“Did you want to finish your burger?” he asked me.
I shook my head. I’d made a serious dent in my meal, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to eat another bite. My stomach was roiling uncomfortably. “It was delicious, though. Thanks.”
We stayed at Sloppy Joe’s for only a few minutes longer then strolled around Harbor Square, window shopping and chatting about light, superficial things. It was pleasant enough, all things considered, but I couldn’t say I felt bonded to Kristopher as a result. And when he walked me back to my car and asked me out for another date this weekend, “So we can finally see a movie together,” I found myself making excuses. Delaying.
“I’ll call or text you next week, then,” he said, undaunted. “I’m going to be doing some recruitment work in the city, but I’m sure we can find a time that suits us both. You can’t be busy every night, right?” He chuckled at the improbability of that.
I was decidedly noncommittal in my response.
And this time when he moved in to hug me, it was a tighter and more insistent gesture than the one after our coffee date. I could tell he wanted a kiss on the lips, too, not just a peck on the cheek. I turned my head away before he succeeded at either and stepped back immediately, breaking the connection between us.
“Sorry, Jules. Maybe I’m moving too fast, but I’m a passionate guy, and I’ve missed being with someone like you,” he said, beaming at me. “We can take things slow.” With a wink, he waved and backed away, utterly confident that I saw our burgeoning relationship as he did.
Someone like me?
The phrase struck me as odd…and not complimentary. As I got in my car and drove home from downtown Mirabelle Harbor, I couldn’t help but think that Kristopher had mixed up his words, not merely the signals I’d been trying to send him. His behavior felt less to me like passion and more like possession.
Worrisome that he didn’t seem to know the difference.
Chapter Nine
The next night, ten seconds after walking into the reception room where the Franklin College reunion was being held, I knew I shouldn’t have come.
Vicky Bernier, the young high-school French teacher I’d met during the Quest group’s wine outing, wasn’t the problem. We’d driven down to the event together and had a fabulous time singing along with the radio in the car. She was friendly, very smart, and had a great voice—not to mention some hysterically funny dance moves to accompany the songs we were listening to. If I’d known what was ahead of us for the evening, I would have insisted that we just stay in the car and drive around Chicago, blasting Maroon 5 and Fall Out Boy.
Vicky squinted as we entered the dimly lit room, glanced around, and then pointed to a table weighed down with drinks, appetizers, and some sweets. “Punch?” she asked me.
I began to nod, but then I saw a distinctive figure standing by the table and staring right at us.
Ben Saintsbury, of course.
“Um—” I said to Vicky.
“What?”
A leggy blonde joined Ben by the refreshments table. She invaded his personal space with the cool assurance that this would be welcome. From what I witnessed of Ben’s reaction, she was more than correct in her assumption. He splayed both of his hands across her ass and pulled her closer than the skin-tight spandex she was wearing.
I winced.
“You go ahead, Vicky. I have to use the ladies’ room.” I raced out of there, puzzled at the oddities of my own reaction.
I’d been the one to break up with Ben. I’d felt guilty about disappointing him, but I’d never missed him and I’d never had any interest in getting back together with him once we were apart. So, I knew what I felt wasn’t jealousy. But, in a strange way, perhaps it was longing. Like when I watched Chance and Nia together.
I sighed, adjusted my makeup, and smoothed down a few stray hairs, studying my reflection critically in the bathroom mirror. Not terrible, considering I was now thirty-six and the mother of a pre-teen. Not a young sexpot either, though.
Just as I was thinking these very thoughts, who should walk in?
The blonde, of course, in her body-hugging blue…er, dress? (Not quite sure what to call her attire. It was part skirt, part scuba-wear.) With her spiked heels, she was at least five inches taller than me in my old black flats and, up close, I could tell she was at least ten years younger.
I hastily slipped out of the ladies’ room, but who was waiting just outside the door?
Ben, naturally. I should have guessed.
Cursing my lack of premonition, I was reminded of that classic saying, “You often meet your fate on the path you take to avoid it.”
He looked at me expectantly. He knew he had me trapped.
“Hi, Ben,” I said weakly. “How have you been doing?”
“Great!” he exclaimed. And, indeed, even up this close and in brighter lighting, he looked great.
“Glad to hear it. Well, you have fun. Enjoy the reunion.” I took a few steps away.
He laughed. “What? Wait! You can’t just run away like that, Julia. I need a moment of glory here.” He angled his torso and puffed his chest out in the direction of the bathroom door. “I’m fit. I’ve still got all my hair. And I’m here with a hot babe. You’re supposed to be impressed, dammit.” He crossed his arms and grinned.
In spite of myself, I grinned back at him. “Okay, yes. I’m very impressed, Ben. Well done.”
He bowed slightly. “Thank you. I finally feel vindicated. All you need to do now to complete my sense of victory is admit that you’re sorry you ever broke up with me during college and that your husband can’t compare to my awesomeness in any way. Although, I noticed you didn’t bring him tonight. So, maybe that means you’re on the market again, hmm?”
I knew he was being flippant—that was just Ben’s particular style of humor—but I pressed my lips together to keep them from quivering. Even though I’d come a long way toward the acceptance stage when it came to Adam’s death, the jab of pain that accompanied the memory of losing him still hurt like hell. But there was no way I’d let myself get all teary-eyed in front of Ben.
“That’s, um, an interesting theory,” I said, weighing whether or not to tell him the truth. Not only would it lessen his sense of triumph, which he was clearly reveling in, but I didn’t want to be Julia Crane the Sad Widow tonight. Not in his eyes or in anyone else’s. I’d had more than seven months of that already, and it had grown tiresome. I always appreciated empathy and even sympathy, when genuine. Pity, however, I didn’t need.
“Alrighty then. So, what’s the real reason?” he urged, the slightest bit of something feral in his smile, which reminded me anew of why his behavior had turned me off in college. He was razor sharp, no doubt about it, and witty when he wanted to be, but he was always on the edge of being cruel. Never quite able to disguise his contempt for anyone who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—play along with his little mind games.
After the frustration of being with Kristopher last night and his clueless remarks about parenthood, not to mention Dane’s snappish accusations after his play rehearsal, I’d had just about enough of men leveling their judgments at me. I’d given Ben his “big moment,” but one was all I could spare.
“I’m not on the market, Ben, but I appreciate your interest,” I said dryly. “I do have a friend here who’s waiting for me, though, and I need to find her now. It’s been good seeing you again, and I’m glad to know you’re doing so well. Have a wonderful time with your hot babe tonight.”
He stared at me with a slightly deflated look on his face, shrugged in a show of indifference, and waved me away. I went. Quickly.
Before I returned to the dim lighting and the cacophony of the reception area, I checked my phone for texts or missed calls from Analise. We’d spoken again this morning and, as the camp counselor had predicted, things looked brighter for my daughter on a new day and after a restful night’s sleep.
But, still, she was my priority. And if she needed me for any reason, even before our
scheduled chat time, I wanted to be there for her without a second’s delay.
However, there were no messages, and I had no excuse to postpone my return to the reunion festivities.
Vicky immediately introduced me to some old friends of hers—a small group of jovial people, huddled at one circular table in the corner of the room. They were, each and every one of them, as friendly and kind as Vicky herself. And, for over an hour, we sat together, making small talk, snacking on appetizers, reminiscing about former professors that we’d loved and a few that we’d despised, and comparing notes on our various school districts.
It was, in a word, nice. But just nice.
I found my mind drifting back to the people who’d inhabited my past. To Ben, of course, who was making a show of nibbling on the ear of his blond bombshell across the room. I remembered him doing that to me a few times when we were together. It felt oddly animalistic. Such a public display of affection. I also remembered that I’d rather liked it back then. I’d liked being with someone who openly showed his attachment to me. Who was proud of our physical connection.
And Ben, to his credit, had actually been pretty good in bed. He’d been my first…and he’d managed to make the experience funny and sweet, which was more than many of my friends had reported about their first times having sex. I was always grateful to him for that.
But he was so insecure during college and, given what I was witnessing tonight, that didn’t seem to have changed much. Ben still wanted to win me over. I would have thought he wouldn’t care about my opinion by now, but he was still so desperate to impress me. To impress everyone.
On the other hand, there was Kristopher. I suspected he had changed in some key ways but that he wished he hadn’t. He came across as longing for those old days. Trying to recreate them. Willing to force them into reality, if necessary. But life just didn’t work that way.
Come to think of it, Ben, Kristopher, and even Dane seemed to want the same thing: To go back in time and reclaim some aspect of their younger selves. Were all men in their late thirties like that? Unsure of themselves, wistful, battling regret over the passing of their youth? Or were these three guys just hitting their midlife crisis a decade too soon?
I wondered about Adam. He’d been confident, I always thought. Secure in his professional choices, his family life, his overall accomplishments. Had he lived longer, might he have changed in a few years’ time? Become disillusioned in some way? Gotten bored, even with the happy life we’d created together?
Would I?
Perhaps everything would have been different if Adam and I hadn’t met when we did. Add a string of unfulfilling relationships, a broken engagement or two, a failed marriage to someone else…and maybe both of us would have been left wishing we could go back to our high-school or college selves again. As it was, I’d been second guessing my every reaction over the past several months. Without Adam around, I wasn’t sure who I was anymore, or who I wished I could be.
“Another cocktail before they serve dinner, Julia?” Vicky asked me. “I’m going to get myself a strawberry margarita this time.”
“Oh, that’s too tempting,” I said, jumping up from the table. “I’ll go with you.”
As we walked to get our drinks, I knew that from the perspective of anyone looking in on me—and I’d caught Ben glancing curiously in my direction more than once in the past hour—I appeared to be calm, contented, and having a lovely time.
But I was acting, just as much as a professional actor like Dane Tyler might act when putting on a live performance. I knew no one around me, however friendly or nice, could see into my heart.
I missed my daughter.
And I missed my late husband.
But, surprisingly, what I missed most of all was being fully myself.
Chapter Ten
One of the downsides of living in a small suburb was that the people in it knew where to find you, even when you didn’t want to be found.
Especially then.
Which was how it came to pass that, despite my better judgment and my vow never to lay eyes on the popular Dane Tyler in person again (I could hardly avoid seeing him onscreen), I got talked into attending a radio interview and an afternoon tea reception for the asshat.
“But you have to come to the radio station,” my best friend informed me Monday morning. Shar knew I’d be grocery shopping at Mirabelle Market then, as was my habit during vacations, and she cornered me in the middle of the produce section. “My brother is doing the on-air interview!”
In my opinion, Shar had too many brothers. Not that I was going to tell her that. The one she was referring to today, Blake, happened to be a DJ at 102.5 LOVE FM, Mirabelle Harbor’s only local radio station.
“No,” I said to her for the second (third?) time, pretty sure I couldn’t have been clearer in my enunciation.
“Julia—”
“I told you how badly things went with Dane after the dress rehearsal. I don’t want to be in the same room with him ever again. Period.”
“But he apologized to you. He sent you flowers. You can put your differences aside for Blake’s sake. He needs a healthy listening audience at the reception. His job depends on whether or not the bosses think he’s making a good impression on station’s fans and is drumming up more community interaction. If Blake can get enough people to show up and be excited, the head guys will be pleased. And if the bosses are pleased, he’ll be able to keep doing his show. He was the last DJ hired, and he’ll be the first person they let go if the listenership is down.” Shar took a couple of deep breaths before continuing.
“Look, Julia, I love my brother, but you know how impulsive Blake can be. This is the only occupation that has held his interest in years, and he was the one who suggested the Dane Tyler interview to the upper management. He really does need for this to work.” Her vocal tone, facial expression, and body language were all pleading with me to go along with her plan.
Usually, I would do whatever she asked without question. But this?
I groaned.
All I knew for sure about Blake Michaelsen was that he was as talkative as his kid brother Chance was quiet. He had a snarkiness about him that made him stand out among the Michaelsen siblings. And, as his younger sister had said, he tended to be more shoot-from-the-hip impulsive than all of them, with the possible exception of Chance’s twin, Chandler, who lived somewhere in Virginia. Or was it Georgia. I couldn’t remember. That guy just kept moving.
So, I understood Shar’s fears. She wanted Blake to be successful and contended or he might leave the area. And Shar was extremely clannish when it came to her brothers. She was determined to keep them nearby.
I sighed. “I’d like to help, but it would be far worse if there was a scene. What if the awkwardness and antagonism between Dane and me reappeared today? That would be the worst thing that could happen for your brother.”
“Let me say this again—Dane Tyler, Mega Star of the Silver Screen, apologized to you. I read the note he sent you. I saw the flower arrangement. It was as big as Nebraska. He wants to see you again. He gave you VIP tickets to his post-play party—”
“Which, as you’ll recall, I gave to you and Elsie. Why? Because I don’t want to see him again. It would just be too weird.”
Shar mumbled something that sounded like “hopeless case” and crossed her arms. I thought this meant I’d managed to get off the hook.
I should have known better.
“Listen up, girlfriend, you are my best friend. When you need my help, I’m there for you, right? And when I need your help—”
“Seriously? You’re really gonna play the best friend card on this one? It’s that important to you?”
Shar grinned in victory. She knew she had me. I knew it, too.
“It is,” she said. “You know that expression, ‘to kill two birds with one stone,’ yes?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, this event is the equivalent of killing the whole flock with a really big
teacake.”
“That’s one dangerous dessert.”
She laughed. “All I’m saying is that a lot of good things will happen if you’re there this afternoon. We’ll get to help Blake out. We’ll show community spirit to the organizers on all sides of the event. We’ll keep the balance of levelheadedness intact.” She raised a meaningful eyebrow.
There were, we both knew, some community members who could be kind of inappropriate and tactless.
“You and Dane will get some closure, and he’ll have a chance to apologize to you in person,” she continued. When I began to protest, she cut me off. “I know he won’t pick a fight with you, Julia. You’ll be able to part as friends. Plus, you’ll get to see inside the radio station, which is a cool place to visit, and we’ll all get to eat teacakes and pastries from The Gala, so we’ll be supporting Nia’s family business. There is literally no downside.” And she held up a warning finger to keep me from arguing back.
When Shar put it that way, it was nearly impossible to disagree.
“Besides all that,” she added, “we’ll have an excuse to go get manicures before the event. C’mon! I’ll help you with these groceries..”
~*~
After I’d gotten the few food items I needed and dropped them off at home, Shar and I went to the salon for manicures and then changed quickly for the radio interview-slash-afternoon tea reception.
Shar was right about the station being an interesting place to visit. I’d seen a few larger broadcasting buildings in Chicago, mostly for television news, and one other radio station in the city, years ago. But I’d never gone into Mirabelle Harbor’s own small station before.
There was just one soundproof booth, filled with equipment that I had no idea how to operate. Blake, however, looked comfortable with the various buttons and levers, and we could see him through the clear glass from the hallway outside of the booth.
He waved to his sister and to me when he spotted us, but he had his headphones on and looked pretty busy getting things organized. It reminded me of the small radio station that Minnie Driver’s character worked at in the film Grosse Pointe Blank—only without John Cusask and a bunch of hitmen running around.
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