by Karen White
Despite my attempts to gravitate toward every black article of clothing in the store, Mabry sent me to the dressing room with an armful of brightly hued outfits. I had to agree they were lovely, but I did notice a conservative trend—nothing too low-cut, or too short, or too revealing. It went along with my own clothing sensibilities, but I did draw the line when she selected several cotton sweaters to wear over the sleeveless dresses. She frowned when I handed the sweaters back to her, still on their hangers.
“This really isn’t necessary, Mabry. I’m not the same stupid eighteen-year-old with an infatuation, okay?”
She was thoughtful for a moment before speaking. “I know that. But sometimes it’s hard to see a person from our past with new eyes. Like they’ve become a statue to their previously perceived old wonderfulness, and that’s all we see—not the real person they are.”
I felt a flash of anger—not because I thought she was wrong, but because I was afraid there might be a glimmer of truth in what she was saying. I turned my back on her and picked out the dress I’d liked the best and walked toward the register. “It’s just dinner, Mabry. Not forever.”
“You’re right. Sorry. It’s always been my role to be bossy, you know? It makes me a great nurse.” She gave me a small smile. “So, where did you say you were going to dinner tonight?”
“The River Room Restaurant. They don’t take reservations, but Jackson said he’s taken care of it so that the nicest table outside facing the water is ours at seven o’clock. I guess he knows people because of his business.”
Mabry rolled her eyes. “Or he just steamrolled someone into making them do something he wanted them to. That’s more his style.”
I thanked the saleswoman, then took the bag containing a new dress, new shoes, and new earrings. I’d declined the matching necklace because I never took off the gold chain with the three charms Bitty had given me.
I pressed my lips together as I headed toward the door. “I thought you and Jackson used to have a ‘thing.’ Is that what this is all about?”
Mabry followed me out of the store and waited until we were on the sidewalk before facing me and pointing a finger at my chest. “Like I already told you, Jackson Porter and I never had a ‘thing’ then or now despite what he might have said. You were my best friend, and I knew how you felt about him, so I would never have had a ‘thing’ with him, even if I’d wanted to. And I didn’t.” She dropped her finger. “I’m just concerned about you because I think you’re too good for him—both before and now. I just wish you could see it.”
I bristled under her scrutiny. There was so much I wanted to ask her, but there was so much more I didn’t want to tell her, so I let my questions die in the back of my throat, where they belonged. “Yes, well, I’m an adult now, and I can take care of myself.” I softened. “But thank you. I’ll take your caution under advisement.”
Her frown gradually turned into a smile as she glanced over at one of the nearby restaurants where music played from an outside speaker. It was my turn to roll my eyes. “‘Your Love’ by the Outfield.”
She hugged me tightly. “So glad you haven’t lost your touch.”
I smiled back. “Thanks for helping me shop today.”
“You’re welcome. And don’t be a stranger while you’re here. I’d love to do more catching up. You still haven’t told me what my dream means.”
“Oh, yeah—I meant to call you. It means you’re overwhelmed and need a vacation. And that your little boy needs a puppy.”
“Really?”
“The first part, anyway. The second part is just my suggestion. Every little boy needs a dog. You and Bennett always had one.”
“Seems if I’m overwhelmed, the last thing I need is something else to take care of.”
I shrugged. “Just saying.” I waved before turning around and walking down the sidewalk toward Ceecee’s house. I recalled what I’d almost said to Mabry, all the loose words that wanted to form into questions jumbling around my head like the golden seeds of spartina grass in a fall wind.
* * *
• • •
When I came down the stairs later that evening wearing my new ensemble, Ceecee fussed over me before telling me to head back up to my room so that it wouldn’t look like I was too eager. Bitty simply yanked on my hand and pulled me into the foyer before leaning into my ear and asking me if I had a can of Mace in my purse.
“Why would you say that? You don’t even know him.”
“I know he broke your heart once, so he will always be on my hit list.”
“People change, Bitty. Just look at me.”
She brushed my cheek with the backs of her fingers. “But you’re the same beautiful Larkin on the inside. It’s the outside of a person that we can get creative with, but that won’t change what’s on the inside. You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig.”
The doorbell rang, and I rushed to answer it before Ceecee could invite Jackson inside, where I’d be forced to listen to her and Bitty bombarding us with questions and looking for opposite outcomes. My heart lurched in a double take as I took in the white button-down shirt and navy blue blazer, his broad football-player shoulders filling it out nicely. When he leaned in to kiss my cheek, I smelled his cologne again, and all the old feelings sifted over me like confetti.
“You look gorgeous,” he said, his lips close to my ear.
“Thanks. You look pretty good yourself.”
He stepped back and greeted Ceecee and Bitty, but before they could say anything beyond an initial salutation, I was pulling on his hand and leading him down the porch steps. A red BMW convertible was parked at the curb, and he opened the passenger door for me, then closed it behind me as soon as I’d buckled my seat belt.
As the engine purred to life, he said, “I hope the River Room is okay. There’s a new Italian place that I’ve been dying to try, but I didn’t know if you’d be all right with that—you know, with all those pasta carbs and things. Not to mention cheese.” He gave me a self-deprecating smile, and I was too confused to come up with a response.
Taking my silence for appreciation, he said, “There are lots of veggies and grilled stuff on the menu, so I’m hoping there are enough choices for both of us.”
He started the car, put it in gear, and pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tires. Once I’d found my voice, I said, “Thanks, Jackson, but I eat pretty much everything—even dessert. Just not two helpings of everything.” I smiled to set him at ease.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean . . .”
I put my hand over his on the stick shift. “I know. It was sweet of you to think of me. I appreciate it. I really do.” And I did, although I now had an uncomfortable hollowness at the back of my throat.
It was a short drive down Front Street to the restaurant, but I was thankful for the ride because my high heels weren’t conducive to walking more than a block. The hostess greeted us with warm familiarity and immediately took us past the large reef aquarium and to the perfect corner table, with two windows offering a panoramic view of the harbor. Boats of various sizes bobbed at the dock, and gulls perched on masts and shiny deck railings, occasionally swooping down low over the water in acrobatic and picturesque contortions that made me wonder, just for a moment, if they were deliberately placed to add to the ambience.
I smiled at Jackson as he pulled back my chair. “Great table.”
He pulled his chair next to mine, sliding his place setting closer, too, then sat down, his thigh close enough to touch mine. I’d been fairly confident that if there’d been anybody at the restaurant who’d known me, they wouldn’t have recognized me as we’d walked through the dining room. But for one irrational moment, I wanted the entire varsity cheerleading squad from my senior year to be there. I found myself glancing into the dining room just to be sure they weren’t, then flushed with embarrassment when I rea
lized what I was doing.
“You okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Just trying to remember the last time I was here.”
“Probably senior banquet. Were you here for that?”
I blinked at him for a moment, remembering. “Yes. I was.” I wanted to remind him that he’d asked me to sit at his table along with Mabry and some of the players and cheerleaders. I’d sat next to him, and he’d smiled directly at me. Twice.
“It was a fun night,” he said.
I nodded, happy for the distraction of the waitress approaching the table.
We lingered over our dinner, eventually splitting a dessert and two bottles of wine. He’d made a toast over our first glass to “old friends,” and I hadn’t questioned it, still pinching myself that I was having a romantic dinner with Jackson Porter. We spent most of the time talking about people we’d known—what they were doing, where they were living. He spent a lot of time talking about his best football plays, and when he was done, he asked me about my own high school extracurriculars.
For the second time that evening, I found myself blinking stupidly at him. Finally, I said, “I was the editor for the school paper. You know, the one everybody got on their desk in homeroom each Friday.” I could tell that he was probably one of the many who’d made paper airplanes with it and then used them as weapons against their classmates.
“Right,” he said. “That’s cool.”
“And I was in charge of the pep rallies before the games. Made sure there were posters and stuff, and led the chants.”
“That was you, huh?” he said, nodding his head as if he actually remembered. I didn’t bother telling him about my walk-on parts in every school play or how I’d won sophomore class president by promising a Coke machine in the lunchroom if my fellow students voted for me. After I’d won, Ceecee had made sure that the machine was installed, insisting that I’d really won because everyone liked me and I was capable of doing a great job.
He poured more wine in my glass, then upended the rest of the bottle into his own. Raising his glass in a toast, he said, “To new memories.”
I hesitated a moment, studying his eyes. I wondered whether he was hoping for new memories because he couldn’t remember the old ones, or because he did. Too fuzzy-headed to decide for sure, I raised my glass and clinked the edge of it against his. “To new memories.”
We smiled giddily at each other, and I felt that I’d been here before, Jackson and me, sharing a bottle of wine. But of course I had, in the dreams of a young girl who’d never doubted that dreams were meant to come true.
“Jackson . . . ,” I started, unsure of why I’d spoken. Wondering if the new Larkin was lurking under the surface of the old me, interrupting my dream with a cold splash of reality.
He looked at me, his smile slowly fading as if he recognized the serious note in my voice. “Yes?”
“You do remember, don’t you? That time on your dad’s boat. When it was just you and me.”
He looked uncomfortable, like a child scolded in class, and I expected him to squirm in his seat. To deny it, say that it was too long ago to remember. I didn’t want him to, because then I’d have to be my adult self and leave. Tell Mabry that she was right about him. Except Jackson didn’t deny it. Instead, he took both of my hands in his. “Of course I do. It’s not something a guy could forget.” Softly, he added, “It was your first time, which made it special for me, too.”
I sat very still, barely able to breathe.
Glancing down at our clasped hands, he said, “I was a bit of a jerk back then, wasn’t I?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes. You were,” I said, wanting to cheer the new, mature Larkin almost as much as I wanted to tell her to go away, not to ruin this long-held fantasy.
He looked apologetic and maybe even a little ashamed. “I didn’t call you afterward. I remember that, too. And I’ve always regretted that. See—I did think of you while you were gone.” He squeezed my hands as if to add sincerity to his words.
“And at the party . . . what you said . . .” I trailed off, my memory having long ago exorcised the exact words as a form of self-preservation.
Jackson shook his head. “I was just blowing smoke in front of my friends. And Melissa. She was there, too, and we hadn’t broken up yet because I was too much of a coward back then. I’d heard some rumors, and I thought it made me look tough in front of my friends, so I didn’t deny anything. Didn’t even think how much you’d be hurt by everything.”
I bit my lip, not sure if I should be laughing or crying. If I’d ever scripted this scene the way I wanted it to play out, he was speaking the exact dialogue I’d have given him.
Jackson cleared his throat. “I think I got caught up in all the end-of-senior-year stuff, but that’s no excuse. My behavior was inexcusable, and I’ve been waiting all this time for you to come back so I could tell you I’m sorry. To ask for your forgiveness. And to tell you I’m not that same jerk anymore.”
I smiled, my shoulders relaxing. “I needed to hear that. Thank you. And I accept your apology.”
His thumbs caressed the tops of my hands for a moment before he pulled away. “What do you say we get out of here?”
I sipped my wine and watched as Jackson paid the bill; I admired the move of muscles under his jacket, and how the sunset sky shone like a halo behind his head. He leaned forward and took my hand. “What would you like to do now?”
I forcibly held back the words that threatened to come out of my mouth, my brain knowing and somehow managing to communicate that I needed a bit of time to sober up before I could responsibly answer that question. Forgetting that my shoes were what Ceecee always referred to as “sitting-down shoes,” I said, “Let’s go for a walk. It’s such a beautiful night.”
“Good plan,” he said, taking my hand, then leading me through the restaurant to the front door.
Before we’d reached it, I became aware of someone saying my name and a table of people pushing back chairs and moving toward us. It took me a moment to register Mabry and a tall young man—presumably her husband—her parents, and Bennett.
“What a coincidence,” Mabry said a little too loudly, and reached over to hug me. “I had no idea you’d be here. Are you leaving? We are, too!”
My brain was foggy, but not too foggy to remember I’d told her when and where Jackson and I were planning to eat tonight. I started to laugh, but it came out as a half burp that thankfully nobody but Mabry seemed to hear.
“Have you met my husband, Jonathan?” The tall man, with wavy dark brown hair and glasses, reached for my hand, then said, “What am I doing? Mabry’s told me so much about you that I already feel like we’re kin.” He hugged me tightly, and behind his shoulder I saw Bennett smiling with the same intensity with which Jackson was frowning.
We left the restaurant in a large group while Mabry introduced Jackson to everyone, and I got another hug from Mr. Lynch, who’d been like my second dad while I was growing up. Except for a little less hair, he looked exactly the same as I remembered.
“Where are y’all headed?” Bennett asked.
“Home,” Jackson said at the same time I said, “For a walk.”
Ignoring Jackson, Mabry said, “We were all planning on going for a walk, too—it’s such a gorgeous evening. Why don’t you join us?” She tucked her hand into the crook of my arm and began leading me down Front Street.
“Larkin’s with me,” Jackson said loudly, and I noticed he was slurring his words. “Come on, Larkin—let’s go somewhere . . .” He took a step forward and missed the edge of the curb, which left him sprawled in the street. When he didn’t immediately get up, Mr. Lynch and Bennett went over to help him. They pulled him to his feet, his face scraped and bleeding, gravel sticking to the wound.
“I hope you’re not planning on driving anywhere, young man,” Mr. Lynch said, brushing dirt off Jackson’s
jacket. “You can barely walk. Why don’t you let me drive you home, and I’ll catch up with the group later.”
Mrs. Lynch stepped forward with a tissue. “And you might want to put this on your chin. I recommend giving that cut a thorough wash when you get home.”
Jackson stared at the tissue, as if trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with it. For a moment it looked as if he might protest; then he took it, pressed it to his chin, spotted the blood, and frowned. “Fine, whatever,” he slurred. Looking at me with glassy eyes, he said, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Remembering my manners, I said, “Thanks for dinner.”
“Any time.”
“That’s his car,” I said helpfully, pointing to the space right in front of the restaurant. After getting the keys from Jackson, Mr. Lynch opened the passenger-side door of the BMW, and Jackson got inside, Mr. Lynch placing his hand on top of Jackson’s head so he wouldn’t hit it on the door frame like cops do when apprehending criminals.
We all waved as Mr. Lynch drove past us, popping the clutch only once, while trying to get it into second gear.
We’d made it only a few blocks to Cannon Street before I stopped. “My feet hurt.”
“Of course they do—look at those heels!” Mrs. Lynch leaned down to get a better look at my feet. “I don’t know how you young people walk in those things.”
“Bennett should drive her home,” Mabry announced.
“Good idea,” her mother said with a finality that brooked no argument.
“That’s okay,” I said, noticing with horror that my words were bumping into one another. “I’ll just walk.” I bent down to unbuckle my shoes, and Bennett’s arm going around me saved me from toppling over.
“Why don’t you go with her, Bennett? Jonathan can drive Mama and me back home, and it’s not too far for you to walk. Sound good?”
I looked up to see Bennett nodding, his arm still holding me up as Mabry bent down, unbuckled my shoes, and helped me slide them off my feet before handing them to Bennett like she wasn’t sure I could keep track of them. I stood on the sidewalk, spreading my toes and flexing my ankles as if I’d just been given a new set of feet. “My feet feel like they’ve died and gone to heaven.”