran the back of my fingers against her cheek, and her face went just a touch pinker. I wanted to feel her skin, to caress those soft angles, those pillowy lips. I wound my fingers around the back of her neck, bringing her gently to me. Her eyelids slipped down and her lips parted. Just as I was about to kiss her, a snort came from behind us.

  Florence’s eyes flew open and I froze. Sandra gave a small choked gasp, sniffling wetly and loudly. The waves of pride exuding from Bill were strong enough to knock me front-side over.

  “William,” Sandra whispered baldly. “Oh, Bill, just look at them.”

  “Baby, that’s love right there,” Bill announced to the room. “Young love, young love.”

  “You remember when you took me to prom your senior year?”

  “How can I forget?” Bill’s voice took on an impish tone, his words laced with implicit meaning. “That was a night I couldn’t ever forget. Those memories kept me warm those long weeks on the Gulf drilling rigs.”

  A slapping sound echoed and Sandra scolded, “Bill! There are children present!”

  Bill laughed uproariously and I pretty much wanted to kill them since they had done the same to the mood.

  Florence laughed lightly and wound her arm around mine. “Hi, Mr. Blair, Mrs. Blair.” She craned her head to one side and grinned at them over the edge of my shoulder.

  “Hey, Princess!” Bill boomed back.

  “Oh, darling, you’re a vision. Gorgeous,” Sandra cooed. Her sentence was followed with several quick snaps of her camera lens.

  “Thank you,” Florence said. She tugged at my arm. “Come on, babe, I need help with my dress. The back won’t zip all the way.” And she pulled me upstairs.

  “Don’t mind us,” Sandra cried after us. “We’ll be heating up dinner! I brought lasagna and rolls!”

  As I started a breath to tell her for the umpteenth time we weren’t eating with them, Florence answered before me. “Thanks for bringing dinner, Sandra. We’ll be down in a minute.” And Sandra’s beaming face was the last thing I saw before Florence dragged me around the upstairs corner to her room. She gave a little giggle as she pulled me into her room, planting a light kiss on my lips. I followed her mouth when she tried to pull away, refusing to give up her taste. I wound my hands around her upper arms, pinning Florence up against the wall, scalding desire beginning to flood my veins. She opened her mouth, welcoming me in, and our tongue entwined.

  Thoughts about tonight and the possibilities crowded for mental space with my body’s immediate need for relief, for connection. My hands traced down Florence’s body, stroking over her hips and those luscious curves her dress highlighted so well. My palms circled and cupped her ass, then pulled her roughly towards me so our bodies pressed together. The idea of tonight and my best-laid plans became dim in my brain, and the idea of just staying in her room suddenly seemed extraordinarily sensible.

  “Babe,” Florence mumbled against my lips.

  “Mmm.”

  “Your parents are downstairs,” Florence said with difficulty. I grinned against her lips and started hitching up the hem of her skirt, pulling it over her thighs.

  “Alistair!” Florence pushed me away with a laugh and after a momentary struggle, I gave up with a sigh. She rested her forehead against me, and I wound my arms around her shoulders, bringing her close.

  We stood like that, intertwined with each other, for several minutes. My hard-on was slowly taking care of itself and I reminded myself that it was still early and there was a lot to look forward to that night. Impatience warred within, but waiting was necessary.

  If there was anything I could say I was good at, it was waiting.

  “What time is it?” Florence finally asked. She readjusted her stance to press her cheek against my collar, her eyes gazing up at me. I raised my wrist to bring my watch into view.

  “Four fifty-two,” I answered.

  “We should get going. Doesn’t the prom start at six?”

  I shrugged, all nonchalance. “Doesn’t matter if we’re late.”

  Florence turned her back towards me and swept her long brown hair over one shoulder. “Can you help with the hook on the top? I can’t get it in the eye.”

  I fingered the edge of the zipper, tracing a finger along the exposed skin beneath her dress. As I followed the smooth indents of her spine, Florence shuddered lightly at my touch. That small act, that involuntary physical reaction to my skin against her, it twisted my heart.

  A sudden sadness washed over me.

  That grief and loss I had been waiting for for months, it had arrived.

  Tonight was the beginning of the end, the night that heralded the start of change. Florence wouldn’t just be a mile down the road from me. We wouldn’t ever have those restless summer evenings out in the woods, or the winter afternoons hiding and keeping warm in the barn. She wouldn’t be at school, at home, around the corner, always close by, always near. College didn’t scare me; I was eager and excited to leave and explore what was beyond the highway that fringed and connected St. Haven. I needed to get out from under the crippling suffocation of this small-town life. I wanted more, yet for the first time, I realized just how content and fortunate I truly was.

  I wasn’t a naive fool. What Florence and I had amounted to small-town teenage romance. Perhaps the fact that we’d known each other since we were kids, that we were the only two houses for five miles—perhaps those were the only reasons how and why we’d ended up together. When I left for college and when she would for hers, we’d meet other people, see new sights, discover that life was grander and more generous than we’d ever given it credit for.

  Maybe she’d fall out of love with me. Maybe I’d lose her. Maybe I’d hurt her. Maybe I’d grow tired of the constant pull, that insistent reminder of what remained here for me. For the first time, I considered the fact that my love, the love and lust and passion and need I knew for her now, would hold me back.

  But as I thumbed her skin softly, as I felt that smooth texture and caught an edge of her scent … I couldn’t imagine a life without her. My logic and rationality, that ever-persistent pest of maturity, reminded me that I’d meet other girls, women who would prove to me that life could exist without Florence, that I had yet to experience the bounty of what the world would hold. But my heart, my burning heart that was no longer my own, it too reminded me exactly what was at stake.

  “Alistair?” Florence’s questioning voice shook me out of my musings.


  “Sorry,” I answered, finally finding the small zipper and tugging it up. I met the eye with the hook, and then glazed my fingers down her arms. “Okay.”

  Florence peeked at me over her shoulders, a bit shyly, her eyes hooded in secret. A small smile played along her lips, and I promised myself to forget my worries and concerns, and just enjoy the night. Enjoy her company, relish the experience.

  “So Sandra made lasagna?” Florence stepped away from me to fetch her purse and overnight bag. I had told her to pack a change of clothes.

  I flopped back on her bed as she went into her bathroom. I grunted at the thought of Sandra.

  “I already told them we were going to town for dinner, but it’s like talking to a wall, they just totally ignore you. She insisted on bringing the food, so maybe Nic can eat it tomorrow or something.”

  Florence emerged from her bathroom, toothbrush, and a bottle of lotion in her hands. She threw them onto the bed next to her bag, and then sat down next to me.

  “Let’s eat with them.” Florence canted her head at me and smiled. “They’re going to miss you.”

  “But I made a reservation at Pompeii.” It wasn’t that I didn’t want to eat with Bill and Sandra, it was just … well, I didn’t want to eat with Bill and Sandra. Tonight was supposed to be special. I wanted it to be special, and my definition of special was not eating dinner at the Reynolds house with two overly eager adults who might or might not be talking about the first night they’d banged.