by Katy Paige
Electric. Yeah, that’s about right.
The entire drive home, he tried to tell himself to calm down and step back. Although he and Holly had exchanged a week’s worth of emails and an afternoon’s worth of texts, he really didn’t know her well enough yet to be falling for her. And yet, he thought about her more and more. All the time, even. He wondered what she was up to as his brain worked efficiently in two time zones. Who was she talking to, and were her students giving her a hard time? Did she miss her mother terribly some days and was there some gym teacher making goo-goo eyes at her from across the faculty cafeteria? He had so many questions; there was so much he wanted to know about her—anything, everything.
He sat down on the porch swing, placing his tea on the table to his left as Cleo jumped up to sit beside him.
“Only one way to get some answers, huh, Cleo?”
He leaned forward to take his phone out of his back pocket and dialed Holly’s number.
***
After Starbucks, Zoë stopped in at the grocery store, so it was late when she got home. She was surprised to find Sandy coming down the stairs of her apartment. Since Saturday nights were the busiest nights at the pizzeria her aunt owned and managed, Zoë wondered why her aunt wasn’t working.
“Look at you,” said Sandy, a curious smile lighting up her face. “Were you out on a date or something?”
Zoë glanced down at the ankle-length white, cotton skirt and aqua blue, short-sleeve polo shirt she was wearing with a turquoise bracelet. They were clothes and jewelry she hadn’t worn in a long time, and while the elastic of the skirt’s waistband had been kind to her fuller figure, she was busting out of the shirt a little. Putting them on had been a silly concession to Paul going out on a date with “Holly.” That, and Zoë just wanted to amplify the “Holly” feeling.
“Nah,” she shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Just felt like a change.”
Sandy bounced down the remaining three steps and pulled Zoë in for a big hug.
“You’re starting to look a little like yourself again,” she said softly, then pulled back. “Where you been?”
“Just to the movies. Saw Closer to You. It was good.”
“Yeah? I guess so. You don’t look all mopey. You should go to the movies more often, Zo.”
Zoë shifted her keys back and forth in her hands.
“You could start dating again, you know,” said Sandy.
“Yeah, they’re really knockin’ down my door, Sand.” Zoë jutted her index finger toward the scar on her face with a sardonic pucker.
“Hey, don’t blame that! It’s not that bad anymore. At all. You put out a vibe.”
“Oh, I do?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What vibe is that?”
“The stay-away-from-me-or-else vibe.”
“Or else what? My giant five-foot-four frame makes them run in fear?”
“No one wants to get shut down when they ask out a pretty girl. You act closed, you are closed,” said Sandy. She paused for a second, gesturing to Zoë’s shirt and skirt. “But I like this. It’s not as…angry.”
Zoë took a deep breath and considered her aunt’s words. Sandy was right. In the past few days, Zoë didn’t feel as angry. Or as sad or sorry. Guilty? Yes, of course. But all around, she felt lighter since meeting Paul. In fact, she’d go so far as to say she felt more hopeful too.
“Maybe I don’t need that therapist, after all,” said Zoë, giving Sandy a small, unsure smile. Maybe I just need more of Paul. “Hey, why aren’t you at the restaurant?”
“Didn’t feel well,” said Sandy, looking down.
A shudder went through Zoë and she heard her keys hit the ground. This was how it had started with her mother. Not feeling well. Little did they know cancer had already ravaged one breast, leeched into her lymph nodes and started an assault that couldn’t be beaten.
“S-Sandy!” she murmured, her hands cold as ice, fear thick in her voice.
Sandy’s face snapped up, eyes wide and surprised. She blinked twice, then—understanding Zoë’s expression—shook her head back and forth. “No! Oh, no! No, Zo! Nothing like that!! I’m pregnant! I’m just pregnant.”
Zoë’s breath came out in a rush and her whole body relaxed to the point of feeling dizzy and limp. “Oh! Oh, God. Oh, geez, you had me scared for a minute.”
Sandy took Zoë’s hand and rubbed it between hers. “I could see Carly pass over your face like a ghost, Zo. I’m so sorry I told you like that. It didn’t even occur to me.”
Zoë looked at her aunt’s face, realizing for the first time what she had said. She was pregnant! As Zoë caught her breath she started giggling and the giggle turned into all-out laughter as she clasped Sandy’s hands, smiling at her aunt.
“Oh, my God! You’re having a BABY! That’s such great news, Sand!”
Sandy beamed. “You know we been trying, and suddenly my boobs felt really painful last week, and I tell you, Zo, I got scared, thinking of Carly, of what had happened to my sister. So, I went to my doc expecting some really bad news, but my boobs are fine! It’s just one of the first symptoms of pregnancy!”
“When?” asked Zoë, glancing at Sandy’s still-flat stomach.
“Spring,” said Sandy. “And how’s this for magic? I’m due on your mom’s birthday. April eleventh. How do you like that?”
“I love it,” Zoë sighed, smiling with real happiness for her aunt.
“If it’s a girl, she’ll be Carly. If he’s a boy, Charley. Either way, I know this baby’s connected to your mom, Zo. I know it.”
Zoë felt pretty sure her aunt was right. She felt so happy, she didn’t think before she said, “Did you tell Thea last night?”
“I did.” Sandy nodded. “She asked about you, you know. Just like always.”
Zoë stiffened then leaned down to pick up her keys. “What’d she ask?”
“How you’re doing.”
“How was...” Zoë gulped, and then raised her eyes to Sandy’s. “Brandon?”
“He’s good, Zoë. He walks like a normal kid. The prosthetics are amazing.”
Zoë highly doubted he walked like a normal kid. Normal kids had legs made out of flesh and bone. Brandon had legs made from carbon fiber.
Sandy placed a gentle hand on her niece’s shoulder. “When he’s eighteen he can be fitted for a new kind of leg that attaches right into the bone above his knee. You don’t have to take it on and off—it’s permanent. Isn’t that amazing? He’s excited for that.”
Zoë’s heart sank. Most six-year-olds were excited for soccer, carnivals and swimming pools. Her nephew was excited about permanent legs to replace the ones he lost? Zoë shut her eyes, wincing. When she opened them, Sandy was staring at her, that concerned look back on her face.
“You okay, Zo?”
“I love you, Sand. Congratulations on the baby. I’m really, really happy for you and Rob.”
She stepped away, heading up the stairs, wishing she could escape her life. Wishing the light moments she spent with Paul as Holly were enough to balance out the deep regret she felt as Zoë.
***
When Holly didn’t pick up the second time, Paul put his phone down, furrowing his brows. It was the right number. It was the same number he’d used to text her earlier today. He opened a text box.
Hey Holly. Tried calling, but you’re not picking up. Maybe you changed your mind?
He debated whether or not to send the message, and then he quickly pressed send and put his phone down on the cushion next to him. Cleo looked up at him with her big brown eyes.
Why wasn’t she picking up? He picked up his phone and scrolled back through their messages. I’ll be waiting. That was her last message. It wasn’t an ambiguous answer. What had happened? She didn’t like highway driving. Could she have gotten into an accident? Could something have happened to her?
His hands began to sweat. How would he even know? Maybe he’d just never hear from her again.
That possibil
ity was like a punch in the gut. Sure he’d only known her for a week, and no, he’d never met her in person, but damn it, he liked her. He really liked her, and he didn’t want for their fledgling relationship to be over. What he wanted—
Cleo yelped and Paul realized that his phone was buzzing and vibrating beside her. He grabbed it, almost dropping it from his slippery hands as he pressed answer and held it up to his ear. “Hello?”
“Paul?”
“Holly?”
“It’s me.”
It’s me. He loved it that she said that. He smiled, relaxing into the swing cushion as he exhaled.
“I thought maybe you’d decided against talking.”
“No,” she said, and he closed his eyes, listening to her voice. It was soft and gentle, like a summer breeze on your cheek, a brush, a caress. “Not at all. I bumped into my aunt on the way home and she had some good news to share. She’s having a baby.”
“A baby! Wow! Congratulations, Holly. That’s great. A cousin for you.”
Holly chuckled lightly. “Yeah, I guess. That hadn’t occurred to me yet. A cousin twenty-four years younger than me. Huh. Weird, right?”
“Not at all. Lucky little thing to have an older, wiser cousin.”
“Ha! Older, yes. Wiser…?”He smiled as her voice trailed off. He liked it that she could laugh at herself. “Anyway, sorry if I worried you.”
“You did. I admit it,” he said. “I was worried some guy saw you sitting alone at Starbucks and made a move on you.”
Damn! Damn, damn, damn. Why did he say that? It sounded too possessive! They were just getting to know each other. He bit his bottom lip, grimacing, waiting for her response.
“Nope.” She chuckled that soft, breathy little laugh again. “I guess I just wasn’t putting out the ‘I’m available’ vibe.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Any reason for that? but he stopped himself. She was nice enough to let him off the hook, no need to push her.
“Phew!” he said. “Keep that up, Holly.”
“We’ll see…” she said. “So, Principal Paul, when do you go back to school full time?”
“I have another two weeks of summer break. Then a week of admin work before the kids come back. Although I should probably check in tomorrow; make sure the custodial staff has started their first day of school cleanup. Takes a month or so.”
“Hallways buffed to a high shine?”
“Hey, Miss Morgan! Are you a teacher or something?”
“Flannigan.”
“What?”
She paused for a second and he wondered if she was drinking something hot because he could have sworn he heard her hiss and curse softly like she would if she burned her mouth.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just—Flannigan is my last name. Morgan was my mother’s maiden name. I used it for anonymity. You know…over the internet.”
“Ohhhh.” It had never occurred to Paul—not for one moment—that Holly was anything but what she’d represented herself to be, her name included. Flannigan was a perfectly nice name, but for a moment Paul felt gypped out of something. Who was Holly Flannigan? He was falling for Holly Morgan, not Holly Flannigan.
Then he shrugged, shaking his head. He was being stupid. She had every right to conceal her identity from internet creeps. It was smart. Not to mention, it didn’t matter what her last name was. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Holly was still Holly.
“Miss Flannigan.”
“The very one.”
“It is really, really nice to meet you.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls you pick up online.”
This time, he was the one who chuckled softly, pulling Cleo on his lap and settling back into the swing, Holly’s playful sweetness overtaking him as their conversation hit a steady rhythm.
***
Zoë got up and padded to the kitchen, the phone still attached to her aching, tender ear after two solid hours of talking to Paul. The clock on her microwave read 12:05 a.m. She opened the fridge and took out a bottle of white wine, pouring herself a small glass.
“It’s after midnight here,” she said. “I’m having a glass of wine.”
“You pour yourself a glass. I’ve drunk a whole pitcher of tea in the past two hours, so I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” she said smiling.
She felt her cheeks flush as her thoughts swiftly moved…there. He was going to the bathroom. He was going to open his pants and pull out his—
Zoë swallowed a big gulp of wine, wishing she could divert her thoughts. Instead her mind insisted on its present course, subtly changing the dynamics of the fantasy to include her, sitting on the edge of his bed as he unbuttoned, then unzipped his pants, pulling them down and off his bare feet until he was just wearing boxers in front of her. She’d lean forward and hook her thumbs into the waistband of the shorts, pulling them down slowly so she could—
“Holly?”
“Huh? Yes! I—I mean, yeah, um, I’m here.”
“You okay?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Tired?”
Turned on.
“A little,” she sighed, placing her half-finished wine glass on the coffee table and lying back on her couch, switching ears. “I lit candles in my living room an hour ago so the light’s soft and warm in here…and I don’t have air conditioning, but I opened the windows and there’s a breeze tonight. The air’s still misty from the rain earlier and it makes the smell of the sea even stronger. You know that brackish, tangy, saltwater smell?”
“Mmm,” he murmured. “I know it well.”
“It’s heavy tonight. Thick,” she whispered.
“Holly.” He said her name softly.
“Mmm?”
“I like you a lot.”
“I like you too,” she whispered, without missing a beat.
“When can you talk again?”
She groaned inside. She knew it was time to hang up. They’d been talking for hours and he thought she was tired. But she wished they didn’t have to say goodbye.
“Maybe…later in the week?” she asked, cringing, hating herself for making him wait, but not wanting to seem desperate.
He didn’t say anything, but she could hear him breathing and she was pretty sure he didn’t like her answer. She almost retracted her words—telling him to call her tomorrow morning, tomorrow afternoon, tomorrow night, whenever he wanted to!—when he responded.
“Tuesday?”
She smiled. “I promise I’ll pick up next time.”
“Tuesday at ten your time?”
“It’s a date,” she said softly. “’Night, Principal Paul.”
“Sleep tight, Holly Flannigan.”
She drew the phone away from her ear and pressed the red end button quickly, before she was tempted to try to revive their conversation again. Then she sighed, staring at the dancing light of the candles on her ceiling.
It shouldn’t be possible to feel like this after a week.
It shouldn’t be possible to feel like this about someone you’ve never met in person.
It shouldn’t be possible to feel like this about someone two thousand miles away.
All of these concerns were quietly irrelevant as she let her eyes flutter closed, curling up onto her side, deeply certain of one thing:
It was possible, because Zoë was falling for Paul.
CHAPTER 5
As hot August winded its way into chillier September, Paul looked forward to the first day of school with anticipation, excited for fall and the school year ahead.
This time of year was galvanizing for Paul as he reviewed class lists and curriculums, communicated with his teachers about new policies passed down from the Gardiner Board of Education, and took a special interest in finding community volunteers to help with the rich roster of extracurricular activities that had helped to make Gardiner High the most highly rated high school in the state.
But he couldn’t deny that his year was different.
He still reviewed the policies, class lists and curriculums, however, his head wasn’t as “in the game” as it had been in years past; it was thousands of miles away in the salty-smelling air of late summer Mystic, CT, which captured his attention at all hours of the day.
Without realizing it, Paul had re-structured his life around the moments he “spent” with Holly.
He would wake up in the morning, shower, shave, get dressed, make himself a cup of coffee and take his laptop out to the porch swing where they’d had their first phone conversation. He kept a fleece jacket by the back door and threw it on every morning lately, settling into the swing with Cleo, and starting his day writing a “Good morning” message to Holly.
They had settled into a routine of sorts: there was a message waiting for him every morning from Holly. Just a short note about what she’d be up to that day or what she was looking forward to tomorrow. She told him about the book she was reading and somehow convinced him to read it too. They talked about how they both went to college in Rhode Island, and she’d tell him about Mystic while he gave her a good education on Yellowstone.
Sometimes, though not often, her spirits dipped. She’d write less than usual or complain about the dog days of late summer. Once or twice she’s made a general observation about life not turning out like she expected. Though it sometimes felt out of character—he thought of Holly, by and large, as cheerful and grounded—he liked her all the more for these complicated glimpses into her personality. He liked getting to know the woman behind the beautiful girl. He wanted to know everything about her, and he marveled at how open and real she was in their communications.
And, he thought smiling, she always ended on a positive note, making him laugh with a well-written observation or gently poking fun at herself.
Paul would sip his coffee, picturing Mystic as best as he could remember it from the one or two times he’d visited: the cobblestoned streets of the seaside village with an ancient harbor and tall ships. He’d picture her taking walks around the harbor in her white sundress, mentally wishing away the men who’d stop and smile at his Holly. Then he’d write back to her, sharing his plans to take a hike in Yellowstone or head up to the Target in Bozeman for start-of-year supplies.
