Never Too Late

by Ana Balen

  Which led me to my second realization, I came back for him.

  I didn’t want to admit it even to myself at first, but when I thought about living my life, it was always by his side.

  Even when I was with Nathaniel, I could never imagine our future. Sure, five years down the road, I could with some difficulty see myself working side by side, but ten years? Fifteen?

  The same face would be in my mind, and it was Dylan’s.

  And the moment I stepped back into Hopeful, even before I knew he was back, I decided to abandon my life in Seattle and come live here. When in reality, I decided to wait and see if Dylan would come back.

  Come back and reconsider his decision.

  Come and take me back.

  Which meant he was right. I needed to get out of town.

  I needed to get away from Hopeful, from him. If I didn’t, he would only break my heart again. And I barely managed to survive it the first time.

  A bottle of wine later, I decided to stay until after Christmas. I figured I deserved one last Christmas tradition of my grandmother’s. And since I was here, I didn’t want to miss the decorating ceremony.

  I missed too much already.

  There was no harm in giving myself this one last piece of my history.

  “Are you ready?” Christine’s voice came out from behind me and I turned around to see her standing near the door holding a doorknob, ready to start the day.

  “Yes, sorry.” I cleared my throat and blinked rapidly to chase away the tears that started to gather. “Send the first patient in, please.” The good thing about getting medical training in Seattle was that it was constantly busy, you always had a new patient and not a lot of time to spend with the old ones, so my formal voice was something that never got away.

  Christine turned and opened the door. “Zara, come in,” and I looked up just in time to see a familiar man with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes that threw daggers at me, walking in.

  And in his arms, he had a little girl who had the same hair as him. Only hers came to the middle of her back.

  I stood up, not knowing what to do or what was going on. I wasn’t ready for another shouting episode from him.

  I already decided I was going to leave; I just couldn’t leave these people so abruptly. Especially now, when the flu came.

  “This is Zara, she’s six, has a fever, cough, and she’s been throwing up Friday night. Her dad said he tried to get the fever to break and did give Zara fluids, but with no luck. Everything she put in her mouth came right back up. It stopped now, but her stomach gets upset whenever she drinks or tries to eat,” Christine whispered, handing me the file.

  Zara?

  Her dad?

  Oh, God. Dylan had a daughter.

  The realization that he had a daughter sucker punched me and took my breath away. I had to grab the desk in front of me just to stay on my feet.

  I never considered that he had a family. The thought never even crossed my mind.

  And even seeing just the back of her head as she snuggled into her dad, I knew she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

  How could she not be?

  She was his.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, not looking away as Dylan sat in the chair in front of my desk and hoisted Zara in his arms.

  The moment Christine closed the door behind her, he hissed at me, “Don’t think I changed my mind. I still want you to leave.”

  I didn’t say anything, just glanced at Zara’s back quickly.

  I didn’t know how their dynamic worked, but I didn’t think he would be openly mean to anyone in front of his daughter.

  “She’s asleep,” he muttered, answering my unspoken question.

  “You can put her on the bed,” I whispered, indicating the examination table that was by the wall to my right.

  Something washed over his face when I did.

  Something that was so beautiful and so familiar it was like a balm to my battered heart. And I wanted to have more time to look at it and maybe get it to start closing the wound, but he hid it before I got the chance.

  I could see his shoulders got tense for some reason, but he kept looking at me, not saying anything. I indicated to the bed again with my head and opened Zara’s file so that I wouldn’t witness that angry look when it came back.

  “Christine said she’s had a fever and was throwing up since Friday night,” I said quietly, not wanting to wake up the little girl.

  When there was no answer, I looked up to see Dylan standing near the table, holding Zara’s hand. He was looking at me with that familiar look again, but his posture was tense. It seemed like every muscle in his body was ready to pounce or probably scoop up his daughter and run away from here.

  From me.

  “Yeah,” he muttered after a few seconds, looking down at her, the look on his face still there but now even more pronounced. And I remembered.

  He would look at me like that whenever I said something funny, or did something silly, or after he would kiss me.

  But my favorite time was after we were done making love. That was when that look came out full force and my soul would bathe in it, sagging in content.

  It was a look of wonder mixed with endless gentleness.

  Like he couldn’t quite believe I was real.

  And everything that was happening was true.

  I missed that look.

  I didn’t know how much I missed it until I watched him giving it to his daughter.

  And I wanted it back.

  But even though I knew I couldn’t get it back, he didn’t want me, he made that clear years ago. I was still glad he had someone in his life he could give it to.

  After that, I stood up, pushed my want and need to the side, and went and did my job.

  And all the while, I wished he would look at me one more time.

  He didn’t.

  It was late.

  I was tired.

  Still, I didn’t go straight home. I went to take a stroll down the Main Street of Hopeful to see the decorations.

  The lights were hanging across the street from streetlamp to streetlamp and were hanging low. The soft yellow glow of them made everything look softer.

  There were bells, flowers, sometimes even the enormous candy canes on the doors of various shops. Even the bar had a bottle of whiskey that had red and white paper bursting out of its cork, stuck to its door.

  And as I was walking to the center of it. To where the well stood in the middle of town, the decorations got more elaborate, more quirky, more fun.

  And the street stands were being put up. The festival and ceremony didn’t start for a week, but the town was in full swing for the preparations. And cheers and laughter poured in from every corner.

  I loved it.

  But as I neared the old well, that feeling leaked out.

  Coming to it, touching the cold stones that were piled on top of one another, lining the outer circular shape, that I used to count as a little girl, I couldn’t think of anything but Dylan.

  And how he left earlier.

  He was relieved that it wasn’t the flu, but just some virus that would go away in a couple of days and all Zara needed was fluid and rest. And plenty of it.

  Still, he turned at the door, looked out of the window, then to my desk and said, “I still don’t want you here. You need to leave.”

  He left, leaving me standing in the corner and wishing I was anywhere but there.

  He hadn’t looked at me once.

  With the feeling of hopelessness, of emptiness settling in my soul, my hand went up and touched the old wood of the side post that was holding up the cross beam which was used to wind the rope and bring up the bucket. The only thing that wasn’t as it was from the beginning was that bucket. It used to be brown leather. Now it had a new one. A steel one.

  And feeling that wood that I felt so many times before against the skin of my palm, I remembered my grandmother telling me to get away from that well. It wasn’t
my time to be near it.

  It felt like she stood right next to me, whispering in my ear, Not yet, my darling girl. Soon, but not yet.

  And feeling all that for a moment in the cold night, for a second I didn’t feel alone, I didn’t feel like I didn’t belong.

  I felt like I was home.

  Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

  I leaned over the stones, trying to peer into its depths, but all I saw was darkness.

  I couldn’t help but remember the last time I was near this well. The last time Dylan walked away from me without looking back.

  “Dylan, please,” I whimpered.

  “Go, Sophie.” He didn’t even look at me. He was already halfway turned away, prepared to leave me.

  “I’ll stay, I’ll do whatever you want,” I said through frozen lips. “But, please, don’t do this.”

  “That’s the point, Sophie.” He stepped into me, bringing his face close to mine. His face was a mask of fury. He terrified me at that moment, and I didn’t get what brought this demeanor out. He was never like this. He gritted his teeth and snarled the words, “I don’t want you to settle. It will destroy you. Destroy us.”

  “It won’t,” I yelled, grabbing his hand. I knew where this was coming from. It was just mere days after we put his mom into the ground. His beautiful mom who was full of life. Until his dad was gone. And then it was just as the lights were turned off. There was nothing left inside her. She was only a shell. Only an organism which had no other choice but to exist until she could be with her love again. No matter how much we tried, the hours we spent trying to bring her back, the therapy she got, it was over. Grief took her in its clutches, and there was no coming back. She didn’t want to. She wanted to be with her husband. Sadly, she found a way.

  “It will, you know it will,” he repeated.

  “Please,” I whispered, urging him to see reason and realize what he’s doing and why. “I’ll do whatever you need.”

  “I need you to leave. Leave this town and never come back.”

  He turned and stepped away, my hand falling from the tips of his fingers as he walked out of my reach. “You don’t belong here, not anymore,” he muttered as he walked away out of my life.

  I thought I knew pain.

  I once thought I would die from it.

  I was wrong.

  I walked unseeing where I was going. Each breath piercing my chest more, it was almost as someone was stabbing me over and over again.

  My tears dripped hot from my chin, wetting my neck.

  When hurt became unbearable and I was at the point of crumbling to the ground, I threw a hand and touched stone.

  I blinked to clear the tears away and focused on where I was.

  The well.

  “God,” I moaned as my knees hit the ground. My forehead touched the smooth stone of it. “Dylan,” I whispered and closed my eyes.

  I have never, ever felt a loss like this. And I was the girl who lost her parents at a young age.

  It was as if someone was ripping half of my soul away from me.

  I have no idea if it was out of pure desperation or what, but in that moment, I remembered the old tale about the well and its magic.

  It wasn’t an unusual sight to see a young girl circling the well and mumbling to herself, her hands touching the stone and sporadically looking up at the moon, as if she was waiting for an answer from the bright shining moon. And in mere moments, as the tale goes, she would get the answer to her wish. A wish whispered into the well’s depths.

  It was so popular that girls all over Colorado came to this very spot to make their wishes come true.

  I always thought that was ridiculous. And on some level pitied those girls.

  But karma was a bitch.

  Because now the tables have turned.

  With nothing else left to lose. When he took a step away from me, he took everything from me. I gripped the cold edge of the stone and hefted myself up.

  And I begged.

  “Please, please.” I watched as one of my tears slid down the smooth stone into darkness. “Please, make him come back.”

  After a few minutes, nothing happened. My whole body sagged and I closed my eyes, fresh tears leaving a hot trail on my cold face. I slid down and in the end lying on the cold ground. My fingers touched the well and I chanted, “Please, please, please…”

  “What the hell are you doing, girl?” The question came sharp in my right ear, making me jolt and scream.

  I looked that way only to see Mrs. McConnell standing near the edge of the stones that were lying on the ground with her hands on her hips.

  “I’m...” I didn’t get to finish what I was saying because she gave me a sharp shake of her head.

  “Now is not the time for that, girl.” She looked up at the dark cloudy sky. “The moon is not right,” she continued her bizarre explanation. “Has your grandmother not taught you anything?” She took a firm hold of my elbow and pulled me back. Looking me right in the eye, she whispered, “Or have you forgotten everything?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whispered back. There were chills that were running through my body and they had nothing to do with how cold it was. All my grandmother ever said was to stay away from the well. Especially at night.

  “Old fool that woman was.” Mrs. McConnell turned to me and still holding on to me, started walking briskly toward home. It was surprising the spring she had in her step and the firm hold she had on me. But I didn’t process any of it. I was too busy assessing her mental state. “She taught you nothing. Well, no use for me to teach you now, you’ll learn on your own soon enough.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ll see, girl.” She patted my arm, a mischievous smile on her face. “You’ll see.”

  6

  Sophie

  Two days later, Mrs. McConnell’s strange behavior completely evaporated from my mind.

  Sure, I did decide to leave, and have already set up a meeting with Denver Thunder’s coach to go through his heart condition and see what could be done. But I was determined to soak up every last possible atom of goodness that was this little town in Colorado.

  And yes, I will be back.

  But that was only to finalize the house sale.

  I still hadn’t put it on the market.

  I haven’t come that far.

  But I would.

  And it was because of all of that and just my looking around town and in various shop windows was why I wasn’t prepared.

  Why I saw him only at the last moment as we walked toward each other.

  It was as if the sun shone directly at him, calling all female attention and screaming, here’s the perfect male specimen, ladies, come and grab him while you still can.

  And he was the perfect male specimen that is.

  He was talking on his phone, his head was turned left so I could see his profile. His jaw was set hard, its angles sharp and made sharper by him clenching his teeth which was highlighted by a muscle jumping in his cheek.

  The arm holding the phone to his ear was big.

  Bigger than I remembered.

  The muscles under his thermal jumping up and down as if on some kind of showcase of their strength.

  His powerful legs eating the pavement away.

  His attire of washed-up jeans, gray thermal and darker gray vest, mouth-watering.

  And when he turned his head to the front, to watch where he was walking, I was hit with his silver, mirror aviators, Freddy Mercury style, and my knees got weak.

  And I stopped.

  Right there in the middle of the walkway, my purse on my shoulder that started slowly sliding down my arm from the jolt of my abrupt stop, the grocery bags full of ingredients for my Christmas baking, swinging in my hands.

  I simply couldn’t move.

  He not only took my breath away, he took my ability to see anything besides him.

  And my mouth started watering.
/>   I had maybe three seconds before his shades locked on me, cementing me in place, but in those three seconds, I had a very vivid image of my tongue running through his short beard, tracing the angles of his jaw and going down the strong column of his neck.

  “You need to rethink this,” he growled into his phone, stopping in front of me, ending his call, then putting his phone in the pocket of his vest. Never once looking away.

  And all the while the muscle in his cheek danced.

  “Sophie,” he continued in the same growl, making my already winded breath windier. And I didn’t want him to talk to me in that growl or harsh tone.

  So, I just blurted, “How’s Zara?”

  “Better, she’s mostly now sleeping, the fever’s gone, and the vomiting stopped two days ago. Mrs. McConnell’s with her now.”

  I wanted to ask where his wife was, but I knew better.

  I heard rumors, but I learned not to listen to them. Sometimes they were true, sometimes they were nothing but lies. But always, if you believed in them without reserve they brought hurt.

  And it wasn’t my business.

  Even though every cell in my body demanded to know, and hoped they were true and false at the same time, it wasn’t my place to ask.

  I had no right.

  But I couldn’t help myself. “Well, it’s good that Mrs. McConnell’s helping. Gives time for your wife to take a break.”

  “My wife?” he asked like it was a word in a foreign language that he had no idea what it meant.

  “Yes, your wife. And you, of course.” I raised my arm his way in a lame attempt to, I don’t even know what. It was only when his head tilted down to it that I remembered I still had grocery bags in them.

  “I don’t have a wife, Sophie,” he said slowly, his aviators going back up.

  “Oh,” I muttered, not knowing what to say, but I felt a warm sensation spreading through my body.

  “Divorced her four years ago, she decided that having a family wasn’t for her.” I had to close my eyes when his words came out because I could see him standing in front of me, and I could see Zara in my mind. And I couldn’t fathom how any sane woman could have all that and leave it behind. Willingly.