Goodnight to My Thoughts of You

by Chelsea Rotunno

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Morgan

  I volunteered to be a boat leader for the houseboat trip to Lake Mojave that August. At the leaders’ meeting two weeks before the trip, there were 36 boat leaders assigned in pairs to the 18 houseboats. When I got to the meeting, I found out that Bryson was my co-leader. I was glad that we’d had our bonding moment because I was assured that there wouldn’t be anything weird between us on the trip.

  Halfway through the meeting we had a break to get some coffee and donuts. That was when Paul walked in the room.

  He gave Bryson a big man hug; I got a side hug.

  “How are you?” he asked me in his raspy voice. Now it had the substance of a married man.

  “I’m great! Are you going with us?”

  “Of course.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “So what are you up to these days?” I asked.

  “Well, I am working with my father-in-law.”

  “And what does he do?”

  “He’s an investor. I’m doing property management. It’s temporary. It’s better than teaching.”

  “And what about your wife? What does she do?”

  “She works for him too.”

  “Where are you guys living?”

  “With my wife’s parents.”

  “That’s romantic.”

  “Tell me about it. What are you up to these days? When do you graduate?”

  “I have two more semesters.”

  “That went by fast, didn’t it!” he said.

  We chatted about my classes and the books we were reading over the summer. It was interesting to me that we talked so easily and naturally, especially since we hadn’t seen each other in so long. In fact, because he was married and I was a little bit older, we seemed to get along better than ever. We still had similar humor and mutual interests. We still had the chemistry of what I used to call “soul mates.” Now I told myself it was nothing more than Christian brotherhood.

  For the second half of the meeting, we sat next to each other and whispered a few jokes back and forth while Bob and Kelly went through the materials for the trip. I was looking forward to this new friendship with Paul. I felt like I was free to show that I cared about him as a person and that I thought he was funny, interesting, and intelligent.

  When Bob was finished with his instructions, Paul got up and prayed for our trip. As I listened to his excitement and saw his passion for the students, I was reminded of his deep love for God, and I was happy for his wife. She was the one God had chosen to share Paul’s love, help him be the best man of God he could be, and nurture his soul every day.

  After the meeting, Paul and I walked out together. I could see a woman with beautiful, flowing red hair approaching from down the hall.

  “Morgan!” he called. “I want you to meet someone.”

  “Hello,” she said politely when she drew near. She held out her hand. Her other hand gently rubbed her protruding stomach. They’d already made a baby.

  “This is Miriam,” Paul said.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said. We shook hands.

  “Yes,” I said, trying not to stare at her baby bump. “I remember you from Dance Arts. I’m a few years younger than you.”

  “Oh,” she said, her eyebrows furrowed, as if trying to remember me. “Are you a dancer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she the friend you were telling me about?” she asked Paul.

  “Yes, this is Miriam.”

  “Oh, Miriam—right.” Suddenly, she was ready to leave. “It was nice to meet you. I have the car running, honey. Let’s go.”

  Paul and I hardly talked on the houseboat trip.

  And after that, I never really saw him again.

  Part Two

  When I passed by Paul in my hometown, something in my heart leaped like it used to in high school, but I knew our paths were not meant to merge again.

  “Who’s Paul, Mom?” my daughter asked.

  I kept driving.

  “I’ll write a book about that story one day,” I told her, “and the best part of the book will be about how I met your Dad.”