by Ashley Pullo
Millicent blushes and then returns his kiss. “Are the stars always present?”
“Yes,” Jack answers.
“Then I’ll always be you girl, Jack!”
Rebecca grabs Millicent’s hand, shaking it to gain her attention. “Millie, there he is – isn’t he handsome?”
Just ahead, Thomas is leaning rakishly against the ring toss booth. He smiles upon first sight of Rebecca – the beginning stage of innocent affection.
Thomas walks toward her, stopping inches in front of her body. “Hello, Rebecca.”
“Good evening, Thomas,” she replies.
Jack places his arm around Millicent’s shoulder and suggests, “Let’s get some apple pie.”
The four meander through the crowded park, laughing contentedly and enjoying a carefree evening as teenagers. Jack tries his hand at the balloon darts – winning a paper pinwheel and a tiny flag. Thomas opts for the baseball game, knocking down all the milk bottles with a single pitch. He wins a tiny kazoo and places it in the palm of Rebecca’s hand.
Thomas leaves his hand clasped around Rebecca’s and says, “You look beautiful tonight – your eyes are the greenest I’ve ever seen.”
“C’mon, the booth is closing,” Jack shouts.
They run to the dessert booth, each taking a large slice of apple pie and a glass of punch. Jack pays the nickel for the refreshments and then leads them to a spot under a tree for a small picnic. Rebecca and Millicent carefully sit on the grass, mindful of their intruding corsets.
“Do you like New York, Rebecca?” Thomas asks.
Rebecca’s family is from Boston, and only recently moved to Brooklyn. Her father’s employer requested an additional office be stationed in Manhattan – and with his brother living in Park Slope, the quaint neighborhood of Cobble Hill was a wonderful transition.
“I love Manhattan, but I miss the trees. Back in Boston, I had a backyard full of trees – even a swing.”
Thomas smiles coyly, unaware of the changing narrative. “I love the trees as well,” he agrees.
Rebecca studies his stoic expression and asks, “Do you like music, Thomas?”
“Oh, Becca, you and your music – Thomas, you should hear her play the piano sometime,” Millicent declares.
Thomas holds Rebecca’s gaze and then smiles. “I would like that. My father recently bought a phonograph in London – we have all the classics. Do you like Beethoven, Rebecca?”
“I do, but it’s not quite dancing music, is it?” Rebecca laughs as she imitates a waltz formation.
Jack moves behind Millicent and pulls her into his lap. She rests her head on his chest, staring up at the sky. “Could life be any smaller? Look how tiny we are in comparison to the dark sky,” Millicent says.
As soon as they gaze up at the sky, the fireworks burst into dancing flames of blue and white – echoing through the park and lighting up the world around them. Rebecca gasps, grabbing Thomas’ hand in excitement. “It’s beautiful! Oh, Thomas – do you love it?”
Thomas brings their joined hands to his mouth, kissing her delicate skin against the backdrop of thunderous booms. “Always,” he replies.
THE NEXT MORNING, Rebecca is awakened by the sound of doors slamming and her father shouting. The noise continues out the front door and onto the street. She quickly jumps from the bed and puts on her dressing gown. Rebecca races to the small circular window in her room that overlooks the cobbled street and the row of brownstones.
There, in the blazing eastern sun, is Thomas – shirtless and determined. He’s digging a hole where the sidewalk meets the street and forcing the morning strollers to find an alternate path. Rebecca’s father approaches Thomas with a stern finger shake, but Thomas just smiles and continues his task.
Rebecca puts on her slippers and scurries down the two flights of stairs to be met with her father, fuming mad, at the front door.
Her father purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “Rebecca?”
“Daddy, he’s just a friend!” she pleads.
“Your friend is planting a tree – on my property.”
“Alfred,” her mother insists. “He’s a nice boy doing something very romantic – you remember what that’s like, right?” Rebecca’s parents smile at each other – reminiscing about some romantic part of their past.
Rebecca’s father places his hand on her shoulder and says, “Well, Rebecca? Go get dressed and hurry him along. I won’t have the boy creating a spectacle in front of the neighbors.”
Rebecca claps her hands as she runs up the stairs to get dressed. In her room, she puts on a yellow dress with an orange belt and braids her hair. Occasionally, she peeks at Thomas through her window, watching him hunker over, pause upright, wipe his brow and then repeat the process. He’s so strong and muscular – rugged yet refined.
She hastily laces her shoes and runs down the stairs, so quickly in fact, she stumbles on the last step. Rebecca shakes it off and dashes into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and a chunk of ice. Rebecca makes her way down the steps of the stoop and onto the street, swiping the sweat from her brow before Thomas notices.
Thomas stops digging and leans against his shovel. “Good morning, Rebecca.”
“Thomas, you’re insane!”
Smiling, Thomas humbly shrugs his shoulders. “I wanted you to have a tree – is that insane?”
Rebecca hands the glass of water to Thomas, watching him as his mouth touches the rim of the glass. Just like before with the lemonade, Thomas’ lips amaze her – she wants to feel them. After a discreet glance at his muscular torso, she quickly moves her focus to the maple sapling. “It’s the perfect gift – now it feels like home,” Rebecca states.
Thomas squats next to the small tree and holds one of the branches. “Do you know this tree will be here hundreds of years from now – this very spot – from this exact moment?”
Rebecca’s lips part, anxious and intrigued by the significance of the statement. “What moment?”
Thomas stands and slowly inches toward her. “Our moment.”
Thomas stares at her mouth – Rebecca closes her eyes – both of them anticipating their first kiss . . . but not their last.
Last March, a powerful concert at the Beacon Theater in New York City sparked an idea. A few months later, that idea became the profound and narrative wisdom of Chloe LeGrange Ford.
Holy crap . . .
The Bridge Series gave me a purpose . . . a year-long adventure following a decade-old dream, wrought with insight and appreciation. I still don’t know how to spell restaurant without using autocorrect. I have no idea what .mobi for eBook actually stands for. I’m not sure what pixels and the width of a spine have to do with creating a book cover. And I’ll never know why readers pick my books out of the thousands available.
But this is what I know: Nick Fantini and Erika Stokes have been with me since the beginning, and do wonderful jobs in making my neurotic demands look pretty. What’s a book without a cover? A manuscript. What’s a book without a formatter? A piece of crap. Jamie Beshears, thank you for pushing me, cheering me on, and genuinely being happy about this journey. You are a great friend, and I’m not sure if I would’ve typed those first words without your encouragement, and for that, many thanks. Ceilidhe Wynn Coxford, you’re the cutest hoser I know. Thank you for the following things: writing and performing the songs Olive You and The Ballad, the many late nights of laughter, and for teaching me the appropriate Canada-isms. I will now thank you thrice . . . thank you, thank you, thank you. Nicki DeStasi and Karen D’Erasmo, thank you for taking the time to beta-read. I often live inside my characters’ heads, and both of you helped me get The Refrain to a reader-friendly level. Liis McKinstry, thank you for understanding my objective. To my author friend, Alison Bailey, thank you for being so kind and supportive. I knew you were my writing soul mate as soon as you mentioned Funyuns.
Thank you to all my supporters from the very beginning – friends and strangers loving my work and demanding mo
re. To Les Femmes du Pont – when I make it big, your names will remain on the top of my gratitude list. But if I make it really big, who knows? I joke.
Be prepared, the acknowledgments are about to get really sappy. Mom and Dad, thank you for everything. My fictional characters have healthy relationships with their parents because I’ve been blessed with great parents. Thank you to my children for encouraging me and remaining patient all those months with takeout and dirty laundry. And to my husband . . . I and love and you, always. Thank you for taking me to that concert.
Hey y’all! I’m Ashley Pullo, a New York transplant with an abundance of Texas charm and a proclivity for all things pop-culture. I like to think that I’m witty, gorgeous and highly intelligent but honestly, I’m not that funny. I’m a suburban mom living the dream with my handsome husband, two perfect children and our moderately cool dog, Roscoe. Life is pretty awesome, and you taking the time to read my novel made it that much sweeter!
If you like me, please follow me on Facebook, twitter or around the grocery store. I love interacting with people and welcome new friendships.
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