by P. L. Harris
There was only one person who called her that.
She turned slowly, hands shaking.
“Tom,” She whispered. The shock of seeing him earlier hadn’t worn off yet. This was a double whammy.
A sensor light spread its beam over his full height. He swallowed, his hands clenching and unclenching. “I...I had to come back and tell you why I left.”
Swirls of emotions tore painfully across her chest. She clutched the edge of the truck door, sudden dizziness threatening to land her squarely at his feet—and that was not happening. Damn him to hell! He was seven years too late for an explanation. She’d needed answers years ago, some way to move on. Instead, the pain and uncertainty had left her adrift all these years, with no way of anchoring to anything or anyone.
Why now?
She concentrated on breathing, ensuring it flowed in and then out. She dropped her face and stared at the ground.
Talk all you like.
She’d never forgive him for leaving without a word. She sure as hell wasn’t going to help him now. If he was feeling guilty, then good. It would serve him right.
Tom moved closer and gently raised her face. She jammed her jaw together, begging it not to quiver within his grip.
Hold it together, girl.
Green eyes brimming with regret met her gaze until she forced herself to look away.
“Right before I left, my biological mother made contact with me.”
She glanced back in surprise.
“I was adopted and never knew. Two days before I left to meet her, I had a row with my parents. I couldn’t handle that they’d kept the truth from me.”
He sighed, adding, “Soph, I hurt them so much and I hurt you. I wanted to get to know my biological family and learn who I was, so I chose to live with them. It’s taken me a long time to understand many things but my real family was here all along. I’ve come back to try and make things right.”
She tore her gaze away and took a step back. Still silent, with the garbage bags scrunched tightly in one hand, she locked the truck and tucked the keys inside the pocket of her jeans. Yeah, he’d hurt her. Forgiveness wouldn’t come easy.
She hoisted herself up on the back of the truck and started the chore of packing up the tinsel. Odd that he’d want to explain anything. He’d obviously done well for himself so why drag up the past? She’d long forgotten those two inseparable kids.
Long forgotten how easy it was to lie to herself.
Tom jumped up to help her. Her hand fleetingly touched his when they both reached for a fistful of tinsel. She jerked it back. His touch had always left her hotwired, that hadn’t changed. She would run through a raging fire before admitting to it. Dragging that raw pain back into the open was not on her list of things to do. Not now, not ever.
Go away, Tom.
She was not going down that dark hole again. Not when it had taken her seven goddamned years to drag herself halfway up.
She swallowed, her throat constricting as they finished with the tinsel and left the tied-up bags in the tray of the truck. She jumped off the back and heard him land beside her.
Walk away, Soph. Don’t make it easy for him.
She still had nothing she wanted to say.
“My mother was fourteen when I was born. Eventually she married my father and I have two brothers.”
She willed her legs to keep moving. Away. Her heart ached inside her chest. He could’ve contacted her anytime. Seven years was such a long time. Was it so hard to pick up the phone, find her on social media, ring her parents? . Anything.
“Please let me finish, Sophie. Then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”
Her footsteps halted. He could talk to her back. She’d give him one minute. No more.
But he walked up to her and took her hand. Before she had a chance to flinch, she was on the other side of the security gate. He swung the gates closed like he owned the place and held his hand out for the key. Stupidly, she handed it over. Of course, he’d done this a thousand times before. They’d both been raised in the backyard of this shop and he knew the rules around it.
“I know somewhere we can sit.”
Did he? Seven years was enough time to forget these things. But it appeared otherwise as her palm burned in his large, strong grip and her feet followed of their own accord. Her voice was still silent, as if she’d forgotten how to talk.
Her ears pricked at the familiar sounds of the festival as they drew closer. All the fun times they’d shared as adolescents bombarded her senses. The best memories she’d stored away had come from this festival.
“Let’s sit here.”
She didn’t argue but took possession of her hand again. That, she had control of—maybe. The park bench was a popular spot for lunch-goers to enjoy shade during the day but with a moonless night the foliage cast shadows that moved eerily with the light breeze.
When he remained silent, she looked across. He was looking out into the night and she took a moment to study his profile. The same one she’d run her fingers over, oh, so many times.
Stop it, idiot.
She swallowed the threatening tears. Who was she fooling? She’d never gotten over him. He was the real reason her life was zigzagging along some non-existent track.
After a few silent moments his gaze flicked back and his shoulders sagged with the weight of the sigh that escaped. She bit her bottom lip and held her breath.
“Soph, I thought I had it made. I had all the money I wanted at my disposal, helicopter lessons I’d dreamed of, siblings, rich gorgeous girlfriends...for the first few years I rode the wave. It gave me a buzz I’d never experienced before. I just seemed to fit into their world perfectly. I was their missing puzzle piece. No one resented me for intruding on their already happy family.”
She released the pent-up air and screamed silently in her head.
So, go back, and leave me alone. Don’t screw up my life again.
“I love my biological family but...”
She’d had enough but before she had a chance to rise and escape, his hand clutched her arm. “I’m the world’s biggest dick, Soph.”
She sat back, resigned. Finally, he’d shed the rich boy image. With one sentence he was the boy she remembered. Her Tom—and without being sure where it came from, considering nothing here was right, she chuckled, before allowing real laughter to take over.
With a surprised glance, he joined right in. With a hand still on her arm, his body shook alongside hers. She inhaled the new musky scent that didn’t belong to her old Tom. As kids, they’d smelled of dirt, grass, and grease. It’d been heaven then and she wasn’t so sure about this new smell. It didn’t fit her memories, which was probably a good thing if he was leaving again.
With this sobering thought, she backed away.
Critical seconds passed. The shared laughter had changed something between them. What? She wasn’t sure.
His next words jumbled her thoughts.
“Remember Mrs Crawford’s cupcake stall?”
Without meaning to, she nodded. Mrs Crawford’s cupcakes were as ingrained in her life as was every muscle and fibre in her body.
“It was always the highlight of coming on this night.”
Of all the memories to bring up, why this one?
“From as far back as I can remember, she always had a cupcake to fit. When I got my first bike, she knew to give me a cupcake with a bike on it. When I was into cars, she had those cupcakes with a car squiggled on it, when I was in love with a girl...”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. They’d brought a couple’s cupcake. A huge sunflower cupcake with a red heart and cupid’s arrow in its centre. Yeah, that’d been her last cupcake and she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on it since.
He shrugged. “I fit in this place, too.”
She’d had enough. His minute was up. She forced her legs to rise and they trembled as she faced off with him. He was only a hand’s distance away but he may as well have been Skyping from Russia. Too much
time had passed between them.
“It wasn’t the real me, Soph.”
Walk away, stupid.
As if hypnotised, nothing was getting through to her brain, except his voice, a silent command to stop and listen.
“I missed the afternoons I raced home from school to the hot chocolate and biscuits mum had waiting. Tinkering on the old car with dad. I missed the family I had and—”
Sophie’s heart leaped when she saw a new intensity in his gaze.
“And I missed the girl I fell in love with...who didn’t care if she wasn’t wearing designer outfits, or if her nails were covered in grease...or...or if every single strand of her hair was in place.”
Something cracked and shattered. “You broke me, Tom.”
He reached for her hand but she brushed him off. Tears stung her eyes. “It’s been a long time.”
He gently caught her face, his gaze sincere. “I’ve made many mistakes, Soph. Is it too late to say I’m sorry?”
The sounds from the festival swirled around Sophie’s head. Laughter, voices, and children squealing as they enjoyed the same things she and Tom had at their age. She wrenched herself free and turned to walk away. Saying sorry wouldn’t fix her. Wouldn’t bring back the past seven years. Wouldn’t help her off the zigzag path.
His hand reached for her waist and spun her around to face him. “I’m sorry, Soph. Really, really sorry. Please,” he begged, “say you’ll accept my apology.”
“And then what?” She snapped. “You’ll go back to your happy life and I’ll still be here, dealing with the fallout after seven years where I was left waiting. You told me we were meant to be together,” she tried to shove him away but her hand was met with a wall of chest tougher than brick, “And I believed you! I willingly gave you my innocence and then you left with no explanation. Nothing!”
Her face dropped into her hands, the long overdue tears pouring down her cheeks, choking, fiery hot. Her pulse came alive when his arms captured her and held her against his chest. She sobbed and shook and cried for the young girl who’d never experience that first love again.
“I wish it was as easy as finding the perfect cupcake.” His hands rubbed and eased along her back. Every knuckle of her spine would know his hands again and she’d sip off this for years to come. The memory wasn’t going anywhere, leaving her crying harder for another thousand reasons.
She wasn’t ready when he pushed her away from the warmth of his chest and wouldn’t raise her tear-stained face. From the pocket of his designer jeans, he pulled out a tissue and began dabbing at her face. She managed a lopsided smile while he worked to clean the mess.
“That’s better.”
It was almost her undoing again when he reached across and gave her a light kiss on her forehead. “I wonder how Mrs Crawford is these days.”
“She died two years ago.”
His smile disappeared. Crestfallen, his hand dropped to his side. She couldn’t make out the emotions flitting across his face. Disappointment?
“Her daughter, Jeannette, has taken over the cupcake stall.”
Relief darted across his features, before widening into a grin. Confused, her hands automatically came to rest on her hips. “Tom, what the heck?”
He took a step back, looking boyish and shy. “I always imagined when I saw you next, I’d buy you a cupcake.”
She groaned, gritted her teeth, and wanted nothing more than to stamp her foot. “I don’t believe this.”
“Come on, Sophie, if you won’t accept my apology, allow me to buy you one last cupcake. Come on,” he grabbed her hand and began leading her back to the street and all its festivities, “before the best ones are gone.”
Oh, this was just great. How easy it was to fall under the spell of Tom’s charm again.
One damn cupcake and then get the hell out of town, Sophie girl.
Go back to your home, your job, and your other life. Whatever that entails.
Reluctantly, she managed to disentangle her hand from the strong grip of Tom’s fingers, before they reached the packed street. In a small town where everyone knew her, she didn’t need to start idle gossip.
AT THE CUPCAKE STALL, Sophie eyed the young kids swelling around it—all vying for their favourite cupcake, with no idea of how they’d look back on this sentiment for years to come. Tom was doing his best not to elbow his way past them. She kept her sudden urge to laugh, in check. He looked like a big kid, and her heart lurched at the years she’d missed with him. All those lost memories they should’ve had to look back on.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Sophie and Tom.”
Sophie’s face jerked up. Jeannette was a good family friend and had no reason to forget her or Tom over the years.
“Hello, Jeannette. It’s great to see you again.” Tom reached across the stall and gave her a hug. “It’s great to see this thing still going.”
Jeannette smiled cheerfully. “So, what sort of cupcake are you looking for, Tom?”
“Well, it’s ahh...a bit complicated and um...hard to explain but...”
Sophie struggled to swallow, her throat suddenly dry and raspy. Jeannette turned her way and smiled softly, her gaze never leaving Sophie’s.
Then Jeannette carefully removed a cupcake from the back corner of the display cabinet. She placed it in a small cardboard serving box and handed it to Tom.
Sophie heard Tom’s breath hitch in his throat. With an incredulous stare, he wrapped his hands around Sophie’s, and invited her to look inside the box. Warmth spread throughout her body, firing life into her trodden heart. The bright, perfect sunflower iced onto the cupcake both jolted a painful memory and shot hope up her spine.
When the red heart and cupid’s arrow began blurring around the edges, Tom gently took her chin and raised her face.
“I never stopped loving you, Sophe. Will you forgive me?”
She managed the barest of nods before his mouth touched hers and mingled with her gently falling tears.
Falling
Jan Prior
Ridiculous. Since when had it become so hard to button his shirt? The button and button-hole refused to stay in focus. His fingers felt blunt and stiff.
“Damn,” Larry said. “I must need new glasses.”
He tugged off the offending check cotton shirt and tossed it onto the bed. His daughter had given him the shirt two Christmases ago because that’s the look he used to prefer—tailored, smart, professional. That was fine while Carol was alive, handling the ironing. Also, he was still working then. He unfolded a navy polo shirt that he wore to golf and pulled it over his head. It was more comfortable anyway.
At the shopping centre, he parked the Audi on the furthest reaches of the carpark where he had the whole bay to himself. People were so careless opening their doors. The Audi was possibly his last car. He didn’t want to be in his eighties driving a heap of garbage, looking like an impoverished aged pensioner. Not that he was in his eighties, heaven forbid. Nowhere near it.
Larry emerged through the sliding doors of the supermarket with the sun in his eyes and his arms heavy with carry bags.
Out of the blue, a speeding figure shouted: “Watch out!”
He adroitly side-stepped the idiot—oh, he still had quick reflexes!—but suddenly his traitorous body pitched forward and while he was trying to save the bag with the peaches and the cake, the concrete rushed up at him.
Then his chin sent a shockwave back through his neck, ricocheting past his shoulder blades and down his spine. The wind blew out of him like a burst paper bag. For a few moments he could neither breathe nor move.
A distant voice was calling for an ambulance. Before he registered pain, a wave of embarrassment flooded him. He managed to roll over and blurt to the stinging sky, “No ambulance!”
A woman’s voice, closer, quieter, repeated, “Okay, we’ll call off the cavalry.”
A pink halo hovered over Larry. “I’m so sorry. I tried to dodge you but you barrelled right into me.”
/>
He blinked several times before fully opening his eyes. A middle-aged female face surrounded by candy-pink curly hair came into sharp focus. Great jumping Jehosafat. He was being accosted by a circus clown.
“Tripped over my own bloody feet,” he mumbled, starting to push himself onto his hands and knees. He noticed splots of blood dripping from somewhere close.
“That gash on your chin might need a few stitches,” the woman said.
He was on his knees now. “I won’t need that. I was in the war, you know.” He didn’t mention that it had been in the Ordnance Corps a long time ago.
“You still are.” The woman laughed.
Larry’s grin turned itself into a wince.
The woman crouched beside him, gathering his scattered groceries, and stuffing them back into his carry bags. By now he could feel the warmth of blood trickling down his neck onto his shoulder. He put his hand to his chin and his palm came away blotched scarlet. The woman paused in the repacking of his groceries and scrabbled in her handbag. He accepted her proffered tissues with a gruff thanks and clamped them to his chin. How could there be so much blood? Those damn aspirins the doctor made him take.
“Do you live nearby?”
“Just over the hill,” he said. Never a truer word spoken.
“I could give you a lift home.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, although by now his skull was a giant anvil being thumped by a sadistic blacksmith. Maybe his elbow wasn’t working properly either. “I can still drive.”
“No doubt,’” she said. “But should you? Your face is the colour of concrete.”
Somehow, he dragged himself to a position where he could lever himself upright.
“Truly, it’s no trouble,” the woman said, bending over him. “You can come back for your own car later.”
He allowed her to lead him because she had made a joke with him as if he was a real human being instead of a feeble old man who needed to be humoured. She was a tiny slip of a thing, walking ahead of him with brisk strides, occasionally glancing back to check that he was keeping pace. They paused at a Toyota Celica that had been a smart set of wheels back in the late nineties. He had owned one himself, though not in canary yellow.