Firefly Island

by Lisa Wingate

  While he was out looking for a map, Daniel had scoured the Internet via his phone and come up with a New York Times article about Jack West. As I read it, Daniel watched me, his gaze trying to bore through the side of my head and discern my thoughts. There was a sense of the room holding its breath, as if every stick of furniture and stitch of clothing, including Nick’s toys, were lining up, whispering, Toy box or moving box? Which one? Which one?

  On television, Owl was talking to Bambi and Thumper about being twitterpated, a hopeless infatuation that causes love-struck young creatures to completely lose their minds in the spring.

  “I don’t know …” I looked across the table at Daniel and thought, Don’t go. Don’t do this. I wasn’t only considering myself, considering us. I was afraid for him, and for Nick. “It sounds kind of … crazy. I mean, you’ve got Nick to think about and your job and … well … health insurance and retirement … everything. And what about day care? Nick would have to get used to someone totally new. And then there are your parents, and your brother and his kids. They’ll be so far away.” I heard air slowly escaping Daniel’s lips. I knew I was deflating him, but I couldn’t help it. Selfish motives and genuine concern were a mishmash at this point, like multicolored blobs of Play-Doh carelessly pinched together, impossible to separate now. I didn’t want Daniel and Nick to go. I couldn’t bear the idea of it.

  I looked at Nick, tried to imagine him growing up somewhere else. Maybe with someone else.

  Drawbacks popped into my mind in rapid succession, and I threw them out like road spikes in Daniel’s exit path. “And then there’s all the everyday stuff. I mean, that town looks tiny. Where would you find a good preschool next year? Where would you even live in a town that small?”

  Daniel ran a hand through his hair, drew back that little curl that hung over his forehead, making him look like Christopher Reeve in Superman. “That’s just it, well … that’s one thing. The place is so remote that housing comes with it. The research lab and the crop plots are actually on West’s ranch, which is—I forget what he said—ten thousand acres, or something, some of it right along the lakeshore. There’s housing there for the ranch hands, and one of those houses is part of the job offer. Three bedrooms, two baths.” He looked at me, the expression in his eyes almost pleading with me to breathe gently on the dream, cause it to spark rather than blow out. “Nick could grow up in a house, a real house, instead of this dumpy little place. He could run around in the woods, build tree forts, catch frogs and lizards like my brother and I did in Ohio. It was a great way to grow up, you know? As long as we were home by dark, nobody worried about us. Mom could send us out the door in the morning, and all she’d have to tell us was to watch for snakes and be home by supper. And this place is even better than that. What kid wouldn’t like to have a lake on his doorstep?”

  I didn’t answer immediately. I was still stuck on frogs, lizards, and snakes. I’d never lived more than a stone’s throw from neighbors and a mini-mart. Even my parents’ house in Maryland was sandwiched between other large houses with manicured lawns. The only lakes I’d ever spent any time on were the sort at which my father schmoozed with congressmen, senators, and their families—the kind with gorgeous resorts featuring nice, clean swimming pools and lovely cabanas. Were there beaches somewhere that weren’t lined with resorts, littered with sunbathers, and dotted with colorful umbrellas? Did such places exist?

  I felt tears pressing in, crowding my eyes and my senses. My gypsy king was gently telling me good-bye, justifying all the reasons he needed to go. I heard his voice almost in the background now, like a television droning on when you’re busy with something else.

  “ … The salary isn’t really any higher, but there’s so much included. The house, the utilities paid, a company vehicle. It’s like making twice as much as I make now. I’d be able to finally work my way out from under some bills and start putting away money for Nick’s college.” His eyes met mine again, and I took a small bit of encouragement from that. Maybe he really did mean to continue our relationship long-distance. I didn’t see how. There wasn’t a major airport in Moses Lake. “It’s the difference between two completely different lives, Mallory,” Daniel said.

  Yes, it is, I thought, my long-distance fantasy dissolving like a mirage on a hot day. It was the difference between us and you-there-and-me-here.

  “And that’s not even mentioning the work.” Daniel was so excited, he was talking ninety miles an hour, overloading my brain, causing it to whir. “This guy is a little … atypical, but he’s light-years ahead of conventional science on all kinds of things, not just the super crops, but low-impact growth environments and foods that fight cancer. You wouldn’t believe all the good his work could do. And he’s got the funds to keep it going. Private funds. And I’ll have a share in any patents we’re granted. If we come up with the kind of modified seed grain I think we can, there’s no telling what the bio-patents could be worth. Imagine corn that could grow in the desert, or wheat that produces under drought conditions. Imagine what that could mean.”

  I nodded, swallowing hard. Sue me, but at that particular moment, I didn’t care about growing corn in the desert; I cared about the life I wasn’t going to have. With Daniel. I’d finally found the right one, my prince had come, and some billionaire was determined to tumble my castle of cards before I could dab enough glue on it. Why couldn’t Jack West buy someone else’s boyfriend? Why did he have to have mine?

  Because Daniel was brilliant, and he was wasting away at that USDA lab, and he was made for better things. I knew the reason. I knew I should love him enough to let him go. He wasn’t happy in the job here. He was trapped in it.

  His hand slid across the map, covered mine, clasped it. I felt reality staring me down like a Rottweiler, dark-eyed and malevolent.

  “Come with us.”

  At first I wasn’t sure I heard the words correctly. “Huh?”

  “Come with us,” he repeated, more emphatically this time, his eyes taking on a glow that pulled me in. “Come on, Mallory, think about it. We both know that we … us … the two of us and Nick … Something so right doesn’t come along every day. I realize it’s not the best timing—it’s only been a month, but life isn’t about waiting for perfect timing. If you’re not careful, life happens while you’re stuck in a holding pattern.”

  My heart leapt, and fell, and leapt, and fell, the rebound a little less complete each time, like the bounce of a basketball slowly losing air. “Daniel, I don’t even know where I’d live in a place like that, or where I’d get a job, or …” Anything. “ … how I’d pay my bills or …” Mentally, I cycled through the arguments. This was nuts. Even thinking about it was nuts.

  “Live with us.” His gaze tangled with mine, his free hand rising, covering my fingers so that he had me in a double grip.

  “You want me to … move in with you guys?” It was one of the things I’d promised myself I would never do. Call me old-fashioned, and this was the twenty-first century, but I still had Grandma Louisa and her Southern wisdom about cows and milk in the back of my mind. What kind of idiot would move across the country, give up her job, her family, and everything else to move in with a guy?

  An idiot hopelessly in love … maybe? Or maybe not. My parents had raised me not to sacrifice my principles. It was a strange dichotomy, considering what my father did for a living. Lobbyists aren’t known for principles.

  Daniel laughed softly, his lips forming a lopsided grin. He lifted his chin, those gorgeous eyes sparkling, mesmerizing. “I’m asking you to marry me. I’ve been thinking about it since I left to get the map.”

  I felt moisture on my hands, as if suddenly his skin had gone hot. “You decided that … while you were out buying the map?” I stammered, shocked and incredulous, though I didn’t want to be. Past pain leaves behind unfortunate slug trails of cynicism. Everyone who comes into your life afterward can’t help stepping in them. I’d had a man ask me to marry him on a whim once before. In the
aftermath, I knew we weren’t meant for each other, and maybe I wasn’t meant for marriage at all.

  Groaning, Daniel let his head fall forward. “Ugh … I’m really botching this.” I felt a little tremble in his hands, but there was a resoluteness in his jaw. “I love you, Mallory Hale. I have from the first time I met you. That may sound corny. Man, I know it sounds corny. I feel like I’m channeling some sappy made-for-cable movie here, but it’s the truth. I can’t help it. That’s all I have to offer, Mal. A sappy-sounding line, Nick and me, stomach-flu germs from the day care, and a life that looks like it might be an adventure. I don’t have a lot of money or a big house, and the week I met you was probably my first and last time to rub elbows with the political power brokers. I know it’s not what you planned on. I know you’re used to better.”

  There is no one better, I thought, but instead, I said, “Well, if there’s adventure and the stomach flu involved, then count me in.”

  Irreverent laughter spilled from his lips. “You know I’m serious here, right?”

  I met his gaze, tumbled in, and saw the future. Not in the crisp clarity of photos—because I couldn’t picture this over-the-rainbow life he was describing, or me in it—but in shades of color. The soft grays of mornings, the muted rose and violet of sunsets, the stark, blinding yellows and whites of middays. I saw holidays and seasons and years. Growing up, growing outward, growing old. I didn’t want to live one year, one season, one day without Daniel and Nick.

  “I know you’re serious,” I whispered. My heart traveled on the words. I felt like His Irish Bride. Amy Ashley was right about the St. Patrick’s Day thing. She had to be. This was some kind of magic. “There is nobody better than you, Daniel Webster Everson. Nobody in the whole world. If you’re going to Texas, then I guess I’m …” Gulp. My throat tightened. I wasn’t sure I could say it. By sheer force of will, I managed to croak, “Going to Texas, too.”

  There. The deed was done, the promise made. A rush of emotions came at me, leaving me confused and uncertain. What did I do now? Call a moving company? Write a resignation letter for my job? Tell the Gymies good-bye, leaving Kaylyn with a blank check to buy endless romance novels? Try to sublet my apartment?

  Call my mother?

  Ohhh … my mother. I was supposed to go home to Maryland for Easter next week. I did not want to deliver this news in person. I didn’t want to deliver this news on the phone, either. I didn’t want to deliver this news. Period.

  My mother would flip her lid so high, it would land somewhere in Boston harbor. She’d have me committed. My father would hire private investigators to look into Daniel’s background, or find an interventionist to deprogram me. I couldn’t possibly make them understand this. I didn’t fully understand it. I hadn’t even told them about Daniel and Nick yet. And now I had to inform them that I planned to get married and move to Texas? Next month?

  “You know what, forget I said anything.” Daniel broke into my thoughts. I realized that Nick had come over from the television to climb into his dad’s lap. The Bambi credits were rolling, the DVD getting ready to cycle back to the main menu. I’d watched it enough this weekend to know. “Forget I asked, okay?”

  For half a second, I was relieved. I actually had the fleeting realization that, if I didn’t get married and move to Texas, I wouldn’t have to tell my mother. Then Forget I asked hit me like an unexpected right cross. He was having second thoughts? Already?

  Daniel backpedaled. “I mean, don’t forget I asked, but just pretend it didn’t happen. When we’re old and gray, and our grandkids ask how I popped the question, I don’t want the story to be about a trip to the newsstand and egg drop soup with soda crackers. Let me rewind and do it right, okay? You only get to do it once.”

  Nick, completely confused, partially dehydrated with his eyelids drooping, burrowed under his dad’s chin. My chest swelled, filling with the sight of them until I thought it might break me open. Old and gray, grandkids, only once. This was it. This was it, and we both knew it. I wanted to tell him that the proposal was perfect just the way he’d said it. Instead, I blinked, giving him a blank look. “What? Did you say something? So how was your trip to the conference?”

  Pointing a finger at me, he winked and grinned.

  The next day, at the very hour I’d first met Daniel Webster Everson, in the very same spot just off the Capitol rotunda, Daniel and Nick showed up, spit shined in their Easter suits, carrying two dozen red roses. Each gave me a ring. Daniel’s came in a burgundy velvet box from a jewelry store. Nick’s came in the plastic bubble from a gumball machine. Both were equally precious, but even more amazing was the fact that Daniel had secured the help of the grouchy personal assistant in Congressman Faber’s office. It confirmed my suspicion that he was, indeed, Superman. My Superman.

  Cheers went up in the Capitol building at an hour of the morning normally quiet. Even the Gymies were there. Kaylyn and Josh had written a special video game segment just for Daniel and me. We watched it on Daniel’s computer later that evening. Daniel’s little cowboy figure chased mine through a maze, and when the two finally met, he lassoed his sweetheart and said “Yee-haw!” Nick thought it was awesome. By the time he was ready for bed, we’d watched the video game over and over and over.

  After Nick was down for the count, Daniel and I made plans to go home to my parents’ place together for Easter, to deliver the news in person. We’d decided that, given the short time frame and all the practical details of moving across country, a quick trip to a wedding chapel made the most sense.

  Everything seemed to be clicking into place … until the parents actually got involved. After the initial attempts to talk sense into us, the dads threw up their hands and the moms began talking on the phone daily. Daniel and I were having a real wedding, whether we had time for it or not. My mother was particularly determined that I would be married by the Presbyterian minister who had performed my sisters’ ceremonies. She pulled the minister out of retirement and forced my father to throw down big bucks for last-minute tuxedos, flowers, music, wedding cake, a zillion yards of tulle, and rented candelabras at the little white church I’d attended since childhood, albeit mostly on special occasions and holidays.

  Due to a surprise root canal a week before the wedding, and an inconvenient problem with the medications, I had practically nothing to do with the planning.

  On an evening of gale-force May storms, with a small crowd of family looking on, I walked down the aisle in a white dress worn by my grandmother, mother, and all four of my sisters. Technically, I was homeless, and almost everything I owned was in a shipping container bound for the Texas ranch of a man of uncertain reputation.

  My youngest niece panicked at the last minute and refused to walk the aisle with the basket of flower petals. Nick tugged her along and hammed it up with the ring pillow, stealing the show, but none of it mattered.

  I was marrying the man I loved. I was becoming a mom. I was no longer a lone entity, but half of a whole, one third of a trio.

  And all together, we were headed for Texas.

  The moments of happiness we enjoy take us by surprise. It is not that we seize them, but that they seize us.

  —Ashley Montagu

  (Left by Alice, Cindy, and Paula on their annual Binding Through Books getaway. No fellas, no kids, no worries, just sisters and stories.)

  Chapter 4

  There’s something incredibly weird about spending your wedding night in the playroom of your childhood. Your mind flashes back to games of Monopoly and Life and to teenage parties where kisses were stolen while the adults were in the kitchen refilling the punch bowl. You feel like you’re doing something for which you’ll be caught by your parents any moment. For some, this may lend an atmosphere of danger to the wedding night romance, but for me it was just … embarrassing.

  It really wasn’t anyone’s fault that the hotel had been flooded by a sewage backup. In actuality, we were lucky. It’s better to find out about the sewer problem before yo
u check into the honeymoon suite than after. It was late by then, and my mother made the command decision to boot some of my nieces out of the place we’d always lovingly referred to as the rumpus room—a little guest cottage that had served as the playhouse to beat all playhouses. Mostly, I remembered it as my older sisters’ teenage party spot, where I was typically not welcome after about eight in the evening.

  My mother, being ever resourceful, had enlisted my older nieces to give the rumpus room an emergency face-lift while Daniel, Nick, and I spent time in the parlor with Daniel’s parents. The nieces carried in leftover wedding flowers, then strung up the white twinkle lights and the yards of filmy fabric that had decorated the sanctuary during the ceremony.

  The twinkle lights glittered as Daniel and I entered the rumpus room, the glow illuminating haphazard organza drapes that hid shelves of old girl toys. Diaphanous curtains hung around the lumpy sofa bed, presumably to provide us with some privacy from Nick, who was supposed to be sleeping in a hotel room with Daniel’s parents, but had been clinging to his dad all night, insecure about the flood of new people. Now he was dozing and waking on Daniel’s shoulder, all worn out from a day that had started with cramming our remaining belongings into a small U-Haul trailer, and had ended here in the rumpus room. We were suddenly a family of three—five if you counted Barbie and Ken, whom my nieces (the smart alecks) had dressed in wedding attire and positioned in a passionate clutch on the bed of a well-worn Barbie Dream House.