Dragonfly

by Leigh Talbert Moore

  I wanted to say the words that were bubbling behind my lips, to tell him how I felt, as horrible and mixed up as it was, but I bit them back. Shut that little voice.

  “I’d better go. I just stopped by to see if you were feeling better. I didn’t mean to stay.”

  “Yeah,” he breathed, limping back to his art table. “See you at school.”

  I nodded and walked away, hoping it wasn’t obvious that I was fighting the urge to run. He’d never understand why. I wasn’t sure I did.

  * * *

  Mom was watching a documentary on public television when I arrived home that night, so I grabbed a sandwich and ran upstairs, pulling out my phone.

  My best friend called a muffled hello. “What are you eating?” I asked.

  “Bugles,” Gabi crunched, and I knew she had a pointy chip stuck on all five of her fingertips—her favorite way to eat them. “You only call me when there’s a problem. So go.”

  I let out a small laugh and rested my forehead on my palm, unexpected tears filling my eyes. “Julian and Brad were in a wreck and—”

  “Stop now!” Gabi cried. “Tell me my Julian is okay!”

  “You’re doing it again,” I sighed. “He was never your Julian—”

  “Shut up and tell me he’s okay. His face is undamaged, and… all the rest of him.”

  “He’s fine, but that’s the problem.” I felt nervous saying it out loud. “I kissed him.”

  “Who?”

  “Julian.”

  “What!” Gabi cried again. “I hate you, and I hope you get trapped under something heavy.” She crunched loudly in my ear.

  “Gabi! Stop! I wasn’t trying to kiss him. I was trying to see if he was okay. Like always. But then he kissed me. And I was right there kissing him back.”

  “Yeah, you were! Julian’s smokin’ hot, and now you’re friends with benefits.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Yet.” Crunch. “I’m having a hard time seeing the problem here.”

  “Jack and I went to the game together Friday.”

  “Jack?” Her voice was a shriek. “I thought he was history!”

  “So did I.” I fell back on the bed groaning loudly. “I don’t know what he wants. He hurts me, and we aren’t even together. He pushes me away, and when he pulls me back, I run to him.”

  “Do you really like him?”

  “I don’t know.” My emotions were in shambles, and even saying it seemed wrong. “I still dream about Jack, but inside me wants to be with Julian. How do I even cope with that? It’s insane.”

  “What else do you have going on? How’s life in the news business?”

  “I love it, and Nancy has me working on this huge project that’s going to look amazing on my résumé.”

  “So focus on that.”

  I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes. “They keep sneaking up on me. These moments, stealing my breath. And I think I should follow my instincts, but I keep messing up. I keep making the wrong choice.”

  “You’re definitely having an interesting year.”

  “Rachel says it’s because you left. She said I hid behind you.”

  “Hmm,” I heard her crunch. “Maybe. But I don’t know. Moving’s hard, breaking into a new place and all. You were just figuring it out.”

  “I didn’t know I was doing that,” I said quietly, my eyes growing warm.

  She stopped crunching, and her voice grew serious. “Okay, Banana-face. Enough. We can solve this. First, what do you want? Maybe if you defined your goals, you’d make the right choice.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, trying to feel stronger. “I planned all this out before school started. I was going to beef up my résumé, make sure I had everything with the best journalism schools. Then Dad suggested trying for a scholarship.”

  “That’s all good.”

  “I want to keep writing,” I sighed. “Otherwise, I just want to be happy.”

  “So does everybody. Get more specific. What would make you happy?”

  My brain felt empty and tired, and thinking about it frustrated me. “I don’t know.”

  A loud exhale met my ear. “Let’s take a different approach. What do you not want? Define that, and maybe it’ll lead you to what you do.”

  “It’s a good idea,” I said, thinking.

  “That’s your assignment,” Gabi said, resuming her crunch.

  “Hey, thanks.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  “’night, Gab.”

  “’night.”

  I hung up the phone, wishing for the millionth time she was still here. Closing my eyes, I thought of her advice. What I didn’t want...

  I didn’t want to be an after-thought. I wanted to be the first thought. I didn’t want to be cast aside or with someone who was only interested when I was no longer available.

  I wanted to have value. I did have value.

  My brain flooded with images of what that meant. Of me being the reason for someone to keep trying; of them being the reason for me.

  It was working. I felt calmer, stronger. I began to understand what it meant. What I wanted and what I needed to do. I was going to follow my dreams, and I was going to find my way to the right person. It would take a little time, I knew it would take more work, but my confidence was growing. I smiled as I believed it would happen. I was going to make it through this.

  Chapter 18

  Nancy was in the back room of the archives digging in a huge box of pictures when I arrived at the newspaper office.

  “We really should start scanning these,” she muttered. “Anna, is your mom still at the association office or is she working on the fundraiser?”

  She handed me a picture of some young people at what looked like Scoops twenty years ago. The trees were thinner, and I loved the vintage outfits they were wearing.

  “I don’t know, what’s this?” I asked.

  “I found these old images of Fairview kids. I think I’ve got one in here of Alex LaSalle, and I need a photographer to get in the old Magnolia Hotel and take pictures of her paintings if they’re still hanging. Could your mom let somebody in over there?”

  “Ms. LaSalle was an artist?”

  “Painter,” Nancy said. “Considered a real comer for a while. She moved back here from Atlanta to help Bill Kyser with some of his developments. I’m not sure what happened, but after a couple of years, she suddenly retired. Didn’t want any publicity, tried to erase all memory of her painting career. I thought I’d give her a call and see if she’s softened up some now that her kid’s doing so well. That was part of the reason we picked up your feature. Locals will remember her and put the two together.”

  My head was spinning. Julian had never told me his mom was a painter. Moved back to help Bill Kyser?

  I thought about that night at the hospital and grabbed the picture again, studying the faces leaning against a car near the old drive-through. Even in black and white I recognized her fair skin and beautiful bone structure framed with long, dark-brown hair. She was exactly the same. And standing right next to her was a face that could’ve been Jack’s but with light brown hair.

  “Who’s that?” I knew the answer, but I wanted to be sure. He had the same killer smile that made me forget everything logical.

  “Oh, that’s it,” she laughed. “That’s Alex with Bill and Meg Kyser. Look how young and handsome he was. Meg was so pretty… Too bad about all that.”

  I grabbed the picture back and saw now that his arm was around what could’ve been Lucy, same long blonde hair, looking at his face with an enraptured smile. I knew that feeling.

  “That’s his wife that died?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Sad story. Local girl dies young, leaves behind three babies and a grieving husband.”

  I almost couldn’t breathe. “What happened exactly?”

  “Car crash. I’m sure we have the write-up in here somewhere. Those guys are a little older than me, but I remember they were all friends. He and Meg
got married when I was in middle school. Big local event. I don’t remember the exact year, but I’d graduated and moved away when the accident happened.”

  “But why would Ms. LaSalle just retire from art like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy said, standing up and straightening her blouse, smoothing her hair back. “I’m planning to see what I can find out if she’ll talk to me. Will you call your mom?”

  “It’s better if I walk over. She doesn’t always hear the phone ring.”

  I walked back to the front office to grab my coat with the old images in my head. Ms. LaSalle’s face was as serious then as it was now, and I was amazed at how much Jack looked like his dad—just like she’d said at the hospital.

  But the way they were all standing in the picture, I didn’t see any signs of romance. Not then, at least. Mr. Kyser’s arm was around his wife’s shoulders, and she was holding his waist. It was just friends leaning against an old car in front of what looked like a very different version of our town.

  Heading to the door, I froze in the hallway. The steel grey Jeep was parked out front, and leaning against it, looking at his phone was Jack. My heart beat harder, but I clenched my teeth against it. Turning to the wall and watching him, I tried to decide what to do.

  Last night I’d made my goals, and if I were going to be valued, he didn’t have the best track record. But seeing him there, leaning against the jeep, dressed in jeans and a dark tee with a blazer on top, it felt so silly to make goals and hold myself to them when that was waiting for me. All I wanted was to go to him. I wanted to smooth the messy bangs from his eyes. I wanted him to kiss me.

  “Ugh,” I quietly growled, banging my forehead lightly against the wall. “What is wrong with me?”

  I took a deep breath, put on a confident face, and went through the glass doors. “What are you doing here?”

  That smile crossed his lips, and I hated the way my body responded to him. It wasn’t fair. “Hey,” he stepped forward and kissed my cheek. He smelled like the beach, and images of him on the water filled my mind. Damn images.

  I smiled back, heart pounding. My mouth actually watered. “Did you have a news event to report?”

  He laughed. “No. I had to come up to the office for Dad, and I thought you might like to get some dinner with me.”

  I held my expression steady. He was doing it again—asking me out when he’d said we weren’t together. “Tonight?”

  “Sure—you already have a date?” His confident grin said he knew I didn’t. Of course I didn’t.

  “Is that what it is? A date?”

  “Friends go to dinner all the time. I was planning to drive over to Jesse’s. Let me treat you.”

  That ritzy little café tucked away on the banks of the Magnolia River was a place I’d only heard stories about. Some kids could afford to go there before prom, but for the most part, it had an exclusively older clientele.

  “You want to take me to Jesse’s.”

  “Would you rather grab a burger?”

  I shook my head with a little laugh. “I would love to go with you to Jesse’s. Let me finish here. I’ve got to tell mom to call Nancy, and I wish I had time to change…”

  The khaki skirt and light-blue sweater I’d pulled on this morning didn’t feel fancy enough. I looked down at my black boots and wished I had more than a cropped denim jacket to go over it.

  “You look great. I’ll pick you up in a half hour.” He smiled in that way that warmed my whole body, and I knew this was a mistake. But I was making it.

  I’d deal with my shredded insides later.

  * * *

  Jesse’s sat on a tree-lined stretch of river that extended down to Coyote Bay and then out to the Gulf of Mexico. Our table was on the patio and twinkle lights lined the tin roof of the intentionally rustic-looking establishment. It wasn’t a crowded night, and a collection of tea lights in the center of the table made the setting romantic and beautiful.

  “This is really nice,” I said.

  “I was just thinking this is our first date,” he said, putting his napkin in his lap.

  “And we’re not even together anymore.” I had to get that part out on the table.

  His blue eyes studied mine. “Sometimes it can be interesting to do things backwards.”

  I had no idea what that meant, but I didn’t care. I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to enjoy this dinner. I’d earned it.

  “We went sailing a few times,” I said. “Those can count as dates. How’s Slip Away?”

  “Lonely. Maybe you need another lesson after all.”

  What was he doing? I studied his face in the yellow glow, and I couldn’t decide what I saw there. It was like regret, but not quite. More like control. “I’m booked this weekend. Mom’s association has set up a giant hay maze fundraiser.”

  A smile broke his cheeks. “Sounds fun. Is it haunted?”

  “Of course. Why would anyone have a hay maze the last weekend in October, and it not be haunted? A group’s going Saturday night. Want to tag along?”

  “Sure. Should I to pick you up?”

  I thought about my plans to catch a ride with Mom, but I didn’t mind going later. “Sure,” I said with a smile, thinking about that night, this night. We were just being friends… right?

  “So now that you have your own English class,” I said. “What do they have you reading? Anything good?”

  “I have to read Sense and Sensibility. Most teachers assign Pride and Prejudice, but my reaction is the same. Wordy chick lit.”

  “Terrible response!” I cried. “If that’s all it is, then why would it have survived this long?”

  “Most teachers are chicks.”

  “Jack!” I pushed his hand. “I think it’s an amazing study of both the helplessness of the sisters at that time in society and the complexity of their different personalities. I mean, look at Marianne, all passion and drama, almost dying when Willoughby rejects her. Compared to Elinor who’s so quiet and reserved, but fiercely loyal and probably stronger in her devotion even without the outward display.”

  Jack’s blue eyes watched me in the candlelight, and I felt a self-conscious tingle in my stomach. “I guess I’m boring you to death.”

  “I like hearing what you think.” The grin on his lips was killing me. “When you talk about these books we’re reading, I actually start to care about them. You should be a teacher.”

  “Thanks,” I rolled my eyes and adjusted my napkin. “That’s very sexy.”

  “Yes. The sexy librarian.”

  My eyes flickered back to his. “That’s a myth. I have never seen a sexy librarian.”

  “I’ve seen a few.”

  Then I laughed. “Why are you checking out librarians?”

  “Just looking around,” he said. “You might be one.”

  “Right.” What the hell? Was Jack saying I was sexy? Suddenly this felt a lot more than friendly.

  The waiter appeared and Jack ordered smoked duck and gouda for starters then the Delmonico ribeye with smashed potatoes. I grinned. “Meat and potatoes?”

  “It’s the best. Should I order the same for you?”

  “Sure, but let me try these gouda grits.”

  He handed our menus to the waiter with a wink. “Two of the same, but grits for the transplant.”

  An acoustic trio was playing classic rock songs at the far end of the patio, and one couple had risen to dance. Jack stood and held out his hand. I’d never danced in a fancy restaurant, but it was so empty, I figured what the hell. He pulled me close against his firm chest, and we swayed to the tune as I tried not to melt in his arms. I was so going to regret this, and I wasn’t changing a thing.

  Images of my palms on his bare chest, us on the beach, in his bedroom, I wanted so much more than “just friends.” I wanted to pull his face down and kiss him. But I wouldn’t. I could at least preserve my pride, even if I was barely breathing.

  The song ended and we strolled back to the table holding hands. O
ur food was waiting for us, but I didn’t feel like eating. The steaks were perfectly cooked, slightly pink in the middle, but I could only manage a few bites. My stomach was tight, and while part of me wanted to let loose and indulge, the other part was on edge, wondering what was coming.

  Jack studied my plate. “Don’t like it?”

  “It’s delicious. I’m just tired all of a sudden. Long day, I guess.”

  He smiled. “We can take off.”

  I waited while he settled the bill, and soon we were back in the Jeep headed southeast toward home. The top was off, but the crisp fall air didn’t wreak as much havoc with my curls as in the summertime. I was starting to relax until we turned toward the beach road instead of town. I looked over at him.

  His eyes were on the road. “Want to look at the water?”

  “Sure,” I said, studying his profile, the wind pushing his hair around his face.

  He parked in the same lot as the first time we came here after that first dance. With the engine off, the sound of the breakers crashing and the hiss of the surf were loud and close. The salty ocean-smell was strong.

  “I’m going to miss this,” he said under his breath, sliding his hands from the wheel to his lap. “Sometimes at night, I leave all the windows open so I can hear it.”

  I nodded. “It always helps me relax.”

  His eyes moved to me, and he held out his hand. I put mine in it, and he pulled gently. For a half-second, I hesitated. Then I crossed the space between us, letting him pull me onto his lap facing him in a straddle. His warm hands found the skin under my sweater and his mouth was on my neck just as fast. My whole body was instantly burning, and I tried to calm my flying heart. But it was pointless. I was gone.

  “Do friends make out?” I managed to say, eyes closed.

  “Good friends,” he said against my skin before slipping a hand behind my neck and pulling my mouth to his.

  The hand on my back traveled higher, loosening my bra, and I slid my fingers into his hair as he caressed me. I was moving, kissing him deeply, my heart pounding as the pressure built low in my stomach. The feelings were so intense, so good, I didn’t care what was coming. I didn’t care if I cried tomorrow or all week. I broke away to gasp for air, and his hands moved to my hair, pulling my ear to his mouth.