The One That I Want

by Marilyn Brant

  “Looking forward to it, Jules,” he said.

  Me, too, I added silently as I broke away.

  Chapter Seven

  The Fourth of July was on Saturday night, and we’d had longstanding plans to join Shar, her older brother Derek, Derek’s wife Olivia, and their three boys for dinner and fireworks.

  Analise had always been a girl’s girl, one who kept to herself more often than not and, when seeking out friends, chose other girls as her companions. She rarely hung around boys if she could avoid it, so spending an evening with Shar’s adorable but rambunctious nephews—ages eleven, nine, and five—always gave her a new perspective.

  “C’mon, Analise,” Riley, the middle son, urged. “We’re gonna play Freeze Tag. James is it!”

  James, the eldest, crossed his arms. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m a ninja, you little brat. And you can bet I’m gonna get you first.”

  “Boys, be nice,” Olivia called out to them then rolled her eyes at me. “And don’t forget about Peter.” She patted her youngest son on the back and then began rubbing his shoulders like a coach readying a boxer for the big match. “Go chase your big brothers, honey. Go, go!”

  “Okay!” Peter said, sprinting away, arms pumping, like a mini superhero on the move.

  Olivia and I laughed.

  “You’re lucky you have a girl,” she said. “You can still have some breakables in your house.”

  I smiled. “Well, there was this one time when Analise decided to practice her fouettés in the living room. There was a vase and a couple of porcelain figurines that didn’t survive the day.”

  The other mom grinned at me as Shar walked into the room.

  “Hey, I just saw Chance’s jeep pull up in the drive,” Shar said. “Are he and Nia joining us?”

  “They are,” her sister-in-law said brightly. “It’s been hard to nail those two down for many events this summer—”

  “They’re always ‘working out’ together,” Shar said, using air quotes.

  “Is that what all the kids are calling it these days?” Olivia quipped.

  “Shh! They’re coming,” Shar said.

  I couldn’t help but smile at this. Chance and Nia had been an unlikely pair when they met at Harbor Fitness, the local gym, this spring, but they’d been inseparable from the moment they finally got together. Ahh, young love.

  “Hey, everyone!” Nia said, entering the family room like a sprite emerging from the forest. She was a mass of long dark hair, sparkling eyes, and youthful femininity. I might only be ten years older than her, but it felt like four decades at least.

  Chance Michaelsen trailed in after her, grinning but—as usual—silent. He offered a friendly wave to us all and took a moment to hug his sister and then his sister-in-law. To me, he just smiled and nodded, looking more like a marble Adonis than any living human had the right to.

  “What do you have here?” Olivia said when Nia handed her a large foil-covered tray.

  “Just a quick pan of galaktoboureko,” she said. “My mom and I made extra.”

  I’d had this only a couple of times before, but it was delicious. Semolina custard in a phyllo pastry, covered with a sweet, lemony syrup. It was the signature dessert of The Gala, her family’s Greek restaurant and bakery. Every dish they made was rich and mouthwatering.

  “Yum,” Olivia said, peeking under the foil. “Thank you. Derek has got hot dogs and brats grilling out back, and the boys—”

  “Uncle Chance!” Riley shouted as he barreled toward the quiet man and attempted to tackle him.

  Chance looked amused. His very buff body was hardly swayed by the nine year old’s affectionate attack, but he pretended to cower in fear for a moment while his nephew boxed at him. Then he growled and grabbed for the kid, making Riley shriek with delight, and the chase was on.

  “Wish I had his energy,” Olivia said.

  “Don’t we all,” Nia agreed.

  Shar was unable to camouflage her smirk. “Well, from what I’ve heard about you from my brother—”

  “Shut it, Sharlene!” Chance bellowed from down the hallway. He might not talk a lot, but he was direct when he did. And there was nothing wrong with his hearing.

  Nia blushed.

  My best friend just laughed.

  Her oldest brother Derek strode into the room, grilling utensils in hand. “The dogs-n-brats are ready on the patio.” Then, turning to Shar, “Behave yourself, Sis. We want these two to come to other family holidays, you know.” He leaned in and pecked Nia on the cheek. “Happy Fourth, sweetie. Don’t listen to my sister. I got stories about her that I’ll tell ya later.”

  “Hey!” Shar said, fist on her hip.

  I found myself giggling at this scene like a teenager, charmed by the warmth and fun of the Michaelsen clan. My friends didn’t know how lucky they were to still be able to have family gatherings like this, and to enjoy the company of one another so much when they did. Not everyone had that gift in their lives.

  But I appreciated the way they extended their hospitality to include Analise and me, even if tonight’s memories would only serve as a reminder tomorrow of how alone we were at other times.

  Out in the backyard, I handed a plate to my daughter, who piled it with food and was then quickly whisked away by James to a private “fort” he’d set up using old lawn chairs and ratty blankets he’d unearthed from their garage.

  “Looks…interesting,” I overheard my daughter say.

  Analise sent me a backward glance as James tugged her along, but it was only a half worried look. The other half was pure curiosity.

  I gave her a smile that I hoped would convey, “I’ll be right here,” and I pointed to the patio with my index finger.

  She nodded and let herself get dragged away.

  I exhaled in relief. I knew she was having fun in spite of herself. The young Michaelsens—much like their parents, their uncles, and their crazy aunt—had a way of getting a person’s mind off any other concerns when in their presence.

  Chance wandered over to me and motioned toward my plate and the square of Greek dessert I’d slid onto it already.

  “The galaktoboureko is one of my favorites,” he confided. “But don’t tell that to my personal training clients at the gym. I’ve been warding them off of sugar.”

  I laughed. “Some sweets are fine in moderation, though, right?”

  He raised a light-brown eyebrow, dubious.

  “No?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say that a number of my clients are unfamiliar with the correct definition of ‘moderate.’”

  I laughed at that, too. “They’re so fortunate to have you guiding them, Chance.”

  He inclined his head in thanks, but I meant the compliment sincerely. The guy came across as a bit firm and unyielding at first meeting, and he wasn’t one for a lot of idle chatter, but there were very few people who were as softhearted and thoughtful deep down as he was.

  After Adam’s accident, and even though Chance only knew me as his sister’s friend, he made a point to quietly check in on me whenever he saw me in downtown Mirabelle Harbor. Twice he scraped the ice and snow off my car when it was parked outside of the coffee shop—he didn’t even know I’d seen him do it. And if he ever spotted me carrying anything heavier than one small bag of groceries, he’d insist on reducing my load by lugging the rest to wherever I was heading.

  “I’ve got it,” I’d tell him. Or, “You don’t have to lift that. I can carry it.”

  Mostly, he’d just ignore me and do it anyway. Other times, he’d grin and say, “Look, Julia, it’s my job to keep my muscles toned. You’re the one helping me out here.” And that would be the end of that.

  Tonight, as we enjoyed the mid-summer sunshine and the array of delectable party foods, I watched Chance devour a piece of Nia’s custard pastry, but he was looking at her as if she were the dessert for the evening. As if he’d rather devour her than any dish on the planet, no matter how scrumptious.

  And when he was goi
ng back for seconds and exchanging a few words with Derek, I caught Nia gazing at him in much the same way. Whatever the differences that had initially kept them apart faded into nothingness in the heat of those passionate looks. And, furthermore, I could tell they knew they had something special.

  I was delighted for them, but I envied them, too. There was no denying it. Once upon a time, I’d felt the same way about Adam. I missed the miraculous, wonderfulness of that feeling. But it couldn’t be forced or manufactured. It didn’t happen with just anyone.

  “Oh, to be so young and high on pheromones,” Shar whispered in my ear.

  “They do look happy,” I agreed.

  “They look like they can’t wait to get away from here and jump each other’s bones,” she said dryly. “Must be nice to start a relationship without much baggage. They’re cute, but they’re kids.”

  I snorted at this. “They’re twenty-six and twenty-eight, and you’re only thirty-two, Shar. You’re hardly an old lady.”

  “But I’m divorced,” she said simply and seriously. “It leaves a big, though invisible, scar, and it ages a person’s soul.”

  I couldn’t really argue with that. My own experience as a widow had aged my soul, too, and by many years.

  “Do you think it’s possible to love again?” I asked her. “Someone like you, who’s been so hurt, and someone like me, who’s lost so much?”

  She studied my face. “Has spending time with Kristopher made you wonder?”

  “It’s crossed my mind. There’s a stirring of…something in me, I guess. I’d been crazy about him once, although a lot has happened in both of our lives since then. It’s just—”

  “Just what?”

  I swallowed. “Well, it’s not that I want what’s probably a little romantic fling to transition into a real relationship anytime soon, but it just didn’t strike me as even possible until this week. I couldn’t even imagine it before that.”

  “And now you can imagine?”

  I nodded. “It’s a pretty vague, faraway image, but it’s not completely impossible now. Is it for you?”

  Shar was unusually reflective tonight and took her time before answering. Finally, she said, “Yes. It may not be likely, but it’s within the realm of possibility.” She paused. “At least I hope so. But it’ll be harder for me to fall in love again, I think, than for you.”

  “Why?”

  She smiled sadly at me. “I don’t mean to make light of your loss, Julia, but you, my sweet and lucky friend, at least had a happy love story once. For you, true love exists—not just in your imagination, but in your experience. That’s no small thing. I’d need to be convinced first to trust again, and it would take an extremely unusual man to make me believe I could. I’m guessing he may need to be an alien life form, actually, because I don’t know any Earthlings that come close to what I’m hoping to find.”

  “He’s out there for you, Shar. I know he is.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  As night fell, we relocated as a group to the openness of Eastman Field, where we’d get the best viewing of the fireworks.

  Analise huddled with the boys while Shar and I propped each other up and turned our gazes to the heavens. The better to see the rockets’ red glare light up the sky with a kaleidoscope of patterns…and, perhaps, to keep a look out for UFOs with potential romantic partners aboard.

  ~*~

  The next morning, bright and early, Yvette and her daughters were waiting in our driveway—the trunk of their SUV stuffed with suitcases—ready to carpool together up to Camp Willowgreen.

  My gut was churning as I boosted my daughter’s bag into the back.

  Analise seemed to be equal parts excited, nervous, and groggy, at least until Brooke and Lindsay started teaching her one of their favorite camp songs, “By the Light of the Fire,” the lyrics of which had elements that were reminiscent of that children’s story, I’m Going on a Bear Hunt. Kept them occupied in the backseat for an hour and a half at least.

  Meanwhile, Yvette and I chatted up front.

  “So,” she said, lowering her voice, “what was it like seeing Kristopher again after all this time? I remember how much you were crushing on him during our junior year.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, time is weird that way. He’s an adult now, but a part of me still sees that shy, handsome teenage boy he once was. My eyes are looking at him through the lens of a high schooler.”

  “That’s normal,” Yvette said. “Though—” She paused.

  “Though what?”

  “Well, I’m not sure ‘shy’ is the right word to describe how he was in high school.”

  “You thought he was talkative?”

  Yvette shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t say that. But my brother Jim was a senior in the same graduating class as Kristopher. He had a different impression of him back then.”

  I raised my eyebrows and motioned for her to explain.

  My friend checked her rearview mirror, changed lanes, and then snagged a quick glance at the still-singing girls in the backseat before continuing. “Jim said that Kristopher was athletic and good at just about every sport, which made him instantly popular. When the basketball or baseball team would go somewhere to hang out, he was always invited and he’d almost always go along.”

  “He was one of our high school’s star players, Yvette. Everyone knew that.”

  “True. My brother said that as long as the conversation stayed on sports, Kristopher could hold his own. He was never quiet or shy during these outings—”

  “Sports had always been his favorite topic, so I guess that doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “He had only so much enthusiasm for other things.”

  “Maybe,” my friend said, but she was hedging, I could tell.

  “Why the tone? What else did your brother say?”

  She exhaled. “Jim said that he used to clam up only when talk turned personal—parents, siblings, girlfriends. That he didn’t confide anything deep with anyone. He didn’t have a best friend. He didn’t even have an arch enemy.” She shrugged. “My brother thought Kristopher wasn’t shy so much as secretive. That he had something to hide.”

  I felt my jaw drop open, and I was conscious of wanting to contradict her but unsure how to do it. What she said rang true.

  “Mom!” Brooke interrupted from the backseat. “Can we pleeeease put in the Owl City CD that Uncle Eddie gave us?”

  Yvette sighed, rolled her eyes, and whispered something about having heard this particular album over three million times already. But she called back to the girls and said, “Sure.” Then, under her breath to me, she added, “What’s three million and one, right?”

  ~*~

  The drop off at Camp Willowgreen went as smoothly as could be expected. On one hand, it was a stunningly quick procedure, designed to pull off the bandage of separation swiftly. On the other hand, the half hour transition felt to me like we were running in slow motion. A trick of real-life cinematography or something.

  Analise was visibly shaken at the camp counselor’s announcement that parents would need to leave. Her smiles from the moment before disappeared. She dropped the small tote bag she was carrying and clung to me, the way she had as a toddler before a “Mommy & Me” tumbling class.

  The counselor for Analise’s cabin—Shannon—tilted her head in concern and walked slowly toward us.

  I was hugging my daughter and, at the same time, trying to detach from her. One of the hardest moments of my life.

  “It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” I whispered. “Your friends are here, and I’m just a phone call away. Don’t worry.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” my daughter murmured, her voice trembling.

  I stroked her hair, giving in to the urge to pull her closer and let her bury her head against my chest. How did they expect me to let go when she was holding me so tight?

  Shannon placed a soft hand on each of our shoulders. She smiled kindly at me and then, turning to Analise, she said, “I
know you’re going to miss your mom, but our cabin wouldn’t be complete without you here. And we’re going to need your help this afternoon with the scavenger hunt.”

  Analise lifted her head away from my body and glanced at the counselor, curious.

  Shannon nodded. “The game is already set up, and your team won’t do nearly as well without you.” She reached down to grasp Analise’s hand—just holding it for now, but poised to tenderly tug her away, if necessary. I could feel it.

  “When can I talk to my Mommy?”

  “Tonight,” Shannon reassured her. “You can tell her all about the scavenger hunt, the opening feast, the dance party—”

  “There’s a dance party?”

  “Yep. Tonight,” the counselor said, tugging my daughter’s hand ever so gently. “You can call or text her and tell your mom all about it afterward. Sound good?”

  With her free hand, Analise squeezed me tight again and pressed her face even harder into my body. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to cry. Not to pull her away from camp and take her home with me right now.

  But a second later, she pulled herself away and allowed Shannon to lead her across the cabin to where Brooke and Lindsay were waiting patiently. Yvette stood at the door.

  “Don’t worry,” the counselor said to me this time. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  I nodded and walked with Yvette out of the cabin and into the parking lot, where my friend let me sob in the car for several minutes before we began the long drive home.

  When I finally got back into the house, I collapsed on the sofa and tried not to let the pervasive silence of my surroundings bother me. Four weeks of this, though! It already felt like an eternity, and it had just been a few hours.

  I’d gotten a text from Shar on the way back that just said, “Call me when you get home,” so I figured I’d better get my act together and do it. Shar wasn’t as sweet or as patient as Yvette. Then again, as kind and responsible and caring as Yvette was, she’d never been my confidante. We were always casual, neighbor friends, even back in high school. Shar, on the other hand, was the sort of friend who was like a sister, and the rules were different with sister friends.