It's You

by Jane Porter

  Or even that I am already moving on.

  If I move on, what happens to Andrew, my love?

  What happens to me?

  And so at three, when Craig held me after I’d climaxed once, and then again, I smashed my heart back into my chest and beat it down, even as I whipped my conscience.

  Andrew isn’t Craig. Craig isn’t Andrew. Craig will never be Andrew.

  And I don’t know if that’s bad or good.

  THIRTY

  I spend the flight from Berlin to Amsterdam telling myself Craig will be fine, that he’s a big boy. He’ll check out of the hotel, catch a flight from Berlin back to Pisa, finish the expo, watch his brother get married. He’s okay. He travels a lot. He’s gorgeous. He’s smart. He’s successful, wealthy, sexy . . . incredible in bed. He’s got it made.

  He doesn’t need me.

  I then spend the ten-hour flight from Amsterdam to San Francisco agonizing over how to tell Edie that I’ve lost the diary. I have no idea how to break the news. I dread facing her when I get home.

  Do I blurt it our first? Do I show her my pictures first? Do I open the book I bought at the Resistance Memorial and leaf through it with her?

  Perhaps I should have called her the moment it happened. Perhaps I should have prepared her before I came home . . .

  Anxious and restless I glance at my watch, wondering how much longer until we land. Seven hours. We’ve only been flying for three.

  I can’t do this, agonize like this. I reach into my bag for the bottle of Ambien I brought to Germany with me. I don’t take it often anymore, and didn’t need it during the trip, but after Andrew died it was the only way I could make myself sleep. I pop an Ambien now, gulp down some water, and tell myself to stop thinking about everything. Nothing is going to change between now and landing. Worrying accomplishes nothing. Edie has been through worse. She’s tough. She’ll survive this.

  And by repeating the mantra, Edie is fine, Edie is tough, Edie has been through worse, I relax long enough to fall asleep.

  • • •

  I turn my phone back on and as I head to the parking lot to get the car, voice mail messages and texts download.

  Dad has left three messages. Craig has left two.

  I know why Craig is calling—he wants to smooth things over, make everything okay—but I’m worried about Dad. Dad never phones me, and if he does want to get me a message, he’ll send a brief text.

  I call him as soon as I clear customs and am heading out towards my car.

  “You’ve landed safely?” he asks.

  “Yes. I’m walking through the parking lot now. Everything okay?”

  “Yes,” he answers, after the slightest hesitation.

  I frown as I hit the elevator button. “What’s going on?”

  “Just come see me when you get home.”

  This isn’t good. “Dad?”

  “Drive safely. Don’t rush. I’ll see you soon.”

  • • •

  Traffic is heavy leaving the city as the Giants ball game looks like it just ended. I fight back impatience and exhaustion. It’s late at night in Germany right now and my body wants to be somewhere quiet and dark, probably sleeping.

  Two and a half hours after leaving the San Francisco airport I reach Napa Estates.

  I see Harold and Walter with a couple others in the lobby talking, and I wave as I head for the elevator.

  Dad answers his door when I knock and he looks fine. Better than fine, he looks fit and tan and his brace is gone.

  “What have you been doing?” I ask, giving him a hug. “Sunbathing?”

  “I played a little golf.”

  “Balance was okay?”

  “Not bad, but I couldn’t walk the course. Rode in the golf cart but had a good time.”

  I set my purse and overnight bag, filled with books and maps and brochures for Edie, on the coffee table and sit down. “So . . . what’s going on?”

  He sits down, claps his hands on his knees. “You had a good trip, though?”

  He’s making me nervous. “I did. But what’s up? What’s wrong?”

  “Edie passed away in the night.”

  It’s the last thing I expected him to say and I give my head a slight, disbelieving shake.

  “She died in her sleep,” he adds. “The staff contacted her family, and Craig phoned this morning asking me to tell you. He knew you’d be upset. He tried to reach you but he couldn’t get through.”

  That’s why he’d called. Not because he wanted to talk about our night together.

  Silence stretches.

  I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing I can say. I went to Berlin for her. I went to take photos and get information that I could share with her . . .

  “Does Ruth know?” I whisper.

  “Ruth’s aide was the one who alerted the front desk that Edie didn’t show to meet Ruth for their Saturday morning breakfast. You know Edie. She never misses that breakfast. She’s never late for anything.”

  My eyes sting. My throat aches. “I hate this.”

  “She was almost ninety-five. She lived a good life.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  He gives me an odd half smile before looking away, but I saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. He’s teared up—my dad who never cries. “She was a good old girl,” he says gruffly.

  That’s when I break down and cry.

  She was a remarkable woman.

  I wasn’t sure about her at first, but by the time I left for Berlin, she’d become a hero to me.

  THIRTY-ONE

  I’ve been in Scottsdale a week, and everyone at the office is glad to have me back, but it wasn’t easy settling back in. There is to be a memorial service for Edie in late June, after Chad has returned from his honeymoon, and I’ve made Dad promise to keep me informed about details, but it’s unlikely that I’ll be able to be there. Dr. Morris is still experiencing significant nerve pain from shingles and so I’m trying to cover for him by putting in extra hours on Saturdays and staying later on the weekdays to try to see as many patients as necessary.

  I think about Edie a lot. I only knew her a few weeks but somehow it feels as if she’s always been part of my life. Maybe it’s because I can still hear her voice in my head. I can see her standing next to her kitchen table, hands folded, shoulders squared.

  And I ask her in my head, Edie, what should I do about my house? Because I don’t think I like my house anymore. It doesn’t feel like home. Not since Andrew died.

  I hear her answer as clear as anything. Don’t ask me, Alison. Do what you want to do.

  Late June I put the house up for sale, and, taking the Realtor’s advice, I have priced it aggressively. I want it to sell. Andrew and I put a lot of work into it and the house is gorgeous. I hope it’ll be loved by a different family one day but I need to move on—literally—and I move into a one-bedroom apartment across the street from the mall. The apartment is small but it’s new and clean with high ceilings and lots of light.

  I tell myself I’ll be happier in Scottsdale now. I just needed a new place for a new start, but as July wears on, I’m not sure Scottsdale is my home anymore.

  I still love the desert and the red rocks by Fountain Hills and Mummy Mountain and Camelback Mountain, located above my neighborhood, but I miss seeing Dad. He and I found our own rhythm and relationship. It wasn’t the one with Mom in the center, but it was one we both accepted, and found comfortable.

  I miss Diana, too. I don’t have any single girl friends in Scottsdale. Everyone I know here is either a couple friend I made with Andrew, or someone related to work.

  But I need to have a life outside my job. And here I have a good job—a career—and let’s face it, I’m a much better dentist than florist.

  It’s late Thursday afternoon on July 3, the day before the office closes for a three day weekend and the Realtor has called twice to let me know that we’re going to get an offer on the house, and then, that the offer has come in and she’d like
to present it to me later, once I’m off work.

  I’m racing to finish my last appointment of the day—a crown—when Helene comes back to let me know there’s a delivery for me and I need to sign for it personally.

  “Can’t you pretend to be me?” I ask, lifting my protective goggles.

  “I didn’t think of that. And now it’s too late.”

  I sigh. “All right. I’ll be there. I just need a few minutes.”

  Helene disappears and I finish cementing the crown, then carefully scrape away any excess cement. The crown looks good, and I ask my patient to gently bite down. I inspect her bite and the fit, and that looks good, too.

  “Go easy for the first day,” I tell her. “Avoid anything too hard or sticky for twenty-four hours but after that you should have no problem.”

  My patient is delighted. “That’s it? All done?”

  “Yep.”

  “It didn’t even hurt today. You didn’t even have to numb me!”

  “If anything should bother you, or something doesn’t feel right, don’t hesitate to call the office and we’ll get you right back in, okay?” I stand up and wash my hands, swapping places with the dental assistant who will finish cleaning up so the patient can leave.

  At the front desk I ask about the delivery and Helene points to a dark brown leather book on the counter. There’s a scratch on the lower right corner.

  My heart does a funny double beat. Edie’s diary. I grab it, open it, flipping through the thin pages, but they are all there. No stains. No tears. It’s safe. It’s back.

  I hug it to my chest, and look at Helene, shocked.

  She smiles at me, and points to the lobby. I open the door and exit into the waiting room, and there’s Craig . . . lean and tan, a little rumpled, but still ridiculously handsome.

  I should feel weird about our last night in Berlin, but I’m too delighted to see the diary to feel anything but pleasure. “I can’t believe it,” I say, hugging the diary tighter. “You found it. How?”

  “Someone turned it in to that bakery on the corner of Rosenthaler and Torstrasse, but because they were closed when we were walking around, we never left a card there. One of the girls who works there was telling someone from the newsstand down the street about finding this old diary from 1944, written in English, and the man from the newsstand remembered us. He dug up my card and gave it to the girl, but the girl forgot about the diary for a few weeks. Eventually she came across my card again and e-mailed me a few days ago.”

  “Just a few days ago?”

  He nods. “So I flew over and picked it up, and here I am.”

  Here he is.

  My chest grows tight. “You just flew in?”

  “Into LAX and then I caught a connection to Phoenix.”

  “I can’t believe it. I never thought we’d see it again.”

  “I hoped we would.”

  I feel my lips tug and slowly curve up. “Such an optimist.”

  “Because it’s you.” He gives me a hug then, and kisses the top of my head. “I’m flying back out tonight, but Chad and I have talked, and we want you to have this diary. We both agree Aunt Edie would want you to have it—”

  “I can’t.” I step back and look down at the diary. I’m so glad it’s been found, and I’m very glad to see it, but it’s not mine. It doesn’t belong with me. “This needs to stay with your family. It’s your family’s history. It needs to go back in her boxes with her important papers—”

  “No one will read it.”

  “Maybe not right now, but later, you and Chad will have kids and they’ll want to know about this fascinating aunt of yours. And it’ll be your responsibility to tell them . . . your responsibility to share Edie’s diaries and letters with them.”

  I put the diary in his hands and for a split second I hold his hands and the book, but then I step away.

  I kind of miss him as I step away. “I feel bad that you came so far.”

  “I don’t. It’s good to see you.”

  I can’t help smiling a bit. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  “Things going okay?”

  “Working a lot, but I don’t mind.”

  “Good.”

  I hold my breath, unsure what to do or say. It is good to see him. He feels a bit like . . . home.

  He gestures to the door. “I better get going.”

  I suddenly don’t want him to go. I want him to stay and have dinner with me and tell me about his brother’s wedding and what’s happening in Napa and if he’s seen Diana or my dad or Ruth . . .

  “Okay,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “That’s not necessary. I know you’ve got to work.”

  “I just saw my last patient.” I walk to the door, open it, and squint against the bright sun as a blast of blistering heat reaches me. “Every day it’s a shock,” I say.

  “It’s hot.”

  “And yet it’s only 106 today.”

  He laughs and we walk to the parking lot and he leads me to a sedate dark blue sedan.

  “Nice rental car,” I tease.

  “You think Bruiser would like it?”

  “Only if he could hang out the window.”

  He laughs as he unlocks the driver’s door and reaches in to place Edie’s diary on the console. “I’m not sure he’d love the heat, though.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” I agree. “Bulldogs don’t do well in the desert.”

  “I guess that means you have to come visit us.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He wraps me in his arms and hugs me, and for a moment I bury my face against his chest and breathe him in, and for a split second I’m tempted to give in to his strength and warmth. It would be so easy to just lean on him . . . so easy to soak up his kindness.

  But it wouldn’t be fair to him. I’m not ready to love . . . not ready to give, not really even ready to receive.

  I’m not and it kills me because if I were in a different place, Craig would be so perfect . . .

  Perfect for me.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Sorry for how I left you in Berlin.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It wasn’t okay. It was a terrible good-bye.”

  His hand reaches up to cup the back of my head before he runs it down, smoothing my hair. “I think the problem was the lack of good-bye.”

  But he’s not angry. There’s humor in his inflection. I can hear the smile in his voice.

  I draw a deep breath and break free, and tip my head back to look at him, really look at him, and I see a tall man with dark blond hair and a bristly jaw and shadows and circles beneath his eyes.

  He looks tired. Travel weary. And he did it for Edie . . .

  Well, Edie and me.

  My heart hurts, but it’s a bittersweet ache because I feel things for him, but the timing is just off. I’m not ready to be open, yet, and he deserves a woman who can love him freely. Without reservation.

  “Take care of yourself,” I tell him.

  “You, too.”

  And then I’m walking back to the office, hoping the frigid air conditioner will chill—or at least numb—the ache in my heart.

  THIRTY-TWO

  I work through the next few weeks of the hot summer, putting in significant hours at the office so I can see Dad at the end of the month.

  I return again mid-August for the weekend, and Diana tells me she’s bought tickets for a concert on the lawn Labor Day weekend and is hoping I can come back up and go with her. I hadn’t planned on returning so soon but Dad offers to cover the ticket for me, saying it’d be nice to see me again, especially if I can join him “and the boys” for brunch. Dad hasn’t bought me a ticket to any place since I was an undergrad at UW. I promise to come back up.

  Labor Day weekend is really fun. I arrive Saturday morning and help Diana and Carolyn decorate the poles of a huge wedding tent with garlands of fresh flowers, and then meet Dad for lunch before joining Diana for the outdoor concert
and picnic on the winery lawn.

  I see Craig from afar with a group of people that includes his brother Chad. It looks like a couples event, with everyone paired up, and Craig’s date is a petite redhead. I find myself watching him—them—and I’m curious. Okay, envious.

  I’d like to be the one with him. I’d like it to be me that he leans in to, and me that he listens to, and me that he smiles at.

  I’d like to be the girl that makes him laugh.

  I’d like to be the girl he kisses.

  Wait. I was the girl he kissed. And he did it really, really well.

  I turn away then, not wanting to risk seeing him lean in for the kiss. I’m not curious anymore. I’m just plain jealous.

  Resolutely I face forward and smile fiercely, determined to look happy. I’m going to have a good time if it kills me.

  It’s killing me.

  “What’s wrong?” Diana asks.

  “Nothing.” And then I slap the blanket. “No. Yes. Craig. He’s here. He’s on a date. With an itty-bitty redhead.”

  Diana wrinkles her nose. “I saw. I hoped you wouldn’t see. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not as if we had anything.” Well, we kind of did.

  I focus hard on the music for several minutes. I tell myself to savor it, and take it all in. After all, it’s one of Edie’s German boys, Beethoven.

  And then, I don’t know what happens. I don’t know if it’s the music or the warm balmy night, so much like that June night in Berlin, but I get to my feet and march across the lawn to the big plaid blankets where Craig and Chad and their friends are.

  Chad sees me first. “Hello, Dr. McAdams.”

  Craig tilts his head back and looks up at me. He rises and steps around the others to kiss my cheek. “Didn’t know you were here this weekend.”

  “Diana invited me.”

  He gestures to the group on the blanket. “You know Chad. Have you met his wife Meg, yet? And these are Meg’s sisters—Kit and Kit’s husband Jude, and Kit’s fraternal twin, Brianna Brennan.”

  I say hello and shake hands all the while thinking—he’s either on a date with Brianna, or they are both there as singles—but I’m not going to return to Diana without seizing the moment to ask Craig, “Feel like having brunch with me and eight or nine old men tomorrow morning?”