The Beginning of Always (60 page)
I stared. The sight of Emily tugged at me, scratched at my conscience. Of my own little girl … with a name so similar …
I tightened my lips, mildly startled to find them trembling. I glanced up at Renee and in her eyes, an emotion flickered. Sadness? Pity?
“This is great, Renee.” My voice was surprisingly steady. “Your children are beautiful.”
“Yeah, everything worked out.” Whatever I had seen in her eyes had burnt out and was gone. Renee beamed at her little brood.
My heart strained slightly. They were a beautiful little family. Perhaps once upon a time, this could have been Alistair and me too. Once upon a time …
“So!” Renee straightened up and clasped her hands together. “Tell me all about what Ms. Reynolds has been up to!” She shimmied her wide hips at her words. “I want to hear everything!”
* * *
And hear everything Renee tried to do. At first I struggled to get the sentences out, trying to skip out on the sordid bits of the last month. But gradually the conversation became easier, more fluid. It was soothing to reminisce with an old friend. Renee was the perfect audience, gasping with enthusiasm when I told her about the various countries I’d been to and peppering me with questions about each place.
She, in turn, told me about her life with her husband, her high school sweetheart she’d married right out of school. She was just about to show me pictures of their last trip to Wisconsin when …
“Mommy,” came a small voice. We both whipped our heads towards the source. Virginia was tugging at Renee’s shirt, expression a bit desperate.
“What is it, baby?”
Virginia squirmed, totally uncomfortable. She shuffled on her feet as we waited patiently.
We heard a loud sigh. Matthew was sitting on a bench with a thick book open against his knees. “She needs to pee!” he called out. Virginia’s face flooded deep red, completely mortified. Matthew rolled his eyes and went back to his book.
“Oh!” Renee glanced at her watch. “We have to get going! I just came down to grab some groceries for dinner, and just got too excited to see you! It’s not every day you run into a Reynolds sibling.” Renee gathered her stroller with Virginia trailing behind, clutching the handle, stubby legs pumping fast towards salvation. Matthew closed his book silently and followed as well. “You’re going to be in town for a little longer, right?”
“Yeah, for a bit.”
“I’ll call you. Let’s get lunch.”
“Definitely.” We embraced and I waved as they scurried down the sidewalk to a row of cars parked in front of the grocer.
I checked my own watch. It was getting late. I bet Winnie was wondering where I had gone with the donuts. Mooing Cow was probably sold out by now.
“Florence!” a voice called. I started turning on reflex, but stuttered halfway once my mind caught up with my body and my ears registered that it was not Renee back for second helpings.
Oh no.
My heart in my throat, I spun around on my heel and began walking quickly in the opposite direction.
“Florence!”
My feet moved faster, just short of sprinting.
“Florence, dear!” Sandra called out.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “No. No. No.” I tried to take a couple more steps when Sandra called my name out again, this time a bit more breathlessly.
She was obviously chasing me. I could outrun her, but that would be cruel to do to the woman. I stopped, turned my head to look over my shoulder, and gave an artificial grin.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Blair. How are you doing?” I said a bit too loudly.
Sandra gave me a wide smile and trotted down the sidewalk towards me … with Alistair trailing along. I tried not to notice him, but it was hard. He had shed the city suits and just wore a pair of old jeans and a faded t-shirt I recognized from our high school days. His hands were in his pockets, his hair loose and falling out from underneath a baseball cap. He towered over Sandra’s slight form and from beneath the brim of his hat, his dark eyes were watching me.
I snapped my gaze from Alistair to Sandra, just before she pulled me into a hug.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad I ran into you!” She grasped my arms with her warm hands and beamed at me. “I just came from your father and he mentioned you were home!” Sandra gave a pout, a conspiratorial look to her. “Bill knew this and said nothing! For weeks you’ve been around! We will have words.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Blair, it’s been kind of hectic since I returned.”
Sandra waved a hand back and forth inconsequentially. “No! No! Don’t apologize. I know you must be so busy with that career of yours. All of you are! But you must come over tonight for supper.”
As I sputtered around excuses, Sandra grabbed both of my shoulders and cried out, “I insist! It has been much too long since we’ve gotten together! And with Allie home!” She snapped her head in his direction and beamed wider. I didn’t follow her gaze, staring straight to the side of her laughing blue eyes. She was so friendly, so happy, but she might as well have been holding a gun to my face because that was how petrified I was. “I already invited your father. That poor man is working himself to death and I know he is not eating well.”
“Um,” I said.
“Allie took me to the clinic, how sweet! Oh, you know I check my blood sugar every day, but sometimes I need a more comprehensive test.”
“Mrs. Blair …,” I tried to say.
“Please say you’ll come tonight! I’ll make that chicken you love, and pasta, and there are fresh green beans that I can whip up into a casserole.”
I opened my mouth, but Sandra wouldn’t allow any sound that even hinted at an excuse.
“You’re so thin, I bet you don’t eat well out there in the city, either. Nicolas was frightful last time I saw him and I don’t even want to talk about Allie!”
Now she was reaching, calling me thin. But she’d always proclaimed I was too thin, even when I was pregnant.
Since speaking was hopeless, I dissolved to physical sign language. I shook my head vigorously, working to put an apologetic tilt to my expression.
But Sandra had better ideas. “Oh, be a dear and hold my purse.” Sandra shoved her bag into my arms, which were already halfway up to push it away. I lurched forward to catch the straps out of instinct. “I need to ask Ursula about her crop of tomatoes. I heard they’re being temperamental this year.”
Sandra was totally setting me up. She had always been trying to get Alistair and me back together.
“Be back in a jiffy, kids!” she called out and as she scampered off, I was filled with acrid fear.
And I stood there, frozen, Sandra’s heavy canvas purse cradled in my trembling arms, as I stared into the oblivion of the situation I was trapped in. Alistair towered over me, his face shrouded in shadows.
I should drop the purse and run.
“Florence,” Alistair said under his breath, taking a step closer towards me.
I ignored him, my gaze frantically searching the concrete, grip tightening against Sandra’s purse until my fingertips were strangling it.
“Florence.”
Still ignoring. My eyes darted back and forth, hunting for an exit. What would happen if I just ran? What was he going to do? Call the cops?
“Florence,” Alistair said, now right by my side with his hand reaching up to touch my shoulder. I snapped back, swatting his palm away.
Fight or flight. Okay, here we go—fight.
And anger, to mask the fear.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped. Couldn’t he give me one moment of peace? I couldn’t get away from him, even in my own town?
The sun shadowed his face, but the dark circles underneath his eyes were obvious. His mouth was held in a harsh, tight line and his neck was tense.
“Let me explain, please.”
I pushed Sandra’s purse into his hands. “Tell your mom something came up and I’m sorry to be so rude.” But as I spun around, Alistair’s hands shot out and seized my wrist. The feel of his skin against mine made me want to cry.
“Please. Please talk to me. I came back for you.”
“You’re wasting your time. Go home.” I spoke towards the sidewalk. If I looked at him, my resolve would crumble.
Alistair tugged at my wrist, his fingers digging into me. There was a hard desperation to his touch. “You’re my home, Florence. You’ve always been my home. I’m sorry.”
I shook my head, breath coming out with difficulty. If I didn’t get away soon, I would cry. “You have to do better than that. No.” I finally made eye contact with him and immediately regretted it. The sadness and sincerity in his soft hazel gaze turned my heart on its side. My voice cracked slightly as I said, “There’s nothing you can do. Do me a favor—don’t be there tonight. Don’t be here at all. Go back to New York. Leave me alone.”
Alistair reached for my other hand, saying, “Please. I love you.”
It was so unfair, him saying that. He had no right. No position.
I cracked. I broke. I fought in the only way I knew how to—for survival.
“Shut up!” I screamed, using my other hand to bodily push him back. His grip broke away from me and he stumbled back a step. Pedestrians milling around the streets slowed down and stared. A woman I didn’t recognize pulled her child close to her and pointed baldly at me, her mouth going a mile a minute with the sales clerk.
“Stop. Stop with the mind games. I can’t deal with the confusion any longer.” To my embarrassment, tears pooled at the corners of my eyes, throwing the vision of Alistair into a watery haze.
And with that parting comment and my heart in shards on the sidewalk, I fled in the opposite direction.
Numbing memories, conflicting emotions roiled over me, digging its sharp claws into my heart. Tears threatened the backside of my throat.
Once burned, twice shy. Twice burned, an utter and complete fool.
I
knew Alistair was still in town. Sometimes I’d be driving to and from Dad’s office, and I’d spot two figures out in the fields of Blair Farms. One tall and strong, and the other stocky but posture bent with age. People went out of their way to accost me on the sidewalk and in Dad’s waiting room to tell me that they saw Alistair, as if he were Bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster.
Did I know he was in town?
He exists
, their crazed eyes screamed at me.
Are you
aware
?
I stopped visiting Main Street.
Renee and I met up for lunch, children-free, and she mercifully didn’t probe.
Tracy and Nicolas had been talking about coming to see me, but both were swamped, so it hadn’t happened yet. It was okay; I was enjoying my time with Dad, outside my daily Alistair landmine danger.
I was just biding my time until he returned to New York.
And so I existed, skittering someplace between living and surviving. Every time I went out, my defenses would flare up and not come down until I was safely back at home. And even then, I would be on edge. I wouldn’t put it past him to stop by the house.
The thing was, I wasn’t scared of Alistair. Far from it. Sometimes at night, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d find myself floating back to that one week of bliss, when ignorance was rampant and I was none the worse for it. That was what angered me the most, how much I longed to have that time back.
I did miss him. But that didn’t excuse what had happened. Besides, didn’t he have to get back to New York? He had work to do. In case he had missed the memo, he was a big shot now. Purchasing your own media outlet? Very few things were bigger than that. Perhaps he could run for political office next, complete the billionaire jerk trifecta: property, platform, and power.
As committed, Gordon sent me some small pieces, profiles I could do over the phone over the course of a couple of days. There was one interesting artist out of Chicago that I actually braved and drove down to meet for a day. But besides all that, work was light to the point of comedy. Gordon was obviously lobbing easy ones at me, and his e-mails were growing shorter and more curt with each passing week. He was losing patience. I knew this mostly because his latest correspondence had started with the words, “I’m losing patience, Reynolds.”
By the looks and sound of things, as promised, everyone had moved on to harassing the next poor sap, and Alistair and I had long since finished lining hamster cages and been dumped in the trash. Yet I still couldn’t muster up the necessary courage to return back to normal life.
I just always seemed to be in stasis—now, even more so.
I was trying to explain this feeling to Tracy on the phone, but she was distracted, mumbling under her breath, the frantic clicking sound of her mouse filtering through the receiver.
“Hey!” I said.
“Huh … what?”
“You’re the one who called me. At least have the decency to talk.”
The clicking stopped. “Oh … sorry, just working.”
I swept one more line of nail polish down my toenail, finishing the row. “Why are you calling me from the offices, anyway? Finish your article.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” There was a shuffling noise, and Tracy coughed.
“Call me when you get home, don’t get distracted.” I dipped the brush back into the nail polish and screwed it on tight.
“Wait.” Tracy sighed. “I’m stalling.”