The Beginning of Always

by Sophia Mae Todd

  Florence leaned forward and rested a soft palm on top of my knuckles. “I’ll call and cancel. We can eat there any other time.”

  I wanted to say we could eat with Bill and Sandra any other time too, that I had saved up money from the last month’s barn job in order to take her to a nice restaurant, that I had a plan and I wanted this night to go perfectly. But as Florence gazed up to me expectantly, I struggled to find the words. I struggled to tell her what tonight meant, what I was looking for, what I needed to happen. I wanted her to be happy, I wanted tonight to be perfect, because if it was to be just a memory, I wanted it to be ideal.

  So I simply nodded and said, “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

  She smiled. “Yeah,” Florence said quietly, slipping her fingers to twine in between mine. “I’d like that very much.”

  And I lightly brushed her hair from her face and leaned down to kiss her.

  * * *

  “I’ve got to give them credit, they really fancied this place up,” Florence said. I circled my arm around her waist and pulled her closer to me while considering the surroundings.

  The junior class really had transformed the city hall into something … a little less sterile. The theme was some insanely cheesy Shakespearean reference and there were floral garlands and twinkle lights stretched all along the ceiling. Pulsating strobe lights and a smoke machine highlighted the dance floor, where small groups of people were grinding on each other.

  I immediately searched for the nearest exit sign.

  We navigated through the crowd and sat down at one of the many empty tables circling the dance floor. There was a pre-prom dinner, so some plates were still scattered about the tables, cocktail shrimp tails cast aside. I regarded this entire scene with the least bit of interest I could muster. But Florence bobbed her head up and down with the music and I kept my mouth shut.

  “Want to take a picture together?” Florence pointed at a side door that led to the hallway. A short line had formed there and with the intermittent flashes of camera lights and the way the girls were preening her hair and touching up their makeup, that was most likely where the formal photos were being taken.

  I grunted in response at this scene. “Where we hold each other at arm’s length and smile awkwardly?”

  “Come on,” Florence teased. “You can’t graduate high school without a bad school dance picture. It took me long enough to get you to one of these.”

  “Why break a perfect record now? Besides, Sandra captured enough awkward poses to keep her scrapbooking until the next decade.”

  After we’d come downstairs, Sandra and Bill had harassed us throughout dinner and followed us with camera flashes all the way from the door to the car. Florence had gotten nervous because she was worried they’d see her overnight bag in the back, which I had snuck out of the house earlier, while Sandra was busy with Florence in the kitchen.

  Both of them thought there was an all-night lake trip after the prom and that we were going with a bunch of friends. Bill should have known better; he was aware I didn’t have any friends, much less people I’d willingly subject myself to an all-night lake trip with.

  Florence tugged at my sleeve. “Let’s dance.”

  “I don’t dance.”

  “Not even tonight?” Florence’s voice took on this adorable whine. She tugged harder and peered up at me, tilting her head and batting her eyelashes at me in that way she knew drove me crazy. I groaned and crashed a heavy palm on the top of her head.

  “One dance tonight, choose wisely.”

  “Ten.”

  “Ten?” I said incredulously. “You’re insane, no way.”

  “See, this is the place where you compromise. You say ‘just one’ and I’ll barter you down from ten to a compromise.”

  “Is this where you’re trying to get me to five dances and you’ll be satisfied?”

  Florence nodded enthusiastically.

  “How about we bypass all the back-and-forth and just go with five?”

  Florence popped a hip out and hooked her fingers against her waist. “Why, Mr. Blair, you are giving up way too easily. I thought you were the big-shot town negotiator. After all, no vendor shortchanges Blair Farms as long as you’re around.”

  I caught Florence in a head lock and pulled her towards me. She squealed slightly and tried to push away, but I brought her close and rubbed her cheek against mine.

  “Don’t let anyone hear you say that. I have a reputation to uphold.” I nipped her neck and Florence struggled futilely, digging her fingers underneath my jacket in a vain attempt to tickle me.

  “What, a reputation for bullying? Let me go!”

  I pressed my lips against her and kissed her hard before releasing her. “Consider this a freebie,” I growled.

  Florence flew back, her hands on my chest to create distance. She laughed, the sound tinkling above the bass of the heavy music.

  “Harassment! Police!” She pumped her arm up in the air. “When it comes time for my senior prom, I’m going to make you dance every single one and you can’t say no.”

  “Watch me.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. No, we’ll dance across it! Moonwalk, Charleston, waltz both ways, just you wait.” She waggled her fingers at me. “Jazz hands, jazz hands.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll start working on my moves now.”

  “One day, you’re going to ask me to dance, without me bugging you for the chance. I look forward to that day.”

  “I guess I’ll surprise you then.”

  Silence fell and the background music pulsated. Florence rested her hands on my knees, her fingers tapping lightly at the beat.

  “You look so handsome tonight,” Florence said suddenly.

  I beamed down at her. “Why, thank you. You’re looking pretty spiffy yourself.”

  “I’ve never seen you in a tie before.”

  My fingers went to my collar and I touched the knot Bill had made for me. His words suddenly tackled me from nowhere, the strangeness of guilt that followed also knocking me askew. But Florence didn’t notice my reaction; her fingers found mine and she touched the tie, tucking a finger behind the knot.

  “How did you do this? It’s so complicated.”

  I shrugged. “Bill helped me with it.”

  Florence laughed. “Can I take it off you later? I want to see what it looks like.”

  “I can’t wait, I hate ties.” It was choking me off. And the thought of Florence slipping the tie off me, along with the rest of my clothes, brought seizing heat to my body.

  I reached up and took her small palms in mine. “Florence Reynolds …”

  “Alistair Blair,” she answered with a cute grin. “So formal,” she added with a laugh.

  “I love you,” I said.

  She planted a quick kiss on my lips. “I love you too. And I have to go pee, be right back.”

  Florence got up and scampered away, parting the crowd around her as she went. How both guys and girls did a double take as she walked through. A mix of emotions flickered across their faces—pity, admiration, surprise.

  Pity about her family situation and perhaps pity about being stuck with me.

  Admiration that a sophomore was at a senior prom, that the sophomore in question was the number one student in her grade.

  Surprise at seeing her dressed up and made up.

  She’s too good for you, that voice in my head said.

  Shut up, I answered internally. I wouldn’t let self-doubt and bullshit ruin this night.

  “Hey, man,” a voice said. Kevin appeared out of nowhere. I immediately went on guard.

  So much for bullshit not ruining this night.

  Despite our history hanging out together in elementary and middle school, Kevin and I never did get past that one time I’d tried to bash his head into the sidewalk. He still bore the scar at the top of his forehead, where nothing grew along one small section of his hairline. I used to regard it with a sick sense of pride, bu
t now as I looked at it, the past simply narrowed and seemed so petty and small.

  But regardless of anything, I really didn’t want to be talking to Kevin at this moment in time.

  “Hey,” I answered, tilting my chin up.

  Kevin scratched the back of his neck, looked around and then gestured to the seat next to me. “Can I sit?”

  I shrugged, nonchalant. “Free country.”

  Kevin pulled out the free chair and crashed into it. He rested his arm along the back of the chair and splayed his legs out in front of him. When his suit pants rode up, I noticed he wasn’t wearing any socks with his boots.

  Kevin regarded me in silence for a few moments, and I didn’t speak.

  “Yo, so we’re graduating, and uh …” His voice still held that familiar smug quality that always made me want to punch his face, but there was an undercurrent of something different. If I had to give a word to it, I’d still hesitate to call it sincerity. “Yeah … you know, you’re leaving and shit.”

  I nodded slowly, gauging the situation.

  “So, U of M, huh?”

  I nodded again, failing to see where this conversation was headed.

  “Kind of weird. I always figured you’d go to somewhere out of Michigan, like Chicago or back to New Orleans or something.”

  “Well, in-state tuition is cheaper.”

  “And U of M is closer,” he added with a lift of his eyebrows.

  I didn’t answer. A lot of people questioned my choice of U of M. Sometimes, on the rare moments I bothered to even answer, I just highlighted the low cost and how good the school was. How I’d graduate with minimal debt, and how the business program was strong. People still didn’t believe me—they thought I’d chosen the school simply due to the fact that it was the closest and because Florence still had two more years before she went to college.

  Kevin cleared his throat. For the first time, he seemed nervous.

  “You and Reynolds, you two were always too good for this place. I’m sure when she gets to college, she’ll go somewhere insane. Like Harvard or whatever.”

  “Yeah, sure, she’ll have her pick.” Florence was smart and motivated, but all the problems with her mom’s health were taking a toll on her. She was struggling more to keep up with her homework, and she was looking pronouncedly more stressed over things that would have been no big deal just a year ago.

  But I didn’t want to think about that tonight. I didn’t want to think about how, starting next weekend, we’d be driving down to Chicago every Friday to see her parents. I didn’t want to think about how this summer was going to be spent in hospitals and waiting rooms, just waiting for the other shoe to fall.

  The writing was on the wall. I saw it. Florence saw it. Death and tragedy were looming in the air, sucking all the oxygen from our lives, suffocating whatever joy we managed to muster in the small moments.

  I made a mental note to myself to dance an extra dance with Florence.

  “Florence Reynolds,” Kevin said in a nostalgic tone. Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “She grew up good, that one.” Kevin grinned and raised a hand between us, palm faced towards me. “I mean, no disrespect. But you got ahead on that one, for sure. Locked it down early.” He laughed in that grating way of his.

  His comment about Florence got under my skin. I didn’t want this to escalate, so I tried to tell myself to cool it.

  “What do you want, Kevin?” My tone was hard.

  Kevin stopped mid-laugh and his expression turned intensely serious. “You know, it was a dick move for you to just ditch her that summer before our junior year. Everyone was pissed off, hurt, betrayed, whatever. Florence especially. You didn’t say shit to anyone. I thought you were my friend. Florence thought you were her friend.”

  A sudden sense of shame washed over me, wholly confusing me. It intermingled with the existing rage, the indignation that he’d make that comment not fully comprehending the situation. No one knew about what had gone down in New Orleans, not even Florence.

  Kevin shook his head. “But whatever, water under the bridge and stuff. We made it, you’re off to be a fancy college guy. I just wanted to bury the hatchet before you left for good. We good?” Kevin extended his hand.

  I studied Kevin as he sat before me, hand offered. He had the wide shoulders befitting his linebacker status on our high school football team, so he was bigger than me. His distinctly babyish face was in sheer contrast to the size of his body, yet his expression was a bit sad. High school was ending, only adulthood stretched out ahead for us and there were few roads ahead for Kevin Martin. I wouldn’t be surprised if not even one led out of St. Haven.

  “Yeah, we good.” I clasped his palm in mine and we shook. In one split second, a vision flashed before me of Kevin as a seven-year-old, snot dribbling from his nose, a snide grin across his lips belying his youth, holding a football out in front of me in invitation. But I blinked and seventeen-year-old Kevin was in his place. Nose now crooked from being broken several times, eyes a touch wearier, same grin.

  “What are your plans?” I asked as we pulled our hands apart.

  “Me? Shit, my grades are disgusting. Just going to help my dad out, probably end up sticking around here. Who knows?”

  So I figured. “You cool with that?”

  Kevin shrugged, his fingers busy fiddling with the end of his tie. “It’s what I got, so I got to be cool with it.”

  Kevin was always one for the status quo. The whole town was. I simply nodded in response.

  “Be good to Reynolds. She’s one of the special ones.”

  “Yeah … I intend to.”

  Kevin grabbed my shoulder tightly and gave me a knowing tight-lipped smile. Then he stood up and walked away, leaving me wondering what the hell had just happened.

  Chapter 18

  “Are you cold?” I fiddled with the thermostat, pumping up the temperature and the dial so hot, dry air blasted into the tight space.

  “It’s okay,” Florence said. She pulled my suit jacket around her tighter and curled her knees up to tuck underneath. “Where are we going?” she asked. Her voice was so sweet and pure, I smiled in the shadows. My lights were splashed against the black asphalt of the freeway and the dividing lines sped ahead. It was close to midnight and we had already been driving for half an hour.

  “Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?” Florence leaned against the headrest and peered up. “Is this a bad teenage horror movie where you drag me into the woods and reveal yourself to be the serial killer terrorizing small-town America?” Florence made a high-pitched shrill shriek, flailing her arms in jerking motions. “Oh no! Don’t! No! Not the face! You’ll never get away with this! Ahh!”

  “Very cute.”

  Florence prodded me in the arm. “Tell me! Where are we going?”

  “Holland,” I answered. “Didn’t you say you always wanted to see the Tulip Time Festival?”

  Florence gasped. “No way!” Her hands flew to grip my forearms. “Are you serious?”

  “Just kidding, actually dragging you to the woods to murder you.”

  “I knew it! It’s always the tulip salesman.” Florence laughed and I grinned. “I’m so excited!” She wiggled her naked toes and clapped her hands.

  “So easily pleased, this girl.” I was happy she was happy. When she’d asked me if we could spend the night together after prom, she’d figured it would just be somewhere close to town. Holland wasn’t far, but usually going necessitated an event, something special.

  This time with her was going to be special. Neither of us knew what the next few months would hold, least of all me. I wanted to make things work, I wanted to ensure our relationship would stay the course. But even I could admit there were no guarantees in this world.

  Tonight would be special.

  Florence quieted. She was gazing out the passenger-side window, watching the darkness. “Tulips are beautiful, aren’t they?” she said. She toyed with the thin gold chain around her neck, an a
nniversary gift from last year. “They live underground, during the winter when everything is frozen and quiet. You’d think the cold would kill them. But the frost is what they need. They need the cold to survive and to strengthen. They sit deep, sleeping, waiting for spring. And when the time is just right, they bloom. Year after year, without fail. Even when the world dies around them, they never forget how to live, how to survive.”

  “Thank you,” Florence said softly. “I’ve always wanted to go see the tulips. We just never got around to it.”

  We, meaning her family.

  I reached over and brushed her hair off her face. She leaned her cheek into my palm. The smallest flicker of pain flitted across her expression, but when I blinked, it was gone. She sighed softly, whether in content or turmoil, I couldn’t tell.

  “Anytime, babe. We can go next year too.”

  Florence raised her gaze up to meet mine. She smiled. A sad smile, a regretful smile.

  “I’d like that.”

  * * *

  The elderly man at the front desk peered at us over his half-moon spectacles, his brow furrowing in disapproval. Florence shifted nervously in her heels, her guilt exuding off her in waves.

  By contrast, the only emotion I could bother with was annoyance. I had taken pains to select the biggest hotel in Holland so as not to attract attention; there were few things worse than a bed-and-breakfast couple breathing down our necks.

  But attention we were attracting, in the face of this nosy old man.

  “Checking in, kids?” The last word was stressed.

  “Yes,” I responded tersely.

  Florence shuffled away, her eyes on everything but the counter and the man behind it. I silently cursed him the entire time he checked us in, and when he finally handed over the key card, I snatched it from him and gave him one final glare before leaving.

  He arched an eyebrow back, clearly disapproving.

  Florence was sitting in the lobby, fiddling with her hair while staring at the television absentmindedly. When I approached, she gave me a nervous look.

  “Maybe this is a bad idea.” Her fingers worked the ends of her hair and she tugged on the tresses. “Maybe we should go home. What if we get caught?”