Taking my hand and squeezing it, Diana replies, “Katie, I know that you’ve longed for the opportunity to say things to him. Please don't let that chance pass you by. There’s a reason you both ended up here tonight. No one planned this. This ... is fate.” Diana releases my hand and winks at me. “I love you, Katie, and I’m so fortunate to have a best friend who flew around the world to be here for my birthday party. Thank you for this.” Tears fill her big brown eyes. Once again she throws her arms around me, and this time we hug tightly. “Don’t miss this chance to say the things you need to say. I think he needs it as much as you,” she whispers and kisses my cheek.
CHAPTER 7
Against The Odds
Somehow I manage to keep up with Di and Jenny on the dance floor for most of the night once I discard my heels and spend the rest of the time barefoot. My jet lag gives me the sensation of being on a cruise ship, rising and falling on giant waves, so eventually, after a few too many glasses of wine, I find myself feeling lightheaded and woozy and needing to sit once again.
I haven't spoken to Matthew any more; last I saw him, he was sitting at a table with Terry, Joe, and a couple of old friends from school. They all appeared to be having a good time, laughing and putting a few beers away, obviously catching up on many years apart. We caught eyes a couple times while I was dancing, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking, his expression blank and unreadable. I have so many questions to ask him. Where does he live? I am curious about his wife, his kids, and what he ended up doing with his life; in truth, the questions are endless. I have tried a couple of times over the years to track him down. Every once in a while my curiosity gets the better of me, but I was never able to locate any information about him. Matthew Sullivan is undetectable in a world where we have information at our fingertips.
Over the course of the evening, I calculate that it has been twenty-two years, almost to the day, since we last saw each other in Hayloft Alley. The memory comes back as is if were yesterday. Each time I blink, I see him lying in bed, asleep, tousled up and naked in the sheets, while I creep out in the middle of the night. Allowing myself to recall that night releases a lethal combination of emotions both joyful and painful, and I struggle to keep my feelings in check, the alcohol and exhaustion only complicating things.
It’s probably for the best that Matthew is keeping his distance; I’m a fool if I think I have any control over my feelings when it comes to him. My body’s betrayal tonight has made it clear that I’m walking in my own “no trespassing” zone. I can’t wait for Matthew to disappear back to Australia and leave me alone. He evidently is happy with how his life has turned out, and besides the odd stare here and there, he hasn’t shown any particular interest in me. Maybe some polite manners. As much as it hurts to admit it, Matthew doesn’t appear to find me remotely attractive, and what we once shared doesn’t seem to have any significant meaning to him. The realization of this is physically painful.
As the evening draws to an end, the DJ closes with a slow dance, and I am doing my best to squeeze my poor feet back into my heels so I can walk to the hotel after I say my farewells. I am comfortably seated back at the bar, this time with a glass of water, calming my emotions. Overall, I am pleased that I made the journey.
“This is the last song of the night, ladies and gents. We hope you’ve had a lovely time. Happy birthday, Diana,” the DJ says, making his final announcement.
A few cheers and whistles come from the crowd as the lights simmer down, and I hear the beginnings of Phil Collins’s “Against All Odds” over the speakers. Diana and Terry are wrapped in each other’s arms on the dance floor in a lover’s embrace, swaying to the beat of the music. Her parents join in next to them doing classic waltz steps, and other couples are drawn to the dance floor.
“May I have this dance?” Matthew’s voice is calm, but he startles me; my heart skips a beat, and resting butterflies inside me flutter their wings with excitement.
“Absolutely,” I reply coolly and take his hand, once again mesmerized as he leads me to the dance floor to join the other couples.
I haven’t slow danced since my wedding—my husband, Dave, doesn't dance—and for a split second I wonder if I have forgotten how. Can one forget? But as Matthew wraps his arms around me, gently resting his palms against my lower back, pulling me into his circle, my concerns dissipate, and my hands intuitively come up and rest upon his shoulders.
As our bodies stand against each other, I am overcome with déjà vu. We slowly sway in time to the beat, only an inch or so between us, toe to toe, the fabric of our clothing touching. I feel his breath against my temple as my face rests close to the crook of his neck, where I can breathe him in. This feels so good, and I am reminded about how much I miss slow dancing and how sensual it can be.
How many times had Matthew and I danced at the school discos back when we were clumsy kids? This was the best part of the night back then. The lights went off, the slow song came on, and we would get wrapped up in the rhythm of the music and each other. Madly, clumsily kissing and trying to slow dance. Oh, to go back and be a kid again! Then that time at the dance club, being kissed by him after being gone for so long, then again at his place, when … now, that was a completely different experience, I recall. Matthew was not a clumsy kid anymore; he was a man, with gentle hands and skilled lips.
The song’s drum solo diverts my thoughts as he pulls me closer to him. Our hips softly touch, and his hand applies gentle pressure against my lower back, his face leaning into my hair. I stretch my hand across his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles under his jacket as his shoulders rise and fall with his deep breaths. We are wrapped up tightly in each other, our bodies blended and in sync with the rhythm. Is he recalling the same memories?
I savor every beat, each step, closing my eyes as I consume and absorb this experience. The song starts to fade; only the final notes of the piano linger, and there is nothing I can do. I cannot stop time and stay here in this moment, wrapped in this man’s arms, a place where I feel so inexplicably complete and at home. I sense a ridiculous level of comfort with a man who is a stranger to me. We have not seen each other for twenty-two years; we were practically kids then. These feelings are the memories of a love struck teenager. Our story ended a long time ago, and life moved on. Fairy tales do not exist, and happily ever after is only in movies. He didn’t love me, at least not enough, and for whatever reason, he packed up and left for Australia, never to think of me again. Obviously, my jet lag is allowing me to get carried away by my emotions and lose touch with the real world. I need to gather my senses and get a grip.
The lights flicker on, our bodies separate, our eyes meet, and although we smile at each other, a silent mutual sadness is exchanged. I see a glimpse of something in his eyes, but I can’t interpret it.
“Thank you,” I say in a barely audible whisper, and I squeeze his hand. He will never know how much this dance has meant to me.
The moment is shattered as people start to say goodbye and the room is filled with commotion. Terry is helping Diana into her jacket; fortunately, Annie left earlier with Terry’s mum, so he is able to focus all his attention on her. Diana is looking intoxicated, possibly on the verge of passing out. No doubt when I pop in to see her tomorrow, she will be nursing a severe hangover.
Suddenly, Jenny catches me from behind and wraps her arms around my waist. “Darling, it’s marvelous seeing you again, I can’t believe you pulled it off!” Jenny is vibrant and still flowing with energy. Spinning me around, she wraps me up in a big hug and kisses me on both cheeks. “Hopefully, I'll be popping over to you again soon in California. Send lots of love to Dave and Allie.” She winks at me with a smirk.
“Bye, Matt, it’s been lovely to see you, too.” She leans in and gives him a peck on the cheek. “Toodles!” With a wave of her hand, she sweeps out the door with her entourage of friends following behind her.
“I'm going to say goodbye to Joe,” Matthew says, motioning toward Terry’s b
rother, who is flirting desperately with one of Diana’s coworkers. She looks like she is only interested in going home—alone. “Please, don't leave yet.”
“Okay, I'll pop over and say goodbye to Diana’s parents,” I reply, trying to calm the butterflies in my tummy again.
After saying farewell to Tom and Sue McFarren, I spot Matthew and Joe in conversation at the bar, so I decide to wait outside. I catch Terry as he starts settling Diana into the car. He is patiently situating her in the front seat, her head flopping and eyes closed, as he belts her in tenderly, ensuring her safety. Closing the car door, Terry turns to me, smiling.
“Thanks for coming tonight, Katie, it meant the world to Di.” Looking behind me, he continues, “Ah, I think someone's waiting to talk to you.” I look over my shoulder and see Matthew coming out of the pub. “Don’t stay up too late.” Terry winks at me and drops a quick peck on my cheek.
I respond to his smart remark with a silent “Ha, ha, ha” while my back is still facing Matthew. Terry passes me, walking to meet his old friend.
“Matt, have a safe journey home to Oz, my friend. Thank you for coming; it was great to see you.” Terry takes his friend’s hand in his and shakes it vigorously. “Take care of yourself, mate.”
“Take care, Terry, and give Di a kiss goodbye tomorrow when she wakes up,” Matthew replies playfully.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow about noon,” I add, reminding Terry that I will be at their house for lunch. “Drive safe,” I call after him. With a big smile and a wave he gets into the driver’s seat and backs out, my precious best friend passed out in the passenger seat.
I turn and find myself face to face—and now strangely alone—with Matthew.
“Can I see you safely back to your hotel?” he asks politely as we slowly walk across the parking lot toward the hotel lobby. The night is colder, a damp mist settling in the air.
“It’s no trouble, I don't exactly have far to go.” I giggle nervously, as the hotel is literally all of fifty feet away.
“I would feel better knowing you’re safe, if you don't mind,” Matthew replies, his tone clear and serious.
“Okay,” I respond flatly, all humor lost. “Is everything all right with Joe?” I ask as we walk through the warm lobby toward the elevator, thinking perhaps Joe has upset him.
“Yes, Joe is fine,” Matthew declares curtly. Sensing his agitation, I give up on making further conversation, feeling awkward.
The doors open, and we walk inside the small elevator in continued silence, the air between us strained and uncomfortable. I push the first floor button and the doors start to close.
“Ground floor, doors closing.” The elevator voice cuts the silence like a knife.
It's bright inside the confined space, and I can’t help but casually look at my reflection in the mirrored walls. I look awful, haggard from a combination of traveling, dancing, and drinking all night. This lighting is probably worse than any dressing room I have ever been in, so that isn’t helping my situation. I briefly look at the two of us in the reflection; it’s strange seeing us together as adults, no longer the youngsters we once were. Matthew has his arms crossed in front of his chest as he leans against the back wall. He is staring toward the ceiling, lost in thought or perhaps avoiding my gaze.
He doesn't seem to notice me watching him; he is in a world of his own. He looks slightly agitated; he also looks very tired. I can see dark circles developing under his eyes, no doubt a combination of jet lag and the stressful day he has had. Perhaps he promised Terry he would walk me back, but he didn't have to, it isn’t necessary. I have stayed here before, and it’s completely safe. I certainly didn't need him to chaperone me back to my room.
I lead the way down the hallway. Of course, I'm all the way at the end, and the long hallway seems to be endless. Why couldn't I have been the first door so he could already be on his way? He obviously doesn't want to chat, and although I have so much to say, I don't think Matthew cares. I am resigned to the knowledge that I will continue my life never understanding what happened to us.
We continue walking in silence, Matthew always two steps behind me, until we finally reach door 232.
“Well, this is me.” I whisper to avoid disturbing the sleeping guests, since it is already well past midnight. Fishing the room key from my purse, I turn toward him, preparing my short goodbye speech. I take a deep breath, look into his face, and find him frowning, his eyes stormy and his brow furrowed. He stands in the doorway, one hand on his hip, the other pushing against the door frame above my head. His body language feels aggressive, and suddenly, the hallway has become very small. My organized thoughts scatter, and all I can think about is how close he is to me and how it felt to be in his arms earlier.
“Bloody hell, Kate, I don’t understand why I’m standing in this hallway. What is it about you? I haven’t seen you for all these years, yet here you are, right here, and it’s as if it were yesterday that we were in my flat in Hayloft Alley.” His dark eyes burrow into me, pleading for me to help him understand. I have no answers for him. I am taken aback by his outburst, confused by his expression of emotions.
“I'm really sorry, Matthew.” I apologize for causing him distress, blushing slightly at the memory of that night. “I didn’t know you would be here … I never expected to see you again.” I stare into his turbulent eyes and see a flood of emotions in them: rage, sadness, pity, sorrow, and pain.
“You. Never. Expected. To. See. Me. Again.” Sarcastically, Matthew repeats the words that I have spoken to him, twisting them, implying something different than what I have said. The pain in his voice cuts into me. He stares at the floor, his head hanging, lost in his thoughts while I try to sort out what on earth is happening here.
“What happened, Kate?” Matthew asks quietly, turning his head toward me, his demeanor now more composed. Although his question is genuine, all I can do is shrug in response. I have no solid answer, I have no true explanation. Fate happened, and destiny stepped in. He never wrote to me. He moved away, I went to college, life moved on. That old familiar burn creeps up my windpipe, like a wild beast let loose from its cage, and my eyes sting with tears. The tightness in my chest is painful, and the more I try to suppress it, the worse it becomes. I have to get away from him; I scramble for the door handle, sliding my key through the electronic reader, vigorously shaking my head.
“I don’t know, I can’tttt ... I’m sorryyy.” My voice stutters and vibrates; I turn and quickly push inside my room, trying to escape the humiliation of breaking down under the bright lights of the hallway, in front of him, the cause of all my pain. I grab a tissue and take some deep breaths to calm myself, hoping each breath will shove down the raw emotions that have somehow been let loose. I realize that Matthew has followed me inside; he quietly closes the door and takes a seat on the end of my bed.
“Come on, Kate, surely we can do better than this. Come sit.” His voice is calm and soothing. Somewhere, a part of me deep inside recognizes it and responds to him. He pats the bed beside him, and I slowly move toward him and sit next to him. “We used to be able to talk for hours about anything. Let’s talk this through. I need closure, Kate. You left me with a gaping hole, and it took years to for me to move on. From the look of you, it hurt you, too. Help me understand why, please.”
The room is dark except for the moonlight shining through the window. His face is lit by the glow, and he looks so melancholy and magnificent. I am shocked by what he has said, so confused as my fogged, jet-lagged brain tries to process his words. I always assumed he went off and started a new life in Australia and never looked back. He chose never to respond to me; he never once attempted to contact me, and I convinced myself that he never loved me, that what we shared wasn’t real. I never dreamed he was as heartbroken as I was.
CHAPTER 8
First Love
Matthew Sullivan, or “Sully,” as he is called by his friends, is two years ahead of me at Anderson James Senior School. He is quiet and s
hy, especially when surrounded by the other boys, who seem to be full of raging hormones and in a constant fight for attention. Sully appears to be content in the shadows, much like me, never bringing unnecessary attention toward himself. I don’t ever recall him having a girlfriend.
The first time I notice him is during Sports Day in June, 1983, when I am a first-year student at senior school. I am walking off the field toward the girls’ changing rooms after taking second place in the one hundred meter hurdle finals. Sully is fifteen, already two years ahead of me at school, tall and slender, with olive-toned skin and soft brown eyes. I stop to watch him in the pole vault competition.
He’s standing at the starting line in his crisp white shorts, his brow furrowed with deep concentration, his long, lean legs rocking back and forth in preparation for his sprint. I’m fascinated as he starts running with his long stride, and I hold my breath as the pole makes contact with the ground. I stand captivated, watching him fly upward and over the bar, gracefully clearing it with ease, pushing the pole backward and away from his body, elegantly twisting in midair, then landing upon the thick padded mats below. He is beautiful, and I am mesmerized by his fluid movements. I feel drawn to him, as if seeing a long lost relative for the first time. I feel like I know him, like I am supposed to know him.
He jumps up, and for a moment, our eyes meet and a slight smile touches the corners of his lips as he jogs past me, back to the start for his next jump. Horrifically embarrassed, I turn around and head straight for the girls’ changing room to escape, my face blushing bright red.
It’s a few months before our next encounter. By a stroke of luck, the following autumn, Diana starts going out with Terry Hearst, who happens to be a friend of Sully’s. One day after school, I am hanging out with Diana. When we walk around the corner to Terry’s house, Sully is there, watching television with Terry. The four of us start to hang out in front of Terry’s house daily after school, and sometimes we go to the field to watch the boys kick a football around. Diana and Terry kiss each other goodbye awkwardly and we run away, giggling, acting like the silly teenage girls we are.
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