The Light Before Us

by Stephanie Vercier

  It would be so easy to lose myself in trying to define exactly what our relationship is becoming, but I very thankfully have a job to go to and, perhaps less thankfully, a dinner tonight with Will.

  The engine light remains off as I make my way to Barbara’s, and I figure that will at least give me something that isn’t totally awkward to say to Will. Then again, I can’t imagine that particular conversation going on for any longer than a minute or two. Before my nerves can get too rattled at the prospect of a disastrous dinner date, I arrive at my destination.

  “Wow, looks like Melissa bought out half of the store,” I tell Barbara as I look through a pile of puzzles and crossword booklets, anxious to start working on one of them with Barbara today.

  “They’re for kids,” Barbara tells me, her lips pinched and her arms crossed over her chest. “And I’m not a child.”

  Oh dear.

  Maxie and Dougie jump at my legs, always excited about something. I toss them both a toy from their basket, and this seems to entertain them while I pick a puzzle I think I might be able to convince Barbara to try.

  “I’m the one who told her to get these,” I admit. “I realize they seem childish, but I thought it would be overwhelming to get going on a puzzle with thousands of pieces or a crossword from the New York Times.”

  “I used to do New York Times crosswords just fine,” she tells me, as if she’s unwilling to move an inch.

  I take a seat next to her and place the boxed puzzle of a sailboat on the TV tray in front of her. “You’ve had a stroke, Barbara—”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Well, then I hope you’d understand that we need to start with simple and build our way up. If these are all too easy for you, then I’m sure we can find something more difficult.”

  I feel as though I’m winging my whole sales pitch here. When I’d volunteered at the nursing home, it had been under the watchful eye of professionals already working in the field. If things got too dicey, a nurse or an occupational therapist would usually be the one to explain to the resident why things had to go a certain way. All I can do is hope that my explanation to Barbara will make sense to her and not push her further away from me.

  She eyes me, and there’s a tense moment or two before she finally says, “Fine. Crack it open.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  She still sounds grumpy, but I’ll take what I can get. “Great!” I reply, feeling utter relief as I do.

  The puzzle ends up being just right. I offer a watchful eye and am here to help her when things get too difficult. I don’t judge or hurry her or make her feel stupid if she can’t quite see how one puzzle piece lines up with the other.

  “I hope this isn’t all you do with your time,” she tells me when she’s completed about half of the puzzle.

  “What?” I ask with a slight laugh, wondering what she’s getting at.

  “You’re too young and pretty to be stuck doing puzzles with old women. I just hope once you leave here, you’re doing something more exciting.”

  That earns her another laugh. “I like spending time with you, Barbara. I’m learning things.”

  “Oh, fiddle sticks.” She drops a puzzle piece back into the box, sits back on the couch and looks right at me. “You don’t have to pretend you wouldn’t rather be somewhere else. I’ve got thick skin. I can take the truth.”

  “Barbara, really, I—”

  “At least tell me there’s a man, that you have someone?” She arches her brows, looking hopeful.

  I’d like to backtrack, to assure her that I really do enjoy my time with her, which is absolutely true, but I decide to go with her current line of questioning.

  “I have a date tonight,” I admit.

  “With the man that you kissed?” she asks without letting a second pass.

  I pause, remembering that, yes, I had told her about that kiss from Jack.

  “You thought I’d forget that, didn’t you.” She smiles, somewhat impishly, then taps a finger to the side of her head. “I might forget what I had for breakfast, but I remember the important stuff. I was hoping something had come of it.”

  I shake my head softly. “He’s just a friend.”

  “Yeah, sure. So then who is the date with?” Concern etches her eyebrows.

  “He’s someone from town. A mechanic. His name is Will.” It’s odd how I can literally feel my body deflate in not being able to say Jack’s name.

  “Hmm… that name almost sounds familiar. But you know, you don’t sound one bit excited.”

  “No, I am,” I protest. “It’s just been a while since I went out with someone new.”

  “Hmm.” She keeps her arms crossed. “Seems to me like you should be spending more time working on that friend of yours then.”

  I’m allowing that to sink in when she uncrosses her arms, sits back up and retrieves the puzzle piece she’d just put back in the box. “Now lets see here. Where does this one go?”

  I can’t quite tell if her lightening speed change in subject is because she doesn’t want to waste time convincing me of something she might think I should already know or if it’s the effects of the stroke that can’t keep her focused. Whatever it is, I at least don’t have to explain myself further. Then again, maybe I wanted to. There are far worse things in this world than having to talk about Jack Pierce.

  Dozens of times today, I’ve thought about cancelling on Will. Right before I left Barbara’s, I thought she was going to add in an extra two cents about it, giving me some irrefutable reasoning to nix the date. But all she said was, “Have yourself a good time, but don’t be scared to slap that boy in the face if he gets too fresh!”

  It was advice better suited for the 1950s or 60s, and it makes me realize how ridiculous I’m being. It’s only dinner, not some lurid getaway to a forbidden island.

  Instead of heading right back to the cabin after work, as I usually do, I hit the discount store where I find myself a lavender sheath dress and a new pair of wedge heels. I’m still thinking I’ll have time to drive over to the cabin and freshen up, but then I decide I’ll just do that here. I don’t want to risk seeing Jack and having to explain to him where I’m going. Again, it’s more the indifference I fear he’d show me in knowing I was going on a date with someone. And that would hurt—I just know it would. It’s stupid and immature and a little pathetic, but I can’t help it if that’s how I feel.

  So, after grabbing some extra makeup from the cosmetics department, I head into the changing room, put on my new dress and heels, pull my hair out of my ponytail and smooth it out as best I can before adding some lipstick, some eyeliner, a bit of blush and even some mascara, though it is tempting to leave it off just to spite my mother and her opinions.

  I haven’t had to wear a lot of dresses lately, and I’ve missed it. Some women absolutely hate them, but there are times I feel far less constricted in a flowing trapeze or A-line than I do in a pair of jeans. Feeling good about my appearance at least, I gather up the tags and packaging from everything I’d opened and drop it into the shoebox the heels came in. The cashier is thankfully more amused than annoyed as I pass her the tags and ask for a bag for the clothes I walked in with.

  “Our sunglasses are on sale,” she tells me when she’s about finished scanning. “They’d go great with your outfit.”

  “Why not,” I say, quickly finding a cute pair and adding them to the pile of my purchases. They’re just cheap knock-offs a few pennies under ten dollars, but even that makes a dent into my cash on hand. Not having Mom and Dad pay my credit card off every month does take some getting used to, but it feels a lot better knowing everything I’m about to pay for today, I’ve earned.

  It’s nearly six when I’m finished, and driving to the mechanic’s shop to meet Will is when my nerves really kick in. I have to remind myself that nothing is going to come of my feelings for Jack, and I’m therefore not betraying anything by going out with Will, a date that I�
��m convinced will end platonically. Still, I find myself hoping I’ll be stood up and can just head back to the cabin… and to Jack.

  No such luck.

  When I drive into the entrance for the mechanic’s shop, Will is standing just outside the office waiting for me.

  “You showed,” he tells me, meeting me halfway between my car and the shop. “And you look amazing,” he adds, looking from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, his focus on my cleavage going one more moment than I would have liked.

  “Thank you. You look really nice too.” It’s not a lie. He’s handsome, maybe even hot, in a pair of light colored trousers and a tucked in, blue shirt. A handsome guy like this should be giving me butterflies, should make me imagine this first date could be the beginning of something more, but none of that happens because I just can’t get Jack out of my head.

  “So, I figured we’d head over to this roadhouse that’s really good.” He points his thumb up the road, then slides his arm around my waist, leading me to his car.

  His touch says we’re way more familiar than we actually are—it feels wrong, like he’s moving way too fast. After taking a few steps in unison with him, I stop and skirt away from his grip.

  “I was planning to just drive my car and follow you,” I say, not wanting to be rude or to hurt his feelings, but just really not wanting to get into his car.

  I swear to god his nostrils flare for a second before his brow furrows and a slight smile returns to his lips. “Look, I know my car isn’t exactly a chariot, but it’s clean and will get us from point A to point B without breaking down.”

  Following his quick glance to the only car parked alongside the building, I see it’s an older model BMW, probably built fifteen or twenty years ago. But it’s clean and probably in good shape considering Will’s line of work, and I’m mortified he thinks I’m being high and mighty about his mode of transportation. It’s not that at all.

  “It’s so you don’t have to drive me back here,” I say, sticking to my guns.

  He opens up his mouth to say something, as if to argue, then clasps his lips back together. With a pinched expression, he finally says, “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

  I can tell that’s he’s annoyed, but Michael used to get annoyed a lot with me too, and I’m not going to let my fear of offending someone change my mind. I reiterate that I’ll follow him over to the roadhouse and then slide back into my car.

  He brings back the charm once we meet up again outside the restaurant a few minutes later—it was a very short drive. He holds the door open for me, and we enter a building with a purposeful rustic vibe and an Old West feel to it.

  I’m still looking around and checking the place out—it’s full of old wagon wheels, metal laundry basins and hundred year old kitchen utensils—when the hostess says, “Hey there, Will,” in a slightly seductive way. She’s got a giant grin on her pretty face, and her eyes are so totally focused on him that it feels like she can’t even see me.

  For Will’s part, he doesn’t look at all happy to see her.

  She grabs two menus, meets us on the other side of the counter and starts leading us toward a booth. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” she tells him once we’re seated, her eyes reserved only for him.

  “I’ve been busy.” Will’s tone is clipped, clearing his throat and picking up, then pretty much staring at the menu.

  “Busy, huh?” She lets out a giggle before rolling her eyes, then mumbles something about our server being with us shortly. And then she’s gone.

  “Ex-girlfriend?” I ask, not sure how else to explain that little display.

  “Her?” Will shakes his head and lets out a pressured laugh. “Nah, just an old friend.”

  “Hmm.” That’s all I say before picking up my own menu. I don’t exactly believe him.

  He leans toward me then, the smell of his sharp cologne really hitting my nostrils. “You jealous?”

  I raise my chin. I’m definitely not jealous, and I don’t want him to get the idea I am. “Just curious,” I inform him.

  But maybe I am a bit put off. It’s not that I’m expecting this thing with Will to go anywhere, but it would be nice to have a dinner with a guy and not have a bunch of other women hitting on him.

  That had happened far too often with Michael.

  More than once, a woman from our relatively large network of friends would show up at the same restaurant or event we happened to be at, sometimes by coincidence and sometimes obviously planned in some way by the woman or by Michael. I was usually aware of who he was sleeping around with at any given time, so it wasn’t a great surprise when one of them would show up. But there were still slight shocks here and there, a woman I’d counted as a friend or one who was already married, once even the mother of a girl he’d been seeing and then dumped. I’d know by the way they’d steal glances at each other, these women and Michael, the kind of looks you give a lover when you don’t think anyone knows about your lurid affair.

  I could have almost treated all of it as a guessing game because it wasn’t so much the cheating that bothered me. If anything, it would just remind me why I could never truly love Michael. But what actually hurt me, deep in my core, was the way in which it was dangled in front of me. Michael must have taken me for a fool to think I didn’t know—either that, or he just didn’t care. I’d have almost rather he’d just gone into the bathroom with his woman of the season and gotten whatever they were going to do later over with rather than make me sit through their flirtations. It was the disrespect and making it seem as though I were a pathetic fool that I couldn’t stand.

  Will doesn’t push the whole jealousy thing further, and the waitress who comes over to take our order is quite a bit older than the hostess and doesn’t pay any extra attention to him than she does to me, for which I’m thankful. He does most of the talking while we wait for our food, and, while we did get off to a rocky start, I begin to soften to him, just a little. It’s not that I’m suddenly in love with the guy, but I’m finding that he’s really not so bad.

  He tells me he’s lived in Meadow Brook all of his life except for a very short stint in Portland.

  “It’s a dirty river town with too much traffic,” he says of Oregon’s largest city. “And way too many hipsters.”

  The way he says it, as if being in Portland is like being in a foreign country, I can’t help but to laugh, maybe even at myself. There’s a definite rural and urban divide in Washington State, one I assume is mirrored in Oregon too. The more rural types say the city folk are to blame for high taxes, congestion and liberal morality while the urban dwellers consider anyone who lives fifty miles outside of Seattle or Portland to be right wing rednecks who want to turn the clock back a hundred years. Having been a city—well suburban—dweller myself, I’m sure Will would throw me into the more liberal, big city camp, and I wouldn’t totally disagree. Melissa had pretty much pegged me for one. But I like small towns too, had always been somewhat enamored by them and thought romantically about what it would have been like to have lived here in Meadow Brook full time instead of having only come for what seemed like those far too few summers.

  After our food is delivered, our conversation continues on a natural, friendly course. I feel okay opening up to him, not with anything major, but I’m able to tell him that I have a job taking care of a woman who’d had a stroke without revealing Barbara’s identity and that I’d gone to college in California. We both show what appears to be an equal interest in what the other has to say. As the food disappears from our plates, and the liquid drains from our glasses, our date might actually come to a nice, platonic end.

  I get the feeling Will senses our night won’t be leading to romance either. At least that’s what I think when he allows more freedom with his humor and a level of comical crassness you might not share if you were trying to impress someone romantically. Either way, I don’t mind a few gross jokes every now and then.

  He’s telling me one my mother would frown at, one I c
an’t help but laugh at when he gets to the punch line. It’s so totally gross that I keep on giggling like some pre-pubescent kid who thinks bodily noises are hilarious. Will seems pleased with himself, and I’m only just getting control over my amusement when I look up to see Jack in my line of vision, standing in front of the hostess counter, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.

  Seeing him is a surprise, to say the least, and my belly flutters as I keep my eyes on him. He meets mine, his own narrowing as he rubs at his bearded chin, what looks like a confused scowl spreading on his face.

  That expression stops my laughter cold, and I lift a hesitant hand to wave at him. I’m thankful when the glower disappears and Jack finally smiles at me, but it’s a smile I think he might be forcing.

  In my periphery, Will comes back into focus. He takes a quick look at where my eyes have landed, then asks, “Someone you know?”

  I lower my head, feeling as though I’ve hurt Jack in some way. “Yes.” I’d have never expected to see him here, but maybe I should have known better, this being such a small town and all.

  “Should I be worried?” Will asks.

  Before I can say, “About what?” Jack is making his way over.

  I almost forget that look on his face as I note how good he looks in his jeans, like denim was invented to be worn just for men like Jack. His plain white T hugs his chest, his broad shoulders, and the muscles of his arms perfectly, not too tight and not too loose. His baseball cap adds a boyish sexiness to him, and if I’ve ever doubted that I’m attracted to this man, that doubt is now erased as my heart thrums harder with each closer step he takes.

  “Hey, Natalie,” he says casually once he reaches us. Finally, his smile appears genuine. “I’m Jack.” He directs the introduction at Will and extends his hand.

  “Will,” my date says, shaking his hand but looking thoroughly annoyed while doing it.

  “I didn’t know you were going to be here,” is all I can think to say to Jack just now.