by Belva Plain
This particular revelation had come too late, however, to matter anymore. For her, it paled beside the slip of paper in her pocket. Barring heavy traffic near the city, she might get back in time to send the letter by overnight mail.
And then, please God, let him not have forgotten me.
Three days later Julie was at the airport. She had not been there since she had moved back to town after commencement, and so much had happened since then that it might have been a century ago.
Impatiently, she walked to the window wall, watching the great metal birds with spread eagles’ wings slide in and out. The hands of her watch went crawling around its face. When she walked to the jetway to stand there with her sleeve drawn back above the watch, its hands now seemed to be standing still.
Then the passengers appeared. A westerner in a cream-colored ten-gallon hat was first. A young woman carried a heavy baby and a diaper bag. A pair of dark-suited men held good leather attaché cases. An old couple moved slowly, their burden of parcels wrapped in brown paper. And there he was.
He did not see her. He peered over the heads of the people in front of him, searching through the waiting crowd. He looked anxious. Then he saw her, and his face opened up with that old light, that old smile. His face was bright with it. They rushed, he toward her and she toward him. His upraised hand made a thumbs-up sign, and he was laughing.
Ellen was working at the table on the porch. It was time for Philip to come home and she put her paints away. When his car stopped she rose, and the dog, who had been sleeping under the table, rose with her to greet him.
“So he arrived and all’s well?” Philip asked.
“Oh, Julie sounded like a new person over the phone! They’ll be coming by later to see us. We need to plan the wedding. I have no idea what they want except that they want it right away. I think this yard is plenty big enough for a lovely outdoor wedding, don’t you? We’d need a tent in case it rains.”
“Are there any other plans yet?”
“All I know is—you’ll never believe this—that as soon as Julie has her degree, Rufus Max is going to get them both placed in some sort of international journalism. They’re both dying to see the world.”
Philip smiled. “The world? That should keep them busy for a while.”
We’ve been fairly busy right here in this one small spot, haven’t we, Ellen thought.
And all during their supper together, even while she was listening and responding to Philip, lights were flickering on and off in the back of her head.
She was rather sweet, Julie said.… She could have made some remark to Julie, but she didn’t.… Surely Robb must have thought about Lily more often than he could have admitted to me, or even to himself.… And was it not the final irony that the truth about the boy came through her, of all people? And came too late for Robb to hear it? How was one to make sense out of it all? Except to say that in the end, after the mistakes, the turmoil, the triumphs, and the joys, if you are left with love, you are left with everything.…
“You’re looking thoughtful,” Philip said.
“I’m only listening to the rain. We should take him out before it teems,” she answered, for the dog was ready at the door.
Outside they stood together on the grass. Philip had his arm around Ellen, while she leaned on his shoulder. There they lingered, close as one in the summer night, in the quiet rain.