Same Time Next Summer

by Holly Jacobs

  He opened the door and tried to imagine how she’d see his apartment, as she stepped inside.

  He spent so little time here. The room was functional, but spartan. A couch to sit on, a coffee table to eat at, and a television for an occasional game. His home office looked more lived in than this room.

  “I came to talk to you.”

  “I assumed.” He looked at her hand, trying to see if she was wearing his ring, but she’d put her hands in her coat pockets.

  “Can we sit down?” she asked.

  “Have a seat.” He nodded toward the couch, not that there was any other option.

  She sat gingerly on one end and he sat on the other. Before he could say anything, she said, “About Ross—”

  “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “But I need you to understand that I—”

  “I think I understand more than you think I do.” That was a convoluted sentence at best. What was it about Carolyn Kendal? She could always be counted on to make him feel as if he were ten again. “You don’t need to explain anything about Ross. I know you, Carolyn. And even if I didn’t, George does.”

  “George?” Her expression said she wasn’t sure she’d trust in George’s insights.

  “He said, and I quote, You’re an idiot if you don’t know she’s always loved you, just like you’ve always loved her.”

  “George said that? The same George who had to be rushed to the emergency room because he got an M&M stuck in his nose. That George Foster?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Wow. I think I’m going to give him a big kiss next time I see him.”

  “Carolyn, I might have had a moment of concern, but it was just a brief moment, just like you might have needed a moment to consider Ross’s proposal. But in the end we both reached the same conclusion, we’re a done deal.”

  “So?” The one word was a question, but beneath that there was a demand.

  “So what?” he asked.

  “Can I assume that the sparseness of your living room means you’ve been packing? I mean, I don’t see any boxes, but they may be in another room.”

  “Before we discuss my packing, I’d like to know why you aren’t wearing my ring?”

  “Because, as far as I know, it’s customary for the man to ask the woman to marry him, to put the ring on her finger and seal the deal.”

  He laughed, feeling suddenly euphoric. Though he’d been sure—well, at least, pretty sure—that Carolyn would come to him, the fact that she was here told him all he needed to know. She loved him. They were going to build a life together.

  It’s not often that a lifelong dream comes true, he realized. “Seal the deal? That’s romantic,” he teased.

  “You already brought up deals, saying we were a done one. Plus, you’re a lawyer, I thought you’d like that.” She paused. “But since you didn’t do this right, I figured I’d have to take care of it myself.” She knelt in front of him, and pulled a stone out of her pocket. She held it out so he could see it. “Do you recognize it?”

  He nodded. He remembered the day.

  1970

  STEPHAN AND CAROLYN HAD been walking down the water’s edge for the last half hour. He bent down and picked up a really cool-looking rock. It was one of those white pebbles he’d so often seen in the water, but this one wasn’t round, it had bumpy edges and looked like one of the clouds that made the best shadows on the beach. He stuck it in his pocket.

  One cool rock didn’t make up for the time they were wasting.

  “Come on, Caro, I don’t want to look for any more stupid beach glass,” ten-year-old Stephan complained. “It’s such a girly thing to do.”

  “Don’t I go fishing with you? And how about last week when we built that driftwood fort?”

  “Yeah, those were fun, but this isn’t.”

  “If you find me five pieces, we can quit and go play in your fort.”

  He sighed. “Okay.”

  They walked along the water’s edge, and Carolyn kept finding pieces of glass. Stephan spotted a bunch, as well, but only leaned over to pick up the bigger two. He figured he’d take his time ’cause Carolyn really liked doing this girly stuff now and then. Most of the time, they played his stuff, so he didn’t mind doing this sometimes, but he had to complain or George and Frank would tease him. So he moaned the whole time, but he really wasn’t in a big hurry.

  “Hey, look at this green piece,” Carolyn practically crowed. “It’s huge and so smooth.”

  “I don’t get it. I mean, it’s just glass.”

  “Nah, it’s glass that’s had all its edges rubbed off. When it first broke, it could cut you, but now it’s smooth and clear and beautiful.”

  “Rocks are just as nice, but you don’t get all excited about them.”

  “I would if there was a pretty enough rock.”

  He thought about the rock in his pocket. He’d kinda thought about keeping it, but he knew Carolyn would like it, so he pulled it out. “Here.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a stone. I sorta thought it looked…” He paused, embarrassed.

  “Oh, it looks like a cloud, doesn’t it? That is a cool rock.” She handed it back to him.

  He didn’t take it. “Nah, you can keep it. I mean, you’re all girly about your glass, you’ll probably really like a rock that looks like a cloud.”

  “I do. Thanks. But Stephan, who’re you calling a girl?”

  He knew this game signaled the end of glass-combing. “I was wrong, you ain’t no girl, you’re an elf.”

  He watched her carefully stuff the rock into her pocket, and knew she’d probably keep it. He liked thinking of her looking at it over the winter, when he was in Detroit and she was in Cleveland.

  As soon as it was in her pocket, she screamed, “Who are you calling an elf?” and sprinted in his direction.

  He turned and raced down the beach toward his fort. Taunting, “Can’t catch me,” over his shoulder.

  CAROLYN HELD THE CLOUD rock out to Stephan now.

  “You kept that all these years?” He’d forgotten all about the small stone, but knowing that she hadn’t, that she’d held on to it for the last twenty-plus years warmed him.

  “It always made me think of you. And it seems right that I’m giving it back to you now when I ask, Stephan, will you marry me?”

  He took the stone. “Yes.”

  “Good. If you’d said no, I was going to sue you for breach of contract.”

  He could picture it, Carolyn taking him to court. The image made him smile. “You were?”

  “Like I said, you’re a lawyer. I figured you’d like that, as well.”

  She reached into her pocket and handed him the velvet box with his grandmother’s ring. “Your turn.”

  She sat on the couch, primly, staring at some point to his left, as if she didn’t see him.

  He knew he was still grinning ear-to-ear, and suspected it probably wasn’t his best look, but he was so happy if he didn’t do something he’d explode with it. “Caro, will you marry me?” he practically whispered. “I’m crazy about you, and I want to build a life with you. Marry me.”

  Even though she’d already asked him the same question, even though he knew she was going to say yes, relief flooded his system as she slipped the ring on her finger. “Yes, Stephan. I’ll marry you.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her, sealing himself on her. Needing her to understand that this was it. This was the real deal. They were a team.

  He could have stayed lost in her, but in the end his need to ask one more question won out. “How long?”

  She held her hand out and admired the ring on it as she asked, “How long for what?”

  “Till we’re married. Until you’re mine.”

  She dropped her hand into his. “I’m already yours, Stephan, heart and soul. We took some detours getting here, but we made it. You’re mine. I’m yours. Nothing’s going to change that. But to answer your question, I’ll marry you a
s soon as you want.” She squeezed his hand, very deliberately, very slowly, three times.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.” She looked around the living area and said, “Why don’t you show me around the rest of the place.”

  “Come this way.”

  He led her into the kitchen, where the small table was set with the good china he’d borrowed from Mrs. Hinkle across the hall. The older woman had practically swooned when he’d told her why he wanted it. She’d even provided the linen tablecloth and napkins.

  The candles were his idea. He’d practically bought out the store. It wasn’t just the candlesticks in the middle of the table, it was candles on every available space in the room. The counter, the stove. He’d have to unplug the smoke alarm when he lit them.

  “Were you expecting someone?” she asked, smiling at the sight.

  “You. It wasn’t really expecting, but rather hoping. I was hoping you’d come tonight and I wanted to be ready. But if you hadn’t come, I’d have been back at Heritage Bay tomorrow, coming for you.”

  She kissed him again, as if she couldn’t do that enough. “Stephan, it’s beautiful. But I have to ask, did you cook?”

  “Just sit down and prepare to be amazed. Close your eyes.”

  She obliged.

  He hurried around the room lighting the candles. He’d thought about cooking when—if—Carolyn came and he’d thought about ordering in. In the end, he decided to go with something he thought would make Carolyn laugh. That was a sound he simply couldn’t get enough of.

  He hurriedly got his surprise ready and when the microwave dinged, he carried the plate to the table. “Voila. Open.”

  He set the china serving plate down with a flourish.

  Carolyn took one look at the Hot Pockets and laughed. “Oh, Stephan, you do know how to treat a girl.”

  “They’re chicken, so I have a nice bottle of white zinf to go with it. White and chicken, right?”

  She laughed even harder as he poured the wine.

  Finally, he asked his most pressing question. “So you said we could get married whenever I wanted. I’d like to say let’s go to Vegas tonight, but I figure our families would do us in. So the question has to be, how long will it take you to put together a wedding?”

  All their talk about waiting, about taking their time, evaporated.

  “How about before the end of this month?” Carolyn asked.

  “Really?”

  She nodded and bit into her Hot Pocket.

  Stephan grinned. “Good, huh?”

  “I take back every diparaging remark I’ve ever made about your cooking. This is the best thing I’ve tasted.”

  “A month. And so much to discuss. We need to talk about the wedding, where we’ll live, how many more kids we’ll have. Three, maybe four? What do you think?”

  Carolyn’s elation momentarily dimmed, and she wasn’t sure why. She’d always wanted more children. But the thought of another baby made her stomach clench. “About kids,” she started.

  “Not tonight.” Stephan took her hand in his. “Let’s just concentrate on the fact you’re here, we’re together and we have the rest of our lives in front of us. No more summer goodbyes.”

  She should tell him now that she didn’t want more kids, but his happy expression made her hold off. Maybe she’d change her mind. Maybe this bad feeling about a baby would disappear. “Let’s eat dinner, then you can show me the rest of your place.”

  “There’s much more to see. A bathroom, and—” He grinned.

  “And?” She prodded.

  He stood and took her hand. “And my bedroom.”

  “As your fiancée, I should see the whole place, and by whole place, I mean your bedroom, too.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh. I mean, we’re engaged. There’s only you and me, and when we go back to the cottage tomorrow, the odds of finding a quiet moment are slim to nil.”

  “I like how you think.”

  “I hope you like a few other things.”

  “Let’s go see.” Stephan smiled.

  He led her to his bedroom and she willingly followed. This was the happily-ever-after she and Stephan deserved, wasn’t it?

  She should have been thrilled that everything was going to work out for them after all. And yet, an image of a baby flashed before her eyes and again she felt the bone-deep knowledge that she didn’t want to have any more children. She’d explain it to Stephan…now, though, she wanted to concentrate on this man.

  This moment.

  This happily-ever-after.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Five Years Later, 1999

  EMMA WAS A BEAUTIFUL girl on the brink of womanhood. Her dark-brown hair reached her shoulders now, a style which gave her a more mature look, Carolyn had assured her the week before when they’d got it cut.

  Sometimes she watched her daughter and wondered where her baby had gone. She was almost twelve. The birthday after that, thirteen. A teenager.

  Maybe that was why Carolyn had spent the last few weeks reminiscing. Remembering Emma as a baby, as a toddler, Spencer’s Rock, the cottage on Maple Grove Road, Port Clinton, Put-in Bay, her marriage to Ross, Emma’s accident, Stephan…always Stephan. It seemed everything reminded her of the past.

  It was May. She watched out the window of her small Parma house, waiting for Emma’s bus. She glanced at her watch, knowing it should pull up at any minute, and, as if on cue, it did. And she tried to shake off the feeling of nostalgia as she saw Emma’s stormy expression. The closer Emma got to her teens, the more volatile her emotions became.

  Maybe she could jolly Emma out of her obvious mood, so pretending not to notice Emma’s current funk, Carolyn went to the front door and called out, “Hi, Em.”

  Emma didn’t say a word, but the look she cast in Carolyn’s direction said clearly there would be no jollying her out of this snit.

  Emma threw her bookbag on the bench without breaking her stride, and continued into the kitchen.

  Carolyn followed on her heels. There was only the slightest hint of a limp when Emma walked. It became more pronounced when she moved at a faster pace, but truly, it was amazing. Emma had regained control of most of her fine motor skills in her right hand, as well, though she continued to write with her left.

  Emma walked straight to the cookie jar, and helped herself to several ginger snaps.

  Normally, Carolyn might have been tempted to suggest a healthier afterschool snack, but today she let it go, and instead poured a big glass of milk. She set it down in front of Emma and took the seat across the table from her. “What happened, sweetie?”

  Emma slammed her cookie down, and it crumbled into pieces. “It’s not fair. I worked so hard. Harder than any of the other girls.”

  “You didn’t make the team?” Carolyn asked gently. She hadn’t been keen on Emma trying out for basketball, but she couldn’t shelter her forever. She’d warned her it might be hard, but Emma had so wanted to play.

  Emma shook her head as tears of frustration glittered in her eyes. “I got cut. I really thought I could do it, but I should’ve known better.”

  “Oh, Em, you’ve come so far.”

  “Not far enough to make the basketball team.”

  She could hear Emma’s frustration, see her small body almost quivering with it. “Honey—”

  Cookies and milk were forgotten as Emma’s frustrations overflowed. “I’m still in the stupid classes ’cause I can’t read right, I can’t hit the basket no matter how many times I try, and I run with a limp.”

  Watching Emma struggle daily tore out Carolyn’s heart. She wished Emma understood what a miracle it was she’d come so far in the five years since the accident. But Caro knew she wouldn’t hear the words. So she settled for simply trying to empathize. “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. You can run and read without a problem.”

  “You’re great at math and science,” she pointed out. “And not being good at a sport doesn
’t mean anything. I can’t get a basketball through the net to save my life.”

  “Mom.” Emma’s voice still shook with frustration.

  “I mean it,” Carolyn insisted. “When I was little, all my friends played sports. I was the girl who always had a book in her hand. I was never athletic. Nothing I did was going to change that. Face it, honey, the fact you didn’t make the team may have less to do with your accident, and more to do with your mother.”

  “Mom…” Emma’s tone lightened, and there was the merest hint of a smile.

  “Genetics were against you. Even your father never played basketball. Golf was his game, even back in college. Maybe you should go out with him some weekend and try. It might be your sport.” She tried to think of another option. “And we could go bowling this weekend.”

  “Bowling, Mom?” It was obvious that as a preteen, Emma felt she was far too superior for something like bowling with her parent.

  “Okay, so it’s not quite the same as basketball, but you’ll find your sport, Emma, and things at school will get easier. It was better this year than last year.”

  “I’m still in stupid classes.”

  They’d had this discussion many times and Carolyn used the same response. “You know they’re not stupid classes. They’re specialized and able to help you—”

  “Overcome my disabilities,” Emma repeated by rote. “My tests show my intelligence is well above average, it’s just taking me a while to process words. Yeah, Mom, I know. When I had my accident, no one else thought I’d wake up, but you did, so you waited. They sent Uncle Stephan to make you leave, but he stayed, too. And I woke up. And you knew at that moment how lucky you were.”

  “Guess I’ve told you that story a few times?” Carolyn asked with a smile.

  Emma snorted. “Every time I get upset ’cause I’m stupid.”

  Carolyn just stared at her daughter, waiting.

  Emma sighed. “Challenged.”

  “And not so very challenged anymore. You’re still gaining ground every day. Your last reading test was amazing. You’re almost up to grade level. You’ll be there soon.”

  “But it still takes me longer than anyone else to read the page.”