Never Too Late

by Ana Balen

  “Where were you?”

  “Here and there,” I said vaguely.

  “Ohhh… that means you were with someone you don’t want us to know about.” Mrs. McConnell perked up, took my wrist in her hand, and pulled me down on the couch next to her. “Spill,” she said gleefully, patting my thigh.

  “There’s nothing to spill,” I said, my eyes going to my grandmother who sat in the armchair and back to the woman next to me.

  “Who were you with?” The question came from the armchair and it was almost as she sing-song it. I have never seen my grandmother acting like this. She always had this dose of seriousness that surrounded her. Even when she was having fun, there was something about it that let you know she didn’t fully give in. Like she was on alert, waiting for something to happen.

  “Are you drunk?” I asked incredulously. I’ve also never seen either of them drunk.

  “Stop changing the subject and tell!” Mrs. McConnell demanded. “Who were you with?”

  “And just a little, to answer your question,” my grandmother added in.

  “Fine,” I sighed. I pretend like I didn’t want to tell them when in reality, I was dying to. As cheesy as it sounded, those two were my best friends and I wanted to tell everything about tonight.

  “I was with Dylan.”

  “I knew it!” Mrs. McConnell explained and pointed to my grandmother. Then she turned her palm up and wiggled her fingers, saying, “Pay up.”

  “Humpf,” she harrumphed but still reached into her pocket, took the folded bill out and gave it to the woman. “Did he kiss you?”

  I smiled a little and whispered, “No, but I didn’t expect him to, we weren’t alone. I wished for him to, though. Maybe on Tuesday when we go out on a date.” I shrugged. I knew most would find it odd the way I told everything to two drunk, old ladies. But as I said, they were my best friends, and I had no secrets with them. I told them everything.

  “Oh, a date!” Mrs. McConnell was obviously excited for me. But when I looked to my grandmother, I noticed she was kind of pale and had a horrified expression on her face.

  “Grandma, are you okay?”

  “You wished for it?” she whispered instead of answering me.

  “Yes, you know I always liked him, but he never gave me a second glance.”

  “Where were you when you wished for it?”

  “At the square,” I said slowly, now looking more carefully at her.

  “Where at the square, Sophie?” Lost was the carefree grandmother that sat in the armchair just moments ago.

  “I don’t know, at the square.” I shrugged. “Why?”

  “Think, girl, think,” she all but barked at me. Then she looked at Mrs. McConnell. “Which moon is it?”

  That was a bizarre thing to ask.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, we’re still in strawberry.” Mrs. McConnell waved her hand dismissively.

  “What’s going on?” I asked again. When no one said anything, I looked at Mrs. McConnell’s profile, but she didn’t look back. Instead, she took a big gulp of her drink and looked anywhere but at me.

  “So,” my grandmother barked, getting my attention back. “Where at the square, Sophie?”

  “I…”

  “Were you near the well?”

  “I guess,” I hesitated.

  “Were you touching the well?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Relax, Evelyn. We’re not in the honeymoon period yet. There’s no harm done.”

  “Okay, what the hell are you two talking about?”

  I was used to their babbling without any sense or reason, but this was weird even for them.

  “Okay, Sophie, it’s time you learn something,” Mrs. McConnell started and turned slightly my way.

  “Grace, don’t,” my grandmother demanded.

  “If you want to prevent it, then she needs to know.”

  “Prevent what?”

  “So, by the Indian’s teachings, there are four moons in December and each has its significance, but the ones that are truly magical are honeymoon and rose moon,” Mrs. McConnell continued with her story to my grandmother’s great dismay. “When those moons are out, you need to avoid the well at all costs, otherwise you may make a wish that could change your life and you’re not ready for it. No matter how much your heart wants it.”

  “Hunh?” I looked at them. I didn’t get what they were on about.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” my grandmother muttered. She then leaned forward, poured herself another drink, took a sip, and pinned me with her eyes. “The town was established in 1858.”

  “I know that,” I said. And I did. Everyone who lived in Hopeful knew its history.

  After sending me a glare, she continued, “What you don’t know is that in 1875 the townspeople tore down some boards and they found a well. It was in the center of the town. Somehow, they built around it, never once touching the earth or stones that were surrounding it. It went unnoticed for almost twenty years. They shaped it to look as it does today, the only thing that changed is the bucket. They replaced the wooden one with the steel we have today.”

  “Okay.” I drew out the word.

  After a warning glare, she again continued, “Over the years, the town folks noticed an unusual behavior of the female population in December. They would come to the well, place their hands on it and murmured some words. Over the months that followed, their lives would change. And it usually involved a man. Most of the murmuring to the stone happened during those moons. When they asked the women what they were murmuring, they confessed they were making a wish. It was usually a wish they themselves weren’t even fully aware they had, until they muttered it. They also said they didn’t continuously come to make it. The stones were drawing them in.”

  After her final words, we were quiet for a moment.

  “I don’t get it, what are you trying to tell me?” I broke the silence.

  “The well has magic,” Mrs. McConnell whispered while giving jazz-hands before she burst into loud laughter.

  “You can’t honestly believe that?” I said horrified. They were more drunk than I thought if they were spewing shit like that.

  “It doesn’t matter if we believe it or not, it matters if you do,” my grandmother said seriously.

  “Well, I don’t.” I laughed to break the tension. “And you need to lay off the bottle. I think you had enough for one night.”

  “Just do me a favor, girl.”

  I looked at her.

  “Don’t go near the well with a wish in your mind, and especially during night.”

  “And why are you so scared if I make a wish now?”

  “Because you’re not ready,” she whispered. “I can see it in you. You want to get out of here, and if you make that wish, you never will.”

  “I don’t want to get out. I love it here.” I defended myself. And I didn’t. In fact, every day, I loved Hopeful more and more. It was getting hard thinking about the day I had to leave.

  “Just promise me you won’t make a wish until it’s time, Sophie.”

  “I promise,” I whispered, not fully aware of what I promised.

  Present

  “Hey, it’s that doctor lady.” I heard the cheerful shriek coming from behind me, but I ignored it.

  It was the evening of decorating the well ceremony, an event the whole town came to and participated in and the tourists came from all over to experience the magnificence of it.

  Before it started, I decided to reserve a tree to lug home after and spend the night decorating it. I was late with that anyway. The tree should have been up days ago, and if my grandmother was still here, it would have been. So, naturally, picking just the right one took all my attention, and I wasn’t willing to let any distractions invade and distract me. Even if the shriek obviously came from a child.

  “Hey, you’re the doctor lady,” came from right next to me.

  I looked that way
and down.

  The sight that greeted me was an arrow right through my heart.

  Because there stood a little girl with brown eyes I knew so well.

  And still, after all this time, loved.

  When I last saw her, she was asleep, so how she knew that I was a doctor I had no idea. Then again, Hopeful was a small town and everyone knew everyone and their business, so it wasn’t a mystery.

  Dylan was written all over her. Even if I didn’t know for a fact that she was his, she looked like him so much, her hair, her cheekbones, and her smile, I would have picked him as her father. And I knew, while she was sleeping in my office, if she opened her eyes they would be his.

  And I was right.

  Right down to that dark blue line on their outer edges.

  “Yes,” I whispered, lost in those brown eyes on the little girl’s face. And somewhere deep inside, I wept for the fact that those eyes and that little girl didn’t belong to me.

  “I’m all better now,” Zara said through a bright smile, puffing her little chest out and spreading her little arms out.

  “I can see,” I muttered through my own smile. It was impossible not to smile when I was near her, no matter how much it hurt.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Picking out a Christmas tree.” I indicated the trees with the tilt of my head.

  She looked from the trees to me and back, a frown pulling at her mouth. She was so adorable in her obvious disapproval that I had a hard time holding in the laughter that started bubbling inside.

  “You don’t like them?” I asked and looked back at the trees.

  “They’re okay.” She took a step closer and leaned this way and that, concentrated on the task at hand. “But there’s not one that’s perfect.” She looked up at me and whispered, “And a Christmas tree needs to be perfect.”

  “You are absolutely right.” I nodded my head. “It does. But it’s all they have, so I have to find one here.”

  “You should tell my daddy to cut you one when we go and get one for us,” she exclaimed like it was the best idea in the world. “He always picks the best one. Everyone says so.”

  She had no idea the punch in the gut her idea gave me. I bet it was the best one. If he chose one and cut it for me, I would think it was the most beautiful looking tree in the world, too.

  “Zara, quit bugging the doctor.” Dylan’s rough voice came from behind us before I had a chance to come up with something to say to that. Zara looked behind me and up.

  “She really isn’t,” I said softly, turning back and finding Dylan standing close.

  So close I could feel the hot wave rolling from me and seep deep into my bones.

  His eyes roamed my face, stopped on my mouth and his frown melted away and a gentle expression leaked in.

  “Then what’re you doing?” he asked his girl, his eyes were still glued to my mouth. I had a sudden urge to take his head in my hands, pull his face to mine so I could kiss him.

  It was so strong, I could feel my smile dripping away. I closed my eyes, gulped and looked back down to Zara. A new smile, a fake one in place.

  “I was telling her she should come with us so you can cut the tree for her. The bestest one,” she exclaimed.

  “That’s...”

  “Sounds good,” Dylan said over me. I whipped my head back to look if somebody else was standing in his place since I was positive he would never utter those words. But nope, he was still there, extending his hand to his daughter, he carried on like nothing was weird in his statement. “We’re going in two days. I’ll come and get you in the morning. Now, baby girl, we have to go to the well so you can put up your drawing.”

  “See you in two days, doctor lady,” Zara shrieked over her shoulder, her father tugging her gently to get a move on.

  “Sophie, honey,” I yelled.

  “What?” She stopped and tilted her head.

  “My name’s Sophie. You can call me that.” And with one last broad smile that warmed my entire existence, she nodded and ran to her dad.

  Dylan didn’t look back at me.

  “It’s time, Sophie,” Mrs. McConnell said, thrusting the Christmas flower or Christmas star in my hands. She looked up to the cloudless dark sky and muttered bizarrely. “It’s the right moon. And it’s your time. Do what you need to do.”

  I had no idea what she was on about with the moon. But I looked to the well and could see that she was right. It was time.

  The decorations were all set. There were white Christmas lights going up from the first stone on the ground, all around and up the wooden posts, then up again right along the edges of two slates that formed a little roof. There were also a bunch of them falling out of the steel bucket, giving the illusion of water flowing down and into the well’s darkness. And all along those lights, little ornaments were hung. Each and every citizen of Hopeful came to and hung the ornament of their choosing.

  Each and every one, except me.

  I didn’t feel like I had a right to do it. I didn’t live in Hopeful for seventeen years. So I stayed behind with tourists and watched as they decorated it.

  And now was the time to put the flower in the bucket.

  “Are you sure?” I asked for probably the thousandth time since they told me the decision. Usually the town council chose who would put the flower into the bucket. Somehow that single thing became the most important of all, and to give it meant you had the respect of the whole town.

  For the last twenty-five years that someone was my grandmother.

  But she wasn’t here with us anymore.

  “Yes.” Mrs. McConnell pushed me gently to go and do what I was told.

  I wasn’t far from the well. I remembered how she did it. She was always proud to walk to the well and put the simple plant in a bucket. And she always wore the most glorious smile in the world. It was as if all her pain faded away for the five minutes that it took to do it. As I walked to it, I missed her more and more. And with each step a new tear formed in my eyes and with each new one it fell down my face.

  I came to it and had to step on to the wooden step that was brought out every year so it would be easier to get to the bucket. There were someone’s hands on my waist, but I could barely feel them. As I came close to it, the warmth spread through me, a sense of lightness swallowed my body. And what seemed to be impossible happened.

  I heard my grandmother whisper in my ear.

  It’s time, my Sophie. Do it. Speak from your heart.

  I had no idea what she meant. But as I put the pot in the nest of lights, I raised my head and my eyes landed on Dylan.

  The soft Christmas music that played, faded into the night. All the smiling faces disappeared. I could only see him as he stood, his legs spread a little, his arms crossed on his chest over his vest, his eyes gentle. And he was watching me right back.

  Say it, Sophie.

  My grandmother’s voice urged in my mind.

  A movement caught my eyes and I looked from Dylan’s eyes to his legs.

  And there she was.

  His precious girl.

  Zara.

  She was dancing around her dad’s legs, laughing and having fun.

  Now, Sophie.

  She was losing her patience. My grandmother was.

  I dragged my eyes back to Dylan’s, and I had to cling to the posts or I would fall down into the well’s depths after witnessing the smile he was giving me.

  God, how I wanted that smile and that look back.

  Do it!

  If it wasn’t so surreal, the experience of my grandmother almost barking her words in my head, I would have laughed. As it was surreal and the longing had me in its grip, all I could do was let into the madness and let the tears fall while whispering the wish I didn’t even admit to myself fully.

  “I wish he was mine again. I wish I belonged.” I licked my suddenly dry lips and unable to stop myself, never once looking away from Dylan and Zara, I finished. “I wish they belonged to me.”


  As the last word sailed from my lips, those hands that had a death grip on my waist, pulled me back down on the ground, turned me, and enveloped me into a tight hug.

  “You did good, girl.” Mrs. McConnell patted my back. She kissed my hair as I wept into her neck. “You did good.”

  9

  Sophie

  Banging bowls around my kitchen, I swiped hard across my face.

  How could I be so stupid and believe I had a chance with Dylan again?

  Just because he was nice to me the last two days, I stupidly convinced myself my wish would come true and he would once again be mine. Or that we could at last live in the same town without any ill feelings between us.

  My delusions began when I came out of Mrs. McConnell’s fierce hug during which she kept kissing and petting my hair just like my grandmother used to do when I was little. I hadn’t known how much I missed it. It seemed that on every step in this town I was slapped in the face with one memory after another and the fact that I’ve been closed off and basically on autopilot for seventeen years. It was heart-wrenching, it was devastating. But it was also freeing and like I was slowly coming back to my old self.

  In her arms, I wept for losing the most important person in my life. I wept for losing myself. For losing Dylan. For losing the future I was supposed to have. All the grief I kept a close grip on leaked out of me. But I also wept in gratitude that almost every single person in this small town in Colorado welcomed me with open arms. And I was finally home. I just had to find a way to grant Dylan’s wishes and leave, but not lose it again.

  “Thank you,” I whispered in her neck, inhaling deep and savoring her flowery smell mixed with a hint of menthol.

  She took me by the arms, pushed me back a little, cupped my face with her wrinkly, soft hand, and looked into my eyes. “Any time, my dear girl. Now go and talk to that man of yours. He hasn’t stopped looking at you since you stepped up to the well.”

  I hadn’t asked whom she was talking about. And I haven’t corrected her in her disbelief that Dylan was my man. The truth was, I wanted him to be. But I also knew it wasn’t possible. I just simply nodded, kissed her cheek, and turned.