by Robin Gold
She could not believe she was really doing this. She didn’t even know what she was going to tell Lincoln. All she knew was that seeing him as soon as possible was more than a desire. It was a necessity. She had to let him know that she realized she’d made a monumental mistake. She was sure of it. As sure as she’d ever been of anything in her life. And filled with a new, unwavering sense of purpose and determination, Clara was prepared to do anything she could to communicate to Lincoln how she truly felt about him—even if it meant taking a bold risk and showing up at the airport unannounced in a t-shirt that was stained with ketchup and looked like crime scene evidence.
Although, over the past few days since her eventful climb up The Mountain she’d been too busy tending to important business to allow time for sleep, Clara had never felt more alert, or more alive. Now, if only Lincoln would just come retrieve his damn luggage already! What was taking him so long? Standing on her tiptoes, biting her bottom lip, feeling almost dizzy from the heightened sense of escalating anticipation, Clara searched the growing sea of faces for him.
Suddenly, she felt a light tap on her shoulder.
Her pulse rate skyrocketed, and the muscles in her stomach instantly clenched. For a brief moment, the only sound Clara was able to hear was that of her own rapidly beating heart.
Holding her breath without realizing it, she turned around.
And there, to her relief, stood Lincoln. An overt look of astonishment was plastered across his suntanned face.
“Hi . . .” Clara swallowed hard, staring up into his eyes, feeling slightly light-headed. “I—I thought of one,” she declared before he had a chance to speak.
Lincoln’s expression of obvious surprise was replaced with one of confusion.
Shaking, feeling the weight of the moment’s significance, Clara took a deep breath. Here went nothing . . . “What do you get if you cross a pig with a dinosaur?”
Silence ensued.
Placing his carry-on bag down on the ground, Lincoln considered it. “I don’t know.” His voice was tenuous and low, even slightly hesitant. “What . . . do you get?”
“Jurassic pork,” Clara answered, hoping that he might crack a smile, which, to her relief, he did. As is turned out, inventing these lousy jokes was more challenging than she’d suspected.
“You made that up?” Lincoln blinked, as if he still could not quite believe that she was actually there in the terminal standing before him.
She nodded.
“Not bad. What—What are you doing here?” He paused. “And is that blood on you?”
“Oh, gosh!” gasped Clara, looking down at her white shirt at what appeared to be a gunshot wound. “No. It’s ketchup.” She smiled nervously, clutching her purse, fighting the urge to throw caution to the wind, wrap her arms around Lincoln and plant a huge, passionate kiss on his lips. “I ate a hot dog while I was waiting for you. And I was such a clumsy wreck I dropped it. Little known fact: grace eludes me when I’m nervous. I should have known that I was in no condition for condiments, but”—Clara stopped herself, closing her eyes, aware that she was rambling like a jittery basket-case—“not the point. I’m here because . . . because I was wrong, Lincoln. So wrong. I don’t need my space.” There was no other way to say it. “I need you.”
“C.J., I—”
“No, wait. You have to let me finish before I lose my nerve. Or throw up on you,” Clara continued rapidly, her words practically running together. “I apologize for everything, Link. God!” She rolled her eyes. “ ‘Apologize’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. You were right to feel rejected and hurt. And you were absolutely right when you said that I was letting my past interfere with my future. I see that now. And I don’t want to let it hold me back. And I certainly don’t want to let it come between us! Because, contrary to what I may have led you to believe, you mean the world to me.” She rushed on breathlessly, bringing her hand to her chest in a gesture of sincerity. “You have to believe me. I admit it, I was afraid to put the past behind me and move on. Just like you said. But, I swear to you, Link, I am not afraid anymore. The only thing I’m scared of is losing you.” She stopped to take a deep breath.
“Who said anything about losing me?” Lincoln’s eyebrows pulled together. He shifted positions on his feet, hesitating. “I’m the one who should apologize for being harsh and impatient with you, C.J. I was hurt that you’d even consider walking away from something as special as what we have.” He looked away from her. “It was wrong of me to demand something from you that you’re clearly not ready for. To expect you to move forward with our relationship at a pace you’re obviously not comfortable with.”
“That’s just my point, Link.” Clara shook her head. “Yes, I had some things that I needed to figure out, but I’m not uncomfortable with it. It’s . . . what I want.” She stared into his eyes, resolute. “You’re what I want. And I don’t need any more space, or any more time to know that for a fact.” Dropping her purse on the ground next to Lincoln’s carry-on bag, Clara could not stop herself from throwing her arms around him.
This seemed to be all the encouragement Lincoln needed to tighten his arms around her waist, tilt his head down, and finally, press his lips to hers.
A shudder ran through Clara, and she clung to him even tighter, returning his kiss with equal fervor.
When at last she pulled away, there were tears in her eyes. Only this time, they were tears of joy.
In the next moment, Lincoln was cradling his hand around her head and holding her face pressed to his chest, as if he still found it difficult to believe that she was actually there in his embrace. “I have a great idea,” he whispered. “Let’s never do this again.”
“Hell no.” Clara closed her eyes, savoring the gift of being exactly where she wanted to be. After what felt to her like a long while she added, “I guess it’s a good thing I bought a place here, huh?”
Lincoln released her, doing a veritable double take. “Come again?”
“Oh yeah,” said Clara in the most nonchalant tone she could muster. “Didn’t I tell you? I bought the judge’s condo. The terms were finalized yesterday. It should work out well with school.”
“But—But, what about your home in Boston? You love that house.”
“I’m thinking I’ll probably put it up for rent. I’m not ready to sell it. And it’s a prime piece of real estate, so it’s a wise investment to hold on to.”
Blinking, Lincoln beamed. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say. This is unbelievable news!”
“I know!” Clara smiled unabashedly at him.
Lincoln placed his hands on her cheeks and brought his hungry mouth to hers for another deep, affectionate kiss. But, after a moment, he suddenly disengaged, leaning back. “Hold on. Rewind. Did you just mention something about school?”
“Oh yeah.” Once again Clara used the most casual tone she was capable of employing under the exciting circumstances. “Didn’t I tell you? Northwestern and the University of Chicago both have fantastic masters programs for English. I’m crossing my fingers that I might hopefully have what it takes to get accepted to one.” She shrugged. “I was thinking I could probably make a pretty decent poetry teacher.”
Lincoln just stared at her in wordless awe.
“Might as well do something that I love, right?”
“Okay. Now hold on one second,” he demanded. “Are you seriously telling me that you figured all of this stuff out while I was in Argentina?” His voice could not have sounded more incredulous.
“Well, there is one more thing,” Clara admitted.
“Let me guess! You solved the space-time continuum.”
“Still working on that one.” She giggled. “But, now that I’ve officially decided what I want to be when I grow up, I did take the liberty of crossing off the last item on my time capsule list: Become a teacher. Which means”—she paused for dramatic effe
ct, smiling—“I’m all done! And, might I add, I still have one full week before I turn thirty-five.”
Lincoln’s jaw fell open.
For a moment, there was silence.
He shook his head, amazed. “Sweetheart . . . Congratulations!” Gazing at her with blatant wonder, and love, Lincoln leaned close to Clara, touching his forehead to hers. “I am so proud of you,” he whispered. “I know how much that list meant to you.”
Indeed, the time capsule that Clara made when she was ten years old was more than just a reminder of who she once was. It was a reminder of who she had wanted to become, and it was a life preserver, a bridge from Clara’s past to her future when she had none. It was the beacon of hope that guided her back home, where she knew, without doubt, she belonged. And it was what ultimately helped her rediscover not only how to smile, but also true love.
“Hey Link?” Clara slid her arm around his waist.
“Yes, C.J.?” He draped his arm around her shoulder.
“Remember that one time when you went to Argentina to dig up a 95-million-year-old dinosaur?”
“Well, a lot’s happened since then. But, now that you bring it up, why yes, I do vaguely recall this trip you speak of.”
“Good,” Clara said, smiling. “My car’s parked in Lot Q. How about we grab your luggage off the carousel and you tell me all about it on our ride back to your place?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Grinning, he kissed the top of her head.
“I want to hear every last detail starting with when you got off the plane in Patagonia.”
Clara and Lincoln were standing at his kitchen counter, having just opened a celebratory bottle of wine, when she heard his stomach grumble.
“You haven’t eaten dinner yet,” she said. “You must be starving!”
“Well, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been threatening to kill for a slice of pizza for the last—oh, I don’t know . . . week.”
That was all she needed to hear. “Done.”
Gliding to the opposite end of the kitchen, Clara opened up the “junk drawer” where Lincoln kept a large stack of local restaurant menus, along with a menagerie of random knickknacks.
Atop the pile of menus, she discovered a timeworn, wrinkled sheet of pale blue paper covered in the obvious handwriting of a young child. “What’s this?” She peered at it with curiosity, picking it up.
“Oh, that’s just—uh . . .” Lincoln cast his gaze downward, fidgeting with the wine cork, suddenly overcome with shyness. “It’s . . .”
Clara noticed that his cheeks had flushed.
“I—I went through some old stuff right before I left for Argentina. I must not have put it all—”
“Link,” she interrupted. “This is from your time capsule. It’s your list!” Clara stared at the old relic with wonder, unable to believe that she was actually holding it in her hands. “But, you—you said that you didn’t keep it . . .”
Inhaling a deep breath, Lincoln remained silent, his brown eyes twinkling as he watched Clara read his official record of childhood dreams. He appeared to be waiting for something.
And then a slow, radiant smile stretched room-wide across Clara’s face.
For there, at the bottom of the decades-old page, Lincoln had written in thick, blue crayon: “Marry Clara Black.”
The Beginning
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I extend my sincere, heartfelt gratitude to the following amazing people, all of whom made this book possible, and most of whom I drove totally nuts during the process:
Mimsy and Big G, for supporting me.
Sister, for guiding me.
Gregory Shaver, for loving me.
Eleanore Bella, for sharing her two cents with me.
Amanda Bergeron, for editing me.
Holly Root, for everything. And then some.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ROBIN GOLD is the author of The Perfectly True Tales of a Perfect Size 12. She resides near Chicago with her husband Greg, who was well worth the wait, their baby Archie, eleven bicycles, and a bunch of boxes in the basement that will probably never get unpacked. Odds are high that she has a Cheerio stuck somewhere on her body and doesn’t know it.
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COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ONCE UPON A LIST. Copyright © 2012 by Robin B. Gold. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition MAY 2012 ISBN: 9780062193711
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062193728
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