Once Upon a List

by Robin Gold

  Back in her seat, Clara perused Lincoln’s itinerary. “Wow. So you’ll be gone for two weeks? That’s a long time.” Silently acknowledging she’d miss him while he was away, she attempted to return the document to him, but he told her it was hers to keep.

  “Oh, get this! I still can’t believe this part,” Lincoln admitted. “I’m staying at the camp on-site. It’s literally situated right in the middle of nowhere. Nothing as far as the eye can see except for monstrous, 95-million-year-old bones.”

  Clara realized she had never seen Lincoln this excited about anything before. “Oh, Link . . . It sounds like heaven.” She smiled, knowing that to him it was. And besides, spending two whole weeks apart wouldn’t be that difficult, she told herself. Alas, as the old saying went, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Because there’s one more part to my news.” Lincoln reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. Holding it in his hand, he paused for a quiet, extended moment, not saying a word, just smiling at Clara.

  “What?” she asked self-consciously, noting his penetrating gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

  “No. There’s nothing on your face. You look gorgeous. As always.” Lincoln took a deep breath, the gleam in his eye still shining. “Okay . . .” He fidgeted a bit with the envelope, tapping his thumb against it. “Are you ready?”

  “Am I ready for what?” Clara gave him a playful look. “What are you talking about?”

  Then, handing the envelope across the table to her, he explained, “This is for you.”

  “What’s this?” She eyed the sealed white envelope inquisitively.

  Lincoln, almost on the edge of his seat now, watched her closely. “Well, go on. Open it.”

  Following his orders, Clara ripped open the envelope. Her expression of curiosity quickly changed to one of confusion. “Wait . . . I don’t understand. Why—Why are there two plane tickets to Argentina in here?”

  Once again, he flashed her a beaming grin. “Because you’re coming with me,” he replied softly. Lincoln allowed a few seconds for this to sink in. “You’re going to Argentina, too, C.J.!”

  Clara was speechless.

  It was clear by the proud sparkle in his eyes that Lincoln was thrilled to be able to share this moment and this special experience with her. “Surprise! That’s the second part of my news.” He rose out of his chair to gather her in a joyful embrace. “Well? What do you think?” He squeezed her closer. “Isn’t it great?”

  There were a few moments of stunned silence before Clara answered, “Uh, yeah . . . It’s”—she hesitated, still processing this unexpected development—“great.”

  His arms wrapped around her waist, Lincoln leaned back, looking Clara in the eye. “Well, you don’t have to sound so exuberant about it,” he teased. “We’re just going to see the Argentinosaurus.” Taking her shocked-looking face in both hands, he kissed her lips. “In Argentina! The whole trip’s planned out and paid for.” He stopped briefly to reiterate before kissing her again with increased passion.

  “It—It is?” Clara managed between kisses. She pulled her mouth away from his. “Wait. When did you buy these tickets?”

  “Yesterday. You might notice they’re first class.”

  Only, Clara, with her brain reeling at a million miles per minute, was too busy thinking to notice anything.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you like first class?”

  “Yes, yes, of course I do. I’m just . . .” Raking her hand through her hair, she remained at a loss for words. “Wow. I’m a little surprised, I guess, that you booked such a huge trip without mentioning anything about it to me first. You know what I mean?”

  Obviously astonished, Clara sat back down, and Lincoln, following her lead, returned to his chair across the candlelit table from her.

  “I know. I realize it’s a big step. Absolutely. But I thought you’d be happy about it.” He studied her closely, a look of hesitancy clouding his face. There was a moment of silence. “I wasn’t mistaken. Was I?”

  “No. No,” Clara responded, perhaps a bit too quickly, fearing she may have hurt his feelings with her lack of initial enthusiasm. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Good.” Lincoln exhaled a sigh of relief. “Because this is going to be an incredible experience. Once in a lifetime, really! A bunch of the other guys are bringing their wives along, too,” he added brightly.

  Clara gulped. For her, time seemed to grind to a halt. Wives? Had he just said “wives”? The last time she checked, there was not a ring on her finger. She was definitely not Lincoln’s wife. Never before had they even discussed the topic of marriage. The thought hadn’t so much as crossed her mind. There was only one person in her life with whom Clara associated the word “marriage,” and that was Sebastian.

  “Don’t worry, there’s a nice hotel not too far off,” Lincoln continued. “That’s where Sayid’s wife, Holly, is staying. You’ll love her. Think about it, C.J. We’ve never done anything remotely like this together before.”

  “I know.” She blinked. “That’s kind of my point.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled.

  Fingering her cloth napkin, Clara picked at its edge. “I mean . . . like you just said, taking a trip of this magnitude is a big deal.” She’d never even gone on a two-week-long vacation with Sebastian, and she couldn’t help but wonder what the implications of accepting Lincoln’s invitation might be. Sure, she enjoyed spending time with him, but was she really ready for this next step? A two-week trip halfway around the world? Were there invisible strings attached? Surely this significant trip would be a symbol of their commitment to each other and where their relationship was headed. Was she moving too fast with Lincoln? Why hadn’t he consulted with her first before making arrangements? Did he really assume she wouldn’t have to give it any thought whatsoever? Why had he used the word “wives” so casually? Why was she suddenly plagued with uncertainty? And why hadn’t their waitress come to take their cocktail order yet? Eventually, as the confusing seeds of doubt continued to blossom in her mind, Clara realized that Lincoln was staring at her. She didn’t know quite what to say. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m honored you’d even think to take me with you.” She placed her hand over her heart in a gesture of sincerity. “Oh, I don’t know . . . I suppose I’m just—”

  “You’re just”—Lincoln interrupted—“not looking excited like I hoped.”

  “Well . . .” Guilt washed over Clara for being the obvious cause of the deflated expression now pinching his face. “I have a lot of thoughts racing at me all at once here. A couple minutes ago I was debating whether I want shrimp or pork lo mein, and now I’m just trying to”—again, she paused, wringing her hands as she searched for the right words—“process . . . this,” she said, nodding toward the plane tickets on the table.

  “I know I took you a little off guard, but what exactly are you trying to process?” Lincoln folded his arms across his chest.

  Where was she supposed to begin? “Well, for starters, there’s Milk Dud,” she stuttered. “I—I don’t know what I’d do with him for two whole weeks.”

  “Libby loves that dog more than life itself. I’m sure she’d be glad to watch him.”

  “Libby works,” Clara reminded him. “I can’t just expect her to be available all day and night for two whole weeks. That’s not realistic.”

  “So we’ll find a great kennel.”

  “I don’t even know where my passport is. Not to mention my big suitcase from Boston is still filled with stuff I haven’t bothered to unpack yet. And, besides, I’m not sure I can just drop everything to jaunt off to Argentina for two whole weeks.”

  Lincoln’s eyebrows pulled together. “Why do you keep saying ‘two whole weeks’ like that?”

  Clara hurriedly took a sip o
f her ice water, wishing their waitress would come and take their darn drink order already. This unexpected situation definitely called for a mai tai. A strong one. Or four. “Because two weeks is a long time, Link,” she answered truthfully. “And, you have to admit, you haven’t exactly given me a whole lot of advance notice here.”

  “I didn’t realize that much advance notice was needed.” A slight, yet notable, edge of defense had crept its way into Lincoln’s tone. “I figured it’s not like you punch a clock or anything. You’re not working at the moment. You know?”

  “Yeah, I know.” Clara, increasingly uncomfortable with the direction their discussion seemed to be heading, swirled around the ice cubes in her glass of water.

  “Forgive me, but I think your time capsule list can wait a couple weeks. Big deal.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Does it really make a difference? It’s not exactly a critical matter of life or death.”

  However, for Clara, that’s precisely what her time capsule had become: a matter of life or death. She winced at his dismissal. “Actually”—she blinked, both surprised and hurt by his belittling jab—“I have only one month left to finish everything on it.” She adjusted her napkin on her lap. “And, you obviously think differently, but it’s critical to me.” Wounded, Clara looked away from Lincoln. “I thought you knew that,” she said quietly.

  Lincoln swallowed hard, his expression softening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “It’s fine.” She saw the regret in his eyes and didn’t want to make things worse by escalating the awkward conversation.

  “No, that came out wrong,” Lincoln insisted. “I know how important your time capsule is to you, and believe me, I totally respect it.”

  Clara sighed, forcing a small grin, though she could feel herself shutting down, as was her habit when she was officially done discussing a difficult topic or had reached her breaking point and could no longer deal with the situation. Doing her best to conceal her panic, she plastered on an even bigger smile. “It’s fine. Really. It is.” She did not want to get into this any further with Lincoln. Not tonight, at least. Not while she was still struggling to make sense of his unexpected invitation and the sudden, unexpected feelings of doubt and confusion it had stirred inside her. “But I say we change the subject. Is that okay?”

  “Yes.” Lincoln nodded. “Of course.” He quickly swept up the envelope and returned it to his jacket pocket.

  “This is supposed to be a happy occasion, and that is exactly what it’s going to be!” Clara declared, picking up her menu and flipping it open. She pretended to be engrossed in it. “I’m starving! Do you want to pick out a couple main dishes to share? We could each choose one?” She kept her eyes focused on the print, not pausing to let him respond. “Oh, look at this! ‘Chef’s Special Celebration Delight’ sounds like a perfectly appropriate entrée. We have to order that. Don’t you think?”

  Lincoln’s eyebrows lifted in what appeared to be baffled surprise. And not the good kind of surprise. He nodded. “Uh . . . sure. That sounds great.” He found the dish on his menu. “Should we get it with jumbo prawns?”

  “Absolutely,” Clara responded, a bit too enthusiastically. “You know what they say—the more prawns, the merrier!”

  Lincoln let out a little chuckle. “In that case, maybe we should order ‘From Dusk Til Prawn’ as well?”

  Finally, the waitress, who had served them on many occasions, appeared at their table. “Hello! It’s my favorite happy couple.” She grinned widely. “Can I start you off with drinks tonight?”

  “Yes!” both Clara and Lincoln answered together.

  Clara and Lincoln were in his car, driving back to his apartment, when a song came on the radio that instantly caused Clara’s heart to stop beating in her chest. It hit her like a sudden painful combination of mace and electroshock therapy, overwhelming her to the point that she had to consciously remind herself to continue breathing.

  As Lincoln rambled on about how one of the Argentinosaurus’s back vertebrae had a “shocking” length of 1.3 meters, Clara, suddenly desperate for fresh air, lowered the passenger-side window all the way down.

  Frank Sinatra’s Night and Day was the first song that she and Sebastian had ever danced to. Swaying beneath the light of a full moon at a mutual friend’s engagement party on a private beach, they held each other close. Months later, they both confessed to falling in love with each other during that memorable dance on the sandy shore. Throughout their years together, Clara and Sebastian shared countless special moments to “their song,” and when their wedding coordinator asked if they’d chosen the music they wished to use for their first official dance as husband and wife, it was a no-brainer.

  In those first, dark, horrible weeks after Sebastian’s accident, Clara listened to their song often—hundreds of times: late at night when she was tossing and turning in bed, trying to fathom falling asleep without him; early in the afternoon when she was sitting on the couch, trapped in the numbing haze, doing absolutely nothing. It comforted her, and helped her feel close to him.

  It had been a long, long time since Clara last listened to their song. Too long, she berated herself, gazing out the window of Lincoln’s car while it played in the background.

  And that’s when she remembered.

  Clara felt her chest constrict as an overwhelming sense of guilt and confusion engulfed her. How on earth had it failed to cross her mind until now that tomorrow was August 3? August 3! The anniversary of Sebastian’s and her first date. For ten happy years, they’d celebrated their very first lunch together at the Sandwich Shack, a surprisingly nice restaurant to include the word “shack” in its name. August 3 had always been an important date that Clara typically looked forward to well in advance, making special dinner plans, getting all dolled up, buying Sebastian a little gift—nothing fancy or expensive, just a trinket to remind him how much she cherished him. Last year, she’d given him a funny magnet of a foot with googly eyes that she knew he’d appreciate. And there it was, 10:00 p.m. on August 2, and it had only just dawned on her what tomorrow was! Clara’s stomach turned at the realization that perhaps, if she and Lincoln hadn’t been listening to the radio, their anniversary might have passed without acknowledgement. August 3 could very well have come and gone with nary a blink. This distressing thought hit Clara like a kick in the gut, shaking her to the core. But even worse, in her mind, was the fact that she was so busy pondering going on an adventure-of-a-lifetime, two-week dream vacation with another man that she’d started to accidentally lose track of what had always mattered to her most. Or, perhaps more precisely, who had always mattered to her most.

  Never had Clara felt farther away from Sebastian.

  “I love this song,” said Lincoln, checking his rearview mirror and switching lanes. “Old Blue Eyes is the best.”

  Suddenly, it seemed to Clara that the oxygen in the car had been sucked away, and its walls were closing in on her. All she wanted to do was get the hell out of that car. And quick.

  “Don’t you think?” Lincoln glanced at her. “Hey—you okay?” He placed his hand on top of hers and began singing along with Sinatra.

  Clara fought to stifle the rumbling threat of tears. “No, I’m—I’m not okay,” she mumbled, her face twisted in anguish. Abruptly pulling her hand away from his, she leaned forward and changed the radio station.

  “What’s wrong? Why do you look like that? And, why are we listening to polka music?”

  Clara glanced uneasily at him, but all she could see was Sebastian’s face. Inhaling a deep breath, confounded, she asked herself again how she could have been so distracted, so selfish that she almost forgot about August 3?

  “C.J., what—what is it?” Lincoln’s face was contorted in obvious worry. “You look pale. You’re not gonna faint again, are you?”

  “Night and Day was the song Sebastian and I chose for our first dance,” Clara b
lurted. “Tomorrow is our anniversary. And I forgot. I forgot . . .” She shook her head in shame, squeezing her eyes shut. “I just”—it was hard for her to form a coherent sentence—“I think I need to be alone right now. It’s been a long night. Could you take me home, please?” Her voice was meek and detached.

  “Wait.” Lincoln appeared incredulous, as if perhaps he had missed something. “I don’t understand what’s happening. I know I threw you for a loop earlier and our evening got off to a shaky start, but I thought we’d gotten past it and were having a good time,” he said. “We were laughing a few minutes ago. And now you want to go . . . home?”

  Clara nodded. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Lincoln again. Yet, she knew that there was no way she could return to his apartment and climb into his bed. Not tonight. Not when the only person she could think about—the only person she wanted to think about—was Sebastian. “I am so sorry, Lincoln. So sorry. I don’t want to cause any more trouble. Especially after the whole Argentina thing. Please just understand that I really need to be by myself right now. Okay? I just—I can’t do this . . .”

  Wearing a shell-shocked expression, he pressed, “You can’t do what?”

  Clara’s eyes couldn’t seem to find his face. “God . . . let’s not make this a big deal. It’s your special day, Link, and I’ve already ruined it, and I feel hideous about that. I feel hideous about a lot of things.” Again, she closed her eyes, covering her face with her hands. “It would really just be best if you took me home.”

  “Best for who? You’re shutting me out.” He turned off the radio. “Please, just talk to me, C.J. Talk to me.”

  “I can’t talk right now!” Clara snapped, her voice catching in her throat. “Please,” she whispered as a tear dripped down her cheek, the absence of Sebastian slicing through her like a cleaver. “Take me home. I—”