* * *
Gloria couldn’t believe it. The baby was here, and a boy. Ever since she’d lost her brother, she’d known she wanted a son to raise in his honor. She also wanted James to have a boy of his own so he could experience all those important father-son bonding moments she knew he craved. Yes, he loved his girls with his entire heart, but a boy was special in a different way. And now they had one to call their own.
“Jacob Ricardo Morgan, that’s what we’ll call you,” she told the baby, pressing him to her bosom. “Named after two great men. You’ve got a lot to live up to, little one, but don’t worry, Mama will be there to support you every step of the way.”
The baby latched on just as her other children emerged from the camper and tore over to where she and the baby lay nuzzled together.
“Oh, wow! We have a brother!” they exclaimed.
“Mama, can I sing the baby a song?” Jacqueline asked, pressing her face close to Gloria’s.
“I think he’d like that,” she answered, smiling up at her girls.
“I want to sing too,” Beverly cried.
“We should all sing. After all, he’s all of our brother.”
James laughed and mussed up Victoria’s hair. “That’s a good point, Vicky, and what should we sing to him?”
She thought for a few moments, then her eyes lit up and she spoke so fast he could hardly understand her. “Since we’re camping, I think we should sing Kumbaya. I think the baby will like it. It’s kind of like a lullaby. Right, Daddy?”
“Oh, yes, yes!” Beverly shouted, joining in Victoria’s excitement.
But Jacqueline pouted, “I don’t know that song…”
“Come here,” Gloria said reaching out her free arm. “It’s an easy song to learn. We’ll all teach you.”
The girls cuddled with their mother as James finally brought the fire to life. The sound of their voices mixing together as the heat crackled before them was the most beautiful thing James had heard in his entire life.
“James, come hold your son,” Gloria urged once they had all sung a few rounds and the baby had finished his first meal outside the womb. And when she placed the tiny bundle—the smallest yet of all his children—in James’s arm, he knew he was a goner.
The baby stretched his arms forward and accidentally scratched himself near the eye.
“Hey, hey, buddy. Careful,” he warned. “You’ll need those eyes. There’s so much beauty in this world, so much you still need to see.”
He wrapped his son in a blanket, then returned to his wife’s side. “Should we get you to a hospital?” he asked.
“I feel fine, James. No need to go just yet. Besides…” She lay her head on his shoulder and looked up at the stars. “I don’t want this moment to end just yet.”
He chuckled softly. “Mama was right, just as always. This will make the perfect memory.”
When I Fall in Love, Part II
The bright Texas sun shone through the drawn curtains in Deborah’s room, forcing her to awaken before she was ready. During all her years in Alaska, she’d grown accustomed to normally being able to sleep in if she wanted to—not the case in Texas, where the sun rose early and didn’t go to bed without a fight.
She’d only visited Abeline once before deciding to make it her home. Of course, she missed her children and grandchildren desperately, but she also needed a fresh start. Needed to escape the grief that hung over Anchorage like an eternal veil.
First she’d lost her son and daughter-in-law there and then her husband, tarnishing even the happier memories that were tied to the place she’d once called home.
Abeline, she liked. It reminded her of her hometown growing up, of the 1950s, of simpler, happier times before life got so confusing.
Deborah’s knees ached as she lifted herself from bed and shrugged into her housecoat. She prepared a fresh glass of iced tea with a sprig of mint then padded out onto her wrap-around porch to say good morning to the neighbors.
She’d never have guessed she’d enjoy living in a retirement village, but life had always found new ways to take her by surprise.
Age and time changed everything, it seemed. Oh, Rip would laugh if he could see her now. Garnishing her tea with mint and wearing an embroidered housecoat—of all the crazy things.
But Rip had nodded off one night and never woken again. He’d had a smile plastered across his face when she found him, and that had filled her with both despair and joy. Rip was finally free of the pain he’d been trying to hide since the war, but he’d also left her alone to face life on her own.
And thus she lost the second great love of her life.
At nearly eighty years old, she doubted she’d find another, which meant she didn’t have much left to do other than enjoy every minute of her life and wait for it to finally be over. At least with Rip, though, she'd had closure. They’d lived more than fifty years together in marital bliss—well, normally it was bliss. They’d journeyed through life together and said goodbye when his had ended.
Not like with James.
She shuddered as she remembered receiving the news that James had gone missing in action over Korea. Even all these years later she still couldn’t forget it. Sometimes she felt guilty that not all of her fondest memories were tied to Rip, but then again she’d given him everything.
James never had the chance to receive the full effect of her love.
A tiny moving van—well, tiny as far as these things went—turned onto the street and came to a stop a few houses down.
Oh, goodie, the new neighbors had finally arrived.
Anyone would be better than old lady Bernstein—of that Deborah was certain.
She watched with interest as a handsome young man hopped out of the truck and began hauling boxes to the porch. Although he was young enough to be her grandson, he was pleasant to look at and she refused to deny herself the pleasure of watching his muscles bulge beneath the weight of the packages.
Something about him excited her, and it wasn’t just his good looks. The way he moved swiftly and surely, the way his smile seemed both self-assured and clumsy. He reminded her of…
“Slow down, slow down. You’ll tucker yourself right out,” an older man called from within the van. Deborah watched as the door pushed open and a pair of trousered legs emerged—followed by the man to whom they belonged.
At once, it was as if she were seventeen years old again, sipping on a strawberry shake at the local soda fountain.
James stood right in front of her, sending a smile her way.
* * *
James’s feet were glued to the sidewalk, or maybe the Earth’s gravitational pull had suddenly strengthened making them too heavy to lift. Whatever the reason, he was stuck in place, unable to tear his eyes away from the beauty who sat before him wearing a housecoat and sipping on an iced tea.
Deborah. Deborah, it was really her.
He smiled, and she smiled back. Neither spoke.
He’d tried to find her after the war, if only to tell her that he was all right. She’d left town though, and he’d found Gloria, and… none of that mattered just then.
Because here she was, every bit as beautiful as the day he’d first laid eyes on her at the soda shop. Crow’s feet tugged at the corners of her eyes, indicating she’d lived a life filled with happiness—just as he’d always hoped she would. Her white hair shone in the morning sun, casting a soft glow about her.
Since he couldn’t move, he needed to say something. Otherwise, an eternity would pass as they stood—and sat—staring at each other.
“Deborah?”
“Hello, James.” She smiled, rising slowly from her chair. She walked over to him, never once taking her eyes from his. When she stood but a few paces away, she asked, “Is it really you, or have I finally lost my mind?”
He laughed, just as he had all those years ago, carefree and light in her presence. “It’s really me.”
“So you didn’t die in the war like everybody said?”
He shook his head. “I tried to find you, to tell you I’d made it out alive, but you were already gone.”
“I’m here now.”
“Yes, you are.” And before he could lose the nerve, he asked her once again, “Deborah, may I kiss you?”
“Yes, but it’s not goodbye this time either. You got that?”
“I don’t ever want to say goodbye again,” he whispered into her cheek as they closed their arms around each other in a long overdue embrace.
“Then don’t.”
He brushed his lips against hers, unlocking both their pasts and their futures in one perfect gesture.
You Make Me Feel So Young
Deborah’s hands shook as she lifted the tiny pearl earrings up to her earlobes. She’d worn this same pair all those years ago when she and James first met at the local soda fountain, when she was nothing more than a girl. Would he remember?
She grimaced as she eyed herself in the mirror. While she understood she was attractive for a woman of her age, she still could hardly believe that the wrinkled face staring back through the glass was actually her own. Where had the soft blush of her cheeks gone? Why did her eyes look so small and squinty next to the ubiquitous crows’ feet that tugged at the corners? Her lips, while constantly glossed, were never quite smooth, and her pretty blond hair had settled into a dull whitish color.
But despite the arthritis, the wrinkles, and other omnipresent reminders of old age, Deborah still felt young, girlish, alive as she readied herself for her evening out with James. It had been so long since she’d last prepared for a romantic evening out. In fact, it had been years since Rip was still well enough to accompany her out for…
Rip.
She’d sworn she would never—could never—love another man, not when she’d spent her entire life with one whom she’d loved so dearly and who in turn had given her everything she’d ever wanted from life: love, family, even adventure. Of course, she could rationalize the way all the other widows in her community did.
It’s what he would have wanted, but was it? She cringed whenever she dared to think about how Rip would be doing, were their situations reversed. He’d never have moved on, not in a million years. Let alone two.
But then again, James wasn’t a new love. He’d taken her heart years before she’d met and fallen for Rip.
She lifted her eyes toward the lace-adorned window and peered outside. James and his grandson were still moving boxes back and forth from the truck to the house. The poor dears must have been exhausted, and yet… James still insisted on taking her out that very night—as if he couldn’t wait another moment to continue their story.
It was just being neighborly, really. She’d show him the sights of their humble retirement village, which wouldn’t take too long at all. And when they were through, she’d thank him for keeping her such good company for the evening—as she had no doubt he would—and then she’d bid him good night.
There. It was decided. No more feeling guilty. No more wondering what if?
* * *
Buh buh. Buh-buh. Buhbuh. Buhbuhbuhbuhbuhbuh.
James heart beat faster and faster while he stood on Deborah’s front porch and waited for her to open the door. How long had he waited for this very moment? It felt like years, but also as if no time had passed at all. He still remembered everything about her, or at least the seventeen-year-old version of her: how she wrote poetry, loved strawberry malts, was carefree, exuberant. And he could see all those things within Deborah still, though they seemed buried beneath a cautious exterior.
Life did that sometimes, took more than it gave. How he hoped he’d read the situation wrong. Because for him, life had given in spades, just as it was doing again, offering up his first love in a tidy suburban package mere months after he’d lost his wife so suddenly to the stroke.
The door creaked open, revealing Deborah in a soft, floral sundress and fuzzy cream cardigan. She wore pearls both around her neck and upon her ears, an image that took him straight back to that night.
She noticed him staring and reached a hand up to her ear. “The very same,” she said with a smile. “Are those for me?”
James looked down at the edible bouquet held firmly between his palms, which were growing sweatier by the second. It was as if he were a boy again! “I-I figured these would be nicer than simple flowers. Is strawberry still your favorite?”
“Oh, how very sweet.” Deborah reached out and took the arrangement of carved strawberries resembling a bouquet of tulips. Her fingers brushed his. A spark, one he knew she felt as he did.
A flush rose to her cheeks, and she excused herself to put James’ gift in the fridge.
It really was as if no time had passed at all, as if they were children again. Was this God’s way of thanking him for answering his country’s call to serve and protect? By giving him yet another chance to know great love?
He checked his breath by huffing into his palm, then popped a sugar-free Tic Tac anyway. Only the best for his girl. Oh, how he hoped she would have him.
Deborah reappeared and slid the door shut behind her. “All right,” she said. “I’m ready.”
James put one hand in the lapel of his jacket and crooked the other arm, inviting Deborah to take hold. A moment’s hesitation crossed between them, but then she smiled and accepted his arm.
And they were together. Finally together again.
* * *
He’d remembered too, that much was clear as they wove through their neighborhood toward the tiny downtown area where speakers, musicians, and other types of entertainers often came to put on a show for their community of active seniors.
James reached for her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the entire world, as if they’d been taking these walks together the whole of their lives. “I want to know everything I missed,” he said. “Tell me, how has your life been?”
Deborah hesitated. She loved the life she’d lived with Rip, but that didn’t mean there was nothing she’d change, if only given the chance.
“Did you have kids?” He smiled and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Five. All boys.”
“I had five too. Four girls and a boy. They all think I moved too far away from home, coming here, but it’s only really an hour’s drive. Does your family live close by?”
Deborah shook her head. “Wayne, Arthur, Fred, and Kurtis live back in Anchorage. Lewis… in Heaven.”
He stopped walking and wrapped her into an effortless hug. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
And even though she’d lost Lewis and his wife Shirley so many years ago, the pain still hung just beneath the surface. If there were some secret way to recover from the loss of a child, she had yet to discover it.
“I’m fine. Really.” She pulled out of his hug and forced a smile to her face.
“Hey,” James said, pointing down the block. “Gonzo’s. Is that place any good?”
Now her smile came easily. “Only the best.”
He reached for her hand again and pulled her excitedly toward the tiny Coney Island diner. “Do you still like malted milks?” A twinkle lit up his eyes.
“Oh, yes, I do.” And she giggled, the earlier gravity of their conversation already swept clean away.
They took a seat by the window, and James called the waitress over. “One strawberry malt, and…”—turning to Deborah—“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll have to join you with a Diet Coke.” He cupped a hand to the side of his face and whispered, “Diabetes.”
“You know…” he continued once the waitress had left to prepare their order. “It’s funny we should meet now after all this time, don’t you think? I’ve found that where we are now is a lot like where we were back then, transitioning between two phases in life. It’s that same freedom, being able to make a new life for ourselves, having so many options before us.”
Deborah nodded, but she wasn’t sure she agreed. Back then, she’d had no pain to anchor her, no regrets
to hide.
“And, in case you were wondering, the feelings are all still there, same as before, as if they never left, only got tucked away for a while. I’m still crazy about you, Deborah Walker.”
She felt heat rise to her cheeks. It was so natural with James, and—yes—she had to agree that the feelings were every bit as intense today as they’d been fifty years ago. Perhaps more so since James was now cutting in on the lonely dance her life had become.
“It’s Deborah Rockwell now,” she corrected, reaching her hands across the table to hold each of his. “And I’m crazy about you, too.”
* * *
Ahh, there she was at last. Before he had only suspected, but now James knew for sure; that carefree girl still lived inside her, even though she’d clearly experienced more pain than any one person ever deserved to suffer—especially one so sweet, so wonderful.
Another effervescent memory bubbled to the surface. “Do you still write poetry?” he asked while the waitress set their drinks down on the table before them.
She coughed then laughed at herself. “I do, actually. Poetry and some longer pieces as well. I’m working on my memoirs now.”
“So you really did it? You got to do what you love for a living?”
She nodded. “Yes, I got to raise my children, and then my grandchildren too. Writing has always been with me, but it’s also always been second to family. Until now, that is. I have so much time on my hands, it seems silly not to spend it productively.” She waved a hand in front of her face as if to dismiss the topic. “Anyway, tell me what it is you’ve done all these years. I always wondered… When you didn’t come back from the war… I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Squeeze. Her fingers were warm as she clapped both hands around his once more and smiled.
Cupid's Bow: The First Generation Boxed Set Page 14
